#i really don’t think anyone likes or cares about me

[hyunjiisa]

hey pretty boy !

skz ! members and what type of loner they’d be

incl. ot8 !

chan as the stoner! loner

shows up to school smelling like weed but no one cares because he does all his work and never causes trouble

you make eye contact with him for the first time in the parking lot while he’s smoking, he falls in love when you smile and wave

turns down everyone that hits on him after that

when he finally musters up the courage to talk to you all he can do is tap your shoulder in the same parking lot he first saw you and ask if you smoke

no matter your answer, he asks to get to know you better

“ come on , give me a chance ? ”

follows you around like a bodyguard after that

never ever lets you carry your own bag and always makes sure you have something to eat for lunch whether he has to pay for you or not

pretty smart in most subjects so you have study dates often because he just likes your presence

won’t smoke around you if you don’t like it

never posts anything besides you and aesthetic pictures he takes

isn’t the type to fight but he will if someone disrespects you, but they back off because of his size before it gets to that point

hyunjin as the artsy! loner

has one black pen and one red pen that he abuses every day

pays attention for the most part but occasionally gets distracted doodling in his notebooks

def has drawings all over his hands

the first time he noticed you was in art class and he thought you were so pretty he started drawing you

you glance over and he’s mortified when he realizes he probably looks like a creep

too nervous to go up to you and explain so he leaves you a note with little drawings all over (plus the drawing of you) and a replacement of the pink gel pen he notices you using all the time

gets super nervous when he sees you walking up to him the next day

you ask him to partner up for a project and thank him for the drawing

“ i couldn’t help it , you’re just so pretty . ”

ends up kissing you at your last project session

asks you out with the most thoughtful basket filled with things you like and a letter with another drawing of you and almost cries when you don’t answer right away

does everything for you after you get together

the art teacher is yalls biggest fan

has no one else to cling to so he’s all over you 24/7

gives nasty glares to men who simply look at you

felix as the fashion design! loner

like hyunjin, spends most of his time sketching out designs in his scrap book where he keeps all his miniature fabric samples in

sulks because there’s no fashion club for him to join

is initially drawn to you because of an outfit you wore that he loves

eventually asks where you got your top when you wear it again and his heartstrings pull at the way you answer so sweetly and compliment his hair

after that the two of you gradually got closer and closer

you help him learn to sew and he starts planning marriage then and there (he wants to help design your wedding dress)

sews matching patches on your backpacks

you catch him texting his best friend that lives abroad about you

gets so nervous he cries

you tell him you feel the same way and he cries even harder

“ be mine ? please ? ”

just gets even clingier once you end up together

loves kissing you and laying together while he sketches

takes you out whenever you want and spoils you rotten because he has rich parents

matching outfits = fire insta pics

jeongin as the sour patch! loner

never talks to anyone so everyone thinks he’s mean but he’s really an angel

your elective teacher makes your class do a secret santa and he gets you

he gives you oddly specific gifts (he has a massive crush on you and overhears you telling your friends your wishlist) and includes a note sweet talking you

you go up to him and thank him with a kiss on the cheek and he turns red

he asks you to hang out and pays for brunch and the cutest pottery painting date

“ will you go out with me ? n-not like that ! ”

gets the teacher to move you two to sit next to each other

everyone’s a little surprised when they see how he’s so gentle with you

decides he needs to get over himself and ask you out and gets you a pandora charm bracelet and a pretty bouquet of flowers

pampers you with your favorite snacks or meals randomly, refills of makeup you use, randomly does your homework for you

flips off ur exes and flexes on them when you aren’t looking then turns around to kiss you

is at your house 24/7 because he can’t breathe without you but is supportive when you go out with your friends or need a solo day

loves going to the beach with you and carrying you so your feet don’t get sandy

jisung as the nerdy! loner

has good grades and the teachers remember his name because his work is always on time

eats alone in the library because he has no one to sit with

you walk in on him while picking up a book you need and he’s super embarrassed (he’s had a crush on you since middle school)

you ask to sit with him because you think he’s cute and he trips over his words answering you

you spend lunch with him every day after that and he starts packing a lunch for you too

accidentally confesses he has a fat crush on you when you ask if he has a girlfriend

he starts rambling after and shuts up when he notices you’re giggling at him

you kiss him and he swears his lifelong dream has come true

“ i like , really like you . ”

is the sweetest boyfriend ever

does all your homework for you and insists it’s really no problem

drives you to and from school every day because “that’s what boyfriends are for”

never looks at anyone but you and writes down threats and shoves them in guys lockers when they hit on you

minho as the gym! loner

purposefully gets his free period after his weightlifting class so he can spend two periods working out

isn’t really shy, just doesn’t like anyone enough to have friends

girls check him out occasionally but he always ignores them

catches you freaking out when you have no clothes to change in and offers you his shirt because he thinks you’re cute

uses that as an excuse to mess with you

“ if i can bench you , you owe me a date ”

spoiler, he can.

makes sure to tell you you don’t really owe him anything and he’s just messing with you

you agree to the date and he picks you up and takes you on a surprisingly thoughtful date

drive around town, food and watching the sunset, takes your pictures next to pretty flowers and keeps his arm around you the whole time

asks you if you really have to go when he’s dropping you off

walks you to your door and gives you a hug (he’s never dated anyone and too scared to kiss you)

texts you that he had a really good time and he would “work to make you his”

it doesn’t take much work and he kisses you right after he asks you to be his

is way too proud of his build and wears sleeveless shirts just to scare anyone that looks at you

carries you around any chance he gets

seungmin as the music lover! loner

walks around with his headphones in 24/7

hums to himself quietly while he studies

you ask him about a song he was humming and he’s surprised you were talking to him

you think he hates you till he smiles at you when you walk into class

makes you a playlist to make his move on you

doesn’t know how to tell you he likes you at all so he just kinda teases you to flirt with you

takes you to a record store at lunch because he wanted to show you the spot

stares at you a little too hard so you ask him if he wants a kiss as a joke

says yes and moves your hair out of your face, you guys have a make out sesh and only stop when the owner clears his throat awkwardly at the both of you

“ so , if i ask you to be mine what are the chances of you saying yes ? ”

you make him go back inside alone and buy you the vinyl you want

he comes back out with it and 5 more that you didn’t wanna ask for but knows you wanted anyway

you skip the rest of the day and go to his house and use his record player

you fall asleep on him and he takes 0.5s of you

shares his headphones with you, but doesn’t share his food (until you make a sad face at him and he gives in instantly. works every time.)

changbin as the sweetheart! loner

all of his professors adore him, all the school staff does at this point

has the maximum hours of community service that he can have but won’t stop helping around where he can

notices you from the start because he thinks you’re pretty, but really starts liking you when he sees you volunteer at an elementary school

accidentally scares you coming up behind you when you’re hanging a banner

you guys start helping at the same places and make a tradition of hanging up banners together

after a while he figures he might as well just tell you how he feels, is elated when you hug him and tell him the feelings mutual

“ oh thank god . ”

confesses that he was actually really nervous and gets flustered when you tease him about it because he thinks you’re the prettiest

when you ask why he never hangs out with anyone he says he doesn’t like people with unpure hearts and that’s why he loves you so much

definitely takes you out and buys you guys matching stuff

married couple

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

a/n: i’m not pushing any of these narratives onto them, it’s just dif scenarios i wanted to write them in ᡣ𐭩

[beloveds-embrace]

rugby player Simon and his pretty little balerina partner. Thats it. Thats whats currently plaquing my mind

Now that you’ve said it I’m thinking about them too because YES 😩 i tried a more headcanony style for this, really had no idea what to write as a drabble

• You first met Simon “Ghost” Riley during an injury rehab session. He’s there nursing a rough tackle, while you’re recovering from an overworked ankle. Despite his intimidating size and silence, he notices how gracefully you move even while stretching, and you can’t help but admire his sheer size even if he’s making the nurses nervous.

• Ghost is, honest to god, shy about approaching you at first; why would delicate, lovely you want someone of his type and build to approach you? But he still gets roped into conversation when you tease him for struggling with a basic stretching exercise. “I’m built for smashing into blokes, not folding like you do.” he grumbles, but he doesn’t sound truly bothered. You are sure you can even hear the amusement. And this is how you end up exchanging number and texting, until he finally asky you out on a proper date.

• He’s genuinely amazed at your discipline and talent, often catching himself zoning out while watching you rehearse. You tease him for staring, but he’s truky awestruck by how effortlessly you glide across the floor, almost looking weightless.

• You love watching him play rugby. Seeing him control the field with raw strength and precision is hot. You start attending his matches, cheering louder than anyone else when he tackles an opponent or scores. His favorite cheerleader- his best girl <3

• Ghost introduces you to his gym routines, and you try (unsuccessfully) to keep up with his weightlifting. You love the view of his muscles flexing, though, and you don’t try to hide it. You also love sitting on his back while he does pushups, giving him a kiss ever so often in encouragement.

• In return, you teach him some basic ballet moves to improve his agility to help him. The image of this massive, intimidating man attempting pliés is hilarious, but he’s surprisingly nimble. “Don’t tell the lads, yeah, doll?” he huffs, though his amusement is clear and it has you giggling.

• Simon loves how tiny you feel when he wraps his arms around you. After games, he picks you up effortlessly, spinning you around as you laugh and lean down to kiss him much to the whistles and hoots of his teammates. Neither of you care anyways.

• After a game, he’s all adrenaline and intensity, body taut. You tease him by saying, “Don’t you dare bring that sweaty self near me, Simon Riley.” but he pulls you into a heated kiss anyway, pinning you gently against a wall in the hallways of the stadium.

• He loves when you practice in front of him wearing your ballet leotard. The combination of your grace and your form-fitting outfit gets his heart and more racing, though he keeps his composure… mostly.

• Simon is also your biggest cheerleader during your performances, sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers that looks comically small in his massive hands. He always looks proud, even if he doesn’t say much. And he absolutely glares or shushes anyone who is causing a ruckus and taking the spotlight off you.

• He joins you most of the time in the backstages, and when you’re feeling nervous before a performance, he cups your face in his big, warm hands and whispers, “You’re the most talented person in the room. Show ‘em who you are.”

• You return the favor by helping him relax before games. You massage his shoulders and give him little pep talks, which he pretends not to need but secretly loves. Sometimes of them are even recorded on his phone for the very rare occasions you can’t make it to his games.

• Said it before but I’ll say it again: you love how his body feels next to yours- rugby has made him all broad shoulders and powerful muscles, and he loves how delicate your hands feel running over his skin. Likewise, he loves caressing your skin and rubbing creams and ointments to your aching feet muscles.

• He calls you “Twinkle Toes” which sounds sarcastic at first but is said with so much affection that it melts your heart.

• You call him “Big Softie” because, despite his tough exterior, he’s the sweetest with you. He pretends to hate it, but he secretly loves when you use it in private. Had a stupid smile on his face when saw it was how you had your contact for him saved.

[helenofsparta2]

Having the whole plot between Nico and Percy be resolved simply with “You’re not my type” in Blood of Olympus was such a huge disservice to both characters

They are pivotal parts to each others journey. No person in PJO influenced Nico as much as Percy did, aside from Bianca, and no person represents Percy’s guilt and the responsibility he had to shoulder more than Nico does. The writing for both characters really suffers through this lack of a real satisfying resolution.

First to talk about what Percy represents for Nico:

Percy, first of all, represents Nico’s introduction to the mythological world

He is the first demigod Nico ever came in contact with

He saved him and Bianca from the manticore (somewhat)

Nico stated in Blood of Olympus than Percy had reminded of the heroes of his mythomagic game come to life

Nico wholeheartedly believed that Bianca would be safe, if Percy was with her and created this image of the perfect hero in his mind, putting Percy on a pedestal

2.

In Nico’s mind Percy is irrevocably intertwined with Bianca and everything that happened to her

Despite Nico naively believing, that Bianca would be safe if Percy were around, he was instead the last person to ever talk to her, and present when she died

Percy informed Nico of her death (Dead silence. I stared at Chiron. I couldn’t believe nobody had told him yet. Then I realized why. They’d been waiting for us to appear, to tell Nico in person, Titan’s curse)

Nico turned him into the scapegoat for her death, so that he could let all his grief and anger and bitterness out on him

Bianca sent Iris-messages to Percy, so that he would find and help Nico (“Percy has been worried about you, Nico. He can help. I let him see what you were up to, hoping he would find you.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Her ghost only appeared to Nico when Percy was with him

Percy is the only person Nico knows of, who also grieved for Bianca (“Bianca,” I said. My voice was thick. I’d felt guilty about her death for a long time but seeing her in front of me was five times as bad, like her death was fresh and new. I remembered searching through the wreckage of the giant bronze warrior she’d sacrificed her life to defeat, and not finding any sign of her. “I’m so sorry,” I said. Battle of the Labyrinth)

3.

Percy is the person who protected and cared for Nico more than anyone else in pjo

Tried to convince Bianca to think more deeply about her decision of joining the hunters, especially thinking of him (“Biance, this is crazy,” I said. “What about your brother? Nico can’t be a hunter.” (Titan’s curse)

Searched the woods in the dark for hours after he had disappeared (Annabeth and Grover helped me search the woods for hours, but there was no sign of Nico di Angelo.)

