#him and his pigsty <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[justnother-user]

Do you think this was Matt every time Mello stopped by?

Original below

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

women in male fields

fratboy!jaehyun x reader

summary: you’re fully aware you’re dating a reformed fuckboy/fratiest fratboy to exist but that doesn’t mean he can get away with acting like a douche without a taste of his own medicine… OR the 3 times sweetheart finds herself acting like a fuckboy and the 1 time Jaehyun calls her out

word count: 3.5k

warnings: swearing, fuckboy behavior, mentions of alcohol, Americanized college described (l'm American), pet names (sweetie, sweets, sweeteart, sweet girl) in order to avoid using y/n, Imk if I missed anything!

a/n: there was something completely magical in my Chili’s triple dipper because I sat down and pounded this out for 4 hours with minimal breaks! I’d had this idea for a while but figured I’d get it out before everyone forgot about the #womeninmalefields TikTok trend. Feedback is appreciated!

Timeline-wise let’s say this is about 6 months into Jae and Sweetheart being a couple

This story is a part of my fratboy!Jaehyun universe!

dividers from cafekitsune

You weren’t stupid. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Jung Jaehyun, one of the most fratboy fratboys to ever exist. You had been around for the parties, for the handful of nights where he overdid it and got sick, countless nights of standing by to watch him play beer pong, no dates on Sunday evenings because of frat meetings, and a couple philanthropic events. You were used to a lot of it by now. 

But your boyfriend had adapted himself so well to this role that you honestly kind of hated some of his behaviors. He had changed some habits, of course. He was no longer the fuckboy fratboy that slept around, no, he was committed to you and you alone. He made some effort into being romantic which took some work since his idea of romance was sending you a daily Snapchat for your streak with a red heart. Gross. Now, he got you flowers occasionally and your favorite snacks. His room used to be an absolute pigsty and now he at the very least he shoved his mess under the bed so you didn’t see.

Then there were some habits that didn’t change and you were tired of them. Beyond tired of them. You were tired of him passively listening, barely paying attention to you, being kind of an asshole, and just being a gross guy. So you decided to give him a taste of his own medicine. If he could do all these things and you could still like him, why wouldn't he still like you?

It had started when you texted Jaehyun on a Thursday afternoon and he didn’t respond until Saturday afternoon. It had been nothing urgent, but you were still annoyed. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this. In fact, it was a horrible habit of his. He started a conversation or read a text you sent and just never responded. You knew now, based on experience and the other guys telling you, that Jaehyun sucked at texting. He would still post on Instagram or Snapchat, posting various athletes like they were his friends and promoting frat activities like normal. It was almost like he forgot that the primary function of a phone was to communicate. Good thing he was pretty!

It didn’t make it any less annoying that your boyfriend didn't care to change this habit for you though, so when he finally texted you back, you decided to give him the same treatment. Saturday came to an end and you didn’t text back. Sunday was the same and so was Monday. He texted you countless times, so many questions, random updates on his day, and asking you if you were ok or if he should send help to your dorm. So when you knocked on the door Tuesday afternoon scrolling on your phone when Jaehyun opened the door. It was pretty safe to say he was pretty confused.

“Where have you been? You didn’t answer any of my texts,” Jaehyun asked while he led the two of you upstairs.

You hummed noncommittally, your eyes not leaving the screen of your phone, “oh yeah, my phone broke. My bad.”

Jaehyun opened his mouth to argue, ready to tell you that he had seen you posting on your stories, your phone didn’t look new, and he had heard you on FaceTime with Haechan just yesterday. That you were literally scrolling through Instagram when he opened the door, but he didn’t say anything. He just pulled you into his arms, and pulled up the most recent episode of one of your shows. 

He couldn’t really complain if you were here with him now, right? You were in his bed, in his arms, laying on his chest. Everything was fine. A few days of no contact was normal and you both had a good enough relationship where it shouldn’t bother him, right? But it did…

The next time Jaehyun pissed you off was just a week later. He had proven to be a little extra clingy after his punishment of silence and that was good enough for you. It had been enough to hold you off with some of his, less than perfect behavior, until the next time he messed up. Sure, enough it was just 7 days later when he acted stupid again. And it was time for him to learn again. Sometimes he just had to learn to not do something by doing it and learning the consequences. Like a child… or a pet.

Jaehyun had had a stressful week. You knew that, he had told you about it the last time you saw him just yesterday, so you did feel kinda bad for deciding to pull this out of your sleeve now. How was he going to learn if you never tried to fix it though?

Jaehyun was pacing around his room, running a hand down his face and staring at the email that basically told him nothing from their partner sorority. He was social chair, so he was in charge of planning mixers. That’s exactly what he was trying to do! But the Kappa social chair was either knowingly being a pain in the ass or just naturally was a pain in the ass. How was it useful for Jaehyun to know when a handful of sisters all had an astronomy class?! Why did that matter when he was asking her to choose from a handful of dates he’d already chosen?!

Not only was this sorority social chair being annoying, Taeyong had been on his ass to plan some kind of sponsored philanthropic event, but everyone Nu Chi had worked with previously was being so difficult! No one was returning a single one of his emails, he spent his afternoons on hold or making calls, and just getting in contact with new companies and vendors just took so much effort. He currently had one sponsor, which was fine, whatever. But nothing Nu Chi Theta did while Jaehyun was social chair was ever just fine. Fine was acceptable for Alpha Sig’s but not for Nu Chi’s. He would need at least two more sponsors to reach the level of finery he was used to working with.

So that’s what Jaehyun was texting you about, his fingers tapping across the small screen of his phone while he put all his ranting and raving into words and sent off the text with a sigh of relief. You would talk him down, get him through his stress, and give him some advice for his problems. Then he’d feel like a new man, ready to tackle his problems with a clear head just like you always did for him. Just the thought of your advice had him smiling down at his phone while he added ‘sorry, about that. had to vent. how was your day sweets?’ and sent it your way.

On your end, you read through the long text ready to reply and give him some advice and offer your own help, but then you remembered… You remembered how just a few days ago you were venting to him about a small argument you and Ari, your roommate, had gotten into, and he showed no signs of actually listening. You went to him for a reason! He had at least 10 roommates, he never had complaints about any of them, so it wasn’t like you were talking just to talk! You wanted your boyfriend to give you some advice like you always gave him, but all you got was a “damn... Wanna order me some wings?” You had to physically keep jaw from dropping. God, he could be such a fucking guy sometimes! It was like talking to a fucking wall! Albeit a very good looking, handsome wall, but a wall nonetheless.

It was time for him to get yet another taste of his own medicine. Instead of taking the time to offer your advice or offer your help, you smirked, staring at your screen as you typed out, ‘that sucks’. Next text, ‘My day was chill, kinda hungry … send me door dash?’

On his end, Jaehyun stared at the screen with blatant confusion, watching as the minutes ticked by while he waited for some long paragraph with solutions and encouragement to be sent his way. After five minutes nothing came. The same after 10. No change after 20 and then he sets his phone aside feeling grumpy and pissy. Why wasn’t his girlfriend helping him? Did you even read his message?

And he couldn’t exactly call you out on it because it wasn’t an issue between the both of you. They were problems he had before you guys were together sure, but he liked having you to lean on now. He sighed tiredly, resting his chin atop his folded arms with a pout while staring at his dark screen and willing you to text him back again so all his issues would be just one step closer to being fixed.

His heart skipped a beat when the screen lit up and he saw the familiar combination of emojis used for your contact. He reached for his phone eagerly, feeling his heart soar at the anticipated text where you would help him solve his issues. But his face fell into a frown and he groaned out loudly at the words on his screen: ‘is my food on its way yet?’

The last reciprocation of his fuckboy energy was probably the worst. You honestly don’t know how you let Jaehyun get away with it practically unscathed, but karma was coming around now and she wasn’t merciful. It was your pièce de résistance, the cherry on top of your fuckboy sundae, your magnum opus, your masterpiece. 

To give Jaehyun some credit, it had been a while since he had dated a woman for a long period of time, or really, dated any woman at all. Maybe he had forgotten some very basic decorum and manners as far as ways to act and things to say or not say. Just yesterday you had been complaining about your professor being very vague in the instructions for your assignment, and even more vague when you emailed him to ask for clarity. “Like the instructions make it sound so simple, but it can’t be that simple if this project accounts for 30% of our grade! Like hello, is it hard to reply to an email with words that actually fucking mean something?” You groaned, running your fingers through your hair while you texted your project group chat what your professor had replied.

Jaehyun chuckled, running a calming hand down your back, focusing his relaxing touch on your lower back as his fingers kneaded at your muscles, “chill out sweetheart, I think you’re making this a bigger deal than it actually is.”

You sent him an unamused look from the corner of your eye, “chill out? Jae, I just said this project accounts for a third of my grade. I can’t be chill about this.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder, “are you… you know?”

Your fingers froze over your keyboard, waiting for his next words, giving him a chance to backtrack. He stayed silent and waited patiently. You exhaled, speaking in a voice that was all too eerily calm, “Am I what, Jaehyun?”

“Are you on your period? You just seem extra worked up about something kind of pointless.” He replied casually, his fingers continuing to work at your lower back. The exact area you had once confessed hurt you so bad you could barely stand in the first couple days of your period. This- somewhat thoughtful- little shit!

You smacked his hands away while you closed your laptop and gathered your things in a hurry, mumbling, “you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

Jaehyun stared at you in shock, an asshole? He was being an asshole for caring about his girlfriend’s well-being? “Sweetheart, it’s just that you seem to be making a bigger deal out of this than it actually is,” he tried to explain.

You held a hand up, silencing him, ”every time you open your mouth, you dig yourself into a deeper hole. No, I’m not on my period. Yes, it is a big deal and yes, I’m actually leaving. Good night and goodbye.”

This very conversation had been playing on repeat in your mind while Jaehyun vented to you about Johnny being up his ass about new recruits being low as he paced around his room. “I mean, it shouldn’t be solely on my shoulders if recruits are low. There are plenty of brothers who don’t have as many responsibilities as I do. Like, I barely figured out the whole sponsored mess with Taeyong and now Johnny decided to stick his foot up my ass too. Can I get a fucking break or something?!” He ranted passionately.

You stared at him blankly from your seated position on his bed, forcing your smirk to stay hidden. “Is it… you know?” You began to ask.

“Is it stressful? Hell yeah it is, I mean shouldn't we have any and all brothers taking turns trying to recruit. I mean that’s why I take my time to throw mixers, parties, and sponsored events that kick ass so that people want to join,” Jaehyun replied with a tired sigh.

“No,” you laughed softly, “is it like your time of the month? You seem to be making a big deal out of nothing?”

When Jaehyun turned to you with his eyes wide in astonishment, he expected to see you laughing it off playfully. He expected for you to confess that you were just kidding and kiss him sweetly. But you cocked your head to the side and raised a brow as if to ask, ‘what’s the problem?’

After that, Jaehyun was quick to rise to his feet, pinning you with a heated stare. “What the hell has been up with you? You've been acting… grimy for like the last month.”

You laughed in astonishment, “I’ve been acting grimy? Huh, then imagine how I feel on a regular basis!”

“You?! Sweets, you’ve been acting like a douche! Like when you didn’t respond to me for days even though you were posting like normal and you lied about your phone being broken! Like, hello! You were on Instagram right in front of my face with the same crack on your screen since I’ve known you!”

You raised a brow, holding back an amused smirk, “that’s all? I don’t reply for a couple days and now I’m a douche? Babe, you’re being like really emotional right now, calm down.”

“And that too!” Jaehyun exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at you, “why are you asking me if it’s my time of the month when I’m talking about something that’s bothering me? I want you to support me. You did the same thing when I texted you looking for advice when I was handling the whole mixers and sponsors thing.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, “well, I don’t know what you want me to say right now.”

Jaehyun raised his brows and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what the hell he was hearing. Was he in some kind of alternate universe? Had aliens come down and planted worms in your brain? What happened to his sweet girlfriend?! “Well, an apology would be really nice,” he replies while cocking his head at you.

“And have you ever apologized to me for any of that same behavior?” You ask in a calm voice.

“Wha- me apologize?! This isn’t about me! It’s about you!”

“Oh, so it’s only a problem when I act like this and not you? Got it.”

“When?! When have I acted like you?” Jaehyun asks in exasperation, eyes wide with shocked confusion.

“Hmmm. Let me think!” You exclaim before dramatically placing the tip of your finger on your chin, “just like everyday we’ve been together, you dummy!”

“Give me examples. I can’t believe this.”

“Alright, how about how I’ve had to train you like some kind of pet to learn some very basic texting etiquette? I let you get away with being a shitty texter for months and the one time I do it, you go crazy. I got used to not getting a response from you after days on end and I act like you did one time and you almost call campus security to my dorm to see if I’m alive,” you state, counting out a single finger. 

With the next finger, “I come to you for advice regarding my single roommate considering you have like a hundred of them, and what do you do? You say, damn, buy me wings? Who the fuck does that?! So it didn’t feel very good when I did it to you, huh? Did you like looking for advice only to be hit with some bullshit response and then asked for food? Which I never got by the way!”

Third finger, “And just now. Oh no, did you not like being told your issue meant nothing? Awww, mmmm, are you sad?” You pull your face into a very sarcastic sad face, “now imagine how I feel when you asked me if I was on my fucking period?! Like, have you never been around someone with a vagina? Even Mark and Haechan who barely pull know better than to ask some shit like that! And these are just three of your douchebag behaviors! Shall I continue, Mr. so called I’m-perfect-and-can-never-make-mistakes-because-that-would-be-impossible!”

Jaehyun stood speechless. Was he really that bad? Well, clearly he was. He had to admit he didn’t think he was this bad. He had been really good about adapting to his new role as a boyfriend and thought everything else that came his way was just going to be easy to handle. Apparently, he hadn’t handled it all the right way.

