#if he fucks up even more or in an irreparable way then ill side with the fans and ditch the slightly more neutral stance

[smehur]

More Harry/Draco fics I loved

I'm reading so much fic, I don't have time to read the actual books! And my Read Later list still keeps growing! Thank you, Drarry Tumblr, for feeding me so well. Here's a little something in return.

In the order of reading them:

Bitter Honey, Green Night by Faith Wood

An inn, an Auror, a criminal, a mystery.

I loved this story for the seduction, and the tension, and one of the most exquisite, most intimate sex scenes I've ever encountered. Even weeks after reading, it still lingers in my mind and I can envision it with almost painful clarity. I admit I wished the story went on: although the main conflict got a satisfying resolution, there could've been a bit more closure (read: another sex scene). Not a critique, mind you--if I were in the author's shoes, I'd have probably stopped there too--just the longings of an insatiable fan.

i was having visions of sugared pastry (cooked up in clarified butter) by infectiousdisease, solifuge

Draco Malfoy doesn't remember a time before his eating disorder. Not that he'd call it that.

This one gutted me in all the right ways. Draco with an eating disorder passed on from Narcissa clicked for me with frightening ease. It just rings so true? The unflinching depictions of his mental and physical illness, of his relations with his dysfunctional family and the bullying he inflicted on others made my stomach clench--and I loved it. I also loved how the horrors of the war were communicated as subtext, reflected in Draco's war against himself, rather than explicitly, to great effect. I loved the soft things too: Draco's relationship with Harry developing between the lines, the cathartic trial scene and the well-earned beginnings of recovery, all written in brisk, efficient prose that cuts to the marrow. An absolute gem of a fic.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Easily one of the loveliest stories I've read in this fandom so far. Draco is such an unmitigated darling; I rooted for him deeply, while fearing at the same time that he'd fuck things up irreparably, lol. And Harry, dear, pure, clueless Harry, with his long-time crush that's teased but never fully elaborated. There's also a little owl, heart-warming moments between Draco and his parents, his unrelenting focus on clothes and a scene where he goes jogging in a Muggle park wearing robes (and little else).

All that said, the end left me feeling weirdly cheated. (Spoiler alert!) Harry says it himself: it's not fair that Draco had their first kiss without him. Was Draco's exploration of the timeloop selfish, or just inconsiderate, or entirely justified? What would Harry have done in his shoes? Not gonna lie: I kept mulling over this for days.

Mortal Frame by tackytiger

Draco’s on a mission, and this time it's personal. But it's not easy to track down something that no one wants to talk about, especially when Harry Potter keeps popping up everywhere Draco goes. Though at least he’s on Draco’s side this time, and if he happens to be useful, and kind, and great in bed—well, Draco’s not exactly complaining. The story of three pubs, one Horcrux, four overpriced sandwiches, and two damaged men just trying to make sure that Bellatrix Lestrange stays dead.

Oh, this was such a treat. Mysterious, atmospheric and reticent in just the perfect measure, it had me wide-eyed and heart-aching and mouth-watering. Most of my reading is about Harry and Draco getting together, and I'm always surprised when stories where they're already a couple (of one sort or another) manage to evoke in me such deep longing. If you haven't already, go read this now.

À Bon Chat by oknowkiss

Draco Malfoy didn’t intend to lead a life of crime after the war. It’s just that being good had turned out so incomprehensibly boring. Now he's thirty-five, a fully redeemed member of society, the darling of the wizarding social pages, and a newly minted consultant for Gawain Robards' Investigative Research division. In his spare time, he enjoys good whisky, casual sex, and moonlighting as an art thief. His biggest score yet is fast approaching and he's got everything planned down to the minute. Everything, that is, until the unexpected appearance of a newly-divorced Harry Potter. Now that Potter's in the picture, Draco's no longer certain if he's the pursuer or the prize.

Omg, this fic. I don't even know where to start with the praise. It is so well-written, and so well-researched, and it offers such insight, not only into our beloved characters, but into human nature in general. I still can't decide whether I entirely bought the ending or not. But that didn't lessen my enjoyment of the story; it even contributed to it by making me engage with it on a deeper level. I remain astonished and humbled.

Tagging the authors I managed to find on here: @faith2wood, @oknowkiss, @tackytigerfic. Thank you for enriching my life! 💚

[topguncortez]

Eyes Wide Shut

Spring Break Kickback | Masterlist

synopsis: You are an Aviator and go down in a crash, now Bob is trying to convince you to wake up and help you complete your bucket list

prompt: [ BEDSIDE ] : sender waits by receiver's bedside as they recover from an illness or an injury.

warnings: medical inaccuracies (I got my medical degree from Shonda Rhimes University), description of injuries, failed ejection, mentions of death, angst, Bobby Boy being sad

word count: 1.5k

It was quiet, except for the incessant beeping and soft hum of all the machines gathered around her bed. They were the only things keeping her alive. Keeping oxygen and blood flowing through her body. The annoying beeping was the constant reminder that her heart was still beating in her chest. It had been days since she had opened her eyes, and Bob feared she might never again. 

He had been sitting in the readiness room, reading through some military magazine when the distress call came over the radio. He stood up from the couch and quickly ran over to the radio, where Nat and Payback were crowding around. You and Hangman were in the air, doing a routine, or what should’ve been, hop against Javy and Rooster. Everyone had started to believe that Hangman had changed his ways, but it seemed as though everyone spoke too soon. 

“You need to eject! Punch out! Eject! Eject! Eject!” 

You were out there for two days. Your parachute carried you farther from the wreckage of your jet than the rescue crews had estimated. You were found barely breathing, dehydrated, and in a pool of your own blood. They took you straight to the hospital, rushing you into surgery to repair the broken leg you had sustained in the crash. But the doctors had feared that they were too late. That even though they had fixed your leg and internal injuries, that the mix of severe dehydration, blood loss, and swelling in your brain had caused irreparable damage. 

“Mav went ballistic on Cyclone today,” Bob said, as he held your hand, “You would’ve loved to see it.” 

Bob hadn’t left the side of your bed since you had been brought into the ICU. You weren’t allowed more than one visitor, in case you did wake up. The doctor said low stimulation was going to be the best for you. The brain was an organ that took a while to heal, and a quiet setting was ideal for patients like you. The doctor also told Bob that studies had shown that talking to comatose patients often helped their brains heal even quicker. 

“I don’t even know why Cyclone would bring up something like. . . bringing in a new pilot,” Bob scoffed, “That’s just fucking ridiculous. You’ll be back soon. And then you can tell Cyclone yourself that his idea was fucking ridiculous.” 

But, Bob knew that it wasn’t all that too ridiculous that Cyclone was searching for your replacement. You’d never fly again. The doctor had already told Bob that. You would never pass a physical to get cleared to fly. It was hardly ever that pilots who had crashes as bad as yours found themselves back in the air. They said it would be a miracle if you even stayed in the Navy, more than likely going to get a medical discharge. That depends on if you wake up. 

The thought ran through Bob’s head again and sent a shiver down his spine. He clenched his jaw, and sat forward a bit in his chair. He picked up your hand and held it in both of his. He pressed a kiss to your fingers, feeling tears well up in his eyes. You had to wake up. You just had too. There were too many things that you hadn’t done yet. You had hardly lived, being only twenty-seven. You had a bucket list, a lengthy one at that, that you wanted to complete. 

“Remember the other day. . . when you said that you were half way through your bucket list goal of eating chicken strips in every state?” Bob sniffled. He had laughed when you first said that, but then you showed him the map of all the states you had eaten chicken strips in, “Well, if you wake up, I promise that I’ll help you complete that. You hear that? You gotta wake up so we can cross that off our list.” 

The tears in Bob's eyes were now streaming down his face as he held your hand to his lips and cried. He was never one to cry. His father had told him once that crying makes you weak. But in this moment that was all he could do. He had run out of prayers to say. Run out of scripture passages to read. And now, the hope that he had in his body was also starting to run thin. 

It felt good to cry. It felt good to get all the pent up feelings he had in his body out. It had been eight long days of sitting by your side, holding your hand, being woken up every hour on the hour by doctors and nurses coming in to check your vitals, and hearing that constant beeping of the machines. Bob gently sets your hand back down by your side, running his thumb over the back of your skin. 

“And when we get to that fiftieth state, which I really want to be Alaska, cause it’s beautiful,” Bob took a deep breath, “I’m gonna ask you to marry me.” His blue eyes looked up at your rested face. 

Your relationship had been kept on the down low, fearing that one of you would be moved away from the unit if the higher ups found out. Somehow, you had been able to keep it a secret for nearly two years, but Bob reckoned that everyone knew now. It had taken Payback and Rooster to hold Bob back from charging at Hangman for putting you in the wake of his jet wash. They had never seen the quiet WSO so angry, nor did they know that he had a nasty right hook. Jake was still supporting a black eye. Everyone had confused looks on their faces when Bob ran from the shared office space and out the door on the day they had found you. Slowly, the pieces had been falling together. 

“I got a ring and everything,” Bob said, “You just gotta open your eyes. Alright,” Bob sat up in his chair, “You open your eyes, and the ring is yours. I am yours. Please, please.” Bob clasped his hands and rested his elbows on your bed in prayer, reciting the Our Father again like he had several times already. 

It felt like a jackhammer going off in your head. The idea of even attempting to open your eyes sounded like the worst thing in the world. It’s like seeing the bright light of morning shining through your window, and trying to stay asleep. But there was a pull, like a magnet, that was pulling you to just open your eyes. It was like hearing your mother call you home after the street lights had turned on. You knew that you needed to. That you should. But what was stopping you? 

Ever so slowly, you blinked your eyes open. The lights were bright, and you couldn’t quite focus your eyes on anything. The pounding in your head grew worse as you could somewhat make out a shape of a person sitting by your bed. You should’ve known it was him. You tried to turn your head the best you could, but you weren’t sure that you had any control over your body. You thought you were moving your hand to reach and grab his clasped ones, but you were no more than just moving one of your fingers. 

But somehow Bob felt that barely there brush against his forearm, and looked over at you. 

“Oh my god,” He grabbed your hand. Every fiber in your being felt like it had been lit up in flames as you used whatever strength you could muster and squeezed his hand, “I love you. I love you so much.” Bob moved forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You squeezed his hand again and slowly your eyes fluttered shut. 

Bob pulled away from you to look at you again, when a loud flatlining sound filled the air.

I know longer have a taglist! follow my library page for notifications on when I post:) @cortezslibrary

[moonsprings]

maybe it's because i've been through it these last two years with a shit ton of personal shit that happened (family deaths, friend with illness) that everything feels a lot more... more but this news of lee sun kyun's death has been shocking. it feels odd because i'm a lot more sad about it than i expected to be, just from a human perspective of not wanting other people to feel the kind of despair necessary to take your own life. i wasn't a die hard fan but a casual fan nonetheless (cue self callout about liking middle aged men with nice voices... lol.) and while admittedly i've been more of a fan of lee sun kyun's wife (actress jeon hye jin, who is famous in her own right) in recent years, he was undoubtedly an actor i watched growing up. coffee prince was the hit drama when i was in grade school, back when my family used to watch korean cable/broadcast tv at home. then pasta, then my mister which i consider his representative work, more so than parasite. it's a horrible thing that's happened.

there's a lot of context that's missing on the western side of the news, mostly to do with the whole hostess/escort blackmail situation that had been unfolding on korean news in the last 2-3 months which likely compounded the entire scandal and his decision to do this sadly. imo this entire thing has far less to do about drugs than people actually think though it's still a significant factor. lee sunkyun has always had a 'family man' image on kor tv and the revelations about him and the alleged hostess/escort who had been blackmailing him who supplied and took drugs with was a madame/hostess from a VIP (basically rich people only) room salon/hostess bar he appears to have been having an affair with for a while which irreparably damaged his image and reputation and likely his marriage and family. rumors had been circulating that his in-laws were urging jeon hyejin to divorce him, they supposedly sent their kids to an overseas boarding school because they were getting bullied in korea over lsk's scandal, and he was facing millions in won in contract violations penalty fees from cancelled CFs/advertisements and tv and film work that was delayed because of the scandal (also fucking hell, just saw the news report saying he left a message to his company's rep apologizing for the penalty fees right before his death). the same penalty fee situation happened to actor yoo ahin after he was convicted of drug charges and is now reportedly millions in debt. that is an incredible amount of pressure, even if part of it was the consequence of his actions. and to be clear, these were stupid choices he made but the reaction was so wildly disproportionate to what he's been accused of.

i feel like if it had "just" been drugs, or "just" been the hostess scandal, he could have made a come back after a few years as many other korean celebrities have (way more than people think, and he has more leeway as a critically celebrated, middle aged male actor who is not an idol), but it's the combination of the drugs, the 'room salon'/hostess club situation that just exploded, and the corrupt police placing this level of constant pressure and publicity on him that caused this imo. his private phone calls and messages he made with the hostess were leaked yesterday from a known r/ight wing kor youtuber before his suic-de. having seen it reported in the kor news, it's difficult to describe the contents of it other than being very personal and frankly, embarrassing (and i mean this as neutrally as possible. think adam levine-esque) in a country as conservative as korea when he's telling a s-x worker he 'really likes [her]' in the sense that he has feelings for her. and again, his wife is a prominent actress and their public images are tied together. given the timing, it likely wasn't just about the drugs. and i know the whole room salon/hostess bar thing is incredibly common in korea, in older stats some say something like 70% of korean men have frequented one (though it's increasingly becoming less acceptable and therefore less common, which is why the public reaction been harsh) and i really don't approve of the cultural aspects that have allowed this to be permissible (as a korean-american) but i feel like that's a personal issue that should have been handled by him and his family. if it was one or the other he could have made a return but i think the pressure of it being this public and detailed due to police likely being the ones intentionally leaking information from the investigation was just too much for him to handle. it feels like the police purposefully went out of their way to humiliate lee sun kyun in the press and public to try and get him to admit to the drug charges because g-dragon, the other celebrity that was implicated, proved his innocence rather conclusively and the police didn't have anyone else to use to get some high profile publicity.

...so we started the year with a suic-de and ended it with a suic-de. it's telling, i think. obviously i don't know any of them, they're 'just' celebrities who literally don't know i exist (as it should be) but honestly my chest feels heavy watching dark coats and emotionless faces walk into the university hospitals, the smiling portrait pictures atop the bed of flowers at the ceremonial funeral rooms, the whole lot - i don't know how many more times people can see this and not feel like anything's wrong. image is everything and the pressure to perform, be perfect, be successful is too much. i'm not even half as talented as any of them and i still felt it, a sea away, in a watered down version from immigrant korean parents and an immigrant community. everyone is way too damn casual about admitting their suic-dal thoughts but not really offering any real solutions and it's just so common. i've heard far too many interviews from kor celebrities who had scandals (and when i say scandals i mean in the asian sense again, dating, secret marriages, divorces or drugs or whatever shit that would barely even qualify as a line in the news in the west most of the time and not more serious crimes) who admitted years after the fact that they were considering suic-de because of the public reaction. or more mundane shit like 'i felt suicidal in school because of academic pressure' stuff i've heard a million times from korean friends, classmates. a lot of it gets dismissed as 'puberty' or 'everyone feels that way'. and again i ask why it's so normalized.

then even those celebrities that have died from suic-de are treated like virtual boogeymen afterwards, their names never mentioned even in places where it should be. the eggshells, the sidestepping because it could be considered 'sensitive' and thus they're erased because the only context their lives can be in is in position to their suic-des. other people who knew them, friends, acquaintances, coworkers they had - past the initial condolence messages, it's like they never existed because everyone is scared of controversy from saying the wrong thing, or not being serious enough, or whatever the hell people want to nitpick that week. people have literally been criticized before for being too sad or not being sad enough when a death from a suic-de has happened so i'm not surprised this was the end result, that literally no one talks about the deceased now outside of a very select few. if they are talked about, it's more so alluded to in an extremely vague manner usually not mentioning them by name, and they rarely, if ever say the actual word suic-de. they usually say that it was an "안타까운 사건" ('an unfortunate incident') even in official news reports, including of LSK's death, and it just bothers me that it's this taboo, everything from making stupid decisions and stupid mistakes (bullying, drugs, cheating, whatever the fuck) or just plain having mental illness, to ending their lives because of it, to having their friends and family not speak about them publicly because it's 'shameful' and they'll get judged.

i don't know what the point is, just that i'm really increasingly frustrated with the state of things. the police shouldn't have pushed him to the brink. this entire situation straight up should not have happened at all.

