#i want to write an invincible fic like this so bad

[quillthrillswriting]

nobody can convince me that medical student x superhero isn’t the absolute cutest pairing EVER.

imagine ur a nerdy med student and ur bf shows up at your house one day and he’s suddenly a medical marvel. u whip out your stethoscope to test his weird new heartrate immediately and later on you sneak him into lab at school so you can test all his vitals and just marvel at all the laws of science he's breaking by just existing.

bonus cuteness, after fights he knocks on ur bedroom window and asks u to help patch him up ☹️🫶 WHY ARE WE NOT SEEING THIS TROPE IN EVERY PIECE OF SUPERHERO MEDIA EVERR

[chahnniesroom]

coming up roses

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: most of the time, you're grateful to have such a good relationship with your older brother, minho. but when you find yourself falling for his best friend, chan, you can't help but be worried how he'll react when he finds out. you soon find yourself struggling with the unexpected consequences of keeping your feelings a secret.

word count: 10.2k

tags/warnings: hanahaki!au (read a/n), brother's best friend!au, hurt/comfort, angst, lots of fluffy sibling dynamics between minho and y/n, bad communication by the reader, mentions of: coughing, blood, and vomiting

read it on ao3 | masterlist

a/n: i have finally written my hanahaki au!!! this took me ages, but i really really wanted to write a fic based on how this post describes hanahaki because i love this interpretation (hanahaki is from supressing feelings instead of unrequited love) a lot more than how it's usually written (not that that version is bad!). i actually wish i could have drawn this out more, but didn't have it in me haha

the phrase "it's all coming up roses" means that everything is going well with someone and i thought it was so perfectly ironic for a hanahaki fic where a character actually has roses coming up in the literal sense.

Minho has always been protective. You had felt cool and invincible as a child, having an older brother that was willing to have your back and scare away anybody that teased you. 

You’re grateful that he cares enough to be so involved in your life, but now that you’re in university, you can’t help but feel a little stifled. Minho takes his role as an older brother very seriously, especially since the two of you have moved out of your family home and are sharing an apartment closer to campus. It's a mixture of doting and enough teasing to drive you crazy.

Growing up, your family home had been the regular haunt of Minho and his friends. It was more common than not to get home from cram school and find the boys either lingering in the nearest convenience store or hanging out in your apartment. You wouldn't say that you were friends with the boys, but you were at least familiar enough that you would say hi to them if you saw them in the hallways and they would offer to walk home with you if you were ever leaving school at the same time.

Starting university had been hard for you, most of your friends had ended up moving to other cities or even going abroad. You, however, had decided to stick closer to home. Your program had a good reputation and your parents had promised that they would help you and Minho get an apartment close to campus as long as you lived together. Minho had readily agreed, he had commuted for his first year and had always complained about how long it took.

It was a difficult adjustment, moving out of your family home, balancing your course load, and making friends. Unlike Minho, who had used dance to find his close group of friends, you didn't have any hobbies that you were particularly passionate about and you weren't naturally outgoing or charismatic.

Especially in the first few weeks of classes, it feels like such a relief whenever you see one of Minho's friends that you latch onto them. It’s kind of awkward at first, especially because you don’t know his friends well enough to speak with them casually, but they get used to your presence. You would even consider some of them to be your friend, especially Seungmin, who shares a class with you, and Chan who usually has his lunch break at the same time as you.

You make your own friends eventually, slowly getting to know some of the people that share your program, but you’re definitely a lot closer to the boys than you were prior to university. While you spent most of your childhood calling Minho and his friends lame, you can now admit that you enjoy spending time with them, although you’d never say it to Minho’s face.

Still, Minho doesn’t always approve of who or where you hang out. Sometimes he’s even nosier than your parents were, always asking you about your schedule and calling when you’re out late. He warns you about spending time one-on-one with men and makes sure that you always have your location shared with him. You tolerate it for the most part, knowing that it’s his way of showing that he cares about you, but sometimes you just find him overbearing.

—

“I’m going out next Saturday,” Minho tells you one evening as you step out of your room to get a glass of water. “You’ll have to figure out something for dinner on your own.”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly a little nervous. “I uh- I also have plans that night.”

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “What are you going to be doing?”

“There’s a party that I was invited to,” you say, biting your lip when you see Minho freeze. You turn your gaze to the ground, but you can still feel Minho's stare intensify. 

“What party,” he demands, not even bothering to frame it as a question.

“Does it matter?” you whine, annoyed by how protective Minho is. It’s even worse that you have an audience, Chan is over and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s watching your conversation curiously.

“Yes.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

“I think it's at Taehoon's,” your voice is barely a whisper. Minho hears you anyway.

“Taehoon?” He repeats in disbelief. You glance up briefly. Minho's ears are flushed bright red and the tendons in his neck are standing out. He's furious. “Taehoon, who is four years older than you? Taehoon, who holds off-campus parties?”

You grimace and don't respond. There’s no way that he’s going to let you go, you resign yourself to a weekend stuck in your room watching dramas while your friends enjoy themselves. 

It’s bad enough that you had to mention Taehoon, who doesn’t have the best reputation, but you’ve forgotten that Minho would easily be able to recognize the type of party that he throws. You haven’t been to many university parties, but even you know that without the dorm restrictions, off-campus parties are often the wildest and were harder to get invited to. It’s not that you particularly care to attend this party in specific, you just don’t want to miss out since all of your friends will be there.

“Minho,” Chan steps in, clasping a heavy hand on your brother's shoulder.

“Who invited you,” Minho seethes, shaking Chan off.

“Just one of my friends,” you deflect.

“Minho,” Chan says again, this time jostling Minho enough that he turns his attention away from you finally. Your body sags in relief. “Chill, we're going to Taehoon's next weekend. It's just a party.”

“Yes, we are going. Not my baby sister! Y/n-ah, the answer is no.”

“Oppa!” you complain. “I'm not a baby anymore!”

“You don't know anything,” Minho hisses at you. 

“We were going to way crazier parties when we were Y/n's age,” Chan interrupts one more time. “Come on, at least we'd be able to keep an eye on her.”

Minho is about to reply when he stops and tilts his head in thought.

“Okay,” he says slowly, turning back to you with a gleam in his eye. “You can go, Y/n.”

“Really?” you brighten instantly even though you’re a little bit suspicious of his sudden change in heart.

Your breath catches in your throat as you excitedly make eye contact with Chan. He winks at you teasingly before turning his full attention back to Minho, who thankfully hadn’t noticed.

“You're coming with us,” Minho says, nodding decisively.

“Are you kidding me,” you reply flatly, all enthusiasm vanishing instantly.

“Yes. I'll make sure that everybody knows not to mess with you and you still can have fun with your silly little friends. Unless you don't want to go anymore?” Minho raises an eyebrow at you.

“Fine, I'll go with you,” you grumble.

“It'll be fun, Y/n! I promise that I won’t let Minho embarrass you,” Chan says, slinging an arm around your shoulder. You try not to shiver as he leans in to whisper to you, close enough that you can almost feel his lips touching your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find something or someone to distract him enough that he’ll forget you’re even there.”

“Okay,” you breathe shakily.

“Hey!” Minho pulls Chan off of you and into a headlock. “Whatever you’re scheming, cut it out. Y/nnie, don’t listen to a single thing this idiot tells you.”

“I try not to listen to idiots,” you say. “That’s why I never follow any of the advice that you give me!”

“Y/n-ah-” Minho starts.

You stick out your tongue at him childishly then dart to your room, slamming the door and locking it behind you so that Minho can’t follow you. The sound of Chan’s resulting laugh echoes through your head for the rest of the day.

—

By the time the weekend rolls around, you're a little worried that you’ve caught a cold. Your throat is achy and talking too much makes you cough, but you're not feeling any other symptoms so you don't think you're actually sick. Minho wasn't exactly pleased when you told him you were still planning on going, but he kept his word and didn't try to convince you otherwise.

Your friends are all getting ready together at one of their dorms, but your brother was adamant that he wanted you to go to the party with him and his friends. You're more comfortable getting changed and doing your makeup at home anyway, so it's not a big deal, but it's still not the same. 

Conversation pauses when you finally exit your room. Only Chan, Hyunjin, and Minho are still in the living area since most of Minho's friends are crowded around your apartment's entryway, shuffling to get their jackets and put on their shoes. Their eyes widen and you see Hyunjin choke on the drink he had just taken a sip of. You tug at the hem of your skirt slightly, suddenly feeling self conscious. 

You've worn this outfit before with friends and while it's definitely not the most conservative option in your closet, it's nowhere near as revealing as what you expect other girls will be wearing. It's just that you're not used to being around Minho's friends when you've put so much effort into your appearance and are showing off a bit of skin. They’ve seen you at your worst and are most familiar with the comfortable sweats and hoodies that you usually wear around your home.

Minho recovers the fastest. In a flash, he's made his way to you and has a death grip on your arm, trying to drag you back into your room. You resist, digging your heels in to try and make it harder for him, but it barely even slows him down.

“Oppa!”

“You are not leaving looking like this,” Minho huffs through gritted teeth.

“Minho-ya, come on. We're going to be late if you make her change,” Chan calls out. It draws the attention of the rest of the boys, who turn to look at the commotion. You hear Jisung wolf-whistle teasingly which only makes things worse. Minho's hand tightens even more around you, hard enough that you're sure it's going to bruise, and he whips around to glare at Jisung.

“Hyung, it's fine. Y/n-ah looks good,” Seungmin chimes in, before winking at you. You groan internally, knowing from the look in his eye that you're not going to like what he says next. “Is there a boy that you're trying to impress tonight?”

“No!” you deny immediately, still trying to pull your arm from your brother's grip to no avail. Your chest tightens at the idea of being forced to stay at home. Minho immediately latches onto the idea that Seungmin has thrown out, his expression darkening even further.

“Is it true?” he questions you.

“Oppa, I promise, I'm just matching with my friends. Which you would know if we actually go to the party!”

“If there is, you better tell me,” he warns.

“Yes, yes,” you groan. “If there was, which there isn't! You're just wasting time now.”

“At least put on a jacket, you’re going to be cold.”

“Fine.” You wrench your arm out of Minho's grasp and stalk to your room. You grab the first jacket you see, intent on ditching it the second that you get to the party, then head straight to the door, breezing past Minho on your way. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” he says in a flat voice that says he is anything but.

—

Your apartment is not too far away from the party, so it’s not long before everyone is unloading from their cars and approaching the party. You can hear the bass pounding even from outside the building and you’re sure that there will be a number of neighbours that file noise complaints by the end of the night.

When you make it in, your friends greet you enthusiastically, but are all a little bit weird, fixing their hair more than usual and giggling nervously. You’re not close with all of the girls that are in the group, some of them you can’t even recall if you’ve met before, but you can still tell that everyone is acting strangely. 

It's not until you turn around that you realise that Minho has practically stationed himself behind you and is glowering at anybody who looks your way too long. After years of being on the receiving end of his glares, you’ve grown immune, but everybody else is clearly at least a little intimidated.

“Oppa,” you hiss. He barely spares you a glance. “You're not seriously going to babysit me all night, are you?”

“I'm letting you do what you want so you should let me do whatever I want,” he replies primly. 

You know there's no convincing him on your own. From across the room, you manage to catch Chan's eye and nod your head in Minho's direction. Luckily, he knows exactly what you're trying to say and makes his way over quickly to stand beside Minho.

“Minho-ya, you don't have a drink yet?” he asks, before pointedly taking a sip of his own cup.

“I asked Yongbokkie and Seungmin to make me one,” he replies, unphased.

“And you trust them that much?”

At the same time, the two of them glance over to the kitchen. You follow their gaze to find Felix, Seungmin, as well as Jisung mixing together a concoction that looks not only toxic, but also disgusting. You want to gag when you see them add in soju, hot sauce, milk, and maraschino cherries in quick succession. That’s not even considering whatever they’ve already put into the cup before you looked over. There's no way they actually think the combination could taste good and Minho must agree because he stands up and starts stalking towards them, swearing to himself the whole time.

After Minho leaves, Chan wanders a bit closer to you and brushes a hand against your shoulder lightly. You have to fight the urge to lean into his touch.

“I told you, I got you tonight. Don't worry about your brother breathing down your neck,” he says lowly. Just like when he first promised to distract your brother, Chan winks at you, then follows after Minho.

You force yourself not to stare after him, cheeks flushing as the rest of the girls squeal. Some of your friends have met Minho in passing a couple times, but not any of his friends. Your brother's dance crew has become wildly popular this year, but luckily it's not widely known that you are close with them. You prefer to keep it that way, but it seems like revealing your relation to them is unavoidable tonight. It's just your luck that some of these girls are among the ‘fans’ that your brother has somehow amassed.

“Y/nnie,” a girl beside you pouts. “How come you've never mentioned you know Lee Minho and Bang Chan before? I can't believe you've never introduced him to us!”

“I-” you splutter, still flustered by how close Chan was to you.

“I saw you show up with all eight of them,” another girl interupts. Someone else gasps as if you've committed a serious crime. “You actually know them?”

“Well, yeah-”

“I heard that you called Minho oppa, are you two dating?” the first girl asks.

“What? No!” you quickly deny, disgusted by the very thought of that.

“Oh come on, you don't think that they're ridiculously attractive?” someone else chimes in. The whole group murmurs in agreement. They have more and more questions for you and start to talk over each other.

“Minho's my brother! As in, we share the same parents, that’s why I call him oppa.” you exclaim, before things can spiral further. “And ew, he is definitely not attractive!”

The group is stunned into silence for a moment before exploding in noise. There are girls offended on Minho’s behalf, some asking what him and his friends are like, and others who beg you to introduce them.

Your best friend chooses that moment to speak up, reminding you why she is one of your favourite people in the world.

“Let’s play a drinking game!” she exclaims loudly. She holds up a couple bottles of soju that you’re not sure where she’s been hiding and starts filling up everyone’s cup. Luckily the girls are easily distracted by alcohol, enough that the topic is changed without too much of a fuss. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

—

After a few drinks, you eventually excuse yourself to the bathroom. You’re definitely on your way to being tipsy, but not enough that you feel unsteady on your feet. The loud music makes it a bit difficult to focus and people have filled every corner of the house, but you’re somehow able to find an unoccupied bathroom.

You take an extra moment to splash yourself with water before you leave, you’re feeling a bit sticky from sweating and when one of your friends spilled a bit of their drink on you. When you finish, you swing open the door and immediately apologise when you narrowly miss hitting a guy who has been waiting in the hall. He waves it off, but doesn’t make a move to enter the bathroom, instead stepping a bit closer to you. 