Didn’t tell Chiron about Nico’s parentage to protect him from the Gods. (I don't think Nico understands who he is. But we can't go telling anyone. Not even Chiron. If the Olympians find out—") Titan’s curse)

Decided to completely commit to the prophecy, solely so Nico didn’t have to bear that burden and go trough any more suffering(It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger," I said. "I owe that much to his sister. I… let them both down. I'm not going to let that poor kid suffer any more." ) Titan’s curse)

Searched for Nico in the months after Titan’s Curse (Now, six months later, I hadn’t even come close to finding him. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. Battle of the labyrinth, chapter 3))

Saved his life on Geryon’s farm. (“Either way, you get my friends,” I said. “But, if I succeed, you’ve got to let all of us go, including Nico.”)

Always offered Nico a place at camp half-blood to the best of his abilities (“We missed you at dinner,” I said. “You could’ve sat with me.”“No.”“Nico, you can’t miss every meal. If you don’t want to stay with Hermes, maybe they can make an exception and put you in the big house. They’ve got plenty of room.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Invited him to join him on his birthday (“Is that… is that blue birthday cake?”He sounded hungry, maybe a little wistful. I wondered if the poor kid had ever had a birthday party, or if he’d ever been invited to one. “Come inside for cake and ice cream,” I said. “It sounds like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Reminded him that he was still a child (I smiled. “Maybe it’s okay to still be a kid once in a while.” I tossed him the statue, Battle of the Labyrinth)

Helped him to get the sword of hades back to impress his father (Then I looked at Nico. Unfortunately, I recognised the expression on his face. I knew what it was like wanting to make your dad proud, even if your dad was hard to love., Sword of hades)

Acknowledged everything Nico did in The last Olympian and is one of the main reasons why Hades has a cabin at camp. ( “But your children should not be left out. They should have a cabin at camp. Nico has proven that.”)

4.

Percy was Nico’s first, and after Will, his biggest love

Nico had feelings for Percy, which didn’t leave him for around 2 1/2 years, and accompanied him throughout the most challenging parts of his life. 

Feelings, which were so deep, the god of love personally acknowledged them.

Favonius even called Percy, the person Nico cares about most in House of Hades.

This was more than just a mere crush

Percy is so completely intertwined with most aspects of Nico’s character arc, in both PJO and Hoo, be it his feeling of ostracism, his relationship to Bianca or him coming to term with his own sexuality, that them not having a final interaction, makes his writing feel shallow and unfinished. Especially Nico coming to terms with his crush on Percy opens up the opportunity for a really heartwarming conversation and a moment of character growth and maturity for both of them, instead of it being wasted on one throw-away line.

And it’s the same the other way around. Nico is also a huge part of Percy’s journey.

He especially represents Percy’s biggest failure.

The first five Percy Jackson books are characterized by Percy having to take up responsibility and him being afraid of not being able to fulfill them. Be it responsibility for camp, the world, Bianca’s death, the prophecy, his friends, teh unclaimed demigods, or everything else. Most of the time, Percy was able to make sure everything turned out fine. He saved camp, he saved Olympus, he finished his quests, made the right decision for the prophecy, and he made the gods swear upon teh styx. But there’s one exception. And that is Nico.

Percy did everything in his power to make sure Nico would be spared any more hardships. He took up the burden of the prophecy, explicitly, so that Nico doesn’t have to go through any more hardships

He searched for him after Titan’s curse, kept his identity a secret and even risked himself, Annabeth, Grover and Tyson dying if it meant saving Nico

Still, Nico is one of the characters, if not the character, who has suffered the most in PJO and Hoo, even partly because of Percy (though, of course, Nico having a crush on him was not Percy’s fault at all)

He lived alone at 11 years old on the streets and in the labyrinth, while getting manipulated by an ancient evil spirit

He was isolated and ostracized at camp half-blood

He experienced the horrors of Tartarus completely on his own

He got captured by the giants and slowly suffocated to death in a small jar

He had to deal with internalized homophobia and his complicated feelings regarding Percy

He has been a vital part of two wars at only 15 years old

Had to admit his crush involuntarily in front of Jason, etc.  

One of the things Percy battles with in Heroes of Olympus is this overwhelming sense of guilt. He blames himself for almost everything that went wrong over the last few years. Be it for Iapetus, Calypso, or especially Nico. Having Percy acknowledge this complicated relationship he has with him during House of Hades, but not allowing the two of them to talk it out is genuinely baffling to me, and one of the (albeit many) reasons why I really don’t like most of Percy’s writing during Heroes of Olympus, despite the fact that he is my favourite character by far. This could have led to a moment of character growth, where Nico helps Percy to aknowledge that he feels guilty for things he had little to no control over, while Nico himself realizes how important he actually is to Percy.

They are also so similar in terms of who they are and what they’ve been through, that even if you ignore their history with each other, it seems insane, that they didn’t interact in any meaningful way:  

Both were ostracized at camp half-blood because of their parentage, and so far are the only two half-bloods we know of with that experience

They are (together with Hazel) the most powerful demigods in the Riordan verse, and have feats which far surpass anyone else’s

Both are in some way afraid of their powers

Both went through Tartarus

Both have relatively similar relationships to their godly parents

Both have gone through immense trauma and loss

And if you read heroes of Olympus, it actually very much seems to build towards a final resolution of their relationship

Percy and Nico were, aside from Frank, the two people closest to Hazel; both saw her as a little sister, and Hazel treated them both like her brothers

Nico was the first person Percy met from his old life

Percy was the one, who received the visions of Nico being captured

From everyone present, Percy trusted Nico to lead the others to Greece in his moment of greatest desperation

They both had introspections about the other in house of Hades, Nico having to deal with his crush and Percy with his guilt in Tartarus

But, in the end, after they met again, nothing happened. The only scene we really got was the “You’re not my type” line and Percy being surprised by it for a couple seconds. That’s it.

We saw no meaningful conversation between the two of them, no acknowledgement of what they’ve been through together, no lasting feelings. Nothing.

In regards to their relationship, Percy acknowledging everything that Nico has been through led to nothing. Nico acknowledging his feelings for Percy and finally letting go of this pedestal he had placed him on led to nothing. You could argue that their entire relationship, which has been built up since Titan’s curse led to nothing. And considering that they are so important characters for each of their character arcs, their characterization very much suffers from this writing decision.

The two of them, together with Hazel, are my three favourite Riordan verse characters by a long shot, but some very important aspects of both of their characters fall so flat to me through this lack of a satisfying resolution.

 Both of them deserved so much better.  

They are the friendship with the most missed potential in the entirety of the Riordan verse and probably the most fleshed out and nuanced relationship Rick ever wrote.

R.I.P.  Nico di Angelo, and Percy Jackson, you will always be brothers in my mind.

[dissapointu]

Hello, I wanted to ask you a little drabble with all the arcane characters.

Like how they fell in love with reader ( like what captured their attention etc)

It would be pretty cool in my opinion.

Have a wonderful day\night.

Aaaugh, I made of made this a bit long-(really long, that was sarcasm) I'm splitting it into two portions

Jinx-

Jinx didn’t know what to make of you at first. You weren’t loud or flashy like the people she was used to dealing with. You weren’t trying to prove anything, and yet, there was something about you that screamed different.

She first noticed it when you didn’t flinch at one of her explosions—not the way most people did, anyway. The boom had rattled the room, shaking dust from the rafters, and yet, there you were, brushing soot from your shirt like it was just another Tuesday.

“Nice touch with the blue sparks,” you’d said, nodding at her latest contraption. “Adds flair.”

Flair? Most people would’ve called it destruction. Most people would’ve screamed or run. But you? You tilted your head, eyes bright, genuinely impressed, and for a moment, Jinx was at a loss for words.

It wasn’t just that you didn’t fear her; it was the way you saw her. You noticed the little things—the care she put into her work, the way she tinkered endlessly to perfect her machines. While others saw chaos, you saw art, and for someone like Jinx, that was everything.

The next time she saw you, it was intentional. She didn’t need to bring you a gadget she’d been working on—it wasn’t even finished—but she wanted to see how you’d react. Sure enough, you examined it like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, pointing out details she hadn’t realized anyone else would notice.

“This is genius,” you murmured, tracing a finger along a carved design she’d barely remembered adding. “You really think through every detail, don’t you?”

Her heart did something weird then, like skipping a beat but more… explosive.

From there, it snowballed. You became her favorite person to show her creations to, the only one she trusted to see her work before it was ready. You never judged, never laughed when something misfired—just smiled and asked how you could help.

And Jinx? She realized she’d fallen for you one day when she caught herself trying to impress you. The realization hit her like a grenade: she didn’t just want you to like her inventions—she wanted you to like her.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” she said one night, leaning against her workbench, tools scattered around her. Her voice was softer than usual, almost unsure. “Most people don’t get me, but… you do.”

You’d just smiled, that easy, genuine smile that had hooked her from the start. “That’s because you’re worth getting.”

And just like that, Jinx knew there was no going back.

Vi –

Vi wasn’t looking for anyone. She didn’t have time for soft moments, not with everything she had on her plate. But then you came along, and she couldn’t help but notice how you carried yourself—steady, calm, unshakable.

The first time she really noticed you, it wasn’t some grand, sweeping moment. It was quiet. You were helping some kids in the Lanes patch up a rickety swing they used to pass the time. Nothing fancy, just you, a coil of rope, and that determined look in your eyes.

She hadn’t meant to stop and watch, but something about you drew her in. Maybe it was the way you didn’t hesitate to get your hands dirty or how the kids laughed around you, their faces lighting up despite everything the Lanes threw at them.

“You’re good with them,” she said after working up the nerve to approach you, trying to sound casual.

You glanced up at her, wiping sweat from your brow, and gave her a smile that hit her like a sucker punch. “Someone’s gotta be. They deserve better than this, don’t you think?”

It wasn’t just your words that stuck with her—it was the way you said them. Like you meant it. Like you actually believed in something better, even when the world gave you every reason not to.

From then on, Vi found herself noticing you everywhere. The way you stepped up when others hesitated. The way you didn’t back down, even when things got messy. You had this quiet strength about you, the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway.

She started finding excuses to stick around—helping with repairs, walking the kids home, sparring with you in the courtyard when the opportunity came up. And each time, she found herself drawn to you a little more.

“You’re somethin’ else,” she admitted one night, sitting beside you on a crumbling wall, the city’s broken skyline stretching out before you.

You raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. “That so?”

“Yeah.” She rubbed the back of her neck, uncharacteristically shy. “Most people would’ve given up on this place a long time ago, but not you. You stick it out, no matter how hard it gets.”

You shrugged, your gaze softening as you looked at her. “Same could be said about you, Vi.”

That was the moment it hit her—like a punch she didn’t see coming. It wasn’t just admiration anymore. It was something deeper, something she couldn’t ignore.

She fell for you in pieces, each small moment stacking up until it all clicked. It wasn’t about grand gestures or dramatic confessions. It was the way you fit—like you were exactly what she didn’t know she was missing.

And when she finally worked up the courage to tell you, your answer came with that same steady smile that had captivated her from the start.

“Figured it out, huh?” you teased, and she rolled her eyes, though her grin gave her away.

Yeah, she figured it out. And she wasn’t letting you go.

Sevika-

Sevika didn’t believe in love. In the Lanes, it wasn’t something people had the luxury of chasing. Survival came first, and attachments were just liabilities waiting to stab you in the back.

But you were… different.

The first time she noticed you, it wasn’t because you were trying to catch her attention. You were too busy holding your own, stepping into a dispute between two gang members over stolen supplies. She’d leaned back in the corner of the Last Drop, watching the chaos unfold, ready to step in if things got messy.

But then you surprised her.

You didn’t raise your voice or threaten anyone. Instead, you stood tall, calm as you defused the tension with a few sharp words and an unflinching glare. You had this presence, like you weren’t afraid of anyone in the room—not even her.

“Bold move,” Sevika had said when you approached the bar afterward, ordering a drink like you hadn’t just stared down two brutes twice your size.

You glanced at her, your lips quirking into a small smirk. “Someone’s gotta keep things from falling apart.”

That was the moment she started paying attention. You didn’t just survive in the Lanes—you thrived. You didn’t let the weight of the place crush you like it did everyone else. And more than that, you cared. Not in some naive, starry-eyed way, but in a way that made you fight tooth and nail for the people who couldn’t fight for themselves.

It pissed her off at first. The way you carried yourself like you weren’t afraid of the darkness around you. She thought it was reckless, stupid even. But the more she watched, the more she realized it wasn’t recklessness. It was conviction.

You weren’t scared of getting your hands dirty, but you never lost sight of what mattered to you. That’s what got under her skin, what kept her coming back to the same barstool night after night, just to see what you’d do next.

She started finding reasons to stick around. Sometimes it was to share a drink, other times to offer backup when things got rough. You never asked for her help, but you didn’t push her away either, and that intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

One night, after a particularly close call with one of Silco’s rivals, you patched up a cut on her arm, your hands steady as you worked.

“You’re too damn stubborn for your own good,” she muttered, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

You chuckled, your touch gentle as you tied off the bandage. “Takes one to know one.”

It was such a simple moment, but it stayed with her. The way you looked at her—not like she was some feared enforcer, but like she was just… Sevika. It wasn’t something she was used to, and it scared her as much as it thrilled her.

Over time, she realized she was looking for you in every crowd, waiting for the nights you’d sit beside her and trade sharp banter over a drink. She fell for you quietly, begrudgingly, like it snuck up on her before she could stop it.

And when she finally admitted it—to herself, to you—it wasn’t some grand confession. It was a gruff, almost reluctant, “You mean more to me than you should.”

Your response? That same infuriating, endearing smirk. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

Sevika huffed a laugh, shaking her head, but the truth was, she didn’t mind. Because for once, letting someone in didn’t feel like a weakness. It felt like strength.