[moony-to-ur-pads]

“Life’s Not Fair.”

a wolfstar fluff ending i promise <3, but i won’t lie it’s bittersweet, cw: drinking, making out ;)

Remus is five, the first time he thinks it.

Five, and wrapped in bandages from head to foot—a muggle caricature mummy, propped up on the front porch.

Listening to the hoots of the neighbourhood children, feet slapping tarmac, the cheery tinkle of bicycle bells.

Watching them run and laugh and play.

Remus curls aching limbs around himself. Shivers.

Thinks about moons and wolves and bites and other things he doesn’t really understand, yet.

He’s not allowed to play with the other children anymore. That’s what mami says.

It’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not my fault the wolf got me.

He sniffles. Rubs his nose. Shivers, even though it’s July and there isn’t a trace of a chill clinging to the summer breeze—but that doesn’t matter because he’s always cold now, always tired, always sore.

It’s not fair. Life isn’t fair.

Remus feels something he can’t understand, something choking and twisty and strong—something he thinks is distinctly wolffish, although he doesn’t understand why.

He picks up a picture book and turns the page of a well-worn spine, trying desperately to forget the cheery children on the street.

…

Everything’s loud.

The wind screams outside his window in a ghostly, whistling snarl, made out to a shriek by his unnatural hearing. His stupid wolf ears.

And inside his room, the walls thud and boom and shake and scream at him in the voices of his mother and father—brick barely muffling the thunderstorm raging on the other side.

“You can’t say things like that to him, Lyall!”

Remus pulls a pillow over his ears and tries to block it all out. It doesn’t work.

He wonders, bitterly—because he knows, too well, the name of that choky wolfish tightness now—if suffocating himself with the damn pillow would be a worthier cause.

“Forgive me for telling him the truth! He can’t live with his head in the fucking clouds!”

“He’s ten, so forgive me for thinking that just maybe he fucking can!”

He can’t deal with this. He can’t deal with them.

Remus doesn’t feel bad for thinking that. It’s a mutual feeling, no doubt—reflected on their side of the wall, too.

He’s the cause of the raised voices and the pain and the tears—he always is. His moons, his wounds, his goddamn ‘condition’. It all comes back to him.

It’s not fair.

He never meant to hurt them. He never meant to be this way. If he could, he’d fix himself in a heartbeat.

Remus Lupin hates being broken like this. Irreparable, creaky, a dusty disappointment sitting in his bedroom and watching the weeks tick by.

Smashing himself to bits every month like clockwork,—healing and smashing and healing and smashing and waiting to die—like a destructive little cuckoo clock, pulling out his gears and cogs to a howling midnight chime.

It’s not fair.

Life’s not fair.

He wonders how much longer he’ll have to live like this. He thinks—forever, probably. Until the day I finally kick it.

The world screams at him, and Remus Lupin wants nothing more than to scream right back.

…

“So—thoughts, Mr Lupin?” the man asks, wired half-moon glasses perched on his nose.

Remus thinks a trap never came laced in more honey than this one does. It’s sweet—too sweet. Enough to make him sick—and Remus Lupin has the sweetest, most chocolate-loving tooth on planet earth.

“What’s in it for you?” he asks, shortly.

Surprise flickers like an ill-tamed ghost across Dumbledore’s features, and Remus watches as he struggles to set them into passivity once again.

“Well, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t come, Mr Lupin. You’re eleven, magical, and with the right precautions, no danger to anyone at all. It’s only fair.”

Remus looks him straight in the eye.

“Life isn’t fair, sir,” he snaps—he knows it, too well. “So what’s in it for you—what do I have to do?”

“Nothing, Remus,” Dumbledore stresses. Dismisses. Lies.

…

Life isn’t fair, but at Hogwarts Remus thinks that maybe—just maybe—fate has decided to shine on him instead of stab him full of knives. For once.

His moons don’t hurt so much anymore. Madame Pomfrey’s expert potions-work has him up and running a day, sometimes hours, after daybreak—tired—sore, but okay.

And ‘okay’—to Remus—means more than the whole bloody world.

His friends are stupid. But in a good way. In the way that feels warm and fond to think about. Like he’d stand against the world for their stupid asses—because, really, isn’t that what they’re doing for him?

Knowing Remus for his darkness and his danger and still loving him like it doesn’t count for shit. Making him tea on stiff-limb mornings and taking notes on foggy-head days and suffocating him with blankets and hugs and love on bad nights.

And when he thinks it can’t possibly get any better, it does. There’s a new kind of love now, one that makes him feel dizzy and terrified but so alive.

Sirius Black kisses him behind a tapestry during an after-Quidditch party—

Back to the brick, hands in his hair, sloppy and messy and free.

Remus feels like his whole life is just shining. Like he’s been dunked in molten gold. And he can taste it on his lips, warm and bold, tinted with a spark of fire whiskey—but that can’t be the only thing that’s making him feel like this.

Glowing. Shining. Bursting with fate’s golden, heavenly favour.

As he stumbles up to the dorm that night—breathless, drunk, lips red raw like lip gloss, a sport’s jersey with ‘Black’ emblazoned across the back wrapped around him against the chill—Remus thinks that life, maybe, is just a little fair.

That maybe, fate has handed him Sirius Black—his saviour, his beauty, his love—in return for, well… everything.

And Remus thinks—if lycanthropy was all it took to to have this—to have this forever—then it was worth it. It was worth it all.

[sab3rto0thed]

there are many times when i thought i loved you because it’s easy when you smile but i think if someone asked me when i knew i would say last night: last night, when the sun had set, and it wasn’t quite dark, but dark enough, and nothing existed except your outline, and the coolness of the breeze on my cheeks, and the cold metal bleachers pressing at my skin through my jeans. i watched you while my friends laughed a world away and my stomach twisted in a way it does only when i have witnessed what love is

you could compare the feeling to filling my mouth with honey until all of it overflowed. you could compare it to blood on my smiling cheeks. you couldn’t compare it to anything else though because all it really felt like was my stomach twisting. i could’ve stared at you for hours all night while you talked and played and even if you didn’t look at me once i would’ve been content with your image, eternalized forever, because we are all just ants and we will never be remembered but you will be remembered by me

i thought i was irreparable, a mess, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. i am going through the motions to soothe the illness and yet the illness is never soothed, because the day before i was watching you i was sitting at my desk and clamping my fingers to the skin on my face and letting the tears come down my cheeks. i felt like a wounded thing, like a gored animal thrown to the side. i knew i was loved but i didn’t know why it hurt so bad, like someone had placed chemicals inside my body and held me while i burned from the inside out. shh, they said. this is calling healing, and it is tremendously painful

but being loved and loving are so different. you are so irreparably, smilingly lovely, so in reach. i can’t remember the last time i have ever wanted anything so badly. not my first love, not my last one, and certainly not the boy i kissed two fridays ago. you could take the entire array of sunsets that i have experienced in my lifetime and i would still choose to look at you instead of them

my first boyfriend taught me that there is no love, because he loved me but not really, and i loved him but not exactly correctly. i have not believed in love, even when i said it over and over, until this year, until a month ago, until you were hugging me and i was thinking what the fuck but it was a good what the fuck, not a sob in the kitchen at three in the morning twirling a cigarette in your trembling fingers what the fuck. it was a i am going to get up and i am going to smile, and it’s not going to be fake this time, it’s not. and i am going to be pretty, and i am going to be the stars and more, and i am going to be me, because i am tired of my itchy bedroom carpet. but i am not tired of you.

if someone were to ask me when i realized i loved you, i would tell them it was last night. i would tell them it was not too cold and not too warm, and i was wearing a thin long-sleeved shirt, and my eyeliner was scuffed, and i realized that love has come back to me, like a bird fluttering its small wings in the palm of my hand.

little red bird, don’t go

[stark-tony]

most recent bookmarks (6/18/21)

mcu

you game? cake time? by iron_spider (3k, T, pepperony) Peter stares at him.“I’d like your help,” Tony says, gesturing towards the ton of cakes. “Your refined palette.”Peter snorts. He can’t lie, excitement is rising in his throat and in his stomach, and he barely ate at lunch today because he was trying to finish up the book report before sixth period. “Does Miss Potts know you picked me?”“You can call her Pepper.”Peter cocks his head. “Does Pepper know you picked me to help you?”

The Dangers of Sleeping on the Upside of the Bed by Honorable_mention (1.1k, G, gen, quarantine) Midtown High School’s Academic Decathlon team had moved online. Once a week, even during the summer, everyone would log on and chat for a few minutes before trying to beat each other on Protobowl while hurling barely school appropriate threats at each other. It was really quite a lot of fun.Through these online meetings Cindy Moon had gotten the opportunity to intimately learn about her teammates in a way she hadn’t been able to when they were in-person. A person’s room and the way they talked to their family told you a lot about them.In which the members of the Academic Decathlon team get the chance to meet Peter's roommates

something bright coming his way by iron_spider (6.5k, T, gen, hurt peter) “Pete,” Tony’s voice says. “I’m heading to your location.”Peter narrows his eyes. Karen’s colors turn from dark red to a softer blue, which he takes as her celebrating Tony’s imminent arrival. How imminent? What?“What?” Peter says again. Like an idiot.“Your numbers aren’t what I like to see and you stopped moving and I was in the area, anyway. You know. Doing Iron Man things. You okay?”Peter blinks. He sees some more lights out ahead of him that he thinks are headlights, and he feels like Karen is trying to even out his vision by changing how things come across on the HUD. She’s failing, but he won’t say that. Can she read his brainwaves? No. Definitely not. Maybe. Either way he doesn’t wanna be mean to her, so he stops thinking.Ugh, his side hurts.

Of All the Nurses’ Offices in All the High Schools... by sahiya (7k, T, gen, outsiders pov, identity reveal, hurt peter) Peter Parker has his own gravitational orbit, and it tends to suck in the people around him. Including burned out school nurses who were just minding their own business.Or: Patrick Carmichael meets Spider-Man (and Tony Stark), adopts a cat, and gets just a little bit better.

a first time for everything by crowkag (7.7k, pepperony, sick peter)  “Why are you whispering?” Pepper was asking, and the other noises were receding away behind the creak of a door and click of a lock.“Because I’m hosting a vigilante super-teen with enhanced hearing this weekend.” He slumped back into the couch cushions. “Or did you forget?”There was a sharp intake of breath.“Peter? Oh god, what did you—”“Nothing,” Tony rushed out, scrambling. “He’s fine. The kid’s fine, honey.”A beat of silence.“Okay, well, he’s not fine, but—”“Tony Stark—”

Is he or Is he not? by Omenthia_Arc (43.2k, G, pepperony, 5 + 1, people think peter is tony’s kid) Five times someone thought that Peter was Tony's biological son and one time everyone thought it.

hp

The Moon Looks Lovely Tonight by Omi_Ohmy (35.7k, M, drarry, post-hogwarts, domestic) When Harry moves into the damp and empty Black house, it doesn’t quite feel like home. And then the first owl moves in. After that, it’s a steep slope leading to bed-sharing, more owls, assorted housemates, strange potions experiments, and terrible cooking. And a bit of waltzing, too.

The Wrong Sort by CaffeinatedFlumadiddle (289.5k, T, drarry, romione, gryffindor draco, canon divergence, torture)  In which Draco Malfoy is sorted into Gryffindor and everything kind of goes to Hell from there… but hey. At least there’s a chance he won’t grow up to be an awful person. Alternatively titled ‘Draco Malfoy and the Worst Goddamn Seven Years of His Life’

The Mirror of Ecidyrue by starbrigid (998.6k, E, drarry, wolfstar, romione, neville/ luna, grindeldore, lockhart/snape, time travel, fix it, abuse) All it takes is one look in a mirror and an ill-advised attempt to shatter it, before an embittered Draco Malfoy fresh out of Azkaban is sent back into his body on the day he gets his Hogwarts letter.Suddenly, Draco has an unwanted second chance, with a Sorting Hat that doesn't know what to do with him, a certain Muggleborn who won't leave his study table alone, and green eyes he just can't get out of his head. And then there's his new wand, whose choice of him could just mark him as every bit as dark a wizard as his name means he should be.

more than getting by by sarewolf (34.4k, M, wolfstar, wolfstar raises harry) “What do you want me to do?” Remus says, tiredly. All he wants is to curl up on his bed. Smoke a pack of cigarettes. Get drunk. He can’t stop looking at Harry.“Remus...” Dumbledore is gentle. Remus hates when he has that tone. Hates that he knows it will hurt. “There is no one else left.”A bitter laugh escapes him. “So you’ll curse the poor thing with a werewolf for a guardian?”

How Like Home by waitingondaisies (63.5k, T, jily, dimension travel) When Sirius falls through the veil, Harry chases after him, determined to find him on the other side. Instead, he finds nothing at all. When he wakes up, he is informed by Unspeakables that he is from an alternate universe.Thanks to his uncanny resemblance to his counterpart, Harry is readily recognized as a duplicate of Harry Potter, a normal fifteen year old boy, and is entrusted to the care of Lily and James Potter. From them, Harry discovers that Voldemort is not, and never was, a threat in this universe.Now, Harry must adapt to life with loving parents in a peaceful world.

Professor Black by Haunted_Frost (29k, T, wolfstar, professor regulus black) Kreacher's unending loyalty has allowed Regulus to survive the Inferi. In order to destroy the horcrux and ensure Voldemort's death, he goes back to Hogwarts, this time as a Potions professor. Years at this position give him new insights, even as the papers rave about how both the Blacks were traitors to their sides.When Sirius gets loose from Azkaban, Regulus knows one thing: he is not going to let his lunatic brother hurt his students.Inspired entirely by this tumblr post.

atla

(let me be) there for you by lesmiserablol (8.5k, T, zukka, post-war, bodyguard sokka, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers) Sokka pulls out a clean piece of parchment and starts to write:Reasons Why Sokka Would Be A Great Bodyguard for Lord ZukoHe smiles in satisfaction at the title. Seeing it in writing only makes him feel more confident in this brilliant, two-minute-old idea of his. Zuko is one of his closest friends, and Sokka is a great fighter, he would be the perfect bodyguard! He has the entirety of his trip in the Fire Nation to prove it to Zuko. This is going to be a piece of cake.(or, Sokka mistakes his crush for just a strong desire to be a guard for Zuko, and Suki is amused)

boy problems by burnt_oranges (22.2k, zukka, mailee, friends to lover, post-war, arranged marriage) “I accidentally signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka,” Zuko says faintly. He sits up so fast he almost falls out of his chair. “I signed off on an arranged marriage to Sokka, and he agreed."In which Zuko suffers in a variety of ways, including but not limited to: close and constant proximity to the object of his affections, assassination attempts, and irreparable injuries to his dignity.

we really should google these things first by Bundibird (3k, G, gen, modern) Sokka's aloe vera plant is in need of a good pruning, and what's Sokka gonna do, just throw out all the pruned leaves? When instead he can make aloe vera juice? Come on. (Only - maybe he should have googled this beforehand. Because it turns out there's an edible kind of aloe, and a toxic kind. Guess what kind Sokka has. Go on, guess.)(Or: the modern AU based on the time I nearly poisoned myself with a non-edible succulent.)

spn

Checked Out by whelvenwings (27.1k, G, destiel, dreamhunter, library au, librarian castiel, writer dean, openly bi dean, misunderstandings)  Castiel Novak can think of many writers who would not be welcome under the roof of Heaven’s Gate library, where he is the librarian: Ayn Rand ranks highly (no explanation needed), as does Charles Dickens (he hasn’t forgiven Charles for the month he lost to The Pickwick Papers). And, of course, Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, local author and obvious a-hole, who is entirely too handsome to be true and who is clearly totally lacking in profundity, intelligence, sincerity, and self-awareness. Unfortunately, though, Dean’s been invited to do a book signing at Heaven’s Gate - and Castiel’s about to be confronted by some unexpected feelings when he finally meets Dean for the first time.

