#i take that as a sign of him being aware that he has issues but refusing to confront them

[dykedvonte]

why do you hate Joshua Graham or Honest Hearts so much?

This DLC and character represents a bigger issue with fandom spaces I have but particularly fallout fandom in general.

Fallout tends to tackle a lot of topics controversial and not. The first two games it’s heavy cause they are the most satirical and direct with how anti-war, nationalism and etc… they are. 3 loses this as it’s very clear once you play or learn about all the games that Todd and a bunch of guys at Bethesda just liked the 50s post apocalyptic aesthetic and refuse to actually critique the ideals of the time period like the earlier titles.

New Vegas is the game that really gets back into it a degree it almost seems like it’s taking too much on. There are things done exceedingly well while other things are done horribly wrong . I’ve made posts about it before and plan to make a big series of posts (it’s a lot of writing) but my biggest gripe is with Honest Hearts and all the gross and white savior esque depictions it has of indigenous peoples. The entirety if FNV does not do the injustices faced by indigenous people correctly on any count. My two biggest complaints are with the Khans and the tribes in Zion but I’ll talk about the former on a different post.

Both characters of Daniel and Joshua are the most accurate depiction of white saviors I’ve seen and I hate how the DLC tries to justify and defend them. The DLC treats Joshua like this man who has repented for his past actions when he is just retracing his steps after his cruelty bit him in the ass. He was one of the worst parts of the Legion and it is all but explicitly stated that if you don’t force him to be non-violent he will turn the tribes of Zion into the legion 2.0. The Dead Horses and the Sorrows are horribly infantilized by both Daniel and Joshua who both use them for self serving purposes guised by religious duty. The White Legs are the horrible stereotype of violent and savage indigenous and I personally think a lot of their interlinking with Ulysses, his hair and Ulysses character in general are distasteful and very telling of how BIPOC or POC where involved.

But outside of the game it’s the weird obsession people have with these characters ideologies and trying to make them seem more interesting/philosophical than they are. Tumblr is an echo chamber and many fans of Fallout are not the people on this site. Many people are not educated in the issues these characters convey and how poorly they do or used these characters as a poor introduction for their takes. Contrary to what a lot of people believe in, fallout has a prediomeny white cis male fanbase. More importantly a large portion of the fanbase is white.

You can joke how FNV made you trans or see the numbers on post/fics or diverse headcanons but these are kiddy numbers compared to the millions that consume the franchise and aren’t in those more aware spaces or don’t engage in the spaces the same way someone like me does/has to. Their views shape a lot more than people realize and it’s exhausting to be in a space where people don’t correct the more subtle yet toxic aspects of it but also adopt them into some weird quirky view point on the characters or issues. Some people don’t realize and some people don’t care.

My main issue is just the idolizing of these sort of thing in this fandom space and people try to acts like a game like fallout whose tagline is “War never changes” and has never had a game not revolve around political or militaristic factions issues isn’t that deep or doesn’t relate to real issues. I think it’s mainly caused by how over powered you can become and how you can strong arm your way past these learning moments as majority of people who play this game do play it as a power fantasy where they can do so as they please (which of course, go ahead it’s fun) but never take in parallels or lessons in the story as if it was just another first person shooter.

Also like another personal gripe is Cazadores spawn like hell whenever I’m there and I have not found a mod that works to mod them out so I have to play Indigenous Racism the DLC while getting jumped by giant wasps WHILE helping Mormons. Like I cannot catch a break.

[one-time-i-dreamt]

On May 19 Sgt. Michael Kunovich deemed him suspicious while outside the Super 8 motel parking lot. Aguilar Mendez was sitting down eating but started to walk away when the officer approached in his patrol vehicle. Kunovich began to question him, but Aguilar Mendez couldn't understand him or communicate well and repeated that he was sorry. That's when Kunovich decided to search him, and Aguilar Mendez resisted. Two other deputies arrived to assist in taking the 5-foot-4, 115-pound teen to the ground as Kunovich repeatedly stunned him with his taser, all seen on body-worn camera video. Aguilar Mendez can be heard screaming for his family and is seen trying to gain control of the taser as the officers note in the video. Toward the end of the 6-minute scuffle, the deputies saw that their handcuffed suspect had a small folding knife and disarmed him. Kunovich collapsed a short time later in medical distress and died at the hospital, the Sheriff's Office said. Aguilar Mendez, who came here from Guatemala, was staying with other farmworkers at the hotel. He is being detained without bail, which is the subject of another hearing as yet to be decided. (source)

I'm going to need you all to start spreading awareness about this case and sign the petition. I'm a 5'4 woman and I weigh more than him. He's only 18, indigenous and doesn't understand English nor Spanish really. I can't imagine how confused and scared he was. Tased 6 times and apologizing repeatedly and calling out for his family... he is not responsible for the police officer's death. The fact he's been held for 8 months without bail is disgusting.

Virgilio looks so small, sad and defeated in all of the images I've seen of him.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

CALL MY NAME AND I'LL COME RUNNING ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru can be irritating, at times. but even if you push him away, he’ll always, always be there for you when you need him.

word count; 8.7k (this was supposed to b a short drabble but i was possessed by the devil halfway through)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, reader n toru have a fight, mild swearing (a couple fucks here n there), hurt/comfort, satoru has communication issues but he’s trying his best, depictions of stalking (reader gets followed by a random creep but satoru comes to the rescue dw), uhh implied thoughts of violence? (satoru wants to Maul said dude but doesn’t), literally just me being in love with satoru gojo for 8.7k words straight

a/n; no thoughts head empty only gojo running through the streets like a wild beast looking for u <33 im normal about him yeah.

“you’re so annoying sometimes, you know that?”

satoru smiles. the sentence isn’t one he’s unaccustomed to hearing.

usually, the words are soaked in an undeniable fondness, as they spill from your lips. rich with exasperated love. one that never fails to have the corners of satoru’s lips curling up, a mellow kind of joy blossoming in his chest.

but now, that fondness is nowhere to be found. 

you sound thoroughly exasperated, and a little bit fatigued. more than anything else, there’s a vague irritation behind the tilt of your voice, something almost cold. it makes all the difference in the world. 

and yet, despite that, a certain someone chooses to pay no heed to the bad omen.

“aw, c’mon. you know you love me, baby.”

satoru is grinning. lighthearted, awfully sweet. there’s a certain smugness to it, though, one he couldn’t wash away even if he was aware of it; you wouldn’t do so even if you could. that smugness is a part of him, one that you’d usually find endearing. 

but right now, it only seeks to further your frustration.

it was a stupid fight, truthfully. completely meaningless. satoru had forgotten to pick up after himself for, like, the fourth consecutive time, and so you grew annoyed. not by a lot, but enough that you felt the need to be firm when you reminded him not to make the same mistake over and over again.

but satoru had only grinned, in that self-satisfied fashion of his, and apologized in a way you couldn’t possibly call sincere. then he did what he usually does — promises to work on it. to not do it again. he never follows through, though.

but even that thought wasn’t anywhere near enough to make you truly angry. what really began to irk you was the fact that satoru wasn’t taking you seriously, even in the slightest.

that’s how he always is, when it comes to this kind of thing. and you try to be patient, you do. you try to be understanding. sometimes you even appreciate that he keeps the atmosphere light, but other times, you just can’t help but feel irritated by it.

and the current situation happens to fall into the latter category.

you don’t care if satoru leaves a candy wrapper or two out, every once in a while. of course you don’t. it’s a silly thing to argue about. but would it hurt for him to just listen to you? to try to put himself in your shoes, for once? it’s not about the wrappers, or the undone dishes. it’s about the way he treats you when you complain about it — like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter. even if it obviously does, to you.

so, gradually, the topic of your little argument began to shift, into a conversation about satoru. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to talk about the things that bother you in a serious fashion. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to take you seriously.

and he just keeps proving your point, with every word that falls from his lips.

at this point, you’re genuinely beginning to feel a little angry. but satoru doesn’t see that as the warning sign it is — he just thinks it’s cute. he’s just been cooing at you, this whole time, despite your numerous attempts to actually explain how much his behavior affects you sometimes. it feels a bit like talking to a wall. satoru keeps on teasing you, even as you try to be firm about your point, and only brushes you off with empty promises to do better and more unneeded comments about how much he wants to hug you when you pout like that.

and you falter, a little. of course you do. you’re weak to satoru. weak to his words, that sweet voice of his, that pretty grin. but that only makes everything worse, because if you let yourself look even a little bit flustered at his comments, he sees that as his cue to continue.

you don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose, at this point. is he doing it because he knows it’ll annoy you, or does he genuinely not understand that you’re upset? you’d like to think that there’s no malicious intent behind it, but can’t he see how troubled you are? you don’t get it. you don’t get him, and that frustrates you most of all. satoru can be so goddamn convoluted, sometimes.

so you simply can’t help but feel annoyed. angry, even. how long have you been arguing for, at this point? you’re not sure. but you feel the frustration inside of you grow, as the minutes tick by, into something you know will eventually explode.

a sigh falls from your lips, deep and exasperated. a little bit exhausted. “i’m serious, satoru. you’re not even listening.”

“i am!” he protests, stubbornly. childishly. “you just look so cute when you’re all mad. not my fault you’re so distracting.”

satoru smiles, voice sugar sweet, but all you can do is frown. does he really think it’s cute that you’re upset? the thought makes you somewhat sad. but you can’t show that, can’t let that part of you win — you don’t even want to think about the possibility of you crying, because of this. yeah, no way in hell. 

so instead, you channel it into anger. as the blood inside your veins comes to a boiling point, you dig your nails into the skin of your palms, gnawing at your bottom lip and shifting from one foot to another.

”satoru, i’m —” another sigh, sharp and vexed like the blade of a knife. ”i’m trying to have a serious conversation, here. can’t you see that i’m upset?”

satoru takes a moment to look at you, from behind the black glass of his shades.

he can. of course he can see that. you’re frowning, and there’s a crease between your brows, and you keep huffing and sighing every three seconds — you’re obviously, undoubtedly upset. and satoru wants to take you seriously, he does. it’s just that the part of his brain that only ever wants to coddle and tease you keeps persuading him not to.

he’s not lying, either; you do look cute. almost too cute to take seriously, when you’re pouting so sweetly, a little red in the face from all the frustration bubbling inside your chest. you look so small, glaring up at him like an angry puppy. 

satoru can’t help but smile. it’d be impossible not to.

and he will listen to you, will take you seriously. he knows you’re angry, knows you’re upset, and he intends to deal with that properly. but he doesn’t need to do it right now.

just a little more teasing, before he has to stop beating around the bush. satoru dreads it, a little bit, dreads having to genuinely be serious, be open and apologetic. it always feels so strange, so discomforting. 

all that stuff can wait until later. for now, he just wants to see you blush a little more, huff and puff at his limitless affection, that he knows you love deep down. where’s the harm?

(and therein lies the problem. satoru is observant, and typically good at seeing the line that he shouldn’t cross when it comes to you. but there are times when he slips up, times when he doesn’t realize that his words have begun to sting. times when the line becomes blurry, because he knows some part of you enjoys the way he babies you, and sometimes it blinds him to the part of you that doesn’t.)

satoru is smiling. it’s the same as always — big, bright, glazed over with honey-sweet adoration. smug and teasing. it’s such a satoru-like smile that it makes your breath hitch, sometimes, makes your heart race with wonder. but now all it does is annoy you. everything you love about satoru is annoying you, right now. 

in your eyes, that pretty smile of his seems almost taunting. like he’s trying to pick a fight with you, trying to make you even more upset. you don’t want to blow up over something like this, you really really don’t — but for some reason, you feel dangerously close to. it’s not like you at all.

you bore into his eyes with a cold glare, even though you can’t exactly see them with his shades in the way. posture straight and rigid as you try to make yourself look bigger. you must look at least a little bit menacing, like this. right?

“i’m seriously angry with you,” you say, hoping your voice sounds as austere to his ears as it does to yours. “don’t you get that?”

satoru coos, unable to hold the sound back. he doesn’t notice the flicker of hurt in your eyes, only focusing on how the sunset rays frame your figure, kissing your skin with sun-soaked fervor. you look so pretty. and that angry look on your face is too tantalizing not to tease.

“aww,” he croons, inching closer to you. there’s a teasing glint in his eyes that you can’t see, unmistakably fond. “is my little baby that upset?”

you blink. his voice sounds even more sugar-sweet now, obviously exaggerated. there’s amusement there, too — like this is just one big joke to him. you think he must be doing it to belittle you, to embarrass you. speaking to you like you’re some kind of grumpy toddler, and not a grown adult trying to have a serious conversation with their partner. your blood boils, boils, boils.

— and so the cup overflows.

“oh, go fuck yourself.”

it’s almost in a hiss that the words fall from your lips, cold and harsh; they leave the confines of your throat before you have a chance to reconsider them, sudden and sickeningly heavy. crude, too. you’d never be so crass with him under normal circumstances.

but you’re overwhelmed, thoroughly and completely, and satoru is being particularly infuriating. you genuinely feel hurt by the way he’s disregarding your feelings, and that realization stings more than anything. 

so you can’t help but say the words, louder than you meant to, before turning on your heel swiftly and walking out of the room. 

you don’t even have time to register what you’re doing, legs moving on their own before your mind can catch up. brisk and heavy steps carry you to the door, all while you furiously attempt to blink away the tears of frustration that begin to form in your eyes.

it only takes a second for you to grab your jacket — then you’re out.

satoru hears the front door close, echoing off the walls of your apartment. you don’t quite slam it shut, but you close it with more force than usual, and he can’t help but inwardly wince.

a moment passes. 

then, he flops down on the couch, lanky arms and legs dangling uncomfortably off the edges. the groan that slips from his lips is muffled by the soft cushion as he burrows his face into it, while replaying your interaction inside his mind.

satoru can’t help but feel uncomfortable, with this conclusion. a little bit irked. a vague something rests inside his chest, something he doesn’t quite want to admit to feeling. it makes him feel a little bit sick.

(”oh, go fuck yourself.”)

he can’t recall you ever raising your voice at him like that. when it comes to him, you’re usually so patient; soft, understanding, gentle. for you to have snapped in such a way — to have stormed out of the apartment in your anger — he must have pushed you pretty far.

satoru sighs.

he really pissed you off, huh?

(he can never quite seem to get this right, can he?)

it was never his intention to make you genuinely mad. he just lost sight of the line, for a second. that’s all.

and maybe he was also trying to avoid the issue, trying to avoid actually arguing with you. because he hates it. he hates it more than anything. satoru would much rather see you smile and blush than act all serious and sad. 

he just wanted to make you laugh.

was it insensitive? yeah, probably. he just can’t help but fuck this up, it seems. now he’s gone and made you angry — and as much as the sight would usually thrill him, as cute as you look when you’re irritated, a pit of anxiety settles in his gut. everything just feels wrong.

more than anything, satoru feels restless. because, right now, there’s nothing he can do. he can’t chase after you, even if just to apologize — that’d make you even angrier.

he knows he needs to give you space. you were obviously overwhelmed; some fresh air will do you good.

it irks him, though. satoru wants to fix it. he always wants to fix everything, before it even breaks. and even now, all his mind can do is spin in circles, wondering how he could possibly cheer you up.

he’ll just have to apologize, when you get back. and hope you forgive him. maybe he can get you something sweet to munch on, or a bouquet of flowers. would that make everything okay again?

satoru doesn’t know. so he just scratches his head, and tries his damndest not to think of how defeated you looked before leaving.

your steps are heavy, dragging you forward, leading you somewhere you have no knowledge of. it’s chilly out, and the sun is already setting.

everything in the world feels so wrong. like it’s tilted slightly to the left, like the earth stopped spinning around its axis. like everything suddenly lost its saturation. 

you just needed to get away from him, for a while. away from that smug smile, that patronizing tilt of his voice. you couldn’t even stand to be in the same apartment as him. it’s not often you feel that way, not often at all. 

and it only increases your growing frustration. 

you are beginning to calm down, though — you know you are. the crisp evening air and the pleasant mingle of people soothes your muddled senses, smoothing down the crease of your brow and the ache in your chest.

a heavy discomfort, and a growing guilt. that’s all you can feel, as the anger slowly seeps out of you, turning into vapour with every exhale of your breath.

you hate arguing with satoru. you hate it more than anything. the guilt clawing at your chest barely leaves any room for anger — you almost yelled at him. just the thought of doing that to satoru makes you want to cry.

because you love him, at the end of the day, even when he’s being absolutely insufferable. he’s a sweetheart, your sweet boy, always trying to lighten the mood and make you smile. maybe you should have been a bit more understanding; you know satoru’s bad at this stuff, bad with emotions and vulnerability. and deep down, you know he’d never hurt you, not on purpose.

he probably just didn’t realize that you were genuinely upset. it’s a mistake that anyone could make.

but it just makes you feel so frustrated. like he’s not even looking at you. always hiding behind those shades, never opening up. never letting you see him wear anything but a smile. you want him to take it slow, open up to you at his own pace, but that doesn’t make the wait sting any less.

it’s not like you were asking for a lot. first, you simply asked him to pick up after himself. the way you do, the way anyone does. then, you simply asked him to treat you with respect.

a sudden pang of bitterness runs through your chest. sure, you could’ve handled it all better — but he could have, too.

every step you take hits the pavement with an irritated kind of decision. whatever. whatever. for now, you don’t want to think about it — all you want is to walk around and take in the sights, enjoy the peace and quiet.

so that’s exactly what you do.

before you know it, the sun has set, and the moon has risen — shining down and painting the streets in a mesmerizing blue, ephemeral and tranquil. it’s enough to give you some peace of mind, as you lurk around familiar streets, soaking in all the open space. so different from that suffocating apartment, and the man inside it, with that shit-eating grin and those breathtaking eyes.

(he’s called you, a couple times. you haven’t been gone for long — an hour or so, you think, maybe two. some part of you wanted to answer, just to hear his voice through the phone, but the part of you that’s still awfully irritated shut that down immediately. so, stubbornly, you just let it ring.)

the streets are empty, and the sky is dark. the light of all the lampposts illuminate your way, along with the soft flicker of the moon and stars. an endless galaxy stretches out before your eyes, little pale dots of stardust shining like jewels.

an ever-lasting, never-changing sky, that continues on for infinity. limitless. all the space you could possibly want, and then some.

for a moment, you can only look at the glittering stars in wonder, soaking in the feeling of absolute solitude. 

— it doesn’t last, though.

“you alone?”

a sudden voice calls out from behind you. close, discerningly so, enough to make you flinch. you curse yourself for not noticing anything sooner, caught up in looking at the starry sky, in angling your phone to take a picture of it.

hesitantly, you turn your gaze towards the sound — wincing under your breath when you see the man a couple steps away from you. he looks a little crazed, you think, shifting from foot to foot and hunching over. 

oh fuck no.

great, just what you needed. that’s just your luck, isn’t it? your brain can only spin in circles, trying to get your body to react, to run. to do literally anything except just stand there like a deer caught in headlights.

in your nervosity, all you manage is a painfully awkward laugh, as you stutter out a halfhearted response.

“oh — no, i’m just waiting for my boyfriend!” you smile, unconvincingly. your face must be soaked in unease. whatever he wants with you, it can’t be anything good.

at least you said that one word clearly — boyfriend. you can only hope it’s enough to scare him away.

but the man only shifts a little more, emitting a gruff kind of hum, not saying anything else. your spine tingles with apprehension. every cell in your body wants you to leave. he seems a little intoxicated, you think, and the thought only stirs the anxious feeling in your chest further.

god. why does this have to happen to you? why now?

thankfully, you’ve got your phone in hand. as your mind scrambles for solutions, your fingers tap at the screen, urgently scrolling through your contacts. in such a frightened state, your acting must be positively awful, but you make a vague attempt. not like you’re getting any oscars for this, either way.