“What’s a pretty little girl like you doing here all on her own?” he slurs, crowding further into your personal space. It’s dark, but you can still tell that his eyes are red and unfocused and hair is matted to his forehead. He's drunk. 

You swallow hard, trying not to panic. You have to treat this situation delicately and somehow make your disinterest clear without provoking or offending him.

“I’m not alone.” You can’t help but laugh nervously, taking a step back. Your stomach churns when your shoulder knocks into the wall behind you and you realise you have nowhere else to go. “My friends are actually probably wondering what’s taking me so long, I’ll just-”

“S’okay, I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if you were gone a little longer.” He leans in until he’s close enough that you can smell the sourness of his sweat and the alcohol on his breath. “I just wanna get t’know you a bit better.”

He smiles down at you in a way that he must think is attractive. It makes you want to vomit.

“No thanks, I’m just going to head-” Your voice is shrill with panic, you can barely recognize it.

You try to shuffle to the side, but the guy slaps his hand against the wall, trapping you even more. Your heartbeat pounds in your chest. He reaches out and traces one of your cheeks with a clumsy hand, ignoring the way that you cringe away.

“Aww c’mon darling, don’t be like that. I can promise you a good time.”

You know a bit of self defense, but this is far from a fair fight. This guy is significantly taller than you and probably double your weight. Even drunk, he can likely overpower you without even trying.

Before you can make a move, an arm slings around the drunk guy’s shoulder, jostling him to the side. Your heart sinks. There was a small chance that you’d have been able to escape, but not if you’re outnumbered.

“Hey mate,” the new person says. Your head shoots up at the familiar voice. Chan. “You seem pretty sloshed.”

Chan nudges the guy again, this time creating a little space that makes you feel less trapped. His body language is loose and relaxed, but the expression on his face is another story. His gaze is intense as he scans you, softening by a fraction when you nod that you’re fine.

“M’not,” the guy argues. He squints up at Chan. “Do I even know you? Get lost, I’m busy right now.”

“Why don’t you go outside and get some air? It’s gotten pretty stuffy in here.” It’s not a suggestion. Chan’s words are friendly, but the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

The guy opens his mouth, likely to protest, but promptly shuts it when he sees the look on Chan’s face. The two of you watch as he stumbles away without a fight, bumping into a few other people in his haste to leave. Now that you’re alone, Chan backs up, giving you more space to breathe.

“Sorry about that,” Chan says, hand scratching at the back of his neck nervously. “Didn't want to be too aggressive. It just- you looked like you needed some help.”

“Some people just don’t know how to take no for an answer,” you say quietly. It’s just another thing to be grateful for when Chan doesn’t comment on the shakiness of your voice. Instead, his expression darkens further before he composes himself.

“Are you okay?” he asks tentatively. 

“Yeah, you came at just the right time.” You look away, a bit embarrassed that he had to step in and rescue you, but he puts a finger under your chin and uses it to turn your face back to him. It feels so different from when the drunk guy touched you that you don’t want him to stop. His eyes search yours for a moment and whatever he finds must satisfy him.

“You should probably rejoin your friends.” Chan starts to step away, but you reach out and snag his sleeve before he can go. 

“Chan-oppa.”

He pauses, turning back to look at you again.

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice, although you’re not sure what he’s hoping you say.

“Please don’t tell my brother about this,” you plead. Chan’s expression drops a little, clearly that’s not what he wanted to hear, but he’s still quick to reassure you.

“No, yeah, of course. I won’t say anything.”

“I don’t want him to worry about me.”

“Of course,” Chan repeats.

“And… thank you.” You rise up on your toes and kiss his cheek quickly, then slip away towards where your friends are before you can see what his reaction is. 

—

It takes a few days for you to recover from the party. You hadn’t drunk enough to be hungover, but just remembering your interaction with Chan makes you want to bury yourself in your bed and never leave. Luckily Minho hasn't questioned your change in behaviour much, but you can tell that he's getting sick of your wallowing, even if he doesn't know the reason behind it. 

“Yah, Y/n-ah!” Minho bangs on your door. “We’re heading out for gukbap in 5 minutes, are you coming?”

He doesn’t specify who the ‘we’ is, you know who to expect. Of course, Chan is included. It’s easy to make a decision.

“Go without me!” you yell back.

“Eh? Open up.”

“Just come in, it’s unlocked.”

You hear the door open and Minho approaches. He prods at your prone form with one of his feet.

“What’s up with you? You never say no to gukbap.”

“Nothing!” you groan.

“You’ve been acting strange since that stupid party, what are you hiding?” He pokes at you again, this time a bit harder.

“Oppa,” you complain, lifting yourself out of your blankets to swat at his foot. “I promise that I have nothing to hide, I just don’t feel like hanging out with your friends today.”

“They haven’t done anything, have they?” Minho asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Channie-hyung asked me if you were doing okay.”

“No! I-” you choke on your spit in your haste to answer, leading to a coughing fit that leaves you with tears gathering in your eyes. You clear your throat roughly then continue. “No, Chan-oppa and the rest of your friends have all been nice to me.”

“Oppa?” 

Whoops, you hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

“What?” you whine. “You’re the one who forces me to hang out with them all the time! You told me to stop being so formal around them. They kept telling me too, it got really annoying.”

“Hmm,” Minho huffs, not quite convinced.

“Really,” you insist. “I just don’t want to go out today, I promise.”

“Okay,” Minho says reluctantly before he gets uncharacteristically serious. “But you know, you're my little sister, you can always come to me if something or someone is bothering you right?”

“I- yeah of course, oppa.” You feel kind of touched, not used to Minho openly showing that he cares about you, even though you know he does. It's enough that your throat feels tight with emotion, but you force yourself to speak through it. “Thank you. I always know that I can count on you.”

“I'm the only one allowed to mess with you,” he says sweetly, ruffling your hair so that it sticks up the way he knows you hate. “If anyone else does, I'll make sure that they regret the day that they were born.”

You try to ignore the guilt that curls in your stomach as you watch Minho leave. You hate hiding things from him, but you're still confused by your own emotions and you're worried by how he'll react.  Minho has always been your biggest supporter in everything except for your love life, which he is strictly against no matter how much you try to reason with him. 

You can’t imagine how much worse it would be if he found out that the person you’re interested in is one of his friends. You’ve heard him warn the whole group that you were off limits. He’d use a joking tone, but everyone knew that he was actually serious about it.

In the end, it doesn’t even matter because you’re almost certain that nothing will ever come of your feelings, Chan is way out of your league so there’s no point in even imagining a relationship together.

—

Unsurprisingly, your attempts to avoid Chan fail pretty much instantly. You're not sure how the stars aligned exactly opposite to what you were hoping, but the studio that Minho's (and therefore Chan's) dance crew uses had a schedule conflict that ended up shifting their practice times.

To your dismay, it works out so that multiple times a week, you're leaving campus at the exact same time as your brother. That in itself is not much of an issue, it's the fact that Chan lives close enough to you that the three of you commute back together. To make matters worse, Minho always invites Chan over to have dinner and Chan always accepts.

You can't fault Minho though, you know that he invites him over partly because he wants to hang out with Chan and partly because he knows that Chan might end up working throughout the night in an empty apartment and completely forget to eat. It does also bring you comfort, knowing that Chan is being cared for, that he's eating well and taking time in his day to not worry about school or dance. It's also nice for you, you've grown so used to preparing and eating dinner on your own that it's started to feel more like a chore than something to look forward to.

It's just hard. You haven't had a private conversation with Chan since the party, but you know that he wants to talk to you. 

You were so sure that he would never reciprocate your feelings, but now, you're starting to doubt yourself.

While you're on the bus home, listening to your music, you sometimes glance over to find Chan staring at you, though he's quick to look away. When the three of you are cooking in the kitchen, he's more affectionate, resting a light hand on your waist or back when he passes behind you or nudging your shoulder playfully after he makes a joke. During dinner, he makes sure that you're also engaged in conversation, asking about your classes or the few clubs that you're involved in. He sometimes brings you and Minho little treats from the convenience store and they're always in your favourite flavours.

The thing is, Chan is friendly and generous to everyone that he meets. It's hard to tell if you're reading too much into your interactions with him or if he's actually paying you more interest than usual. You've never heard of Chan dating, actually you can't recall if any of the boys in Minho's dance crew have ever had partners, but it's not for a lack of interested parties.

At times, it feels so impossible that you're embarrassed to even admit to yourself how much you like Chan. You're not blind, you know that there's a fair share of girls who are just as delusional as you are, giggling when he looks over and insisting to their friends that he's interested in them because he helped open the door for them or waved as he walked past.

In fact, some of the very moments that you keep closest to your heart sound so similar to experiences that you've heard other girls gushing about that you hate yourself for having hope that Chan would be interested in you of all people.

It's easier to pretend that there's nothing going on between the two of you. You know that if you were to confess your feelings to Chan, something you would never do, that he would be nice about it. You can almost imagine it, how flustered he would be, making up some kind of excuse about not being interested in dating because he was too devoted to school and dance. He would promise not to tell your brother about it and assure you that it wouldn't change the way that he treats you.

You've run through this hypothetical situation so many times that not only have you experienced enough mortification for a lifetime, but you've convinced yourself even further to lock your feelings up inside of you. There's no point in confessing when you're so sure that nothing will ever come from it.

—

One day, Chan is over as usual and the three of you are cooking in your tiny kitchen, elbows bumping and arms reaching over as everyone tries to make do with the small space available. 

The food is almost ready when Minho's phone rings, the special song that he has saved for Jisung. He picks it up instantly, shoving the pair of chopsticks that he's using into your hands in his haste. You can't hear what Jisung says, but Minho rolls his eyes and leaves to his bedroom, lecturing Jisung about something the whole way there.

“Hey,” Chan says softly. You try to keep yourself busy, picking up dishes and putting them into the sink for washing, but he tugs at your wrist lightly so that you face him. “Is everything good with you?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding quickly. 

“You just seem, I don't know, distracted or something these days.”

“No, it's-” You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “Thank you for asking, really. But I'm fine.”

“Okay,” Chan says, still looking concerned. “Listen, I know we haven't-”

You've never been so glad to hear Minho re-enter the room. 

“Eh? You guys haven't even finished with the food?” he complains in a whiny voice that he only really uses around Chan. “What have you guys been doing this whole time? Come on, Y/n-ah, go set the table. Hyung, I know you can't cook to save your life, but at least scoop out the rice into our bowls. I'm hungry!”

Chan drops the subject for the rest of the night, but you know that you’ve only delayed the conversation. 

—

The next day, you wake up to a dry and achy throat. This isn’t that unusual, you suffer from seasonal allergies that sometimes block your nose and force you to breathe through your mouth as you sleep. This time, it feels different. Your throat has been bothering you more than usual the past couple of weeks and while drinking a glass of water does help you wake up, it doesn’t dull the pain that persists. 

You shuffle out of bed to wash up, then head straight to the kitchen, brewing yourself a steaming mug of yuja tea. The taste is comforting, but doesn't help as much as you hoped it would. 

You get ready for school quickly, hoping to leave before Minho wakes up. You know that your classes start before him today, but he's always been an early riser, preferring to work out or spend time in the dance studio before it gets too busy.

“Y/n-ah,” Minho calls out, right as you're starting to put on your shoes. “You were going to leave without saying bye?”

“I didn’t know if you were awake,” you say, wincing when your voice still sounds rough.

“You didn’t even check.” Minho steps out of his room and unlocks the front door for you as you pull on your backpack.

“I was in a rush-” you start to say, but the rest of your sentence doesn’t manage to make its way out. Clearing your throat only irritates it further, triggering a cough that you can’t contain.

“Y/n,” Minho says, genuine concern shining in his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

He raises a hand to your forehead, but you slap it away weakly before he can check your temperature.

“I'm fine, I just have this stupid sore throat that won’t go away,” you reassure him. “I don’t think I’m sick though. The air has been so dry lately, I think I need a humidifier in my room while I sleep.”

“Aww.” Minho pinches your cheek and goes straight back to teasing you. “My delicate baby sister.”

“Ugh, forget I said anything.” You push your brother away. “Now let me go, I'm going to be late for class.”

Minho doesn't say anything in response, but the next night when you go to sleep, a new humidifier has been installed on your bedside table. 

—

In the next few weeks you find that the discomfort in your throat that has been plaguing you has evolved into something else. There’s a persistent feeling of something caught in your throat and you find yourself with a lingering dry cough that no amount of tea or medication can relieve.

One night, you wake up feeling like you can't breathe. In a panic, you untangle yourself from your sheets and get yourself into a sitting position. The change in position allows a deep cough to rattle through you, enough that you’re finally able to suck in a breath. 

Instead of phlegm or maybe a piece of food that could have been stuck in your throat, you feel something velvety in your mouth. You blindly reach for your bedside table to turn on your lamp and wonder if you’re still asleep when you find a single, dark red rose petal in the palm of your hand.

You squeeze your eyes shut and pinch yourself, hard, but when your eyes open, nothing has changed.

Suddenly, you’re wide awake and a cold sweat starts to form, making your pyjamas stick to your back.

You’ve heard of hanahaki disease, of course you have, but you’ve never known someone who has suffered from it. 

It makes sense, you’ve had a sore, scratchy throat and dry cough for weeks now with no other cold symptoms.

You can’t believe it though. 

Hanahaki disease was almost like an urban legend at this point, having been exaggerated and twisted so much in media that you’ve almost forgotten the reality of it. While most of the shows and books that cover this have a somewhat romantic take on it, declaring that it's caused by unrequited love, you know the real cause is your refusal to admit your feelings.

You knew that lying, to Chan, to your brother, to yourself, would have consequences. You had heard stories about how people who kept their feelings a secret were slowly choked by them, petals and leaves representing every time you had held yourself back. 

You just never thought it would happen to you.

Sure, you were interested in Chan. You found him kind, hard-working, funny, and attractive, but it's not like you were in love with him.

You crumple the petal in your hand and throw it into your garbage can. If this is your first time finding petals, you still have months until things progress to be more serious. A part of you hopes that this was some sort of one-off, that this would be the first and last time your body creates any flowers.

You turn off the light and pull the covers tightly over your body, praying that you'll wake up in the morning and find that this was all some crazy stress-related dream.

You don’t fall asleep for the rest of the night.

—

You had thought that you were pretty good at covering up your tracks, but it doesn’t take long before Minho starts piecing things together. It doesn't help over the past few days, your symptoms have steadily worsened. You’ve found yourself coughing up petals every day, enough that you're starting to grow concerned about how quickly things are progressing.