Aim and Ignite by wincechesters (10.3k, M, destiel, cas in the bunker)  After the angels fall and Cas loses his grace, and with Sam still recovering from the toll taken on his body by the trials, Dean starts a prank war as a way to lighten the mood in the bunker and alleviate his boredom. It might just have some unexpected consequences. --- A post-S8 canon AU.

bnha

Izuku plays video games with the League of Villains (among other things) by ADyingFlower (54.2k, T, gen, quirkless midoriya, villain deku) Izuku plays video games with the League of Villains, denies being a villain, has his beloved animal crossing file threatened, kicks ass with a shotgun, is proposed to, learns to deal with his depression, and accidentally kidnaps the son of the number two hero. In that order.Or: Five times Izuku played online with his friends, and one time he played with them in personThen Himiko screams.“CAPTAIN!” “Y-yeah?” Tomura asks almost hesitantly. “LOOK!!” All four of them spin around, right as a cannonball comes soaring inches from Izuku’s head from the Galleon less than a three feet away from them. They scream. “OH FUCK NO NO NO NO! NO!” Dabi yells, running to load the cannons. “DUDE WE HAVE SO MUCH SHIT! NO! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!”“Hey guys, guys! Hey, chill!” Izuku shrieks frantically, right as one of the players boards their ship and starts shooting. “CHILL THE FUCK OUT!”

our trust shot full of holes by nolov (louscr) (25.9k, T, gen) When he's twelve, Izuku meets his best friend. Neither of them are especially good at having friends, but they make do.The other shoe drops less than a week into his first year at U.A.

Are You Valued? by cyber_phobia (9.2k, T, dad for one)  "What are you drawing, Izuku?" Hisashi asks with adoration dripping in his voice. "It's Uncle!" Izuku shouts, smacking his dad's arm for daring to ask once more. All the air leaves Hisashi's lungs in one fell swoop.

To Spark A Smile by awefull (1.1k, G, gen, dadzawa) A six-year-old. Aizawa was the guardian of a six-year-old. Aizawa, a pro-hero, who had poor eating habits, and no sleep schedule, was in charge of raising a little girl.He, reasonably, had some concerns.

Long Night in the Valley by Marsalias (53.7k, T, gen, suspected traitor, dad might, dad for one) On paper, the Hero Commission's plan to investigate Midoriya Izuku under the guise of a training course for combating mental quirks is solid, almost foolproof, even. If Midoriya turns out to be innocent, they can pass everything off as part of the training exercise, assuming he even remembered any of it. Otherwise, they could beg forgiveness after the traitor was securely imprisoned in Tartarus.The paper plan failed to take into account the feral ghosts living in Midoriya Izuku's head, or his equally feral living friends.Time to bring on the chaos.

i gave the voices in my head a megaphone by hannahbal (17.3k, todoroki/midoriya/shinsou) ...and they started singing Megan Thee Stallion.(Hitoshi, like any good friend, brainwashes Izuku’s anxiety away for a day so he can know some peace. The problem? Izuku has no fear of god or consequences.Izuku also has no goddamn filter.)

Nothing Could Be More Worthwhile by Krisington (3.5k, G, gen, dad might) Toshinori Yagi wouldn’t say he had let his guard down in retirement, not exactly. It was more accurate to say that he had let his guard down in his true form. He didn’t notice others, and others didn’t notice him. It had become a small pleasure, he realized, one he was reluctant to let go.He should have known better.The man managed to reach All Might’s forehead a split second before All Might grabbed the man’s arm. But a second was just enough.A villain showed All Might a vision of Izuku. Bloodied. Broken. Fading. Was that some future that would come to pass? Toshinori needed to do everything in his power to make sure it wasn't.

everything i wanted by raindrops_0 (9k, T, gen, 5 + 1) Izuku turns to face Hitoshi and flashes a bright smile, eyes folding into crescent moons.Bright like the afternoon sun swallowing Hitoshi whole, bright like All Might’s fucking perfect grin, bright like he’s already a hero.Bright like everything Hitoshi has ever wanted and then more.(Hitoshi can’t help it, but he hates. Of course Izuku can smile as if the whole world is in his hands. He’s never had to fight for every little thing and be hated for it.)Or 5 times Hitoshi misjudged the golden boy of UA, and 1 time he finally understood.

hp/bnha 

Bend Before You Break by orkestrations (16.2k, T, gen) When Izuku set out for his morning run, the last thing he was expecting was to be plucked from his own world by magic and thrown into another universe entirely.Removed from his own conflict and with no way back, he sets himself to figuring out this world and its own incipient war while searching for a way to possibly reverse the spell that brought him here.It's just his luck that the year he arrives is the same year the government decides it's a great idea to bring back the potentially-deadly tournament.

[innocentbi-stander]

The Theory of Pleasure

I’ve had an asexual!Jaskier fic idea bouncing around for a while, so I finally made myself sit down and write it, let me know what you think!

As always, I’m willing to take requests for fics or headcanons!

Jaskier had always known he was broken.

Had known it since he was small, when nothing he did was ever good enough. Had known it when he stumbled through yet another sword fighting lesson, his feet stumbling in vain to find their proper place in the footwork. Whenever he looked up to the balcony of the manor, he’d see the look of disappointment etched on his father’s face. It was an expression that he was intimately familiar with even at the age of 12.

That disappointed expression haunted Jaskier throughout his childhood.When he grew willowy and slight, his features were delicate instead of the rugged broad shouldered build of his father. When he chose music over sword fighting, a passion unbecoming of a nobleman’s son.

Jaskier knew he was broken because he saw it in his father’s eyes every time he looked at him.

He knew he was broken on the outside. But as Jaskier grew older he realized he was just as broken inside as well. As he grew older the other noble children began to cast looks at each other he didn’t quite understand. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel like there was something wrong with him. Whatever was going on between his peers mystified him, and he couldn’t comprehend the sudden fascination, but if there was one thing he had learned under the roof of his father it was how to play a part. And Jaskier was always an excellent actor.

So he crafted a mask. A mask of wit and charm. Objectively, Jaskier knew he was considered attractive by his peers. So he used that to his advantage. He masqueraded his way into dozens of beds, not caring if they were men or women, or if they had a partner waiting for them to come home. All he cared about was a warm bed to sleep in at night.  

Jaskier made himself a reputation. A reputation of jumping out of windows in early morning light, angry husbands a his heels, a reputation of scandal and movement, and being known. His escapades often only lasted for one night, but one night was all he needed. To Jaskier, sex meant exchanging loving touches and connection, but he knew his many lovers bedded him for another reason entirely. It was just another way to be broken.

It still wasn’t enough. He still wasn’t enough. And Jaskier didn’t understand why. He had done everything his father ever wanted him to be. He had stopped his indulgence in frivolous things like music, had learned to charm the members of the court, had learned to choke down the awful taste of his father’s ire and do better. Jaskier pinned down every piece of himself that mattered and tried to fill the mold of perfection his parents had created for him. It was only then he realized, it would never be enough. It didn’t matter what he did or changed, in the eyes of his parents he was irreparably broken and always would be.

So Jaskier ran away.

He stuffed only what was needed in his pack, grabbed his lute and left. He ran away from his unhappy life. Away from a future of arranged loveless marriages, desperate affairs, away from the toxicity of court gossip, and away from his parents. And as he walked down the lone road, his pants crusted in dirt and his ill suited for traveling shoes already aching, he never felt more free.

When Jaskier ran, he ran towards Oxenfurt, one of the most prestigious schools on the continent. It was the first place he ever felt he could truly call home. In the city everyone was eccentric and full of contradictions. He was far from his rigid life in court where everyone tiptoed around each other. Oxenfurt was bright and loud and nothing like he had ever seen before.

Though Jaskier studied all seven of the liberal arts, music was the one that claimed his heart. At Oxenfurt his dedication to music was not seen as shameful, but a blessing. Jaskier practised his lute until his hands bled raw. His fingers danced across the strings with a mindless ease, and strum with the passion his father had always wished he had for sword fighting.

It was at Oxenfurt where he learned what love truly was. There was no place for love in court. People would marry who they were told to, whether it was for power, placement, or peace, love was never considered a factor. They would never marry for the passion that they shared with one another. The nobles in his father’s court sneered at the thought of love, declaring it something for foolish children. A good noble was emotionless and stoic, and that was one of the reasons Jaskier had always failed to fit in. At Oxenfurt, he was shown poetry and immediately became obsessed with it. He lost himself in paragraphs written by people overwhelmed with devotion and feeling. The idea of loving someone so fiercely above all else and being loved in return seemed like the most fortunate thing in the entire world.

It wasn’t long before Jaskier graduated Oxenfurt as a bard, and although the traditional path was to join a court, Jaskier knew he had had quite enough of nobles for a lifetime, instead declaring the life of a traveling bard. The decision to rough it on the road instead of settling in a cushy court was seen as extremely unusual to those who knew him.

Jaskier had always been guilty of enjoying the finer things in life. Fine wine, fine clothes, fine food, and fine company. Even at Oxenfurt, he still craved the intimacy of a fleeting romance, no matter how short. For Jaskier, sex was never about the physical act, but instead it was about the romance of it all. The ooey-gooey parts, the closeness. He was a man who loved love, and often found himself in bed with lovers, despite never feeling the physical attraction towards them he knew he was supposed to. Sure, he loved to flirt, he lived for the back and forth, making someone smile and be happy. Sometimes he can even enjoy the physical activity of sex, the intimate moment, but the attraction he holds for people is never sexual. Jaskier holds onto these moments because he knows they are the only way he is able to get any instant of romance.

Throughout his travels he had quickly learned more often than not that most people are only interested in sharing their bodies and their hearts, temporarily. Some days Jaskier found himself wishing that sex wasn’t necessary in order to have a nice dinner with someon, to simply talk and exchange a soft kiss at the end of the night. He’d learned that in most parts of the continent there was a fine line between a bard and a prostitute, and since reputation was everything to a musician he did what he thought was needed and told himself he was happy.

Why wouldn’t he be happy? He was traveling, seeing the world and meeting new people, by this point it seemed that almost half the continent had shared a bed with him. By any other person’s standards he was extremely fortunate, and there were many people who would envy him. Jaskier told himself he was just being ridiculously ungrateful, and he should enjoy what he had. He has his music, and his music was everything that had ever mattered to him, but there was still a small part of him that felt empty.

Then he met Geralt of Rivia in a backwater  tavern in Posada. When he first spotted him sitting in the corner brooding his first thought was fuck he’s attractive, then he thought, I wouldn’t mind spending the night with him. Before he knew it he was walking up to Geralt’s table and recognizing him as a witcher, and not just any witcher, the ‘Butcher of Blaviken’ and he’s spouting some dumb line about bread in his pants.

What starts as an intent to hook his latest bedfellow turns into a quest for inspiration from a man who must have a thousand stories. The next thing he knows he’s been beaten up and captured by a rogue band of elves in the middle of nowhere and watching wide eyed as Geralt exchanges the rest of his coin in order to ensure their release, and that the elves would stop harassing the townsfolk. He could tell the witcher wasn’t fond of him then, with his endless chattering (Jaskier likes to talk), constant lute strumming, and thousand questions as he follows after Geralt and his horse. The witcher would groan and roll his eyes at him but he did not make him leave and so Jaskier stayed.

Days, weeks, months go by and Jaskier remains by Geralt’s side and what began as a hunt for his latest muse quickly turns into a genuine fascination with the witcher. The rumors about witchers were whispered across the continent, stories of horrible monsters with fangs and claws meant to scare children. Jaskier realized after traveling with Geralt that all of these tales were lies.  He was a good man who helped people and always tried to do the right thing. One of the nights in their travels they are sitting by the campfire well after dinner. The stars are shining bright that night and the moon hangs low. The glow of the flames ignited Geralt’s golden eyes and exposed the slight curve of his lips as he laughs, laughs, at something stupid the bard has said and Jaskier thinks, This. This is someone I could really love. And technically he already does, and he knows he would follow Geralt to the ends of the earth if he so allowed.

Months turn into years as he travels by Geralt’s side and Jaskier has never met a single person he’s ever been more invested in knowing. He wants to know Geralt like no one else, wants to shower him in all the love and affection he could, because Jaskier knew Geralt thinks he doesn’t deserve it. They travel together, get to know each other, eat together, tumble in and out of danger together, and they never have to fall into bed to do it.

It’s the happiest Jaskier has ever been while spending time with another person. He found himself falling more and more in love with Geralt every day, despite being certain that the witcher didn’t share the same feelings. While they traveled Jaskier still threw himself at people in desperate hopes of a connection, begging for bits and pieces from those instances of romance. But now he has Geralt.

Geralt, who hates it when others touch him, spares Jaskier a touch of the shoulder, and brush of their hands while they travel on the road. Geralt, who always makes sure to have a meal waiting after Jaskier finishes performing at a tavern. Who buys him new strings for his lute and boots when his old pair fall apart. Jaskier laps all of these things up, the pieces of Geralt that the witcher spares only for him. He collected the moments spent whispering back and forth before sunrise, the small smiles, and the flowers Geralt lets him braid into his hair. He holds them close to his heart and in the darkness he thinks Geralt feels the same.

It all leads up to the dragon hunt, up on a mountain at sunset, sitting closer than close on a boulder next to the witcher, watching the color bleed from the sky. Jaskier locks his eyes on the horizon and tries one last time to reach Geralt, desperate for the romantic connection he’d been craving since long before his years at Oxenfurt. Jaskier felt miles away, despite the fact that him and Geralt were right beside each other. He wants to shout,

Come with me, let’s get away from everything, I love you more than anything, but instead, just like the day they met in Posada, his mouth moves of its own accord and he says,

“I’m just trying to figure out what pleases me” And isn’t that the thing that he’s been chasing his whole life. Why he left his home, why he decided to live a life on the road after leaving Oxenfurt. Jaskier is lost in thought and so he is completely taken off guard when he hears Geralt reply.

“W-what?” He sputters out, rocked by the fond smile on Geralt’s lips.

“I said,” Geralt responds, eyes rolling like this is every other day in their travels and not a moment vastly different than any other in the years they’ve known each other, “and what is it that pleases you?”