“sorry — he’s calling me now!” you stammer out, taking a step away from the man. he doesn’t make a move to follow you, so you take your chances and press your phone to your ear, feet carrying you forward with haste.

in your fear, you don’t think twice about calling satoru — but you can’t help but internally wince at the decision, as the anxious patter of your own heart resounds in your ears.

how are you supposed to talk to him, exactly? what are you supposed to say? hey, i know i just told you to go fuck yourself, but will you hear me out? i need your help. 

and you do. you do need his help. all you want is for him to swoop in, to take you in his arms, your knight in shining armor.

satoru’s said it to you, before — that if you need anything, anything at all, you can come to him. that you can always, always lean on him, without exception. 

you know that he likes helping you. likes it when you open up to him, when you put your trust in him. when you aren’t afraid to ask for his help.

so despite everything, you hold your phone to your ear, walking away with brisk steps and praying that he’s not petty enough to ignore your call like you did to his.

back home, satoru is still resting on the couch, tapping his feet and trying to distract himself. 

he’s a little anxious. it’s dark out, and you’re not answering any of his calls. when you’re out of sight, like this, he can’t help but feel a little helpless — worried about everything that could happen to you. but it’s not like he can force you to pick up. 

you’re probably at a friend’s house, or something. telling them all about what an asshole your boyfriend is. as much as the thought stings, satoru hopes it’s true; it’s all he can comfort himself with. anything is fine as long as you aren’t out walking alone, in the cold, in the dark.

entirely caught up in his spiralling thoughts, satoru almost flinches when the phone rings. laying on the table in front of him, just within arm’s reach. it only takes a second for him to react as his gaze flits to the bright screen, and he sees the contact name, the many heart emojis littering it.

with a start, satoru jumps up. his back straightens out, and his hand flies to grab the phone — he’d feel embarrassed at his own eagerness, but right now he just can’t help it. even under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t let the phone ring more than twice, always giddy to hear your voice whenever possible. 

this time, however, he does falter slightly.

he takes a split second to simply stare at the phone in his hand, at the affectionate contact name. what is he supposed to say to you, exactly? how is he supposed to act?

satoru doesn’t know, but as if afraid that you’ll change your mind and stop the call, yourself, he opts to simply answer. he’ll just have to figure out what to say on the fly.

(unfortunately, satoru’s instinctual response to anything is either smugness or playfulness.)

“well, well. look who finally decided to pick up.”

you’re the one who called him, not the other way around — but satoru can’t be bothered with small details like that right now. he only hopes you don’t notice the faint nervosity in his voice, the stiffness as he tries to sound unbothered.

you don’t notice anything at all, mind far too muddled, too clouded by fear. all you can do is take a deep breath, desperately trying to grasp control over your wavering voice.

“— satoru?” you call out, voice meek and frail. the man in question notices it immediately, sitting up a little straighter, but before he can say anything you continue. “i’m sorry, i just — are — are you still at home?”

there’s an anxious tilt to your voice, one that’d be impossible for satoru to miss. your words are a little breathy, spoken in a fast tempo, and he feels a sudden dread crawl up his spine.

something is wrong, his senses alert him.

“yeah,” he hums, trying to hide the turmoil in his own voice. “why? is everything okay?”

the line is quiet, for a second. “it’s just —“ an exhale, as you once again attempt to steer your voice in a less nervous direction. “just… some creepy guy tried to talk to me. i told him i was waiting for my boyfriend and now i’m walking away from him but he’s still following me.” another exhale, as you worriedly sneak a glance over your shoulder. ”i just — i don’t know what to —”

“where are you?”

satoru cuts you off, voice eerily serious. his gaze turned cold the moment he heard creepy guy, legs moving him towards the coat rack by the front door as if on autopilot. 

he’s already left the apartment by the time you answer, looking around you meekly.

“i… don’t know,” you sigh. “i’m not far. i walked past that one crêpe stand by the park but then i, like… continued up that street? and now i don’t really know where i’m going.”

you continue, a little exasperated as your gaze flits around the dark street. attempting to recall your steps, a difficult task with how on edge you feel. “i’ll try to look for a sign, or something,” you gulp. “… i’m sorry. i just wanted to get away from him.”

satoru’s voice is comforting, when he speaks, eager to console you. grounding and soft. “hey, it’s okay. i’m heading there now, alright?” he smiles, hoping you’ll hear it in his voice. “i’ll be there before you know it.”

you do hear it, and his words ease a little of the anxiety in your chest, despite your fear. “okay.” 

the line grows quiet, again, and your brows furrow in worry. “can — can i keep talking to you?” you ask, uncertain. a little pitiful. ”please?”

“of course,” satoru answers, instantaneous. he’s already making his way towards the crêpe stand with decision in his steps, mentally scanning the area ahead. despite his own anxiety at the situation, he attempts to sound as secure as he can possibly manage, desperate to soothe the worry in your voice.

“try to relax for me, okay? nobody’s gonna hurt you. not while i’m here.”

his words are absolute, as he consoles you. he sounds so sure of himself, so much that you can’t help but believe in his words. so you nod, emitting a weak hum when you remember he can’t see you.

“can you tell me what you see, baby?”

“uhh…” you look around, blindly, trying to find some sort of meaningful hint around you. “there’s like… some toy shop?” 

satoru only hums. “can you check your location on your phone?” 

you blink. 

of course. why on earth didn’t that cross your mind before? 

“oh — yeah — fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i didn’t —“ you sigh, heavy. “hold on.”

following satoru’s instructions swiftly, your gaze scans over the screen. he waits, patiently, already heading past the park and up ahead. as soon as you succeed in finding the name of the street, you echo it to him.

satoru sighs, a little relieved. “okay,” he hums. “i’m not that far away. i’ll be there soon.” he only hopes his words can soothe your fear, even a little. “is he still following you?”

you glance behind you, and meet the gaze of the stranger. just like you were afraid of, he’s still following you — if anything, he seems to have gotten a little closer. with a jolt, your heartbeat picks up.

“yeah,” you gulp. 

satoru’s chest tightens. he emits a low hum. “just hold on. i’ll hurry.”

focusing only on the tilt of satoru’s voice, you try to calm your breathing. you just want to see him. the thought of doing so is the only thing keeping your trembling ribcage intact, at this point. 

you swallow a shaky breath.

“thanks, toru.”

a sudden pang of ache sprouts in satoru’s chest, like thorny vines curling around his ribcage. his heart hurts. you sound so scared, so very small. 

this is all his fault, he thinks. all of it. he got too careless; none of this would’ve happened if he had only been more considerate. if he had just stopped you from leaving and apologized, or hadn’t upset you in the first place. then he wouldn’t have to hear that scared little voice, wouldn’t have to imagine your body shaking like a leaf in the cold night. so far away from him. 

but satoru can’t beat himself up over it, not yet. there’ll be more than enough time for that later. for now, he needs to get to you — that’s the only thing on his mind.

so he lets his feet carry him forward, running towards your location with bated breath. he’s sure you can hear it, through the phone, even though he tries to contain it.

the sound consoles you, if anything. it reminds you that satoru is there, that he’s on his way. that there’s no need to be scared. 

but you can’t help but freak out, a little, when you hear the man call out from behind you.

“hey!” he slurs, stumbling towards you with unsteady steps. his voice is loud, angry, and it sends your mind reeling into panic mode.

a flinch overtakes your body, before you stumble forward, walking even faster than before. you’re almost running now, breath hitching as you gulp. satoru hears it all — your panic, the echo of the man. his own tempo picks up.

“baby, calm down, okay?” he consoles you, voice concerned and honey-sweet. “just keep walking. i’m almost there.”

“sorry —“ you squeak out, between flurry breaths. breathing uneven, laboured and anxious. but you try your best to calm down. “‘s just scary.”

it almost feels physical, the way it irks him. satoru wants to pull you close, more than anything, but he can’t. and that just makes the calamity inside his chest grow, clawing at his ribcage as if trying to escape, to go to your side. 

(he never, ever wants to hear that kind of fear in your voice again.)

“i know,” he soothes. “you’re doing good, honey. listen — he’s not gonna touch you. i won’t let him. you have nothing to be scared of.”

you nod, even as you exhale a shaky breath. ”i know.” 

and you do. you know there’s a truth, to satoru’s words, one that’s never failed you before.

because satoru is your safe space, at the end of the day — he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and sometimes he’s bad with emotions. but he tries, you know he does. and, more than anything else, you know that he’ll always, always be there when you need him. he’ll always be there to protect you. 

and a part of you is sure that everything will be okay, as long as he’s around.

(it’s easy to forget how trustworthy satoru really is, how much he cares. how dependable he is. and how serious he can get, when he truly needs to be, despite his childishness. it’s moments like these that remind you of that.)

but it’s still scary, at the end of the day. you can’t help but feel uncomfortable, a little lost in the world. because you and satoru just fought, you just told him to go fuck himself, and yet here he is. running to your side, in the middle of the night, because you’re scared and alone and you need him.

the man continues to shout, behind you, muttering curses you can’t quite make out. you look over your shoulder nervously, steps hurried.

and satoru runs like a man possessed, through the moonlit streets, gaze scanning the area like a wild beast. his most visceral instinct is screaming at him, tugging at his flesh and bones, desperate to protect you. to comfort you. to wash all your worries away. 

as he makes a sharp turn, he momentarily stops the movement, halting to look around. he thinks he must look a little crazed, with the moonlight illuminating his eyes, but he couldn’t care less.

especially not when his gaze lands on a certain person, further down the street — small and alone.

your eyes meet his.

with the darkness of the street, it’s hard to make anything out, but the light of the lamppost helps. though even without it, satoru’s sure he’d know it was you, just from the sensation that unfurls in his chest as his gaze lands on your figure. 

an audible sigh of immense relief falls from his lips, and his tense shoulders relax, eyes softening just a tad. he hears a similar noise coming from the phone in his grasp, and he assumes that means you recognize him too. not bothering to end the call, he puts it in his pocket, walking over to you with brisk steps. 

you stumble towards him, yourself, the worried crease between your brows now smoothed away. the closer he gets, the faster you move, until you can see the blue of his eyes. two pocket-sized moons.

satoru swoops you in for a hug before either of you can say anything.

he cradles you close, awfully close, so close you can hear his heavy breathing against your ear. it tickles your neck, along with his soft hair, and you shiver. his fragrance envelops your senses, a blend between fresh laundry, strawberries and some expensive cologne. your favorite scent in the world. 

and suddenly, the world is devoid of danger. nothing can get to you while satoru’s there. all that exists is you, and him, and the soft flicker of the moon.

satoru squeezes you tightly, ensuring himself over and over again that you’re safe. he might be squeezing you a little too tight, but he can’t bring himself to think about that just yet.

finally, that growing calamity inside his chest is satiated. winding down at the feeling of you pressed up against him, the indisputable proof that you’re okay. with you in his arms, satoru feels like everything is alright, again.

the fear inside his chest, so foreign it leaves him shaken to the very core, finally begins to dissipate too. he doesn’t think there’s anything that makes him feel quite as hopeless as the thought of not being there for you when you need him. he never wants to feel that fear again. it’s suffocating. it crushes his lungs.

all he can do is hold you close, his big palm smoothing down your hair, the back of your head, your spine. warm and comforting. keeping you steady against him. he can feel your heartbeat, rapid and anxious, so fast that his heart aches. satoru is eager to soothe you, eager to make it go away.

”i’m here, baby,” he breathes, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head. ”you’re safe now.”

the words are spoken softly, right by your ear, and you exhale a shaky breath. you’re bundling up his clothing with your fists, anchoring yourself to him. after a little while, you let go, opting to wrap your arms around his midriff instead. nuzzling into his broad chest, you try to blink away your tears and contain your sniffles.

you nod against him, and satoru kisses the crown of your head.

and, finally, his gaze strays. it falls farther down the street, until it lands on a certain man — shifting from one foot to another. watching you both in silence.

the calamity inside his chest rouses from its slumber, once more.

satoru makes sure to keep his hands on you, still rubbing your back with one steady palm cradling the back of your head. keeping your face hidden in his chest, safe and secure.

then he raises his head, back straight, full height on display as his eyes meet the stranger’s. he can tell they do, even with the distance, the darkness of the street.

and satoru knows he looks menacing. he knows the light of the lamppost illuminates his figure perfectly, framing his tall stature and broad shoulders. and he knows the moonlight caressing his skin illuminates his face, his cold eyes — blue and uncanny, glowing even brighter than the moon. staring daggers into the man’s soul. if looks could kill, there wouldn’t even be any remains left to find.

the man stiffens, visibly, and satoru delights in it. he doesn’t leave, though, and for a second satoru wonders if he’s really intoxicated enough to come closer — 

but, sure enough, all he does is stagger a little. then he walks away, grumbling under his breath, hands in his pockets.

and satoru isn’t satisfied, with this conclusion. not in the slightest. he wants to run up to the man, wants to hold him up by the throat, wants to tell him off. because he has the nerve to terrorize someone like that, stalk them with intentions he knows can’t be anything but revolting. the nerve to do that to you, of all the people in the world —

satoru doesn’t know if he’s hated anyone quite as much. 

and a part of him wants to make him cower. make him fear for his life, just to make sure he never does anything like this again. leave him with a fear so great it’ll linger for as long as he’s alive.

(and a more animalistic side of satoru, one he doesn’t want to acknowledge, wants to do things that are much, much worse.)

— but you come first. without question, and without exception. he refuses to leave you alone, and refuses to make you look at the man for even a second more. 

so he’ll focus on you, entirely.

he can tell you’re still shaken up, heartbeat pulsating against him, little flutters of life prickling his skin. there’s a desperation in the way you hug his waist, like he could disappear at any moment. like he’ll slip away if you don’t keep him close. the sight tugs at satoru’s heartstrings. 

his first priority is to soothe you, always and forever. so that’s exactly what he does.

satoru smiles. it’s small, in the wake of the situation, but awfully sincere. fingers reaching down to trace over your jaw, he gently urges you to look at him; when you do so, hesitant, he cups your cheek with his palm.

your teary eyes feel like daggers to his heart, an unmistakable proof of his failure. his failure to protect you, to keep you safe and happy. but at the same time, he’s glad, from the bottom of his heart — that you’d let him see you like this. even after everything.

you look very meek, blinking the tears away as you look into his eyes. they’re bright, and comforting. you wonder if he left the shades at home, if he rushed over here so hurriedly that he didn’t think to bring them with him. you’re happy, in any case — the effect they have on you is undeniable. 

you can’t bring yourself to look away, consoled by the flickers of white inside his irises, like fluffy clouds in the blue sky. ever-lasting, never-changing.

satoru tilts his head, smile sweet and understanding. ”that was scary, hm?” 

his voice is tender, somehow so mature. like he’s some older, wiser being, comforting a scared child. it’s so soothing, so very grounding.

squeezing your eyes shut, you can only bring yourself to nod, as you nuzzle back into his chest.

”you’re okay now, honey,” satoru coos, smoothing down your back as you sniffle. an immense softness seeps through his whisper. ”i’ll always be here to protect you.”

there’s a truth to the statement, heavy and pious. like an oath, a pledge, something for you to believe in unquestioningly. you allow yourself to soak in the words, knowing them to be true.

you’re safe, now. there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. satoru’s here, and he’s hugging you, pressing kisses against your shoulder.

but you just can’t stop crying.

when you speak up, your voice is weak, barely above a whisper. close to breaking apart at the seams. too tired after everything to resist the guilt inside your veins, you sniffle, and part your lips.

”i’m sorry i yelled at you.”

satoru stills.

then, his gaze softens, considerably. he hears himself coo, softly, palm smoothing down the back of your head. 

his sweet angel. apologizing to him, when he’s the one who started this whole mess. when you’re still so shaken up. because he let you leave the house angry, because he made you angry in the first place. because he didn’t see how important the discussion was to you.

(“you’re not even listening.”)

yeah. he wasn’t. he didn’t really want to.

an acute sense of shame. an intense guilt. that’s what he’s been trying to push down, all this time. that’s the unnamed something. 

it’s hard for him. to be as sincere as you, as open with his feelings and emotions. as mature. because even in a situation like this, you can swallow your pride and frustration, and apologize. even when you aren’t in the wrong. you’re always the bigger person, always the one to give in first, because he’s too stubborn to do so himself.

next time, satoru pledges, he won’t let you. next time he’ll be the one to swallow his pride.

because, yes, being vulnerable and admitting that he was in the wrong makes him feel a little like he’s being skewered alive — but you’re important to him. he loves you. and he wants you to know how much he trusts you, how special you truly are. 

if he can show you that, by being a little sincere, a little serious, then any discomfort he feels in the process is a small price to pay.

satoru’s lips meet the crown of your head, as he encircles your smaller frame, arms reaching around your neck to pull you close. he rests his jaw lightly on the top of your head, breathing in your scent. ”you have nothing to apologize for, baby.”

a pause lingers between the words he’s already said and the ones he yearns to say, but can’t seem to pull out from within his throat. it takes effort, to squeeze them out; but every time he replays your own apology in his mind, it gets a little easier. he squeezes you lightly before opening his mouth, as if to give him strenght.

“i’m sorry.”

you blink. 

for once, satoru sounds sincere when he apologizes — almost painfully so. bordering on something you think may be nervosity. you try to look up, to catch a glimpse of his expression, but he keeps you hidden in the crook of his neck.

”i was being immature,” he continues, sighing. you don’t know if you’ve ever heard satoru sound so uncomfortable. ”you know how bad i am with this stuff. but i never want to — you know.” 

he makes a gesture with one of his hands, as if that will say the words for him.

“— i didn’t mean to upset you. honestly.” satoru inhales the cold air, in hopes it’ll make him more honest. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you listen. intently, not missing a word, not a single tilt of his voice. it all sounds so genuine, almost foreign on his tongue. satoru seems to be trying to find the right words, grumbling a little under his breath. 

he’s cute, like this. kind of awkward, but that only makes him cuter. you nuzzle closer to him, comforted by his very existence.

”… i’ll work on it,” he whispers, at last. “i’ll listen to you. i promise. i really, really will.” 

you think satoru’s voice wavers, just a little, when he says his final piece. 

“so please don’t cry.”

this time, satoru doesn’t stop you when you attempt to lift your gaze, loosening his arms around you and raising his head from where it rests on top of yours. 

your eyes meet. satoru is smiling, weakly. he tilts his head, looking at you with something you could only ever describe as love.

”okay?”

such a lovely smile. so painfully genuine. his eyes are on full display, shining in the dark of the night, like splotches of moonlight. like someone stole the moon down to earth, and carved out little pieces to put in his irises. an ethereal hue.

he’s so gorgeous. hair just a tad messy, tousled from all the running he did to get here. cheeks a little red from the cold. when he smiles, his eyes crinkle. but he looks almost pained. 

(he was so, so worried.)

blinking away the tears clinging to your lashes, you simply stare, entirely mesmerized by the sight. satoru’s thumb goes to wipe at your glassy eyes, smoothing away the drops that threaten to fall. you want to engrave his expression into your memory, so you can never forget it. but it’s just a little too much.

so you hide in his chest, once more. the word that falls from your lips is tiny. “okay.”

satoru smiles, kissing the top of your head with a relieved exhale. bathing in your presence, still reeling from his show of vulnerability. he feels a little like he just cut himself open, let you peek inside his ribcage. the night air stings his skin. 

but you’re so warm, hugging him tightly, breathing and heartbeat finally relaxed. 

(he doesn’t mind it, not if it’s you — having you look inside his chest. if you asked, he’d let you build a shelter there. right between his fourth and fifth ribs.)

now that the words are out of his throat, they don’t burn at all. satoru feels a little silly, for being so scared to say them out loud. he knows you’d never use them against him.

all you do is snuggle closer, as if silently conveying your forgiveness.

you stand there for just a little while longer, wallowing in the tender atmosphere. finally, satoru makes a move to leave, and you begin to walk back home.

“sure you’re okay now, baby?”

you nod, exhaling a flurry breath. it turns into vapour in the cold of the air, drifting up and dissipating in the expanding starry sky. “yeah. thanks for coming so quickly.”

“of course,” satoru only says, choking back a yawn. 

your hands are intertwined, and he’s halfheartedly swinging them back and forth. it soothes your anxiety, and satoru’s protective instincts. you know neither of you will slip away, like this.

you shiver a little, subconsciously inching closer to satoru to protect you from the harsh bite of the midnight breeze. he notices, giving you a glance and a tilt of his head. “you cold?” 

“just a little,” you mutter, smiling weakly as you look up at him. ”i’m fine.”

satoru huffs. did you really think he’d be dissuaded by such a weak retort? there’s no way he’s letting you walk around all cold and shivering. 

so you come to a standstill, as satoru begins to shrug off his coat. he refuses to let go of your hand for even a second, making the process slower than usual — your heart flutters a little, as his fingers curl around yours, delicately. 

when he finally gets it off him, he wastes no time in draping it over your shoulders. it’s big on you, warm and soft, shielding you from the chilly air. satoru can’t help but giggle sheepishly, as he always does at the sight — you look so cute. 

“c’mon. let’s go home,” he grins, ruffling your hair teasingly.

satoru doesn’t feel cold, not in the slightest, as he holds your hand tightly. just your presence is enough to warm his bones to the marrow.

the silence between you is comforting and soothing, as you continue to walk. hand in hand, admiring the starry sky. you’re both too tired to speak — but satoru does so, anyway.

“i meant it, y’know.” satoru sounds sleepy, but earnest. ”i really will work on it.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it, yawning softly and stretching his free arm. gaze fixed on the morning star. 