It starts when he calls you into your shared bathroom one evening. You don’t think much of it, until you find him staring at something on the ground.

“What’s this?” he asks. 

“It’s a rose petal,” you say easily, stooping down to pinch it between two fingers and dangle it in front of his face. “You’ve never seen one before?”

Minho rolls his eyes at that, swatting at you half-heartedly. You manage to dodge out of the way, but lose your grip on the petal. It flutters to the floor, but Minho swipes it out of the air.

“What’s it from? Is a boy giving you flowers?” he asks warningly, crushing the petal in his grip.

“Oppa, stop jumping to conclusions!” you groan. “It’s from a bath bomb that I tried out, I guess I missed this one when I was cleaning up.”

“Since when do you take baths?” 

“Since I got a bunch of bath bombs on sale. I thought it would be relaxing.” This time you’re the one rolling your eyes. “But if I knew that it would lead to you interrogating me, I wouldn’t have bothered buying them in the first place.”

“Fine, sorry, just- just clean up next time you’re going to make a mess in the bathroom,” Minho says, before throwing the petal at you and leaving you alone.

You watch as the petal falls onto the tiles, crumpled into a little ball from being in Minho’s fist. When you reach out to pick it up, your fingers are trembling. You’ve never been a good liar, but it seems that at least this time, your acting skills have been good enough to fool Minho.

You hear the front door close and you finally give in to the cough that you've been trying to suppress the whole conversation. 

Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop the coughs that wrack your body. This time, even after you spit out a couple of petals, it still feels like there’s something stuck in your throat. After what feels like forever, that something dislodges and you find yourself holding a tiny rosebud complete with a short stem.

You stare at it in horror, you haven’t had more than petals until now. There’s a deep sense of dread that fills you. You thought that you’d have more time, it hasn’t even been a month since you had started coughing up anything.

You throw the flower into the toilet, flushing quickly so that the red petals swirl out of sight. Even after you rinse your mouth, there’s a tinge of iron that lingers.

—

You don't often visit the boys when they're at dance practice, in fact you actively avoid going to the studio. It's one thing to know that their dance crew is quite popular and another to experience it yourself.

But today you don't have much of a choice, in your rush to leave for an early lab, you completely forgot to pack an assignment that was due the same morning and had begged Minho to bring it to campus for you. You were lucky that he hadn't left the apartment yet, but he only brought it on the condition that you brought him coffee and picked your assignment up from him directly. 

It's just before 10am when you head over, which means that there's a lot of students waiting for their dance class to start, but it still surprises you to find a fairly significant crowd outside of the studio that Minho had texted you to go to. You can hear music faintly from the closed door and, as you push your way closer, find that there's a large horizontal window that has caught everyone's attention.

You get more than a fair share of dirty looks as you squeeze through the crowd and one girl even stops you as you move to open the door. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” you say politely.

“You're not allowed in,” she says in a haughty voice. Her acrylic nails bite into your arm, surprisingly strong for how thin she is. “Their practice isn't over.”

“You're not allowed in, I don’t need an invitation,” you say under your breath, rolling your eyes. You must not have said it quietly enough because she gasps dramatically.

“Please, you think you're special?” She looks you up and down dismissively. “You wish any of the boys would talk to someone like you.”

“You must be referring to yourself, they would never want to have to associate with someone as desperate and pathetic as you,” you snap, shouldering your way past her. She squeals, but finally lets go of you, maybe hoping that you'll get in trouble for interrupting.

You open the door just enough to slide through and carefully close it behind you so that you don’t disturb them. It’s mesmerizing, watching them all dance. They’ve been together for so long that it looks so natural for them to move in sync, although you know it’s more to do with long hours of practice and Minho’s eagle eyes pointing out any mistakes. 

None of the boys notice you at first, caught up in the chorus of the song that they're practicing, but Jeongin catches sight of you after a moment.

“Noona!” he says excitedly, abandoning the dance to run over to you. “Is that coffee for me?”

“Innie if you drink that coffee you will not survive long enough for the caffeine to make it into your bloodstream,” your brother warns from across the room. 

Jeongin falters at that, but when you shake the cup enticingly in front of him, he throws caution to the wind and takes a sip.

“Yah! What did I say, Yang Jeongin?” Is the only warning Jeongin gets before he’s chased around the room by an angry Minho. The familiar chaos is almost enough to lift your mood and make you forget about the terrible interaction you had outside.

“You look annoyed, did something happen?” Chan asks, approaching you from where he had gone to turn off the music on his laptop. You curse how observant he is, you thought you had done a pretty good job of hiding how you felt.

“Nothing, just had a weird encounter with a defensive fan out there. It's like you guys are idols or something” you joke, nodding your head towards the window where people are watching curiously. You can still feel the sting from the girl’s nails digging into your wrist and when you lift it up to examine it more closely, see a little bit of blood beading at the deepest crescents.

“They’re not fans,” Chan says in disgust, before he does a double take. “I- you’re bleeding?”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, wiping at the wounds but only succeeding at smudging the blood so that it looks even worse. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Come here, we have a first aid kit somewhere. We don’t want it to get infected.” 

Chan takes your hand delicately, making sure to avoid the inflamed areas, and leads you over to the bench closest to where all their bags are piled up. You sneak a glance over to the girl that stopped you and can’t help but feel smug when you find her, pale and slack-jawed. Chan sits you down, only leaving your side to pull the blinds down on the window and dig around until he finds the first aid kit.

“Sorry, it might sting a bit,” Chan apologises as he pulls out the disinfectant wipes.

You peek at Chan and your breath catches in your throat at how concentrated he looks, brows slightly furrowed as he tries to gently dab at the scratches. Most of his hair is hidden under a baseball cap, but you can see a little duck tail forming at the base of his neck which draws attention to the trails of sweat that disappear under the collar of his shirt. You must make some kind of noise, because Chan looks up, eyes wide with concern.

“Sorry, does it hurt a lot?”

“No, you're good,” you say, cheeks flushing.

“I’m almost done,” he says, searching around for a bandage. He’s just finished applying it, tongue sticking out in concentration, when you hear someone else approach.

“What's going on here?” Minho asks.

“Nothing!” you say at the same time that Chan says, “I was just helping Y/n put on a bandage.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Minho's eyes widen and he reaches out to take a look at your wrist, even though he won't be able to see anything under the bandage. You pull your sleeve down and stand up in a rush.

“It’s nothing, really oppa! I'm sorry, I have to go, my class is starting soon!” you call out, lying through your teeth as you run out of the room, clutching your assignment. “Thank you, Channie-oppa!”

You rush into the nearest bathroom, not even caring that there are people in the other stalls, and throw up an explosion of petals. By the time that you finally make it to class, just in time, your throat stings more than the wound on your wrist.

—

You start trying to avoid Minho and well, you never really stopped in your attempts to avoid Chan.

You leave early in the morning, only come back well after the sun has set, and do everything in your power to contain your cough when you're at home.

You know you're not solving the problem, only prolonging it, but every conversation, every lie, seems to accelerate the growth of the roses that have taken up residence in your lungs. You know that it's not helping, that keeping this secret is just strengthening the flowers that are slowly choking you. It's just that no matter how many conversations you've rehearsed in your head or texts that you've drafted, something seems to stop you.

You're just so so scared that waking up with a mouthful of petals and thorns, bloody coughing fits that you can't prevent, and the raspy tone of your voice that has developed is preferrable. 

As much as you hate him sometimes, you've looked up to your brother for your whole life. You don't know what you would do without him and the thought of losing him terrifies you beyond belief.

You don't always get what you want, though. It's not long until Minho confronts you again.

It's not really a surprise, when you look in the mirror these days, you're shocked by your appearance. Your face is pale and drawn, you have deep bags from not being able to sleep at night, and you've lost weight since most solid food irritates your throat enough to trigger a coughing fit. Add that to the fact that you know your apartment's walls are paper thin which means it's impossible that your brother can't hear you coughing at all hours of the day.

“Y/n-ah. I know that you're not doing well right now. Don't even try to deny it,” Minho says. He closes his eyes for a moment before seemingly deciding something. “I- you don't have to tell me what it is. I would prefer it if you did, but just- what can I do to help?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to reassure him that you're fine, but regret it when you start choking instead. You lurch upright and head directly to the bathroom, Minho trailing behind you worriedly. 

“I-” Trying to talk just makes it worse. You're used to it now, the way that the thorns seem to claw at your throat on their way up, how even the brush of soft petals against the raw flesh hurts, the metallic taste that you can't seem to get rid of no matter how many times you wash your mouth. Still, it doesn't make it easier.

Minho watches in silence as you heave over the toilet. He puts a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles to try and soothe some of your pain. Your eyes water, partially from coughing and partly because you're mortified that your brother is finally witnessing this.

You throw up finally, mostly petals and blood, which is a relief. The stems have been the most painful by far, each thorn digging into the already abused flesh of your throat.

When you finally finish rinsing your mouth, he's holding out a tissue which you accept gratefully. Minho doesn't comment until you've finally caught your breath.

“Y/n-ah-”

“Yeah,” you say miserably, tearing at the leftover tissue in your hand. Your voice both sounds and feels like you've been swallowing gravel. “Hanahaki, who would have guessed that I'd be a romantic at heart?”

You laugh weakly. Minho doesn't.

“I knew it. All those times you locked yourself in the bathroom with the water running… That stupid bath bomb story you told me… I hear you up at all hours, coughing your lungs out… You’ve been hiding it this whole time, haven’t you?” he accuses you.

“I can explain-”

“Go on then,” Minho says impatiently.

“I- It's-” You bury your face in your hands, unable to get the words out. “It's stupid.”

“Y/n-ah, it's obviously not stupid. Whatever it is, it's bothering you enough that it's hurting you physically.”

“I like someone,” you say in a small voice. “Okay? That's it.”

“Why won't you tell them?” Minho demands. “Why won't you tell me who it is?”

“No, I can't. There’s no point, it wouldn't work out,” you insist, shaking your head.

“What are you talking about? No point? Y/n, can't you see it's killing you.” You've never heard Minho sound so desperate. He's angry, he's frustrated, but most of all, he's scared, you realise.

“Oppa-” you say cautiously, but you're interrupted by yet another coughing fit. You can't hide it from your brother when the tissue that you've used to cover your mouth is tinged red by the time you're done. You can feel there's still something lodged in your throat, it takes everything in you to ignore the urge to continue coughing to try and get it out.

“I can't lose you, Y/n,” he whispers. Your eyes widen when you realise his are filled with tears. You don't think you've ever seen Minho cry. “I can't let you do this to yourself, please.”

“I need more time-”

“You don’t have time!” Minho interrupts frantically. “Have you even seen a doctor about this?”

You look away guiltily at the question.

“No, but-”

“Are you kidding me?” Minho says exasperatedly. “We’re booking you an appointment right now.”

“Is it going to make a difference? I know what’s wrong-” As if to prove your point, you can’t stop yourself from coughing again. “It's not that bad yet, oppa,” you lie, the croakiness of your voice giving you away.

“Y/n-”

“I promise! I promise that I am trying my best. I- if it doesn't get better, I'll see a doctor in two weeks.” 

“Not good enough, Y/n-ah. If you can't tell me, at least talk to whoever you like,” he pleads. 

“Fine,” you say. “I- I'll talk to him in the next few days. And if the flowers don't go away, then I will see a doctor.”

Minho lets out a heavy sigh of relief, pulling you into his arms for a tight hug. You try your best to sink into his embrace, but just can't ignore the guilt that seems to consume you.

—

Chan catches you outside your last lecture that night. You're not sure how exactly he found out your schedule, but you exit the lecture hall to find him leaning against the wall directly across from the doors.

It could just be that he knows someone else taking this course or that he has a class in the same room, but somehow you know that he's waiting for you. Not ready for this conversation, you try to keep your head down to pass by unnoticed, but you know that he's spotted you when he calls out your name.

“Hey.” Chan reaches out, tugging on your sleeve without actually touching you. You turn around, stomach sinking slightly. Yes, you had promised your brother that you'd confess to Chan, but you didn't think it would happen so soon. “You're heading home right?”

“Yeah,” you say warily. “What's up?”

“I'm going back too, can we walk together?”

“Sure,” you agree slowly, not able to think of a way to get out of this situation. 

The two of you walk in silence towards your bus stop. Chan's being uncharacteristically awkward and you're not sure what to expect.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says suddenly.

“Okay?”

Chan stays quiet for so long that you’re about to ask if he’s okay.

“I like you,” he blurts out, right as you open your mouth to speak.

“What?” Of everything he could have said, this is what you're expecting the least. There’s no way that you heard him correctly, you must need to get your ears checked.

“I like you,” Chan repeats. You blink up at him, stunned. “But if you don't feel the same way, it's- don't worry about it. I promise that I'll respect it. I'll back off and everything will stay the same. I just wanted to get it off my chest. And maybe, I don't know if I was just making things up, but I thought that you liked me too?”

“You can't,” is all that escapes your mouth.

“I… can't like you?” Chan asks, baffled.

“No, it's- you can't- we can't,” you stammer. “My brother-"

“What, you think I'm afraid of Minho-ya?” Chan asks cockily, raising an eyebrow in a way that you can't help but find attractive.

“I just- he always said-”

“Y/n-ah,” Chan says gently. “I like you and I don't care what your dumb brother thinks. He can complain all he wants, but as long as you're happy, I'm happy. And-”

“You actually like me?” you interrupt.

“Yes, is it really so hard to believe?”

“I just always thought, you only saw me as Minho-oppa's baby sister,” you say glumly, kicking at the ground.

“I did when you were younger for sure,” Chan laughs. “But since university, I feel like I've actually gotten to know the real you, to see how funny, talented, kind, and thoughtful you are. I like you for you, not because I'm friends with your brother.” 

“But there's so many other girls you could choose from that are much prettier or smarter than me,” you argue, still not wanting to get your hopes up.

“Y/n-ah, are you actually trying to convince me not to like you?” Chan pouts. “If you don't feel the same way, just say so, it's okay.”

“No! I-” you trail off, suddenly feeling incredibly shy.

“You what?” Chan prompts you gently.

“I like you too.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you know that he's heard you from the smile that grows on his face.

“What was that?” Chan asks cheekily.

“I said I like you too!” you say louder this time, before hiding your face in your hands so that you don't have to look at Chan. 

Even though you're beyond embarrassed, you feel better than you have in a long time, giddy with the idea that Chan actually reciprocates your feelings.

But when you breathe in, instead of relief, there's still that familiar tightness in your chest. 