Jaskier is thrown back to every other haunted moment of his life. Every other second of his childhood where he was told what he should be, how he should be satisfied and how to please others. He remembers every painful moment, every second he felt broken and like he didn’t belong. Every time he was ashamed of himself and what he lacked. Jaskier remembers his time on the road, of someone pushing him into a mattress and muttering, you should be lucky, I don’t do this with everyone. He thought of all the people who told him what he should be enjoying, what was allowed and what wasn’t. Of every time he forced himself into a small little box with neat edges and longed to be free.

And then he thinks of Geralt. Of long white hair and golden eyes. Of a man who has been told his whole life he is a monster, but tries everyday to do the right thing. He thinks of long nights on the road, of evenings by the campfire where smiles fail to stay hidden. He thinks of a hand on his shoulder, softer than anyone has ever touched him before. Geralt knows all his secrets, how he feels about sex and attraction and never asks Jaskier for anything, ever, only taking what Jaskier is willing to give. Oh, if that isn’t the kind of love Jaskier has been chasing his whole life, and he’s been too stupid to realize it’s been right in front of him this whole time. Jaskier has never wanted anything as badly as he does this.

Suddenly Jaskier remembers himself, and the moment he’s in, the mountain and the sunset, and Geralt beside him waiting patiently for an answer. He turns to his side to face the witcher in the fading light, slightly startled by how close their faces are. He stares deep into those golden eyes, pools he would gladly drown in if given the opportunity. Jaskier exhaled suddenly, his breath leaving him as he realized he has never felt more at home than he does now sitting here with his witcher. He reaches for the hand beside him, rough and calloused from hours of sword fighting and scarred for his troubles, winding their fingers together.

“You,” he breathes into the space between them, “nothing pleases me more than you”.

And as Geralt’s lips connect with his in the most painstakingly gentle kiss in his life, he feels whole.

[asotin]

yes please explain hashirama being deaf love your meta

thank you for your support 🙏

quick note: i said hashirama was deaf in my initial post and i do stand by that, but hard of hearing/hearing impaired is more appropriate for most of this post

potential types of hashirama’s hearing loss and why they’re interesting

1. acquired

physical trauma can fuck up your ears. there are soooo many important and absurdly delicate parts, and ninjas’ ears are totally unprotected

getting hit in the head even once can cause hearing loss, and child soldiers ninjas of all ages are at high risk of that. even hashirama wasn’t born #1 king of beating ass. an error in practice or a deliberate blow in a fight could potentially do permanent damage, and it’s more likely that ninjas would get hit in the head repeatedly, over time and potentially in one fight

noise is another cause. for example: exploding tags. repeated exposure to them or one explosion close enough to his ear could easily damage hearing in a number of ways. see also: any explosion

that’s without factoring in a years-long habit of fighting a man who’s fond of screaming and tries to punch hashirama as hard as hashirama tries to punch him. and the noise hashirama’s wooden statue makes when it moves?? it’s loud as a sound effect; being on top of it would be unreal

an illness could equally cause hearing damage. in an era with less effective medicine and no mokuton, an untreated infection or swelling could be untreatable

it’s possible for someone with a high threshold for pain not to notice ear pain until the damage is irreparable. if that’s true for hashirama, the mokuton might not be the only reason he’s so confident; he might just genuinely not feel pain until it gets to a certain point (more on this below)

2. hereditary

he could have been born deaf, or become deaf, because of any number of conditions. i might like this one a little more because every adult senju/senju descendent is loud

hashirama? loud.

tobirama? loud.

tsunade? loud.

nawaki? well…

iruka? loud

if they're all experiencing some degree of hearing impairment, that's kind of neat! members of a big name clan have a disability and they just live with it/adapt

but tumblr user asotin, hashirama has the mokuton

he sure does, but the way i see it, the mokuton isn't really about healing; it's about resetting. he ages, so clearly the mokuton doesn’t undo every kind of damage. if it just returns him to the way he was before he was injured, though… if it perhaps uses his body when it first manifested as its default… there’s no reason his hearing would ping his chakra as being in need of addressing

but tobirama

yeah, the king of dubious science could probably come up with some device or technique to restore their hearing to hashirama and anyone with hearing loss, and he should do that because hearing aids and implants are useful and good to have!

but neither is a complete fix and if hashirama is used to living a certain way, he might prefer to stay like that, especially when it comes to fighting. you don't want to risk losing a hearing aid or damaging an implant in the middle of throwing down with your bf(f), you know?

speaking of hashirama fighting i.e. the obligatory ~proof~

hashirama doesn't flip around as much as other ninjas. he jumps forward and backward, but he doesn’t add any flourish. when he isn’t dodging, he tends to stay still and watch. he’s more reactive than aggressive, which could be a desire to stop fighting but it could also be him avoiding the disorientation of spinning when it will be even harder for him to make sense of where he is

being deaf doesn't necessarily make you clumsy, but it can make keeping your balance more difficult. if his hearing loss is more severe in one ear than the other or the pitches he can pick up are limited, he'd want to keep that side toward danger. and if he could only hear certain pitches, that could further complicate how he fights. it’s smarter to stay still and let madara his opponent come to him

dvd extras

iruka’s non-canonical joke technique of echolocation is more interesting if he developed it to compensate for being hearing impaired

tobirama sticks so close because hashirama is disabled and tobirama, despite his many faults, does love hashirama. he isn't the smothering type, but if sign language exists (it does because tobirama at least sketched out the fundamentals), then tobirama helps out as hashirama's interpreter when things get too hard to follow on his own

alternatively, tobirama is also deaf or hard of hearing and the two of them communicate by yelling because they're brothers and sign language wasn't always part of their lives

also, they're two grown men who are pushy and related. of course they yell at each other

who’s going to tell hashirama he’s loud? nobody unless they’re tobirama

tobirama finds reasons to stand across from hashirama during meetings and furiously signs at hashirama to shut up when hashirama decides to be overly generous

old man hashirama pretends he can't see what tobirama is saying because hashirama can't see what tobirama's hands are doing

if hashirama has hearing aids, he absolutely pulls the move a man i know does and turns them off when he decides he isn't interested in what people are saying

tbh the real takeaway from this is that i am very interested in disabled ninjas and i will continue to push this agenda until i am finally freed of the curse that is naruto

[glasyasbutch]

Oh, do you want some angst this week? is that what you want? alright bud let's go!! 1, 3, 7, and 28 for whoever has the Most Interesting Answers!!

Thank you for sending this in!!! Under a read more both bc Prose Boy but also because the first question ended up becoming a short story with some themes of body horror in it so! look out!

1. What’s one experience your character had that made them very afraid?

I rolled amongst the characters I haven’t already discussed in depth later in this ask and got Roona. Lovely.

Being a person with near zero impulse control and a penchant for doing it just because someone said not to, I think at some point while barding alone on the road, she ended up in one of those small towns with a big secret that pop up in the thousands in D&D. 

One of those places where there’s a house on the outskirts of town with the windows all locked up and the front gate rusted shut, but it’s not dilapidated, and if you listen close enough there’s still voices drifting out through the cracks. And if you ask about it in the tavern, the room falls silent and no one’s gaze is meeting yours and after a tense few seconds the bartender slides you a too-full glass and tells you “You best be forgetting about that place, it won’t do you any good.”

And you want to know so badly what happened there and every answer you get is vague until the coin purse comes out, and then the hushed whispers come out too and you start to hear things about how the family that used to live there would collect all kinds of artifacts, and one day they imported something horribly cursed, and it’s probably still inside, it’s got to be, because no one’s ever been seen leaving with it, and anyone who goes to get it back walks away with blood-drained face and shut mouth. 

And so you try to sleep at night but you can’t, because you’re thinking about this fucked up house, and you’ve been to enough roadside tourist traps to know that the value’s in the show, and terror and wonder are almost the same emotion, and you’re pretty sure that this is just some long con publicity stunt that some recluse rich ass family is pulling, because rich people are fucking weird like that. And you’re not gonna call them on it, but you’d like to see for yourself, just to know if your hunch is right. 

So you sneak over there in the dark of night, and you hop the fence and press your eye to the shutters of the living room, and you curse your short legs that you don’t have the best of angles, but you’re still able to make out movement inside the place, and you can see the figures milling about in profile, but it’s hard to make out since the lights are off, which granted, is a little bit weird. 

But you squirm and shimmy and hoist yourself up by the window ledge and you’re still looking through the slats the whole time and you’re trying to see, you can almost get the right angle of your head and the moonlight to make out something of worth in the room, you just need to get a little bit higher and -

And you kick the side of the house and it reverberates much more than it has any right to, though that could just be the adrenaline pumping in your veins, but it really feels like the whole house has shaken, and the figures in the room all freeze in place, which is a bit worrying, but you don’t see them looking at you, which is almost a relief. 

But they are looking at you. The longer you sit and wait for them to go back to their business, the more you realize they’re waiting for you to leave. They can tell you’re here and you’re not supposed to be, so everything comes crashing to a halt, and they’re looking at you, so you know that you’re the disruption. 

But you didn’t realize until now that’s what they were doing, because they don’t have faces. It’s smooth skin, no sign even of eye sockets or cheek bones or nose bridges, just blank skin, like a mannequin come to life, but even with nothing there you can still feel them staring and you want to run away as fast as you can but you’re too scared too move. 

You become scared enough to move again once one of them begins to move towards the window that you’re at, and you hop the fence once more and high tail it back to the inn, hand on the hilt of your sword the whole while. And you slip back into your bed and wish you’d heeded the warnings to stay away, because even though you checked over your shoulder a thousand times to make sure they didn’t follow you, it still feels like the lack of eyes is staring right at you from the dark of every corner in your room. 

And you don’t sleep well again until you’re miles away from that town. 

3. Have they ever lost a loved one? What happened to them, and are they the same as before they lost them? 

These are d&d characters and I’m a tragedy slut so long answer short, yes, approximately half of my characters have key backstory moments revolving around the death/betrayal of a loved one.  Craving, Tov, Stella, Ezra are Supremely Emo, with Gildy and Nissy being lesser versions but still fitting the prompt.

Craving: Her entire life has been a series of deep losses that fundamentally changed the way she grew up. First person she lost was her mother, Kaissa, who died of a mysteriously incurable illness and whose public autopsy was revoked by the city for reasons no one could figure out. It broke her trust in authority, in public figures. The medical sector had refused to treat her mother and then hidden the evidence, it was as good as murder, and she figured every seat of government had as much blood on their hands.

The second to go was her father, Anvan, one of the first victims of a plague that devasted the tiefling population of their city far worse than any other race. He died before a vaccine was developed, but it wouldn’t have mattered any ways, because it was distributed in a horribly biased fashion by the producers which benefitted the human populous first. Not only did this break her trust in money, as a tool for growth and prosperity and caused her to see wealth as possessions as a tool for cruelty (which, you might ask, doesn’t she want wealth? doesn’t she steal impulsively? yes. she does it to be cruel right back at the world.) BUT it also was the moment at which she really lost her youth, because with the death of her father, she had to go into working full time.

The last to go was her brother, Sirris. He was stabbed and burned to death in a hate crime attack on their store. She went into the back room that day as a broken but loving woman, and crawled out of the ashes dragging her brother’s body behind her as a hell-bent, rage-blind servant of eye for an eye retribution. She was going to tear this world down from the inside, and she is still barely starting to learn that there are some things that don’t deserve to be crushed in the wreckage. 

Tov: He went to the Shadowfell to get some sorcery powers and when he walked back out he did a little attempted murder on his brother, who funnily enough Did Not Like It, and cast Tov out of his clan and his life, out of everything he’d ever known. Tov stood on the shores as his brother boarded the boat home alone and the second the ship was out of sight, he became a shell of a man that he’s still trying to fill back in.

Stella: Her entire community got burned to the ground and only a handful of survivors made it out, and she had to go from balance-oriented hippie kid to Literal Fucking Assassin to survive so uh. She got lost in a world where she had to become mean and cold and emotionless in order to stay living, and if she’s being honest, made it a lot easier to deal with the fact that Literally her Entire Life was irreparably gone. 

Ezra: His sister died on a quest for his God, after being promised saving by his God, and failing to be resurrected by clerics of his God. It made him stop believing in God. Like that one’s super duper straightforward.

Gildy: Not nearly as emo, but her spouse passing of old age and leaving her alone in the house made her finally realize that her life is. Hers. And that’s it. And kicked off her quest to do things that actually interest her and get into 3D art and forging and eventually a lifestyle of travel and adventure in the name of her art. She focused on herself for the first time in her life and maybe its just it being 1 am but I am a little bit soft about how that deep deep loss of a spouse was a catalyst for one of the most unabashedly happy times in this woman’s life because she finally didn’t have to care about pleasing anyone but herself! Nissy: He eloped with his girlfriend and then got dumped by her and he realized he kind of sucked shit on his own and decided to go adventuring to prove himself about it. At the time I played him he was fresh out of the breakup so he hadn’t changed much, but I feel like by the time he gets back home he will actually be much more sure of himself as a person who has value and worth and deserves a place at the table as he is, because that’s what being with Mavy had started to teach him, and after she left he was able to internalize it better bc there was no external source to pass it off onto. 

7. If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would it be and why? 

Stella would kill Geran, the man who caught her assassinating and promised her a clean wipe of her criminal record in return for a year of SUPREMELY sketch and manipulative personal guard work. She knows she can’t do anything to him because if she fails he turns her in himself, and if she succeeds one of his lackeys does, but he’s also an absolute creep and a sleazeball and she hates his guts and the world would be better off without his freakness in it. Hey actually Rebekah this guy would make a great fourth character for Ludo. 

28. What is your character’s greatest strength?  Is it not the essence of a queer person’s D&D game that every character’s greatest strength boils down to a unfathomably deep love and devotion to whatever persons or tasks they deem worthy?

[mylonelygrl]

Well damn I haven’t been on here in literally 4 years. A lot has changed since then. I find myself coming back only because I need a place to archive my thoughts. My written journals, as nice as they are to have, aren’t an effective place anymore to really get all of my thoughts down as efficiently as I’d like. When the urge comes over me to write an entry I have more thoughts than my hands can keep up with, and even in this format I have a hard time keeping up but I have a better chance at getting the meat of it out if I’m typing. So here we are. 

First, I suppose I should give an introduction to anyone that may stumble upon this blog. (It should be noted right out of the gate that everything written here will ABSOLUTELY be in the style of stream of consciousness, so while it may make sense to me to read through, it may not make sense to you. And that’s ok. I hope at the very least it may be entertaining, and at the very best, helpful for anyone else who may have similar thoughts to my own.)  Anyway, I don’t care too much about anonymity so I’ll tell you that my name is Mallory. I’m 29 years old and live in Denver,CO. I’m an industrial design student that loves art, dogs, tattoos (if any old followers are still here, you knew that already), my family, and Seinfeld reruns. Above all else however, I am an addict. I’ll just leave it at that. No one needs to know what it is exactly I’m addicted to, just that I’m an addict. I tend to think that all addicts in some way shape or form are the same, or at least, we all share a very similar burden, so for that reason I don’t feel as though it’s necessary to discern what my drug of choice is. If it’s not one thing, it will undoubtedly become another if I don’t do something about it. 