“oh.” you pause, squirming a little. sheepish. “thank you. i’m sorry that i — i mean.” a sigh. “i probably overreacted a little.”

satoru shakes his head, waving off your guilt. “nah. you’re right. i never want you to feel like i’m not taking you seriously.”

his gaze meets yours, tentatively. his eyes shine like wedding rings. “you mean a lot to me.”

the sincere words manifest themselves as a heavy pressure to your chest, closing in on your heart as if crushing it. it’s a pleasant sensation, though, overwhelming as it is. you’re a little scared that your knees will buckle if he keeps this up, but even if they do, you wouldn’t want him to stop — satoru’s love is terrifically overwhelming when there’s nothing to hide it, when it’s just love and nothing else.

but you’d never reject it. you’d let it crush you to death with a smile on your face.

all you can do is avert your gaze, afraid that you’ll fall into the blue sea of his eyes if you don’t. heavy thumps of blood resound in your ears as your heart beats, warmth spreading throughout your entire body.

“… you mean a lot to me, too.” you echo, holding his hand just a little tighter. warmth rises to your cheeks. “i just felt really frustrated, i guess. like you were looking down on me. i know you weren’t actually, though.”

satoru chews at the inside of his cheek, almost anxiously. “i know i can be a little much sometimes,” he says, tasting the words on his tongue. “and i appreciate you for putting up with that. i’m sorry i let it go too far. i’ll be more considerate.”

your heart stutters in your chest. you’re not sure what to say — the way he forms his words makes them feel so absolute. and you believe him.

“i’ll be more considerate, too,” you echo, looking down at the pavement. “i shouldn’t have blown up like that.” a pause. you mumble, quietly, a little embarrassed. “i shouldn’t have told you to go fuck yourself.”

satoru breathes out an amused huff, chuckling lightheartedly. his eyes carry a teasing glint when they meet yours. “i probably deserved that. no worries.”

“still,” you pout. satoru giggles. 

“we’ll both work on it, then,” he hums, tilting his head to find your gaze. “right?”

you blink. a small smile breaks out across your face. “right.”

satoru swings your hands back and forth, looking awfully happy with himself. you’re proud of him. really.

“oh —“ he says, breaking the sleepy silence once again. “and i’ll stop leaving wrappers around, too.”

this time, you’re the one who huffs out an amused breath. “thank you,” you grin, looking up at him. he thinks the sight is terribly precious.

a yawn leaves your lips, drowsiness sneaking its way into your bloodstream. you’re not sure if it’s due to the dark, or if you’re just a tad exhausted after all the arguing and panicking.

satoru notices, and gets an idea.

“you tired, baby?” he coos, eyes teasing but soft around the edges. “d’you want a piggyback ride?” 

when you give him a look, sleepy and kind of exasperated, satoru grins. you huff out an amused breath, just a tad embarrassed, but it only spurs him on.

so he crouches down, one knee meeting the pavement, letting your hand slip from his. you blink, tiredly, at the loss of contact. you can’t see his face, but you know he’s wearing that lovesick, smug little grin of his. 

”c’mon. your big, strong boyfriend’ll carry you.”

satoru’s feeling playful, you can tell. that’s usually a bad sign — but you can’t deny that you’re tired. and the prospect of getting carried all the way home is eerily tempting. 

your gaze falls on his back, and his broad shoulders. silently, you walk towards him, and wrap your arms around his neck. satoru holds you up by your thighs, and then stands up, jostling you a little; he does so without a hitch, and you’re reminded of how strong he really is. his grip is secure, and you trust him not to drop you, no matter what. 

you let out a content sigh, basking in the chill of the midnight air as you nuzzle your cheek against his soft hair. satoru chuckles.

”my sleepy lil’ sweetheart,” he coos, voice a tad raspy. ”lucky thing you’ve got me, huh?”

there’s a softness to his voice, despite the teasing tilt obscuring it. you can only huff out a breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and cling to him tighter.

satoru will get you home safe. he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and he can be bad with emotions — but you can always, always trust him on that. 

so, with his coat shielding you from the chilly air, and his back warming you up as he carries you back to your apartment, you allow your eyes to flutter shut; enjoying the cozy feeling his presence brings you.

he’ll always be there when you need him.

[mytheoristavenue]

How MHA Guys React to Fangirls

Summary: Dating a pro hero can be a challenge, especially one so handsome, with so many rabid fans.

Warnings: jealousy, fluff, gn!reader, very little angst

Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo has never been into having fans as he is just being all together admired. Not one for social interactions, he tends to clam up and become defensive when asked for an autograph, so when he's approached by a fangirl, he wants nothing to do with them. Especially if he's out with you, off duty. If one does happen to approach, and ignoring them doesn't do the trick, he'll make sure he's not their favorite hero anymore by the end of it.

"Do I look like I'm on duty to you? Can't you see I'm out with my partner or are you fucking blind? Piss off, I ain't signin' any damn autographs."

Izuku Midoriya:

Izuku totally understands how it feels to be a hopelessly obsessed fan, so he cuts his fans a lot of slack- sometimes too much. Though he rerfused to admit it at first, he has a lot of fangirls. and he's never the type to hurt someone's feelings on purpose, so he almost always stops for free autographs and photo ops. It can be sometimes frustrating how much of a people pleaser he can be, but rest assured, if he feels like you are getting too uncomfortable, or a fan is becoming too bold, he politely and swiftly ends the interaction.

"Hey, thanks for the support! I'd love to stay and chat, but it's actually my day off, so me and and my partner here are gonna move along. Hope to see you at the next event I attend, though!"

Tenya Iida:

Iida does truly enjoy interactions with his fanbase, but he considers that part of the job, and he's very strick about working off the clock. Because of this, he declines nearly every interaction if he's off duty. He absolutely has no tollerance for being flirted with, either, especially in front of you.

"I appreiciate your enthusiasm, but I and currently off duty and will not be indulging in fan interaction at this time! Please feel free to catch me anytime you see me in uniform! Good day!"

Shoto Todoroki:

Shoto doesn't beleive he has fans, genuinely. He can't quite wrap his head around having a fanbase, or being a fan of a celebrity in the first place, due to how he grew up. It tends to bewilder him when strangers approach him on the street wanting autographs, even more so when they try and put the moves on him. It just goes in one ear and out the other.

"You want an autograph? Why? Well, okay, I guess, but then we should get going. My partner and I are busy."

Eijiro Kirishima:

Kirishima tends to have a very healthy balance of pleasing fans and knowing when to say no. He loves giving out autographs, taking selfies, and giving hugs to all his fans. He especially loves interactions with child fans because it reminds him of how he idolized Crimson Riot, and he hopes to inspire someone like that too. He is, however, very aware when he's being flirted with or sexualized, and has no issue with promptly, albeit politely shutting it down.

"Alright, ladies, I understand someone as manly as me attracts a lot of attention, but my partner here is the only one I've got eyes for, and I ask that you please respect that."

Denki Kaminari:

Unfortunaely for you, Denki loves attention from fans, especially from his fangirls. He never turns down a signing or photo op, posing with girls however they want, even if it means something suggestive. To his credit, he will stop if you ask him to, but you still have to ask.

"Oh, what's that? Okay. Sorry ladies, we gotta run, but catch me at the next meet and greet!"

Hanta Sero:

Like Kirishima, Sero seems to have a pretty healthy mix of reactions. He loves his fans to death and would do most anything for them, especially kids. He lets his fangirls sexualize him to a small extent, knowing they probably don't totally realize he's a real person, but if they come to commenting on his body, or touching more than his shoulder, upper back, or elbows, he puts a stop to it.

"Now, that's enough, ladies. I appreiciate the admiration but even us celebrities have to set boundaries. It was nice meeting you, but it's actually my day off so me and my partner are gonna get, have a nice day!"

Minoru Mineta:

Like Denki, Mineta unfortunately lets his fangirls do whatever they want to him, short of carry him off. He actually does sometimes feel guilty for hurting your felings, however. He just doesn't realize how his flirting can affect you at times. He hopes you know that, even if he does flirt back, it's you who he truly loves!

"Awe, babe, I'm sorry! They don't even matter to me, I swear! It's you that I love, not some silly fangirl!"

Tokoyami Fumikage:

Tokoyami for the life of him does not know how to interact with his fans. He gets overwhelmed by crowds, but can usually handle interactions if they come one or two at a time. He typically caters to most requests, unless they happen to be personal questions, or something embarrassing. He doesn't like the idea of some fans being attracted to him, as he's only attracted to you, and he feels guilty beign someone's unrequited love. Due to this, he doesn't entertain any kind of flirting from any of his fans, no matter what gender.

"Sorry, I'm not comfrotable signing that for you, can you pick something else? My partner here is my only love, so it wouldn't be right of me to sign your photo with anything romantic."

Mezo Shoji:

It took a lot of convincing to get Shoji to understand that he had fans, let alone ones that were attracted to him. he's just not used to people other than you thinking of him that way, with his mutations and all. You actually had to show him all of the fan works of him online to get him to believe you. That being said, Shoji loves his fans, but he tends to get overwhelmed by the sheer number of them, and the fact that the can forget he's a person, not a character. In the past, he's had issues with fangirls stroking his muscles during photo ops, squeezing his pecks, and one even tried to yank his mask down. Luckily since then, he has learned how to manage fan interactions much better.

"Hey, don't do that. I'm a person, just like you, please treat me how you'd want to be treated. And don't disrespect my partner by tyring something inappropriate right in front of them."

Mashiroa Ojiro:

Like Shoji, Ojiro had a hard time accepting he had fans, but took much less convincing on your part. What he really struggled with was coming to terms with some of his fans liking him romantically. He doesn't typically turn away fan interactions, even on his days off, but he does cut them shorter that he would if he were working. If someone tries anything inappropriate, he ends the interaction right there.

"Sorry, I don't appreciate what you just did. Besides, it's my day off and I'd like to spend it with my partner here. I forgive you though, and hope to see you again at a meet and greet in the future!"

Tamaki Amajiki:

Tamaki appreciates the thought of having fans, and when standing intront of a cheering crowd, he can soemtiems handle it, but he really hates fan interactions. He never knows how to handle them, and many end up with him just nervously standing by while a stranger takes pictures with him, many times without his permission. Many times, you have to step up from him and ask the person politely to move along, which he always appreiciates.

"T-Thanks, babe... They were making me really uncomfortable but I didn't wanna hurt their feelings..."

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🖼 🖼 🖼

Credit my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

🖼 Pisces Sun and Sun in the 12th people often have a partner that works behind the scenes in some manner. For example: a musician who doesn’t perform, but is a song writer, a person who works in the theatre, but doesn’t perform on stage.

🖼 Often times when there is 8th house Synastry, there is a higher chance of same sign Ascendant and Sun. One is Leo Sun, the other Leo Rising. The second one is same degree or house Sun sign. For example: one is Capricorn Sun and the other is Sun in the 10th house. Or both have Sun at a Virgo degree. Usually there is a similarity in personality, that’s why there can be an ego clash or both acting in similar manner. For example: both extremely sensitive, both stubborn, both moody, both leaders. The third one I found was having opposite Moon signs, one Leo Moon, the other Aquarius Moon. Or Sun opposition Moon, such as one is Taurus Sun and the other person is Scorpio Moon.

🖼 On a side note, I found the day/number you’re born on, helps with who you find the most attractive in life or who you navigate towards. Like people born on the 3th looove Gemini Sun people I noticed. A person born on the 2nd likes Taurus Suns.

🖼 This is more an astrology note, but I was not aware all these years that Rihanna and Chris Brown too had 8th house Synastry? He was Pisces over the 8th house and she’s a Pisces Sun. No wonder, she went back to him after assault, only 8th house connection has you doing that. So far I noticed Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, Quavo and Saweetie, Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez, Liam Hemsworth and Miley Cyrus, Gisele Bündchen and Tom Brady, Emma Stone and Andrew Garfield had 8th house Synastry.

🖼 There is often a backlash or criticism about Libra Chiron native on who they are hanging with or in a partnership with. These people often are either single for a very long time due to being picky and having high standards for themselves or they “date below them”. These natives really struggle to date an equal. Often people around Libra Chiron don’t like the person Libra Chiron is dating.

🖼 On the topic of one’s Sun conjunction the other’s Moon being often highly regarded in marriage or partnership, I honestly found you either end up having a family or a child with your Moon sign person or it’s a person you dated when younger, somewhere in the period between teenage years and below your 30s. Literally I see no inbetween in real life. Or you were roommates/lived together at some point with them. I’m talking about if you are Aries Moon, then this could apply for a partnership with Aries Sun person.

🖼 I know 3rd house, 6th house is praised for wellness, but often I noticed Gemini/Virgo Suns, Mercury in the 5th house and Sun in the 3rd/6th house procrastinate on working out or not taking it seriously.

🖼 It’s funny how each person you end up dating has the signs of your Venus sign, house, aspects and degree, because it literally indicates the person you attract in your life. For example: you have Taurus Sun in the 6th house at 22 (Capricorn) degrees, your person could have Sun in the 10th house, Sun conjunction Venus, Sun at a Virgo degree in their chart. And usually it’s different partners you end up dating, but all have similar placement. So it’s like you end up dating different versions of the same person.

🖼 One sign that is even more prone to bloating than an average person (even when eating very little or just drinking water) is Virgo Lilith. These poor natives often struggle with bloating and issues relating to it.

🖼 I noticed Taurus Venus and Libra Venus often have more than enough food for themselves and others. And people just randomly give them food or share it with them often. Like even when this people might not have the money they want, they are overabundant in food. 😄

🖼 If you have Pisces over the 9th house or Neptune in the 9th house you should definitely vacation on an island or travel where there is a forest, a resort, a pool or a sauna.

🖼 One good tip for Virgo Moon or Virgo Venus/Venus in the 6th house when it comes to managing sweet tooth is if you don’t feel on the inside at ease eating it, it’s probably not that great for your overall wellbeing. Because you guys get irritated when you don’t nourish yourselves properly. I noticed this people genuinely glow when they put healthier, more organic versions of snacks in their body. It doesn’t have to being anything extra healthy, just not completely artificial.

🖼 If you have Composite Scorpio Ascendant, you two probably met on a cloudy/cold/rainy/foggy day.

🖼 Pisces IC/Pisces over the 4th house/Neptune in the 4th house people often get blamed for whatever wrong is going on in the family. So they are compensating with their escapist tendencies to not feel guilt or shame about it.

🖼 It’s underrated how Sun square Saturn or any square Saturn transit is challenging and tough. You literally get so challenged on how you live, your beliefs, outlook on life and it’s truly a reality check.

🖼 Solar Return chart is great to look into your life a year ahead. But Lunar Return chart is excellent to see it for roughly a month.

🖼 I would keep a high-quality connection with my sibling, if I were to have Scorpio Mercury. Usually these people enter adulthood, enter post-marriage life and start hating on their sibling, even if close in younger years. What happens to you is often in their hands and they can last minute “save” you. It’s best not to say something too quickly and too brash to your sibling, because they will remember those words. You are likely to have arguments over parent’s inheritance too.

🖼 It might go against the grain, but I noticed people choose their profession mostly based on their Moon sign. That’s why you also see Scorpio Moons often struggling to settle on a career, being pulled in so many directions.

🖼 Mars sign often shows people you lust over. But I noticed it works more if it’s not in a cerebral sign. Like if you have Sagittarius Mars or Mars in the 9th house, you might not necessarily find Sagittarius Sun people that physically attractive.

🖼 Saturn in the 3rd house people usually find a job in a different city than home town.

🖼 When it comes to celebrities, you may relate to people who share the same signs over houses that you have in your own Natal chart.

🖼 Pisces Moon can be too arrogant to learn from their past mistakes.

🖼 Venus square Neptune people often desire to return to a past lover (even if many times) in order to try to get better results or wanting to “make it right at least once”. So they can end up being in a cycle or repeating pattern trying to prove that there was love there after all.

🖼 With Composite Sun in the 10th house or Sun at a Capricorn degree (10, 22) it’s close to impossible to hiding anything in this duo from the public eye, parents.

🖼 Whenever someone’s Sun conjuncts the other’s Vertex the connection doesn’t go how you want it to go. Sun person can also “reject” Vertex person in some way, resulting in a fated event.

Credit my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: *looking at Ortho with serene eyes*

Ortho: ...

Ortho: Is there something on my face?

MC: *smiles* Nothing. By the way, what were you saying about Idia?

Ortho: *giggles* It’s about the joint field trip between Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy. Attendance is mandatory for all of us, but my brother is doing his best to convince the headmage to let him skip the event.

MC: Are you hoping I might be able to change his mind?

Ortho: You always catch him off guard. If I could make a suggestion, I’d recommend scaring him—startling him or something—so he won’t decide to stay behind.

MC: *chuckles* Aren't you being a little too harsh on your brother?

Ortho: *sad smile* He thinks that online games and fictional stories are enough to keep him entertained. I just want him to experience life like any other normal teenager.

MC: What about you, Ortho?

Ortho: Yes?

MC: I understand that you're concerned about Idia's well-being, but keep in mind that he might be feeling the same way. He wants you to enjoy your teenage years too.

Ortho: Haha! I'm a humanoid! I don’t age like humans do, so the idea of spending my "teenage years" has never crossed my mind. Besides, I’m programmed to serve Idia.

MC: ...

MC: Him and his soul… they're contradicting.

MC: ...

MC: *smiles* I'll do my best to make sure that Idia joins this event.

Ortho: *giggles* Thank you, MC!

Azul: I know exactly how to persuade Idia!

Jade: Please don't fall for his scheme. *teasing smirk*

Azul: Don't pay attention to Jade; he enjoys tarnishing my name at every chance he gets.

Floyd: I'll do it, Seashell-chan~.

MC: Coercion is not an option.

Floyd: Aww...

Azul: Just bribe him with cats, and he'll eventually give in.

MC: *smiles* I'll take care of that. Thank you for your assistance, Azul.

Azul: Oh, before you express your thanks, I have a favor to ask.

Jade: Scheme.

Azul: It's not. Anyway, I would like to ask if you would be kind enough to sign a few photocards of yourself from the last SDC competition.

Jade: See? He's profiting off you, MC.

Azul: I swear, Jade, if you don't shut up-

Malleus: Is it alright to bother you, dear?

MC: *smiles* Of course, Dada.

Malleus: How is your investigation regarding the young Shroud?

MC: ...

MC: The Ortho Shroud I spoke with doesn't seem to be aware of the human soul within him.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Do you consider this a problem?

MC: ...

MC: I’m not sure, Dada, but I really hope it’s not.

Idia: What's this?

Idia: *has found a slight abnormality in Ortho's system*

Idia: Do you feel anything unusual, Ortho?

Ortho: I might need a system update, but it doesn’t seem urgent.

Idia: I can work on it now-

Ortho: No! You'll just use that as an excuse to skip this field trip!

Idia: No... Yeah, you're right.

Ortho: *sigh*

Ortho: This is a minor issue, and I can resolve it myself.

Idia: Fiiinee...

'Have you... forgotten about me, Idy?'

[choerypetal]

Little Accidents / Paul Atreides

Summary: Paul's obliviousness was soon shattered when frequent visits to the nursing room revealed the true essence of love at first sight.

Ps: This is a short fluff I had in mind, but I hope you enjoy and also english isn't my first language so bare with minimal errors, (once upload i always make sure to update now my works, if there is any errors) Enjoy! XOXO

As the heir of the Atreides' House, Paul effortlessly following in his father's esteemed footsteps. He possesses an acute sense of ownership, ensuring he's well aware of everything under his purview. Whether it's news of your battle injuries or workplace mishaps, Paul is always the first to know, abandoning any prior engagements to rush to your aid. While you're being tended to, his concern is palpable; his eyes scan for any signs of harm as he utters all while using the voice. ‘Where?’ This gesture of worry has become familiar, a reassurance you've grown accustomed to, especially when your visits to the infirmary often serve as an excuse to steal moments with him. ‘Dropped a weapon on my foot,’ you explain with a hint of ruefulness, ‘guess my impatience got the better of me, inadvertently knocking out one of the armories. Pity.’

Indeed, quite a pity. Paul couldn't help but notice your composure, devoid of any telltale signs of injury. It either seemed that the nurse had efficiently tended to you before his arrival—a stroke of luck, perhaps. However, Paul wasn't fooled; this wasn't the first time you'd urgently summoned him to the infirmary. Today, he harbored suspicions that you might finally reveal the true reason behind your frequent visits. “If you'd prefer I refrain from using the Voice," he remarked, a hint of seriousness in his tone, "you'll need to be more forthcoming than simply labeling it an accident, my dear."