You have to talk to Minho, you realise. As much as you've been keeping it a secret from Chan, you know that a majority of your inner turmoil stems from hiding our feelings from the closest person in your life. You had hoped that talking to Chan would instantly cure your hanahaki, but clearly you were wrong.

—

For the first time in weeks, you purposely seek out Minho. Luckily, you don't have to look far, when you get home, Minho is stretched out on the couch watching anime.

“I told him,” you say. Minho immediately sits upright, turning his attention to you. “The guy I like. But it didn’t help, the flowers are still-”

“And he feels the same way?” Minho interrupts you.

“I- yes, he’s the one that confessed first.”

“Wow,” Minho whistles. “Who’s crazy enough to have feelings for you?”

You had already made up your mind that you had to tell your brother, but his reaction makes you even more confident in your decision. Maybe it's the way that Minho is treating this so lightly, but you’re no longer nervous to say it out loud.

“It's Chan-oppa,” you say, bracing yourself. 

“Chan?” Minho repeats, shell shocked.

“Channie-hyung? Like-” he takes out his phone and pulls up the photo he has of Chan in his contacts.

Chan has the craziest bedhead and his face is puffy from sleep in the photo. He's squinting up at the camera, a hand coming up to try and block his face. He looks adorable.

Minho watches your face carefully as you visibly melt a bit looking at the picture.

“You really do like him, huh,” he says in a quiet voice, no longer joking around. “This whole time?”

“Yeah.” You look down. “I'm sorry.”

“That's it? That's the person you've been so scared of telling me that you liked?"

“I- yes? You don't think it's weird?” you ask tentatively, looking back up at your brother. “The two of us being together? He's one of your best friends.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely weird.” Minho laughs. “I do not understand it at all. But Y/n, Channie-hyung is one of the few people in my life that I trust. Do I want him to be dating my baby sister? Of course not! I don't want you to be dating anyone. Do I think he’s out of his mind for being interested in you? Definitely.”

“Hey!” you interject. Minho carries on like he can’t hear you.

“Do I think he fully understands that if he hurts you in any way, directly or indirectly, on purpose or on accident, that I will hunt him down and make him regret the fact that he ever existed in the first place? Yes, I think he knows.”

“Oppa,” you say in horror. “You will not give your best friend the shovel talk.”

“I don’t have to.” Minho smiles brightly, a picture of innocence if you didn’t know him. “My reputation precedes me. Channie-hyung's one of my closest friends, he would never expect anything less from me.”

“Oppa-”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho softens his voice. “I also know that of all the people that I've ever met, Channie-hyung is one that is least likely to ever hurt you. I trust him, but I also want you to know that I trust your judgement.”

You look away, sniffing. You never could have imagined that Minho would accept your relationship so easily that it's making you feel emotional.

“Aigoo, Y/nnie,” Minho coos. He pulls you into a tight hug, ignoring the way that tears finally escape from you and stain his shirt. “You were really worried about this, weren't you?”

You nod into his shoulder, unable to provide a verbal response.

“I'm sorry that I made you feel like you couldn't tell me about this. It's definitely going to take a bit of time to get used to it, but I'm happy for you, really. I know I can seem overbearing sometimes, but I just worry.”

“I didn't want you to be upset at Channie-oppa or me,” you murmur. “I didn't want to do anything to hurt your friendship. I didn't want to hurt our relationship.”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho says gently, but firmly. “I want you to know that there is nothing that could hurt our relationship. You're my baby sister, I'm always going to love you.”

After months of keeping all your feelings bottled up, of denying your feelings for Chan, of dreading Minho’s reaction, you’ve felt a constant dread, guilt filling your insides. Now, you’re just filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s as if an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

It feels like you can breathe again.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

[brucewaynehater101]

I need you to stop me from making another Tim Drake centric fic

I got this random idea that won’t leave me alone

like what if the emotional scars and trauma people have show up physically too most commonly as little cracks on the skin and all of the bats have them

they hide them tho with make up and stuff so people don’t question it except Tim hides them from everyone maybe bc that’s what his parents taught him to do maybe bc he just doesn’t want to burden any of the bats

the bats think that Tim is fine so to them he’s invincible which leads them to treat him as such subconsciously or otherwise especially Bruce

it takes a lot for something to be bad enough that they physically manifest and Tim has A LOT bc everyone thinks he’s invincible

:) it won’t leave me alone help me I beg of you

Hmm.... Let's add on, shall we? This is a very rad idea. You should definitely write a fic about it, but no pressure.

Mind if I explore it? Also, feel free to disregard any part below you don't want/disagree with. This is just brainstorming ^^

Alright. Emotional scars are a physical mark on someone's skin.

Similar to regular scars, they can fade as a person heals.

Some may never disappear, and some only appear for a short time.

What would their color be?

Would they look like actual cracks in a person (so black-ish in color)? Would they be gold or multi-colored (different colors represent different kinds of emotional traumas)?

The level of hurt inflicted is directly proportional to the size (length and width) of the scar.

Perhaps more could be deduced from the general shape (is it jagged? A single line? Branching?)

Not all people have these marks

Most of the population manifests them. There's some prejudice against folk who don't [something something they are heartless, incapable of feelings, not able to be emotionally hurt, cold, detached, etc.], but hiding scars is also common. Therefore, it's harder to discern whether someone is hiding their marks or markless. It's a very fine line, so most people allow a smaller mark to show every once in a while. There's even a few trends to proudly display all marks.

Marks appear at the time of the emotional harm

It may not be apparent at the time due to the location, but the individual being hurt will manifest the mark at the very moment of emotional harm.

Anyways, that's the background stuff. Fun, but let's get into Tim specifically ^^

Tim's parents are part of the few who believe that showing off your scars to anyone, even your loved ones, is both a weakness and a way to guilt-trip people. Therefore, through their archeology studies, they managed to obtain magical objects to prevent the showing of emotional marks. It's similar to glamor.

Tim's object can change forms to suit his needs (so a ring at one moment and an earring the next). This ability prevents the Bats from discovering it.

Janet fakes a very small mark on her hand when she wants to discourage any rumors that's she's incapable of manifesting marks. For Tim, though, his parents wanted him to have rumors of being incapable of forming marks. It served their purpose better for him being the cunning Drake heir.

The deception started from birth, so no one but the Drakes know of Tim's ability to form marks [and the Drake parents never see the marks they leave behind on their child].

The Waynes, long before Tim entered their life, were aware of these rumors. Thus, when Tim demands to become Robin, he doesn't correct their assumptions.

Bruce is a callous fucker to Tim at the start. If Tim can't be hurt emotionally, then Bruce's ill-treatment of him is fine (which is flawed logic. The markless can be emotionally hurt, and they still deserve kindness, dignity, and respect even if they couldn't. Bruce was mentally fucked up, but it doesn't excuse his treatment).

Eventually, Bruce comes to the second realization that Tim should still be treated well even if it doesn't hurt him regardless. The man's behavior is better, but he still has the notion in mind that Tim can't be emotionally hurt. He uses this for missions and to downplay the way his other kids treat Tim (specifically Jason and Damian when they first meet Tim).

Tim gets used to a rotation of insult-names: Robot Robin, heartless, markless (said insultingly), cold-blooded, unfeeling bastard, etc.

He's also subject to a TON of misunderstandings. People are more reluctant to love him due to the belief that he can't love them back. He gets yelled at and told off for "masking/faking his emotions" when he's actually being genuine.

Which adds to his hurt :)

He also has to pretend not to grieve his parents when they die :(

Due to how rare markless are, the Bats don't meet "another" one until after the BruceQuest. When they chat with this person, they realize how many misconceptions they have about them (such as the markless being incapable of feelings. In fact, they accidentally offend that person when they tell the other they don't need to fake their emotions in front of the Bats. Safe to say, the markless individual becomes incensed when they realize how they've been treating their own markless family member).

This would be at least four (probably closer to five) years after Tim first became Robin. The entire family has a meltdown.

Tim, on the other hand, is used to the treatment the Bats have been giving him and becomes incredibly uncomfortable with them trying to care for his feelings and whatnot. It's rocky for a long while as everyone tries to seek forgiveness for something Tim bitterly doesn't hold against them (he is lying to them after all).

Tim rarely, if ever, views his own marks. The last time he checked was when he was having his identity crisis after Robin was taken from him. His entire body, from head to toe, had cracks in it. There was a giant, gaping crack on his back for the metaphorical stab in the back it was.

And we haven't even gotten to when the Bats figure out Tim was never markless :)

[mockerycrow]

Talk About Sensitivity In The COD Fandom **Important.**

THIS IS NOT A DEBATE POST. DO NOT BOTHER.

Hey, everyone. After the reveal of Makarov in the trailer (as well as general concern), I think a chat about sensitivity is important. Since the trailer’s release, I have seen a major increase in simping for Makarov posts as well as genuine romanticization of Russia and/or Russian Soldiers. First, I want to talk about the romanticization of Russia and/or Russian soldiers because it’s seriously getting out of hand. I need you guys to realize that Russia is an ultranationalist country and yes, maybe not everyone who lives there believes what their government does, but it’s important to know a big portion of their population does. I have seen multiple posts and edits of this man right here (pictures below).

THIS GUY IS NOT SOMEONE YOU SHOULD LIKE, AND PEOPLE NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT HE DOES NOT LIKE YOU. This is one of the most popular Russian Soldiers amongst the internet due to the way he wears a mask, gear, has an accent, and is buff. He makes videos teaching soldiers how to kill people—innocent people in Ukraine who are just trying to survive. I have seen people straight up ignore when someone tells them what this man has done, so let me put it this way—he does not like you. He wants you dead. He is racist, a homophobe, transphobe, antisemitic, etc. He absolutely hates The West, and he does not like you unless you are a cis, straight, white 100% Russian. Even if you’re a woman, he DOES NOT LIKE YOU. If you American, HE DOES NOT WANT YOU ALIVE.

[This part is not targeted; just a general statement.] Second; there is a serious problem with how you guys address Makarov as a character. There is absolutely no problem enjoying him as a villain because I do too, but you guys have to realize that Makarov is an ultranationalist—which is exactly what Russia is right now, an ultranationalist terrorist state. “But he’s fictional, it doesn’t matter! it’s not that deep!” It actually is that deep. I keep seeing content for Makarov and I can’t force anyone to stop making “fluffy fics”, but I need y’all to have some fucking decency towards victims and people affected by the war. I know people who are affected by the war who feel ill seeing posts painting Makarov in a good light. If you are going to write Makarov, do NOT romanticize him as a character—do NOT paint him a decent or good light, because you can’t. Write him like the bastard he is. And no, this isn’t a “let people write what they wanna write” situation. You can do that, but please be expected to be judged and blocked by me and many others. Makarov is quite literally the characterization of everything that is wrong with Russia, and what HAS been wrong with Russia. Makarov is not a bad boy, a rebel, etc, he’s a fucking terrorist. Please be for real. “But the military in general is bad, so why does it matter specifically around Makarov?” Please see above my previous reasons. Thanks.

The overall message of this point is to be fucking respectful. There are actual people dying and slaughtered for no reason other than ruined pride and a lot of Ukrainian folk seek comfort and distractions in the internet and their fandoms. This ruins it for them and quite frankly, sometimes how Makarov is being written? It’s completely insensitive. Anyway, below are a few links where you can directly support the efforts and the people of Ukraine. Peace and love, and please write with critical thinking.

[kichikichiko]

haiiii!! I’d like to put in a request for Boothill x an alcoholic mechanic reader who’s personality takes a complete 180 when drunk, like when the reader is sober they’re a really quiet nervous person but when they feed their addiction they turn into a party animal.(If I had to compare the reader’s personality to an existing character I’d say they’re like hiroi from bocchi the rock) also I think it’d be cute if the reader did things like maintenance checks and fixed up Boothill/his stuff from time to time :3

Moonshine

Happy new year everyone! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و sorry I've been gone for so long!

Also so sorry for taking this long to write your request ;; I had the biggest writers block in my life last year

Hope you like this silly lil fic of Boothill! (He's my favourite character good lord)

Pairing: Boothill x gn mechanic alcoholic! reader

Synopsis: Reader is an alcoholic in disguised, and your client (and secret crush)

Warnings: Fluff, Reader likes drinking alcohol, Reader is mentioned to be shy but takes a 180 on their personality after intaking alcohol, nicknames/ petnames mentioned by Boothil, not proofread.

Working as a mechanic is no easy job. Nights without sleep, days with frustrations. It just never ends! Of course you’re going to turn to alcohol for solace and comfort. It is only natural! You tell yourself. 

It’s not like you drink alcohol as you work no no no. You grab a bottle of alcohol and drown yourself to the intoxicating taste of it after hours. During harder days, you’ll go to a bar during the night and get real drunk. Dancing to the live band, singing with other patrons, talking with strangers… all of that. Because of that, you always prefer to get drunk alone, where no one you know can see that side of you. After all, you were shy and quiet and always got the job done. That’s what your frequent and loyal client, Boothill the cyborg, thinks anyway. 

Boothill is known to run into danger, Hell, he probably is Danger himself. So it’s not surprising he ends up with a few bad damages to his metal body here and there. He always comes to you for a bit (a lot actually-) of fixing up. It’s totally because he thinks you're reliable and not because of any other reason… 

“You should be more mindful about yourself, Boothill. This is the third time you’ve visited my workshop in a week.” You grumbled as you fixed up his mechanic arm. 

“What's all the fuss about sweetheart? My human head is perfectly fine, besides, this time it’s only my arm that’s in rough shape.” He grins which earned him a disapproving shake of your head. 

“Still, that doesn’t mean you're invincible. What if one day your heart is the one getting damaged? You know how much work and stress you’ll put me through?” You weren’t yelling per say, you never yelled at Boothill, or anyone for that matter. But it was very evident you were annoyed and worried. 

Boothill sighed and nodded his head “Alright sugarplum, I’ll be more careful next time.” 

You hummed in response and silence ensued, only the sound of you tinkering with your equipment filled the workshop. Boothill looked at you from his seat. The crease of your eyebrows, the small frown on your lips and the sweat dripping from your forehead so focused on fixing his arm. Sometimes he feels a little guilty, for making you work hard almost everyday when he comes to visit you. He’ll never admit that sometimes he gets into real danger just to see you often. Small maintenance once a week doesn’t cut it for him. He wanted to see you everyday. 

“Hey sweetheart, you’ve been working real hard today, how ‘bout after this, I take you out for a drink?” The cowboy smirked, waiting for your reply. He’s never seen you drink before, and he doesn't know if you do, but it’s worth the shot to ask. 