I guess you can say I’ve never really hit a rock bottom. Maybe I have, but it’s not like the type of rock bottom you see on tv. I’ve never been homeless, I’ve never been disowned by my family, I’ve never contracted a disease, I’ve never over dosed. On the contrary, most people on the outside looking in may think I have my shit very much together. I manage a full time work and school schedule (yes, even post covid), maintain social obligations (safely, of course), am in fairly good shape and am well spoken. I have however, allowed my addiction to drive wedges between those I love and have recently been dumped by the person I assumed to be the one, my person. It’s a long story, and I should’ve seen the writing on the wall but in short: I made decisions and acted in a way that hurt this person very much. I was unable to see beyond my own mental illness and insecurities in order to take care of them and protect them and in turn, pushed them so far away that there is, I believe, no possibility for reparation of that relationship. The damage is irreparable. We don’t even speak as friends. It is to date, the biggest regret of my life. 

I realized even before the relationship ended that I was forming destructive habits and had been for quite some time. I convinced myself, however, that everything was fine because I had none of the markers of a life in shambles. I had (and have) everything I need. I always figure it out. That’s my super power, ever since I was a kid who was largely neglected. I figure my shit out and get through no matter how the cards are stacked against me. The problem with that  is that I’ve never allowed others to help me. I would rather suffer on my own and figure it out than ask for help, and in turn relied heavily on chemical sedation to make it through each day. (This behavior, by the way, started as far back as 15 years old. It really ramped up in my late 20′s.) I could hear and see how I was treating this person that I loved so much, and all the ways that I failed to be there for them when they needed me the most. I could. All the scenarios that I could’ve handled differently keep me awake at night when I, inevitably, find myself self medicating. The relationship could’ve survived had I gotten a handle on my mental wellness and helped them through their grief. I just... couldn’t. I couldn’t see beyond myself as much as I wanted to. Again, I’m not sure I’ve ever regretted anything more in my entire life. I often think about if I’ll fall in love again and I just don’t see that happening. The qualities this person possessed were and are unparalleled. They’ll never ever know that I thought the sun shined out of their ass and just how much I loved them, because I had my head shoved so far up my own. 

So now I’m stuck with me. And my thoughts. And my anxiety. And my depression. And my crippling fear of never amounting to anything. And my insecurities. And my guilt. And my fears. And so on. I find sobriety for maybe a week at a time and then, usually at night, I have a good memory of...we’ll call him... Eric, and I don’t even know what to do with myself. I try so hard just to be happy that we ever had that time together. I try so hard just to be thankful that we DID have so many good times and that he DID make me feel so good. Within seconds though I’m overcome with guilt. I could’ve kept that if only I did XYZ. I could be sleeping next to him now if only I had done this, or that. If I were sober. 

The fucked up thing about addiction is that I absolutely KNOW without a doubt my life will be better if I just don’t medicate. If I face my feelings head on and work through them like a normal person, I will make it to the other side of that feeling stronger and happier and healthier. I knew that in my relationship with Eric but I medicated anyway. I know it now when I feel these emotions in the middle of the night. And I medicate anyway. 

And while I’ve said this a thousand times before, and wouldn’t blame anyone if they heard me say it again now and choose to not believe me, I’ll say it anyway: I’m done for good this time. I’m tired of this pattern of reckless behavior and hanging by a thread. I know it’s scary and I know there will be long sleepless nights and days that feel fucking impossible. And I know I’ll probably feel sick. I know I’ll be irritable and I’ll feel scared. I’ll feel alone. I’ll feel all of these things for the first time, like FOR REAL, in nearly 15 years. For all of those reasons, I find myself coming back here again. 

My hope is that there are other people like me to connect with on Tumblr who may also be looking for a community like I am. There is something very appealing about finding a community of strangers to talk to and mutually comfort without fear of judgement or ostracism. If you are a someone who is dealing with something similar or at the precipice of a similar predicament and don’t even want to engage but want to read about my story and how I got here, please follow me. If you want to talk, talk. If you don’t, just listen. I am by far the role model anyone needs but I am choosing recovery and choosing life. Any and all are welcome to join along. 

[bat-losers-inc]

Collisions in the Dark: (Ch 15): Ghosts

Pairings: Tim Drake/Jason Todd (one sided)

Summary: Tim deals with threats both real and imagined. Jason and Tim finally speak honestly to each other, but are they really ready to face the truths about themselves?

Chapter Notes: Ghosts: Threats created in the mind of inexperienced players due to lack of confidence or fear of their opponent.

“He, who must realize that certain losses are irreparable, tells himself at night, before the darkest mirror, that vision keeps him whole. On the verge of warm and simple sleep, they tell themselves certain loves are like sheets of dark water, or ice forest, or husks of ships. To stop a thing such as this would be to halve a sound that travels out from a silent person’s thoughts. The imprint they make on each other’s bodies is worth any pain they may have caused.” — “ Half Omen Half Hope ”, Joanna Klink

Over the next day or so, Jason and Tim moved about each other like the way a planet and a moon orbit one another, stuck in each other’s gravitational pull. They skirted around each other within the confines of the manor, speaking no words except the occasional surprised noise when they found themselves in the same room together. Every time their eyes would catch, their bodies moving neither closer nor farther apart.

They had developed a safe distance. A self-enforced silence that they carried out to maintain the uneasy peace that existed in the family. It was a lie, of course. Their silence was the blanket that covered up the strained relationships and mingled together with the heavy air of exhaustion that clung to everyone.

Each morning Tim would wake in pain, his whole body aching after a full day spent with his muscles coiled tight with tension. He kept expecting the charade to collapse, someone was going to strike a nerve sooner or later… Did they really think that this could last? Their family had never been normal, but there had been a sense of trust and unity that Tim sensed was missing now. No one seemed to know where they stood in regards to each other… not when it was obvious that neither Tim nor Jason were willing to go back to the way things were before. After all, how could they?

And it wasn’t just his family members that unsettled Tim. He was given no reprieve at night, his dreams acting out the many possible scenarios of how Ra’s could sneak through Tim’s defenses and capture him.  

On one such a night Tim was startled awake at the sensation of hands on him, grasping his arms and his sweaty t-shirt in the dark. It was too dark in the room to see more than a pair of eyes staring down at him. Whatever other features were there seemed to be obscured by the ninja’s mask. Tim twisted under those hands, his feet kicking and slipping on the sleek fabric of his sheets, struggling to shove his body out from underneath his attacker’s.

“No!” He grunted, yanking his arm towards his chest is an effort to free it from the hand that clutched it. Tim cried out louder, hoping the noise would bring one of his family members to his aid.

He freed his arm and struck up with the heel of his hand. His aim was poor in the darkness of the room and instead of breaking his nose, he caught the man by the chin, shoving his head back and away. He followed it with a strike to the solar plexus that knocked the ninja off of the edge of the bed, Tim falling with him in a heap on the floor.

Before his full weight could even fall on top of the man they were rolling in a tangle of sheets across the floor until Tim was pinned beneath the man’s weight.

There had seemed to be a reluctant quality to the ninja’s motions before, but now a nerve had been struck, or so it seemed, for the man’s touch became more forceful. Tim’s wrists were grasped together and pinned above his head. A hand smothered Tim’s nose and mouth, muffling Tim’s cries.

Tim was attempting to sink his teeth deep enough into the fleshy part of the man’s hand to make him bleed, when all at once the man released him and stumbled backwards to his feet. Tim’s eyes were still adjusting to the darkness and all he could see was the faint outline of the man’s body, standing above him.

Tim lay on his back, wondering quietly to himself why he wasn’t currently screaming or alerting his family in some way. Instead he focused on breathing, listening to his own ragged breaths mingle with the panting of his attacker’s.

After a long moment, the man turned and left, moving through Tim’s open door into the darkness of the hallway. Tim couldn’t bring himself to move back into his bed. Instead he tugged his twisted sheets over his shivering form, wondering why the man had fled.

What did it mean?

Had Ra’s called him back? Or had the ninja disobeyed orders?

It was unlikely that Ra’s would allow such a man to maintain employment in his ranks after losing Tim at the hands of traitorous men only a few days ago.

Similar thoughts kept Tim awake the rest of the night.

It wasn’t until breakfast the next morning, when Tim found himself staring at the teeth marks on Jason’s palm, that he found his answers.

Tim’s face colored with an odd mixture of humiliation and confusion.

When Jason caught Tim’s eyes lingering on the wound, he gave Tim an exhausted, ill-tempered look. Tim brought his coffee over to the table and sat down across from him. He fingered the rim of the mug as he struggled for the right words, finally settling on, “Why didn’t you say something? The other night, when you were standing there above me, why didn’t you say something to me?”

Jason collected his fork and his napkin onto his plate, making as if to move towards the sink. He stood up, and for a moment Tim’s heart dropped because he thought Jason might leave him without an answer, but Jason lingered uncertainly beside his chair.

His hand which held his empty orange juice glass, tightened until the knuckles gleamed pearly white under the sunlight streaming in through the kitchen windows.

“I guess for the same reason you didn’t cry out. Some part of me thought that I might have deserved it.”

It was like a blow to Tim’s gut. He’d forgotten that Jason knew him just as well as Tim claimed to know Jason.

Jason shifted his weight, stepping towards the sink. Seized by a sudden need to explain himself Tim stood up from his chair, putting himself in Jason’s path.

“I—”

Tim didn’t know what he wanted to say. But Jason was talking to him and Tim was too afraid that if he didn’t speak now things might go back to the way they were before. That horrible, aching silence. Perhaps this could be a start? His words, however unimportant, might act as an open invitation.

Tim swallowed as Jason quietly stilled. He seemed content to wait, making no move to shift around Tim. It gave Tim courage.

He raised his chin. “I thought that you were him… or, well, someone Ra’s had sent after me.”

Jason nodded, an almost imperceptible bob of his head. “I know you did. You’d been dreaming about him when I came in to check what all the noise was. You were crying his name in your sleep.”

“In my nightmares,” Tim stated. It felt important to correct him on that. “He’s in my nightmares a lot. So are you, sometimes. Except when I see you there…  I’m scared of you.”

This wasn’t the place to be having this conversation, standing around the breakfast table expecting someone to interrupt them at any moment. This conversation should be private, just the two of them in a room with a closed door. Tim didn’t have that luxury now, however, and he was willing to take anything he got. Damn the audience that might be listening in.

“What about now?” asked Jason. “Do I scare you now?”

“Yes,” Tim’s nails dug into his palms. “I’m scared of what I don’t know and, right now, a lot of things between us are uncertain. It’s like looking at a stranger. I know you, but not the right parts of you.”

Jason moved to the sink and placed his dishes down. He braced his hands on the counter, looking down at the contents of the sink.

Tim followed him, hovering close to his shoulder. As he lingered beside him, Jason tilted his head to look at him through his bangs. He smiled sadly. “You scare me too… What I know about you now… What I know that you could do, if properly motivated. It scares me to think that I was the cause of all of it.”

“I don’t regret it.” Tim replied instantly.

Another sad smile. Another soft, “I know.”

“Jason—” Tim placed his hand on top of his, only for Jason to yank his away like Tim had burned him. Tim let his hand hover over the vacant space before curling it into a fist and returning it to his side.

“What are we now, Jason?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I ever really did.”

“We were something!” Tim insisted. “Whatever it was, however short lived, we were something to each other!”

“I thought my feelings for you would have gone, when I came back… when I realized what you’d done. I wanted to hate you, but I couldn’t. Not truly.”

“When I brought you back I intended to be by your side afterwards. I didn't want you to be alone, like the last time. I’ve tried to be there for you, Jason, but since we got back all you’ve done is push me away.”

Jason’s face when he look at him was full of anger. “I don't give a damn about your intentions, Tim. I care about what you did.”

“Then let’s talk. Explain to me—”

“I don't want to talk!” cried Jason.

“Then what! What the fuck do you want?” Snapped Tim viciously. He was trying to repair the damage done but he couldn't do that it Jason wasn’t willing to put in the effort.

Jason shook his head.

“I want to be alone.”

He side-stepped around Tim and left the room.

Tim sank against the edge of the counter. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the cabinet with a thump, “Fuck.”

Tim and Jason had been relegated to monitor duty while the rest of their family patrolled the streets of Gotham that night. It was the job that Alfred usually performed from the secure confines of the cave. Monitoring police activity, calling in reinforcements, preparing the infirmary for injuries at the end of the night. Bruce and Dick could talk it up as much as they wanted, but it didn’t go unnoticed for what it actually was. House arrest. Whatever objections they posed to Bruce, however, fell on deaf ears.

“You don’t need two people on desk duty,” objected Jason.

“Fine.” Dick leveled Jason with an annoyed glare as he pushed his escrima sticks into their holsters. “If you don’t want to watch the monitors, you can take tonight to train.”

He shoved a pair of boxing gloves against Jason’s chest. “No doubt you’re a little out of practice.”

Jason caught them in his hands before they could fall to the cave floor, glaring at Dick over his shoulder as he moved towards the exit.

Tim called across the room, “Why don’t you just call it what it is, Dick? We’re not stupid you know.”

Dick turned, fixing Tim with a look that made Tim want to turn around and walk away. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Dick look so fed up in his life.

“I know, that you know, Tim. I just thought you two were old enough to suck it up and deal with it. So here’s how it is… Jason just died, so he’s not patrolling tonight because we kinda want him to stay alive for a few more days before hurling him back into life-threatening situations. And you, have a stalker with an army at his disposal hunting you. Not to mention that you also just blew your fucking lid at Bruce two days ago and he’s now questioning if he should be benching you until you’re mentally well enough to patrol. Okay? So yes, we’re putting you to work in the cave. I know it’s not glamorous, but as least you’re still taking part in patrols. Be thankful!”

Tim remained silent, too shocked to do much else after such an outburst. Dick stared at him for a moment longer before gathering the last of his gear and heading out. Not long after, Bruce and Damian were speeding out in the Batmobile after him.

Tim sat down in the leather chair positioned in front of the monitors. Eventually, Jason took the seat next to him.

There was only so much work to do, however, and many hours to a night’s patrol. It wasn’t long before they found themselves staring at their own individual screens, the silence stretching heavily between them.

Dick, Bruce, and Damian would be heading in from the city soon. Tim and Jason’s presence in the cave wasn’t necessary at this point. Still they sat there. Tim thought that perhaps both of them were willing to stare blankly at a monitor if it served as an excuse not to talk to each other. After another half hour passed in this fashion, Tim found it impossible to bear. Not only that, but the entire afternoon following their talk in the kitchen had Tim’s thoughts spiraling in circles. He understood, on some level, Jason’s reasoning behind Tim’s decisions following his death. He understood Jason’s moral objection to it, but Jason had to know that what he asked of Tim was impossible. He had to know the irreparable damage it would have caused.

Tim turned to look at him. Jason’s head was propped on his hand, his fingers drumming scales on the tabletop in front of the keyboard.

“Do you really hate me so much for what I did?”

Jason’s eyes flicker to Tim, but his head stayed facing the screens.

“Yes, I really do.”

Tim sighed. “You couldn’t really have expected me to just let you die like that after—”

Jason turned and snapped at him. “It was my dying wish, Tim. You disobeyed my goddamn dying wish! How the fuck could you think I wouldn’t be angry about that?”

“Disobeyed?” croaked Tim. “I don’t take orders from you, Jason!”

Jason turned his chair. “Well, obviously not!”

Behind them the cave doors opened and the Batmobile roared into the cave. Tim stood, shouting to be heard over the roaring engine.

“You died! You left me alone in a field with a dead body and a madman hunting me. You don’t get to judge me for my decisions and I won’t apologize for my actions!”

Jason stood with him, ignoring the stricken looks they were receiving from their family members.

“And I won’t either!” growled Jason. "I am allowed to be angry! You're not God, Tim. You don't get to decide who lives and who dies. I won’t apologize just because my feelings aren’t what everyone wants them to be."

"What I did, I did it because I love you, Jason!"