However, you eventually reassured the head nurse, explaining that it was merely a minor issue requiring attention. Your heart fluttered with a mixture of nerves and affection as Paul insisted on tending to your wounds himself, rather than delegating the task to anyone else. As the room cleared, leaving just the two of you alone, Paul attempted to devise a plausible excuse while discreetly observing your work. This added another layer of challenge for him, yet he remained determined to keep a watchful eye on you. “Now tell,” A pregnant pause was felt soon as he sat next to you. “How I am suppose to know, that there is probably more reason than just a visit at the nursery?” 

You find yourself drawn in by his innocence, but observing Paul working alongside his father and their associates, it becomes evident that innocence was not his defining trait anymore. In fact, there's a possibility he understands more than he lets on. Maybe he's even willing to engage in the game you're playing. You nonchalantly dismiss any concerns, offering the excuse that you're just adding a bit of spice to the situation. However, Paul's reaction suggests that perhaps it's not the right moment to discuss such matters, especially anything related to the Spice itself.

Paul tilted his head, almost taking offense at your attempt at humor. Despite his awareness of your desire to spend more time alone with him, he understood that convincing him to stay a little longer each time wasn't as simple as it seemed. Even if his attempts at pampering you, like tending to invisible wounds that morphed into cuddle sessions, were charming, he recognized that your discussions about the 'Spice' were more about politics than relaxation. Poor thing– that was all he knew about out. This realization led to a soft chuckle from you, followed by an apology for bringing up the topic. However, Paul dismissed your apology, urging you not to discuss such matters, especially around him, as he couldn't help but wonder why you frequented the nursing room more often than before. “Now tell me, or I might just become as impatient as you’ll be when demanding kisses..”

His voice trailed off, almost seductive when Paul was right about to expose this little game of yours. Instantly you could feel his lip curve slightly into a smirk as he saw your expression, your eyes winding in shock, trying your very best to obliged. That you were the one who meant to shock Paul out of his work for some time but, perhaps you were indeed right about your wonders. That in fact, Paul knew that the exact reasons why you obliged yourself to the nursing room more often than ever. Only to find out, it was to spend more time with him. But Paul being himself, being the type of guy that he is, did not to confess his wrong at first or to be completely oblivious. After all– he is the duke’s son. 

"So, let me get this straight," Paul Atreides began, his tone tinged with a mixture of disbelief and introspection. "I, Paul Atreides, am so easily ensnared by your little charade? It's rather disheartening, truth be told." There was a hint of a pout on his lips as he contemplated your adeptness at expressing your desires, though he couldn't entirely fault you for it. With the constant demands of dealing with the Harkonnens and managing CHOAM affairs, finding time for you had become more challenging than he and you had anticipated. 

Unlike his parents, whose marriage was purely political, Paul had chosen a different path, one where your presence held a significance beyond mere political alliances. For him, building a future within the confines of the Atreides' House with you by his side was a deeply personal and cherished desire. Material wealth could wait; what mattered most was the connection he shared with you. With a sigh, he reached out to gently caress your cheek, a silent acknowledgment of your correctness all along. Perhaps it was time to prioritize his own happiness, even if it meant putting paperwork aside momentarily. "Maybe you're onto something," he admitted, his voice softening. "Perhaps you’re right, perhaps it's time for me to take a break from the endless bureaucracy and spend some quality time together. After all, even I need to unwind–."

Paul's words carried a weight of remorse rarely heard, especially within the esteemed Atreides family. As he neared the end of his sentence, you leaned in swiftly, feeling the soft brush of his lips against yours in a lingering kiss. The longing shared between you both was palpable, though circumstances often made indulgence impractical, intensifying the desire even more. When Paul finally pulled away, he gently nibbled at your lower lip, a playful chuckle escaping him at the sudden surge of hunger between the two of you. There was an undeniable yearning to touch, caress, and love you. "Perhaps I'll request a day off," he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of promise. “Perhaps you will.” You both end up chuckling as he cups your face, his eyes gazing from your eyes to your lips. Paul confessed once more,

“And perhaps, we don't always have to use the excuse of happy accidents, so I can exile from paperwork every now and then.” 

[theminecraftbee]

the summer before THE END...

(this fic contains @hotguycomiczine spoilers! go read it first! i'll wait!)

It’s midday. The sun is heavy and hot, bearing down against the asphalt and visibly making the air shimmer over the road. Summer in Hermitopia can be miserable, and frankly Cuteguy thinks it’s far more miserable than the bruises. The humidity makes his feathers stick together and itch in awkward ways, he’s sweaty twice over because he hadn’t had time to actually wash his costume between the last major villain attack, his recent part-time line cook job, and then this fight.

He’s in his early thirties and he’s becoming an old man, he thinks. His knees should not hurt this much, and yet here they are. Vigilantism is going to give him early arthritis.

They’ve driven off the villain. Didn’t manage to catch him, though. He wasn’t even from Hermitopia. That’s been happening more lately; people who see Hermitopia as some lawless wasteland where they can come visit, avoid drinking any water, and live out their dreams of being a comic book character, damn the consequences or collateral damage. It’s frustrating. Sometimes, deep in Cuteguy’s soul, he sort of thinks the Soup Group has a point in calling out all this bullshit.

Of course, they do all that murder about it. So. Not much better, really.

He leans against a building and tries to breathe. Normally he has a water bottle with his costume, but this guy had homemade napalm. Luckily, not real napalm! The water did work for putting out the fire! Unfortunately, it’s ninety-seven degrees and humid and Cuteguy has just done enough cardio that he’s honestly worried about the odds he passes out. 

Out on the street, Hotguy is chatting with every civilian he comes across. He’s grandstanding. He’s giving blow-by-blows. He’s acting like his sweat doesn’t stink like a mere mortal’s. He has a water bottle, and he’s taking sips of it between chats with reporters and posing for cameras. There are enough cars and civilians that Cuteguy isn’t all that worried about the TCG yet. Hotguy’s still pretty damn wanted, what with the whole possession thing that they don’t exactly have the means to prove to the public, so Cuteguy’s got to keep an eye out for them, but with this many cameras on him? The TCG isn’t about to arrest him on camera. Despite everything, he's still too charismatic; he'd still make them look too bad. 

Cuteguy wipes his forehead again. He does notice when someone starts approaching him; he might be exhausted, but he’s acting as Hotguy’s situational awareness while he’s busy playing up crowds. He can’t afford to be that exhausted, so he isn’t. That, and the woman approaching him is hardly as stealthy as the Bleeding Hart. Another thing he might have to give to the Soup Group were he willing to give them credit for anything: he’s never been able to fully stop noticing where everyone is around him. Hotguy had winced and called it “hypervigilance”. Cuteguy had said that he wasn’t any better, he just calls it a superpower. Hotguy had said it is hardly his fault his superpower promotes vigilance. Cuteguy had—

“Uh, good fight. Thanks,” says the woman.

“Oh, uh. You’re welcome,” Cuteguy says.

She’s tall and blonde. Also, she has four arms. Cuteguy should have probably noticed that first, but he didn’t, and that’s on him.

“Bit of a mess, especially in this weather. Hotter and they’d issue a heat advisory, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cuteguy says.

He is not good at post-battle smalltalk. That’s why it’s Hotguy’s job. He’s good at causing chaos if needed, but chaos is the opening the TCG would need to get to Hotguy. Cuteguy glances in his direction. He’s posing and signing autographs still. He can’t help but sigh. They’re going to be here all day.

The four-armed lady follows his gaze.

“You know, I’d always wondered why you stick to him,” she says.

“Sorry?” Cuteguy says.

“I just mean—I watched the fight. Yeah, he’s good, but you’re decent at range too. You can get enough height to really not need perfect accuracy because you’ll be hard to hit. Wings are, uh, a pretty overpowered combat tool, really, especially when most of your enemies are on the ground. But you’re good at close range, so, uh, inside isn’t awful for you either, really.”

“I mean, you’re right, I am pretty good,” Cuteguy says, interrupting her. “I don’t really get—”

“Look at him,” the woman says. “You ran around more than him and he took the water bottle.”

Cuteguy wants to defend Hotguy for that one; it’s hardly his fault that Cuteguy dumped his water bottle on napalm like it would do anything. It did, which is convenient, but still. Not Hotguy’s call. He doesn’t quite get the chance.

“Even after everything last month, he’s still grandstanding too. Sure, he’s stopped shooting people for not being grateful enough, or holding rescues hostage for cash, but look at him. Hardly any better, is he. Sure, he says he was possessed—”

“He was,” Cuteguy snaps.

“—but like, is the guy he is now actually all that different? Just saying.”

Cuteguy stares at the man trying to get extra photo ops out of a group of passing runners. They’re topless to account for the heat, which is probably why Hotguy wants photos with them. Cuteguy can just barely hear the man asking to trade phone numbers. Is it worse or better, Cuteguy wonders, that the phone number Hotguy gives out just goes straight to Cub’s inbox? Is that catfishing or just good sense?

“He’s trying to help,” Cuteguy says.

“He’s desperate for attention,” the four-armed woman says. “You know, you’d probably be better without him. After everything that happened, your reputation would be better too. A little more in the shadows, a little less associated with his crimes.”

“He’s…”

“I just want the real reason, really,” the woman says. 

“What do you…”

“Why would you stick with him when you’re so much better?”

Hotguy waves goodbye to the runners. He takes another sip of the water bottle. Really, there’s so much that Cuteguy can say here, watching that. He could say something about how, in the terrible days when the Soup Group had first come onto the scene, Hotguy had barely left Cuteguy’s side until Cuteguy started pushing him away. He could say that Hotguy is earnest, that he really does want to save people, despite the fact he also wants attention. He could say that he knows the man behind the mask now, and he’s seen his films, and frankly getting a little recognition as Hotguy kind of makes up for not getting recognition for his decent acting talent. He could say something about playing Mario Kart on the couch, or learning to aim a bow, or fights with Doc, or secrets shared that Cuteguy wants to make sure Hotguy never has an incentive to spread. He could say something about how dangerous fighting alone is. That’s probably the more sensible thing to say, actually; Cuteguy knows exactly how dangerous fighting alone is.

What Cuteguy says is this:

“He makes me happy.”

There is a long not-quite silence as sirens and cicadas fill the summer air.

“Huh,” the woman says.

Cuteguy doesn’t say anything else.

“Well. I mean. I don’t really know how to save you from that, so I guess I’ll just leave you to it,” the woman says. “Consider if he’s really worth it.”

She leaves. Cuteguy stares after her a moment before shaking his head and going back to scanning the crowd for any known TCG elements.

“Birdie!” Hotguy crows, running over from the reporters. “We’re on the 5 PM news!”

“Really? An out-of-towner with questionable pyrotechnics made it?” 

“I got it worked out,” Hotguy says confidently. “But, uh, with that said, you look like you need some AC and a drink. I have so much Gatorade in my fridge that it isn’t even funny. All the labels are pulled off because it’s for that one football movie I did, right? And for some reason they didn’t want to give Gatorade the product placement, so they made all these sports drinks without—”

“Not in-costume, Hotguy,” Cuteguy says, but he doesn’t put any heat into it.

“—oh, you know no one’s listening, lighten up! Anyway, so the movie ended up somehow ordering far too many bottles, and you know what they say about underpaid actors and free food—or, I’m not sure it’s actually an expression, but let me tell you, I have never turned it down. And with the number of ele… electo-mites? I think? You know, all the sweat we’re sweaty about—come on Cuteguy, I don’t want you passing out on the pavement, I really didn’t mean to get caught out that long!” Hotguy says, grabbing Cuteguy’s hand to take him back to his apartment.

Miserable heat or not, Cuteguy can’t help but smile slightly.

“I don’t want to pass out either, that’s why I’m not running, Hotguy,” he says, and he lets himself be tugged along in that man’s wake once more.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut: YJ accidental baby acquisition. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Genetically, Kenley is our offspring,” Tim cuts in quickly, keeping his voice as even as possible. “The DNA test was clear. And they’re a child. They can’t just stay at the Tower or on the Watchtower.” 

“Impulse is technically seven, and Superboy is–what, five?” Barry says, looking exasperated. Kon’s still a few months away from four, actually, given the whole “was dead for a year” thing and some other weird shit that’s happened in their lives–they actually did the math pretty recently, but the fact that they had to do the math at all is very obviously a sign of weird shit happening in their lives, and either way, Tim won’t be correcting Barry’s math right now. “And you and Wonder Girl are what–seventeen?” 

Speaking of people who were dead for a while and lost track of shit . . . 

“I’m nineteen,” Cassie says, narrowing her eyes at Barry. “And Robin’s eighteen. No ‘technically’ about it.” 

“Physiologically and mentally, Impulse is seventeen and Superboy is nineteen,” Tim informs them shortly before anyone can try and make the technicalities an issue. “It’s unreasonable to treat them as capable of risking their lives as active superheroes after they’ve both already died in the line of duty but then claim they’re not capable of basic childcare when you think it’s inconvenient for them to be allowed to.” 

“Also you’re not allowing anything,” Bart says with a frown. “Kenley’s ours. Genetically and, like, ‘found and saved’-ly.” 

“Bart, you have no idea how difficult taking care of even a normal kid is. Assuming the kid’s safe, an actual foster situation is going to be necessary,” Barry says in exasperation, sounding weary, and Wally looks a little stressed too, which is not good. Wally’s the best chance they have to get the League at large not to be unreasonable about this–at least as long as Dick’s here, anyway–but he and Bart have never really seen eye to eye and he’s never really understood him or taken him seriously, so . . . 

Also, Wally’s the one who has the most experience with having superpowered kids in this conversation, and with nearly losing said kids. If anyone’s going to be the one they can get on their side, well– 

Technically, Tim is perfectly aware of Jon Kent’s existence and the fact that he has superpowers and was also temporarily “lost”. He’s equally aware of both Otho and Osul’s existences and past traumas and own powers. 

He is even more aware of the fact that Clark apparently didn’t know about Lophi and Martha and has never fucking once trusted Kon to be responsible for anything but a dog who was already invulnerable and indestructible and that he just personally happened to need a long-term petsitter for. Which might be unfair, a little, but is also objective fact. 

So yes, Wally is definitely their best shot here. Especially with Dick hopefully willing to back them up, if it comes to it. If he weighs in too quickly, Bruce will think he’s either biased or being too emotional, but if they can at least start to convince Wally and maybe Diana . . . 

“What do you expect us to do, just dump ‘em on Max Mercury or Red Tornado? Go see who’s the Spectre right now?” Cassie demands, folding her arms. “Go dig up Cadmus wherever they’re currently buried, see if they’re hiring kindergartners? Hey, I know, ship ‘em off to Hawaii with a sleazy–!” 

“Kenley doesn’t need fostered,” Tim cuts in quickly, because that line of conversation is not ending well no matter what. “We’re their biological parents, and we’re capable of taking care of them to an appropriate standard.” 

“That isn’t an acceptable decision for Young Justice to make without input,” Bruce says. 

“What is this, a superhero-CPS visit?!” Cassie snaps, clenching her fists. “Based on what, exactly? They’re ours! What’s not ‘acceptable’ is for the Justice League to decide you all get to make decisions about our fucking kid!” 

“Also, like, super hypocritical, I’m pretty sure,” Bart says. “Nobody interferes with what any of you guys do with your kids.” 

“None of us just kidnapped a kid straight out of a lab, Impulse!” Barry says in exasperation. 

“That’d be way too, like, actively proactive, yeah,” Bart agrees, and for just an instant vibrates in a very telling way. His expression doesn’t change, but he’s obviously angry. Very obviously angry. 

Maybe not obviously to Barry, though, Tim realizes almost immediately. 

“Being patient enough to show restraint isn’t a character flaw, kid,” Barry says, still clearly exasperated. 

“You’re being a sprocking nass about this,” Bart says, still staring at him with the same blank expression. “And also a fucking asshole.” 

Well, this is going well. 

“We’re just concerned about everyone’s safety, including the child’s,” Clark says, lifting a placating hand. Bart scowls, and Cassie bristles. Kon–doesn’t look away from Kenley. 

Tim just doesn’t feel particularly “placated”, put it that way.

[stellas-and-tonitruses]

⚠ SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 93 AHEAD! ⚠

now that we have finally met demetrius, it seems like a great time to dissect his first scene and proper conversation! :]

his wide, unfocused stare hides ✨unexpected complexity✨, as expected of a desmond

he's impatient (common desmond trait at this point)

he's nonchalantly exceptional, as we expected and have been repeatedly told thus far

...but most importantly, amidst a sea of accomplishments, he is burdened with a lack of people skills and visibly frustrated by it, as evidenced by his conversation with damian in this chapter.

the analysis and speculation continues under the cut!!

so, a breakdown of the main meat of his introduction

similarly to every single time there's an interaction between damian and another desmond, damian is the one who reaches out first by calling out to demetrius, who immediately asks him what he wants. damian tries to begin with small talk, congratulating him on his accomplishments of the day

demetrius is brief and to the point, but it doesn't feel to me like he is annoyed here. perhaps curious, perhaps indifferent, we don't know -- demetrius is a boy of few explanatory thoughts, after all

merely in the next page, demetrius is revealed to have a blank mind for most of this conversation.

i don't believe this is a sign that demetrius was experimented on or anything. obviously, this does not rule out that he has been experimented on, but i don't think his lack of thoughts are indicative of that, nor do i believe anya was too far away (in previous chapters, she has read the thoughts of people at greater distances than this with ease!). i think this has something to do with his upbringing, but also very importantly his state of mind at the moment

his eyes are wide open, but his stare is unfocused. i think this is an intentional choice to hammer in that he's not really here at this moment, listening to what is undoubtedly to him pointless praise. he has likely tuned all of it out completely.

(as a side note, if we wanna involve anya in this situation more, we could assume that he is intentionally cloaking his thoughts from anya or any other potential mind-readers, but while i do think donovan is very likely involved in project apple, i severely doubt the financial benefactors of project apple would spend likely a lot of money to figure out a way to shield the thoughts of a middle schooler, regardless of who his dad is, from potential telepaths. as far as we know, anya is the only one with this specific power and demetrius is unlikely to have any information that would incriminate the operation. if that was an issue, i don't see why they wouldn't spend their money to protect melinda's mind, since she likely has way more info than demetrius ever could.)

moving on from that side note though,

we do not see demetrius' face as he says this! this is important to me

we are left unaware to whether or not he is disappointed or just trying to abscond to take a nap (he really needs one)

but then, he says this:

this, to me, is a direct attempt at connecting!! he's trying to reciprocate the small talk, the praise, trying to continue the conversation. his thought, "i don't understand him," may feel contradictory but to me, it only underlines his frustration about this, because he knows what damian is going to say next:

even though it was expected, this is not what demetrius was hoping to get out of this. his downturned eyebrows give a feeling of discontent. he is not blank, he is visibly frustrated, visibly annoyed.

and we are thus made aware of a boundary demetrius and melinda both share:

never mention donovan.

for one reason or another, this is the boundary damian has overstepped with both his mother AND his brother now, without ever being informed that it IS a boundary in the first place

so demetrius, upset, turns around to leave and throws this at damian:

this is important, because damian has shared a very similar sentiment to anya before, albeit in a mournful tone.

demetrius likely feels similarly neglected by his parents, but is long past feeling sad about it. he has moved straight to anger, understandably!

but the bigger reason for his frustration, imo, relates to a problem damian once again ALSO has: people treating them as a gateway to their father and nothing more.

demetrius has more than likely also been treated like this, and probably still is unless his peers have learned not to engage because of his brief, snippy responses, so he is familiar with the feeling of being used.

...and damian unknowingly treated him the exact same way, even though he's also grown to hate it.

of course, he's 6 years old and he meant no harm by this -- he's just a lonely boy trying to be noticed by his neglectful parents, after all, what else could he possibly do?

but for demetrius, this is the end of the conversation. he is not his father's manager, he's not even that close to him, so why does his brother only ever talk to him when it relates to their father?

as he said before: he doesn't understand him, and why he keeps doing this. does he not know there is little info to be gained?

he doesn't understand their father either, with his impossibly high expectations, never pleased, never happy, never available

and lastly, as ewen and emile try to introduce themselves

demetrius has one final thought.

and he casts aside this entire conversation, leaving the scene as empty as he entered it.

of course, the chapter doesn't end here, but this is where demetrius' involvement in it does, leaving us with a newfound understanding that while to damian, demetrius represents everything he can only strive to become... to demetrius? his accomplishments ring hollow in the face of everything he wishes he could understand.

we do get an extra flashback that hearkens back to a better yesterday, but while donovan is lacking some very important details (those scars, that dead disinterest that follows his every move -- he seems mirthful somehow here), we don't know if this scene represents a time when they were closer or if it's simply evidence that as far back as everyone can remember, demetrius has been doing nothing but studying all the time

could this be evidence of something nefarious relating to project apple? eh, not particularly, not to me. the boy's just studying hard, any relation to project apple would have to be more recent in the timeline imo

TL;DR:

demetrius has been built up throughout the past 92 chapters as a figure larger-than-life, and this has been thanks to most of our knowledge of him being directly affected by damian's perception of him, as the younger brother living under his shadow

however, he has now been humanized by his flaws: a short temper and a lack of social skills that comes paired with a clear want to connect, to understand, to converse. he seems to be a very lonely kid, everyone around him either jealous, putting him on a pedestal or actively seeking to use him under the false impression that he has important connections, and although he doesn't mean to, damian has unknowingly been treating demetrius in the same way, only seeking him out when he wants to know something about donovan.

interestingly, him and melinda share the same trigger, that being donovan himself, though we do not yet know if their reason for this is also shared.