Silco -

Silco had always been a man of control, ambition, and sharp edges. In the underbelly of Zaun, survival demanded nothing less. Trust was currency, and affection? A distraction. He had long since accepted that power was the only thing worth chasing.

But then you appeared.

You weren’t loud or showy, not one of those people clawing for his attention. No, you worked quietly, efficiently, in the background of the chaos he ruled. You were just another piece in his intricate machine at first—just another person serving a purpose.

What caught his attention first was your unyielding patience. Where others in the Lanes were frantic, desperate to prove their worth, you moved with a calm certainty, like you weren’t afraid of the storm around you. You fixed what was broken—tools, machines, even people—without asking for anything in return.

One night, you’d been tending to one of his injured men after a skirmish, your hands steady as you stitched him up in the dim light of the hideout. Silco watched from the shadows, curious. The man hissed in pain, and you responded with a soft laugh.

“Hold still, or I’ll sew you up crooked,” you teased, your tone warm but firm.

It wasn’t the words that struck him—it was the way you carried yourself. There was no fear in your voice, no need to prove yourself to anyone. You didn’t care about earning his favor or gaining power. You just… were.

For someone like Silco, who thrived on manipulation and control, it was unnerving. People were supposed to want something from him. But you? You treated him like a man, not a king.

It wasn’t long before he started seeking you out. At first, it was subtle. A lingering glance as he passed through the room, a quiet question about your work. You always answered him honestly, without flinching under his piercing gaze, and it left him unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite name.

One evening, after a particularly brutal day, he found you sitting by the docks, staring out at the toxic waters of Zaun. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly at the sight of you, though he didn’t understand why.

“You should be careful out here,” he said, his voice low as he stepped closer.

You glanced over your shoulder, smiling faintly. “And miss the chance to breathe? I think I’ll take my chances.”

It was such a simple thing, but it stayed with him. In a world that demanded constant vigilance, you allowed yourself to simply exist. It was a quiet defiance, one that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

Over time, you became a constant presence in his life, slipping through the cracks of his carefully constructed walls. It wasn’t grand gestures or impassioned declarations that made him fall for you. It was the quiet moments—the way you never cowered under his gaze, the way you challenged him without hostility, the way you saw him for more than his scars.

One night, as the two of you shared a rare moment of silence in his office, he finally allowed himself to admit what he’d been feeling.

“You’re dangerous,” he said, his voice soft, almost amused.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Dangerous? To you?”

He smirked, though there was no malice in it. “You’ve managed to do what no one else has.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’ve made me want something I didn’t think I needed.”

Your smile widened, warm and unguarded, and for once, Silco didn’t feel the need to look away.

In you, he found something unexpected: a quiet kind of strength, the kind that didn’t demand attention but commanded respect. And for a man who had spent his life fighting for control, letting himself fall for you felt like the ultimate rebellion.

Vander -

Vander wasn’t a man who fell in love easily. His life had been shaped by too much loss, too much responsibility. The people of the Lanes leaned on him, and he carried their weight with quiet strength. Love, to him, felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford.

But then, there was you.

It wasn’t some grand moment that captured his attention—it was the small, steady things. The way you moved through the chaos of the Last Drop, keeping the peace in your own quiet way. The way you never demanded his time but somehow always knew when he needed someone to sit beside him in silence.

What struck him first was your kindness—not the soft, fragile kind, but the sort that had edges. You didn’t let people walk over you, but you never hesitated to offer a hand to someone in need. In a place like Zaun, where survival often demanded selfishness, you were a rarity.

He noticed it one night when a brawl broke out in the bar. Two rowdy patrons had nearly overturned a table, and before Vander could step in, you were already there. You didn’t raise your voice or throw a punch. Instead, you placed a firm hand on one of their shoulders, your calm, measured tone cutting through the tension.

“Save it for the street, boys. We don’t spill blood where we share drinks.”

To his surprise, they listened. Vander couldn’t help but chuckle as they slunk off, muttering apologies.

“Got a way with people,” he said later, handing you a drink as thanks.

You shrugged, offering a small smile. “Just trying to keep things from falling apart.”

Those words stayed with him. It was how you carried yourself—like you were always holding the pieces together, not because you had to, but because you chose to.

Over time, he started finding excuses to be near you. A quick conversation here, a shared drink there. You had a way of making him feel… lighter. Like he could let go of the weight he carried, even if just for a moment.

It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after the bar had emptied, that he realized how deeply you’d settled into his heart. You were sitting on one of the tables, cleaning up a spill, humming a tune under your breath. The soft glow of the lanterns lit up your face, and for a moment, Vander just… watched.

“You’re staring,” you said, not looking up.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Caught me.”

You glanced at him then, your smile warm and teasing. “What’s on your mind, big guy?”

He hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure. But then, he decided to just say it—Vander was never one for dancing around the truth.

“You. The way you care about this place. The people. Me.” He exhaled, leaning against the bar. “Never thought I’d find someone like you in all this.”

Your eyes softened, and you set down the rag in your hands, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you teased gently. “Took you long enough to notice me.”

He laughed then, a deep, rumbling sound that made your chest warm. “Oh, I noticed. Took me a bit longer to admit it.”

And when you reached up, resting a hand against his face, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for just a moment. In you, he found something he hadn’t realized he needed—a steady flame in the chaos of the Lanes.

Ekko -

Ekko didn’t believe in distractions. The Firelights needed him, the Lanes needed him. His days were spent fixing the mess left behind by Piltover’s greed and Silco’s reign. He had no time for anything else—least of all love.

But you? You didn’t give him much of a choice.

It wasn’t a single moment that caught his attention. It was a collection of them, like the pieces of a clock coming together. He first noticed the way you moved—quick and deliberate, like you belonged to the rhythm of the chaos around you. No hesitation, no wasted motion. Whether you were patching up one of the Firelights after a mission or organizing supplies in the hideout, you carried yourself with a quiet confidence that made it impossible for him not to watch.

What hooked him, though, was your laughter. The first time he heard it, he froze. It had been after a particularly rough raid. Everyone was tense, the weight of the day pressing down on their shoulders. And then you cracked some joke—stupid, honestly, but something about the way you delivered it had everyone laughing, including Ekko.

That was when he realized it: you didn’t just survive the Lanes. You thrived in them. You brought light into a place where most people only saw shadows.

It started small—an extra second spent talking to you, a lingering glance when he thought you weren’t looking. He’d catch himself gravitating toward you without even meaning to, drawn to the way you lit up a room with just your presence.

But it wasn’t until one night, long after the others had gone to sleep, that he truly understood how deep you’d gotten under his skin. You were sitting by the glow of a makeshift lantern, tinkering with some piece of tech you’d salvaged. The light cast shadows across your face, highlighting the curve of your cheek, the focus in your eyes.

“Burning the midnight oil?” he asked, leaning against the doorway.

You glanced up, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Someone’s gotta keep this place running.”

He stepped closer, hands shoved into his pockets. “You do too much, you know that?”

“Says the guy who can barely take a break,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Fair point.” For a moment, he just stood there, watching you work. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and warm.

“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him with a tilt of your head. “Do what?”

“Care so much. About all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entire hideout, the Firelights, the Lanes.

Your gaze softened, and you set the piece of tech aside. “Because someone has to. And because… I believe in you, Ekko.”

The sincerity in your voice hit him like a punch to the gut. You believed in him. In a world that seemed determined to tear him down, you stood beside him, unwavering.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, reaching out to take his hand. “Guess you’re stuck with me anyway.”

That was the moment Ekko fell. Completely, irreversibly.

Jayce -

Jayce had always been drawn to brilliance. Invention, ambition, ingenuity—they were the cornerstones of what he admired in others. And yet, none of it had ever prepared him for you.

The first time he saw you, it wasn’t in a polished Piltover workshop or a grand council meeting. It was in a small, crowded market on the edge of the Undercity, where the scent of oil and metal clung to the air. You stood at a stall, bartering for scraps and materials like your life depended on it—because, as he’d later learn, it did.

What caught his attention wasn’t just your resourcefulness or the sharp wit you wielded against the vendor. It was the way your eyes lit up when you held a seemingly useless part in your hands, already envisioning the endless possibilities it could unlock.

He didn’t even mean to approach you. His curiosity had a mind of its own. “What are you going to do with that?”

You turned, a little startled, but you didn’t back down from his inquisitive gaze. Instead, you held up the twisted hunk of metal like it was a crown jewel. “Turn it into something brilliant. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

It wasn’t arrogance—it was certainty. And Jayce, who had spent his life chasing impossible ideas, saw a kindred spirit in you.

From that moment, you became an enigma he couldn’t resist unraveling. Every conversation revealed new layers to your ingenuity, your resilience, your unshakable belief in making the impossible possible. And the more time he spent with you, the more he realized it wasn’t just your mind that captivated him—it was your heart.

You were unafraid to challenge him, to push him, to remind him that the world wasn’t just equations and theories but people and dreams. Your passion reignited something in him he hadn’t realized he’d lost: a love for the why, not just the how.

One evening, as the two of you sat side by side, tinkering with a device in his lab, he found himself watching you instead of the work. The way your hair caught the light, the quiet determination in your expression, the soft smile when something finally clicked into place.

“You’re staring,” you teased without looking up.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just—how do you make everything seem so effortless?”

You grinned, glancing at him with that spark he’d come to love. “It’s not effortless. I just don’t let the hard parts stop me.”

In that moment, he knew he was a goner.

Jayce Talis, the golden boy of Piltover, had fallen in love with you—not because of what you could build, but because of what you built in him: a renewed faith in the beauty of dreaming big, of chasing the spark no matter where it led.

And it apparently led to you.

Viktor-

Viktor didn’t notice you at first, not in the way others might have. He was too focused on his work, his mind consumed by blueprints and equations. But you… you were patient, always there in the background, asking questions no one else dared to ask, seeing things no one else cared to notice.

It was one of those late nights in the lab when you caught his attention. He was hunched over a schematic, frustration etched into every line of his face. You, seated quietly at the far end of the room, had been watching him—though you’d never admit it aloud.

“Did you eat today?” your voice broke through the silence.

Viktor didn’t even look up. “I’m fine,” he replied, a rote answer that wasn’t convincing in the slightest.

You set down your work and crossed the room, standing just out of his peripheral vision. “Fine isn’t food, Viktor.”

When he finally looked at you, there was something in your eyes that made him pause. It wasn’t pity or condescension—two things he’d grown accustomed to. It was understanding, genuine and unyielding, as if you knew exactly what it felt like to lose yourself in something bigger.

That was the first moment he realized you were different.

It wasn’t the last.

You had a way of grounding him, of pulling him out of his own head without judgment. Your presence was quiet but powerful, a steady force that didn’t demand his attention but earned it nonetheless.

What truly captured him, though, was your mind. You didn’t just accept the world as it was; you questioned it, challenged it, sought to understand it. You weren’t afraid to debate him, to push back when you thought he was wrong, and yet you did so with a respect that made him listen.

He found himself looking forward to your late-night conversations, the way you’d linger in the lab long after everyone else had gone home. You’d ask about his work—not just the mechanics but the why behind it, the hopes and fears he buried beneath his relentless drive.

One evening, as you sketched out a rough design on a scrap of paper, Viktor caught himself smiling. Not at the drawing, though it was clever, but at you. The way you bit your lip in concentration, the furrow of your brow, the quiet hum of satisfaction when you got something just right.

“You are remarkable,” he said softly, almost to himself.

You glanced up, surprised. “What?”

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, fiddling with a wrench. “Nothing. Just… your ideas. They’re… innovative.”

But it wasn’t just your ideas. It was you—the way you saw the world, the way you saw him. Not as a man constrained by limitations but as someone capable of more.

You believed in him, not just in his work, and that was something Viktor hadn’t realized he craved until you offered it so freely.

And as the days turned into weeks, then months, he realized something else: He believed in you, too.

It wasn’t some grand epiphany or dramatic moment. It was in the quiet, shared glances, the lingering touches when you handed him a tool, the way his chest felt lighter when you were near. Somewhere in the midst of late nights and whispered dreams, Viktor had fallen in love.

Not just with your mind or your presence, but with the way you made him feel—seen, understood, whole.

And for a man who’d always fought against the odds, loving you felt like the greatest invention of all.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! Congrats on 8k babe, it’s so so well deserved! If this inspires you could I request gift wrap and ‘mulled wine’ for Sirius??

Hi lovely Fawn, thanks so much <3

cw: alcohol

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 513 words

Sirius finds you curled up in a corner of the couch, nibbling on a thin slice of orange. You look rather content to be doing so, but he can never stand to see anyone sitting alone at a party, least of all you. You’ve uncovered soft spots Sirius didn’t know he had before he met you. 

“You’re making quick work of that,” he says, nodding to your full glass as he sits. 

You look down at it, a small frown denting the sweet bit of skin between your brows, not realizing Sirius’ teasing until he grins at you. 

“Careful, don’t want to get too sauced too fast.” 

“Mary brought it for me,” you say, almost as if in apology, “but I don’t really care for wine. It’s nice that it has these little oranges in it, though.” 

“You might find some raisins, too,” Sirius says smoothly. He ought to know, he’d fought James on it tooth and nail, but for some reason his friend was very attached to the inclusion of the raisins. Sirius has been paying extra attention to the bartender at the restaurant where he works, thinking about going for a job like that and brushing up on his mixology skills in the meantime, and James is of course taking full advantage of this new interest. Sirius keeps getting stuck on food and drinks at parties that aren’t even his. 