You paused for a second, then looked up at him “You’ll pay?” 

He scoffed at your question. “I’ll getcha as many drinks as you want.”

“Deal.”

★⋆. ࿐࿔

Hours passed, and you finally closed up your workshop. Boothill seemed to know the area well, because he decided to take you to a bar quite far from your workshop, despite there being a bar quite near your place. Honestly, you were glad for his suggestion. You were a regular customer in the bar near your workshop, and dare not make that known to Boothill. 

You started to regret taking up Boothill’s offer for a drink, in fear of getting drunk and letting your “party animal” side come out. What would he think of you? Would he be shocked? Disgusted?. You shook your head. It's not like I get drunk with just one drink.. but the fear remains. 

When you both arrived at the bar, you made a mental note to just have a maximum of two drinks. 

You and Boothill sat by the bar (counter), “Heya boss, a glass of whiskey for me and..” Boothill turned to you, waiting for your reply. 

“Sweetened mood for me.” you told the Bartender, who nodded and started making your drinks. 

“Thanks for today by the way, (Name). I always know I can count on you to get me back to shape” 

You smiled a little and shook your head. “Not an easy job having you come in so often, but no problem.” Just then, the bartender gave you both your drinks. 

“Aw c’mon, havin’ me around has its perks, don't lie now sugarcube you love havin’ me around.”

You didn’t reply but you silently agreed, and took a sip of your drink.. drink number one. 

The conversation between the two of you flowed so smoothly, like the amount of alcohol you started to drink. It was already more than two, and you felt your cheeks flush. But you didn’t stop. 

As if fate was trying to push you further, a live band started to play, and the urge to dance along kicked in. You felt light headed and tipsy, but instead of stopping you ordered another alcohol and chugged it down. 

“Woah there (name) didn’t know you could drink this much! Had I known, I would’ve taken you out back then!” 

You slammed your cup on the table and laughed “I’m sure you would have, but I would have said no to your offer.” truly the alcohol was taking over your senses, because you felt yourself stand up from your seat and slowly swat to the beat of the song from the live band. Boothill’s eyes followed you and widened when you started dancing to the music. Your laugh, your smile, the red cheeks clearly intoxicated. This was the you he has never seen before, but he doesn’t complain. Instead, he grinned and went to the dance floor with you and started dancing along. 

You smiled at him “Follow my movements cowboy, only if you can of course.” You teased.

“Is that a challenge, sugarplum?” The said cowboy teased back. 

“Depends on how you take it.”

The atmosphere of the bar became more lively, dancing, laughing and cheering along. Making you all the more hyped and making Boothill all the more attracted to you. 

Hours later, the music stopped and the atmosphere dulled down to a calm one. By this point, the cowboy knew it was time to take you back.

“You sure caught me by surprise, (name).” He chuckled, carrying your sleeping figure back to your place.

Though you couldn’t hear him, he continued. “I hope you’ll show me this side of you again, sweetheart.”

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

Masterlist

Requesting

[saltofmercury]

Reunion

Pairing: König x f!reader

Author's note: This fic I think will be broken into three parts. There's so much I want to write but I also need to cut down!

Requested by @wikusiax0

Summary: König takes you to meet his family.

Part 2

"Reunion"

There’s a shaking at the other end of the couch.

His big knee jumps up and down rapidly, sending waves towards you. 

You’re used to it by now, calming his nerves about an upcoming mission. You put your hand on his leg, rubbing gently up and down.

The motion doesn’t stop however, prompting you–

“You’re sending a mini earthquake over here.”

He stops, smiling at you. The smile seems forced, showing the dimples carved into his cheeks. 

“Sorry schatz” he says absentmindedly. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to regulate the chaos that’s sending ripples of anxiety throughout his body. 

He starts to fiddle with his fingers.

First cracking them as he brings his knuckles into his other hand and bends, pulling each finger individually. He’s about to crack his first knuckle now, but you stop him.

“What’s going on? I can feel your anxiety.”

He pauses, his bottom lip being bitten by his teeth. You can see how his nostrils kind of flare. He opens his mouth to speak but he ends up laughing.

“It’s stupid really.”

He’s said this before, he’s said that he always gets nervous before a mission. Sometimes you’re not sure if he’s mistaken excitement for anxiety.

However, there's been a small doubt in his mind now that he won’t be as invincible as he once was because now there’s someone else in the picture. Someone who is waiting for him to come home.

You tilt your head, smiling at him, waiting for him to tell you.

“My uncle passed away.”

Your stomach drops, your eyes widen. 

“Oh my god why didn’t you say anything?

“This is exactly why. You get weird around death.” 

He pokes down at your leg.

This was a bit of an exaggeration. When you told him about how many childhood animals you found out really died and didn’t run away, it opened a floodgate of tears, him consoling you telling you that:

“It was a long time ago, things like this happen.”

It was embarrassing. It had now become something that he thought was triggering towards you.

He exhales, continuing,

“That’s not even the bad part. I hardly knew him and… well, he was hardly my uncle.” eyeing you carefully. 

It wasn’t an immediate family member. It was the person behind the funeral who insisted König should come home to pay his respects.

You stop for a second. Confusion clouds your mind, eyebrows shift from their place, you’re about to ask him what the big deal is if he hardly knew him, but he stops you.

“I…uh have to go to Austria.”

“Oh…”

From what he’s told you, it’s been years since he’s gone back. He never had a reason to go back.

His mom was divorced and traveling the world.

His relationship with his dad was never there, so he never put effort into it. 

His older brother, much like his dad, was kind of distant towards him. They had each other’s numbers and talked on the phone every other month.

It was sad, but it’s the way he liked to keep it. He told stories of his mom, enduring a relationship she never wanted but kept because she came from a broken family. 

She told him once he enlisted that she only stayed so that he wouldn’t be made fun of or looked down upon for having divorced parents. 

It was also something he didn’t like to talk about. 

He looked at you, bumping his knees together, waiting for an opportunity to bomb you with another surprise. 

“Maybe… I was wondering if you could go with me?”

“Me?”

“Yeah why not? We could vacation for a bit, have you meet my family.”

There it was. Something you had always wanted but knew you couldn’t get. 

If he was being honest, it had been long overdue —he had wanted you to meet his mom. He could get away with never meeting his dad or brother, but his mom was 100% the reason he wanted to bring you.

There were constant phone calls where she had heard your voice in the background but König had been changing the subject whenever she brought you up.

“I know you’re living together, I am a mother of modern times!”

König laughed, ignoring her and asking her what she did today.

“You can’t keep secrets from mama, at least introduce us on video, I won’t say anything embarrassing!”

“Mama… stop, in time you will meet.”

“In time? When? When I am in heaven?”

König laughed, there was nobody more impatient than his mother. 

“Okay,” you nodded your head at him. Biting your cheeks, excitement flowing through your body.

“A week at most, schatz, don’t worry.”

Exhaling, a wave of relief surrounds his body.

At least the hard part is halfway over.

*

Throughout the week you asked him questions about his family. At least now was the chance to really ask him, get something out of him. Your relationship was very open. You two did not keep things from another and had great trust in one another. There were touchy subjects as all relationships have, but his family was one of the touchiest. 

“So what’s your mom been doing lately?”

He looked over at you as he packed his black shirts. 

“She … uh… she’s been in Malaysia the last time I spoke to her. She said something about the tropical landscape.”

You nodded, asking if she was still with her boyfriend.

“I guess so, he’s the one who paid for the ticket.”

If he was being honest, he was weirded out that his mom had a boyfriend. A boyfriend who looked just like his dad, but had a softer personality.

You’ll never forget when he had been in his computer room, talking to them through FaceTime, about him spending the holidays in Austria just for a week, when all of a sudden, his mom’s boyfriend called him “son.”

König practically tensed up, you heard it in his voice, his tone had pitched, as he excused himself in English and not German.

You saw his shoulders tense up, along with the face in the monitor scrunch up as he tried to excuse himself again, saying you called over to him.

As he left the call, he bumped right into you, laughing at how weird he got.

“He called me son?! What the fuck!” His face turned red, he shut his eyes, scrunched his nose as if he had tasted something bitter, trying to get the aftertaste out of his mouth.

“He’s just being nice, he loves your mom.”

“Yes but he is not my dad!”

“It’s a term of endearment Konig.”

“Well he can keep it!”

You kept pressing for information.

“What about your brother? Any news about him?”

He eyed you again, knowing exactly what you were doing. 

“Yeah, he called me yesterday, still painting. Still living with my dad.”

You bit the bullet and asked.

“How’s your dad going to feel about us going there in two days?”

He smirked for a second, his tongue licked his lips as his face contorted to being serious. 

“It doesn’t matter because we probably won’t see him. It was my mother’s best friend, my father won’t make an appearance.”

“Oh…”

If you were being honest, his dad and brother were the intimidating ones. You were glad that at least you were going to meet the important person in his life and not the ones who had scared him, and intimidated him.

He closes the luggage and sits on the bed.

“You don’t have to worry. It will be my mom and her boyfriend. This vacation should be simple.”

He traces along the end of the bed, sighing, grabs your hand.

“I know it must be intimidating but I’m really happy you’re coming.”

You smile down at him, adjusting yourself into his lap. He pulls you in, kissing you and falling back onto the bed. He adjusts himself on top of you, kicking the luggage down on the floor.

“I can… show you my favorite bakery, my old school, the nice little pond where my uncle took me sometimes.” He kisses down your neck, pinning your hands above your head.

“You can meet my mom and tell her how much you love me.”

You laugh, sliding your hands from his grasp to his face.

“I’ve been wanting to tell her since forever but you kept delaying our meeting.”

A quick peck to your lips, he sits up.

“Ok go ahead and ask what you want. It’s better to know now then go in blindly.”

You’re quick to ask about his uncle.

“Well, I only call him my uncle because he was my mother’s best friend growing up.”

He eyes you again, trying not to get sentimental.

“He knew my mom first, so he stood by her, often giving her money when she needed it. Giving her a room in his house when things got sketchy after I left.”

“Uncle Elias was friends with both my mom and dad, so he knew a lot about the troubles they had in their marriage from both points of view and he played devil’s advocate for a lot of their fights.” 

“It wasn’t until one day that my dad had threatened him to not house my mom or else he would tell his family his true secret… that Elias was gay.”

“I guess my dad has always been an asshole because Elias ended up coming out to his family not on his own terms, but they didn’t care, but he never was the same with my dad anymore.”

“I think part of me does want to go, because uncle Elias was such a good friend to my mom, and an even greater uncle to me, however, part of me hates that Elias still wanted to maintain a friendship with my dad.”

Your eyes meet, and he closes his hand around yours. 

“And part of me, regrets bringing you when Elias isn’t even around anymore.”

You bite your bottom lip, nodding slowly.

"It's okay, I've never wanted to rush you."

He looks up at you, forcing a smile.

"Come on, let's finish packing. You'll understand later."

You continue to roll your jeans into your luggage on the floor.

There was just so much more you wanted to ask him, but figured it would be best seeing it in person.

[fellshish]

genuinely, how do you write for yourself fully?

while i write for myself and post what i want etc. i always get suck on feeling kinda sad afterwards cause i barely get any interactions on tumblr, which i suppose isn’t that bad, but the 50/60 hits on ao3 and only like 5 kudos make me sad. i truly don’t think my writing is awful, like it’s a work in progress especially since english isn’t my native language, but i just always find myself a bit discouraged.

i feel you, anon. it’s rough out there. and it feels so random. like sure i have worked hard on developing my writing the past few years and on kind of building an audience, but i recognise there was also a whole lot of luck involved and i still remember what it was like to receive very little kudos and feeling sad and discouraged. (i will say the feelings of self doubt etc might never fully leave, but that’s a different matter altogether).

i’ll say this: ‘write for yourself’ as a slogan is an empty one if you fully think about it. the only person who truly writes for themself is the one who never publishes (and even they might entertain some kafka fantasies of being discovered after death). the core of ‘write for yourself’ however holds some truth: if you get joy from the act of writing more than the act of receiving positive feedback, you are invincible. if you write what you want to read, and you can look back on your progress? that’s a reason to be proud of yourself, no matter how much engagement you got. you created something out of nothing, you put something out in the world that nobody had put out there before. amazing, right?

but this is fandom. it’s all about engaging, and i don’t mean that in an annoying content creatory way but as a way of human connection. a part of the joy of sharing your art, for free, is making that connection. getting that comment, that kind tumblr reblog. it’s not shameful to admit you like compliments. every fanfic author has a praise kink.

both are true: we write for ourselves and for others. we live in a society etc

now that that’s out of the way, here are my thoughts on getting more readers, more comments, more kudos, and more reblogs — which i think is the core issue of your ask.

to start quite generally: there’s been a decline in reblogging fanworks - including fics - on tumblr, and i think we bear a collective responsibility here to make this a reblogging website again.

and of course your ao3 statistics depend on how big your fandom (still) is. on how good you tag your works, too, because that’s how a lot of readers find fics. on how good a summary you write, on how popular certain tropes or pairings are that you’re into, if you use a sufficient amount of paragraphs for easier reading etc.

also, you say your native language isn’t english? neither is mine. i found it helpful to work with beta readers, some of whom have now become close friends. they improved my english and the content of my fics, and we boost each other’s works. win-win.

i’ll give you the advice i was given a few fandoms ago: engage, too. by leaving comments on other writers’ works, you can build friendships and might get them to click your ao3 name too. by joining discords and reading the fics of the writers there, or by reading a tumblrina’s fic and reblogging it with kind tags, or by signing up for a bang, by writing holiday themed fics if that inspires you, or a fic inspired by an artwork, … basically, by engaging in fandom and making friends and having fun, but also: leaving comments will sometimes mean getting comments in return, too.

to be clear i’m not saying ‘engage with other fans to get comments’. no. engage to experience the absolute joy of fandom, and more kudos / comments / reblogs etc might become a fun side effect.

[clemberryfriends]

Heeyy anyone wanna make a Mark x Tamaranean Reader fanfic like she’s a Princess and had to flee her home planet with her family when she was young to earth and has been living there since but she’s still not accustomed to earth whatsoever BONUS she’s a hero a really loved one at that….