CLOSING THOUGHTSSS

it has been so exciting finally meeting this little goober-- i thought i might never see the day 😭😭😭

thank you to whoever read this far, i literally made this blog just now so! HOPE I DID WELL!

💖

[ellswritings]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Derek Hale x Reader

TW: Mentions of blood and death, werewolfy things, Stiles being an absolute spaz, age gap, Jennifer Blake (cause she’s a warning on her own), major feels, and a tiny bit of angst, some bad words. I think that it y’all. Once again, let me know if I missed something!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

There have always been two constants in Y/N L/N life when it came to living in Beacon Hills, life threatening creatures and the possibility of her imminent death. When she became friends with Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall in Kindergarten, she wasn’t completely aware of what she signed up for. Most people would think the constant Star Wars marathons with Stiles and lacrosse training with Scott would’ve drove her away early on, but she stayed. Not that they’d let her leave even if she tried. Having them as her best friends has always been a blessing and a curse. She would do anything for them, but she didn’t know anything included becoming a supernatural creature.

A werewolf to be precise.

The night of the dance their sophomore year, Y/N had seen Lydia walk out of the dance in which she assumed was in search of Jackson. But when she saw the blonde boy lingering in the hallways, she had a feeling something was off. When she went in search of the girl and found her at the lacrosse field, there was no escaping their inevitable fate. That was one of the many times Y/N thought she’d meet her end. Watching Peter Hale run towards them at fully speed before taking a nice bite out of their skin was not on her bucket list for the evening.

Since then there have been plenty adventures for the “McCall Pack” as she’d like to call it. Allison’s grandfather Gerard coming to town, the Kanima, Derek and his pack trying to kill Lydia, then finding out it was Jackson, only to have him turn into a werewolf and run off to London. There might have been a couple kidnappings and restraining order somewhere in there, but those are minor details.

And, of course, with a new year comes new threats. There has been a recent string of kidnappings that turned into murders that none of them have been able to solve yet. They’ve tried as a group to brainstorm, meeting at Derek’s new loft every so often to get the entire groups opinion, but nothing has come out of it. Well, besides spending extra time with the Alpha. That’s an aspect Y/N didn’t mind in the slightest.

She had no issues making herself at home in his loft, despite his halfhearted protests. No one could understand how Y/N had the ability to just throw her feet up on his coffee table and not get her throat ripped out. It’s either she has no regard for her life, or Derek has a soft spot for her which is something no one saw coming.

The two have always had an interesting relationship. Y/N enjoys arguing, similar to Stiles hence why they get along so well. She loves getting under Derek’s skin and pushing every button she knows he has. It’s almost as if she goes out of her way to try and get a reaction out of him. No one blames her really, it gets entertaining hearing them go at it. Especially for Stiles.

Whenever anyone needs to ask Derek for a favor, the first person they send his way is Y/N. For one, they’ve only ever heard the word “yes” come out of his mouth when talking to her, and she’s the most likely one not to flinch if she has to kill him. She has a conscious, it’s just not always active.

Y/N rides up to Beacon Hills High on her motorcycle before parking in the thin spot near the bike rack. She carefully takes off her helmet, smoothing down any stray pieces of hair that might’ve fallen out of place. She had been told to go to Derek’s the night before to ask him if he’s found anything out about their new lethal friend, the only issue is when she got there, she could hear her new teacher Jennifer Blake in the apartment with him. She felt the urge to completely kick the door down and interrupt whatever conversation was happening, but she practiced a high level of self-restraint. She knew Derek was aware of her being there. He could smell her the same way she could him. But the hot white rage that filled Y/N’s chest forced her to walk away and ride angrily back to Stiles’s place.

Scott and Stiles watch their friend from the steps at the entrance to the school. Her ever present frown is a little troubling as it is much more prominent than usual. They didn’t get the full details about what angered her so much the night before, but it’s clearly still bothering her. She takes the keys out of her bike before stomping up to them. When she notices them staring at her, she lifts an eyebrow, “Something you wanna say?” She challenges. Both boys look at each other and simultaneously shoot her a fake smile.

“You– you look nice today,” Stiles comments awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “Did you uh– did you do something new with your hair?”

Y/N stared at him blankly while Scott mentally facepalms at his friends attempt at covering up their concern. She simply shakes her head, looping her arms through both of theirs. “I’m fine if that’s what you guys are wondering. Derek was busy last night so I just came back to the house. That’s it,” she explains shortly, leaving no room for questions.

Scott scrunches his nose and a look of realization dawns on his face. It quickly morphs into disgust the more he thinks about it and Stiles furrows his eyebrows curiously. He looks over Y/N’s head and waits for his other best friend to clue him in on what’s got him all bothered. Scott makes sure Y/N’s more focused on weaving through the crowd before mouthing “She’s jealous” over to Stiles.

“I’m gonna grab my notebook real quick,” she tells them. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she reaches her locker, Stiles leans over to attempt a discreet conversation with Scott. “What do you mean she’s jealous?” He asks in a whisper. “Jealous of what?”

“I don’t know,” Scott answers, watching Y/N carefully. “But I’m assuming it had something to do with what happened at Derek’s last night.”

“Why would she be jealous over something with Derek?” Stiles scoffs, his eyebrows furrowed.

Scott shoots him a pointed look. Stiles is an absolute genius when it comes to certain topics, but girls and social cues are not one of them. His jaw drops slightly when he realizes what Scott’s implying. He rapidly shakes his head, flailing his arms in the air. “No– no, uh-uh. There’s no way. Absolutely not.”

“It’s not like you can stop it,” Scott chuckles. “If she likes him, she likes him.”

“Oh God,” Stiles groans disgustedly. “Out of all people? Sourwolf? Really?”

Scott shrugs with an amused smile as Y/N turns to start walking back, “The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Okay, but does it have to want him?” Stiles continues to complain. “And if she’s jealous that means there was someone else there last night. Who? Because last I checked, Derek is a very acquired taste.”

“How would I know?” Scott replies. “Now shut up before she realizes we’re talking about her.”

The three of them made a pact awhile back that they wouldn’t eavesdrop on each other’s private conversations unless they were in danger. So they knew it would be safe to have said discussion despite Y/N’s enhanced hearing.

“You guys ready?” She asks.

Both nod vigorously, trying to hide their gossip, but their desperation to seem normal gives them away. Y/N simply rolls her eyes and says nothing. She once again links their arms together as they head towards their English class. No one needs werewolf senses to see how tense and angry Y/N got at the sight of Ms. Blake. The fury behind her eyes is one everyone in the pack has had to face at one point or another. Scott vividly remembers those eyes when Issac stole the last piece of her banana bread from when they went to the bakery they all love, and she threw him clear across his house.

Y/N separates herself from the boys, taking her spot next to Alison and Lydia while the boys sit down behind them. It’s a miracle how they all ended up in the same class. Y/N opens up her notebook, choosing to doodle rather than pay attention to whatever Ms. Blake is writing on the whit board in front of them. Alison looks at Y/N’s drawing with curiosity and smiles, “That’s really good,” she compliments.

It’s her beginning sketch to one of her favorite book characters, Sirius Black from Harry Potter. Y/N tries to muster a genuine grin, “Thanks,” she replies.

Alison isn’t clueless though. She can feel the difference in Y/N’s attitude from how she acts on a regular basis. She squints her eyes trying to silently figure it out before turning back to Scott who already knows what she’s wondering. What all of them were wondering. Who got Y/N so riled up? They know she’s jealous of something that happened with Derek, but who could she be jealous of?

“Alright, good morning everyone!” Jennifer greets with a smile that makes Y/N’s blood boil. She brings a hand up to play with her helix piercing to prevent her claws which will no doubt make an appearance by the end of this class. “Today, we're going to delve deeper into Shakespeare's Othello. I want you to focus on the themes of jealousy and manipulation that are littered throughout the text.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow on her teacher. The word “jealousy” feeling like a direct hit on their current situation. She cracks her neck before flipping to the page in their text book. She slouches in her chair, leg bouncing up and down. She quickly begins to run out of patience hearing the teachers heels click every time she takes a step.

“Y/N,” Jennifer calls out. “Why don’t you go ahead and start us off by reading the first paragraph?”

The grip Y/N has on her pencil tightens. There it is. Scott can not only smell it, but he can see it with his own eyes. The tension is more than palpable. Jennifer was the one at Derek’s last night. Y/N tilts her head, “Why can’t someone else do it?” She deflects coldly. “Lydia for example is quite the fan of our troubled poet.”

The challenge in her voice makes Jennifer hold back her own glare. She should’ve known Y/N would be the student to give her trouble from the beginning. The class shifts uncomfortably from the sudden chill in the air. “Y/N, it’s important for everyone to participate. Please, read the passage,” she requests with forced patience.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that,” the (h/c) haired girl answers, folding her hands together as she leans on the desk. “I have crippling anxiety when it comes to reading in front of people. You wouldn’t want to do something to cause a breakdown would you?” She asks in the most taunting voice possible.

Lydia and Alison both stare at their friend with confusion. Stiles has to sink low in his chair to hide the inevitable laughter that’s about to come out of his mouth. While Scott just covers his face with his hands, waiting for World War Y/N to take place in his English class.

Jennifer quirks an eyebrow, “Did you not just do the school play of Beauty and the Beast last month? Where you played Belle? The lead role?”

Silence.

“That’s different, Ms. Blake,” Y/N corrects. “Not that I’d expect you to understand, but playing a character and who I am in real life is completely separate.”

“Well, that’s perfect then,” she nods. “Why don’t you go ahead and read it in character for us?”

A strong scent of copper fills Scott’s nose. He glances down and sees Y/N’s claws dug deep into her thigh. Stiles notices Scott’s wide eyes and glances where he’s looking. When he sees the wide open wound his face turns pale white before he shuffles in his chair.

“What a fantastic idea,” Y/N quips sarcastically before glancing down at the page below her. As she begins to read, the passive aggressiveness in her tone is evident. “O, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on."

Her eyes lock with Jennifer's, and she can't help but add, under her breath but loud enough for her friends to pick up on, "How fitting"

Jennifer's expression hardens, but she maintains her composure. She leans on her desk while looking Y/N in the eye, “I would like a word with you after class Miss L/N,” she says coolly before continuing on with her lesson.

The glare on Y/N’s face never fades. She burns holes into the back of Jennifer’s head. Scott grew increasingly more worried that her eyes would flash, giving away her secret for all to see. All four of her friends exchange worried glances. Y/N’s never really been one to get in trouble on her own accord. She’s gotten detention, but ninety percent of the times it’s because Scott and Stiles roped her into it. The boys take it upon themselves to text Lydia and Alison, informing them of their theory of what is causing Y/N’s sudden aggression.

Lydia purses her lips together as she reads the texts. She leans back to whisper to Stiles, “This should be interesting…”

The rest of the class drags on, time ticking fairly slow. Y/N doesn’t say much, but the nasty looks she shoots cut more deeply than any words ever could. Halfway through the period, Stiles places his hand on her back to help keep her calm, which she wouldn’t admit, helped a lot. When the bell finally rings, the students begin to file out. Y/N stays behind, her anger barely contained. Scott, Stiles, Alison, and Lydia linger outside the door, trying to listen in on the upcoming confrontation.

Y/N rolls her eyes as she slings her bag over her shoulder. She approaches Jennifer’s desk with a sickly sweet smile. The teacher doesn’t buy it though. “Y/N, what is going on with you today?” She questions firmly, feigning concern for the younger girl.

Y/N shakes her head, producing the most innocent face she could. “Going on with me? Nothing at all, Miss Blake. I am doing just dandy. Why do you ask?"

Jennifer bites the inside of her cheek, narrowing her eyes, but she manages to keep her tone measured. "Your behavior today has been disruptive and disrespectful. You are a talented and well-read young woman. I expected more from you."

Y/N chuckles, leaning more of her weight on her left side, popping her hip to show just how much she truly cares about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do, given your high standards and all. It must be exhausting to keep up appearances,” she comments with a deceptive charm.

The older woman’s nostrils flare, knowing exactly what she’s trying to get at. Of course this is what her behavior is all about. Jennifer takes a deep breath, “Y/N, your comments today were out of line. This isn’t about keeping up appearances, it’s about maintaining respect in the classroom."

Y/N walks closer to her desk with a sly smile. She traces her finger up the wood, rubbing the dust in between her fingers. “Respect? Funny you should mention that. It seems respect is a bit... selective around here."

Jennifer's patience finally snaps, though she tries to mask it with a strained smile. “Y/N, your insinuations are inappropriate. Whatever issues you think exist, this isn't the place to air them."

Y/N barely even makes eye contact with the woman, flicking off the small dust bunny she formed with her fingers. “Of course,” she agrees mildly. “From now on, I’ll make sure to be more… discreet.”

Her teacher’s eyes flash with irritation, “You know what? Your behavior today has been unacceptable. Detention. After school. I expect to see you here as soon as the bell rings.”

Y/N opens her mouth to argue, but the look in Jennifer's eyes stops her. She storms out of the classroom, her friends quickly falling into step beside her. Stiles trips over his own footing as he tries to grab Y/N’s wrist, “Would you just– Jesus– Y/N. Slow down!” He exclaims, finally catching her. He grabs onto her, holding the girl in place.

Y/N raises her eyebrows, “What?” She bites out. “I have to get to Calc.”

“Care to explain what the hell is going on with you?” Lydia tries to coax the information out of her. She knows it’s never good for Y/N out of all people to keep things bottled.

“Nothing’s going on with me,” she denies. “I’m fine. Are we done here?” She scoffs, spinning on her heel to walk away.

Scott runs in front of her, “Y/N, we just want to help,” he insists softly.

“I don’t need your help!” She snaps. The wounded expression on his puppy dog face makes Y/N groan at her actions. She runs a hand over her face, “Look Scotty, I appreciate it. I appreciate all of you, really, I do. It means a lot that you care so much, but this isn’t something that I feel like talking about right now. I need space and time to plot out her murder and then maybe we can have a discussion later, okay?” She says nonchalantly, kissing Scott’s cheek before walking off to her calculus class.

They all stand there stunned for a moment. Stiles watches after her, pointing at the girl and turning back to his friends, “Did she– did she just say plot her murder?”

“Yup,” Alison nods, popping the “p.”

As the school day goes on, Scott and Stiles continuously try to monitor Y/N and her behavior. Something about her unhinged jealousy is putting everyone on edge. Luckily, the advanced classes they don’t have with her, Lydia does. So whenever they can’t be together, they assign someone else to watch over her.

When Lydia reports back, they’re all slightly shocked to hear that she was absolutely fine in all of her other classes. Which only affirms their theory that Ms. Blake was in Derek’s apartment last night, and that’s why Y/N acted the way that she did.

When the final bell of the day rings, Y/N growls under her breath, knowing she has to spend the next hour or so with Jennifer Blake in an enclosed space. She marches down the hallway, mumbling profanities under her breath before pushing the door to her classroom open. Stiles and Scott watch from afar, the latter trying to listen in for any painful screams. But knowing Y/N, if she truly were to murder someone, it wouldn’t be loud or obvious.

Y/N furrows her eyebrows when she sees Jennifer packing up her desk. When the woman hears her door open, she glances over in her students direction. “Miss L/N, I hope you had a good and reflective rest of your day,” she comments, clearly not interested in Y/N’s day whatsoever.

Y/N doesn’t bother responding. She simply stares at her straight faced with her arms crossed. Her patience is dwindling the longer they stand there. Jennifer picks up her handbag before sending Y/N the nastiest smile she could.

“Well, Mr. Harris should be here in a couple of minutes to oversee your detention, so you can wait in your seat until he arrives.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow, “And why exactly am I waiting for Mr. Harris? Weren’t you the one to give me a detention?”

Her teacher smirks, “Yes, yes I was,” she answers with a shrug.

“Then wouldn’t it be your responsibility to oversee it? You can’t just hand out detentions and not stick around for it,” Y/N scoffs.

“Normally, I wouldn’t be leaving like this. I would happily spend the next hour of my life lecturing you on proper classroom etiquette, but I have certain plans tonight that I’ve been looking forward to. So Mr. Harris has agreed to take you off my hands,” she explains.

Y/N can smell her smugness. Only if she demonstrated this side of herself in front of the class. Y/N clenches her hand tightly, feeling her claws emerging from her actual nails. Anger rushes through her, but she pushes it back with a curt nod. “How interesting. Do you mind me asking who these plans happen to be with?”

Jennifer cockily leans forward, whispering in Y/N’s ear, “You know exactly who they’re with.” Then she pulls away from the young girl, walking out of the classroom without a second glance.

The werewolf’s eyes flash a bright yellow as she watches Jennifer stalk off. She squeezes them shut, trying to avoid any kind of outburst. Her frustration grows by the second, her heart beating abnormally fast as she hears Jennifer getting in her car to no doubt drive to Derek’s loft. A red hot fire fills her soul as she makes a decision that will no doubt have consequences later. But she would rather serve a two hour detention with Harris than watch Derek be with that woman.

Y/N storms out of the classroom, running down the hallway. She ditches her detention, figuring she could come up with an emotional enough lie to relieve the punishment afterwards. Her backpack bounces up and down, smacking into her tailbone as she runs. Her feet pump as fast as they possibly can as she runs through the greenery of the woods. She doesn’t have to pay attention to where she is because her body already knows where it’s going. Almost as if she’s called to be there, her inner wolf begging to move faster.

When she finally slows down, she’s directly in front of the door to Derek’s loft. Her chest rises and falls with her shallow breaths as she simply stares at the door. She didn’t see or hear Jennifer’s car, so that means their’s still time. She licks her lips out of nervousness before hesitantly bringing her hand up to the door, knocking on it softly.

She waits anxiously, wiping her now sweaty hands on her jeans. Y/N’s not used to feeling like this ever. She doesn’t get nervous. Most of the time, she’s the most confident person anyone could meet. Hence why she was friends with Lydia before she even knew Stiles existed. When she goes over to Derek’s, she never usually feels like this. Like her heart might just beat out of her chest if she doesn’t see him. She fights off the small whimper threatening to escape her throat. She doesn’t need to be nervous and embarrassed when he answers the door.

Y/N rocks back and forth on her feet, growing more weary as time passes. Silence fills the air around her and she suddenly feels the urge to throw up when she hears footsteps growing closer. She silently prays he can’t smell how absolutely out of sorts she is. Her inner monologue to give herself a confidence boost doesn’t do much when she sees his shadow at the bottom crack of the door. When the door swings open, it reveals a very dressed up Derek Hale. His face turns into one of confusion when he sees her standing in front of him.

“Y/N,” he greets, completely shocked by her presence. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh– I– um,” she stumbles over her words which causes Derek to look at her with curiosity. She’s not the type to be at a loss for something to say. That’s one of the things he admires about her. She sucks in a deep breath, “I just needed to see you,” she answers.

Derek steps aside slightly, allowing her into his apartment. When she walks in she can’t help but feel safe. This loft has almost turned into her home away from home. She’s here more often than anyone else out of the pack, and Issac lives here. It isn’t until now that Derek can smell the mix of emotions radiating off of her. It’s a concoction of things and he can’t tell which is the primary source of her unannounced appearance.

“What’s this about?” He asks her with a lifted brow.

Y/N sighs, trying to blink back the intermittent flashing of her eyes. “I know someone was here last night,” she reveals. “I came by and heard her. Then I find out today that you two apparently have plans,” she continues getting progressively more irritated. “Which didn’t make sense to me because I thought you were smarter than that.”

Derek crosses his arms, his own anger rising at her tone. He’s used to her empty sarcasm and insults, but this time it’s fueled by actual emotion which sets him equally on edge. “It’s none of your business who I have plans with, Y/N,” he says shortly.