"No.” Jason stabbed at finger at him. “What you did was selfish and cruel. You brought me back against my will. You made me go through that, again, because you're terrified of losing someone else. I don’t know if you’ve ever thought of this, but not everyone wants to be alive!"

Jason panted hard from the fury of his words. His hands were trembling.

He shook his head, as if coming to a sudden conclusion. “I can’t stay here anymore.”

Jason shifted past Tim's stiff form, standing rigid before his chair like he’d been glued to the floor.

Tim watched Jason grab his duffel bag and his coat, stuffing in contents from his stash of clothes and weapons in a hasty fashion.

"I'm selfish?" Tim stared at him in disbelief. "I'm cruel?"

Jason spared Tim only a glimpse of his profile before he headed past him towards the stairs.

"How dare you! " Tim shouted at his back. "How could you possibly know ? ”

Jason's back stiffened, his foot stopping on the first step of the stairs. He let his foot slide back down to the floor and turned around to face Tim.

"Don't try to make this like it's my fault, Tim. It was you who brought this on yourself. Take some responsibility for your actions, for once."

Tim laughed and it rattled the ice in his veins. "Says the man who's never around to own up to anything."

Jason squinted at him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Dick shifted in the corner of the room, on edge. "Tim, don't—"

Tim talked over him. "Where are you when we need you? You’re always the one who dies, the one who leaves. You never have to witness how this family breaks during a tragedy, but I do. I'm the one left to pick up the pieces, to be rational, to be in control. All the time. You call me selfish for bringing you back, but I call it keeping my family together. Sparing them the pain of losing you, again."

“That’s enough, Tim.” said Dick. The force of his voice betrayed the urgency of the situation. He knew how harsh Tim could be if he let himself. Tim knew how to make his words hurt.

"You call me cruel, Jason, but you're the one that let me love you. And then, you tell me to let you die? You ask me to bring your body back to them and watch them fall apart a second time? With them knowing that it's my fault? That I was the one who killed you."

Tim swept his hand towards his family, to Dick holding tightly to Damian's shoulders, hard enough that it might be hurting him even with his body armor. It didn’t matter, Damian wasn’t going to call attention to it either way. Tim motioned to Bruce staring quietly between them with a pained expression, which reflected how he thought he'd caused this pain that Jason and Tim were feeling. That he'd put too much onto their shoulders.

Tim curled his hand back towards himself and clutched it against his chest.

"And not only that, but you would make me stay here—" he stabbed a finger down at his feet. "— with their hatred and their sorrow. You’d have me live with a family that is disgusted by me, by my ineptitude to keep you alive— they would never say it, but I would know all the same. You would have me live like that, instead of letting me go to Ra's al Ghul?"

Tim’s chest hurt from the deep ache that had been pounding away at his ribs for days now. Since that morning in the field when Jason made him promise not to bring him back.

"You wonder why Ra’s is such a temptation for me, Jason? It's because I'm not the one in control when I'm with him. That whatever happens, I won’t be held responsible for it because he can overpower me both physically and mentally, with ease. That feeling is terrifying and tempting all at the same time. I've worked so hard to be my own hero, but I am so tired of living with the fact that my actions keep killing my friends and family. I hate that I like it, that loss of power, when I'm with him, but I'd be lying to myself if I couldn't admit that it's true."

Tim pointed harshly at Jason. "It’s you, Jason. You’re the selfish one. You asked something of me that I wasn't ready to give. There were so many reasons for what I did, but yes, you were right. I also did it because I love you and I'm afraid of losing you."

The silence hung heavily in the air after he’d finished. Water dripping from the cave ceiling echoed loudly throughout the cave. Then finally Jason walked toward him, his eyes wet at the lashes. He cupped the side of Tim's face and Tim couldn't help leaning into his touch. He felt starved for Jason's kindness, snatching at whatever he could get.

Jason's voice trembled when he spoke. "I understand, Tim. I do. But you hurt me, so bad. I can’t even begin to tell you how much. I do feel for you and I want nothing more than for you to be happy, but I don't know how to trust you anymore. And if I can't trust you then I can’t... I'm sorry. I just can't."

He yanked his hands away and hurried up the stairs, wiping at his eyes at he went.

“Jason, wait!” Dick called after him. Bruce stopped him with a tight grip on Dick’s arm.

Dick stared at him, a silent plea for Bruce to let him try to fix this. That was Dick… always trying to make everything better.

Bruce simply shook his head.

Jason never finished his sentence, but Tim knew what he was going to say all the same. If he can’t trust me, he can’t love me.

And in that moment Tim knew that it was true. He might have lost Jason for good.

Tim’s chest hurt so badly that he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He braced his hands against the table, staring down at it as he tried to get himself under control, to keep it together… he realized in that moment that Jason had done the exact thing Tim had just accused him of always doing. He’s not here and Tim’s still the one who has to keep it together. Around and around it goes, but nothing Tim did could break the fucking cycle of death, responsibility and loneliness.

Tim screamed and slammed his fist down against the table repeatedly, watching his knuckles split and bleed. Blood splattered onto the keyboard. Dick was behind him in an instant, yanking him away before he could hurt himself any more. His arms were like vices around Tim’s own, pinning them to his sides. Dick took his weight as Tim crumpled into him, sobbing.

“It’s going to be okay, Tim. I promise.” Dick whispered against the top of his head.

“No, it’s not.” gasped Tim, eyes finding Jason on one of the monitors as he walked out the front door of the manor. “I gave up everything to be with him and I’m right back where I started.”

[pocparks]

I really wish adam and blake’s relationship wasnt romantic like i really wish they would’ve kept the whole “he was my mentor thing” have it be that blake learned from him and idolized him and his cause in a way that would seem romantic to others (so we can keep that one line from illya) and have him take advantage of that infatuation in some way shape or form so that we can still hate him,

Blake becomes disillusioned with him over time and the last straw comes some time before the train attack in the black trailer (maybe he kills someone in front of her, maybe leaves some humans to die) by the time the black trailer comes she’s already decided to leave and does leave. Then through the volumes at least ones just SHOW US the adam that blake idolized like is that so hard!? Give us a reason why blake would look up to him (let alone fall in love with him good god they dont show us any good sides of adam at all and it sucks bc thats what i wanted to see the most, i have faith that blake doesnt just fall in love with murderers)

Keep his volume 3 appearance (minus the “my love” because ew wtf he could call her something else like kiddo or a nickname or something) and then if adam is her mentor now and taught blake everything(maybe not everythingbut alot) she knew then that explains how busted he is slicing through yangs aura and arm like butter keep scary adam!! Erase jealous diabolik lovers abusive boyfriend adam!!!

Give him a real reason for his actions show us him actually being a leader the faunus would trust, have him win over the white fang faunus and overthrow sienna khan without killing her to show his smarts and dedication to his cause (but if she mist die then have it be that she tries to overthrow him back and then he kills her with no problem or whatever) then show us a hint of what happened to his eye, little flashes show him being restrained or something, a voice saying something racist about him then snap out of it and use that to ‘humanize the monster’

Then have him fight blake on menagerie and she breaks his aura but still beats her easily(bc remeber he taught her how to fight) and let her live out of a sick sort of pity for his student (maybe hes like “ill let you live if you just come back but she fakes him out and gets away) to keep him scary to us and to her (and make it more satisfying when she actually does kill him in volume six) and then give him an actual reason to go after blake but dont make that the focus of his character! Maybe she has something or knows something that he wants(or he thinks she does) maybe hes going after all the defected faunus he taught to either kill them or get them back maybe he just wants his favourite student back i dont know something dont make him throw a temper tantrum like a baby and stand there not even drawing his sword to fight after being cornered especially not after you just showed him kill someone(and not just some human, he killed a faunus) in cold blood with no problem(because what the fuck did they just forget hes a cold blooded murder man? How did blake get close enough to him to bop him in the neck i laughed out loud when that happened) then his fall from grace could be the faunus that were on his side seeing what hes doing to other innocent faunus and maybe one of them shoots him somewhere non fatally but still does alot of damage hes almost incapacitated but THEN blake can bop him in the neck and he goes down, then things can go down in about the same way he craws away with the bullet wound trailing blood and dropping his mask.

And show us how the shit happened to his eye goddamnit! Maybe he was originally a peaceful revolutionary, he was trying to liberate faunus from the factory in a peaceful way and begged and pleaded and got an audience with whats his face asshole schnee senior,,, jaques?? He goes with one other faunus but its a set up, they retrain them both and they brand adam and they’re branding the other faunus but something goes wrong maybe the brand the wrong place and hes screaming and they’re screaming and the guards are laughing and it’s an uncomfortably long scene just to let it sink in that that moment changed him irreparably and he gets out by killing a guard and jumping out a window with the other faunus but its too late they’re already dead(boom i just wrote a character short hire me rooteeth) you can have his eye be shadowed or bloody or something during this so that the reveal of the SDC scar is still a shock and then boom, explains how suddenly yang and blake can go toe to toe with adam “one shot aura breaking” taurus and kill him and have it mean more than just a “lets go lesbians!” Moment (seriously no kiss???)

Tldr for the word soup up there keep adam scary, take out the romance, make him actually care about the faunus and make him more gray

Idk this is word soup and probably makes no sense but im gonna post it anyways bc i need to get these feelings out somehow and no i dont want adam to be redeemed i just want him to be better, i didnt want to be annoyed when he was on the screen i wanted to be scared i wanted to feel what blake felt but i never got the chance because before i knew it adam went from a scary monster to a shitty whiny baby that i didnt even want to see die i just wanted him gone, written into the abyss

[remindvr]

wild horses couldn't drag me away. » self-para

It’s the summer of 2015. He’s eighteen. 

And though he doesn’t know it yet, the next three days are going to irreparably change his life.

And not for the better.

tw: semi-graphic depictions of a car accident, drug use, alcohol, suicidal ideation, mental illness, a little nsfw in the beginning??? HELLA ANGST READ AT OWN RISK

May 23rd 2015, 3AM 

Ezra’s in his bed with some girl’s name he doesn’t remember anymore. Perhaps he’d never bothered to learn it in the first place. 

He’s intoxicated, and asleep, with his body facing away from her, but her hand rests against his shoulder.

 Below him is the ‘party of all parties’ as it had been advertised on an instagram post, courtesy of Ezra. And it was certainly living up to its description. Endless booze, plenty of drugs, hook-ups galore, and not a nagging parent in sight, courtesy of a business trip.

 He woke up some time later, and lazily reached over to his night stand to retrieve what he and his lady friend had acquainted themselves with about an hour ago. It had been dumped and lined up on his high school diploma, which he had just received a mere few hours earlier. 

He used his finger to straighten the line some more before he leaned over and inhaled it, and rubbed what didn’t make it into his nostril over his gums. 

“Ezra!” Someone called from the other side of his bedroom door as they tried the knob. “Yo, mate, stop fucking for a minute and go get some beer.” 

Ezra pulled on his boxers and a pair of /overpriced/ sweatpants as he responded. “And you decided to come upstairs and ask me, after you passed how many people on the way up here?” He then strolled unhurriedly to the door and opened it, revealing his friend, Freddie. “Why can’t you do it?” 

Freddie held up his hands. “Not my house.” 

“It’s not mine either.” Ezra replied. “On paper, anyway.” 

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Whatever, mate. But we need beer. Pronto. Stat. People are getting antsy downstairs. And you, as the host, should appease your guests.” 

“You know what appease means.” Ezra said with a smirk. “Looks like you might have earned that diploma after all.” 

“Ha ha.” Freddie spoke monotonously. “Get beer.” He pushed a car remote into Ezra’s chest. “Now.” 

Ezra heaved a sigh as he retreated back inside his room to get a shirt and headed for the door once more, only to see that Freddie had entered and was staring behind Ezra. 

He followed the other male’s line of vision to see that Freddie was staring at the girl in his bed, her nude body barely covered by the blanket, then looked at Ezra with something mischievous in his eye. 

“That’s Michelle, yeah? I hear she’s a good lay. Is it true?” “The best.” Ezra nodded with a grin, then ushered his friend out and closed the door. “But I was better.” 

Ezra walked down the stairs of his parents’ four story mansion, each floor littered with people enjoying themselves. On the final stair, he’d spotted his best friend, Sebastian, a red cup in one hand and his other arm wrapped around a girl as he whispered into her ear. Whatever he was saying, she seemed to be into it, or was doing a good job convincing.

“We’re going on a beer run.” Ezra interrupted. “Hurry up, let’s go.” 

Sebastian bid farewell to his lady friend and followed Ezra to the garage. Ezra unlocked the car from the remote and walked past the vast collection of cars to the Lamborghini Veneno that Freddie had picked for tonight’s venture. 

But Ezra doesn’t remember much after that. 

May 24th 2015, 9AM 

Ezra’s in a hospital bed. The Seven Year Itch is on the television. 

The nurse stopped by every now and then to check on him, and would sometimes bring him food that was only good for sitting on the bedside table and losing heat. 

His parents were on a flight back to Manchester. And if their texts and voicemails were anything to go by, they were less than pleased.

His mother’s main concern, however, is not her son’s broken bones. It’s her goddamn Tiffany glass skylight. It’s an original, she says. One of a kind. Made in 1923. She paid over half a million for that thing. 

His father is more concerned about the financial and legal aspects of the situation, and not his son’s traumatized brain. You wrecked my fucking car? Do you know how much I paid for that fucking car? How bad did you bang it up? Did you hit anyone else? We could get sued for this. Are the police going to press charges? 

His head hurts, and he has a strong desire to cry. The withdrawals aren’t helping.

He doesn’t know how bad Sebastian is hurt, or whether anyone else was hurt. He doesn’t know if anyone else is hurt because of him. It doesn’t take much for his mind to wander to more fatal outcomes.

The night comes to him in vivid glimpses: running a red light, the air bag, the car flipping, the blood rushing to his head, him losing consciousness, Sebastian’s body crumpled at the hood of the car, twisted in a way that wasn’t natural, the feeling of glass shards digging into his skin, Freddie’s arms dangling as he was restrained to the seat by his seatbelt. There’s a dozen car alarms sounding at once.

And as Marilyn Monroe’s skirt was blown up by the subway grate, he wondered what would Norma Jean Baker do right now if she were him. Doesn’t sound like too bad of an idea.

May 25th 2015, 8PM

Congratulations, Ezra Rasheed Radford! It is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to Monarch University…

He was on a ton of painkillers, his body decorated with bruises, scars, and casts to fix anything out of order, but the thing that toyed with his nerves the most was the acceptance letter he held in his hand. He read it over and over again in his head like a mantra, the words registering but just barely.

“It came this morning.” Yasmin, better known as mum, told him. There are bags under her eyes and she looks exhausted. Jet lag tends to do that to you. “Did you get it, or no?”

“I got in.” Ezra’s voice is hoarse in response. The physician told him that his larynx has moderate inflammation ––  otherwise known as his voice is lost. The physician suggested it could have been a result of the accident, with him screaming from the pain or fear, or both.

“Good.” Yasmin said. “That’s good.”

“It’s great.” Ezra agreed half-heartedly.

The door to his room burst open, and in walks Eric, sometimes known as dad. He’s flashing his pearly veneers in a million dollar smile before he could even speak. More good news, Ezra presumed. Though anything good is completely relative.

“I’ve got some good news.” Eric said. Bingo. “The Lewis’ aren’t going to sue. We’re in the clear. Well, not completely, but that’s one less financial liability we’ll have on our hands thanks to this one.”

Ezra felt a pang in his chest.

“How badly is he hurt?” Yasmin asked, finding the words that Ezra couldn’t.