But yeah another concept if anyone wants to make any use of and also put their own ideas in it go aheaddd I am not a fic writer whatsoever and I’m bad at writing in general so yeeerr😭

Also I see y’all when y’all put comments under my post and please don’t be afraid to share anything you want in my comments I promise I’m not ignoring y’all I’m just not a talkative person on media like that😭😭

Anywhoooo have fun live long and if anyone decides to use this PLEASE TAG ME I WOULD LOVE TO READ IT AND ANY OTHER INVINCIBLE FANFICS TAG MEEE PLZZ😌

[nyxxxx-onepieces-dragun]

can i PLZ rq mikey with a (gender neutral please) reader who's like...a sunshine type but they're actually pretty depressed and just trying to make him happy? FRIENDS TO LOVERS PERHAPS?? WHERE HE TAKES THEM OUT ON A DATE TO MAKE THEM ACTUALLY HAPPY AND HE CONFESSES AND SHIT PLZZ

sorry if this is too much, have a nice day and don't forget to drink water!

Omg I actually love this Bc this is a reader I can relate with! ty for being my first request and you too drinks lot of wata!

A/N: this is quite long because I could not stop writing hehe also I was listening to "heaven and back" By chase atlantic and MWAH that song is what helped write this fic but enjoy all my lovelies! ;3

Characters: Mikey x gender neuteral! reader, mentions of other characters (maybe) angst with comfort (I'm rlly bad at giving warnings lol bc I like surprising yall heh)

Hold my hand~

you were sat in your small apartment seated by the window that was littered with falling raindrops, soft thunder ran throughout the skies as you silently drank the warm cup of tea infront of you, the weather matched your mood, you've always felt like this since before you could remember, you don't remember what triggered it but you started falling into this deep abyss of foreign emotions, lost in the darkness you found comfort in until you finally hit rock bottom. That is, until you saw him, walking through the halls of your school with a tall intimidating guy that had a black dragon tattooed on the side of his head, you initially thought he was bad news and no good due to people whispering about how the bleach blonde boy was "the invincible Mikey" and how he ran "..The most dangerous gang in Tokyo" you kept your distance for as long as you could until he one day approached you with a confused look on his puppy face. "Excuse me do you know where Takemitch Hanagaki is?" he asked his head tilted to the side "oh- uhm I don't think anyone by that name goes here- but I can help you look if you'd like" you offered with a smile, something about this boy made you feel something, his aura was inviting and welcoming, and it made you feel something you haven't felt in a long time but you couldn't pin-point what it was "Oh really? that would be nice thank you lady!" he said with a small laugh that made you smile even more, it was child-like and rang through your ears like a soothing melody. Eventually you found this Takemitchi hanagaki with a sweet looking pink haired girl, you were about to take your leave when Mikey grabbed your shoulder to stop you. "Hey don't leave yet! your my friend now and we have to hang out!" he said with a boyish smile and you turned to him with a confused expression, "you want to be my friend?" you asked with a doubtful tone, "Of course! you helped me so now I wanna be friends!" your heart fluttered at his words and you quickly smiled and nodded "Alright then we'll be friends then!" you say and before you knew it he was hugging you in a tight embrace that sent waves of emotion through you. From that point on you've been the best of friends with Mikey, you did everything together from going on rides with him on his motorcycle or going to the convenience store to get him more dorayaki. He was the light in your darkness and you wanted to make him the happiest he could be since he was practically saving you from yourself, you both laughed and smiled whenever you were with each other, but when those days were over and you were left alone in your cold bed staring up at the dark ceiling those wretched thoughts and horrible sadness filled your veins again and you began to overthink 'What if he's just trying to make a fool out of me?' 'If he knows about my real emotions he'll for sure not want to be friends with me anymore' and you swore to yourself to never let Mikey see that dark ugly side of you, even when he was sad or talked about him brother, you always were right there to comfort him, to make him smile as long as he was happy you were happy...right? "Y/N why are you sad?" Mikey asked one day as you both were walking alongside each other the sun was setting painting a beautiful array of pastel colors, you turn to Mikey with a confused expression "..huh?" "you just seem so..sad today" he says looking up at the sky, your heart rate increased you felt your mind racing with thoughts of how this could all go wrong, you started hyperventilating your smile faltering and before you could even say one word he turned to you with a deadpan expression. "Let's go on a date."

OKAY OKAY LISTEN, I have Part 2 coming up and I'll post it bc I MADE THIS TOO DAMN LONG KJSDSKDJNFJSJDK but reposts/reblogs are welcome js credit me!^^ Tags: @nakukuu @z3r0aqxa

[aftokrator-official]

AZUMAAA, 2, 4, 13, 14, 21 and 26!!

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

I LOVE that he's literally the only person besides Yuuma, the actual child soldier, who is so calm and detached in battle that he doesn't trigger Kageura's side effect. That's insane. And I swear you can see it in his eyes when he's shooting, too.

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

In general I think he'd be an INCREDIBLE character for any kind of survival horror setting. He's got a lot of the skills that would keep him alive in that kind of story, but he's also so much softer than the typical gun-toting, hard-edged, lone badass survivor archetype. Even if he was surviving in isolation for a while, I think he'd be more just... quietly traumatized, and quick to show warmth to other (especially younger) survivors he encountered even if he's still savvy enough not to trust too quickly.

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

HM that's a tough one, I don't think he'd use emojis too much aside from the occasional ^^ or :) (etc) to convey tone. One time he drops a ":3" and the entire sniper groupchat collectively loses their minds for a week

For just one that reminds me of him, though, it's gotta be the Man Feeding Baby👨🏻‍🍼 like come on

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Azuma is so poised and dignified and mature that I really enjoy putting him in situations to utterly overwhelm him and strip away that sense of calm. Obviously true for whump - Azuma Endures Terrible Suffering With Dignity is something I come back to again and again for good reason - but also useful in lighter fics, especially when it's his POV, or when it's to give one of the kids a "oh, he's NOT an invincible badass who can do anything, he's actually got limits" moment about their mentor. I don't like to subvert expectations with him to the point that he's not actually kind or humble or competent, but I also think he's the sort to internalize his flaws and hide his problems (ESPECIALLY in a setting like Border, where he's in a position of authority and doesn't want personal problems to get in the way of his work), so it's easy for him to appear more perfect than he is until you get closer or see him from another angle. I really like the idea that he's prone to over-extending himself, and that he's rather like Osamu in the way that he prioritizes others to the point of not considering himself. (takes one to know one!)

26. What's something the character has done you can't get over? Be it something funny, bad, good, serious, whatever?

Azuma unflinchingly, without hesitating, shooting Koarai in the head to save him from the Rabbit. That whole scene, especially with Koarai just immediately screaming for Azuma when he's in real danger, lives rent free in my brain and I will never forgive s1 for ruining it. However much he's used to working with Trigger weapons and even taking down his own former students in Rank Wars, that has to have fucked with him, even if it only really hit him later when the crisis was over. He's sooo calm and collected under pressure and it's honestly scary if you think about it... Azuma could do a lot of damage if he was a worse kind of person.

[librathefangirl]

Got any rambles for any of these?

Thanks for sharing your wip list!

OH DO I!

Demon Bros Comfort Nuzzles

This is a fic solely dedicated to the headcanon that demons nuzzle to show affection. It all started with me seeing a post about affectionate nuzzles from caretaker and I then promptly had two thoughts: 1. What if demons nuzzle to show affection? And 2. I wanna write about Mel and Zel giving each other comfort nuzzles. So basically, it's gonna be a fic about times throughout the years when the brothers have done just that. It might be organized as a 6+1 fic, but it might also be more times than that, or just an "x times..." styled fic. I haven't decided yet. I guess it depends on how the inspiration goes. (That said, if anyone has any cute or angsty scenarios they wanna see, I'm all ears!)

Also, this hc has taken up permanent residence in my brain (along with the "Mel used to call Merlin 'kiddo'" and the demon thermoregulation hcs, and possibly also the demon heartbeat hc (see below)). So don't be surprised if affectionate demon nuzzled start showing up in my other fics too - especially from Mel, but also from Zel, and maybe even Ellie (having picked up the behavior from Mel).

Whumptober - Meliodas & The Boar Hat Regulars

This one is all your fault thanks to you actually, for getting me attached to the idea of the Boar Hat Regulars and their weird but caring relationship with Meliodas, and also for inspiring the plot of this fic. I was originally aiming to write it for Whumptober, but never got around to it (because of life and mental health and October doesn't like me and whatnot). The prompts for Day 15 were "Makeshift Bandages", "Suppressed Suffering", and "I'm fine" - which I decided went together perfectly for poor Mel, in a fic taking place during the 10 years of the Sins being split-up and framed.

Basically, Meliodas gets into some trouble (of yet-to-be-determined origin) and then decides to go on with his day as if nothing happened. He learns the hard way why running a tavern while actively bleeding is a bad idea. Our heroes of the story are going to be two regulars and one very confused/freaked out first-timer (possibly with some other patrons around too - I haven't decided on how big of a character group I wanna work with yet - oh and Hawk I guess).

Zel gets distracted by Mel's heartbeat and everything changes

I actually shared a bit about this one back in July. Unfortunately, I haven't made much progress since then - mostly because I'm not exactly sure how the plot is gonna progress from here. I had an idea, then changed my mind about part of it, then had a better idea, but forgot about it, and now I'm just trying to figure out where I want to take the fic.

Sometimes a story starts with a demon bros thought and some demon lore. - a note from the actual document lol. But yeah, this is a demon bros angst fic taking place, or at least starting off, during the fight between Mel and the 10C in Vaizel; then it goes canon-divergent (when and how is the thing I haven't decided on yet). The lore part comes in with the fact that demons can tell each others' heartbeat apart, and the heartbeat also changes subtly (but noticeably to a demon) depending on number of hearts and stuff.

Somewhere, somewhen, somehow since his last death, Meliodas lost a heart (not like ripped from his chest, but broken/damaged/not beating). So Zeldris ends up having an internal crisis during the Meliodas murder, over the fact that Meliodas' heartbeat (which he still knows by... well, heart(s)) has changed and the wrongness of it all and being faced with the reality that the big brother who had always felt invincible was in fact not that. This is what leads to the canon-divergence, because Zel can't just forget about it (which means "everything changes" either during the fight or sometime after it - again, to be determined).

A little sneak peek (even though I've shared it before because this post doesn't have any sneak peeks yet!):

It shouldn’t have been such a staggering thought. A demon only needed one heart to survive. Zeldris had grown up in war. He knew plenty of demons who had lost hearts. But at the same time, to him, his brother had always felt invincible. He’d led armies way older than himself. He’d turned every demon against him without fear. He still stood here after 3,000 years, opposing their father once again. Even like this, surrounded in a nine-to-one fight, the idea that Meliodas was just as vincible as the rest of them felt almost foreign to Zeldris.

(Full sneak peek can be found in this post)

Wrath of Light (You'll have to go through me)

This is one of my remaining Febuwhump stories (hoping to get them all done this year at least lol). It's for Day 23, and the prompt "You'll have to go though me" (so the actual title of the fic is just "Wrath of Light").

I've shared a little sneak peek about it before (here - I think you saw that one back when I posted it?), but here's some proper info: it's taking place in some undefined-timeline (Elizabeth has her full powers and memories, but there's still a war against the demons?), there's a big fight happening, and tbh our heroes are getting their butts kicked for the moment, Meliodas gets badly injured, and Elizabeth snaps. Or, in other words, she reminds everyone that while she mostly uses her goddess powers to heal, she is no less dangerous than the demons they fight. It's also from Hendrickson's perspective, which I thought was an interesting pov for this fic, given his history with the druids and their view on the goddesses and demons.

You could also summarize this fic in three words: Protective Badass Elizabeth.

Here's another sneak peek:

Never before had Hendrickson truly considered the destructiveness of her power. He’d always seen it like the princess herself; bright and gentle. Before now, it had been healing. Offering miracles at death’s door. Saving soldiers in battle. Even after her true self had shown, even as the light proved lethal to demons, it had always felt safe. There was nothing gentle about the light surging from Elizabeth now. Hendrickson had only ever seen Meliodas' wrath when Elizabeth’s life was threatened. Never the reverse; not until now. Perhaps in the end, the two weren’t that different at all.

As you've seen by now, I talked about the other wips you asked about (and more) in another ask.

WIP Tag/Ask Game!

[camaro-and-smokes]

Bookmark rec

Thank you @ihni for coming up with this idea and tagging me :)

Rules: Pick (at least) ten fics from your AO3 bookmarks, and post them with links and a note of why you like them or why you picked them (alt. your bookmark comment). Then, as tradition goes, tag ten people. Or something, whatever, I'm not your boss.

So here's my list. I'm horrible in describing WHY I particularly like something because I hate analysing fanfics. But I can assure you that each and every one on this list has risen tons of emotions in me. Happiness, sadness, compassion, pain and so on - all that good stuff. And my god HOW MANY AMAZING FICS I HAD TO LEAVE OUT!!! Check out my whole bookmark list for more.

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come a little closer (i want you to stay a while) by hazel1706 (12k / Harringrove/son-ish) I honestly don't know what to say about this fic. Not because it's bland but because I've read this...*checks history*... 30 TIMES OVER THE LAST 7 MONTHS. They wrote this for me as a gift in Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2022 and I've never read anything that matches what I like to read/write so perfectly as this fic does. There's pining and there's lemon and so many things going on inside the heads of the characters and and and... Mostly Harringrove with Harringroveson undertones + genderqueer Billy. It has everything I love and need and it's perfection. 💜

The Flatshare by CallieB (47k / Harringrove) Billy moves in with Steve and there's only one bed. But they haven't even met. The idea is so intriguing and unique that it just drew me in immediately.

First to Burn by boltblum (76k / Harringrove) Au where Billy moves nextdoor to Steve, and they grow up as friends. I'm bad in reading long fics bc I can't concentrate but this one kept me hooked throughout. And in the end made me sob uncontrollably.

Cherry by LazyBaker (58k / Harringrove) Billy has gender issues. That right there is like catnip for me, can't help it.

Hands Off the Merchandise by mounrtheantagonist (3,6k / Harringrove) This was the first fic I read that had Billy in lingerie in it. A new kink (men in lingerie) has never been unlocked so quickly as what it did when I read this.

love me the way you love water by lutes_and_dandelions (23k / Harringrove) Six chapters of pining. No other explanation needed.

Shit-faced by SunshineWarrior (8,3k / Harringrove) I'm a sucker for drunk confessions. And this is all about those.

Running scared by Thei @ihni (1,9k / Billy Hargrove) An embarrassing confession coming up in three, two, one: I love Transformers. *Hey! We don't always choose what we love, okay?* So, this has those vibes and I absolutely love this fic.

If I only Told You by CrossedQuills (68k /Harringroveson) Just. Amazing. I think I've read this too at least twice if not more.

within me, an invincible summer by bigdumbbambieyes (48k [WIP] ( Harringrove) This is just incredible. Billy wakes up after Starcourt with a new heart. So many painful and lovely things in this one.