Y/N laughs humorlessly, “None of my business? It is absolutely my business if the person you have these plans with is a complete stranger!” She exclaims loudly. “We don’t know her Derek. She could be the person behind all these killings and kidnappings and we wouldn’t be any the wiser!”

“Your teacher?” He challenges. “Responsible for everything that’s going on?” He chuckles at the obscurity. “Right. I’m sure that’s it,” he shakes his head at the accusation. “Isn’t the whole point of making plans to get to know someone? So wouldn’t it be nice if I did go out with her?”

“She’s manipulating you,” Y/N insists. “And you’re obviously too blind to even see it.”

“Why do you care so much?” Derek asks, his voice elevating as well.

“Because–” She waves her hands around exasperatedly, trying to find the words. “You’re not exactly known for your taste in women!” She all but scolds. “Remember Kate? The lady that up and killed your entire family. Well, I remember her so forgive me for trying to keep your stupid werewolf ass alive!”

Derek goes to retaliate but that’s when he hears it. Her heart rate speeds up. She’s lying to him. That’s not why she really cares. He can clearly see her anger and smell the annoyance radiating off of her, along with a couple of other things. But there’s a sweet smell accompanying it. One that Derek finds rather endearing. Jealousy. Y/N L/N is jealous. He wouldn’t have picked up on it if she hadn’t just blatantly lied. Suddenly her bursting in and berating him makes sense. He smirks when he notices her clenched fists. It’s about time she’s felt the green-eyed monster that constantly visits him when he sees her with other guys. When she’s laughing boisterously about something Scott said, whenever she comes over to see him but ends up talking to Isaac for hours on end. Especially when he found out she kissed Stiles last year after he was kidnapped by Gerard. It truly has been a miracle that no one ever sensed his jealousy when it came to her.

Derek takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Why did you really come here, Y/N?” He asks lowly, trying to get her to admit her feelings. “Tell me what you’re really trying to say…”

Y/N feels her face flush as he gets closer. She doesn’t want him to know the real reason why she raced across town to be here. The walls begin to close in around her, so she lashes out in a last ditch effort to protect herself.

“I’m trying to look out for you! You’re stubborn, Derek,” she chastises. “You don’t listen to anything anyone tells you. You like to pretend you’re always ready and prepared for anything, but you’re not! You are just as emotional and vulnerable as everyone else despite being hurt as many times as you have! You’re reckless when it comes to women, so I’m simply trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself or the pack by making a stupid mistake.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. In fact, he gets closer to her in attempts to pressure it out of her. “You’re avoiding my question, Y/N,” he says darkly. “What’s really going on?”

Feeling cornered, Y/N tries to take in a couple of deep breaths but it fails miserably. She can’t tell him. Not now. Not when he’s interested in another women who’s already on her way here. He even got dressed up for her. She’s never seen Derek in a white button up polo and slacks. It makes her frown thinking that it’s not for her. She scoffs softly before shaking her head, “Forget it,” she mumbles. The h/c haired girl pushes past him, shoulder checking him on her way to the door. “I shouldn’t have come here. Have fun on your date or whatever you wanna call it.”

She slams the door behind her before stomping down the flight of stairs that leads up to his building. When she walks outside, the sky opens up, almost mimicking her inner turmoil with its own storm. Rain pours down on her, soaking her clothing completely as she gets ready to run home, or in all truth, to Stiles house. All she knows is that she can’t be here anymore.

“Y/N, wait!” Derek calls out.

She doesn’t bother turning around, heading the exact way she came. She should’ve figured that he would’ve caught up to her with ease. He’s never had a problem showing her who’s in charge. He grabs her wrist gently but firmly, not allowing her to leave.

“Stop running away,” he commands. “Just tell me the truth.”

Y/N’s eyes once again begin flashing yellow, differing completely from her regular piercing e/c gaze. “Let go of me, Derek,” she demands with a bit of a growl in her voice.

“Not until you stop being so damn hardheaded!” He yells, trying to make his voice heard over the pounding rain. “Tell me!”

“Why do you even care?!” Y/N screams back. “Why does it matter when you’re already here waiting for another woman?”

Derek’s eyes soften slightly, and he pulls Y/N closer to him by her wrist. Her breath hitches in her throat as her hand practically rests on his muscular chest. His lips are so impossibly close that any coherent thought she had before this moment have been completely erased from her long and short term memory.

“Because I need to hear you say it,” his voice got impossibly low, sending a chill through her body that has nothing to do with the cold water hitting her back.

Y/N’s lips part slightly as his thumb comes up to brush the side of her cheek. Her body is drawn to him. The wolf inside of her is trying to claw its way out and into his arms, but she manages to steady herself. “Fine,” she breathes out, not being able to force herself to look away. “I’m jealous, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That it made me want to commit first-degree murder last night when I heard her voice in your apartment, knowing that it would’ve been me in there if I had shown up just a tad bit earlier? So yes, Derek, I am jealous. You win.”

Derek’s eyes darken at the breathiness of her voice. He places the hand that was holding her wrist on her waist to keep her pressed securely against his front. Both of their hearts beat in unison, “Why didn’t you just say that when I asked the first time?”

Y/N’s defense starts to crumble beneath her, “Because I didn’t want you to think I was weak for succumbing to something stupid like that,” she admits.

Derek laughs, showing off his pearly white teeth, “I would’ve never thought you were weak.” He reassures when he notices the small frown etched on her face. “You’ve never been weak. A bit obstinate? Sure. But not weak.”

Y/N can feel the sincerity in his voice. She doesn’t protest his strong hold on her hip, but instead keeps her own hands occupied on his now soaked through white shirt. It’s not a bad view from where she’s standing. “I don’t think I can do this,” she whispers.

Derek���s eyebrows furrow, a pang of concern filling his heart. “Do what?”

“Keep pretending that I don’t care about you,” she says softly, her chest heaving up and down from how intense the moment they are sharing is.

Derek’s eyes flash their bright alpha red as a primal instinct clouds his brain. He leans close to her face, his stubble rubbing her cheek in just the right way. “Then don’t,” he says huskily.

Before she can respond, he leans in and kisses her, the rain pouring down around them. The kiss is intense, filled with all the emotions they’ve both been keeping at bay. It’s a collision of desire and frustration, their lips moving against each other with a desperate want. A primal need inside both of them. Y/N wraps her hands around his neck, tugging at the short strands of his black hair. Derek wastes no time placing both of his hands on her waist, squeezing the soft flesh. She giggles slightly from the sensation, making him smile. When they finally pull apart, they’re both breathless.

Y/N steps back, her heart racing, but Derek keeps his arm around her, protectively. “How come you ran away?” He asks quietly.

Y/N huffs, running a hand through her wet hair. She sighs loudly before admitting the truth, “I was scared.”

“Of what?” He questions, not believing the woman in front of him would be scared of anything.

“Of this,” she states obviously, gesturing in between them. “Of how much I feel for you. I’m not really big on emotions like this. I don’t know how to handle it. So I was scared of having to open up my heart when I wasn’t sure if you’d actually take care of it.”

The vulnerability in her answer snaps something in Derek’s mind. She has the same issues as he does. He hasn’t been able to truly give himself to anyone since Paige. He felt so strongly for her and then she was gone in an instant. And when he tried again with someone he didn’t even fully trust, he got burned again. Emotions besides anger have never been his forte. So when he hears Y/N admitting the same thing, it makes him realize that this is something they both can improve on.

He grins, kissing her forehead softly, “You don’t have to be scared. We can figure it all out together, okay? Both of us.”

At that moment, a car pulls up, and Derek pulls Y/N even tighter into his chest. The bright headlights blind them and they both try to shield their eyes in order to identify the owner of the vehicle. Y/N’s body tenses as Jennifer steps out, the woman’s expression shifting from surprise to anger as she sees them.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” she comments coldly. Her eyes zero in on Y/N who has a rather tight grip on Derek’s shirt, “Miss L/N, shouldn’t you be at school serving the detention you earned today for your behavior in my class?”

“I had better things to do,” Y/N bites back. “As you can see,” she says, pointing at Derek’s chiseled form.

A shit-eating grin forms on Derek’s lips at her words. They both swear they see Jennifer’s eye twitch from the insinuation Y/N just made. He doesn’t bother trying to cover up what just happened and keeps his hands firmly on Y/N’s hips.

“Yes, I can see that,” Jennifer narrows her eyes at their proximity.

Derek can feel the situation getting ready to escalate so he keeps Y/N safeguarded within his hold. He nods over to Jennifer’s car, “I think it would be best if you left,” he states unforgivingly making Y/N smile.

Jennifer sends them both a pointed look, “I think so too,” she agrees before spinning on her heel and walking back towards her car. “We’ll see just how well this works out for the two of you. Let’s hope you don’t regret it.”

She closes the drivers side door before speeding off out of the parking lot. Both Derek and Y/N are left standing in the rain, now knowing that things have just become a lot more complicated than they were before. But even in the midst of her subtle threat and imminent danger, the two of them don’t seem worried in the slightest.

Because they’ll handle that together too.

[lundenloves]

dad!simon masterlist

welcome to emotion, come in, I'll pour you a cup of tea and explain what you're about to go through.

by signing this form i agree that (a) i will not threaten lundenloves or others due to dad!simon delusions (b) i am responsible for my own confusing thoughts 1.1 do i want this man to be my dad? 1.2 or do i want to fuck him? (c) i am responsible for my behaviour if reading while on my period, explosive ovaries are possible.

signature r3ader authors’ signature lund3nluv

one-shots/two-shots → ¹ fatherhood I 1.1k | f!reader [ simon’s mind is racing when you go into labour during one of his deployments. he can’t seem to speak about it, nor stop worrying. not until he receives the phone call. ] → ² fatherhood II 1.3k | f!reader [ simon meeting his daughter for the first time. no other words are REQUIRED omf. ] → ¹ chaotic riley household 1k | f!reader [ being a father comes with the rush of a monday morning, and it's something simon has far from perfected. ] → ¹ taking his kid to base 1.3k [ his one day off was shared with another little someone, taking her to his base because he is an absolute fucking stresshead about work and just had to get something done early. soap and price cameos, the crowd goes wild. ] → ¹ baby's first words 1k | f!reader [ your baby speaks her first word to her father. was it a word or was it a noise? simon declines to answer. ] → ¹ i meet my father when he is a child 1.7k [ his daughter in her 3am feels bro. feeling like shit because he feels like shit pretty much - disgustingly upsetting if you have father issues. ]

longer requests

→ bad arguments 1.2k [ a bad deployment leaves simon in an awful mood, his daughter has had enough and snaps. the big three words, and not the three you're thinking! why! ] → 141 meeting his first daughter 1.6k | f!reader [ the 141 boys meet his daughter for the first time, definitely a fragile moment of madness - to say the least. ] → working through a miscarriage 1k | f!reader | ⚠︎ [ you and simon lose your baby. ] → family ties 2.3k | ⚠︎ [ in which simon’s son enlists behind his back. ceramics are smashed, threats are thrown and feelings are hurt behind nonchalant expressions. ]

head-cannons

→ one | two | three | four [ what's swooshing around my brain surrounding dad!simon. usually at like fucking 1am when i'm on the brink of death. ]

blurb requests

→ his daughter stops making him birthday cards

→ simon comes home to his girls after deployment

→ finding out his eldest daughter has a boyfriend

→ dad!simon on petnames for his girls

taglist? fill out this form. if you would like to be removed from a taglist, pm me.

requests are also open! here is the info. be aware that with dad!simon requests i’ll only write the ones i feel i’ll be able to depict best. i’m not very good at ooc writing for him! (overly soft, cuddly and attentive) no one @ me.

are you lost? back to main masterlist

[ghostboneswrites2]

I really resonated with Daryl x abused reader could you maybe do one where the reader doesn’t let their past define them and shows little signs of abuse like they’re super cheery and happy and doesn’t let their past get them down and but maybe reader has a ptsd attack by Daryl after he confronts her about being so happy especially in an apocalypse and they just realize they relate to each other even if they’re personalities are so drastically and Daryl just comforts reader 🫂

The Painted Bunting

Era: Greene Farm

Summary: Daryl is paired with you on the search for Sophia and snaps at you after growing tiresome of your seemingly endless kindness.

Note: No more laptop for now since the cord broke so I hope you’ll all forgive the lack of my usual post formatting :(

Warnings: profanity, mentions of past abuse, grumpy sassy asshole Daryl (the man we originally fell in love with)

Banner credits on this post

        Shining hair in the rays of the sun, an infectious laugh, a beaming grin that never seemed to dissipate. A glowing beacon in the dark. That was what you were. And, admittedly, it got under his skin a little, so Daryl tended to avoid you. You weren’t oblivious to it, but you accepted it for what it was. After all, you couldn’t win them all, right? 

        You had always been that way; soft, gentle, graceful, kind. If you had never let the past change that for you, you certainly wouldn’t let present day events change it, either. Maybe the world had become a nightmare, but that didn’t mean you had to be one too. 

        Daryl thought that what really gritted his teeth about you was that through everything that had happened, you never changed a single bit. Not like the others had; not like he had. 

        After the world fell, after the camp by the quarry was overrun, after the CDC, after Sophia had gone missing, you remained exactly the same. For all of the afore mentioned, Daryl found you to be one of the most vexing people he ever had the displeasure of interacting with, second only to Shane, who could have easily been traded off for his own brother, Merle.

        Needless to say, he was peeved at the idea that you were sent on search duty with him after he hurt himself in the ravine. Rick decided a buddy system would be beneficial to all of the search party participants, and you volunteered to tag along, because of course you did.

        You weren’t so much looking forward to spending so much one on one time with the man, yourself. You didn’t necessarily have an issue with him, but you were all too aware of the issue he seemed to have with you. Really, you couldn’t relate to him at all. Not everyone around camp was perky and sweet, and rightfully so, but Daryl was such a brooding presence and you just couldn’t put yourself in that frame of mind.

        The two of you had set out just after dawn and the hours ticked by as you made friendly conversation and Daryl occasionally offered you a measly grunt in response. 

        “Do you think we’ll find anyone out here?” You asked. “I mean, aside from Sophia. I know we’ll find her.”

        “Pro’ly better if we don’t find nobody else.” Was his first verbal response all day. You shrugged. 

        “I don’t know. Could be good. I’m sure there are people who could really use some help.”

        “Ain’t our problem.” He argued. “Gotta look out for our own. The hell you worried about helpin’ strangers for when we ain’t even found the little girl we’re after?” 

        “Oh, no.” You chuckled nervously. “It’s not that I was just —“ You cut yourself off, sensing an oncoming ramble. “I didn’t mean it like that.” 

        “Mm.” He hummed, pausing his footsteps to take a breath and scan his surroundings. After a moment, he continued forward, and you followed without question . Admittedly, you had no clue how to track, so if anything you were there in case he got hurt.

        “So, if someone needed your help… You wouldn’t help?” You asked innocently.

        He whipped around to face you, the aggression behind his motion drawing you to a dead stop.

        “The hell’s your problem, huh?” He snapped. You blinked. “It’s the end of the goddamn world and you’re askin’ me about some hypothetical moral dilemma? Let me tell you somethin’, girl; ain’t no damn morals in the apocalypse. Ain’t no more law and order! It’s just us,” he paused, sending an arrow through the skull of a walker that had crept up behind you. You flinched and turned to watch its carcass thud on the forest floor. “And them.” He concluded. 

        “I—I was just making conversation.” You mumbled timidly. 

        “Why? It’s not a social call! We’re out here to find that little girl. This is why I didn’t need no damn babysitter.” He complained.

        “I was just trying to be nice.” You defended.

        “Nice?” He scoffed. That simple word seemed to trigger something in him as his eyes lit up with aggravation. “Don’t you get it? It ain’t about bein’ nice anymore. It’s about survival. Got dead people standin’ up and eatin’ people and you’re worried about bein’ nice. Walkin’ around passin’ out water and food and gigglin’ with everybody like we ain’t got a bunch o’ dead bodies stumblin’ around us just waitin’ to take a bite out.” 

        Maybe it was the way he raised his voice, or the way his eyes shot flaming daggers of fury right through your chest, or the way he threw his arms down and spat words at you like you were some puny, wretched little thing. You didn’t know what it was, but somewhere in the whirlwind of heated exchange, his voice slowly blended together with the other voice — the one that still lived in the back of your mind and ate away at you every day.

        The voice that belonged to your own father, the one person who struck true, genuine fear in you. Before you knew it, that old sensation of real terror, the one you’d buried somewhere deep inside you and covered with cement, was breaking free and engulfing you. 

        You were frozen, like a fawn under the scrutinizing gaze of a predator. The humid air felt like a thick paste as you struggled to gulp it down and catch a breath. At first, Daryl felt inclined to criticize your tears as a show of weakness, fragility, inability to handle a little raise of the voice. He quickly noticed, however, that this was no simple burst of reactionary emotions. No, this was something much deeper and it was rattling you to the core. There was a distant look in your wide eyes, one that he came to recognize, even if it took him a minute. 

       He shifted on his feet, scanning you, unsure how to intervene. 

        “Hey.” He eventually called out, but it was clear his voice wasn’t reaching you. This was the final piece of confirmation he needed. You were having an episode, the kind he experienced a few times when he first got out of his father’s abusive home. 

        He sighed and grabbed your trembling shoulders. You jumped but you didn’t flee or strike out. His touch seemed to dry you out and shrivel you up like a raisin. You shrank into yourself, hyperventilating. 

        “C’mon.” He said softly, ushering you done to your knees. “Hey. Ya gotta breathe.” 

        Your breathe only became more shallow and forced. Tears poured down your cheeks as your chest got tighter. 

        “Just breathe. That’s the only way it’s gonna stop.” He urged. He went to grab your wrists but you panicked, snatching your arms away and falling down on your back. 

        “No! Get away! You can’t do this anymore! I’m not a little kid!” You cried out.

        You were making quite a bit of noise by this point, between the gasps for air and the sobs. He crouched over you and grabbed your shoulders. 

        “(Y/N), ya ain’t there anymore. Wherever it is, it’s gone. In the past. It’s just you and me right now, and we ain’t there. We’re here.” He soothed, hoping his voice could find you somewhere in the abyss. “Just listen. Ya hear that? It’s a Painted Bunting. Look,” he pointed up into a tree at a bright multicolored bird, similar in its beauty to a parrot, only much smaller. “It’s right up there. Ya see it?” 

        Your breathing had started to slow down now, those shallow inhales finally reaching a little deeper within. Your eyes lazily followed his finger to the bright little bird singing a flute-like melody. 

        “Ya see it?” He asked again. You managed to nod once, still holding your arms tightly to your chest as you laid flat on the bed of leaves and twigs. He took a moment to see you, to really take you in, and he realized you were beautiful. Not just in the way a pretty girl with a nice personality was beautiful, but in a way that left so much of who you really were unsaid.

        “Just watch it.” He whispered, glancing back up at the feathered creature, hoping it would stick around long enough to bring you back down to earth. “They take two years to look that pretty. Did ya know that?” He asked, glancing back down at you. Your eyes were still on the bird, but you shook your head no. “Yeah. Only the males, too.” He added. “Otherwise, they’re just kinda greenish and yellowish.” 

        Once your chest was rising and falling with a steady rhythm, you finally looked over at him. Humiliation began to set in. You quickly sat yourself up and brushed the dead foliage away from your clothes and hair. 

        “I’m sorry.” You mumbled. “That hasn’t happened in a long time.” 

        “‘S okay.” He shrugged, standing himself back up as well. “Happens.”

        “Yeah, we’ll, it shouldn’t. Not nowadays.” 

        “Can’t help it when it does.” He assured you. “I get it.”

        “Maybe I should head back.” You suggested.

        “We both can. If ya wanna. It’ll be dark soon anyways.”  

        “I don’t wanna make you lose your trail or.. Ya know.” You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt.

        “Nah. Ain’t no use after dark, anyways. We’d just be stumbling in circles and bumpin’ into each other.” He insisted, contrastingly soft in comparison to before your episode. 

        “Oh. Right.” You nodded. Just as you got ready to turn back toward the farm, he cleared his throat.

        “Ya wanna talk about it?”

        “About what?” You turned back to him. He shifted his weight anxiously, chewing at the inside of his cheek. Offering an ear to listen was at least ten yards outside the perimeter of his comfort zone. “About that?” You asked. “That was nothing. Just something stupid that happens sometimes. That’s all.”

        While his tone was much kinder and warmer than before, yours was cold, dull, and tired. Those episodes could take a lot out of a person, and he was no stranger to that fact. 

        “Sometimes it helps.” He said. “Talkin’ about it. Makes it a little less…” He trailed off, searching for the word he wanted. “Less, uh… Consuming.”

        “It never gets less consuming.” You argued.

        “It does.” He insisted. 