“I didn’t realize I was this bad, I’m sorry. Wow,” Jaehyun sighed, sitting on the bed with his folded over his mouth, “sweetheart, I’m really sorry.”

But that was another way Jaehyun had adapted. He didn’t start arguments while being hard headed, he listened when the issue was serious, he accepted wrong doing, and made changes. 

You crawled across his bed, sitting beside him and laying your head on his shoulder, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have been petty. I should have told you these things bothered me in the moment instead of using them against you… but it was kinda fun.”

Jaehyun rested his head atop yours and chuckled softly, “I think I’m really glad you’re not one of the frat guys because we’d always have girls in here yelling about you gaslighting them. How did you handle me doing this for so long?”

“It helps that you listen when it matters. You’re sweet, you can be romantic, you care about me, you make an effort for me, I can tell you’re trying to be better for me even if it doesn’t all come easily for me,” you explain in a calm voice, “and you’re hot as hell, the abs don’t stop, and you keep that body nice and tight for mama, don't you baby boy?”

Your cackle rings out across his room while he jumps away from you with flushed cheeks. “Don’t… don’t talk like that. It’s totally freaking me out!”

“Come on, babe,” you tease while deepening your voice playfully, “bring me that ass.” 

You manage to grab him while he tries, and fails, to jump away. You playfully knead his (lack of) ass while grinning up at him. You pucker your lips, to which Jaehyun playfully rolls his eyes before kissing you sweetly. “I’m so glad you’re a girl because you would be an absolute terror as a guy,” he states while shaking his head and cupping your cheeks.

“I think I should rush, baby,” you respond playfully, “you could be my big, dude! Come on, bro!”

“Enough of this!” Jaehyun jokingly hisses, “I want my sweet girl back.”

“Fine,” you drawl out with pout, “let this be your lesson though, Jae. When you go low, I can go lower. And I will go lower.”

“Trust me, I’ve learned. I’ll be better at texting, I’ll be an active listener, I’ll give you advice when you need it, and I’ll never ask you if you’re on your period again,” Jaehyun nods.

“See, you’re such a great learner. Let’s go get you a treat, baby,” you smile sweetly, pressing a kiss to his cheek before taking his hand and leading him down the stairs toward the kitchen.

“I don’t know how I feel about you talking to me like I’m a dog…”

You smile at him, “you like it.”

Jaehyun raises a brow, “do I?”

You hum, grabbing the ice cream from the freezer, “yup, you have a praise kink.”

Well, if you say so…

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König of the Icks (the rage post)

This is the post where I actually got mad at König. I can't stand people like this, but I also love them. If nothing else, life's always interesting when they're around, right?

Art from This Post

König rarely laughs. When he does laugh, it's usually quiet, subtle. If you didn't know he was laughing, you'd probably think he was crying because he just shakes his shoulders and makes soft chuffing noises

It's a bit eerie

However, when König loses control of his laughter, he sounds like a whole damn pigsty

He's snorting, squealing and honking as he tilts his head back with laughter. He laughs so hard he cries

This would be cute if it weren't almost always at the expense of somebody else.

Horangi had the misfortune of hearing it when König tipped all his belongings upside down and then taped and/or glued them to the ceiling. This included Horangi's bed and sheets.

Hutch nearly threw out a computer mouse until he found a piece of tape covering the bottom.

Roze swears she heard König laughing when she found her entire locker filled to the brim with tiny rubber ducks

The rubber ducks became a huge problem with soldiers trading them like contraband and hiding them in weird places around the base

This concluded with snipers using them for firing practise and laughing when they squealed when they were shot, making it to easy to find their hiding spots

Unfortunately for Stilleto, she heard König's laugh when she walked through a line of tape over a door and got it tangled in her hair. She figured out which recruits did it and had them running laps. When they were done, one of them admitted it was Cnl. Leichenberg who set them up and she was furious

See, König loves to set other people up to do his dirty work

He'll gladly set up soldiers to piss other people off so he can watch the fireworks fly

He'll purposefully hold off on doling out a punishment if he thinks it'll be funny to watch shit go south first

He's well known on base as a through and through sadist who relishes in schadenfreude

Hell, he's the one to teach everyone what that word meant

He's the literal dictionary definition of the word

Now, the problem is that König isn't just a kinky sadist (he is, but that's a different post)

König loves to torment anyone he loves. And of course, that includes you

König won't put things on the top shelf, he'll put them on top of the cabinet so you'll have to ask for his help because not even the stool will help you reach that high

He'll doodle over any picture you have of him to 'hide his identity'

He just likes messing with you

He torments his children with wicked pranks and gaslights them terribly

When his toddler offers him a bite of their animal cracker he eats the whole thing and laughs at them

He will absolutely label three objects 1, 2, and 4 so you'll go searching for #3

He will sit on you when he gets mad at you, or when you get mad at him because, well, this is the two of you (and he will do this to you and laugh):

His worst sin was childproofing the house without your knowledge. Ever had a fully childproofed house? If you're not the one installing it, it's an ugly thing to find

He will shift furniture just a little bit to the right or left to screw with you if you finish off his breakfast meals and don't replace them immediately

König takes delight in leaving you cryptid notes (you've learned to ignore the ominous threats because they always turn out to be something completely innocuous)

König is a nightmare of a man to live with. Is it fun? Sure! Is he a menace? Absolutely. He's got a penchant for mischief, and he's used to getting away with it because he's either got the reputation of a battle-hardened colonel that demands respect when he steps into a room, or the soft-spoken gentleman that would never raise his voice against a civilian. This just means he has the perfect fallback for whenever somebody accuses him of being a miscreant. In truth, he's most likely behind it, but the true extent of how many thing's he's behind is terrifying. This man fucks with people as a hobby.

Konig Dump

Konig Headcanons

[wild-blue-wanderlust]

Some Witcher Characters’ Name Meanings

Julian “Jaskier” Alfred Pankratz

Julian means “Jove’s Child”, Jove being an alternate name for Jupiter, the King of the Gods in Roman mythology, their equivalent to the Greek Zeus. I like the mythology reference in his name considering in the Netflix series he references the Muses, Greek Goddesses of inspiration.

Julian can also mean “youthfulness”, which is fun since he doesn’t seem to age.

As pointed out by @kaiseaya — Julian is the only name still in use in Poland, as well as the most common name on here in other countries such as England or Germany, effectively making Jaskier’s Name seem more ‘normal’ in comparison to other names on the list. He’s just a guy.

Alfred means “elf counsellor” and I think this fact has destroyed me. So what if I said he was destined to become the sandpiper? What then?

Pankratz has Greek origins, from pan, meaning ‘all’, and kratein, meaning ‘to rule/to conquer’. So Pankratz therefore means “to conquer all” or “to rule everything”. It’s also said to have German origins.

Jaskier, as everyone in this fandom knows, is “buttercup”, though it was translated as Dandelion in English because “buttercup was too feminine. Buttercups symbolise friendship, joy, and youth. Dandelions represent resilience and hope, and are used to make wishes. Netflix does utilise the ‘dandelion’ name, when he’s referred to as ‘The Dandelion’ while in Radovid’s room in season 3.

Sandpipers are shorebirds that would probably be close to Jaskier’s hometown since it’s coastal. They represent safe travels, adaptability, and long journeys, which fits the role the name was made for.

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Her name should be spelled Jennifer, but was apparently translated as Yennefer to keep the polish pronunciation, rather than having the pronunciation Jennifer would have in the English language.

Jennifer is Welsh, meaning “white ghost” or “fair lady”

It’s derived from Guinevere, who was the ‘beautiful but unfaithful’ wife of King Arthur in British medieval literature/legend

She has the ‘of x’ place name rather than surname. It seems the only characters with this are orphaned characters?

Vengerberg sounds like ‘avenger’ or ‘revenge’. Berg is a common suffix in German place names (where Aedrin is supposedly based on), and it means “mountain”

In the books, her birthname was Janka, which means “god is gracious”. A nickname for Janka is Jenny (read: Yenny) which is likely what would’ve inspired Yennefer

Janka almost reminds me of the name Falka, the Redanian princess accused of being an elf who murdered her family, removed Stregobor’s hands, and was burnt at the stake. In late season 3 we see Falka teaching Ciri to use fire magic, stepping into Yennefer’s role in some ways, teaching Ciri the thing that caused Yennefer herself so many problems

Both of her lovers (Istredd and Geralt) give her a shortened nickname. Istredd calls her ‘Yenna’, Geralt calls her ‘Yen’. This paints Geralt and Istredd as both being two sides of the same coin. Geralt specifically giving a nickname is definitely a love language as, aside from Yennefer, the only other nickname he’s used is Jask for Jaskier

Her other notable nickname is ‘Piglet’, by Tissaia, a name she is referred to as for being in the pigsty when Tissaia met her, that she stops using when she feels Yennefer has earned her respect. This way of teaching, Yennefer uses on Ciri later, calling her ‘My Ugly One’

Geralt of Rivia

Geralt is apparently Germanic in origin, meaning “ruler of the spear”

I like that both him and Jaskier have something to do with ruling somewhere in their names

We know that, at least in the series canon, attributes the name to Vesemir, and is upset by (the hallucination of) his mother using it. We don’t know his birth name

He is not actually from Rivia. We do not know where he is actually from, I don’t think.

To keep up this act of being from Rivia, he picked up a Rivian accent. Rivian accents are looked down upon by other people in the Contient, specially from Aedirn and Temeria

His first choice for his name was Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde

Roger means “famous spear”, Eric means “alone, ruler”. Haute-Bellagarde is French in origins, haute meaning “high” and Bellegarde meaning “beautiful watch tower”

Therefore, Geralt’s original name, in full, would’ve meant “Lone Ruler of the Famous Spear from the High, Beautiful Watch-Tower”

Everyone say thank you Vesemir for making him not do that

Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Cirilla, Greek origin (my ‘Ciri and Jaskier are both descendants from Éile and Fjall from blood origin’ headcanon is. It’s doing things). Means “ruler”

Fiona means “white” or “fair”

Fiona is also one of the names Francesca brought up to name her and Filavandrel’s daughter.

Elen is derived from the Greek ‘Helen’, meaning “shining torch” or simply “light”. Helen, as in Helen of Sparta — the ‘face who launched a thousand ships’. The Trojan war was fought to bring her home after she was kidnapped

Riannon is welsh, meaning “great queen” or “goddess”

Calanthe also has Fiona Elen Riannon as part of her name. Pavetta has only Fiona Elen

Ciri has a relative with Riannon as a first name. Riannon had a daughter named Fiona. Those two were connected with Falka. She also has a relative named Elen

Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Caellach

Cahir is Irish, meaning “Battle man” or “warrior”

Mawr means “great” and is Welsh

His mother was named Mawr, which is presumably where he got that name. I have a few trans!Cahir headcanons from this that the world is not ready for

Dyffryn is his family name, also Welsh, meaning “valley”. They were nobles in Vicovaro, owning land named Dyffra.

Caellach is his father’s name, leading me to believe that aep means ‘of’ or ‘son of’.

Caellach is Irish. The fact that his family name is Welsh like his mother’s name, while his father’s name and first name are both Irish, lead me to beliehe that the family name (and by extension the nobility) is the mother’s, but I haven’t read the books so I don’t know for sure

Emhyr Var Emreis

Emhyr is also Welsh, and yet again means “ruler”. It has been pointed out that it’s similar to Emir (Turkish) and amir (Arabic), both of which mean “Commander in Charge”

Emreis is like Emrys, also Welsh, meaning immortal. If this isn’t a surname in the traditional sense but instead a title or epithet, perhaps Var means ‘the’, making him Emhyr The Immortal

His full name, as we learn in s3, is Emhyr Var Emreis Deithwen Addan yn Carn aep Morvudd

Deithwen being “white flame” in elder speech

Addan, according to the Witcher Wiki, is “dancer/dancing” in the Nilfgaardian language, yn is “on”, and Carn is “tomb”, and Morvudd is “enemies”. We established earlier aep is probably ‘of’

His full name, therefore, is as follows: “Emhyr (Ruler), The Immortal White Flame Dancing on the Tomb of the Enemy”

Duny, the name he used when marrying Pavetta, means “having many sand-dunes”, so I don’t know what that’s about

He called himself the Urcheon of Erlenwald — Urcheon meaning “hedgehog”, and Erlenwald being the forest where he saved Calanthe’s husband (therefore earning Pavetta)

Pavetta

Pavetta is a genus of tropical flower found in Africa and Asia. Latin. The flowers under this genus are white from what I can tell. It apparently also translates to “young leaves”

Reminds me of her colour scheme in the Netflix series, her green dress being the leaves and her light blonde hair being the white flower part

As mentioned before, Pavetta has Fiona Elen, meaning “fair, shining torch”, but she doesn’t have Riannon: great queen. This makes me sad.

Vespula

Vespula is a genus for “social wasps”, their common name being yellow jackets

She’s a wasp, Jaskier is a flower. Wasps are attracted to and pollenate flowers. They were made for each other.

It also comes from Latin ‘vulgaris’ meaning common (as in, common wasp) which is a bit less sweet? Lmao

One of the species under this genus is the cuckoo wasp, and cuckoos symbolise marriage in Greek Myth, as well as being a bird (matching Jaskier’s Sandpiper)

Wasps, in general, symbolise taking control of your life, evolution and progress. However, more general in day-to-day life, they’re seen as annoying and a less-sympathetic version of a bee.