Eric’s lip twitched before he answered. “Well, Freddie’s alright, a couple bumps and bruises but uh –– what’s his name, Sebastian? Yeah, Sebastian, well, uh, there’s really no easy way to say this, but uh... he’s um, he’s paralyzed from the waist down. Completely damaged his spine. The poor kid’s going to need a wheelchair for the rest of his life.”

Another pang, this time sharper, more severe. It demanded to be felt. It spread through his chest, up to his head, and down to his legs. It was so intense that it brought tears to his eyes; as if he didn’t have anything else to cry about. His throat tightened to the point that no sound could escape.

As his parents discussed the other casualties to his war, Ezra checked out. He was no longer there. He was trapped in his head, locked between the walls of his skull, clawing and begging to be released as the chains were distributed and tightened at the door. Ezra Radford is not here anymore. 

He’s someone new entirely.

[connywrites]

Shallow

now on [ao3]

-

“I don’t know why I…feel like I need to fight all the time,” Leo admitted. He didn’t notice at all the way he cupped Markus’ cheeks in his hands, looking over his face for any sign of severe injury, as if the android’s wounds would react like a human’s and thus be left irreparable.

“What are you looking for?” Embarrassed, Leo blinked, shaking his head and stepping back with an awkward shrug.

“You did it when I was punched in the face, last time. Guess it just sorta…happened.” Markus’ eyes lit up for a moment, realization striking him with a bit of excitement; he reached out to grab Leo by the arm to share the way his body seemed to jumble in anticipation beneath him, but decided against it as he remembered Leo’s specific sense of personal boundaries.

“That was important, Leo. Do you know what that means?” Looking lost and a bit more tired, Leo did nothing more than throw a gaze that showed he felt overestimated. Pausing, Markus looked sympathetic before he continued speaking, his voice softer with less of a rush to his phrases this time.

“You showed sympathy. Even many androids have difficulty with this. I haven’t seen you go out of your way to check on someone else before.” Leo’s only thought was about how he refused to have this conversation, turning to make haste towards the living room.

“No, wait!” Markus’ voice wasn’t so vigor as still excited, wanting to share this revelation with the person who should be reveling in it in the first place.

“Leo, this isn’t a confrontation. I mean it in a good way.” Markus felt disheartened that Leo never seemed to want to listen, no matter what he was telling him, even when it was a good thing. While he understood to a limited extent how difficult it was to come to terms with yourself, Leo avoided even the slightest hint of it, improvement or not, like the plague. This was what made communicating difficult, and the reason Markus insisted he’d have to follow close behind if he wanted to make his way through to Leo. Again.

“We have to work on this. Anyway, thanks for caring. It’s a good sign, even if you don’t like being told—” Leo whipped around to shoot him a cold glare, licking over his chapped lips and tapping his fingers together to keep himself from swinging punches.

“Remember what we talked about? Not to talk to me like a fucking counselor?” Momentarily stunned, Markus felt ashamed of himself for becoming so overbearing again. In the routine of trying to adjust to Leo’s aggressive personality, he’d began to pick up some confrontative quirks as well, and they weren’t terribly useful or productive secondhand habits.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” There was no right way to talk to Leo; he just had to soften his tone and try his best, hoping Leo was feeling gracious at the moment with his mood. Today wasn’t his lucky day.

“I hate hearing about all that brain bullshit. You don’t want me to treat you like a computer, I don’t want you to treat me like a weird chunk of meat. It’s annoying and makes you look like a jerk.” As the realization dawned on him, Markus took a moment to step aside for himself this time, leaving Leo looking annoyed with a useless shrug, smacking his hands to his sides in defeat.

“Whatever, man. Sorry I punched you.”

-

"It's just like, I want them to shut up, and it's that easy. You know what makes people shut up? Fists. And bullets."

The serious tone about a matter from a man like Leo, still full of youth and anticipation yet so vicious and opposing, brought unpleasant flashbacks upon Markus as he sat there, listening.

"You wanted me to shut up?" The question immediately felt silly spoken outside his head, considering Leo's nature of shutting out what he didn't like.

"Do you always act like you're the only one in the room?" That time the inquiry was sharp, intended to pry into the part of Leo's consciousness that got him to actually stop and think. It seemed to work as he paused, offense drilling into his chest, causing him to puff up his stature as he often did when feeling threatened by anyone physically larger than him.

"Oh, come on, Markus. You started a war. Don't act like you don't understand wanting someone to just shut up and deal with it. I've never had to use fire to prove my point. I've done a lot of shitty stuff, but I've never shot anyone. My fists are all I've got, dude."

Markus was surprised both by Leo's clarity, the rough disposition he'd been raised in, as well as how right he was; but it was an unfair comparison in his opinion, as he'd had to fight by the masses and that wasn't something Leo had dealt with. Still, they both have done whatever it takes to defend their own lives, and he wished Leo could see that was the point he was trying to make.

-

Leo had forgotten the feeling of twisting guilt, keeping him awake with the nagging truths that always emerged in imagined voices that tore him down. Something internal that sounded external and never failed to remind him how useless and pathetic he was. A couple told him to kill himself on a semi-regular basis. One in the far back sounded like his mom in her worst moments, and any other whisper of his psyche was a replica of negative memories composed into something new and relevant. Mental illness and learning disability had yet to grace his ears with any hope of success, leaving him to firmly believe all the mistakes made in his life were his fault alone, simply for being how he was. It ultimately led up to an intolerable personality that no one wanted to be around, therefore inevitably leaving him on his own again. The way he acted always seemed to be a weird combination of feeling like he was on top of the world, or below the deepest layers of hell yet deserved worse, depending, and it generally changed with the flip of a dime or less. Markus had no idea how to navigate it, but sometimes he said the right thing and got him to calm down; figuring out what it took was another riddle in itself.

-

“Why are you so afraid of success?” Blinking, Leo raised his eyebrows, reminding himself not to be so surprised an android didn’t understand the complicated emotional aspects of life that confused most humans on a daily basis.

“Okay, that, you’re never gonna get. I…don’t think,” Leo corrected himself, realizing his selfishness in assuming again. On second thought, there was no way he could be so sure, as Markus continued to surprise him with the amount of depth he actually did seem to experience emotions. It was confusing and strange, but over time he started seeing it more naturally; it was the majority of his skeptical personality that still had a while to work past.

“That’s the hardest thing. People work their asses off to do something good or useful in the world. Most of the time, it’s not worth it, nothing happens.” He remembered Carl begging him countless times, offering to pay for whatever school or university he wanted; drop the drugs and get an education. You could become something great. Leo hated the way he insisted he had talent, as if he could make something of himself from dirty gutter water when Carl had the world in his hands; it felt unfair and mocking, the way only a rich, comfortable family member sneezing lies and false hopes down to his homeless, beggar dropout of a son could do. He didn’t mean to lie to you, he reminded himself, but wasn’t sure if he believed it.

“I bet you’ve heard dad talk about it all the time. The art industry is fake, any of it, all of it is. If you can draw, or you’re pretty, or you split your tongue in half, or do a cool trick, then you’re cool and popular and you get a bunch of money. None of it means anything – it just screws over low-lives that can’t do anything useful, like me!” While Markus had a solid understanding of politics and how they worked, he’d never considered it from a personal standpoint as he’d never had any real reason to, leaving him withdrawn as he listened to Leo.

“All rich people do is give money to other rich people while poor people can barely get by with a fucking dayjob, and that’s without talking minimum wage or felony charges.”

“Your father gave you plenty of money, Leo. You spent it on drugs.”

“That’s not the point!” Leo snapped his fingers before they tangled in his hair as he steamed over what the original topic was, realizing he’d derailed himself.

“Okay, whatever. It’s just, the system’s rigged and I’m not gonna let it fuck me any harder.” Markus visibly winced from the image the words painted in his mind.

“I said success,” Markus notified him.

“What you’re talking about is failure.” Leo scratched his head, almost missing the wisdom in a moment of confusion, but after a second of forced focus, he caught on.

“Uh. Yeah. I mean, I guess.” Of course he’d never made the connection before, when every outcome depended on how he took on the next challenge, and that never went well. He’d never succeeded, so he never expected to, and thus never saw a reason to try, a self-fulfilling prodigy of his own fear of working hard only to fail.

“It’s harder to stay sober if you don’t have long-term goals. Right?” Markus reminded himself not to talk over Leo, lest he get smacked across the face a few more times.

“Yeah, they mention that,” Leo replied, although reluctantly, averting his gaze with a sigh.

“Any job in the world. Which one would you want?” Leo scoffed with a twitch of one eyebrow, quirking it and tilting his head as if he couldn’t believe the words he’d heard.

“Oh, that’s cute. You read that from the therapy book? Haven’t heard that question before.” Markus waited patiently until Leo’s body posture slouched and lowered, signaling he was ready to continue on without further antagonization.

“If I had to work doing something all my life to earn sleeping and eating, I might as well do something useful. I’d build, but I can’t measure anything. Farming means knowing how to take care of plants, and you think that’s easy? No way! Everything’s complicated, o-or overdone, or overrated and underpaid and I don’t want to deal with it. Okay? Not school, not a job, nothing. I’m not slaving under some fatass for a car I’m never gonna afford to funnel money into until I die. It’s just… I can’t do it.” Dad’s inheritance will be enough, he thought, but not only didn’t want to say it, but he wasn’t entirely sure with how undependable his spending habits were—there was a reason he wasn’t supposed to have it yet and he knew that, whether he liked it or not.

“What would you do under different circumstances, then?” Markus continued.

“Just, because you wanted to.”

This question struck him silent for a long minute as Leo wasn’t sure what to say. Did he have actual interests? For the most part, he did what he had to for the sake of getting by, not necessarily for fun or leisure.

“I think you don’t like anything to do with obligation,” Markus pointed out, keeping his voice calm so as not to agitate Leo further with his words. The sentence was already slightly accusatory in nature, but he was hoping to hold Leo’s attention long enough to explain himself properly.

“You’re fine with plants, but farming sounds impossible to you. I know you’ll find ways to make money if it suits you, but not if you have to. If you look at the world that way, of course you’ll bring yourself to failure without even trying. Literally.” Leo wore a brighter tint on his cheek in the moment of surprise at being called out so well, considering he’d never been confronted so precisely before.

“It’s complicated,” he excused with a stiff shake of his head, avoiding the subject with a step to the side as he turned to walk towards the kitchen. He didn’t have to see Markus following him to know he was approaching, turning to deflect him as soon as he’d neared the dining table.

“You know what will get you by in this world? Knowing your needles, plants and your guns. What can kill you and what can save your life. The kind of glock that officer shot you with? Those wounds would kill a human on the spot.” In a moment of feeling brave, he pulled up the waistline of his shirt, revealing a few of the scattered scars across his torso before pointing to a deeply engraved, round one on the right side of his chest, a few inches below and to the right of his nipple and tucked between where a pair of ribs were if he didn’t take a deep breath. Markus blinked with a sympathetic lift of his eyebrows as he eased his expression.

“I know that you want to stand for the same sorta thing,” Leo aggressed.

“But you getting shot, and this? It’s not gonna be the same. You can’t feel pain, and no matter how many emotions you think you have, you’ll never know agony.”

“Leo, both of us can breathe, and bleed, and die. Thinking and feeling is all part of that experience,” he explained, yet didn’t sound so sure, even to himself. Leo’s point was made and understood, as Markus agreed that he was right in the fact there was never going to be a way for himself to experience or understand physical pain. His frustration was less in the difference of comparing events and tragedies, like how Leo seemed to be dealing with, and moreso in the fact he wanted to aid Leo with metaphorical weapons to fight in this war yet felt helpless as he had nothing to offer, and Leo was only widening the gap between them.

Leo wanted to argue back but stopped beforehand this time as something within him made him realize spilling the words wouldn’t be worthwhile for once. Arguing about death and injury was depressing, anyway, and it wouldn’t get either of them anywhere; so, dropping the subject, he left.

Again.

[rhysie-cakes314]

Day 25- Hell

Tony Stark had foiled Morgan le Fay for the last time. First it had been back with Merlin and Doctor Doom and the whole Excalibur nonsense (Iron Man: Doomquest, Iron Man: Legacy of Doom). The man wasn’t even a sorcerer for Gaea’s sake! How the hell he had escaped Mephisto from that Hell was beyond her entirely. Mephisto was nearly powerless within his own realm. Now he had been instrumental in disrupting her plans with Nightmare to take down Stephen Strange. (Chap. 22- Dreams) She was finished with this thorn in her side and would show no more mercy.

The Avengers were having an average breakfast when she appeared. Tony was staring ahead, not really awake, while he sipped his coffee, with Thor across from him. A woman with long dark hair and green eyes appeared silently behind the god, a faint purple aura around her. Clint noticed her first, but she only had eyes for Tony.

Clint clamoured out of his seat, aiming the nearest of Natasha’s guns at the intruder. “Who the fuck-”

“Silence,” the woman said with a small flick of her hand. Clint went flying through the air, crashing into a wall behind him and slumping to the floor, unconscious. Everyone was definitely aware of her presence now. The team had moved into wary battle stances, except for Thor and Tony. Thor was just in front of her, so he turned to eye her cautiously, but did not dare move. Tony was staring with wide-eyed recognition.

“Morgana!? What are you doing here?” he squeaked. She smiled at his obvious fear. With a single upward sweep of an arm, both her and Tony disappeared, leaving behind a stunned silence.

Natasha ran over to check on Clint. “He should be okay,” she said over her shoulder. “Small concussion for him.”

“Did Tony know that woman?” Steve asked. He glanced around the room. Phil wasn’t home, and Bruce was in his lab already. It was probably for the best, because Hulk would not help the already confusing situation.

“Odin’s beard,” Thor breathed, breaking his uncharacteristic silence. “That was Morgan le Fay.” He looked troubled, and deep in thought.

Natasha had walked back towards them, and pushed Steve back into a seat before the man passed out. He had locked his knees and was clearly a little in shock. That alone seemed to break Steve out of it, and his Captain demeanor took over. “Do you mean Morgana like from Arthurian legend?” she asked Thor.

Thor considered her. “Aye, if by Arthurian you mean to speak of Arthur Pendragon. His court and royal sorcerer Merlin are no fiction, though.”

“JARVIS, gather the others. Thor, update all of us on what you know of this Morgan and why Tony would know her.” Steve commanded.

With the others gathered around, and Clint now awake and nursing a headache, they waited for Thor. “I know little of what modern Midgard considers to be fact or fiction of King Arthur, but Asgard knew of him. He was one of the great Midgardian kings, and Merlin was the Sorcerer Supreme of his time. Morgan le Fay, back then known as Morgana, was a natural sorceress with raw power beyond her own control. It ate at her, and she sought help from darker forces to learn how to tame it. She became a major foe for the kingdom of Camelot, and nearly destroyed it with the help of Mephisto and an undead army, led by Victor von Doom. She was only defeated and weakened for a time due to Arthur’s knight and the mysterious aid of a man in magic red armor, who went by Iron Man.” Thor paused for the gasps he knew would come before continuing. He knew the day this secret was revealed would come, but had no idea when, nor how much it would sting to let his teammates know he had already known. He had sort of hoped Tony would tell first, though he suspected the man’s memories may have been wiped. “There was also a magical sword, Excalibur, that in more modern times resurfaced. Morgan helped Doom recreate it from a fragment, but Iron Man got the last piece, and the two needed it whole to defeat a giant inter-dimensional eyeball monster. So Iron Man agreed to let Doom stab him through the heart with the rest of Excalibur, and his death destroyed the monster. Then Merlin’s spirit brought Iron Man back, though I can only presume by the looks on your faces, without memory of the events. That or Anthony has been keeping a lot of secrets.”