         “And how would you know?” You asked, impatience lacing your words.

        “I used to get ‘em too.” He admitted. “Been awhile but… I just get it. That’s all.”

        You studied him. In all the weeks you’d spent around the man, you’d never seen him so genuine, or really so open. He never seemed to look at you like another person. You were always just another load on his shoulders. 

        “My dad.” You finally spoke. He nodded.

        “Me too.” 

        “I’m sorry.” You sympathized.

        “Me too.” He agreed. 

        “We should go.” You sighed, turning away again. 

        This time you didn’t wait for him, you just started walking, until he called out behind you; “‘M sorry.” You stood still, but you didn’t look back. He knew he had your attention, though, and he knew he had to say something else. “I know I did it this time. I shouldn’t’ve yelled at ya like that.”

        “It’s okay. Maybe you were right.” 

        “Nah.” He shook his head, taking slow steps to catch up to you. “I wasn’t. It’s good. Ya didn’t let none of that shit make ya bitter. Keep it that way. Else you’ll end up a grumpy redneck.” He joked. You suppressed the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

        “Maybe the grumpy rednecks of the world got it figured out.” You said, walking again once you felt him catch up. 

        “Nah. I don’t know shit about shit.” He admitted, eliciting a small laugh from you. You shook your head.

        “I don’t think anyone does.” You reasoned.

        On the hike back to the Greene farm, you two shared some light banter, some stories of the past, some laughs and extended looks. He grew finder of you that day. The critical glares he’d send you from a distance were replaced with admiration and respectful nods. You’d often catch him looking and flash him a big smile, waving at him before you attention was drawn elsewhere. 

       You both learned that maybe the two of you were differently colored fruit, but you grew from the same tree, and you weren’t so different after all. And, that sentiment was never lost or forgotten. It carried with you for as long as you two knew each other. 

Taglist || Masterlist

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

[writing-mlm]

Pls write dick grayson x male reader 🙌🏾🙌🏾

How can I help?

Summary: The three times you help Dick with his father issues and the one time he helps you Pairing: Dick Grayson x Male reader WC: 7.4k a/n: this went through five different plots before I landed on this one I am so sorry

He’s given his entire life to Bruce. He’s owed him as much for everything he’s put him through; taking in a rowdy, traumatized orphan and dealing with the near limitless energy he had. Then the teenage angst, he understands why Bruce kicked him out. He had to. He understands that everything he’s gotten in his life is because of Bruce. 

Bruce wasn’t… he wasn’t bad. He was doing his best with what he could, after all, infinite money didn’t come with infinite wisdom. And Bruce had given Dick his best, so really, Dick should be happy. He’s better off than some orphans, most orphans really. 

So why does he want to strangle him?

He doesn’t get it. He loves Bruce, he’s the closest thing to a father he currently has. But he can’t be around him, he can’t stand his voice, he can’t even think about him without being upset. 

He bites harder and you wince, staring at him as he bites your shoulder. You doubt he’s even aware of it, he hardly ever is. These moments are rare with Dick, usually after he visits his father and it goes wrong. It almost always goes wrong. 

The biting makes it so he doesn’t cry, he doesn’t like crying. Not because he’s a man and men don’t cry but because it makes it harder to see. To focus. His breathing gets all loud and he can’t sneak around. But with biting, none of that happens. 

You rub his back as the pressure on your shoulder builds and builds. He’s nearly breaking skin before he finally pulls away and stares at the TV, more quiet than he ever has been. 

“I’m sorry,” He mutters after the episode ended. Feeling his fingers wipe away the drying spit and then soothe the throbbing spot, you turn to look at him and shake your head. 

“Still invulnerable,” You remind him. While yes, it hurts a little, you know it’s not going to bruise. It’s not going to do anything aside from give him some sort of healthy release. He nods, still looking at the spot. You can tell his mind is running, it doesn’t take a genius to tell that much. “Dick, I’m perfectly fine.” He looks at you, eyes red and bleary before he huffs and turns his head away. He blinks and tilts his head to the ceiling while you watch. 

He doesn’t like it when you watch, it makes him feel bad. Like a burden. But you watch to make sure he doesn’t put too much pressure on his eyes when he rubs them. 

“It’s not your fault.” You promise and his breath hitches. God, he wants to believe you. So badly. “It’s not your fault.” Lips pursed and a lone tear running down the side of his cheek, Dick turns to you. “It’s not—“

“Stop.” He begs. His eyes screw shut and he shakes his head. “I know— I know it’s not, I do. But…fuck man.” Pushing himself away from you, you watch as he enters the kitchen and runs his hands through his hair. “I can’t just leave him!” He nearly shouts, convincing himself as he throws open the fridge. 

“You can.” You nod, eyes flickering to where he’s grabbing a water bottle. 

“No,” He says through a dry laugh before taking a large gulp of water. “No one leaves Bruce.” Turning to you, Dick licks his lips. “Do you know what it’s like? Trying to run from the world's greatest detectives and his mini Batman’s?” Shaking your head he shakes his back and walks over to the couch again. 

“Oracle, Red Robin, and Batman! Those three have found unicorns before. End of the rainbow pot of gold. Compared to that, I might as well have a giant sign on my head! Then he has Superman and-and Martian Manhunter. Zatanna. Constantine!” He’s nearly shouting now, hitting each finger as he rapidly lists them off. 

“Have you asked him for space?” It’s the question you’ve wanted to ask him for years now. His plan is always to up and leave, his bad thoughts are to up and leave. His good thoughts are to leave a note, and then leave. But he’s never thought about that. You know because he pauses and looks at you. 

“He wouldn’t…” Shaking his head, Dick lays his head on the armrest of the couch and brings his legs up to yours. “I’d just get the society needs Nightwing talk. He’d say I’m leaving behind innocent people who need me.” He angrily says into his water bottle. 

“You could get amnesia,” You half seriously suggest, running your fingers along his legs. He shaves pretty religiously, something about his suit needing less friction to get on and off. “Go by Ric without the K.” At that, he snorts and looks down at you. 

“I love you,” He says and you smile. 

“I love you too, dude.” Groaning, he kicks your arm and sits up. You laugh and rock into him, watching as he stares at the TV. His hair falls over his forehead nicely but he shifts it back, probably out of nervous habit. 

“I can’t leave Damian.” He quietly says, a deep frown forming on his face. “He’s already been through so much.”

“You all have.”

“But he spent eleven—“

“This isn’t the trauma Olympics, Dick. You all can be fucked up at the same time.” There’s a long pause in the apartment and you get up to take the cookies out of the oven. They’re his favorite, macadamia with raspberry chunks. 

“You know what really sucks?” He calls and doesn’t wait for a response. “We can’t even see a therapist about this! I mean, could you imagine one of us trying to see a therapist? It’s either Harley, Dinah, or some poor civilian!”

“Why not get therapy as Nightwing and then therapy as Dick?” It feels stupid, it sounds like it should be stupid but honestly, as Dick thinks about it, it might work. The biggest issue would be separating himself from Nightwing. Being a hero has been such a big part of his identity he doesn’t know how to unassociate the two. He doesn’t even know if they’re still two separate people. 

“Maybe,” He shrugs and turns back to look at you. “Can I get a cookie?” He asks, half of a frown on his face. 

“They’re hot,” You shake your head and poke one of the cookies. “Give them five minutes.” 

“You’re hot.” He grins. 

“Still not getting a cookie.”

“Aw, man.”

—

It’s the last stretch of the day. After coming back from his detective-ing and patrolling and you coming back from the WatchTower, Dick lays his head between your legs and sighs. He likes it there, he could spend hours between your legs if he could. Truthfully, you think he likes it more when it’s nonsexual. The feeling of your thighs cupping his ears, your fingers running up and down his hair mixed with being able to get up whenever he wanted was one of the times he was most relaxed. 

He sighs again, leaning his head further back as your nails drag against a spot that had been bothering him for a while now. You smile and give it extra care before exploring the rest of his hair, secretly glad he hadn’t realized he’s due for a haircut soon. The once blunt ends have dulled and you hope he doesn’t notice the starts of split ends soon. You could just repair them, right? There are shampoos for that. 

Although you wouldn’t tell him, you did enjoy his mullet phase. The long hair was pre-dating but it’s what caught your attention. He only cut it the night before your first date, which was admittedly a little heartbreaking. But the shorter hair definitely was better. It worked wonders for him, really drew attention to his eyes and his smile. 

Plus when he was fighting no one could grab his hair and bang his head into a wall as much. 

You feel along scabs and small scars that his thick hair hides, carefully dragging your nails over it. But not too harsh that it would remove the scabs. His hands flex and tense on your thigh as you do so but the way his shoulders drop lets you know to continue. He’s close to snoring at that point, the only thing missing was the white noise he had to listen to. Sure, it annoyed the shit out of you, but it wasn’t ruining your sleep. 

The room is dark with the curtains drawn and the door is closed, but there’s a video playing with the sound barely audible. It’s nothing compared to Haley snoring in the corner of the bed, though. Maybe she could be the white noise. 

“Do you think…” He says, voice soft as he tries to let go of the day's pressure and just live. But he never can, you don’t think he’s ever actually just relaxed before. “Do you think I’m a good son?” He finally asks and you see the tip of his nose move as he frowns. 

“A great son,” You hum, tucking some of his hair behind his ears. “Hell, I stopped speaking to my dad after he forgot my birthday three years in a row.” You laugh. 

“You had a reason, though,” He shakes his head. “I owe Bruce—“

“Adopting a child doesn’t mean you’re owed shit.” You tell him and carefully sit up, now staring down at him. “He chose you, he doesn’t get to hang it over your head like some sword. And you shouldn’t either, one good choice should never negate years of building resentment.” He frowns and stares at you until you sigh. “How about this? You go to family therapy, you did say Bruce is different now.”

“He is,” Dick nods, guiding your hands back to his hair. “I know he’s a good dad but sometimes he sucks.” He blinks, briefly staring at you before he closes his eyes. It’s clear he wants to continue the conversation but he can’t bring himself to say anything else. His mind is a fog and he doesn’t truly want it to clear out. He doesn’t want to face reality just yet. 

“Is this a bad time to mention that I have to shit?” He snorts and nods, eyes still closed as he gets up. He watches as you scramble out of the room, nearly waking Haley up in the process. He follows after you like a lost dog, his feet slapping against the freshly mopped floors. 

He doesn’t want to be alone, he knows it’s probably not healthy to be so attached he couldn’t fathom going twenty minutes without seeing you while you’re in the same apartment but he can’t. At least, not right now. He can’t be alone with his thoughts and if he has to deal with them, he wants to at least look at you. Touch you in some way. 

“We’re at the stage where you watch me shit?” You joke as he opens the door and sits on the edge of the tub. You don’t mind as much as you thought you would, not with Dick slowly sinking into the tub and getting rid of his shirt, and then pants. He throws his shirt at you to get your attention when you’re nose-deep in your phone. Unaware of his actions.

“Bath?” He grins, the sound of him slapping his thighs echoing in the bathroom. 

“I’ll get the bubbles,” 

The bath is nice, the water is cold against Dick’s aching muscles and you’re staring at him from the opposite end of the tub. Well, as best as you could with the lights dimmed and the occasional phone screen illuminated on the counter. He’s messing with the bubbles, creating beards and blowing them at you. Making sure you can’t move away by locking his ankles behind your back, he watches as you wipe the bubbles from your mouth. 

Spluttering them out, you grab your own handful and smush it against his face. 

You both laugh and sink further into the water. He’s down to his chin, his knees awkwardly sticking out of the water while the water is just up to your chest. 

“I think I’ll talk to Bruce about therapy,” He says as the laughter is nothing but a memory on the tiled walls. The bubbles slowly popped around him and the water gradually got warmer. He nervously drags his hand down your leg and then slowly up again until he reaches your thigh and stops. 

“I know some family therapist,” You softly tell him and he nods. “I think Dr. Sampson would be good for you two. She does virtual and in-person, flexible for the most part.” That’s good. He doesn’t think Bruce would let Brucie Wayne get seen walking with his eldest child into a therapist's office. 

“Thank you.” He says as he reaches over and pulls you onto him. Water splashes over the side of the tub and some gets in your eyes but you blink it away. “I’m so in love with you,” He says, unable to look at anything but your eyes. 

“I love you, too.” 

—

It’s a calm Sunday when your door flies open, it bangs against the wall and you’re almost sure there’s a dent where the knob hit. But it’s neither here nor there as you hear Dick shouting in Romani. Whatever’s happened, he’s beyond upset so you abandon your work and meet him on the couch. 

The shouting stops when he sees you and he frowns. It’s deep and etching in his skin. You offer him a welcoming smile as his nose turns red and his lip quivers. 

“What happened?” You ask, guiding him to the couch. With your hand on his back, you can feel that he’s shaking. Instead of replying, he shakes his head and collapses onto the couch, his head in his hands. His fingers thread through his hair, pulling and grasping randomly until he moves his hands around his torso and finally looks at you. 

“I killed Joker,” He finally says. The house is silent as you stare at him, eyes flickering across his face as his breathing goes jagged and he gags. “I…fuck,” He looks at you and you look back at his eyes. “I fucking killed him!” He repeats but this time it seems like shock has washed over him. That he’s the character in a movie, holding a household item turned murder weapon and the dead body is right in front of him. 

“What… why?” You ask, a million questions running across your mind. 

“I thought he killed Tim,” He shakes out, his eyes closed as he remembers what happened. “I thought he killed Tim, he had this illusion of Tim. He looked so much like Jay’s after he killed him. And I… I couldn’t lose another sibling to him.” You notice he’s flexing his hands and staring at them, noting the bruises on his knuckles. Parts of his skin is ripped, like he’s been licking at the bruises and scrapes to make them into cuts.

“I lost control,” He croaked out. A sob travels up his body but he forces it down and presses the balls of his hands into his eyes.

“Does Bruce know?” You ask and he shakes his head. 

“Just Tim and Babs. And you,” That’s good, heaven knows how Bruce would react. 

“Well,” You huff. “Joker was going to die anyway. He deserved it.” There’s nothing you can— want to do about it now. Sure, there’s definitely a way to bring someone back to life but… the Joker doesn’t deserve it. What you can do now, is comfort your boyfriend. 

“We don’t kill!” Dick looks at you. He’s been crying for a long while now, you can see the stains on his cheeks and the redness of his eyes. “Killing is the one thing B doesn’t stand for.” If you could, you’d tell Dick every single issue you have with Bruce. The hypocrisy in his rules, and the moral high ground he puts himself on is fake and it sucks that everyone seems to go along with it. 

But you don’t. Now isn’t the time for your personal qualms with his father. 

“One death,” You tell him, pulling him closer to you. “Is nothing compared to what Joker has done. He’s killed Jason, he’s paralyzed Babs, he’s killed over a thousand people. And Bruce doesn’t have to know. I doubt Tim or Babs is going to be telling him.” He nods at the last part. Out of everyone he knows, he knows his siblings and Barbra wouldn’t tell Bruce that. They’d hold that secret like no other. 

That calms him down. Aside from them, the only person who could possibly know was a god. And he doesn’t think he’s pissed any off as of late. There weren’t any cameras, no one was around for blocks. Not even a single church mouse knows. 

Now came the hard part. Life after killing Joker, pretending to not know where the Joker was. 

He’d just left the body there but he knows they got rid of it. And he doesn’t want to know the details, the less the better. He’s afraid he’d somehow give Bruce hints during their weekly therapy sessions.

“I’m sorry about your wall,” He mutters into your shoulder and you peer at the wall. The dent is small, just the center of the knob left an imprint so it’s nothing five minutes can’t fix. 

“I’ve put bigger dents,” You tell him with a dismissive wave. You haven’t. There’s never been a singular dent in your walls, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“Can we…” He shakes his head as he thinks. “Do something tonight? Anywhere really, anything but sitting in silence.”

“Yeah,” You nod, turning your body to face him and tucking his hair behind his ear. “Anything you want, baby. How about we drive up to my sisters for the week? She’s having a family thing… I would’ve invited you either way. Besides, if we stay for a week instead of the weekend you will not get any peace and quiet.” You laugh knowing that her kids love Dick. Always asking him to do tricks and teach them. 

He agrees and promises to be ready in an hour. 

There are thankfully no hitches in your plan. Dick had already taken time off from work, your sister didn’t mind that you’d be coming to visit five days earlier than expected, and there was no traffic during your five-hour drive. The two of you didn’t talk much, instead, you took turns blasting music and listening to various podcasts. Occasionally, one of his siblings would call when they realized he’d left Gotham without prior warning but he’d tell them it’s a family thing with you. 

—

Thetford was a small town in Orange County, Vermont. Population, less than three thousand people. It was perfect for your sister who dreamed of two things and two things only. Peace from cities and a nice large farm-style home. 

In the distance, you see the roof of her home and slow down, with no one else on the road you’re not putting anyone in danger. 

“Ready?” You ask him. He licks his lips and nods. “Because I can always drive into town, ask her if she needs anything.” Again, he nods and looks at you. 

“I’m okay, really.” Dick swears. “I promise.” Nodding, you hold his hand and kiss the back of it. He smiles and squeezes your hand back.

Your brother-in-law is already in the garage, grabbing some items from his workshop, and waves you inside. With a three-car garage, there’s more than enough space for your car next to their minivan. He is basically the modern-day Romeo Vasquez. At least that’s what your sister says, you still haven’t seen any of his movies. 

He helps you with your and Dicks bags despite your insistence that you don’t need any help. But he quickly leaves the two of you in the basement when he hears one of the babies crying. 

The basement is nice; a washer and dryer under the stairs, a small living room with various game systems, a bathroom, and a bedroom. You’ve spent enough time down there that you just toss yourself into the bed while Dick stands at the doorway. 

There’s two exits, one that leads to the house and the other to the backyard. It locks from the inside so no one can enter through there but she gives you a key anyway. He sees the small windows at the tops of the walls and it reminds him that the house was built on a slope. The front of the basement is smaller than the back, which is probably why the washer and dryer are over there. 

“Should we go and check on them?” He asks, ridding himself of his sweater. Shaking your head, you roll onto your side and look at him. 

“They’ll come down soon enough,” He hums and lays down next to you. Looking over his face, your eyes naturally land on his hair where you start playing with strands. In your sister's house Haley isn’t allowed on the bed, so she’s laying right below Dick, trying her best to look at him. 

His hair sprawls across the pillow like he’s in a Studio Ghibli movie. Thankfully, he still hasn’t cut it. He watches you as you play with his hair, biting his lip and carefully touching the scraps on his hands. It’s too quiet for him, he can’t enjoy the peace with you. No matter how badly he wants to. 

“Can we see the kids?” He asks almost tightly. You nod, kissing his cheek and guide him upstairs with Haley quick on his heels. 

—

The week is filled with watching children and helping prepare for the upcoming family gathering. Dick is good with the kids and making sure things are strung up, climbing in trees and up to the gutters of the home while you’re better with nailing the umbrella into the dirt and carrying the chairs into the backyard. 

He’s thrown up a bit throughout the days, normally during stretches where no one is doing anything. He nearly strangles you as you sleep, holding you so tight you’re worried for him but it’s calmed down as the week continues on. Especially after his latest session with his father. 

He seems happier, actually sitting down and enjoying the quiet of your sister's home. The two of you go on walks at night, using the basement key to avoid waking anyone up. Every morning you wake up to clips of the two of you walking sent by your sister. 

Haley loves it, she’ll run ahead and wait for the two of you, sometimes she’ll run into large piles of leaves and then run around with sticks she finds. 

But he’s noticed how you’ve been getting as the week continues. As the realization you’re going to be seeing a lot of your family for the first time in a while dawns on you, you get more fidgety. You’ve needed to be doing something at all times. Fixing things that don’t need to be fixed, volunteering to clean the kids' rooms, the bathrooms, and even raking all of the property. It took nearly five hours, but you did it. 

Then, you’d spend hours in the bathroom. Shaving, styling your hair, brushing your teeth to the point your gums hurt. You’ve stopped letting him into the bathroom with you, locking it behind you. Late at night, when you think he’s sleeping, he hears you throwing your hair products. Once, it got so bad you had to wake your sister. He watched as you spent nearly two hours talking to her in the backyard. 

He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not used to comforting you. Sure, he comforts Damian, Tim, Jason, Kori, Cassandra, and basically everyone else he knows but never you. You’ve never needed reassurance before; always being his shoulder. It’s a little selfish to think so, but it makes him feel like a bad boyfriend. 

Even more so when he can’t pull his big boy pants up and ask you what’s bothering you. Instead, he thinks and theorizes. He is a detective, after all. 