Unlike bees, wasps do not die after stinging you,. They can, and will, sting you repeatedly. (Vespula can, and will, keep throwing Jaskier’s stuff off the balcony. In every adaptation she is a constant)

Fringilla Vigo

Fringilla is another genus. I don’t know why so many of the women have genus names but sure. This is specifically a genus of finches

Finches are quite small, and they’re part of the passerine family which are known for having feet structured specifically for perching

Vigo, aside from being a city in Spain, means “small village” or “settlement”

Philippa Eilhart

Philippa is Greek origin meaning “lover of horses”. The Greek origin specifically here is quite fun because Philipppa shapeshifts into an owl, and Athena, Goddess of Wisdom (Philippa being Redanian intelligence) is associated with owls, while her uncle and Poseidon is associated with horses. Athena also came up with the Trojan horse idea, but I find the Poseidon thing more interesting as Poseidon has a rivalry with Athena, therefore there’s a rivalry between horses and owls, but Philippa, an owl, loves them

Eilhart could be from the Germanic ‘eil’, coming from ‘agil’, meaning “weapon” and ‘hart’ being “strong”, making her “strong weapon”. Alternatively, someone on Reddit also brought up the closeness of ‘eil’ to the German word ‘eule’ which means owl, in which case her last name could mean “strong owl”. Both are fitting in my opinion.

Radovid V

Radovid is Slavic, mainly Polish or Czech, meaning “renowned counsellor”. Both him and Jaskier having ‘counsellor’ in their name means a lot to me.

Other sources say Radovid means “delight to see” — someone remarked that non-Netflix Radovid ‘delights to see others suffer’. Alternatively, it may also mean “to see glory”

Rience

Welsh, apparently derived from Rhiannon, though Rience specifically focuses on the ‘goddess’ meaning of that name, and means “a magical and enchanting goddess”, apparently, which is quite funny to me

However, there was also a Rience in Arthurian legend, the thing that Yennefer’s ‘Guinevere’ comes from. He is an enemy of King Arthur (surely, with Yennefer being the ‘unfaithful wife’ and Rience being the enemy, Arthur would be Geralt? But then who does Yen cheat on him with? The closest thing Geralt has to a Lancelot, or close companion, is probably Jaskier. Oops)

[cemeteryvalentine]

astro observations part 4 !!! ^____^

(specifically based off my family :3 pleaseee don't get offended at anything that doesn't resonate)

🗝️: one thing about a sag placement, they are gonna hang up FIRST !!! i swear, if anyone misses flip phones, it's a sag placement/dominant. i just know they miss snapping that phone shut in a petty manner LOL. my mom is a sag moon AND rising, and she'd call me and demand me to do something in such a bitchy tone and then hang up on me like girl who tf do u think u areee 😭😭😭😭 LMFAO. but honestly good for her, i love being petty like her.

like i swear i take after my mom because everytime she does that annoying hang up before i can respond thing, i call her again just to say a snarky remark, and hang up on her back!

🐇: i swear, virgo placements have no problem being the grossest people alive, but suddenly it's a problem when someone else does it :/// it's really annoying. my brother has a pigsty of a bedroom, doesn't wash his hand when he pisses unless i make him, and leaves his trash everywhere, but constantly gets on my sister for the same things 😭. like the calls coming from inside the house !!! i think basically, (some) virgos are like picky(?) with what areas they'd want clean. like they're only really comfortable with THEIR mess and no one else's.

🗝️: i love how pisces mercury communicate because it's like what the hel are u awn about 😭 in the NICEST way though :3 they're so kewl and interesting to talk to, plus they're so nice and understanding. maybe because they're water mercuries after all. speaking of, my favorite artist ever kurt cobain was a pisces mercury and it SHOWSSS. a lot of nirvana lyrics feel artistic and metaphoric, or just realllyyyy silly. liiike "angel left wing, right wing, broken wing. lack of iron and or sleeping" from milk it, one of my nirvana faves. and "i vomit C*M and DIARRHEA". like girl whatever that means !!!! (song, mexican seafood)

🐇: mars influence on the asc makes for prominent features. especially eyebrows. my brother has an aries rising and he has such a bad case of RBF. i swear he never looks happy 😭 his virgo sun and cap moon definitely don't help at all either. then im a mars rising and i have big eyebrows like my brother. like we're the only ones with big eyebrows, while our parents brows look invisible LOL. also i'm a virgo rising !! and ppl are always saying i look mad which honestly pisses me off :P so in conclusion, mars influence + virgo placements = major rbf

🗝️: i HATE to add on to the cancer hate train since i'm one myself and i loveee being one + we get soo much hate, but i feel a (unevolvled) cancer makes for the worst pick me girl ever !!!! this def doesn't apply to all cancers, but the few cancer women i know can be so mean to other women so unprovoked. especially my mom, it gives me the ick when she calls random women b*tches or makes fun of them to me for their features or success or soemthing. i used to be a pick me too up until i was like 13 (im soooo happy i grew out of that mess QUICK!). i would constantly strive for male attention, it was embarrassing 😭. ik another girl who values her shitty boyfriend over her (girl) friends and i haaate it. like ive only known a few cancer women, but a lot of them are like the meanest pick me bitch ever, or such a sweeet, caring soul :). i feel like being a pick me stems from cancers being feminine AND traditional. yk? i pray i make sense, but yk how it's traditional for girls to be perfect for her man, and value him no matter the circumstance ?? and cancer/moon being **traditional** ? yeahhh 😭

anywayzzz that's all :3 tyyy for reading !! i had sm making a new observations, considering it's been a year since my last LMFAOO. and again, if it doesn't apply, let it fly. ty bye ^__^

[jayden-killer]

Fade to black.

You can't deal with this shit anymore. Eddie tries to understand what's going on...

warnings: suicidal thoughts!!! angst angst angst, Eddie is ugly crying bc ofc he loves reader.<3 If you feel uncomfortable, I suggest you not to read. Thank you.

a/n: I wasn't 100% sure if posting this or not. This is a little self-indulgent. To all of you struggling with suicidal thoughts, depression or sadness, your feelings are valid. Ily guys.❤️

The spring season had brought joy to the town of Hawkins, as well as blossoming flowers and a cool, warm, comfortable breeze. But not everything was pink and flowers.

Eddie Munson noticed something was out of place. Initially he thought it was just a stupid feeling of his own, but as the days, months, weeks went on...this feeling became more intense. Sometimes he stayed up a little longer than usual, rolling in his bed, wondering if he had ever done anything to his girlfriend. He did not remember particular episodes where he had offended her or not giving her attention. She kept wondering if it was just an accident that he didn’t see her.

"Maybe she’s sick." he whispered in the dark of his room. He played a little with the sheets. " Or maybe she was grounded by her parents and not allowed to see me. Or phone me".

Everything sounded so strange. It had never happened before.

He breathed in, exhaled. His eyes fell on the clock. "11.44 pm" read.

He thought for a moment to get out of the camper, drive and find himself under his house. He also thought it would not be wise, because by now he already knew that he was sleeping. He knew her like the palm of his hand.

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning I will go to her house" she said, this time with a strong tone, the voice slightly louder than the previous murmur, "I will bring her that teddy bear of which she spoke so much. And flowers. She loves flowers".

He promised to do so. Then, his thoughts were put on standby, leaving room for sleep.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would understand what was going on.

Eddie swore to vomit. He swore to feel the bile going up and down in his stomach, failing to tap his anxiety.

Let her be well.

Let her be well.

Please. I’m scared. I have a bad feeling.

He did not notice that his grip around the poor plush in his hand was so strong that it strangling it. He was just very agitated. How could one rightly blame him?

Eddie had not even noticed that he had already knocked on her door more than twice and to see her beautiful face appear before his eyes.

He suddenly understood that feeling of discomfort.

"You look pale..." He immediately realized the crap that came out of his mouth. You fucking fucker.

"I mean, hey. Hey, love." The girl studied him with her squinted eyes, disguising her melancholy with a smile. Not that she wasn’t happy to see her boyfriend, rather she didn’t want to worry him.

How stupid she had been.

She shrugged, ignoring his comment. Eddie felt a cramp in his throat, then held out the flowers and gift he had in his hands.

"I thought of you. We haven’t seen much of each other these days, and your work colleagues told me that you left early one day and then the next as well." Then, he paused. "Love, what’s going on? Have you eaten? Has it something to do with your parents?"

Is it me?

"Come, come in," and invited him inside. The two went upstairs to the girl’s room, and Eddie could see that the room was not as tidy as it had been before. Sure, it wasn’t a pigsty, but there was something out of place. Just as there was something out of place in her.

Eddie sat down on the edge of her bed, wondering if he had anything to do with it again. Whether he hurt his feelings. But nothing would prepare him mentally for what he was about to hear.

"Promise me you won’t be angry," said the girl with a slight tone, and Eddie swore he could see her eyes almost getting read.

Oh no.

He called her by her name. "What’s the matter?" He let their hands hold each other. Like a bucket of cold water, his girlfriend confessed everything. Eddie felt his world fall.

She confessed how she felt she was out of place in every damn thing she did, how she felt invisible to her friends, how her life in general was falling apart. There were times when the suicidal thoughts that had tormented her partly in her adolescence, when she was still a little girl, came back to the surface. You could say a kid.

How these thoughts did not let her breathe, drowning her in a sea made of ink that was not easily washed away. It was dirty, and black, and that feeling stained you from head to toe. How nothing made sense sometimes and maybe...

Eddie Munson cried before he knew it. He let tears wet his cheeks, wet the shirt of his beloved girl, his reason for living.

"How could I not have noticed it earlier?". He sobbed in the woman’s chest. Holding her and reassuring her was one of his first concerns. The second was to ask her if she had ever approached a psychological solution. And she denied it, saying that she was too afraid to do so.

"Do not blame yourself, my love." He took her cheeks with a tender gesture, almost as if he was holding a porcelain doll in her hand, "You are aware of wanting a psychologist by your side. This is already a great act of courage."

The girl had never heard anything like that in her life. Those words rang out in her mind like an echo, like a wake-up call.

"I...really, really want to do it, Eddie," he said, looking away momentarily at the leaves moving out of the window, "I’m just so scared. Fear that there might be something even more wrong with me".

"Hey". Eddie called her to himself, smiling. "I know. You’re scared and that’s normal, but what did I just say? That it is a great act of courage this your awareness".

He saw her smile faintly and Eddie smiled back, his lips trembling slightly. "But we can do it together."

He called her by name again. "I won’t let you face something like that alone. Do you understand?"

Eddie’s words echoed in her head again. How could such an open-minded and good-hearted boy be the scapegoat of the city of Hawkins? She had not yet understood it.

The two exchanged a look of understanding and then the girl nodded, almost convinced that it would be able to overcome this situation definitively.

Once and for all.

"I got it," she muttered, now smiling genuinely. Eddie felt his heart make a somersault. He loved the glow of her face when she smiled. It made her angelic.

"I’m glad you decided to tell me about it. That means you trust me. And I couldn’t be happier with this".

"How could I not? You have made these last months a real heaven".

Eddie rolled his eyes, now smirking at her confession. "Go easy, love. I might get my head up."

The girlfriend let slip a genuine laugh, a true one. "As if it were not already so..."

"Modestly, I should be given a prize. First place to Eddie Munson" He gestured with his hands, imagining holding a gold cup engraved: "Best boyfriend in the world, year 1988".

"Eddie!" She laughed more.

"I’m honest! And you know it!"

Maybe it was worth living after all.

[shuaasumii]

“Bribed”

pairing: dad!jeonghan x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none!

summary: jeonghan needs to find a way to clean the house before you get home. he decides that using his twins to help him out would be a good idea.

a/n: pictures above are from pinterest!

jeonghan had a matter of minutes before you got home from your girls trip, yet the house still looked like an absolute pigsty. he knew that if you were able to see the quality of the house right now then you would definitely go insane.

when you were home, the house was usually spick and span. and if it wasn’t then you always went out of your way to make sure it was. you occasionally told your husband that the way your house looked always had an effect on your reputation. he never took it to heart until now. jeonghan never realized how much he needed you around to keep his daily life going; he was grateful that he had you as his forever life partner. but he could be grateful later when you got home; what he really needed to worry about was how he was going to get this mess cleaned up.

maybe he could tell the twins to help… but they never helped unless they got a reward in return. jeonghan cursed at himself for rubbing his personality off on his kids. but then an idea popped into his mind.

you and jeonghan had this thing where you guys always told your twins that they had a “mission” to complete if you two wanted them to get something done, and it tricked their three year old brains everytime!

he walked up to the playpen where both the children were occupied with their toys and called out to them in a sing-song voice,

“yejun! yeseul!” in sync, they both looked up with a curious expression.

“i have a mission for you two!”

“a mission?” yeseul, the older twin questioned.

“yes a mission! the mission you have to complete to win a cookie each from the cookie jar is to pick up all your toys from around the house and put them in their homes! can you guys do that?” the three year olds sat for a second, both thinking about the offer while jeonghan eagerly waited for an answer.

“i think we can, right yeseul?” the younger twin asked his noona.

“yes i think so.” jeonghan let out a breath of relief that he didn’t know he was holding.

“okay i’ll set a timer for 25 minutes. if you clean up your toys within the 25 minutes, then you will win your prize. got it?” the pair nodded before standing up to prepare themselves as if they were about to run a race.

“3, 2, 1, go!” jeonghan exclaimed.

the two raced out of their playpen and scrambled around looking for any toys that were out of their designated location. jeonghan watched in satisfaction before heading off to go clean something other than toys. while yejun and yeseul gathered their items, jeonghan worked on doing the dishes, laundry, and picking up any stray objects lying around the house.

tring tring

the sound of the noisy alarm pierced through the yoon residence. the twins came down from the stairs, yeseul following after yejun running towards their father.

“we finished!” the three year old boy exclaimed.

“awww i’m so proud of you kiddos. since you achieved your mission, you guys deserve a treat.”

jeonghan pulled out the clear, hefty jar from the highest cabinet in the kitchen and retrieved three of your famous confetti cake cookie.

“one for yeseul, one for yejun, and one for daddy.”

jeonghan watched his kids take a bite of their treats before taking a bite of his own. he closed his eyes for a second savoring the sweet taste of the cookie; he never understood how you could make something taste so good, but at the same time you were his wife so you could do anything in his eyes. a jingle of keys and the sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts.