All well worth it, though, if it means a chance at impressing you. You and Sirius have only been on a few dates—not enough that he’d have brought you here tonight if you weren’t already friends with the girls—and he finds himself bending over backwards more than he’s used to in hopes of coaxing a smile or a laugh out of you. 

“It’s mulled wine,” he explains, hoping not to sound too pretentious about it (the way Remus gets after him, you’d think Sirius couldn’t help it half the time). “You might like it better than regular wine; it’s sweeter.” 

You look into your glass with new consideration, lifting your eyebrows minutely at him as you pick it up. This is the sort of look Sirius chooses to interpret as flirtation from you, though it may only be wishful thinking. You give the class a tiny swirl before bringing it to your lips. 

You don’t make a face or anything, only set it back down on your coaster and take another bite of your orange. “I think I might just stick with this,” you say gently. 

Sirius smiles in the face of defeat (it’s never looked so spectacularly beautiful). He makes a mental note not to do any more wine-based drinks for these parties. 

“Fair enough,” he says, fishing in his own glass for his orange. “Here, I’ll trade you.” 

Your lips tilt up as you accept it. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Sirius smiles back at you, feeling his go lopsided. “Course. I can make you something else to drink, too, if you like.” 

Your eyes light with intrigue. “What can you make?” 

Sirius might just have a chance to impress you yet. 

[fierceawakening]

Yes! That’s… less of a clear answer than I feel comfortable with to join a movement or admire its leaders, but it’s something.

I always get the sense in conversations like this that people are much more comfortable than I am just being like “who cares about the edge cases?”

I care about them, both because I’ve *been* the victim of things committed by people too deep in their mental illness for anyone who tried to convince them to stop, and because if we truly believe everyone is a person (which I see as a key tenet of leftist values and part of why I choose them over right wing values in the first place) then we believe some things are too cruel even for people who do horrific things.

So I don’t see it as an issue we can avoid.

Also like I’ve mentioned I work at a homeless shelter. The reason a lot of academically inclined leftists can talk about crime like it’s rare is because they don’t spend time in environments where people who’ve committed crimes are common. I don’t think they’re wrong that most people are basically good, but I think they can be naive about what it takes to convince someone crimes are not a great idea. If someone has a patten of criming, it’s because that’s what they believe works for them. Getting them to stop is about changing their outlook and habits, which is far from impossible but a lot slower and more bumpy than many people who never did much criming want to think.

Also I think a lot of people really don’t have an accurate picture in their heads of serious mental illness. I think very often people have an idea that even very acutely ill people are fairly rational, and you can usually help them deal with their anxiety, give them meds, whatever, and they improve a lot. Again, I don’t think this is fundamentally incorrect; disease isn’t destiny. But having interacted with a lot of people whose illness is particularly intractable, I think that people often have… the same kind of image in their mind, where they don’t really understand how incremental incremental can be.

There are many people, including one client I’m very morose about, who improve a little when treated well, but a little isn’t enough. My moroseness? That client has been banned for fighting, unless she appeals the decision and wins. I don’t *like* the thought that she’s going to lose her place here and that’s likely to only make things worse… but I don’t have the fundamental confidence to say that kicking people out for violence is too cruel, we can make sure it’s fine. Making sure it’s fine is very clearly above my pay grade, and while there are people with more experience and better degrees than me I don’t have the impression they’re less confused.

All of which says to me that deciding we’re ready to stop imprisoning people who do bad things is at the very least premature (and to their credit a lot of abolitionists do agree that prisons will be phased out over time.) I think it’s unrealistic not just in a way that paints a rosy picture of humanity (as a whole? My picture of humanity is also fairly rosy!) but also in a way that fundamentally ill prepares us to really help perpetrators in ways that matter.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Kiss it Better Pt:3

Curly x Reader

AN: I am just speechless. All this support is making me tear up. Like holy shit. Thank you. Don’t worry! When this finishes(god idk how it will I’m making up as I go since yall want more chapters) I’ll make sure to post it to AO3 for easier access! Just thank you again! And uh. Don’t forget I have a Kofi and Wishlist if you wanna like tip or something. NO PRESSURE! Just a reminder to anyone who WANTS and CAN! You come first! Just. Thank you again!

SUM: You couldn’t sleep, so you try and remember things with Curly to lull you to sleep. As you do, you remember things that are important for a captain to have. Very important, and you are gonna be certain to find them

Warnings: Jimmy, sexual assault, mentions of abortion (it’s a rather calm chapter really. Take it as a pallet cleanser because the next chapter imma really show you how fucked up Jimmy is))

You just couldn’t sleep. It felt criminal to right now. So much was going through your head. So much has happened and now you had time to let it all soak in. The crash, Anya, why there was a crash, Curly’s condition, it made sleep impossible. Especially alone in that big bed that was meant for you and your husband.

You tried to take in deep breaths, and just let the thoughts wash over you. There was responsibility as the Captains Spouse. You weren’t just ‘eye candy’ like Jimmy said. You had worth, and were just as much important to the team as everyone else.

Such as learning a thing or two about what Captain should do in case of an emergency.

Curly was in no state to help, and Jimmy sure as fuck won’t help either. He was the reason everyone crashed after all. He’s a loose cannon and you needed to tip toe around him. Who knows what he might do next. You weren’t even sure if telling Swansea and Daisuke about what’s going on was smart.

Swansea has little girls of his own after all. He won’t react well at all. Then there’s Daisuke. Barely nineteen and thrown into this mess. He might panic or maybe even do something crazy like confront Jimmy. There was just to many what ifs.

So you were left on your own.

You would wrap yourself up in what was once Curly’s sleep robe and grab his spare ID card. The very thing that can unlock any door, and be the one thing that can lock your bedroom door. Definitely should have Anya sleep in here for a while. She deserves to be able to sleep soundly.

While you were waiting for everyone to sleep as well you would explore the bedroom. Looking into nook and cranny to see if there was anything of use. The Captains always were given a bunch of extra shit after all. Even Pony Express had to meet some safety protocols. Curly was their best after all. Even went as far as to try and help him fine work else where. That’s what he explained to you.

Shame. Was just a normal bedroom. The only thing that made it special was it was bigger, and had a lock. Dammit all to hell.

That’s when you tried to think back on past memories of you and your husband. To try and recall any kind of special thing the ships carry. Oh how you felt so guilty for never paying enough attention. Made you feel stupid and useless, but you weren’t.

At least not in comparison to Jimmy.

With a deep breath, you managed to recall something. Something not long before the crash even. You had knocked on the cockpit door to enter it, and was greeted to your husband and Jimmy working. Curly was rambling on about something, while Jimmy kept eyeing the locker suspiciously. As if he wanted to get inside of it for some reason.

That’s your best lead now. God dammit was it a shitty one. The cockpit was stuffed to the brim with foam. But then again that’s the front of the cockpit. If you were careful, and cut the right spot, maybe you can access the locker.

It’s something. Something is better than nothing.

With the robe tossed aside, a change into your jump suit, gloves slipped on, and beanie pulled on to keep your head safe you would make your way to the kitchen. Card key tucked securely inside of your jumpsuit compared to a pocket.

Jimmy can’t know.

Can’t know that you were stealing the only knife that the ship had.

Was going to be a pain in the ass to cut that foam but you really had nothing better to do. So, you unlocked the cock pit and focused on remembering its layout.

“For Anya, for Curly, for Swansea, for Daisuke, and all our families back home.”

You would start the slow and agonizing cutting. Little by little. Just chopping away to try and reach the right side of the pit. To get to that locker and see what was inside. That locker was in the cockpit for a reason. It can only be accessed by the pilots for a reason. There was a reason.

Any time you felt like your arms would give out you thought back to Curly. How he didn’t really have arms anymore to begin with. How Anya was busy throwing up right now. How they needed you. They both needed you.

It had been well over a hour, but you managed to reach the locker. You allowed yourself a breather at the sight of it. Damn was that a pain, but it’ll be worth it. Right?

With your breather over you would use the key card to access the locker. Inside was….Honestly junk. That had you very disappointed. You were honestly ready to cry out of frustration, only to see there were a few locked cabinets inside.

Ones that needed codes.

Codes you knew.

Curly made you memorize them in case of an emergency. He just said to memorize them. That it’s meant to just unlock pin pads. That Pony Express never bothered to change them.

You went to the lower locker and typed it in.

Strange, there was nothing inside. Suppose whatever was inside was taken out. You wondered what could have been in there. Was a very small locker so maybe it was some code scanner or universal unlocking device. Just wasn’t big enough for something you hoped for.

A transmitter.

He prayed it was near the front of the ship. That a transmitter would stuck in the heart of the foam, or as far as just shatter on contact. They had to have a spare communicator. Pony Express had to follow SOME rules after all. Imagine the ship being discovered and the people who found it saw it was missing something as important as that.

So you typed in the code for the larger locker. You were kinda afraid of opening it. To be met with another empty void of metal and dust.

You took a deep breath, and opened.

There really was a god.

There was what you were looking for. A real deal communicator. It was real, it looked untouched and even had dust on it to show that Jimmy never reached it.

Before you grabbed it you made sure to close the door behind you. Just to be sure. Was the dead of night, well from what the clocks say, and everyone should be asleep. Even Jimmy had to sleep. You had to make you move now.

Remain calm, and focus.

You can’t fuck this up.

You snuggled yourself into the corner of the pit, with the communication device in your lap. You hooked the head phones onto your head, and turned it on.

As you waited for it to boot up you made sure you were positioned so that if anyone came through the door, for some reason, you’ll notice. As far as anyone was aware though this room was basically a wall. No purpose to enter. You should be safe, but you had to think ahead. Jimmy was unpredictable, and so full of himself.

Better to be over prepared than see what happens if Jimmy finds out what you are doing.

Couldn’t help but give a squeak of surprise when someone finally spoke to you.

“This is the Emergency Spaceship Retrieval Sector. What seems to be the problem?”

A woman, through the static, spoke to you. Tears of relief fell down your face but you forced yourself to remain focused. You can’t mess this up now. No way no how.

“This is Tulpar for Pony Express. We have suffered a crash about a month ago. From what I can recall we had been a little over four months into our twelve month journey-“ You immediately explained, as to best help them get an estimation on how far the ship had traveled.

“Alright, who may I be speaking to at this moment?”

Deep breaths.

“I am the Spouse to Captain Curly. It is me, Jimmy the co-pilot, Anya the nurse, Swansea the mechanic, and Daisuke our intern.” Deep breaths, keep things quick and to the point.

“Are you all in any immediate danger?”

You had to think about that a moment. Jimmy is a dangerous man. Who knows what he might do next if you don’t play along. So, you had to be honest. You felt guilty for telling the operator what happened. That Curly suffered greatly and needed immediate medical attention, how Anya was a victim of assault and required an abortion as soon as possible, and that the reason for it all was because of Jimmy. He crashed the ship, he raped Anya, he destroyed Curly, and god knows what he will do next.

“Estimated arrival time will be about a month. We have your exact location thanks to the communicator. Remain calm, and know that help is on the way. We have logged this down in the report. Take care of your crew the best you can, Captain.”

And she would log off. You would let your head thump back, and simply cried. Cried in pure relief and joy. That a real person heard you, and was aware of what’s going on. That if anything did go wrong that at least someone knows. Someone will know what happened.

There was hope.

Now was a matter of survival.

One month.

You all needed to survive one month.

One Month Until Rescue…

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@dinkyzoop @danart501 @spudfromspace @niyamamiya

[saras-almanac]

So I’ve been sitting on my feelings about the BuckTommy breakup and handling of it for a while, trying to get my thoughts in order. And after a while of thinking on it—and the recent Lou interview dropping making me feel like my feelings are valid—kind of made me want to just blurt them all out and hope for the best. So this is that.

Ultimately the entire handling of the BuckTommy breakup feels cruel. And not just cruel in an intentional way, but cruel in a casually, not even given any thought cruelty, which is worse sometimes. And to be honest, I think that’s part of why I’ve been struggling with it so much. (That and the echoes of Magicians season 4, which if you know you know).

What I mean by cruelty is just the lack of any real effort or care put into this storyline, one that they had previously been handled with so much care and concern and were praised (rightly so) for at the time. It’s the way they introduce this Tommy as Abby’s ex thing, which makes hardly any sense at all, but also feels cruel in the intention of laughing at the invisible string of fate theory between them. It’s they way that they’re 6 months anniversary and not only have they not talked about this, but Buck (Evan Buckley) didn’t get him a gift that feels cruel because that feels so wildly out of character for him. It’s the way they had the break up play into some bisexual stereotypes at best and inherently biphobic at worst by having Maddie suggest Abby turned him gay or that Buck needs to “explore” things to figure out what he wants or that Buck “Doesn’t know what pond to jump back into” of it all. (Not to mention the comments from OS about wanting Buck to fuck—which I’m not getting into because I didn’t read it and as a bisexual woman, don’t feel the need to go and try to find something that might upset me more.)

All those reasons are why the breakup itself is cruel to the characters, but it’s also cruel to those of us watching, and especially to anyone and everyone who loved and/or related to the character of Tommy, who we see walk away much much worse off than when we found him. It’s the way the story (intentionally or not) is framing it like a romcom break up – make up – pining storyline which they apparently are not doing according to interviews. It’s the way they didn’t give any sort of closure to Tommy for the character or for the audience.