And one extra because I just can't leave this out:

Like Magnets by Pondermoniums (53k [WIP] / Harringrove, Hellcheer) What if Steve and Billy had teeniest tiniest chibi dobbelgangers... This is so cute in so many levels that you have to read it to understand.

Who to tag... No pressure: @destroya2005 @discodeviant @disdaidal @lovebillyhargrove @shieldofiron @spaceofentropy @dragonflylady77 and anyone else who wants to share!!!

[fncreature]

One Hell of a Day - Benthan

In which Ethan and Benji don’t talk for ninety minutes, and then say too much in the few that follow

A/N: This took. So long to write. But it was fun! I love writing them :D Also this is the first fic I’ve posted in probably a year, so… we’ll see how this goes! Enjoy!

Warnings: Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning spoilers (Fic is set after the events of the movie), Ethan & Benji might be kinda ooc, the dumbest realization I’ve ever written, badly paced imo

The silence in the car is thick and hot and absolutely insufferable.

Ethan, although he detestes it, longs for it to last. He doesn’t want to say a word to anyone, not until he’s able to compose himself- really compose himself, not so he could convince everyone else that he was alright, but to convince himself. Ilsa was gone. Grace was in Kittridge’s hands, and he was barely trustworthy. It was him and Benji, and until they got Grace back, it would be for a while. He needs the quiet. He hadn’t had a minute to breathe- or to grieve.

Benji, however, would like nothing more than to start asking as many questions as he can think of, as quickly as possible. Ethan had pressed the key into his hands, put a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and headed into the car. He hadn’t said anything to him since he’d told Ethan to literally jump off a cliff, and hadn’t heard a word since. The look on Ethan’s face set the tone for anything he needed to know and the fact that he was alone was even worse. He’s never liked the quiet, his nervous habit was to break it. It’s almost unbearable, watching him stare into the distance with his head pressed against the window like he wasn’t right there, unsure of anything that’d happened in the last half hour.

But that was Ethan, or at least that was the way he showed himself to Benji.

That is what he tells himself.

He doesn’t even know where he’s going. He just drives, taking exits every once and a while until Ethan is ready to tell him anything, anything, especially where he wants to go.  After more than an hour of driving in circles, he can’t take it anymore. “Ethan, where the hell do you want me to be going?” 

“I don’t know” He whispers, not even taking a glance towards Benji. “I don’t know. Anywhere we can rest for a night.” 

(Ethan doesn’t know what he’s doing. He has no idea where the hell to start)

He almost sounds mad. Guilty, sure. Forlorn. It’s been a hell of a day for him, Benji would admit that. It’s been a hell of a day for them both, but Ethan had jumped off a cliff. That, unquestioningly, takes the cake for having “one hell of a day”. 

He has no idea where the hell anything nearby is. They’d never go to a chain hotel, too many cameras, too many people around. Benji can’t remember the last time he’s slept in a Marriott. A motel, maybe, but he hated motels. They were unsettling. Bad things happened in motels. He much preferred when Ethan had them staying in a B&B, usually small ones in the middle of nowhere.

(Ethan likes B&Bs. They’re homey. He hasn’t had a home in a while)

Today, to Benji’s dismay, today is a motel day. Motels are unsafe, but for the most part, they are anonymous. They don’t talk to the police. They don’t remember you. Benji hates motels, but today is a motel day. He knows it.

“Could you pass me my phone?” He asks quietly. Ethan passes it over, still barely looking at him. 

He feels bad, truly. Ilsa was gone. Grace, he had no idea. Nothing good. Luther had left. He can’t imagine how hurt he feels- how hurt he is. They hadn’t had a moment to breathe in days, and if Ethan isn’t banged up at all, then he’s invincible. 

(Ethan always wishes he wasn’t)

He does a messy search for motels in the maps app and hands the phone to Ethan once a list of some nearby pops up. Part of him wonders what Ethan would even be looking for. Bad reviews? How far were they from everything? Security, or lack thereof? 

Ethan puts the phone on the dashboard. The motel is another twenty minutes away. Twenty minutes of silent hell for Benji.

(Twenty minutes of self-consolation for Ethan)

Benji wants to shatter the silence like glass. He hates it, and Ethan isn’t helping. If he’d just- if he would say anything, anything, or if he’d just… He doesn’t know what he wants from Ethan. He knows he shouldn’t expect this much from him- he’s been through so much in the past week, why can’t he let the man rest? It’s not like he wants to stop him. But he craves Ethan’s voice, Ethan’s reassurances that whatever would happen, he would handle it. He needs it. 

Today, he’d gotten nothing. He’d gotten the key to the end of the world, a hand on his shoulder, and silence. There’s nothing that’s more reassuring to him than Ethan’s comfort, even if he knows that he’s lying. He always pulls through, and he always makes sure Benji’s with him. 

He always did. He always had. He always would. He always would. Right?

It’s not over yet. They had the key, and he hoped Ethan knew what it unlocked. And he made it out visibly unscathed, which surely counted for something. But he wasn’t talking. And that… Grace wasn’t dead. She wasn’t. He knew Ethan, and he knew it messed him up when he lost someone, and he knew that he cared, maybe even too much, but…

He’d known Grace for a few days. He’d lost Ilsa and he would still speak to them, although it took him a bit. He just-

He doesn’t know. A part of him can just tell. He just knows how Ethan is, and this isn’t him grieving. Not… not newly grieving. 

He doesn’t know.

He wants to break the silence.

He doesn’t want to hurt Ethan by doing so.

Benji swallows hard, trying to swallow down his thoughts, eyes glancing up to the rear-view mirror. He tells himself to watch the road, but… He’s watching Ethan. 

(Ethan stares out the window. He can see Benji in the reflection)

His sharp eyes are slightly unfocused, staring at the scenery passing by in a blur of green and gray. His dark hair is tousled and messy, strands falling down in his face. He looks… younger, almost, head resting on the window, turtleneck up just slightly too high.  

Benji pulls into the motel lot.

He’s about to ask if Ethan wants to go in, or if he should, but he’s already getting out of the car. Benji swallows, blinking a few times, mouth open to say something but says nothing. 

His hands rest on the wheel, and when he looks down, he realizes that he’s trembling. He shouldn’t be trembling, why is he shaking? He’s not scared. He’s not scared. Why would he be scared? 

He has the key to the world as he knows it in his pocket. Why would he be scared?

(Ethan is scared)

Benji watches Ethan emerge from the office, a pair of keys in his hand. 

Its’s ironic, isn’t it? Benji has the key that is keeping them from safety. Ethan has the one that will give it to them for a moment.

Ethan steps back into the car, nodding to the left side of the parking lot, the keys jingling in his hands. He pulls the car into the farthest spot to the left, allowing Ethan to get out first and lead him to the room. Benji locks the car. Ethan leads him up the weathered and, in Benji’s opinion, flimsy stairs to the room. 

He’ll pretend that he’s fine with their room not being on the ground level. Ground level rooms were easier to escape from. He didn’t want to need to jump from a balcony, even if it was one floor up. He tells himself he’s being paranoid, but he can’t tell himself that he’s not overreacting. 

He’s with Ethan- Nothing’s safe for long. 

He unlocks the door to the room, and Benji shuts the door behind them.  Two twin beds mark either wall, a desk opposite the further bed and a small bathroom in the back on the room. The dresser’s in between the bed, and a small chair is in the corner beside the door, along with a lamp.

“Pretty shitty layout for a motel room” Benji remarks, without thinking.

To his surprise, Ethan nods. 

His heart is racing. He didn’t- and Ethan had just nodded. They stand there for a moment too long, Benji a step in front of the door, Ethan two paces in front of him, Benji staring at Ethan, Ethan staring at the wall.

Benji can’t take it.

“I- I’m going to get my laptop from the car.” He says, drawing Ethan’s eyes as he speaks, pointing back to the door before quickly rushing out of the room and down the stairs. He can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe? His heart is going a million miles a minute. 

He’s not scared. He’s not scared. He’s not scared. He’s-

He walks to the car, still breathing hard, still shaking. Why is he scared? Why now? They’ve always been doing things like this-  He’s been in the field with Ethan since the Kremlin. They’d been working together for even longer. Whether it’d been with Brandt and Jane, or Luther, or Ilsa, he’d-

Oh.

Oh.

They were alone. With each other. This hadn’t happened before. And he was panicking out because he was alone. With Ethan. 

Oh no.

He was alone with Ethan and he was panicking because of Ethan. Because of Ethan. He was shaking and his heart was racing because of Ethan. Ethan. Ethan, who would die for his friends and had always looked out for Benji and was making his heart race for some-

Oh.

Oh.

It made sense. The unquestioning trust and unwavering loyalty- of course. He liked Ethan. The nervous blabbering, the way he found his eyes drawn to him… God. It was so damn obvious. Hindsight, as it always is, is 20/20. He liked Ethan. 

He- He didn’t- Ethan- No. He couldn’t feel that way about Ethan. He couldn’t. He was Ethan’s friend. They were friends. That was all they were and all they are and all they would be. Benji opens the backseat of the car, grabbing his laptop from where he’d set it, swallowing hard and trying to stop thinking. About everything.

He clutches the laptop to his chest and slams the car door. 

“Benji”

Ethan’s voice is hoarse and soft behind him, and almost jarring. He hadn’t heard Ethan speak for a while, and the area was nearly silent, beside the sound of cars going by.

“I- You were out here for a while. I was getting worried.” He says.

Benji blinks.

He inhales. “I’m fine, I just-” Ethan steps towards him. 

“Benji, I-” Ethan inhales, pausing for a moment, “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier, and I’m sorry for not telling you anything and making you want to leave, but…” He holds the laptop against his chest, anxious, now somehow unable to talk to him. He just- Why was it awkward now? Why was it nerve-wracking to breathe when Ethan was looking at him. It was Ethan. His Ethan, who he’d known for years. He’d never felt like this around him. Why did it need to be like this now?

“It’s fine.” Benji says. He stares down at the asphalt. “Really, I’m- I’m sure you’ve- A lot happened today. It’s fine.” 

Ethan looks away, and he knows that Ethan doesn’t believe him.

He wonders, again, how battered Ethan must be. He hadn’t thought about it since he’d landed, but- He’d told the man to drive off a cliff and parachute onto a train. He wasn’t unscathed. Ethan, although he appears as such, isn’t invincible. 

He walks a bit closer, their feet barely a foot or two away from each other. “I’m sorry. Really. And I should’ve told you about what happened earlier, so we can figure out what to do next.” What comes next? He has no idea, and if Ethan has somewhere to start, then something big happened on that train. 

(Ethan has somewhere to start. And blood stained on his hands)

“It’s- It’s okay, Ethan. I could tell the second you looked at me that something had happened. I  never expected you to be forward with me, and I’m used to it. It’s fine.” He says, trying to be honest without being too honest. Being fully honest meant telling Ethan why it wasn’t fine. 

So he isn’t. He will lie to Ethan and will continue to do so until… when? He wants to? He feels like it? One of them fucks up and he doesn’t have any other choice?

It’ll probably be the latter.

“Benji. Benji. Just be honest with me, yeah? If you’re- If you don’t want to do this, if you can’t handle this, it’s okay. I’m- This is the weight of the world on our shoulders, and if you don’t want that, it’s okay.” Ethan says earnestly, in a way that makes Benji’s heart jump in a way that should be dangerous. 

What if he said no to Ethan? If he told him it was too much for him? He wouldn’t, of course- he couldn’t. Leaving Ethan, grieving, with the weight of the world on his shoulders and being hunted by most governments, by himself would be like shoving him off a cliff. 

But knowing Ethan, he’d manage to catch himself and climb back up.

He shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t want to leave, and he shouldn’t want to kiss Ethan in the middle of an empty parking lot with the weight of the world on their shoulders. He shouldn’t be imagining what Ethan’s lips taste like. Ethan’s his colleague and his friend and nothing more than that.

“Of course not. I can handle myself.” He knows the words are coming out of his mouth already, but he doesn’t know if he’s lying or not. 

“You’re shaking.” Ethan notes with the slightest tilt of his head. 

He’s got to laugh this off. He’s got to laugh this off. “I’ve got the most dangerous object in the world in my back pocket, Ethan, I don’t know what you’d expect.”

Perfect. Perfect. That sounded like him, it was logical, it was perfect. He was not going to accidentally confess that he liked Ethan. He could not, would not, and should not. 

He raises an eyebrow. “You were sitting on that thing while you were driving?” Benji stifles a laugh. He shrugs, trying to keep himself from smiling. It’s… It’s funny. The thing itself wasn’t even dangerous, but it’s power was immense, and he was sitting on it for ninety minutes in a rental car. 

Ethan glances to the ground, a smile hinting at the edges of his lips, brow raised. “Do you want me to take it?” 

“Oh, absolutely.” He slips the golden key out of his pocket, the white and red gems on each half glinting in the gently fading light. Benji outstretches his hand to him, turning slightly to set his laptop on the roof of the car.

Benji would like nothing to do with the key. The smartest thing to do would be throwing the thing to the bottom of the ocean, but… Well, it almost already had been. He holds out the key to Ethan, who, after a moment of staring, gently takes the key from Benji’s hand, fingers lingering in his hand for a second too long. He closes his hand around the key and tucks it in his back pocket.

Benji raises an eyebrow, and Ethan shoots him a warm smile. He’s not thinking about Ethan’s smile anymore, though. He’s thinking about his hands, the soft touch of his fingers as he’d taken the key. He’d always made a habit of glancing at Ethan’s hands after a fight- he’d never admit it, but it was his way of telling how bad things had gone without him seeing or needing to ask. Bruised knuckles were essentially nothing. But there were times when he’d see Ethan’s hands littered with cuts and scrapes from falling, bruises all along his hands, and he wouldn’t say anything, but put bandages and something for his inevitable pain where Ethan would find it. 

Today, Ethan’s hands were littered with tiny cuts absolutely everywhere, his knuckles bruised. He assumes broken glass. But he won’t push. 

For the second time in this conversation, he has no idea what to say. It’s unlike him, it always has been, and he knows Ethan knows that, too. He doesn’t even think before the words spill out of his mouth, “You should get some rest.” He looks up from the pavement. “You should, too. We’ve gotta be ready for what comes next.”

Again, Ethan brings up the future. Benji wishes he wouldn’t. It would be so much easier not to think about Gabriel or Grace or Ilsa, or the key he’d handed to Ethan moments ago, or how the world's governments would kill them to get it. It would be so much easier to tell Ethan a simple I love you and kiss him against the car until they weren’t thinking about anything but each other. 