“hannie! yeseul! yejun! i’m home!” you declared.

“mommy!!” the twins yelled rushing into your open arms.

“hi my sweet babies! did you miss me? cause’ i definitely missed you” you said kissing both of their foreheads.

“yes mommy i missed you so much” yejun then continued to ramble about something else that he had done while you were away. you tried to stay focused on your son, but got distracted by how surprisingly tidy the house was. you knew that there was no way your husband could have kept your home like this the entire five days you were on vacation. jeonghan must have bribed them with the cookies they held in their small hands to help him clean the house.

“mommy i want to show you my drawing that i made” yejun said, snatching you out of your trance.

“oooh me to mommy!” yeseul cheered excitedly.

“alright mommy will come see your drawings in a sec. why don’t you go upstairs and get them ready for me to see and i’ll meet you up there in a bit!” the duo nodded at your suggestion and raced upstairs to find their precious pieces of art. you then turned to face your husband who had a cheeky smile spread upon his face. jeonghan swept you into a warm, longing hug which showed you that he definitely missed you.

“you bribed them with my cookies didn’t you?” you asked with an interrogator type of tone. he slightly pulled out of the hug with an offended gasp.

“not even a ‘hi babe i missed you’ or a ‘thank you for taking care of the house and twins’?” jeonghan looked at you appalled by your accusation.

“okay fine. hi babe i missed you and thank you for taking care of our home and children.” you expressed.

“well i missed you too baby and you are so welcome” your husband replied giving you a soft peck on the lips. you weren’t going to let him distract you from your question though.

“but seriously hannie, you told yejun and yeseul to help you clean didn’t you”

“i know you could never clean up like this by yourself” you raised your brow at him.

“i don’t know what your talking about baby” jeonghan said trying to act nonchalant. you gave him one of those stares which you knew could easily give you the answer to your suspicion. your husband avoided your stern gaze before replying,

“okay fine, i admit that the twins and cookies had something to do with it.”

“aha! i knew it” you said victoriously pointing a finger at him. the man playfully rolled his eyes.

“yeah yeah whatever. now go see the twins’ drawings; they worked really hard on them.”

“hmm okay” you replied running off to the stairs after leaving a sweet kiss on jeonghan’s soft lips.

[ghosty-zero]

Sonadow one shot number #3: The Art of Self Anointing

Shadow stepped into Sonic's house for the first time and immediately wanted to turn around and leave. He was a perfectionist when it came to cleaning, but the sight before him was a chaotic mess. "How do you even find anything in here?" he grumbled under his breath, glancing around at the piles of tech manuals and video game cartridges scattered across the floor, sidestepping a pile of dirty laundry.

Sonic seemed unfazed by the disarray, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he dashed to the kitchen. "Want a chili dog?" he called over his shoulder.

"You invite me over to this...this...," Shadow searched for the right word, his gloved hands balling into fists at his sides. "Pigsty? Just to eat a disgusting combination of meat and bread?"

Sonic gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "My house isn't that bad!" He glanced around, his eyes darting over the mess as if seeing it for the first time. "Besides, a little bit of chaos keeps things interesting, right?"

"I can't believe...how do you even function?" Shadow murmured, shaking his head as he followed Sonic into the kitchen. The counters were littered with half-eaten snacks and half-finished projects, a few pizza boxes and a couple of forgotten cans of soda adding to the chaos.

"I must be a miracle."

"Must be." Shadow grumbled.

He knew he should have declined when Sonic invited him over, but he really had nothing better to do with his time. If Rouge hadn't been busy with another heist and Omega wasn't stuck in maintenance mode, maybe he wouldn't have found himself in this predicament. Sonic had seemed pressed for company anyway, what with Blaze and Amy on a shopping trip, Tails tinkering in his lonesome, and Knuckles... well, doing Knuckles things. So, the two hedgehogs were the only company available.

But looking around at the mess, Shadow felt a strong sense of discomfort, like a knot tightening in his stomach. The clutter was greatly different from his own meticulously organized space, where everything had its place and his mind could work without distraction. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the smell of stale food and the occasional whiff of something that might have once been a forgotten science experiment.

Sonic, after making his beloved chili dog into a masterpiece of culinary disaster, turned to face Shadow with a proud smile. "Ta-da!" He exclaimed, holding up the greasy plate.

Shadow stared at it. "You actually eat this?"

"Every day, baby! Try a bite," Sonic said, holding out the chili dog. "You know you want to."

"I'd rather not clog my arteries with that," Shadow said flatly, eyeing the chili dog.

"Oh, and plain black coffee beans are so much healthier than this," Sonic quipped.

"In a way, it is," Shadow said, eyeing the chili dog with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. He had seen Sonic's diet before and was surprised the blue hedgehog had the energy to outrun a bullet train. "But I need to keep my reflexes sharp. Can't be slowed down by...whatever that is."

"A hot dog smothered in chili isn't going to slow me down!" Sonic exclaimed, taking a massive bite, his cheeks bulging with the food. He chewed with a grin, watching Shadow with a twinkle in his eye, daring him to try it.

Shadow wrinkled his nose in disgust before turning with a huff, snatching dirty plates and garbage off the counter. "If I am to be in this house, it needs to be clean. At least for my own sanity."

"It's not that bad. Besides, it's lived-in," Sonic said with his mouth full, waving the half-eaten chili dog. He took another bite, watching as Shadow began to methodically clear the kitchen. The clank of pans and the scraping of plates filled the air as the brooding hedgehog worked, his movements precise and efficient. He didn't ask Sonic where things went, he didn't ask him for help, nor did he complain—he just did it. Without even asking Sonic to move, Shadow had the kitchen clean in a matter of minutes.

"Dang...oh, that's where that went," Sonic mumbled, peering under a pile of newspapers to find his favorite mug.

Shadow moved onto the living room, his eyes scanning the chaos before him. The couch was buried under a mountain of cushions and blankets, a show of Sonic's love for naps and marathon video game sessions. The coffee table was a minefield of empty soda cans and game controllers, and the TV screen was smudged with fingerprints. "You're going to regret inviting me over," he muttered, grabbing a trash bag and starting to pick up.

Sonic just watched, almost too afraid to try and help, lest he mess up Shadow's rhythm. He'd seen the dark hedgehog's cleaning spree before, and it was nothing short of a whirlwind. "You know, you can sit and relax," Sonic offered, his mouth still full of chili dog. "This is a place for kicking back, not for...this." He gestured vaguely at the cleaning frenzy.

"I can tell. You don't own cleaning supplies," Shadow said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He looked around the kitchen for a broom or mop, his gaze landing on a dusty corner where a forgotten duster lay. "But I guess we can make do," he murmured, picking it up and giving it a disgusted look.

With a sigh, Sonic swallowed the last of his chili dog and took his plate to the sink. "You know, it's not that bad," he said again, trying to sound nonchalant as he rinsed it off. "It's just...comfortable."

"Stop defending this mess," Shadow said, his voice low but firm as he tackled the living room. He tossed a handful of crumpled-up papers into the trash bag. "A clean environment is conducive to clear thinking. And I can't think clearly when everything's a mess."

"Yeesh, sorry." Sonic said with a dramatic eye-roll, setting the plate aside to help with the cleaning. He picked up a random game controller, inspecting it for dust before setting it on the newly cleared coffee table with a clatter.

Shadow shot him a glare. "That goes there," he pointed to a shelf now apparently designated for electronics. Sonic shrugged and tossed it in the right direction, watching as it barely missed knocking over a pile of VHS tapes.

"Best you step aside, speed demon," Shadow said, his eyes on the dust bunny that had the audacity to scurry across the floor. He took a step towards it, his movements deliberate. The dust bunny froze, seemingly aware of the predator in its midst, before darting under the couch. Sonic chuckled, watching Shadow's intense focus.

"Alright, I'll...leave ya to it. I guess I should go shopping for some cleaning stuff, huh?" Sonic chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.

Shadow ignored him, apparently now trying to snatch the dust bunny from under the couch with a surprising amount of determination. Sonic took it as a sign that he wasn't needed anymore, so he slipped out of the house to grab some supplies.

Finally alone, Shadow let out a deep sigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he surveyed the remaining mess. He began to pick up the cushions from the floor, his eyes scanning for any signs of life, like a ninja on a reconnaissance mission. The couch looked surprisingly clean under the layer of clutter, and he couldn't help but wonder if Sonic ever actually sat on it. He tossed the last cushion onto the now-bare sofa and took a moment to appreciate the order he had created amidst the chaos.

He sat down on the couch with a sigh, deciding that the dust bunny could wait. The fabric was surprisingly plush, and he found himself sinking into it, his muscles loosening. It was fairly cleaner now, at least more so than before he started. He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the bookshelf, where books were stacked haphazardly, some with their spines cracked and pages sticking out.

For some reason, it made him itchy seeing them so disorganized. He couldn't help himself; he had to fix it. Shadow stood up from the couch, dusting off his gloves, and approached the bookshelf with purpose. Each book was handled with care, straightening out the pages, aligning the spines, and placing them back in their rightful spot. He paused at a title that caught his eye—a book on ancient civilizations. He pulled it out, flipping through the pages. It was surprising to find something so...intellectual in this mess.

He placed all the books in a line according to their size, the largest to the smallest. Maybe it was his compulsive need for order, but seeing them neat and tidy gave him a strange sense of satisfaction. He no longer felt that itchy feeling of chaos all around him, which was a solid start.

With Sonic no longer present, Shadow decided to roam around the rest of the house. The hallway was lined with framed photos of Sonic and his friends, each capturing a moment of victory or shared laughter. Shadow didn't see himself in any of them, which was perfectly fine by him. He didn't do well with sentimentality. Or smiling in photos.

When he entered Sonic's bedroom, he was actually surprised to see that it was somewhat organized. The bed was made, with a few pillows neatly arranged at the headboard, and the clothes were folded into a neat pile at the foot of the bed. The only anomaly was a single, crumpled sock dangling from the bedpost. Shadow picked it up with the tip of his finger and raised an eyebrow. He tossed it into the laundry basket in the corner of the room.

"What a pig." Shadow mumbled, poking the tip of his shoe at a pile of either clothes or blankets in the corner of Sonic's bedroom.

There wasn't much for him to actively clean in Sonic's room, so he sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the bounce of the springs beneath him. It was surprisingly comfortable. He glanced over to the nightstand, where a photo of a young Sonic with a stern-looking owl caught his attention. He picked it up, staring at it for a second before setting it back down. He wasn't overly interested in the blue hedgehog's past, but it was a rare glimpse into his personal life—something that was usually as fast-paced and fleeting as Sonic himself.

He poked at the clothes folded at the foot of the bed, looking around for something to do. He could start cleaning again, but there was a smell that caught his attention, coming from the folded clothes. It wasn't a bad smell in any way; it was faintly sweet, and smelled strongly of Sonic.

Sonic's scent was faint but unmistakable. A combination of the outdoors, a hint of sweat from their many battles, and a faint trace of the soap he used in the shower. Shadow's curiosity was piqued, and he found himself holding a sweater to his nose, inhaling deeply. He frowned, unsure why he was so drawn to the scent. It was...comforting, in a weird way.

He began to purr, a gentle motor-like rumble in his chest. It was a hedgehog habit he hadn't realized he'd somehow mastered, a sign of his comfort. The sweater was soft between his gloved fingers, and he found himself stroking the fabric absently, the sound of his purr growing louder. It was a red sweater, faded and worn, but it was clear that Sonic had cherished it. It was brand new, aside from the scent that clung to it.

Without really realizing it, Shadow rubbed his quills against the sweater's fabric, enjoying the feeling of the soft material against his spikes. The smell was comforting, and he wanted, for some reason, to take the scent with him. He rubbed it against his cheek, feeling the warmth it held. It was a strange sensation for someone who had spent his entire life being cold and detached from others.

Quietly, with his arms full of cleaning equipment, Sonic watched from the doorway of his room. He smiled, slowly backing up so he wouldn't disturb Shadow. It was a rare sight to see his usually stoic and solitary friend looking so content—or at least, as content as Shadow ever did. He knew the black hedgehog wasn't one for messes, but to see him actively seeking out comfort in the scent of a worn-out sweater was something new.

"I should wear that sweater more often." Sonic muttered to himself as he tip-toed back down the hallway.

[johnssilverhammer]

~ Continuation of Obsessive!John x fem!reader ~

(This don’t count as #3)

Suddenly you felt a hand grab our arm, you spun around in confusion to come face to face with John. He was a little flushed looking and made intense eye contact for a good 5 seconds when he broke the silence. “Im sorry for not answering, honestly. I’m so so sorry, y/n.” He said the words with such a sincerity that didn’t seem appropriate for the situation, I mean why was he apologizing like his life depended on it? You stammered out “Oh, well- hah. You’re fine John, there’s no need to be so sorry. I forgive you.” You tried not to seem freaked out and thankfully John was still staring, not noticing your tone. “That’s a relief, thank you for forgiving me, I won’t ignore you again I swear!” John smiled sheepishly and turned the arm holding to a handshake. You shook his hand and smiled back at him.

Just seeing you smiling back at him was like fireworks, he couldn’t get enough of it. “I better get going now, for real. Bye now Johnny!” You took your hand away and waved as you walked out the door. John felt like he was just ripped from heaven in that moment. As soon as you were out of site his heart felt vacant. He strolled back to the boys who were talking about something. John pressed his ear against the door and heard his name, he strained his ears to try and hear them better. “Lads, did anybody else notice how John was acting just then, when he ran after y/n and nearly scared the poor thing half to death?” He heard Ringo start. “Yea, it was pretty creepy if you ask me..I mean no offense y’know.” Paul added. No words could explain how pissed John was in that moment hearing his friends talk badly about him. ‘Creepy? As if..’ John thought as he walked in on George as he started saying something.