There’s a reason that people lose themselves in stories—it’s because they follow certain rules and contracts. It’s expected that stories do not match up to real life because while things don’t have bigger meanings in life or they don’t work out according to plan, in stories, everything happens for a reason. Because that’s the whole point of what you’re consuming. And along with that, emotional moments are meant to feel cathartic in a way, at least eventually, because you were able to see the bigger picture, to feel the finality to things, and to really understand what’s being said and what’s happening. This breakup does none of that and actually seems to have been included and rushed for shock value and that to me, is just shitty, lazy writing.

If you were going to break them up and have no desire for any sort of reunion or closure, why not make it intentional? Tommy could be the one who wants marriage and kids and settling down and Buck internally freaks out because theoretically he wants that but maybe it’s too soon and as much as Tommy loves Buck, he’s not going to wait around and hope that Buck feels the same for him because he’s been hurt too many times like that. Or Tommy could be leaving for another state because he’s no longer going to be a firefighter or needs to go for family reasons or gets a job at a different station that he applied for ages ago and he has everything all set up and isn’t going to ask Buck to leave his entire life for Tommy, so they decide to breakup even if it hurts both of them. In either of those cases, it’s sad and devastating, but at least there would be some closure to it and understanding of it for both the characters and the audience and some peace knowing that at least these two are going to be moving toward happiness in whatever way that means for them.

Instead, what we have, is a hail-mary last-second breakup that comes out of nowhere and feels abrupt and crappy in the way we leave Tommy specifically because we might never see him again. And that is the crux of the issue. Because the way this was written, the understanding is that they are going to get back together or reunion or at least have that final closure conversation—because that’s what happens in stories. We see this type of surprise breakups, breakups where they issue is they love each other too much and are afraid to go further (Athena/Bobby and Maddie/Chimney to name two examples we saw in universe) only to eventually fight to be together and realize that if they don’t take a chance they might never know how amazing it is. So the fact that it’s set up to follow this same path while nearly every interview is telling the opposite, again demonstrates that casual cruelty as well as an inherent failure on the writing. If you have to go in interview and explain what it is you wrote or are telling, then you have failed as a writer. It’s really as simple as that.

This breakup doesn’t feel set up or foreshadowed, it just feels like they added it on because they didn’t want to do anything more with it? And that feels incredibly crappy as a decision to so many people who related to Buck and Tommy and them coming out later in life and all those other things. I’m rambling and on my phone and feeling a lot of things that I can’t fully express right now, but the long and short of it: If this was always intended to be the final time we see Tommy, this breakup is even crueler than intended.

[wheneverfeasible]

Wiggly Wednesday?

The brain worms are here again.

I honestly hate Christmas and avoid doing too much for it. However, an idea came to me suddenly and I can’t stop thinking about…

Secret Santa Steddie AU.

In one of Steve’s high school classes senior year, they’re assigned a Secret Santa project. They all put their names in a Santa hat and have to draw one out (returning it for another if it’s their own) and that’s the person they have to secretly give a gift to, either homemade or purchased, but there’s a cap of like…whatever the equivalent of $20 today is back then. Idk.

This is supposed to be a team building type of exercise, something to foster camaraderie, after say maybe a huge argument/fight broke out between Tommy and his group and the Freak, Eddie Munson, as well as some other nerds. Steve is exhausted and doesn’t care for Tommy’s bullshittery anymore, so he didn’t really get involved, though Eddie did throw a few digs his way. Which was hurtful but probably deserved.

Anyways, Steve draws out Eddie’s name.

For the next week or so the last fifteen minutes of class are devoted to questionnaires and such where the students answer questions about themselves directly or they fill in answers to widely asked questions, all used to let the Secret Santas learn about their recipients. Some people take it more seriously than others.

Steve gets to know more about Eddie, who is more blasé about it all, obviously not expecting anyone to give him something good (if they give him anything at all) since he has no friends in the class and most people don’t like him. So Steve, who has never paid Eddie any amount of attention before in the past but has been now and finds himself intrigued, starts observing Eddie outside of class.

Steve knows he could buy Eddie something music related. An easy cop-out gift. But the more he observes Eddie, the more he gets to see the tiny cracks in the Freak persona whenever he spies on him, sees the nerdy but also kind person beneath the leather jacket. And…okay…maybe he starts to develop a sort of crush without realizing that’s what happens.

Maybe he bribes other nerds about Hellfire Club and Eddie and makes certain they don’t squeal about him asking (he doesn’t realize he comes off as threatening, he just thinks he’s being urging), maybe he hears Eddie mention things and then he goes and asks Dustin what they mean, learning it’s from a book series about midgets and some jewelry or whatever, and so an idea forms.

While shuttling the kids about after school, Steve asks Will if he’d be willing to draw something for him, which Steve would pay him for. Will, obviously excited because it’s his first commission job and Steve pays him fairly, agrees.

(Steve may also purchase a patch at the record store they stop at—Will’s request as he wants to buy something for Jonathan—because it reminds him of Eddie, but that doesn’t matter.)

Yadda yadda ya, it’s time to exchange gifts. The teacher has allowed them to drop them off leading up to the Friday before winter vacation to keep the mystery alive.

When Eddie gets his, he’s expecting something more like a prank gift. Instead, he’s gifted a colored drawing (sadly not enough time for a painting) of Eddie dressed as someone named something like Spider or Arrow Gone or whatever, Steve doesn’t really know, but it’s him fighting off a horde of monster things with a flaming eyeball in the background and further back is an erupting volcano.

Steve doesn’t know what the hell is going on, not really able to absorb the massive info dump Dustin gave him, but Will assured Steve that the dude was cool and the battle depicted was awesome and important when he dropped off his old yearbook for model reference. Will’s opinion was enough for Steve of course. He just hoped Eddie liked it, and the patch that he rolled up with the picture.

Eddie is, of course, gobsmacked and trying his hardest not to show it. He scans the classroom to try to figure out who could have given him such an amazing gift, but no one even looks at him. There’s no way he would ever suspect the truth.

Steve ended up getting a can of Farrah Fawcett spray, which everyone laughed at and assumed was a joke gift for a jock, but Steve noticed a small twitch of a smile on Tommy’s face, the only one besides Dustin now who knows his secret.

Later, Eddie’s battle vest is adorned with the patch he received in his gift, a red and black Leviathan cross, but Steve doesn’t know what happened to the drawing. He hopes it didn’t get trashed.

It’s not until later, after everything with Vecna and recovering what was salvageable from the trailer, that he found the picture safely secured behind a glass frame hidden in Eddie’s room. It’s only then that Steve realizes that he might have been a little bit in love with Eddie “the Freak” Munson all this time.

~

Aaaaaaaah sorry this is a little bit of a nebulous ending here. Does this story follow canon and Eddie is dead, never knowing who his Secret Santa is? Or is Eddie recovering from his injuries, fated to recognize Will’s art style and thus learning the truth behind one of his most prized possessions? Who’s to say 🤷

I’m just gonna tag my perma list because I’m lazy. Anyone can be happy to consider this a tag for their own future brain worms tho!

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

[midnightshard06]

Sonic

Sonic grinned proudly. “Well Tails and me have been family for a long time now. Practically raised the kid myself heh. We’re close as you might expect. We also help keep each other in check. He, usually, keeps me from doing anything too reckless and I make sure he actually gets enough sleep and eats at least two meals a day.” He put his hands behind his head before a contemplative look came over his face. “If I have any blood related family out there I have no idea where they are. Not that I really care to find them anyway.” He put his hands down and shrugged. “Plus Shadow, and I guess Eclipse too, is in the picture now. Me and Shadow are on really good terms.” He chuckled. “Spending all that time helping him adjust to earth and doing my best to undo everything he’d been taught to think about himself helped with that. We’re… really close yeah.” A fond smile slipped onto his face for a moment before it slipped into a more cocky grin. “Eclipse is ok too. Fun to mess around with plus he makes a decent game partner when I can’t rope anyone else into it. He’s about just as competitive as me which makes it fun.”

Shadow

Shadow looked down for a moment before sighing. “Well not long after I was created I suppose I only considered Maria and perhaps Black Doom and some of the Black Arms my family. No one else at that point mattered to me. With Maria gone now though… well I find my family has expanded quite a bit. I think she would be happy to know that.” He cleared his throat. “Of course there is what is technically my biological family with Eclipse and the Black Arms. Eclipse is… a lot, but I am happy to have met him. Without his help I fear the confrontation with the Black Arms would have ended in tragedy. The Black Arms now look up to me like a leader, but I believe our relationship is positive.” He crossed his arms and scowled. “As for Black Doom… well he’s dead now so I suppose there’s not much of a point in speaking about him.” His ear twitched as his expression turned into something more neutral. “There’s also the Biolizard, which I suppose in a way could be considered my sibling as well. I… am doing my best to help them. Going back up to the Ark is hard though.”

His expression softened. “Then I suppose there’s Sonic and Tails. The two who took me in and took the time to help me.” He glanced around as if looking for something, or someone. “Sonic and I are very close. I admit I’m not sure what I would do without him at this point. His steady presence has helped me adapt much quicker I think. As well as realize some things.” He sighed. “Tails I’m far less close with but I still appreciate everything he’s done for me. I believe some of my lingering unease with the fox may be due to his connection with science. It… reminds me of the Ark. It’s something I’m working on though.”

Silver

“Oh! I’m really close with my family. Especially my parents.” Silver grinned. “I’m really grateful Sonic and Shadow decided to take me in when they found me all those years ago. It’s a little hard sometimes to get them to let me do things that might be dangerous, but I’ve been working on getting them to downplay their protective steaks for a while now.” He puffed his chest out. “Clearly it’s been working since they’ve let me start going to the past with Mephiles on a regular basis. Plus even before that they’d let me go out and scout the nearby ruins.” He tapped his chin. “There’s also uncle Eclipse. I don’t see him too often but Shadow likes to call him a bad influence on me. I think he’s fun.”

For characters!

If any of you have family, what's your family relationship like?

More character questions!!

[meazalykov]

let me in

giulia gwinn x anxiety!reader

part one - part two

summary: you try to hide it, but she already knows

warnings: diagnosed anxiety, fear, zoloft mentions, angst, split into two parts because of the word count

the second half starts, and somehow, you manage to push through. you make an assist to sydney. for a fleeting moment, there’s a spark of joy. you’re happy for her, you really are. 

then you start to think that you’ve realized something. the acknowledgment you’re used to isn’t coming. no one is rushing to congratulate you for the assist, like they normally do for anyone else who makes a great play. 

you know it’s not because they don’t care, but your mind betrays you. it starts spinning with doubt, with fear. did they notice the mistake you made earlier? do they think you’re not good enough? why is no one congratulating you?

your heart beats faster now, the panic rising again. you try to push the thoughts aside, to focus on the game, but the fear is too strong. it’s all you can think about. 

then, a familiar voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts. pernille is next to you, her arms around you in a tight hug. 

“you did great,” she says, her voice warm and reassuring. 

tuva follows, giving you a pat on the back, and for a brief moment, the fog lifts. you’ve made a mistake, but they don’t hate you. they don’t blame you. they still believe in you.

your heart is still racing, too fast, too loud, pounding against your chest like it's trying to break free. calm down, calm down, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t help. 

nothing helps. it’s like a constant hum of anxiety buzzing in your ears, drowning out everything else.

when the coach calls for the substitution, you barely register it at first. you’re already so deep in your head that the words don't hit until he’s looking directly at you, a hint of concern in his eyes. you blink, startled, as he gives a quick nod towards the sideline. 

linda comes on for you, and you give her a light hug before the coach reaches out to put his hand on your shoulder.

"y/n, rest. you did great. go ahead and sit the last twenty minutes out."

it feels like the earth shifts beneath your feet. the pressure mounting in your chest. as you walk toward the benches , all you can feel is this deep sense of failure. 

I didn’t do well. I wasn’t good enough. that’s why he’s subbing me off. 

your pulse doesn’t slow down as you sit on the bench, your leg bouncing uncontrollably. you try to still it, but your body doesn’t listen. it’s as if the constant movement is the only thing you can do to release the built-up energy inside of you. 

I wasn’t good enough, you repeat, the thoughts relentless, pushing through the cracks in your mind. 

sam kerr sits beside you, and without a word, she leans her head on your shoulder. it’s a small gesture, but it’s enough. the weight of her support, her presence, pulls you out of the storm in your head, if only for a moment. 

“great job love,” you hear her say silently, and you want to believe her, want to feel proud of what you’ve done, but it’s so hard to shake the feeling of not being enough. 

you glance back at the field, watching the play unfold, but your focus isn’t there. your body feels heavy, and your mind is racing. 

I don’t belong here. I can’t even finish a game. I’m not enough for this team. 

the rest of the game moves in a blur as you try to calm your breathing, to remind yourself that it’s okay, that you’re doing your best. 

the anxiety has a grip on you, pulling you deeper. your leg keeps bouncing, faster now, each movement a desperate attempt to release the tension building inside you. it’s exhausting, and the fear is suffocating. 

when the coach comes over after the game, his words are meant to comfort you. 

“y/n, you did great out there. you’re doing everything right. you just needed a break—take it easy.” but they don’t sink in, not right away. you nod and give him a quick smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. 

I didn’t do great, you think. I was subbed out. I couldn’t finish the match.

ten minutes after the ending of the game, you’re surrounded by teammates celebrating the 5-2 victory over arsenal. it should feel like a triumph, and in some ways, it does. 

when you’re talking to lea about the win, lena—still recovering from her ACL injury—suddenly picks you up from behind, lifting you off your feet in an enthusiastic embrace.