God, it would be easier.

And god, would it be cowardly. And Benji Dunn is not a coward. He’s not. He is so many things, but a coward is not one of them.

No matter what he tells himself.

He’s not a coward, but he is scared. He is absolutely scared. He sighs, opening his mouth to say one thing before deciding on another:

“What does come next, Ethan?” 

 He looks so unsure, a crease forming in his brow that Benji has known to recognize when Ethan was left speechless. He’d never done it. Honestly, it was cute.

So he continues, not thinking of where his words are going before he says them. “I don’t know what happened back there, and frankly, if it doesn’t provide some new, life-altering information, I don’t think I want to know. So tell me, Ethan, what the plan is. I will blindly follow you to the ends of the earth if you need me to, and I won’t even be surprised anymore. But I trust you, and I hope you know that you can trust me, so just tell me what you want to do. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” 

He’s never seen a look like this on Ethan- It’s a mix of confusion and disappointment, sadness and some form of grief. He’s completely speechless, just looking to the ground near Benji’s feet.

God, he wants to kiss him.

Ethan swallows, letting out a breath, speaking hoarsely. “You shouldn’t.” (Grace did. Ilsa did. Julia did. He didn’t want Benji to.)

He doesn’t know what else to say, other than, “Why?” 

“It just gets people hurt, Benji. Or killed. I- I won’t let that happen to you.” He spits bitterly, still unable to meet Benji’s eyes. 

His heart races. “I will follow you to the ends of the earth, Ethan, if you want me to or not. If you need me, I will be there, whether you want me to be or not. I trust you, and there is very little you can to to sever that, Ethan, because-” He stops himself just in time. Because I love you. Because he loves him. There is no other word to describe the way he feels about Ethan Hunt. And he was about to fuck it all up, by telling him this. 

“Because?” Ethan asks, finally looking up, but still not at him. 

Benji swallows. Because he’s Ethan’s friend? Because he trusts him more than anyone? Because the bond they have is built on years of trust and trauma and everything that can’t be put in words? “Because I love you,” Is still the thing that slips out of Benji’s mouth, no matter how much he doesn’t want to say as such. 

Ethan doesn’t say a word, locking eyes with Benji as he takes another step forward, hand moving to rest on Benji’s shoulder.

And then he’s being kissed, hard, one of Ethan’s hands making its way to his back as the other remains on his shoulder. And then he’s kissing back, feeling Ethan’s chapped lips on his own as he leans forward into the agent. Benji’s hands move onto Ethan’s chest and around his waist, his warm cheeks crashing into Ethan’s as his breathing goes a million miles a minute. 

He’s been kissed before, but never like this. This was what it was supposed to be like, when people described it in stories and movies. His previous kisses had been quick and messy and nothing like this. This was warm and perfect and something that meant so much more, and as they separate for breath, all Benji can do is stare into his green-blue eyes. 

“We- I-” He tries to say something but it doesn’t come out right. “We should go inside. Safer. More private.” 

He just wants to kiss Ethan again, but doesn’t protest. He’s right, of course, but they stand there frozen for another moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, until Ethan moves his hand back up to Benji’s shoulder and lets out a light breath, accompanied by a smile. 

Benji presses another peck to his lips. 

“Inside” Ethan presses, grabbing the laptop from the top of the car behind them, and Benji grabs it from his hands and pulls him up the stairs, watching him pull the key to their room and open the door. The brunette pulls him through the doorway and kisses him against the door, pushing his head back and forcing the laptop against his chest for a moment until Ethan stops suddenly.

“Did you lock the car?” 

“No,” Benji laughs, but he just wishes that Ethan would shut up and kiss him again. He fishes through his front pockets and produces the key, and Ethan takes it from his hands and lets Benji move from the door before stepping out to the front overhang to lock the car. Meanwhile, Benji grabs a cup of water and fills it up, sipping it carefully, trying to slow his racing heart.

Ethan looks at him from the doorway, sunset fading beautifully behind him, smiling. “Geez, we’ve had one hell of a day, haven’t we?”

Benji smiles, setting the glass down and pushing the door shut, kissing Ethan again.

[melonthesprigatito]

So you might remember that in March last year I mentioned that the release of the Legends Z-A trailer gave me the motivation of taking the first Pokémon fanfic I ever wrote and completely rewriting it from scratch. Or not. Actually, that post I made about it got zero notes so I don't think anyone saw it. Oh well.

Basically, I started writing the fic in 2015, managed to get it 80% completed before abandoning it for reasons I can't remember in 2018.

February 2024, Legends Z-A trailer and suddenly I remember it's existence. It's entirely set in Kalos. I gave myself a deadline of "Let's rewrite it anf complete it before Legends Z-A releases."

Something VERY serendipitous happened between when I abandoned and when I started rewriting it from scratch.

So yeah, the premise of the fic is that Valerie (the Gym Leader if anybody forgot) was meant to be going on a vacation with her brother and "best friend"* but she disappears overnight.

So her brother hires Emma (you know, from the X and Y post game plot. I was DEEPLY obsessed with her in 2014) as a detective to investigate, but then Viola disappears night after that and there's a witness this time and the whole thing basically escalates. There's a mysterious masked figure going around kidnapping all the Gym Leaders who's gotta be caught before they take all of them.

They're a tricky bastard who keeps outsmarting all the attempts to protect the Gym Leaders, and they got a seemingly invincible Pokémon with them.

So yeah, there's a big bad guy threatening everyone. Remember I started writing this in 2015, Big Hero 6 came out some months before I started writing the fic so their appearance is basically copied from this guy.

Movie critic YouTubers made a big joke out of him but at the time I thought he was cool as fuck. Like, peak bad guy design. I wanted my bad guy to look like that too. Except MY bad guy had a hoodie instead of a trench coat.

So, in the fic, the kidnapper was referred to as Kabuki. Despite literally basing them off of the bad guy from Big Hero 6, I didn't know HIS name was Kabuki. I thought I made up that name on my own, but whatever.

Their main Pokémon that they used was a Talonflame, for absolutely no reason at all other than the fact I thought Talonflame was cool. Just a freakishly strong Talonflame. Not freakishly strong for Mary Sue reasons, but for subtle foreshadowing of their true identity, because who in Kalos would have extremely powerful Fire Type Pokémon? Not Malva, that's a red herring. Actually someone else stole her Talonflame.

So. Wanna know a particular clothing item that was introduced quite recently that changed everything?

The god damn Baneful Fox mask. The in universe equivalent of a kabuki mask. I took that mask and RAN with it.

Kabuki got renamed to the Baneful Fox which is a MUCH cooler sounding bad guy alias and it fits better in a Pokémon fanfic. Hisuian Zoroark's whole reputation as an omen of death and the negative superstition surrounding it in Legends Arceus makes for a much creepier bad guy.

Which unfortunately meant that Talonflame was now a plot hole because the first thing you'd ask was "Why does the Zoroark themed kidnapper have a Talonflame and not a Zoroark?" So I saved Talonflame from the cutting room floor by… just letting the kidnapper have two Pokémon. Zoroark is their main Pokémon that casts illusions to make them invisible and the Talonflame is now the muscle.

Yup. So the original kabuki mask theming in version 1 gets changed to Zoroark theming in version 2 entirely because they made a Pokémon version of a kabuki mask.

Side note, Valerie's "best friend" in the 2015 version really was just her best friend because 2015 me was sheltered and didn't know that lesbianism was. 2024 Valerie gets a cute Ice Type themed girlfriend.

The second serendipitous thing that happened after 2018 was when the Sword and Shield Gym Leaders leaked. Melony just happened to look almost identical to that OC, complete with having the exact same hair colour. Scared the SHIT out of me it was that coincidental. So Valerie's cute Ice Type themed girlfriend got retconned into being Melony's niece and her nationality was changed from Johtonian(?) to Galarian.

[iwriteasfotini]

Regulus the Death Eater

Oh man, I'm on a roll with tumblr rants today. This is a tricky one people. Regulus the Death Eater.

It is real. One hundred percent. And I LOVE Regulus. I LOVE Jegulus. And I have had some serious come to *Merlin* moments when writing my story because Regulus does some seriously morally grey shite. Think Hunger Games but we aren't in an arena and you aren't necessarily trying to be the last one standing. He's playing the game, and he wants to survive. He's making the best of a terrible family situation. He's doing it for Sirius. For his other friends. He doesn't like Voldemort, but he also doesn't go rogue and face off one-on-one with him (which within the context of my fic, he theoretically COULD do because he's really powerful).

But he's only seventeen, then eighteen, then he dies. I like to think he would have gotten his shite together with Lily (the other powerhouse) and they could have come up with something better than playing the game the way they do. That being said, he doesn't know about the Horcruxe(s), until he does... and then HE MUST DESTROY IT. Because Voldemort can't be defeated while it survives. He obviously doesn't know about multiple Horcruxes. He thinks he is making a huge play, saving a ton of lives, and making Voldemort vulnerable when he thinks he's invincible.

The conundrum comes from Regulus' very morally grey actions as he plays this game being accepted, forgiven, etc. I think it works. And I think if you can enjoy the Hunger Games, knowing those kids all become murders in an effort to survive, what Regulus does is really no different. If you can't stand the Hunger Games, then you would look at my Regulus and think how can I romanticize this man's flaws and the terrible things he does.

I like it when characters are clear cut villains or heroes. I like things being morally grey, because that feels authentic to me. Rarely is there a meaningful problem in the world which has a clearcut single answer or solution. People aren't classifiable as good or bad. So characters can be both too. And to me Regulus is the epitome of BOTH. He's so vaguely characterized in canon. It's PERFECT. Kreacher sees him as the pureblood elitist, Sirius even makes digs about him (but don't get me started on adult mentally teenage mid 30's Sirius). And yet...

Canon: Regulus tries to destroy the Horcrux, and he dies in the process. Could Kreacher have apparated him out? I HC not, because I don't think Regulus was suicidal, or if Kreacher could have, there was a reason Regulus sent him back alone. This second one is more in line with my story. I also don't think he died in that cave, but that gets into story I have yet to write. Regulus was a Slytherin. Slytherins are clever, and thorough. I think if he could he would have wanted to ensure the Horcrux was destroyed himself. For whatever reason, he couldn't.

So we can see Regulus as an idiot who got in over his head and got scared. I don't love this characterization for obvious reasons. Regulus wanted to bring Voldemort down because he had people he cared about. Which means Regulus had an emotionally charged 'why' behind a lot of his choices. This complicates his character significantly. Is doing the wrong thing for the right reasons ok? Is doing the right thing for the wrong reason ok? What even is the right thing to do sometimes? These are all questions I have pondered where Regulus' actions are concerned.

And there is no right answer regarding who Regulus was as a person. We make most of it up and then sit on our little hills yelling at each other. Which when you really think about it feels very silly. So I don't expect people to love my Regulus. I definitely expect people to take issue with his choices. If I could write my own Regulus centric story from scratch with no canon involved, how would it look? IDK, because I am literally writing this story to explain to myself what really happened to Regulus Black (among other reasons). A question I have been pondering for two decades.

[shrinkthisviolet]

🚥🔨 ✂ 🧜‍♂️📃

🚥: Is there a character choice or plotline that you regret but is now canon and you feel like you can't change it?

Idk if there's a specific one, but if I had the choice to do this over again, I'd write the arcs in order—s1 and then s2. I feel dissatisfied sometimes with the way I wrote certain things in s2 (Barry & Morgan's relationship, for example, not being quite as close-siblings-esque as it is right now), because there were things I hadn't figured out yet. It's not so severe that I feel the need to overhaul it and write it from scratch*, I think I've mostly worked within that limit fairly well, but…even in terms of writing style, you can kinda tell that my writing style improved from s2 to s1…which is sorta the opposite of the effect you want to have 😅 it's not a bad arc by any means, I'm still proud of it (and it's not finished anyway, so it'll still end strong), I just…sometimes I wish I'd written it after s1 instead of before

*however, I probably will end up tweaking part of Morgan's reaction to Barry's paralysis in 2x06 to be more about "oh my god my invincible big brother is paralyzed", not just about "oh my god Zoom is terrifying". And a while back, I did tweak one of the other oneshots in s2, which originally had Iris not knowing Morgan was Sentry (that is obviously not the case anymore, so I edited it). Minor little tweaks like that are ones I might make (and I will undoubtedly recommend rereading the posted fics of the s2 arc once the s1 arc is finished), but overall, I've managed to stay surprisingly in line with the s2 arc so far.

🔨: Are there any whump tropes that you'd love to see your OC's reactions to even though you couldn't or wouldn't put it into your actual story for whatever reason?

Oooh well I'd love for Barry and Morgan to be captured together by Zoom at some point, but idk if it could work. One of them at a time, maybe, but…I don't know if there's really a feasible way to have them both captured while still fitting in with the way s2's plot unfolds (and I do love s2 and its plot for the most part, so I don't want to disrupt it too much…aside from the few divergences I've already planned)

✂: Is there a plotline that you'd planned to write but for whatever reason has been abandoned?

Oooh well back when Barry & Morgan were just friends, not siblings, there was going to be more awkwardness with Henry and Tina dating, due to Barry and Morgan facing the possibility of stepsiblinghood and feeling awkward about it. That still remains in a sense—the awkwardness is just about gaining a stepparent, and not about also gaining a stepsibling. It included the latter originally, but since Barry and Morgan chose each other as siblings as early as 1x14, it would make no sense for them to feel awkward about becoming stepsiblings.

Oh, the consequences of becoming very attached to them 😅 I fast-tracked their sibling dynamic. I don't feel too bad about it though—honestly I can't imagine s1 without their close relationship, and it strengthens 2x06 (Morgan's reaction to Barry's paralysis is no longer just about Zoom, but also about Barry)...and future arcs in the series. I can live with losing part of the "stepfamily adjustment" plotline, because a) I still have part of it anyway and b) Barry & Morgan being this close from so early on is better in the long run

🧜‍♂️: If your OC could choose to be a nonhuman character, what do you think they would choose? If they are a nonhuman character, would they choose to be human or another sort of nonhuman character?

A siren (the aquatic kind specifically)! Morgan had a mermaid fascination phase, and she loves singing. Plus, after making this moodboard + blurb…I'm quite fascinated with the idea myself (siren!Morgan fic one day mayhaps?) 👀

📃: List a few words, without any explanation, that have to do with ideas you have for future stories or chapters that may or may not ever get written.

betrayal, grief, longing, loneliness, family, new beginnings, trust

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