When John barged in their voices became hushed and then turned into silence. John walked over to his seat and picked back up his guitar he left lying when he ran to you, slightly side eyeing the boys. His face noid of expression. “Uhmm, shall we pick back up where we left off on boys?” Paul broke the silence. His attempt to cut through the tension filling the air. “Sure. Fine by me.” John shortly answered louder than he anticipated. Intimidating the rest of them. George and Ringo shared nervous glances between themselves.

*later that evening after practice hurray*

The rest of the practice went fairly well besides how quiet it was, other than the music of course, without John’s jokes, the laughter that ensued, the banter, and lively chatter. It was too awkward for anyone to really talk about something random when John heard the boys calling him creepy. Not to mention George getting his opinion interrupted by John walking in on them. John walked with his hands in his pockets, thinking of you still. He would hate to admit it out loud but you have taken his heart and is always on his mind. He was wandering down the street when he came across a little quaint pub. The smell of alcohol and tobacco was so alluring he just had to stop by.

The place wasn’t very nice but it wasn’t a pigsty exactly either. Not exactly his type of place but he’s gonna take what he can get at this point. John sat on the wobbly barstool taking it all in, his environment, the practice earlier, and his last interaction with you. How he missed it. He called over the bartender and ordered a Brandy Alexander, his go to drink. And maybe a shot or two..or four. The warm feeling of the drink entering his system reminded him of you in a cynical way. As he drowned himself in liquor, you were flooding his mind with every sip. The rest of the world seemed to slip away and was just him, the drinks, and his thoughts. To him what seemed like a good 30 minuets was actually 2 hours that slipped by. I guess when you’re daydreaming you really don’t keep track of time or how many you’ve downed. By the time he noticed most of the people gone or blacked out he took it upon himself to get out of there.

(Quick a/n sorry but why am I actually cooking? Hold up. Oh also I can’t for the life of me write drunk people so don’t cook me for how I write John speaking 😭)

The streetlight flicker as he made each sloppy step towards his house. Or what he thought was his house.

You are awoken to the sound of something down stairs, go groggily get up to go check whatever it is. You see a horrifying sight, a random figure trying to open your door. You try to get a better look at the person until you hear. “Ssstupid bloody thingg! Open on up door! LLet Johnny in -his house now!!” You recognize the voice as John, drunk obviously. Relief sets in. You open the door and he nearly falls on you, as he was putting all his weight onto the door trying to push it. “John! What are you doing here??” You whisper yell at the wobbly man. “Ttrying- to get home! But- wait.. why are you in my housee??” He says a little too loud for your liking, flailing his arms around trying to further prove his point. You ignore his fighting that he was in his home as you usher him to the couch. “Heyy! Put me in me- own bed!” He sluggishly said as he sat down on the plush couch. “Hush Johnny, calm down! It’s too late be be this loud..” You say as you try to call him down. You hear a sound of defeat. You turn around and head twoard the bathroom to get him a trash can so your carpenters don’t get ruined from vomit, hearing him speaking to himself slurring his words too much to hear. You make your way back to the living room and see him passed out.

*a day or two after*

Ever since John came bursting down your door that one night you’ve been noticing things missing or just in different places. You live alone so no one else could have moved the items but you. You start thinking you’ve gone crazy trying to keep track of everything incase it goes missing. Meanwhile your questioning of sanity, John has been having an active night-life. As he calls it. He comes to practices late saying that his alarm clock didn’t go off or he didn’t get much sleep the night before. All these excuses make Paul very curious as to what his friend is up to at night.

One night Paul decides to keep a close eye on Lennon after a practice to see, really what his plans are after hours. This day, John immediately went home after practice and stayed there till dark. Then Paul watched carefully from a patch of thick brush as John, dressed in all black, made his way toward your house. Paul couldn’t belief his eyes when as he watched John peered through your windows and climbed in. He was appalled at the sight of it.

(Another cliffhanger Ik buttttt I’m gonna write a George one like litteraly right after I post this so hurray) (uhh mb for the yappachino hahaha)

[nymphofthefountain]

Again and again, even though we know love's landscape [Chapter I]

Chapter I: If your eyes looked up and met mine one more time

Levi Ackerman/ Reader | Reincarnation!AU| 6.5k words

Masterlist | AO3 | Next Chapter

CHAPTER SUMMARY Levi people-watches every day after work. He perches himself in any downtown restaurant with outside tables and searches for your face on the streets.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

This was written for LeviWeek24’s day one (Prompt is “Happy Birthday Levi”). It was originally supposed to be a one shot, but it got out of control. So out of control that this ended up being a 6-chapter fic. I didn’t even get to write the fics I had outlined for the other days — they might become extremely late entries, depending on how hard the new year hits me. Anyway, this is a Reincarnation!AU that alternates between the reencounter of Levi and the reader (written in present tense) and the birthdays Levi spent with the reader on their first life (written in past tense). Hope you enjoy it!As always, all comments (thoughtful analysis, keysmashes, concrit, emojis) are welcomed <3

Levi remembered on his seventh birthday.

It had already been a shitty day.

It had snowed the night before —nothing but sleet; enough to coat the entire neighborhood with a slimy brown mock. That morning, when Levi peered through the window, all he could see were trails of mud. Kenny brought it inside when he arrived that afternoon. His boots splattered dirt all over the hallway, and Levi had to follow his steps with a wet rag —Kenny called him a pathetic rat, the smoke of his last cigarette still trapped in his throat.

So, by the time he was waiting in the decorated living room for the party guests to arrive, the prospect of having the nasty neighboring brats come to make a pigsty of his mom’s new house was appalling.

No one came. No child wanted to spend Yule at the birthday party of the poor, grumpy, fucking creepy kid. His mom waited half an hour before she became all sorrowful caresses and pity smiles. They just don’t know you yet, my beautiful boy , she said. Kenny laughed in that rough way of his, extending his large legs on the couch. A giant in a doll’s house.

“Don’t listen to him, my baby. We can always celebrate, just us three.”

Levi stood in front of the homemade cake —white frosting, “ Happy Birthday Levi!” swirled in green, artful cursive. His name was slightly raised: Kenny had passed his finger across the top of the cake to taste the icing, and his mom had to redo it.

The early sunsets of winter had darkened the room; the single candle in front of him cast reddish hues on the faces of his family. He blew the flame. And through the thin line of smoke, the paper serpentines and balloons his mom had hung from the ceiling formed some sort of monstrous eye.

He felt them first, the time-worn sensations of a life ago.

The weight of the metal trigger on his palm. The inexorable void in his insides —that heartbeat before the cables pull forward. The constant burn of the wind. The stinging safety of the leather digging into the arch of his feet. The deep pain: his leg, his fingers, his face. The memories were engraved in his trusted flesh, in those genetically soldierly bones and muscles and sinew and blood.

Next, it was the anger. The shame. The separation like his beating heart ripped off his chest. The all-encompassing despair that rose like hot air from a scorched earth.

Levi knows he must have screamed, then. Some fervid wails that tore down his throat as he clawed at his face. That’s what his mother told him between sobs the next morning, when he woke up tied to a hospital bed with every sedative known to man shoved up his arm.

He felt the visceral awareness of your loss before he could understand anything else.

Levi people-watches every day after work. He perches himself in any downtown restaurant with outside tables and searches for your face on the streets.

Sometimes, he glimpses a feature that tricks him just enough to let hope gather in his gut. A certain slope of the jaw. A similar mouth. Gentle eyes. And, for an instant, the force of habit makes it cherished, familiar. But then, he sees those faces again and they’re nothing more than strangers.

He stays until the servers stop asking him if he’s going to order more tea. Then, he takes his backpack, filled with finger paintings, a pharmacy’s worth of alcohol wipes, and the sporadically forgotten teddy bear, and returns to his apartment amidst imaginings of your new life.

He wonders if you are properly covering yourself from the raw winds of late autumn, if you are happy at your job —he would let you complain about your shitty boss at night, fingertips following the outline of your neck. Then, he cooks dinner. Some quick, easy meal, much more nutritious and appealing than any of the shit from back then.

On the nights when the phantom pain in his leg, in his eyes, in his fingers, doesn’t let him sleep, Levi makes lists of all the details of your body that this new existence might have changed. A softer face, less weathered by the filth and the blood and the suffering. Smooth hands: no scars left by Kenny’s ruthless training; no need for the calluses accumulated during two decades of trusting maneuver machines with your very survival; no wars for the recoil of a rifle to form blisters. The kinder body of a kinder life.

He would recognize you, either way, if he saw you on one of his scouting evenings buying winter boots or eating pastries in a downtown bakery or coming out of a movie theater on a miraculous Thursday.

Levi was seventeen when he decided to search for you. His mother had just died.

Again, too young. Her hair was still pitch-black. Levi liked to brush it for her at night; as the bristles ran through her hair, it seemed to shine with an iridescent glow akin to oil in water. He never got the chance to notice it in his first life.

Again, devoured by illness. She hadn’t agreed to shave her head —the drugs were buying her mere months, anyway. So, at the very end, when Levi brushed her hair, he pulled out heaps of black strands. She had bald spots on her head; Levi never told her.

So, newly burdened with grief and custody, Kenny took Levi with him on some sort of bonding trip.

They ended up in some decrepit cabin in the middle of Rose’s woods with cobwebs in every corner and dust on every cobweb. His uncle taught him once again to wield a knife. He took him fishing and forced him to drink a bottle of whisky just to make sure Levi knew how to hold his alcohol.

On the last day, Kenny sat him on a rotting bench in the backyard while lighting up one of his cheap cigarettes.

The dark smoke stung Levi’s eyes. It permeated his clothes. It made him think of the scent of burnt flesh rising above a flattened earth. He was about to go back inside when Kenny started speaking.

“You know you are not crazy, right kid?” He told him.

Levi immediately understood what his uncle meant. The memories were perpetually pulsating in his head.

His mom hadn’t remembered. At home, she used to smile at Levi’s comments about the stale air of the Underground as if he was describing an imaginary friend. Then, she sat him in front of a long line of pediatrists, reciting all the states of brokenness that a child with a somewhat ordinary home life shouldn’t display. Little Levi had violent nightmares about fields, towns, nations of mangled, bloated corpses. Little Levi got startled so easily and clenched his fist and went for the throat. Little Levi was so withdrawn, so quiet —but he was so gentle, so helpful.

“What the fuck, Kenny?” He all but snarled.

Only when Levi kept the memories secret had the onslaught of child psychologists and their shitty dissections of his drawings stopped. But his body made the past so fucking difficult to stifle. The weight of your head on his chest, your callused fingers caressing his thumb, the warm presence beside him on the bed, they felt as real as the delicate hands of his mother lulling him to sleep.

Levi had been so fucking lonely all of his childhood: his mother’s worry, Kenny’s cruel sneer, your absence.

“In that pitiful birthday party Kuchel threw for you, you didn’t go nuts. You remembered.” Kenny was vehement, even if he tried to hide the wide eyes behind drags of his cigarette. 

And there was relief in the confirmation that someone else shared the fucked-up loneliness of it all. Because it was real; he could find you now. The grief corralled in the corner of his ribcage would stop pushing in.

“Did you-” Levi asked the only question he could bring himself to think about. “Have you found someone? From back then?”

Kenny laughed with that bitter cruelty of his. He slapped Levi on the back. Hard. So hard that Levi gasped, and the fumes of cheap tobacco stuck to his mouth.

“Us Ackermans, we remember. We awaken to it like we used to back then.” He paused. It was a glimpse, but Levi managed to catch the sad gaze. “But the others…”

Levi understood the despondency and then tucked it into the innermost part of his chest. Deep enough that, two decades after first recalling you, it only comes out in those long early mornings when he hasn’t slept and he finds himself alone in his bed.

For today’s search, he sits at a cafe. It’s new, filled with the rustic signs and nonsensical beverage names that presage overpricing.

It’s already late and dark. He stayed in school two hours after class, letting one of the kids paint his face. Late Yule shopping, the mother explained between giggles when she finally appeared, as if her little girl hadn’t sobbed to death at pickup time.

He parses the streets. Multitudes appear and disappear from his sight, all carrying armfuls of shopping bags —toys and trinkets and candy and all those things of opulence Levi and you never had in your previous childhood.

It’s Yule’s eve and Levi has no reason to leave Mitras. Kenny has performed his routine disappearance; he will turn up in five or six months, lungs even more rotten, just to stink up Levi’s couch for a week.

Tomorrow, he’ll spend his birthday roaming around the boulevards. He’ll brave the frozen, empty streets, and maybe he’ll find you staring at one of the holiday vitrines with their wooden automatons and cotton snow.

Brats running on the sidewalk point at him and laugh. Their parents are mouthing their apologies and half-heartedly scolding them when the waitress arrives.

“Buying the gifts for the kids?” She asks while staring at his left cheek.

Levi lets her believe whatever she wants and orders a tea blend. He keeps the tradition of a lifetime ago and takes it plain.

Two girls are returning from the Yule Market. They reek of mulled wine. They are stubbornly holding hands as they stumble through the sidewalk, choking with giggles. One girl stops solely to kiss the other on the lips; they both grow dopey grins. It’s their first date; Levi recognizes it in the averting gazes.

Levi did the same back then. When he was a teenager, he absorbed every movement you made; he chased you with his gaze and, just when you noticed, he glanced away.

The waitress is all smiles when she returns with his tea. She has a little boy, she says, and he adores this one expensive pastry prepared with chocolate handcrafted in some pretentious atelier in Orvud. Levi says he’ll buy it before realizing that tomorrow he won’t see any kids whose shitty parents forgot to pack them lunch.

The tea is mediocre. A slight bitterness accumulating on his palate reminds him most baristas don’t know how to brew for shit. In the cold air, the steam seems whiter, denser. It rises and disappears in front of the twinkling lights.

He examines another wave of unknown faces. Nothing. Once in a while, a car drives down the street. Headlights drag across the buildings’ facades in one sweep of light.