“you did so good!!!” she shouts, her voice filled with joy.

for a split second, panic courses through you. you freeze, body rigid, terrified that somehow you’re going to hurt her. you don’t want to be the reason she gets injured again. you pull away quickly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you explain, 

“i don’t want to be the reason you get hurt again.”

lena laughs, shaking her head. “you’re so light. you couldn’t hurt me,” she reassures you, and for the first time all day, you feel a little bit lighter. 

the fear begins to lift, and you let out a shaky breath, finally starting to believe that maybe you’re being ridiculous, you’re not as bad as your anxiety makes you think.

lea picks you up next, and for a fleeting moment, you feel the weight of your worries start to fade. the team loves you. they don’t hate you. they’re not disappointed in you. you are enough.

later that night, when you and giulia arrive home, the house feels different. quieter. more intimate. the adrenaline of the match still buzzes in your veins, but now you’re alone with giulia. 

she sits next to you on the couch, her strong arms around you as you both begin to unwind. you talk about the game. your assist, the plays you both loved from giuli, the moments that didn’t go as planned. 

then giulia’s tone shifts. she’s quieter now, her hand resting on your knee as she watches you carefully.

“how’s therapy going?” she asks, her voice gentle but probing.

the question catches you off guard, and suddenly, you’re paralyzed with fear. you’ve been hiding the truth from her for so long. the medication. the diagnosis. the fact that things haven’t gotten better, despite what you’ve been telling everyone, including her. your chest tightens as the words struggle to leave your mouth. 

(throwback) you sit in the small, sterile office at bayern’s campus, your fingers anxiously tapping against the arms of the chair. the white walls seem to close in on you as you try to focus on the woman sitting across from you. 

the psychiatrist. 

she’s kind and patient, but everything about this situation feels foreign and uncomfortable. you’re not used to talking about your feelings. you’ve spent your whole life pushing them down, burying them behind a smile, behind the constant drive to be better, to be strong. 

today, everything feels too much. too heavy.

“y/n, you’ve been dealing with a lot of pressure lately,” she says, her voice soft but steady. 

“and it’s okay to admit that you’re struggling with it. it’s more common than you might think.”

you want to argue. i’m fine, you want to say. i don’t need help. however, the words stick in your throat. you can’t lie, not anymore. not when it feels like your entire body is suffocating under the weight of everything. 

you nod, even though a part of you still wants to shut it all down. it’s too much now. the fear. the racing thoughts. the panic attacks. it’s been months, and it’s only getting worse. so you listen as the psychiatrist continues, explaining how anxiety can feel like an endless cycle that’s hard to escape, how sometimes your mind just needs help. 

medication, she suggests, can ease the constant tension, help you regain some control. 

she mentions zoloft, a small pill to take each morning. at first, the idea of it makes you cringe. medication? you’ve never been the type to rely on pills, but deep down, you know something has to change. 

you’re tired of feeling like your chest is going to explode every time you step onto the pitch. tired of the constant weight of guilt and fear that follows you everywhere.

“it might take some time to work,” she says, as if reading your mind. “it can help. we can monitor it together with the rest of the doctors here.”

you nod again, though it feels like a distant part of you is screaming to stop. you don’t want to admit that something’s wrong, that you’re not strong enough to handle it all. but here you are, agreeing to try something new, agreeing to take that pill. 

you want to believe it’ll work, but you’re also afraid it won’t. if it doesn’t, what will that say about you?

the psychiatrist hands you the prescription, and you take it, your hands shaking slightly. the weight of the small bottle feels overwhelming, like it holds all your fears inside. this is it, you think. this is the fix. this is how it’s going to get better. the thought doesn’t make you feel better. it only makes the weight heavier. what if it doesn’t work?

that night, when you get home, you find yourself standing in front of the dresser, staring at the small, nondescript bottle in your hand. 

you want to hide it. you don’t want anyone—especially giulia—to know. you can’t let her see this side of you, not when you’ve worked so hard to keep up the facade. 

without thinking, you open the drawer of your underwear dresser. it feels like the safest place, the one place where no one would look. you tuck the bottle inside, burying it underneath your things, as if hiding it will somehow make it less real. less of a reflection of what’s wrong with you.

the next morning, you take the pill as if it’s just another routine. but the guilt hangs over you, a shadow that doesn’t leave. 

you try not to think about it, but the more you take the pill each day, the worse it feels. it doesn’t help. it doesn’t change anything.you think that you’re still broken. it only makes you feel like you’re drifting farther away from yourself like you’re numbing your emotions, but not in a good way. 

it’s like you’re fading into someone else’s skin, and you don’t know how to stop it.

you feel like you’re suffocating in your own mind, and you don’t know how to explain it to giulia. 

what if she thinks I’m not good enough for her? what if she sees me as weak? she’s always been your anchor, the one person you never want to disappoint, but telling her about this... it feels like the ultimate failure.

and so, you keep it to yourself. the pill bottle stays hidden, tucked away in that drawer. the anxious thoughts continue to spiral, unchecked, but you don’t want anyone to know. not even giulia. not even her.

back to the present– giulia’s quiet, but you can feel the weight of her gaze on you. she’s waiting, and you know she’s already figured out that something’s wrong. it’s been weeks, and the cracks in your facade are starting to show.

“therapy has been fine.” you smile, pulling a loose piece of blonde hair behind giulia’s ear. her hair wasn’t in her signature ponytail braid from the game, but in loose curls over her shoulders that the braid gave her. 

you try to focus on something, anything—anything to avoid her eyes—but it’s useless. your hands are shaking, and every thought feels like it’s running away from you. the anxiety from the match still lingers in your chest, but now it’s compounded by guilt. 

guilt for not telling her sooner. guilt for hiding the truth. you feel trapped in your own head, like you’re suffocating under the weight of your own emotions.

giulia watches you carefully, her brow furrowed. she doesn’t need to ask anymore. she knows. and that’s what scares you most.

“y/n,” giulia finally says, her voice calm but firm. 

“you know we need to talk, right?”

you swallow hard. your throat feels tight, the words stuck there. you try to smile, but it feels forced, like it won’t reach your eyes. 

“about what?”

she leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, eyes never leaving yours. 

“about you. about everything you’ve been hiding.”

the words hit like a punch to the stomach, and you flinch. hiding—the word stings. because it’s true. you’ve been hiding everything. everything that’s been eating at you for months now. 

the anxiety, the fear, the constant worry that you’re not good enough—that you’ll fail again and let everyone down. especially her. the person who’s always had your back for the last five years. the person who’s seen you at your best, at your worst, and still loved you unconditionally. 

now, you’re afraid to admit that you’ve been struggling.

“giulia, I don’t—” you begin, but she interrupts, her tone sharper now, like she’s not going to let you brush it off again.

“don’t, y/n. don’t shut me out again!” giulia’s voice is soft but serious, and her eyes search yours with a piercing intensity. 

“i’ve seen the way you’ve been. I’ve seen how you’ve been withdrawing, how you’re not talking to me or anyone else about it. I know you’re not okay. I know you’re not just tired or stressed from the game. this is something else. I want to help.”

you feel your chest tighten at her words. you want to tell her everything, want to explain what’s been going on inside your head, but the fear grips you tight. 

what if she thinks you’re weak? what if she thinks she can’t handle this part of you? what if she doesn’t understand? you thought.

giulia’s expression softens, her tone gentler now, but she doesn’t back down. 

“y/n, I know you better than anyone. and I can see it. I know what’s been going on. I know you’re struggling with anxiety. and I know you’ve been taking medication for it. you don’t have to hide it from me anymore.”

the room goes quiet. your heart skips a beat, and the blood rushes to your ears. 

how does she know? you didn’t tell her. you didn’t want to burden her with it, didn’t want her to look at you differently. 

somehow, giulia knows. she’s known all along.

“giulia, I—” you start, but she cuts you off, her voice gentle but firm.

“why didn’t you tell me, y/n?” giulia asks, her voice laced with a mix of concern and hurt. 

“why didn’t you come to me? why have you been hiding this from me?”

the words hit you like a slap, and you blink back the tears that threaten to fall. 

“i didn’t want you to think I was... weak,” you admit, your voice trembling.

 i didn’t want you to think I was... broken.”

giulia leans in, her hand reaching for yours, gently taking it in hers. her grip is steady, warm, and you feel a little bit of the weight on your chest lift. 

“y/n, you’re not broken,” she says softly. 

“you’re human. and being human means you have struggles. you have fears, and you have moments where you need help. that doesn’t make you weak. it makes you real. I’m not going anywhere. I want to help you, but you have to let me in.”

you feel the tears that you’ve been holding back finally spill over, hot and unrelenting. the sobs wrack your body as giulia pulls you into her arms, holding you close. you’ve been so terrified of letting her see you like this—vulnerable, broken, messy. 

you realize that she’s not looking at you with disappointment. she’s not seeing your anxiety as a flaw or a weakness. she’s seeing you. all of you.

“i’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice muffled against her shoulder. 

“i didn’t mean to shut you out. i thought... i thought you’d think i wasn’t strong enough to be your partner anymore.”

giulia shakes her head, her fingers soothing through your hair. 

“y/n, I never thought that. I never would. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be you. and right now, that means letting me be here for you.”

“we’ll get through this together, okay?” giulia whispers into your hair, her voice filled with unwavering support. 

“you don’t have to face this alone.”

you nod against her, the sobs slowing, the tightness in your chest loosening. for the first time in months, you finally feel like you can breathe.

the morning light filters through the curtains, casting soft beams across the bedroom. the air is calm, the silence between you and giulia comfortable for once, free of the tension you’ve been carrying for weeks. luckily, you guys have the day off from anything football related so you can stay in bed for longer. 

you sit on the edge of the bed, your fingers still trembling slightly, but you’re more at ease than you’ve been in a long time. last night, you opened up to her in ways you didn’t think you could. and though your heart had pounded in your chest and the fear of being judged had nearly consumed you, giulia hadn’t wavered. 

you glance over at her, the way she’s lounging on the bed, her legs propped up under the covers, her eyes half-lidded as she smiles faintly in your direction. 

the bottle of zoloft sits on the nightstand, so small, so innocent-looking. it feels heavier than it should, but the weight is different now. 

it’s no longer just a symbol of everything that’s wrong with you. it’s a step forward. and you’re ready to take it. 

without hesitation, you pick up the bottle, twisting the cap off, feeling giulia’s gaze on you. her eyes are soft, not judgmental, just... waiting. you feel a small sense of reassurance, as if her presence alone is all you need. 

there’s no longer that nagging voice telling you to hide, to keep it to yourself. you can’t change your past, but you can change how you move forward, and you want to move forward, especially with giu. 

you take the pill, the cool surface of the tablet smooth in your fingers, and swallow it down with a sip of water. it’s such a small act, but it feels monumental.

“good morning,” giulia says, her voice light, laced with affection. her eyes soften, and she shifts slightly to make space for you on the bed. 

you settle down next to her, the pillow cool against your skin, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. giulia’s hand brushes your waist, and you lace your fingers around hers. 

“i’m proud of you, you know,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. she turns her head to look at you, her eyes warm, filled with love. there’s no judgment, just acceptance. 

you nod, trying not to let the lump in your throat get the best of you. it’s hard to believe sometimes, that she’s always going to be there, in moments like these, it feels real. it feels like you can finally breathe.

“thank you,” you reply softly, feeling a quiet sense of peace settle over you. 

“for being patient. for being so loving my love.”

giulia smiles, the softest smile you’ve ever seen. 

“you’re perfect just the way you are.” 

she brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, her touch gentle. 

life is not easy, and you’re not perfect. you don’t have to be. you have giulia, and that’s enough.

baby steps. it’s enough.

masterlist

[save-the-villainous-cat]

“You’re awfully cheerful.” The villain leaned back on the hero’s couch and cocked their head. There was only a hint of a smirk but the hero didn’t need more than that to determine their nemesis’ mood.

It was all about the subtle movements.

A twitching eyebrow. A look at their own shoes. A breath taken in a little too quickly.

The hero knew the villain - knew every little detail about their behaviour, knew what they were feeling. Feelings were one thing, facts on the other hand…the hero didn’t know what their nemesis was planning, nor what their next move was. They could tell when the villain was angry, disappointed, amused. But why…?

Nevertheless, the hero smiled and lounged in their armchair, making themselves as comfortable as possible in their own home.

“I’m trying this new thing…having a positive mindset and all. You know, not taking everything so serious.”

“Someone blew up your car today,” the villain pointed out. They stared at the bottle of wine the hero had opened an hour ago. Half finished. “You must be quite upset.”

“I’m kind of grateful, actually.”

“Grateful?” The villain raised a brow and the hero tilted their head. It must have looked rather confident. Cocky, almost. Whether it was the little bit of alcohol or the situation in general - the hero did feel a bit cocky.

“Yeah, I mean. I’m glad I wasn’t in the car when it exploded. That’s a reason to celebrate.”

“Someone knows you’re involved with me,” the villain said.

“We don’t know that for sure,” the hero answered.

“Evidence suggests it, though.”

The hero whistled, impressed. Their eyes widened and something inside them wanted this to be their fault.

“What else is the evidence suggesting, Detective?” The hero let their eyebrows wiggle and took a sip of the wine. They liked to think that not only the villain was changing the hero but that the hero was also influencing their nemesis.

Detective. The villain was definitely smart enough to be one and, Lord, the hero would have loved to see that brilliant mind work on cases with them.

The hero smiled to themselves. Fantasising about the villain being their partner wasn’t new. But it was entertaining. Over and over again.