It’s the day of the reunion when you feel him kissing your back. You never sleep with a shirt since you always end up with your back all sweaty. He trails up from your shoulder blades, carefully trailing up to your jaw, and then shifts to kiss your cheek. 

“Dick,” You hum and he hums back, his free hand rubbing circles on your hip. “It’s early.” 

“I’m not doing anything,” He reassures but drags you onto him. “Besides, it’s almost seven.” He says it like you’ve slept all day and it's past an acceptable time to be sleeping still. Blinking, you sigh through your nose and sit on his lap, slowly running your hands down his stomach. It’s more out of habit than anything else. 

“Fine.” He grins. “But you’re showering first.” He frowns but nods and you roll off of him, watching as he grabs his clothes from the dresser and heads into the bathroom. Meanwhile, you take a nap. 

A part of you knows he wanted to shower together, but you couldn’t. You wanted to shower in water so hot it’s actually dangerous and he hates anything above a light steam. Something about it being bad for his skin. 

This time, you’re woken up much more rudely. With three children shaking you, you groan and throw the blanket over your head, ignoring their shouts and calls for your name until Dick suggests taking the blanket off. 

“I’m up!” You shout, glaring at Dick as he grins. He ushers the kids out, promising to teach them how to do a barrel roll in the basement living room. Begrudgingly, you start your day and meet Dick in the kitchen. He’s in his head a little, probably because there’s a clown on the TV being called a classical joker but he’s still attentive with the kids. 

You’re helping your sister's husband with making breakfast, something light since lunch and dinner will virtually be an all-you-can-eat buffet for the family. 

Dick joins in when the kids pick a show, cleaning the dishes and staring at you for far too long as you’re watching the eggs cook. You don’t look happy, he finds the longer that he stares at you. You look distant and at one point you look at the ceiling and blink. 

He thinks and thinks, but he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what type of comfort you need. 

His hand finds yours as you finish up and your sister takes over. He brings you to the couch and just sits with you and it seems to work as you lay your head on his shoulder and hug his arm. But it doesn’t last long, as the kids finish eating and the doorbell rings. 

You remove yourself from him and look at your sister. She checks her phone and nods so you take his hand again and drag him down to the basement. 

“Who’s that?” He stupidly asks as you toss yourself onto the couch and curl up in the corner. Watching as he sits next to you, you look at the black screen. 

“My parents,” You sigh. “My father really, they’re divorced.” He nods. Sure, he’s met your sister a bunch and some cousins but never your parents. He knows the names of aunts and uncles, gossip about family members he’s never met and plenty of birthday wishes from them, but he doesn’t know them. 

“Oh,” He blinks. And you nod. “Are they…?”

“Powers? No,” Rolling to your side, you stare at him. “They don’t know either.” He nods again. “I’m sorry… did you want to meet my dad?” 

“We’ll meet later,” He dismisses. 

Later comes two hours after your father arrives. Your mother and some other family arrive at the same time and you’re forced by self peer pressure to make an appearance. With them all in the backyard and you can see around twenty people have arrived and the dread creeps back in. You don’t know why but you feel like you might throw up so you rush into the bathroom. 

He heads out first, you’re still in the bathroom but you don’t tell him to wait so he goes. He sees your sister and goes to her side, she’s talking to everyone who’s there. They all decided to sit at the same table so it made greeting them much easier. 

“This a friend?” Your grandfather asks, eyeing Dick up and down. 

“(Y/n) roommate,” Your father answers through a grit. He doesn’t know if he should correct him or not, if it would ruin the whole thing so he just smiles and introduces himself. He uses Richard for them, he remembers that they don’t like curse words from anyone not considered an adult. So anyone below forty. 

You enter the backyard sometime later and immediately find Dick. He’s at the table with your family, chatting with your aunts. It grosses you out for a moment, seeing the way they stare at him but you push it down and walk up from behind him. It’s almost on purpose how you ignore your father and stand behind Dick, messing with his hair as he talks. 

He pulls up the chair next to him and you sit, greeting your family. 

Everyone talks while Dick listens, the conversation moving to what you’ve been up to. You don’t post on Facebook so they have next to no information on how you’ve been doing, so you fill them in on your jobs and stuff until the other guests arrive. 

Soon enough, everyone is there and the party is in full swing. Music plays and food is being served. Kids run around the backyard and play in the pool but you’re sitting around some of your cousins and their parents. 

They’re talking about random things, mostly. Some of your cousins are already married, showing off their spouses and rings with subtle jabs at their significant others with their issues. A ‘can’t clean up after themselves’ or a ‘doesn’t know what a diaper is’ is thrown around a couple of times. One of them is pregnant with twins and another is talking about their child going to college soon. 

You feel like the odd one out. Although you’ve never put a timeline on your relationship, nor have any real desire for children or marriage; it would have been nice to have some leg in their conversation. Instead, you give everyone their congrats and continue to drink. 

The conversation moves into more conversations you can’t relate to and you find yourself hungry, quietly asking Dick if he wants to grab something to eat. He agrees and the two of you head over to the food table and pile some stuff on. 

“What’s this?” He asks, pointing his fork at the chitlins in a smaller bowl. 

“Nasty is what it is,” You quietly laugh. “Pig intestines.” He nods at the answer and moves along. Your plate is done, stacked up to a point that might be unsafe with a fresh can of soda in your other hand. 

“Are you okay?” He finally asks as he’s piling collard greens onto his plate. 

“I’m fine,” You nod. “Wish there was better music but I’m fine.” 

“No,” He shakes his head and looks at you. “Are you okay? Is there something I can help you with? You were jumping to leave the group and you’re drinking a beer.” 

“I’m fine,” You nod again. “Just normal family things… I swear.” He sighs and you sigh back. “Truthfully, I hate being around my dad. And I feel weird being here, I can’t relate to them.” 

“Because of us?” He asks and you laugh, quickly kissing him. He leans in for a deeper one but you push him back and he frowns, eyes on your lips. 

“Because my job is going to space and saving aliens and their jobs are school teachers and office jobs. And I can’t relate to changing diapers or arguing with my wife— well, boyfriend.” 

“Oh,” He turns back to adding food to his plate. “Well, you can say you’re a baker. That’s a normal job that you kind of have.” 

“True,” Looking over the yard, you see nearly everyone is staring at you. They look away quickly and you clear your throat, waiting for Dick to finish up before heading back to your group. 

“Uncle Richie,” Mickey, your sister's oldest child, says as he walks over with a popsicle stick and most of it smeared on his white shirt. God, if the place hadn’t been silent before, it’s silent now. You’re aware of the stares your way, even though Mickey is oblivious to most of it. 

“Yeah, Mick?” He greets, ruffling Mickey’s hair. 

“Did you make Uncle (Y/n) gay?” He asks with his head tilted while you snort into your drink. 

“Did I… what?” Repeating the question, Dick looks at you with red ears and help me eyes. 

“I been gay, Mick.” You tell him. “Why?” Mickey shrugs and bites the popsicle. 

“Grandpa said not to tell you he said that Uncle Richie made you gay.” Your cousins around you chuckle and you have to bite your lip. 

It’s not surprising. The man who forgot your birthday because he already had five kids before you didn’t know much about your life. He never really wanted another kid, he dotted on your older siblings and gave them everything they ever wanted. You were more of an afterthought, the kid shoved into the attic because that was the only space available. The kid who found a strange monster in the dark attic that gave him magical powers and became even stranger to his father.

“I won’t tell him,” You swear and Mickey nods before running away. 

“He told your family were roommates,” Dick finally admits. “I didn’t know what to say so I just… didn’t say anything.” 

“It’s fine,” You shrug. It’s not fine, but you don’t want to dwell on your issues. Today isn’t about you, this trip isn’t about you. You should try and enjoy yourself.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Your uncle asks, pointing his beer at Dick. “We should’ve been chewing him out! Not sharing stories!” The others agree and you apologize with a smile. 

“I thought you guys knew,” You shrug. 

“Well,” Your grandmother says from behind you and you jump. “Tell us about your boy toy.” She nods her chin in Dick’s direction and he laughs. 

It doesn’t take long for the adults to gather around you and basically shove you and Dick into each other. You’re a bit embarrassed at the attention, choosing to shove your mouth with food while everyone asks their questions. 

Your father is notably absent, he’s off walking around with a cigarette in his mouth. He doesn’t do gay stuff, you think. He tends to avoid it at all costs. Your mother isn’t there either, but she tends to avoid you so it’s not shocking.

“You said your name is Richard?” Your grandfather asks and Dick nods. “How long y’all been dating?” 

“Couple years,” You answer. 

“Long enough for a ring?” One of your aunts asks, eyes raised at Dick. You look at him too, sure this isn’t a great time to finally talk about that but, hey, why not. 

“Definitely,” He nods. There are a couple of others and haha from them. 

The conversations continue and he watches as you’re more relaxed now. The beer is gone, taken over by the ants who drown in it. You’re happily talking, catching up, and showing pictures. He stares at you so long, so hard, that the others notice and point it out. They call him smitten, and consider you lucky that you’ve found someone who seems to worship the ground you stand on. 

But in truth, Dick doesn’t think he does enough. He thinks back to the times you’ve dropped everything for him, how you’ve learned him inside and out, defended his feelings about his father, and he wishes he could’ve been a fraction of that boyfriend to you. 

He loves you, a whole lot. But he knows he doesn’t really show it. Not as much as he’d like to, anyway. 

He kisses the top of your head and you stare at him, confused. He just smiles and leans close to you, resting his head on yours. 

“Can he fight?” One of your sister's husbands asks and you laugh. He’s been in the family for as long as you’ve been alive, you used to have a crush on him growing up. 

“Joel is a boxer,” You explain to Dick. “He likes to fight the family's boyfriends.”

“A test?” He asks and you give a noncommittal nod. “Okay.” He agrees and Joel looks at you, none of the boyfriends have seemed excited about it before. You just hold your hands up. “I mean,” Dick starts as he stands up. “It’s only fair, Damian tried to stab you when he found out.” He did stab you, but your skin just ended up breaking the blade so he called a truce until he could find something that harms you. It was a long day when he found out it was copper. 

“Make space,” Joel makes a motion at everyone to push back and everyone scoots back while Dick stretches. 

“Should I take my shirt off?” He asks, plucking at his white shirt. 

“Please do,” You grin and he winks, taking it off in one motion. You chuckle, giddy as his back muscles flex while he watches Joel take his shirt off. Dick twists, seeing if his belt is too tight and takes that off too. 

“If y’all break up—“ Your cousin whispers to you and you smack her arm. “Just saying.”

“Should I watch your face?” Joel teases. “Pretty boy, ain’t you?”

“I’ve been told,” Dick shrugs. “But I doubt you could land a hit on it.” Again, your family eggs the situation on and you watch as they fight. It’s mostly playful, until Joel pins Dick down and he looks at you. He doesn’t want to hurt Joel, he’s almost fifty but Joel is a professional and definitely has had worse than Dick’s play fighting. You nod and watch as he wraps his legs around Joel’s body, slamming him to the ground in less than a second. 

“Did I mention I’m an acrobat?” He asks once he’s on top. 

“And flexible?” Your cousin whispers again. You chuckle and look at him, you’ve always liked watching him fight. The way he and his family fight tends to look nice. You’ve never seen a better-looking fight than when they fight each other. 

But god, without a shirt it’s so much better. A little too good, you quickly find out. Taking one last sip of your drink, you excuse yourself and head back to the basement but Dick stops you at the door. 

“Did I go too far?” He whispers, holding you close. “I tried holding back.” He adds, kissing your neck.

“No,” You clear your throat. “I just uh… got excited?” He peers over your shoulder and laughs, watching as you open the basement door and flick him off. 

“I can help,” He offers, following after you. 

“And have my family know we fucked? No!” Closing the bedroom door, you grab the box of tissues and lotion before heading into the bathroom. 

“Lotion and tissues is so middle school,” He calls after you. 

“Fuck off!” You call back. “Stupid ass— why’d you take your shirt off?” You groan. 

“It’s my fault?” He laughs. 

“Yes, clearly!” You shout back. He snickers and listens as you finish and wash your hands. “Not a word about this,” You tell him as you exit the bathroom, avoiding looking at him. 

“Damn,” Joel laughs as Dick joins the group again. “You’re fast.”

“Pretty slow to me,” You cough and Dick looks at you, hands on his hips. You stare back at him, daring him to make a comment.

“Slow?” Joel asks. “Let’s see you do better. You know he couldn't carry a gallon of milk until he was fourteen?” He asks Dick.

“I was twelve,” You angrily correct and stand in front of Dick. “Take your seat, man. Telling him my business.” Joel raises his arms and takes your seat.

“Watch the face,” Dick tells you. “My boy likes me pretty,” He winks. 

“I sure do.” 

Your family watches as you fight, each punch looking more real than the last until you swipe his legs from under him and pin him. It’s a low mount, so as he’s blocking a punch, he bucks his hips and you go forward until you plant your hands on either side of his head and stop your fall. 

“Always the low mounts,” He shakes his head as you’re laughing. “You gotta go high, baby.” 

It’s decided amongst the group that it’s a tie and you sit on the arm of his chair as the night continues. At some point during the fight, your father had joined back and sat weirdly in the middle. The kids have calmed down and dragged their chairs to the odd spots between the adults or gone to sleep inside the house. 

Eventually, you go inside the house to grab some more ice for the coolers and see your mother exiting the bathroom. She hasn’t really spoken to you, she hasn’t said much to you your entire life. You think she feels guilty about letting your father treat you like that, or guilty for even bringing you into that environment. But you don’t care, if she puts the effort you put the effort back. 

You don’t hate her, despite what she may think. You think she’s a little sad, pitiful almost. And that’s honestly so much worse than hating her. 

“Hey,” She smiles at you, rubbing her arms. “How’ve you been?” 

“Good,” You nod. “You?” She nods and sighs. There’s not much to say. She has some new boyfriend who cares about her, some job she sort of likes, and you can’t talk about your life. 

“Richard seems nice,” She says and you smile. It makes her smile more. A real smile. 

“He’s amazing,” You tell her. Hauling the ice bag over your shoulder, you leave the awkward conversation and dump the ice into the water cooler in the middle of the conversation circle.

Your seat was still taken by Joel, so you’re pulled onto Dick’s lap. He’s a bit chattier than usual, but the conversations are ones he enjoys so you aren’t surprised. Looking around, you see your father staring at you. He’s finally looking at you with something other than disinterested— disgust. 

He’s the only one in the family who feels that way, which is odd. He didn’t grow up hating gay people, maybe he just knew you were gay and hated you so by extension— gay people too. Anything that reminded him of you became tainted and for whatever reason, you’ll never know the real reason why. 

You stare back, daring him to say something. Twenty-odd years, nearly thirty of building resentment and you’ve never acted on it. Never spoke on it. Never once have you told anyone the depth of your hatred for him. Dick knows the surface, he knows the kid version of why poor (Y/n) doesn’t speak to his father anymore. 

The birthdays were inconsequential compared to everything else. 

Your father blinks, his eyes flickering to Dick before they look him up and down. Whatever he’s thinking, whatever is running through his mind is wrong. He can’t fight Dick. He’s not smarter. He’s not richer. He’s not taller. He’s not more built. He’s not better. He’ll never reach the level that Dick has. In any matter. 

He looks back at you, eyes boring into your soul. The glare is nothing, you’ve stared at Thanatos, Darkseid, and world crushers before. Comparatively, he’s the dirt under your boots. 

“Am I a cancer or taurus?” Dick whispers and you look at him, confused. “Your cousin is asking everyone their signs.” He explains. 

“You’re a Pisces,” You correct and he thanks you, laughing at his forgetfulness. Nodding, you lay your head on his chest and let the chatter around you become your own white noise. 

Meanwhile, Dick smiles down at you before staring at your father with a glare. He flexes his hands and your father’s eyes dip down to his knuckles. Dick can tell he sees the bruises and the cuts even if they’re beginning to fade away. Your father gulps and looks away, completely turning his body away from the two of you and Dick returns to his conversation like nothing happened. 

And that’s what he wanted. 

[qtubbo]

I feel like Chayanne and Tallulah’s emotional and social wellbeing were sacrificed in-exchange for total physical safety. They are incredibly isolated from the other eggs, (both show signs lacking social development, while Tallulah’s is more obvious it is definitely an issue for both) and have no one to really rely on outside of Phil. Both have really intense feelings of neglect, Tallulah’s of being abandoned completely out her control and just swept up by the next person willing to take care of her, and Chayanne’s of feelings like in a way he’s at fault for Missa not showing up that he isn’t good enough for him. They have very different emotions towards their neglect and just can’t rely on the other for emotional support, and Phil isn’t emotional aware enough to give that to them.

The only similar feelings towards neglect literally puts them at odds with each other, believing Phil prefers or pays more attention to the other, and once again they can not go to each other for this. There was so much anxiety over them (and especially Tallulah) getting hurt once they properly stuck with Phil they just stopped leaving that circle. Phil doesn’t want them to either, it’s understandable due to previous experience with egg death but is still a flaw and overall harmful to Chay and Tallulah’s social wellbeing.

Chayanne and Tallulah need people that understand them, and are able to comfort them on a more direct level. They honestly just need more people in their circle, more eggs, and people they can wake up for to spend time with. They’ve been on a downward spiral for months, and the isolation they’ve been experiencing has only gotten worse. Barely anyone even really knows what Tallulah’s like just thinking she’s a sweet princess, and there’s no one telling Chayanne that he doesn’t need to give everything for his siblings. They need more people at their door.

[crheativity]

Hi

This is my first time requesting here, and I humbly come to you with a request for some headcanons. Hear me out: The first year squad finding a doodle of them with little hearts around it in the reader's notebook

SUMMARY: The first year squad find a doodle of them with hearts around it in your notebook! How do they react?

WARNINGS: None that I am aware of!

COMMENTS: THIS IS SO CUTE I LOVE THIS PROMPT!! I hope you like this!! Sorry if any of these are out of character, I haven’t written half of these characters before haha. Enjoy!

Ace’s reaction would depend on whoever’s around him.

If you were there, for example, he’d desperately hope you don’t notice how red his ears are or how his voice trembles slightly as he teases you. If you love him so bad, why not just confess already? Seriously, Prefect. You’re so shy it’s almost cute. Please ignore how hard he’s blushing.

If he was on his own, however, it would be a different story. Being left with your sketchbook on his own, he’d decide to flick through it. Seeing your cute little drawings is like an arrow straight to his heart. He’ll need a minute or two in private to recover. Does this mean you like him too?? Wait, “too”? He doesn’t have a crush on you… does he??

Instant K.O, no matter the circumstances. Wow, he never realised how good at drawing you were! And… you drew him?? Deuce isn’t self conscious, but he knows he’s not the most attractive guy around. And yet you wanted to draw him? AND put all those hearts around it?? This will not leave his head for the next 7 years.

He hopes you’ll forgive him, but he’s definitely gonna take a photo. He has to show his mother immediately! He’ll spend the next 2-3 weeks rambling to her at any given opportunity about anything about you. His mother will begin teasing him lightly about when he’s gonna marry you, and oh no, he didn’t realise he liked you that much. Does he??

At first, you thought he was uncomfortable. Then, you see the signs. His ears twitch and his tail start wagging, as he makes some excuse and leaves the scene. He doesn’t mean to offend you, but the way you were looking at him, and the drawing— a guy’s heart can only take so much!

He definitely starts to pay more attention to you from then on. Not that he was ignoring you beforehand! But from now on, you start noticing little things he does for you - carrying your bags for you, mostly, along with quietly leaving cactus flowers on your desk. He doesn’t say it’s him, but who else do you know who grows cacti?

Huh?! That’s supposed to be him—?! Ah, wait, he didn’t mean it like that! Your drawing is good, really, he just wasn’t expecting it! As someone who has issues with his appearance, his reaction will definitely depend on how you draw him. But no matter how you draw him, one thing won’t change:

He is definitely flustered.

I mean, you drew him with hearts for goodness’ sake. Hearts! What else could that mean?

Over the next week or two, Vil and Rook are charmed and delighted when a contrite Epel mumbles—

“How do I ask someone out?”

You are going to go deaf.

The moment Sebek sees those drawings, he’s going to yell in shock. Why in Twisted Wonderland would you draw him like that?? He’s confiscating that notebook. No, it’s not so he can keep the picture! It’s so you learn not to draw people in such an incredibly silly manner! Stop asking him if he wants you to draw him more often!

(Although the answer to that would be yes, but he’d never admit it.)

He shortly learns that taking the book back to Diasomnia was a mistake. Lilia immediately steals it, and, upon seeing the pictures of Sebek, immediately shows Malleus and Silver, much to Sebek’s embarrassment. Cue endless questions about when he’s going to ask you out.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