The cafe is playing some new Yule songs. They haven’t changed much from his first life. The same empty verses about snow, love, and gifts repackaged in a pop melody. Levi doesn’t think you’d like it, but he knows you’d sway at the music, anyway.

His phone vibrates; he knows someone has just called him unhinged somewhere on the internet. Occasionally, after correcting his little students’ attempts at capital consonants, Levi posts about the Paradis of before. He writes about the Underground and the Walls and the Survey Corps and the Fall of Maria and, when he’s bitter and tired and discouraged, he writes about the Rumbling. It is as useless as waiting to see you walking on the sidewalk. Still, he checks the notification.

The waitress returns just to tell him she’s put apart the pastries for him. Levi orders another tea.

When she brings it, she asks how old his child is.

The apron sharply folded in his backpack has borne the grunt of fifteen grubby pairs of tiny hands. They tend to pull at it when they want his attention. It’s smudged with face paint —blue and yellow and red and green— because Levi hasn’t successfully taught them how to clean their hands.

“Five,” he says.

In the Underground, Levi and you were already pickpocketing at that age.

“They are such little monsters then, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

You would like the kids; you would like their silly stories and their passion for gifting Levi the coolest rocks they find during recess.

Levi returns his attention to the multitudes on the street. A group of children that certainly shouldn’t be out so late surround a King Fritz impersonator —glued white beard, a shiny plastic crown, and a faux-fur lined tunic with the department store logo printed on the cape. He’s giving out candy. A couple navigates the little congregation. He promises her that the fireworks will start at midnight. Someone has dressed their dog in a tiny winter jacket; the poor animal is quivering, nonetheless.

Then, Levi sees you.

Woolen hat, woven scarf. The most familiar of faces.

His body reacts by instinct. A pulling in his ribcage. Levi stands up. Quick. So quick, he almost topples the table. He has half a mind to stop it from falling over. But you are across the street, merging into the multitude. The teacup smashes against the ground.

The piercing noise of ceramic breaking is always so jarring; then, there’s the tinkling of the sharp pieces scattering. He walks over them. A shard lodges in his boot’s sole. It crunches with every step.

The waitress calls for him. He left his backpack.

He’s already navigating through the crowd. Children and women and men sipping hot chocolate and eating roasted chestnuts and holding enough presents for a lifetime. Levi brushes someone’s shoulder. Hard and fast. They might have dropped their paper bags. There’s crinkling and yells. But he can see you right in front of him. Just a street away.

Levi calls your name, and you turn. He finds relief in looking into your eyes again. Tenderness swells and swallows whole the grief in his chest. And, even if it disappears in an instant, Levi sees it in your eyes —a quick glint of recognition.

The shard continues to dig into his boot as he makes his way across the road.

He does not see the car.

A woman screams when the car hits him. But Levi’s body remembers, even if he’s not a soldier anymore. Reaction by instinct: he lurches forward, he braces.

The car barely grazes him. There’s no blood. The meager impact only makes his shoulder pop. A quick, violent pain; the nausea that rises and the habit that makes him swallow it immediately. It was common back then: a miscalculation of his own strength, a gear malfunction that hurled him towards a tree, an overhasty movement to prevent a comrade’s death.

His head is resting against the cool metal of the bumper. Melted snow is seeping through his jeans. The crowd flocks around him. Bodies squeeze until they form one solid wall. Headlights seem to bounce on the pavement and cover everything in a blinding white light. The same screaming woman keeps sobbing somewhere in the mass of people.

Levi cannot see you anymore.

He tries to stand up. A man holds him down. Someone has already called an ambulance, he says. Levi shouldn’t stand up yet, he says as his disgustingly hot hands, greasy from the sausages he was eating, press on Levi’s shoulders —furious throbbing, like a heart in his fucking arm. The idiot doesn’t notice where Levi’s only injury is.

Levi grabs the guy’s wrist. He squeezes with more force than he should have, but Levi knows it’s not enough for it to break. Greasy hands release their grip. Levi pushes up and through as the man recoils —one step back, hand over his wrist, dumbfounded.

Levi mutters, “Fuck off. My shoulder.” He does not stay to see if the guy understands.

You had been a couple of steps away. Two, maybe three. He had seen you standing on the sidewalk. A woolen hat covering up the tips of your ears. A big knitted scarf that could cover your nose from cold gusts. It was green, and Levi could almost picture it billowing and fluttering like the old Survey Corps’ capes used to. But you are not there anymore.

Stores and cafes have closed up, even if the twinkling lights and jolly dancing figurines of the vitrines stay on. Levi has bruised his leg; he notices a slight tension on his right thigh as he goes down and up the sidewalk, wishing to meet your gaze one more time. There’s a ceramic shard in his boot.

Without the morbid attraction of blood and guts spilling on a busy commercial street, onlookers dwindle.

His wet clothes siphon any form of heat. It’s getting too fucking cold. And the throbbing ache in his shoulder is setting in. The shard fucked up his sole; rubber comes apart under his weight.

The same moronic man gets close to him again. He apologizes. He didn’t realize that Levi had hurt his shoulder, he says. Levi should stop moving, he goes on. He knows because he did a shitty first aid course, he doesn’t stop talking. The car’s driver sees him alive and approaches him. It was Levi’s fault, she yells. There’s a scratch on the bumper that wasn’t there before, she keeps on yelling. Levi has to pay for it; she points at her shitty old car with its peeling red paint.

He answers to shit. His leg starts to hurt. It’s that brutal pain that begins at the marrow and spreads with his heartbeat —the aftermath of the thunder spears’ explosion, of the battle of Heaven and Earth. Eyesight blurs on his right side. He feels the sting of burning shrapnel piercing the skin.

Back then, you had watched as Hange patched him up, shaking hands smoothing his singed hair.

Levi inhales. The ghost of the blazing air in his lungs makes his breathing short. He sits down and tears the fucking shard away from his boot. He digs his fingers into his face —he can only feel eight— and allows himself to howl one painful, sharp fuck .

He stays there until the flashing red and blue drowns all the Yule lights.

Year 831. Thirteen

After the third day of rain, the Underground flooded. Frigid water rose the shit and piss off the latrines to create a nauseating, putrid sludge that swamped the roads. It happened every few years. The flood would wane in a couple of days. And then Levi and you would have to shovel the shit away and hope for the inevitable plague to be merciful.

But for now, you were both locked in the plank —closed windows, all gaps in the frames stuffed with wet rags; food reduced to scraps of stale bread and bites of the canned vegetables that shouldn’t have been opened before the deep winter. The rooms were isolated enough to limit the stench, but the air had become dense, harder to breathe.

Levi counted the coins again. Under the labile light of the oil lamp, the blotched metals seemed to elongate and contort. Most of the money had been Kenny’s. Months after he left, you’d found the wooden box with forty golden pieces under the planks. Odd jobs and the poor pockets of the better-off residents of this cavernous hell provided the spare bronze coins. Levi shared with you a fortune of one thousand marks. Dreaming cost five thousand.

“Here,” you said, placing something on the table. Round and metallic. It wasn’t a coin —the slithering of many linked golden rings followed suit when Levi grabbed it. “I got it before the first night of rain. They’ll give us good money for it. I don’t think it’s solid gold, but it seems nice enough.”

Levi held it in his palm. These sorts of contraptions were relegated to the pages of Mitra’s mail-order catalogs —those scraps of paper that arrived in the Underground years after the ink had set, crumpled and jammed in the boxes of piss-whisky. But he remembered his mom talking about them, the few times she had described her childhood on the surface. A little metal gadget that men from above kept on their chests to tell the hour.

A pocket watch. Levi had hoped to get one someday. It would have made him look more like the gentleman his mother always said he was. You would have been impressed with it. But those ideas were now drowned under a thick film of mud and shit.

“Who the fuck buys this shit here?” He asks. The flickering flame made the watch’s coating gleam; it reflected a distorted circle of white in the splintering wood of the ceiling. “We all make do with the shitty clocks they put on the stairs.”

“A food merchant.” Your voice sounded sick, hoarse; it was the air. You sat down in front of him, all smirks. Across from the flickering flame, your eyes gleamed too. “He probably wanted to brag. He doesn’t think about leaving, it seems.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” Levi spat out. Today started the season of shriveled bodies rotting on the sides of the roads. It was never the cold —not in this shroud of a city; always stifling, always filthy. It was the hunger: by the end of winter, the scarce grains merchants brought from above were too expensive. “Here, he can make us all beg, but he’d be fucking scum in Mitras.”

He looked at the watch again. There was an engraving on the side: some bullshit verse from the Walls’ zealots. He ran his fingertips across the surface, feeling the crisp edges of the fine letters.

“We can’t sell it yet. The smugglers will be even scummier after this shit. They’ll try to give us water or rotten fruit for it,” Levi said.

“It’s better to wait, anyway. The merchant might search for it,” you said.

The machinery was still ticking; it beat against his palm like a mechanical heart.

“Will you get one? When we live on the surface?” You asked.

Levi stashed the watch in Kenny’s little wooden box. It felt heavier. The small hope it would keep that weight once he’d exchanged the stolen artifact with the smuggler’s money briefly lightened his chest. But the trinket would make one hundred marks at most —just five golden coins. It was absolute filth compared to the price of the stairs.

You smiled again. As if this ruin of a house wasn’t surrounded by shit, as if the winter didn’t herald months of stale bread and hunger, as if the citizens aboveground didn’t throw all their disgusting waste through the only breach of this vault that let you have a glimpse of the sky. As if Kenny hadn’t left. As if his mother hadn’t rotten in that cot after a bastard infected her with some vile disease.

“The shit outside is enough. Don’t sputter any more. Citizenship is five thousand marks. And they’ll raise it again.” Levi was harsh when he stood up; the chair screeched against the unvarnished wood while you stared at him with sad eyes. “I can’t get us out,” he confessed.

Levi itched to wash himself, but the scant water stored on the plank was to drink; he didn’t know when he’d get to go back to the well. The overflow of all of humanity’s miseries kept you both trapped inside. He couldn’t get farther than the window.

He muttered a sharp fuck and tried to ignore the reproach in your silence. Levi looked outside, but without the light of the wall torches, there was nothing to watch but the permanent darkness.

You sighed. It was a deep, tired breath —so similar to the one you exhaled when Kenny’s desertion became undeniable. Then you stood up.

Levi followed you with his eyes, even after the shitty lamp didn’t illuminate your back anymore. He saw your silhouette rummaging in a cabinet —cheap tins clashed and clinked.

“Levi, close your eyes.” You weren’t facing him when you spoke; body still crouched and hands still searching for something.

“What for? It’s not like we can see shit in this place,” he snarled.

“Please,” you said, voice softer.

He yielded to the word.

The wooden board’s groans announced each one of your approaching steps. One, three, four, until he could feel the air shift around your body.

“Now what?” He asked just to appease the hairs raising on his nape.

The kiss on his cheek was hasty and warm and the tickling of a thousand feathers. He felt you breathe against his skin, a quick exhale. His eyes widened.

“Happy birthday, Levi. I love you very much,” you say.

The shadows in the room inflated as the oil in the lamp dwindled. A flickering darkness covered half of your body. It elongated your newfound smile —some hopeful thing that made his cheeks burn.

Levi thought of apologizing: it was somehow his fault that Kenny left, and he couldn’t do anything else but break, steal, stab, kill, and you didn’t deserve to live in shit. But he did not have the eloquence for that. Heavy tongue. Tingling belly. Trapped breath.

“Now extend your hands,” you told him.

He obeyed.

You were hiding something behind your back. He only realized it when the object was revealed and placed in his palms.

“This...”

Smooth ceramic of a glossy white. Brushstroke flowers adorning the body. A loopy, thin handle. His mother had taught him to drink tea. She sat at the table, set with an old tablecloth pristinely washed and ironed, and in the most regal of postures, she showed Levi how to hold the cup correctly.

“It’s not a pocket watch. But you need to stop drinking tea from that tin mug,” you said.

He stared at the precious object.

Two years ago, Levi broke his mother’s cup. His new unforgiving strength and the dried blood on his nails and the porcelain crumbling in his hand. The handle was still hanging from his fingers as Levi fixated on the shards scattered on the floor.

“No. I’ll break it again. I’m too much of a beast-”

“Don’t say that.” You slid your hands under his. They were warm. Levi could feel the scars left by knives he’d never wanted you to wield. Something tugged at his heart. “You are gentle with me. Aren’t you? You can be gentle with a cup.”

You had once stolen an encyclopedia —one of those clandestine books that people from the surface died for, but that abounded for the apathetic, famished eyes of the Underground. Levi didn’t care much about it, not like you did. But he enjoyed reading about the birds: rare celestial creatures, so far above the putrid stench of the earth. Unrestrained. They flew because their bones were hollow, amazingly light.

And, as he stared at the cup, Levi had the stupid thought that maybe it was, too, made of an aerial material.

“Thanks,” Levi managed to mutter.

“I could only get the cup. But we’ll buy an entire set when we live above.”

The paramedics catch him tightly clutching his leg and Levi wins a useless ride to the radiology department; they insist on pushing him in a wheelchair. The nurse behind him is too cheery to be working on a holiday. She chatters about her New Year’s plans, her —honestly deadbeat— boyfriend, and the poor kid she shouldn’t have had with him. She’s too much like Gabi.

And, although the floors of the Hospital exude alcohol and bleach instead of the all-consuming scent of carrion and scorched earth, Levi is almost back to the refugee camp where he lived for two years back then. The phantom ache in his leg exacerbates.

“It’s just the shoulder. I only popped my shoulder,” Levi repeats to the radiologist. But once again, he’s fucking ignored.

He’ll go again to the same cafe tomorrow. He can be there early. The street will be empty; most people don’t buy their gifts on Yule Day. Levi will get his bag back, and he’ll pay for the tea and the broken cup. He’ll take the fancy pastry if it’s still there. He’ll try to map your movements from today while surveying the street. And he’ll hope for you to come back and look at him again.