“That you’re not careful enough.”

“Hm?”

“You got into a fight again. Your knuckles are bruised. Someone blew up your car today. And all you do is sit here and drink,” the villain said. A twitching eyebrow. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Aww, are you worried about me?” The hero’s eyes narrowed. “Scared your favourite hero will end up dead?”

The villain’s face didn’t change and at first, they didn’t say anything.

So, the hero observed them carefully.

Their relationship was at a point that suggested they were either hooking up or just really good friends. For the neighbours, it was normal to let the villain in. And for the hero, it was normal to visit the villain in their lair.

Quite risky. Quite rewarding, too.

Exchanging information was crucial to the both of them.

Additionally, the hero kind of liked them.

“I would get you a bodyguard but as of right now, I can’t guarantee that whoever wanted to kill you today isn’t one of my men.” A look at the ground and the hero had to frown. “I’ll take care of that, obviously.”

“You want to hire a bodyguard? For me?” the hero asked. They chuckled into their wineglass.

“No, I won’t hire anyone. I’ll be your bodyguard.”

“Huh?!” The hero’s grip around the glass tightened.

“You’re irreplaceable as informant and in case you die, all your secrets which means all my secrets are very likely to see the light of day. The files on your computer won’t stay hidden forever. I’d like to avoid that.”

“I think I can take care of myself.” The hero looked at the wine. Did that mean the villain wanted to move into this apartment?

The hero blushed softly.

More reasons for the neighbours to gossip about a possible relationship. Jeez.

“I don’t think so,” the villain said. “I haven’t threatened you in weeks, so don’t make me do it. I won’t debate this. I need you alive and I don’t trust anyone enough to do this job right now. I’ll take the couch.”

“I don’t get a say in this?” the hero asked. They laughed at the absurdity.

“No.” The villain’s voice was stern now.

“Hm.” Slowly, the hero finished the glass and set it down on the little table between them and the villain. “Maybe it’ll be fun to watch you follow me around like a dog.”

A blush.

“Call it whatever you want.”

And that’s how the both of them became roommates.

[lostintransist]

.. that idea on ghost coming back with his therapist’s contact is brilliant, could we get a pt2 when we do hit him up cuz,,, it’s inevitable and he pulls up in that same motorbike and actually plans a banger date?

Just for you! A part 2! Original post for anyone curious is here.

Also thank you for what I am percieving as patience, I had things to accomplish today. But it gave me time to think about this...

CW: I can't think of any.

You held onto the business card. No real explanation that would satisfy you or anyone who might have asked. And your best friend did ask. Repeatedly.

“You still have the card?” She asked over drinks.

Running your tongue along the inside of your teeth you debate on how to answer.

“Yes,” you reply curtly.

“And have you called the therapist or texted him yet? Do you even know his name?” She followed her questions with a sip of her drink.

“All I know is that when I search up S. Riley I get a few hits about a brother to a home invasion that ended badly a few years ago and nothing else. No one on social media matches him and without his full name or maybe a birthday I can’t find much else about someone that might be him.” Flopping back into the couch you watch your drink slide side to side as you tip your glass.

“You don’t have to call him but you have to make a decision about this soon,” she chides.

“No decision is a decision though.”

She gives you the flattest stare she can muster. Seeing as your best friend is autistic it’s a pretty impressive flat look.

Heaving a sigh you concede the point.

“Fine. I get it. I can’t avoid this forever, what if he finds me at a coffee shop again and asks why I haven’t called? S. Riley sure does seem like a man who doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.”

“I think you should call and tell the therapist to inform him that you would like to never see him again, but you have this whole ‘attracted to the adventure’ thing going on.” She rolled her eyes.

Aghast at being so well identified, it does not matter that she is your best friend, you fire off a rude gesture at her. She only laughs.

“At least I never have to worry about not realizing I fumbled the woman of my dreams three months late,” you say with a wicked grin.

“It was one time!” Your best friend launches one of the couch pillows at you.

“Twice.”

The purest look of concern crosses her face.

“Twice?” Comes her panicked ask.

“Once at the bar,” she nods, “And then last week at the bookstore.”

Watching her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open you can’t help the full-body laugh that overtakes you.

“I thought she was just being nice!” Her voice gets squeakier with each word.

You are laughing so hard you can’t breathe.

“I fucking love you and am so glad we are best friends,” you manage to croak out between ab-shredding laughs.

💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠

Your next early day off of work you pop in your headphones and call the number printed on the business card. It sat between your insurance card and your driver’s license. Those two cards didn’t see much action and would keep the business card from disappearing.

“Thank you for calling Healing Sky Therapy, how can I help you?”

“Yes, is Anna Mortz available?”

“For a phone call or an appointment?” The sound of clicking keys bubbles over the line.

“A phone call, I am calling to speak to her about a current patient of hers.”

“Okay, and are you a provider?”

This causes you to pause. Did you really need to explain why or how you were connected to this crazy situation? No. Bare bones it is.

“No, I should be listed as a person who can discuss the care of a patient of hers who goes by S. Riley?”

“Okay,” she drags the word. “It looks like I can drop a call in her schedule in about forty minutes if that would work for you?”

“That would work great, can I give you a callback number?”

“Yes, I can take that when you are ready.”

Finishing up the phone call you grabbed your grocery list and headed out the door. Your phone rang as you were transferring bags from your cart to your trunk. The number looked vaguely familiar and so you answered.

“Hi this is Anna Mortz, I am returning a phone call.”

“Yes, hi Anna. I am the one who called.”

“That was in regards to Simon Riley, right? Let’s go through some information on my end to make sure that we can discuss him first okay?”

“Absolutely,” you slam the trunk closed and return your cart while confirming all of your information.

“So, what questions can I answer for you?” Anna started.

“Let me get settled and I will give you the rundown.” Tossing your purse to the passenger side and locking the door you get situated in your seat. You push a large breath from your lungs and start. “Okay, so this is a weird situation. The long and the short of it is that Simon had been dating a friend of mine several years back and they were not good together. He was being a pushy asshole who refused to let the relationship die and she was codependent to a deeply unhealthy level. My friend asked for help in telling him off once and for all. She tended to cave and give into having sex every time he came by to start a fight. That is where I met Simon.”

Anna made a noise of confirmation. You took it as permission to keep telling your story.

“Nothing more came of that except my friend and I drifted apart, nothing major and not important to the story. I ran into Simon next at my friend’s wedding reception. I don’t know if he showed up to confirm to himself that it was really over or if she actually invited him but,” you paused here eyes tracing the dash of the car parked in front of you. With a slight shake of your head, you focus back on your phone call. “That is neither here nor there. He hit on me that night and I told him basically to fuck off and go to therapy if he wanted a shot at that conversation.”

Puffing your cheeks with air you slowly let it out, you felt like you were explaining a whole crazy situation to the principal.

“He ran into me at a coffee shop close to probably a year later, dropped your card on the table with his number on the back, and insinuated that I would call because I was interested in him.”

“Okay, that is pretty close to the story he told me as well,” Anna speaks with kind authority. “What I can tell you from a clinical standpoint is that Simon struggles with C-PTSD, which is complex post-traumatic stress disorder. This basically means that Simon has been through so many traumatic events at so many points in his life that he has a hard time functioning day to day without it affecting every aspect of his life. I can also tell you that we have been working on him gaining some coping abilities and practicing social skills.”

“Okay, I guess what I am asking is that if I go on a date with him will I end up with a stalker who will end up killing me in the night if I say I don’t want to see him again?” You lay your concerns bare. She’s not your therapist so her judgment worries you a bit less.

“While nothing is guaranteed,” she hedges, “I cannot see that kind of behavior occurring with the progress Simon has made. He has scheduled out appointments weekly for the next three months with me and has even mentioned he is working on some other types of therapy I have recommended to help him process his traumas further. He’s actually doing the work to deal with his issues. I think he is here because he wants to be, you happened to be the trigger.”

Resting your elbow on the steering wheel you leaned your head into your hand.

“Whew, okay. Thank you. That is actually really helpful. How is he about accepting boundaries?”

“He is familiar and comfortable with them in a work context but if you choose to interact with him I know personal boundaries will come up in our sessions. So, I would keep it in mind when interacting with him.”

“Okay, thank you so much Anna this call has been,” a slight pause, “Enlightening. I appreciate your time.”

“Happy to help. Have a good day!”

With that the phone call ends and you stare down at your phone. Flicking open your messaging app you add the contact you saved to it almost a month ago.

<Your therapist seems nice.

Three minutes pass as you watch the screen. It goes black once and you wake it with a tap on the screen.

Tossing it to the passenger side on top of your purse you put the text from your mind. You instead focus on pulling out of your spot. Parking lots are of the devil and you aren’t even religious like that.

Five days pass before a message dings on your phone from one S. Riley.

>Can’t say she is nice to me. I get a lot of mean looks from her.

Setting a timer for an hour and thirteen minutes you let the text simmer. You hope he can see that you have opened the message.

<You normally take a work week to respond?

>Only when I am on a job.

The reply comes in instantly.

<What kind of jobs keep you from your phone?

>Classified.

<Ooh big brain work then. Got it.

You snort at the eye roll emoji he sends.

>So, have you decided if I can hit you up yet?

<I’m thinking about it. If I were to say yes, where would you take me?

>Indoor sky diving.

You read the three-word message at least six times, check out the closest indoor sky diving place near you, and then finally reply.

Starting and erasing three messages you finally settle on one.

<Would we ride your bike there?

>Unless you would prefer to talk on the drive over?

What do you talk about with a man when you had to check with his therapist that he wouldn’t murder you?

<Bike sounds like fun.

>Saturday?

<Maybe. Time?

>2

<Done. Pick me up at noon and we can grab lunch?

>No, you’re going to want an empty stomach. Dinner instead.

Narrowing your eyes at the message you debate the logic of testing a boundary yet. The advice to not have a full stomach did look like a good one.

<Fine, but nowhere fancy. If I can’t roll up in the same outfit I don’t want it.

The only reply you get for several hours is a thumbs up on your message.

Guess you had a date coming up.

[juste-en-passant]

So I’m extra late to the party, I just fell randomly on your post. But I’m going to react, bc I really agree with a part of your view, especially the marauder part. Keep in mind that I haven’t read any of the books in years, so I’m going with the lingering impression they left me with. So I’m not going to compare with the Golden Trio, or with the Malfoy’s friendship. Because I never had big thought on them.

First thing being : the entire story is a harry POV, so a subjective one, and from a 11 year old child with skewered biased views on society, coming from his primary socialization: the Dursley family. In the first book at least. Of course, he is going to see his father’s friend as a cool group, and of course his childhood rival and friends are going to be ugly idiots. And he is going to make fun about people’s face’s, and be dehumanizing, because as a child he always was, and he witnessed his aunt and uncle being dehumanizing talking about everything and everyone. He reproduce a pattern, because no one ever call him out. He went straight from the Dursley’s to almost raising himself in school (and meeting trauma after trauma along the way). He had a few parenting figures after that, the Weasley parents especially, but he saw them what, a few weeks every year? And they already had to parent a lot of other children. He was a calm child who never really was mean or violent towards anyone, so he was left alone most of the time. nobody parented him, he reproduced things he saw.

So yes, he may have all the defaults you listed. He also may have had an unweakened bisexuality that only showed up as “this man is so handsome. Yes he murdered my parents, but he is objectively gorgeous”. And we need to read this POV more critically, because it is not an omniscient narrator, but a subjective POV, and as we are not 11 anymore, we can begin to search for little psychological cues about Harry’s bias, and about how things really happened.

About the Slytherins: I don’t have a specially negative feeling about them. I think they were a group already formed when they entered Hogwarts, so they didn’t completely mixed with the other kids. And yes, I feel draco really cared about Crabbe, who he knew since they were both in diapers. Their relationship can’t be compared to the one of the golden trio or the marauders, who met in their first yea at Hogwarts. It’s a different dynamic is all.

About the golden trio, yes, Harry imprinted on Ron who was the first nice kid to him, and had an epidermic reaction to draco being condescending to his new friend. The first interaction in Mrs. Malkin was not a bad one, I don’t remember him having strong feelings about Draco at that time, draco who was only doing small talks, as he was trained to do, not especially friendly, or unfriendly. He was eleven and overwhelmed because his whole world just went bang. About Hermione : yes, sometimes it feels like pity friendship.

The marauder analysis is going to be the big part of this. Because the fascinating part of the marauder, that I don’t think JKR intentionally made up, is that they are the perfect representation of the dynamic of a small group of school bullies. And I say that as a person who met some.

And you pointed some of those elements:

For me, the core of the Marauder has always been James and Sirius.

James was an only child from a rich family (I think that’s canon), who, at 11, was kind of arrogant, but also raised in some values that he should care about others. And then he met Sirius, eldest (but not only) child of a rich and not so good family (having “met” the eldest version of his mother in canon, this clearly was an abusive household).

Sirius who was already rejecting in his mind everything that came from his family (I don’t think he already had a deep consciousness awakening  about his family’s value, just that he was extremely unhappy with his life), met James, and latched onto him (like Harry on Ron), as his first friend. And we can at least give it to James: he did not held the fact that Sirius was a Black against him immediately. This beginning of friendship is what gave Sirius the courage to make his final decision to go to Gryffindor (and it took a great deal of bravery, the hat wasn’t wrong about that. Snape, in a kind of similar situation, didn’t. But response to trauma differ from people to people and I digress).

Then came the two “minions”, as you said, Remus, and Peter.