The same nurse takes him to the treatment bay. The room is empty enough that the voices of the other patients rebound off the walls. After forcing him to lie down on the gurney, she wishes him a happy Yule.

There’s a chair next to the hospital bed —black plastic, a flat cushion upholstered with some burlap-like fabric. He spent months sitting in one like that while looking after his mother. She would collapse inwards, whole body contorting towards her stomach. Sallow face. Shaking hands. The rattle started weeks before her death. When she heard herself breathe, she would stare at Levi with this frightened expression. He could only readjust the cannula and wipe the pink froth from the corner of her mouth. Then the palliative doctors assessed her stable enough to return home; Levi and his mom stayed there until the prescription of morphine wasn’t enough, or until a fever didn’t break, or until all food became unbearable.

The fireworks show starts. Crackles and booms are dulled by the hospital walls. Some patients, those well enough to walk, gather around a window to catch glimpses of the falling sparks at the very center of Mitras. The lights must seem so far away from the emergency room.

He had also spent entire nights watching over you. A lifetime ago, in hospital beds made with wooden frames and mattresses stuffed with cotton batting. Broken ribs. Torn abdominal muscles. Head injuries that required you to stay conscious. You two would talk about foolish shit for hours. Levi would tell you about the terribly ugly boots that were fashionable in Mitras —some sad taxidermized rodents that very much looked back when Levi stared down at some noble’s feet. And you would laugh and let the resentment against those fat bastards make you feel bad for the animals. Then, you would tell him about the latest love triangle between the new recruits —teenagers that should have been stealing the apples of their neighbor’s orchard but that, instead, were fucking behind the canteen while the fear of monstrous hands and monstrous teeth kept them awake. By morning, you were tired enough to bring back your and Levi’s childhood dreams. The quietest of voices talking about a cabin in the woods with two horses and a cow and an icebox for fresh food —with snowy fields in winter and a lake to swim in summer.

Levi sees the doctor arrive: the shitty dividing curtains are translucent. She is wearing white scrubs with some red pattern, and a yellow Yule crown made of cardboard. She has a cheery smile and his imaging results under her arm.

“Well, Mr. Ackerman. I have good news for you,” she says while rolling the lightbox closer to the bed. She points to a luminescent bone creepily floating in his arm. “You only dislocated your shoulder!”

“I know.” He’s already sitting up, body bracing for the one push that’ll set the shoulder back.

He will take the tramway home. He knows now that you are in Mitras —maybe he’ll get another chance today.

“I will move the shoulder into position. But first, let me relax those muscles!”

It’s almost three when Levi is discharged from the hospital. The doctor’s readjustment maneuver is smooth, painless. Nothing like the brute protocol of pushes and pulls he grew acquainted with; the Survey Corps’ Medical Team did not have any wonder electromagnetic machines to see people’s insides nor had alchemized poisons to make the muscles weaker.

“You were awfully lucky, if you ask me. It’s such a Yule miracle!” The doctor exclaims before finally letting him go. “But no more running on the streets without watching!”

He’s tired. The sole fucked up by the shard seems unsteady, and Levi knows he’ll have to watch where he steps if he doesn’t want to drench the sock. His entire arm feels boneless, loose, as if the only thing keeping it from flapping around was the shitty sling.

And yet, he does not think he’ll sleep. A galvanic undercurrent rushes alongside his blood; giddiness accumulates in his gut.

He throws on his coat. He can only put on one sleeve; the garment merely drapes over his bad side.

Then Levi steps outside.

You are there, a few meters away from the ER’s glass doors. Green scarf covering up to the bridge of your nose. Eyes glossy from the cold.

You startle when you see him. You straighten your back; you fidget with the lapel of your coat. The scarf falls down to your chin, and Levi gets to see your face once again —the same slope of the nose, the same cheeks, the same mouth.

You totter a bit as you walk towards him. It’s the cold; you’ve probably been waiting for him outside. You give him a nervous smile.

“Hi.” You don’t raise your voice much. It’s faint, cautious.

He knows it, that voice. It’s been woven in his daydreams for decades. It wraps around his heart and squeezes.

“Hello,” Levi replies.

There’s a slight rasp in his voice. That stupid yell must have fucked up his throat somehow. He wants to step closer, to let his fingers prove your skin is still as soft; he doesn’t move.

“A waitress gave me this. She said it was yours,” you tell him.

You are holding his backpack. He hadn’t even noticed. When Levi grabs the carry handle, his fingers touch your palm. You don’t jerk away. The skin is glacial, and Levi wants to hold that hand between his to warm it up.

You used to do it for him after the morning drills for vertical maneuvering. In winter, frozen wind pelted exposed skin to numbness; fingers stiffened around the gear’s triggers. You would seek him after training. You would rub your hands against his. Then, you would hold them close to your mouth and have your exhales surround them in warmth before kissing him once on each palm, right under the thumb.

“Yeah,” he says. He lets the bag hang from his side. The weight is enough to remind him of the slackness in half of his body. “Thank you.”

You smile at him again, a half-happy, half-nervous gesture; there’s no recognition. Still, he revels in it —the overwhelmingly real, corporeal, alive wrinkle of your eye.

“Yes,” you answer to nothing in particular.

“Yeah,” he echoes.

Then, none of you speak anymore.

Tardy fireworks burst in the distance. You are inspecting his face, brow so slightly furrowed. Levi lets you stare; he does it as well. He wants to keep looking at you, count your lashes, and itemize the little changes brought on by this new life. 

An ambulance rushes to the vehicle entrance. You flinch at the loud wailing. Levi stops himself from moving you further away from the driveway.

After staring at his face one last time, you lower your gaze. Then you chuckle.

“What?” He can’t help but smile back.

“You have a sheep with a green hat here.” Your hand reaches for his cheek. The motion seems all so natural. But your hand falls before it can touch him.

“It’s a goat with a wreath crown,” he replies. “The kids had a face-painting party today. To celebrate the last day before the winter holidays.”

“Your kids are very talented.”

“That specific girl is.”

She loves gifting Levi her little drawings. He always takes them home, puts them in plastic sleeves, and adds them to a binder. He’ll show them to you one evening after work.

The weight of the bag starts to sting. So, Levi lets it fall to the sidewalk.

“Is it serious?” You ask, unavoidably focusing on his sling.

Levi wishes to tell you that he’s seen worse. That you had to cut the shredded leather straps away from his chest so that Hange could estimate the damage. That after the explosion, his lungs were raw. That every time he breathed, his whole chest burned.

“No. It’s just sore,” he replies instead.

“That’s good.”

There’s genuine relief in your expression.

“What about you? Are you sick?”

“No. I-” You pause, slide your thumb across your scarf, toy with the fringe. “A man with sausage sauce in his jacket told me they would bring you here. He was the one that called the ambulance, I think.”

The ambulance drives by again. This time it’s slower, silent.

“And this is weird. But is it maybe-” You go on, cadence faster, as if you wanted to fit every word in one long breath. “Maybe it is your birthday?”

There’s this wretched bliss in hearing you came here for him.

“Yeah. It is.”

You smile fully this time. Eyes bright, as if you found some sort of revelation in his answer.  

“Well. Happy birthday, then.”

“Thanks,” he replies with a half-whisper. “Thank you,” he repeats, choking on all the devotion that you wouldn’t understand.

He sees you shiver and try to huddle yourself. So, he bares his heart in the only way he truly knows how.

“It’s cold. We should warm up somewhere.”

“I-” White air leaves your mouth. Levi wishes you’d let him adjust the scarf over your face. “Yes. Where?”

You go to the hospital’s cafeteria. It’s a drab, almost empty room with shitty plastic tables and too bright lighting, but it’s warm enough for you to stop shivering. The beverages are shitty; the tea bags barely tint the very much clear water. But they’re hot; Levi sees you wrap your fingers around the cheap paper cup.

“You can get something to eat,” Levi says. He knows it’s a paltry offer; they only have hard cookies and day-old sandwiches with soggy bread.

“It’s fine.”

Some nurses are chatting at a faraway table. Their words arrive as a low buzzing.

It seems familiar. Evenings in the Underground, when food was scarce, and Levi and you filled your stomachs with water to appease the hunger. Early mornings in the canteen before the survivors of the last expedition came for their breakfast. Late nights in his office, when you helped him sign a massacre of death certificates and condolence letters.

“I’m sorry but-” You doubt for a moment. Your eyes examine his face once again. “What’s your name?” You ask a question you’d never asked back then.

“Levi.”

“Levi,” you repeat. “Of course.”

Hearing you say his name feels like second nature.

[flashypunches]

Seawatt and the other Fighters watching EMF try to make a house: how are they so bad at this. how do you mess up this bad??

Evbo when he stole the barrier block: maybe I could bury myself here. maybe I could never come back and then die here. at least I'd be free. there's nothing wrong with me btw

what EMF is dealing with: is Seawatt trying to start a cult about the Parkour Villain. what the hell is wrong with him. oh god that house is upside again. now the highway's cut in half. where the hell is Evbo, he knows we need to talk. WHY IS THE EVIL CHAMPION TRYING TO GO TO THE CHAMPION'S LAYER YOU ARE NOT A CHAMPION ANYMORE??

scuffed analysis of the snippet I added for my fic below cut:

"He’s wandering through the streets of his home neighborhood, when he hears happiness. It’s young, it’s naive, it’s laughter that sounds like a scream. He swallows past the memories that rise at the sound." 

thinking about how many times Evbo has had to hear his neighbors get murdered right next to his house. maybe sometimes the preyers laughed while they did it too. also, there's kids now in Parkour Civilization!! people are growing now, Evbo be happy with your home man!!

"He turns around before he has to witness it too. Why would he want to see what he could have had, what he has missed out on for so long?"

too preoccupied with everything's he's missed to try and catch up...

"There’s still the outskirts. There’s still that chest within the dirt. Before, during the moment of thievery, breathing the audacity he had to have in order to do this, he had wondered if he could just curl up inside of the wooden box and never leave again. It could have his coffin. Maybe still could be. 

If his friend ever wants to talk to him again, he thinks he’ll tell them to bury him here. He hopes he will fit."

don't worry about the possibility that he won't be able to buried in th chest. he'll just have his body cut up and squeezed inside like a jigsaw puzzle instead ^_^

"He hates this, he realizes. He hates the feeling he has to have. Why couldn't the Pros be correct, when they had called the Noob layer nothing more than a pigsty? He wants to know nothing but fear and desire. This would be so much easier if that was the case."

no Evbo don't wish for dehumanization, you're so good at parkour!!

"But Parkour is meant to be endurance. So by that logic, Evbo must endure. He can get through this. He will manage fine."

but not okay. boy get some damn rest, stop going to your old home to make yourself sad

"Seawatt wanders the Master level, he has heard. Does he terrorize the players who walk on three-block jumps, does he taunt the efforts of rebuilding, does he spit upon the notion of rehabilitation, of being more than what he has died for? Why does Evbo ask himself questions he knows he cannot answer?"

Seawatt you menace <<33 he is so nasty and so messy I just know it. probably bullies Evbo's friend with other fighters whenever they fail to make a house or something like that

"Why, why, why. Is that all Evbo can do? Is that the only word that can fall from his tongue now?"

the reason for that is because I have no idea how to write inner monologues without internal turmoil. sorry Evbo you're just collateral <3

[black-eyed-creature]

Vampire!Alfred the Great

If Alfred got turned into a vampire he would:

Enjoy not being chronically ill anymore.

Drink people's blood but not kill them (and if anyone tries to tell him it's weird he points out that Christians drink Christ's Blood all the time).

Use his vampire hearing to eavesdrop on any plotting or scheming in the palace.

Use his vampire speed to whoosh over and catch said scheemer in the act of scheming.

Use his vampire compulsion to make said schemers loyal (and then compell them to to do cartwheels in a pigsty)

Use his vampire compulsion on Uhtred only to compel Uhtred to never be compelled by him or any other vampire.

Pick Uhtred up all the time with his vampire super strength and carry him around.

TVD vampire lore because that's the only vampire show I like. If any of you think of any more vampire!Alfred HC's let me know <3

[whostheweakersexnow]

3. The Mark of Ownership

The throne room of Deviland’s palace was filled with the murmurs of anticipation. The victorious nobles and warriors, many of them bloodied from the recent war, gathered to witness the final act of Prince Adrian’s humiliation. The mighty prince of Mensland, once admired across the land, knelt in chains before his conqueror, his broad chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His golden hair, now dirtied from battle and captivity, hung over his face as he awaited his fate.

Princess Lysara, seated gracefully on her throne, held his chain in her hands like a leash, tugging it slightly to remind him of his place.

“You were once a ruler, Adrian,” she mused, letting the words linger in the air. “A leader of men. But now, you are nothing but property. And property must be marked.”

A low murmur of approval spread through the hall. Adrian’s heart pounded as two female guards stepped forward, dragging a heavy iron brand from the glowing embers of a nearby brazier. The symbol of Deviland—the sigil of Lysara’s royal house—burned red-hot at the tip, the metal hissing with heat.

Adrian’s breath hitched. He had heard of this—seen cattle and livestock branded on the farms of Mensland. But never had he imagined such a fate would befall him.

“No,” he breathed, shaking his head, his muscles tensing in defiance.

Lysara smirked. “Yes.”

At her command, the guards seized Adrian by the arms and forced him down, pressing his chest against a cold stone platform in the center of the chamber. His wrists and ankles were secured, leaving him utterly helpless. The iron collar around his neck clinked as he struggled, but his strength was useless against the bindings.

The gathered nobles leaned forward, eager to witness the final branding of the prince.

Lysara rose from her throne, walking slowly toward Adrian. She knelt beside him, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You should be honored,” she whispered. “From this day forth, all who see you will know that you belong to me.”

She gave a simple nod, and the brand was pressed against his bare buttock.

A sickening sizzle filled the air as flesh met burning metal. Adrian’s body tensed, every muscle straining as a sharp, searing pain shot through him. His cry of agony echoed through the halls, but no sympathy was offered—only the cheers and laughter of his captors.

When the iron was finally lifted, Adrian gasped for breath, his body shaking. The symbol of Deviland’s royal house was now forever seared into his skin, a permanent mark of his submission.

Lysara admired the fresh brand, running a gloved finger over the raised, reddened flesh. “Now let each and every one of the former warriors of Mensland be branded as their former prince.” she said mockingly.

Assigned to the Most Degrading Task

Adrian had always been a prince—a commander, a warrior. But now, he was given a new role, one designed to break him completely.

The court watched with amusement as the once-great prince was stripped of even the meager loincloth that had been his last dignity. His chains rattled as he was led away from the throne room, his new place in Deviland about to be revealed.

The heavy doors opened to reveal a vast chamber—the royal pigsty. The scent of hay, sweat, and animals filled the air. Adrian’s stomach twisted as he saw the other young men of Mensland, his former warriors, already toiling in the filth. Some shoveled manure, their bodies slick with sweat and dirt, while others hauled heavy buckets of water, their once-strong hands now raw and blistered from labor.

Lysara walked beside Adrian, her boots clicking against the stone floor. “A prince no longer,” she murmured, looking at the pathetic state of her new slave. “You will serve where you are needed.”

She gestured to a pile of soiled hay. “Clean it. On all four.”

Adrian turned to her, his pride flaring for just a moment. “You would reduce me to this?” he spat.

Lysara’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I already have.” She tilted his chin up with a finger. “But you will learn, little prince. Obedience is the only way forward.”

A whip cracked in the air, and Adrian was shoved forward, forced onto his knees in the filth. His fingers trembled as he grasped the rough handle of the wooden shovel. His body ached, his branded shoulder burned, and the weight of his chains made every movement a struggle.

The warriors of Deviland laughed as they passed by, some tossing scraps of food at him as though he were nothing more than an animal.

Adrian gritted his teeth, his hands gripping the shovel as humiliation crashed over him like a wave.

He had been a prince. A ruler.

And now, he was nothing.

[bi-focal12]

🌻Excerpts from my bkdk WIP: Trophy Husband, Who?🌻

1- Todoroki and Bakugou are (fr)enemies interning at Endeavor Law together

2- Todoroki, Ochako, and Izuku are roommates

3-Izuku just wants to introduce Todoroki to his new boyfriend (who is the only reason Todoroki has experienced cleanliness in their apartment's shared spaces in years).

(feel free to interact with this post!)

*

Todoroki makes a point of bringing out the brownies while all of the interns are gathered in the little conference room, quietly working. He’d packed a plastic bag with the four best-looking ones from the bunch and hands one to Yaoyorozu and then to Iida, both of them pleased and surprised, before keeping the last two for himself. 

Bakugou throws a pencil that bounces off of Todoroki’s forehead. “What the fuck?” he complains. 

Todoroki finally makes eye contact with the man. “Oh, did you want one Bakugou?” he asks pleasantly and his rival freezes, caught between his entitlement and his ego. 

“This is delicious Todoroki, thank you,” Yaoyorozu supplies into the tense silence, winking with the eye Bakugou can’t see from where he’s sitting and Todoroki quickly decides that he’d marry Yaoyorozu if she asked. 

*

“Hey!” Izuku calls happily. “You’re home early.” 

Todoroki pauses halfway to his bedroom and levels his roommate with a blank stare. “I think my father might be God,” he says, dread dribbling from the syllables and spilling at his feet next to the popcorn crumbs. 

Izuku’s smile wavers. “O-oh,” he replies uncertainly. “At least there’s always hell?” Then he visibly cringes.

*

“Deku, what the hell is this?” Katsuki asks. He’s standing in his boyfriend’s living room with his hands on his hips, much like the first time he came over except this time Round Face is nowhere in sight and the space itself has upgraded from complete pigsty to teenage boy’s bedroom. 

It’s not that much of an improvement. 

Deku, meanwhile, is sitting pretty on the couch with the brightness of his smile cranked up so high Katuski has no doubt he’s trying to distract him. 

“Why is there popcorn all over the floor?” Katsuki presses because pretty-boy smiles can’t distract him if he’s stuck staring at the abandoned kernels in dismay, several of them already smooshed into the rug below where unlucky passersby didn’t see them. “And that blanket looks too weirdly placed to not be hiding some oblong mess.”

Deku straightens, less strategically cute and more genuinely nervous. “The popcorn is there for moral reasons, I swear,” he tells Katsuki. 

Katsuki just raises an eyebrow and says, “Uh huh.”

“No, I promise!” Deku continues. “It all started with this little argument I had with Ochako that, you know, it actually had really very reasonable grounds and it’s technically her job to pick up the popcorn so I can’t do it because that would be giving in and- and we’re supposed to resist the establishment-”

“Deku,” Katsuki says flatly, because whatever justification he’s concocted for leaving the popcorn on the ground is complete and utter bullshit and they both know it. “What am I gonna find beneath the blanket?”

[stay-mon-army]

Sleepy Babbles

Word Count: 1,681 words

Pairing: Seeun (Xikers) x gn!reader

Warning: reader has a bad day but it gets better so idk?, none really... if I'm missing something, lmk <3

Seeun was your comfort place. Seeing as he was your best friend for the past eight years and your boyfriend for the most recent two of those, no one found that fact particularly spectacular. It was pretty expected - and he'd be lying if he said your face wasn't the very thing he wanted to see as he fell asleep and right when he woke up. You were also lucky enough that, despite his playful and often sassy nature, he wasn't afraid to tell you (and anyone who would listen) just how much you meant to him.

On days like today, you needed that reminder more than usual. It seemed like no matter what you did, where you went, you were being followed by some evil spirit or dark cloud - something wanted to ruin your day. It had started simple, mundane, but accumulated into a stinking, rotten, stressful day that left you hoping for its end.

First, your alarm didn't go off; you knew you set it, you always set it, but today it simply didn't go off. This meant you were running behind and didn't have time to grab breakfast. Thankfully you made it on time to your class, so you were willing to let your hungry stomach go until lunch time. As you slid into your seat, you realized today was test day - the day you needed to bring your cheat sheet the professor provided. The one sitting squarely on your desk in the dorm. Needless to say, you finished the test, but you weren't looking forward to seeing your grade. Your next class was boring, but uneventful. As was lunch, which was also lonely - usually you brought food to the boys so you could all remember to eat, but they had a schedule today that meant you were stuck eating all by yourself in the crowded school cafeteria. No one to laugh with or poke fun at or make stupid bets with, just you, your empty table, and your plate of mediocre school food.

After lunch, you had work, which was never an easy thing, working in a customer service job. The worst part was always the times total Karen's came in and made your life hell - like today, when you were berated for a full three minutes in front of a line of other customers. Your boss finally came to check the commotion - only to scold you for the situation rather than helping. After your otherwise uneventful workday, you boarded your usual bus to the dorms, ready to see your sweet boyfriend and his stupid friends.

Your first stroke of luck that day meant you could enjoy your short bus ride home without any real issues. It was blissfully unremarkable.

Hiking your bag higher on your shoulder, you type in the password to Seeun's dorm door, pushing it open as it beeps. You pause with the door partway open, calling in a "I'm coming in, be decent" to warn the boys before opening it fully. You step inside, kick off your shoes, slip into your designated slippers, and pad your way slowly into the apartment.

Being an apartment full of barely grown men, it's usually a total pigsty - the cleaning efforts always outdone by long schedule hours and pure laziness. Today is a surprising exception - besides a few misplaced pillows, the dorm is clean as a whistle. You can't remember the last time you saw it like this.

After a second of appreciating the cleanliness, you notice something else - it's quiet. No yelling from the bedrooms, no clattering cookware from the kitchen, not even a hint of TV chatter. Utter silence.

You braced yourself for yet another disappointment today - Seeun was always good about keeping you informed of their schedules, but sometimes things ran late or they were given a surprise schedule they didn't know about. You never blamed him; surprises came with the territory as an idol. But you couldn't help but deflate a little at the prospect. You had gone through such a terrible day and just wanted to relax with your loving boyfriend.

Well, if you can't have your boyfriend, you could have the next best thing - you figure - his hoodie and his bed. You shuffle your way to his room, ready to settle in for a restful night. You know you'll at least get to start tomorrow with his arms around you.

As you push open the door, you're greeted with a most adorable sight, which instantly eases the tension from your muscles and settles your brain into a whisper of internal words of love.

Seeun is in fact home at the dorm - you suspect that he must have tried to plan something to make you feel better. All the pieces click as you look at your boyfriend who is sprawled across his bed, everyday clothes still on, laying across the top of the blankets with his head just barely missing the pillows. He must have fallen asleep waiting for you in the (for once) quiet apartment. You think that he likely asked the boys to be gone for part of the night so you could start your evening in blissful silence - just you and him, no worries.

Your heart swells at the thought - knowing it was just like him to do something so simple and yet so loving. You gently settle your bag down on the floor besides his door, which you very slowly ease shut, holding the knob tightly so even the click wouldn't wake him. You know he isn't a terribly light sleeper, but you wanted him to sleep well regardless.

You continue on your trek to steal some of his clothes to sleep in, knowing they were (for some reason) a million times more comfortable than your own. You quickly change, pausing only once (just after slipping on one of his shirts) when he began mumbling in his sleep. You couldn't hear what he said, and you didn't think much of it.

You had heard him talk in his sleep a million times. You sometimes wondered if you (or anyone, really) talked that much in their sleep. He would talk about any number of things - usually whatever had been on his mind when he went to bed, but sometimes completely random things. Sometimes it was concert related, when they were preparing for tour, or about the boys, if they'd done something particularly fun for content or had an especially difficult day at practice. Once it had been him talking in baby-animal voice because you had gone on a date to a zoo that included a small petting zoo, which had been his favorite part of the whole trip.

You assumed this time was no different, just him rambling about his day in his dreams, and finished preparing for bed. Once you were ready, you approached his side of the bed first, determined to help him under the covers so he would be at least a little more comfortable. Sure, sleeping in your day clothes wasn't the best, and he would likely be annoyed about getting his sheets dirty with them, but you had the day off tomorrow and would be willing to throw them in the wash as long as he was able to get a good night's rest for the first time in a while.

Just as you went to pull the comforter back, he spoke again, but this time much clearer, especially since you were standing so close to him now. The boys often made fun of how clearly he spoke in his sleep, but you enjoyed the insight into his brain.

Today, you were flattered almost to tears at just the first sentence - so much so, you completely froze, allowing him time to ramble off a few more of a similar vein. They were all about how much he loved you. You listened as he talked about how he had fallen in love with you from the first time he heard you laugh. How being close to you made him feel like he was on top of the moon. How being away on tour was like hell on Earth, but his first step back into the apartment and into your arms was like being pulled back up into sunlight after drowning in darkness.

The rough day you had seemed to make you more emotional, because you felt tears trace down your cheeks and you quickly swiped them away. You smiled to yourself as you finally reached out to try to pull the blankets out from under and over top of your slumbering boyfriend.

As much as you tried to be careful and not rouse him, your plan didn't work, and his eyes opened to look at you, fluttering and half focused before they zeroed in.

"(Y/n), baby, why are you crying?" He sits up, reaching forward to cup your face and thumb away the tear tracks you missed.

"You were talking in your sleep." You answer honestly. You had never been anything but honest with Seeun, and he had always been the same, even about small useless things. "You were talking about how much you loved me. And it was a tough day, so you made me really happy, even without trying."

Seeun's face cracks into a sleepy smile as he listens to you explain, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your lips. "Well, I'm not sure what I said, but I do love you, very much." He kisses you again, before looking down at your clothes, and then his own. "Hmm, I was going to make us dinner, but clearly we're both much more tired than we are hungry, huh?"

You nod, thinking that nothing sounded better than curling into bed with him.

"Let me just get changed into something more comfortable and we can watch that next episode of that show you like." Now, it's your turn to kiss him brightly, wishing to express all your happiness to have him in your life with one simple motion.

Judging from the smile on both your faces, you expressed it loud and clear.

[boasamishipper]

Code of Conduct Ch2, please? 🩷

fun fact! code of conduct ch2 is currently almost twice as long as ch1 and i still have 3-5k to go 🥰

a snip for you:

“So,” Dan says. “You were, what, eighteen your first time with a man? Nineteen?” “Nineteen,” Harry says. “And eighteen my first time with a woman. One of the cheerleaders just about jumped me after that Florida Tech game.” “Well, well.” Dan’s smirk grows until it takes up his whole face. “Weren’t you just the little heartbreaker.” Harry elbows him, mostly playfully. “Big talk from somebody who probably had girls lined up around the block for him since he could walk.” To Harry’s surprise, Dan laughs out loud. “Please. There were eleven people in my graduating class. Seven boys, four girls—and those four girls wouldn’t have given me the time of day even if I was the last boy on earth.” “How come?” Dan scoffs and rolls his eyes and starts ticking off reasons on his fingers. “I was too tall. My clothes didn’t fit. I smelled like the pigsty I had to muck out every morning before school. I thought I was too good for that place, and I made sure everybody knew it.” Dan’s sneer breaks Harry’s heart a little. “Enough of that attitude and people write you off as too uppity to bother with. That is if they don’t try and beat it out of you. Well. Emphasis on try.” He grins. “They could never catch me.” Harry doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t like that this is the one case where he’s got more experience than Dan. Not to say being a gangly dork with no mother and a love of magic didn’t make him a target for bullying in high school, but hell. Even he had some friends. Dan’s smile is starting to tighten. For both their sakes, Harry decides to get them back on track.

ask me about my fics!