Peter is a follower. Pure and simple. He is attracted to the aura of James and Sirius, he admires them, and love being part of the “popular” group. He is not really their friend (not deeply). And they (as you pointed out) are not very nice to him either. They  still make fun of him, and belittle him. He is just (I think) trying to go through his school years without being picked on too much. In situations where the group was bullying Snape or other people, he may even have been an aggravating factor, adding worse and worse ideas just to get approval from them.

And then there’s Remus. Often presented as the “nice one”, the one following the rules. That they may have picked by the goodness of their heart, because he was alone and sad, but was also extraordinarily convenient to the group : he was a brilliant student (I don’t remember, but I felt at some point that maybe they used him a little  for homework.. like Ron and harry did Hermione) and later a prefect. And as a prefect, he was very lenient with them and let them get away with a lot. Because he felt he owed them that. Because like peter, he was not “popular” coded, and felt grateful they took him in, even after they found out he was a werewolf, and he loved them for that. So no he never did anything to stop them.

And you are right on something else: they are never really presented as a group of bullies. Even in the half blood prince where it all blows up. The fact that Snape was their primary victim lowers the effect of this revelation(in my opinion), because at that point nobody likes him, and because he was also a little bitchy in school. They all were. They were teenagers. With magical powers. Obviously thing were about to go bumpy. So Harry is shocked by the fact his father and friends were not just brilliant pranksters, but also vicious bullies,  but not that much, because it is snape. And then Snapes murders Voldemort, so somehow, emotionally to harry (and to the reader) this seems to justify the bullying (see: they were right to attack him, he was bad from the start! which does not means this is true. Because their treatment of him participated in aggravating tendencies already present).

So will regret forever that this revelation didn’t come from another person, maybe someone Harry likes, and discovers they knew the marauders. So harry comes talk to them and gets an awkward face of someone who doesn’t want to talk ill of the boy’s dead’s parent. But they stuck him into a ceiling in his underwear in the middle of November, repeatedly humiliated them publicly and destroyed one of their most prized possession as a prank so he really doesn’t have great memory to share. And thinking about all that makes a panic attack begin so they just babble banality and flee to hyperventilate in peace.

So I’m not anti marauder, and not anti anyone really. And I agree with you one a thing in particular: the Potters are not all perfect, and the Malfoys are not all Shallow. They all have layers, imperfections. Good and bad moments. And thank the force for that : they are fleshed out characters who feel like people.

....

Few. That was a big rant, sorry

Double Standards: Malfoys vs Potters Edition

It's interesting how people view the Malfoy vs Potter men. The Malfoys are often considered shallow while the Potters are lauded for befriending the "downtrodden".

James Potter befriended Remus Lupin, a disadvantaged werewolf. He and his friends became animagi for Lupin. That's great and all...but then why was Remus so hesitant to go against the status quo and speak out against the marauders - to do his job as prefect?

And James treated Wormtail like trash too.

‘How thick are you, Wormtail?’ said James impatiently. ‘You run round with a werewolf once a month –’

Nice to say that out loud where anyone can hear, Jamie.

‘Put that away, will you,’ said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer, ‘before Wormtail wets himself with excitement.’ Wormtail turned slightly pink, but James grinned.

“Lily and James only made you Secret Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed, so venomously that Pettigrew took a step backwards. “I thought it was the perfect plan… a bluff… Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you… it must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.”

You really don't get the vibe that Sirius or James held little Petie in high regard, do you?

It can't be more obvious that Sirus and James were top dogs and Peter and Remus were just add-ons.

As for Harry, where to start with him? He shows little empathy for other people and has a nasty habit of describing people in dehumanizing ways (eg. Aberforth, Salazar Slytherin, Marcus etc). He has probably described Tom Riddle, the guy who murdered his parents, as attractive more times than his own girlfriend Ginny. He latched on to Ron because of his family and honestly, Hermione feels like a pity friend at times. Harry hardly likes being around her without Ron. Harry has another nasty habit of giving his best friends the silent treatment until they come crawling back to him, even when he is in the wrong too (re firebolt for Hermione and Ron believing Harry entered his name in the goblet of fire).

‘Hullo,’ said the boy, ‘Hogwarts too?’ ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,’ said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. ‘Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don’t see why first-years can’t have their own. I think I’ll bully father into getting me one and I’ll smuggle it in somehow.’

Yet, no one seems to give Lucius and Draco any credit. These people are supposed to be snobby, pureblood supremacists. Yet, even though Harry was dressed in decrepit muggle clothes, Draco still engaged him in conversation. Draco had no idea who Harry was, had no clue he was famous at the time, and still made several efforts to talk with him and continue the conversation even when Harry was cold and aloof.

And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily, to where the Slytherins were cheering him, to where Lucius Malfoy, a prefect badge gleaming upon his chest, patted Snape on the back as he sat down beside him …

Lucius knows 'Snape' is not a pureblood name. He could see Snape's clothes were probably old hand-me-downs. He knows Snape is way below his class. Yet, he still welcomes Snape warmly to Slytherin. What reason would he have to fake pleasantries with a poor half-blood? I doubt Slughorn or the other bigoted purebloods would care if Lucius left his seat in disgust at Snape's presence. Even as adults, it is indicated in the narrative multiple times that Lucius holds Snape in high esteem. Draco held Snape in high esteem too despite being a halfblood.

The same Snape that James Potter tormented for no good reason - because Snape existed. Instead of targetting the purebloods like Avery and Mulciber, James and his delinquent loser gang went after Snape, the poor half-blood. Harry literally did nothing as Snape lay dying in the same shack that Lupin almost killed him in two decades prior.

Harry describes Pansy as being pug-faced...yet Draco still dated her. Even though Crabbe turned on him, Draco still grieved for him afterwards. Compared to Harry who only dates the prettiest girls and body shames other girls if they don't meet his standard and only cares about people who do things for him, like him and are loyal to him. It's only when the people he dislikes die for him that he changes his tune and suddenly they become great people.

How can people say the Potters are less shallow than the Malfoys??Draco and Lucius will always be high-class elitists who believe in sticking with their 'own kind' but give credit where credit is due.

[sheepispink]

A LIGHT THAT NEVER GOES OUT

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist AO3

pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)

tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)

A/N: I’d appreciate if no one complained abt the accuract/realistic of the story (ofc if its the characterisation of ghost that’s perfectly ok!) i’m open for criticisation for how i write etc etc but this is a sensitive topic and.. based off personal experiences 😅😅 so it’s very realistic to me even if its not to you!

This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.

Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.

A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.

The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.

The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.

“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”

Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”

You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.

“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.

“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.

“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”

You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.

You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“

He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”

You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“

“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?

Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.

That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.

You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?

You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.

“Fuck— sorry—“

Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—

Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.

“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”

Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.

But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?

Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.

“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”

His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.

He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.

“Look at me.”

He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”

“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”

With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.

“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.

“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”

His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.

“What is like to hate someone?”

“What?”?

“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.

“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”

“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?

You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.

“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”

“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”

You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?

“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”

You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.

“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.

Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.

“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”

He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”

Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.

“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”

His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”

He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”

The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.

Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.

But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.

His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”

“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”

“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”

That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C’mere.”

You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.

“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”

Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.

He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.

You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.

“Okay, i promise i will.”

You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.

[dissapointu]

ur writing is so amazing! u write the characters so well and in so little time! seriously you’re so amazing!! can you write how arcane characters would react to seeing their partner with tattoos and piercing but also wears very feminine clothes? lol im a fem and i have too many tattoos and a nose piercing 😊! i love ur writing and i hope u take care of urself! we all love you!

Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing, and I really appreciate you sharing that with me!

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Jinx

Jinx would be absolutely in love with your style! She adores anything that stands out, and your combination of tattoos, piercings, and feminine clothes would make her eyes widen with excitement. She’d want to examine every tattoo closely, asking all sorts of questions—what it means, how it feels, if you can get matching ones. “You’re like a walking masterpiece!” she’d exclaim, running her fingers over your tattoos and being completely in awe. She loves how your look expresses your personality, and it makes her feel even more drawn to you.

She might even get a little possessive, making sure everyone knows you’re hers, but all in good fun. Expect lots of love and playfulness as she showers you with affection.

Vi

Vi would be really impressed and maybe even a little turned on. She’s a bit of a tomboy, but she loves anyone who can rock a style with confidence. Seeing you embrace both feminine clothes and tattoos would make her respect you even more. She loves the way your tattoos look, but she’s equally fond of how the softer clothes contrast with them. She’d probably chuckle and say, “You’re a total badass, and you know it, don’t you?” while running her hands over your tattoos.

She’d definitely show off how proud she is to be with someone who has such a strong, confident style. Expect her to playfully tease you, especially about how you manage to be tough and soft at the same time.

Sevika

Sevika would love your edgy style. She’s a woman who commands respect, and seeing you with tattoos, piercings, and feminine clothes just makes her even more attracted to you. She might admire the way you carry yourself with confidence, not caring what anyone else thinks. Her admiration would be evident in the way she watches you, and she may comment, “You wear your skin like armor, but you still have that softness about you.”

She respects your strength and finds the contrast of your look intriguing—especially if you’re intimidating on the outside but soft with her. She’d definitely hold you close in private, not caring who sees.

Silco

Silco would be both intrigued and impressed. He’s all about control and self-expression, so seeing you balance tattoos, piercings, and feminine clothes in a way that screams confidence would make him admire you even more. He might give you a quiet, approving look and say something like, “You know how to make an impression.” He appreciates strength, and your look tells him you don’t need validation from anyone else to feel powerful.

While he wouldn’t outwardly show it, he’d definitely feel a deep respect for you, and your style would only make him more possessive and protective of you.

Vander

Vander would be charmed and a bit protective, but mostly he’d be filled with pride. He loves the balance you strike between being strong and soft, and your tattoos and piercings only add to your unique beauty. He’d smile warmly and tell you how much he admires your confidence and how you wear your style so naturally. “You’re a beautiful combination of strength and grace,” he’d say, his voice filled with affection.

Expect a lot of sweet compliments and moments where he simply pulls you close, admiring how you carry yourself.

Ekko

Ekko would be all about it. He loves people who express themselves, and your tattoos and piercings only add to how you stand out in a crowd. He’d probably ask a million questions, like, “What’s this one about?” or “Does it hurt?” and maybe even joke about getting matching tattoos with you. He finds your mix of toughness and femininity incredibly appealing.

Expect him to show off how proud he is of you, constantly touching your tattoos or taking little photos of you. He’s into your individuality and admires the fact that you’re unapologetically yourself.

Jayce

Jayce might be a little taken aback at first, especially if he didn’t expect such a strong combination of tattoos and femininity. However, once he sees how effortlessly you carry the look, he’s absolutely smitten. “You look amazing, truly,” he’d say, a little awestruck by how beautifully you manage to blend both worlds. He’s a sucker for elegance, but he also appreciates someone who’s bold enough to be themselves, so your confidence would be a huge turn-on for him.

He might even get inspired by your boldness and ask you if you’d design a tattoo for him.

Viktor

Viktor is the type of person who appreciates uniqueness and personal expression, so seeing you with tattoos, piercings, and wearing feminine clothes would only intrigue him more. He loves the contrast of tough and soft, and the way you balance both in your appearance makes you even more captivating to him.

He’d ask about the stories behind your tattoos and piercings, genuinely fascinated by the meanings behind each one. Viktor respects individuality, and your confidence in your style would only draw him closer to you.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would absolutely love your style. She’s elegant and refined, so seeing you blend femininity with tattoos and piercings would make her respect you even more. She’s all about self-expression and would adore how you use your appearance to make a statement. Caitlyn would likely compliment you frequently, saying things like, “You’re a work of art,” or “I love how you make that look so effortless.”

She’d also be protective of you, not letting anyone make rude comments about your appearance. She’s proud to have someone so unique and beautiful by her side.

Mel Medarda

Mel would be fascinated by your style. She appreciates power and confidence, and your tattoos and piercings tell her that you know exactly who you are. She’d love how you’ve curated such an intricate, bold look and how it pairs so well with the softness of your feminine clothes. Mel would often compliment you, saying, “You’re a vision of both strength and elegance,” or something to that effect.

She’d love how your individuality shines through and would always support you in embracing your own sense of style.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would be impressed. She’s used to commanding respect, and your tattoos and piercings would immediately catch her attention. She admires strength and doesn’t shy away from showing it, so seeing you carry yourself with such confidence would only deepen her respect for you. Ambessa might quietly observe you for a while, but when she speaks, she’d make sure you know how much she admires you. “There’s power in your appearance, a statement in every detail,” she’d say.

Her attraction would be deep, knowing that you’re someone who is not afraid to express yourself—physically and emotionally.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie would be immediately impressed by your boldness. She’s used to the power dynamics in Arcane, so your ability to balance femininity with tattoos and piercings would strike a chord with her. She’d admire how you embrace your unique style and carry it with grace. “You’re the perfect mix of beauty and strength,” she’d say, thoroughly enchanted by the way you rock your look.

She’d love being seen with you, proud to be with someone who isn’t afraid to stand out.

Lest

Lest would adore your combination of tattoos, piercings, and feminine clothes. They have a soft spot for those who embrace their identity fully, and you do just that. She would be deeply fascinated by the meaning behind each tattoo and would always take time to admire your piercings. Lest would also love that you can wear feminine clothing while still owning your tough look, making her feel incredibly proud to be with you. She might even give you a compliment like, “You’ve got the kind of beauty that stays with people.”

I hope you love how I wrote each of the characters’ reactions! Thank you again for your kind words 💖