Thor’s spiel was met with silence. Bruce’s shaking hand set down his tea, and the soft clink on the counter sounded far too loud. “Maybe I do need to see a doctor, because Thor is making no sense,” Clint broke the silence.

Steve was reeling. How many things had Tony kept from them? Had he been time travelling and fighting legends this whole time when no one was looking? Had this been before they all met and Tony never felt the need to say? Did Tony truly just not remember it? But he had clearly recognized the sorceress in their kitchen. “Maybe it was a different Iron Man. How would we know it was Tony?”

“Unless someone else had identical armor, it was Stark,” Thor responded confidently. “I was not on Midgard at the time, but I spent many hours watching the adventures of Camelot through Heimdall’s windows. I recognized it when we first met.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steve snapped. How was the team supposed to operate of they were keeping things like this from each other?

“Steve, think of how the timeline could’ve been irreparably altered if he had told us. What if Tony hadn’t done it yet and the knowledge changed his reactions to everything?” Natasha reasoned before Thor had to. She understood Steve’s emotional response, but Thor’s decision had certainly been for the best.

Thor nodded sagely. “Aye, I was forbidden for that very reason. Time travel is tricky, and being around as long as I have means I often meet people I have already met or seen who don’t yet know me. It is a difficulty I have grown familiar with while living here.”

“Well that’s cryptic,” Phil replied drily.

“So what do we do?” Steve asked finally. He had no idea how to take on a sorceress this powerful. Strange and Thor had both recognized her voice back in the Nightmare Realm, and had been clearly unhappy about it. “Should I call Strange?”

“I think that may be helpful. Unfortunately,” Thor looked pained to say it, “I think my brother would be most suited for this, however.”

He was loathe to admit it, but Steve thought Thor was probably right. “You call Loki, see if he’ll help. For now, let’s try to leave Strange out of it, since he’s already so busy this time of year.”

…

All it took was a blink, and Tony’s kitchen was gone, replaced by the firescape of Mephisto’s Hell. “What do you want Morgana?” Tony spat angrily. “I have no business with you, I leave you alone, you leave me alone. That was our deal.” Tony hadn’t been back here since the last time when he had to fight off a demonic faux Howard in order to escape. Morgana had her own hideouts, he knew, so why were they here? He really did not have the tools or energy to deal with Mephisto himself, if he could even pray to lay a scratch on Morgana.

“Oh, I remember our deal, Stark. That was before you interfered in the Nightmare Realm last year.” Tony rolled his eyes, holding in the frustrated growl that tried to escape him. It’s not like he had known Morgana was part of that whole disaster until it was too late. “You broke the deal first, and I’m getting revenge.”

“I didn’t know you were working with Nightmare. All I knew was that Strange asked for our help, and I went. That should hardly count against me.”

Morgana waved a hand, and Tony was now being forced into an upright starfish position, each limb chained to some invisible force and being pulled taut. It was not a comfortable way to be held up against gravity, and his shoulders already ached. “I care not for your reasons. You’ve irritated me long enough, and Mephisto was willing to let me use his realm after you embarrassed him the last time.” She walked around him in a slow circle, examining her handiwork. “I figure I’ll just torture you for awhile, until I’m bored. Then he can keep you.”

“What do you gain from that?” Tony tried to keep his voice calm. Morgana enjoyed fear, especially from men. She was more likely to release him if he could appeal to logic. “All you’re doing is making enemies out of the Avengers.”

The slow grin was wicked, and Morgana’s eyes were already glowing purple with hungry power. “I’m okay with that.” Tony didn’t have the chance to prepare himself before all he heard were his own screams. The pain was everywhere, no apparent source or focal point because fucking magic. It felt like being burned alive, but with no end in sight or deadening of the nerves. Instead, Tony tried to writhe in agony, but that only pulled harshly at his joints. Through his now blurry vision, he could tell Morgana was laughing, but the sound was lost to him. She didn’t seem to have any motivation to let up and give him a breather, so Tony had to take the small gasps his body forced him to take when his lungs grew too thirsty. With the way the magic was consuming him, he had no control over his bodily mechanics anymore. A far away part of his mind wondered if he had pissed himself. This was truly hell.

…

“I think this is a bad idea,” Clint said, throwing another paper airplane at Loki’s head. Loki let it phase through him, not even sparing the archer a glance.

“You’ve made that very clear, Barton, now drop it.” Steve grit out. That got Clint to hesitate before throwing another. Steve hadn’t called him Barton in a long time. “So will you help us or not?”

“I have no ill will towards Morgan le Fay, but my brother dearest has made it difficult to refuse you,” Loki drawled. A brief look of disgust passed over his face before it returned to its usual smugness. Thor was standing behind him looking equally smug. Steve thought they looked more like brothers than enemies then, even if Loki had been adopted.

“I really don’t want to know,” Steve decided. “The point is, you’ll help. What do you need from us?”

Loki chuckled and Steve clenched his fists to keep from punching the cheeky bastard. “I need no help from you.”

“Well you’re certainly not going alone,” Phil inserted himself smoothly. “So at least let us in on your brilliant plan,” he said sarcastically.

Loki looked like he might argue, but Thor moved behind him, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Brother! Fine, you can accompany me. Morgana took him to Mephisto’s realm. If you want your Iron Man back alive, we will need Mephisto’s permission to take him. I cannot defeat that demon in his own realm.” The Asgardian looked like it physically pained him to admit there were people more powerful than him. Natasha thought it was funny, because he always seemed to conveniently forget that the Avengers had taken him down.

Steve huffed. “Well, lead the way, Loki. We’re kind of in a hurry.”

Loki smiled, amused. “Aye-aye, Captain.”

The portal Loki opened beneath them, with no warning, dropped them from above ground. The god of mischief looked very pleased with himself as everyone picked themselves off the ground, grumbling. “Never gets old,” he murmured, chuckling to himself. “Ow!” Thor punched Loki in the arm. “It was just a bit of fun!”

In front of them stood a being Steve could only assume was Mephisto. The man was crimson, and wore a cloak not dissimilar to Strange’s Cloak of Levitation. His boots were a slightly darker red than his own skin, along with pants that had some sort of long loin cloth attached to them. The pointed ears and deep widows peak reminded Clint of one of the elves from Lord of the Rings. “May I ask why you are trespassing in my home?” His arms were crossed.

Loki bowed, “Apologies. I have been asked by the Avengers here to retrieve a stolen teammate.” They all stared at Loki, shocked. They had never seen him sound so…  respectful.

Mephisto, in contrast, was looking at the god thoughtfully. “Stand, Asgardian.” Loki obliged, glancing around at the others before resting wary eyes back on their host. His obnoxiously entitled brother and their friends were an embarrassment to stand next to. “While I would love to help, Anthony Stark was rightfully mine before he was an Avenger. He left my realm without my leave. When Morgan le Fay offered to retrieve my property, I was pleased.”

Loki’s frown deepened. Steve looked like he was about to retort, but Loki caught him with a glare first, giving a subtle shake of his head. “Respectfully, that isn’t quite accurate.” Before the demon could interrupt, he continued quickly. “The deal you made with Victor von Doom was under false pretenses. He did not own Iron Man to be able to trade him for the sword. Anthony was tricked into your realm and betrayed.”

The silence was tense while they waited for the demon to consider Loki’s words. Bruce watched the interaction carefully, keeping the Hulk away for now. If Loki was being submissive, it meant he probably hadn’t been lying about how powerful this demon was here. A fight was not what they wanted, but he was growing more worried for Tony. And angry at his friend for never mentioning any of it.

A throne appeared beneath Mephisto as he sat, and he stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I see. And I should believe you because?”

“Ask Doom yourself.”

Mephisto smiled. “I can make a deal with you Avengers. I will fetch the man in question if when I ask Doom about this accusation, I am convinced of Loki Laufeyson’s version of events instead of Victor’s, then I will keep him instead. Iron Man’s fate will be in my hands. If I do not release him, however, there will be no fighting from you lot. How’s that sound?” He stood, hands on his hips.

Steve couldn’t see that he really had a choice here. He shared a look with the rest of the team, but was only met with regretful shrugs. “I guess we have a deal.” Mephisto grinned maliciously, shaking the Captain’s hand. He was going to get either Doom or Stark out of this, and best case scenario, he’d get Captain America too, for betraying an official deal. It was truly a win-win for him.

“Good, we have a deal. Now leave my home. You will have either have your teammate back or not in twenty four hours, there’s nothing you can do.” He snapped his fingers, and the team was back in the kitchen.

“Goddamnit!” The crash of the chair against the wall startled everyone. Steve stood over the pieces, his chest heaving. “How can I be so powerless?”

Natasha stepped towards him, a hand placed gently on his shoulder. “We’re out of our depth with demons.” She murmured. Behind her, Bruce was already sprinting for the stairs. It was pretty safe to assume he was headed to the ‘Hulk-proof’ training bunk Tony had designed.

“That you most certainly are,” Loki replied snidely. She shot him a scathing look, but softened her expression when she saw his own. He actually looked vaguely apologetic. “I am too.” He spoke quieter this time. “I can try and create a viewing window for now, so you can at least see Stark.” Steve turned, looking hopeful.

“I don’t know if that’s actually a good idea,” Clint tried, slumping into the kitchen chair in front of him. “Is it going to help any of us to helplessly watch whatever the bitch is doing to him?” It sounded more tired than harsh.

Steve pushed off the wall, heading towards his room. “I don’t know Clint, but I need to do something.” His voice broke. Standing in the entryway but not turning back, he spoke quietly, “If you could, Loki, I’d be grateful.” Then he was gone.

“This has been a strange experience for me,” Loki said. No one responded, and he knew when he was even less welcome than usual. “Brother, let us speak with Heimdall.”

…

The only respite was when Morgana would get bored of one spell and move onto another. At some point burning turned into crushing pain, which would eventually morph into the stabbing pain of invisible knives through him in all directions. Tony had no idea the woman hated him so much. Or perhaps she just needed someone to torture, and he was a convenient pastime for her. It was weird to think about how this much pain could come out of just one angry enemy, one bored sorceress looking for an outlet. “Please,” he breathed.

That only seemed to encourage her, and suddenly everything grew worse. Tony screamed, or tried to, but his voice was barely there anymore. “I must admit, I’m curious to see how long your body can put up with this level of stress. Magical torture is so understudied.” She spoke conversationally, as though they were friends. Tony watched her with wide eyes, gasping when he could. He had stopped being able to produce tears a while ago. How long he had been here was impossible to determine, because for him it felt like a week. “Did you know I used to abhor the very idea of harming someone?” She laughed ruefully. “I tried to be good, but when so many tell you you’re evil for so long, it sinks in. Eventually I thought, why not embrace it? It is easier.”

“Oh my god,” Steve whispered, watching the enchanted mirror Loki had given him. It felt unreal, watching Tony suffer like that for no reason at all. It was impossible to even tell what she was doing to the man, only that he was in agony. There were five hours left of the 24 hours Mephisto had given himself. That meant Tony had only been in Hell for a little over 20 hours, but he looked like he had been there for a week. Loki hadn’t been able to explain how the magic or Hell itself would affect Tony, so they could only pray there was no permanent damage.

“Oh, look at that!”  Morgana breathed excitedly. Tony obviously couldn’t see what excited the madwoman, but the sudden pins and needles in his chest and the increasing difficulty in breathing gave him a pretty good clue. “The light in your chest flickers ominously, Iron Man. Perhaps your precious technology doesn’t like this.”

Tony let his head fall, resting his chin on his chest. It probably made breathing even harder, but he didn’t have the energy anymore to keep his head upright. At this angle, he could see the arc reactor flickering. It was not a comforting sight. With great effort, he leaned his head back so at least he wouldn’t have to watch himself die.

“Enough,” a male voice shouted, and suddenly Tony was crumpled on the ground, coughing and sore. The magic was no longer extending his pain though. Tony rolled around, to see the newcomer, and recognized Mephisto immediately. Next to him was a very unhappy looking Victor von Doom.

Morgan whirled around in surprise. “What is this? We had a deal.”

“Sorry Morgan, but Anthony wasn’t mine to offer, apparently. I actually own Doom if you’d like him.” The demon pushed Doom forward where he stumbled, but caught himself before falling.

She scoffed. “I have no interest in him. Keep him for yourself.” Without any further conversation, she disappeared in a swirl of purple and black .

Mephisto turned to look at Tony on the ground. He shrugged with a very not apologetic at all expression. “Misunderstanding, sorry.” Tony glared at him, but he still felt too out of breath to say anything. “Until next time,” he sing-songed.   

Tony felt no change, but was slowly aware that he was back home. He groaned, looking down at the reactor. It was no longer flickering, and he was slowly catching his breath. “Tony! Oh thank god,” Steve ran full tilt into the kitchen, sliding slightly on his knees as he dropped to the ground to grasp Tony.

“Hey Steve,” he rasped, looking up at the worried blond. “Long time no see.” Tony promptly threw up onto the ground beside him. “I don’t feel great.”

“Tony, babe, let me help you up. We can go to medical,” Steve started, but Tony shook his head.

“Noooo, just take me to bed,” he whined.

“Tony,” Steve replied worriedly, already scooping the man off the vomit covered floor and into his lap.

“If I may, Captain, his reactor is fully functional and he shows no signs of damage that a hospital is needed for,” JARVIS interjected.

Steve ran a hand through Tony’s sweat soaked locks. “I watched you, but I couldn’t do anything,” he said softly.

Tony leaned into the touch. Every muscle in his body ached, and he was starving and exhausted. “Bed,” he moaned. He knew Steve needed to talk and the others would want to see him. Plus, Tony wanted to know how Steve had apparently watched him in hell and knew he was going to have some explaining to do about Morgana, but he couldn’t do any of that right now. “Please.”

The room felt like it was spinning as Steve stood up with him. “Right, sorry,” Steve said quickly. Tony squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness and wave of nausea. He focused solely on his breathing until it passed. The coolness of the sheets felt amazing. Steve started to tuck him under the blanket, but Tony kicked it all off. “Okay, no blankets. Just sleep Tony.” He didn’t need to be told twice. Not that he could stay awake if he tried.

Tony slept through a whole day. He didn’t even flinch when they inserted the IV to rehydrate him, and Steve gave him a simple wash with a cool washcloth. He desperately needed to eat, too, but they decided to let him sleep the initial soreness off. Literally going through Hell, Tony had still been through worse than this. Sleep was the best thing for him now, even if it was killing the team not to be able to talk to him. They could wait.  

[rezathevamp-blog]

Losing Soulmates || Reza&Noah

time and hearts will wear us thin, so which path will you take, cause we both know a break does exactly what it says on the tin

One final phone call

Clutching the phone between numb fingers, Reza half expected Noah to not pick up. Almost hoped it, too, because what the fuck could he even say at this point? Was there anything that could make this better? It probably wasn't begging Noah to talk to him on the phone while his throat still felt fucking raw. "Hey," he breathed out as soon as the dial tone was replaced with silence and quiet breathing. "Look, I wish I knew the right thing to say and maybe there isn't even a right thing to say here but... fuck, there's got to be something I can do, right? I don't..." he swallowed thickly to try and hide the voice crack, "I don't want to lose you."

Standing there looking at his phone as it vibrated softly on his bedspread Noah took a deep breath. Because while he put on a brave mask, and talked an angry game, he knew the second he heard Reza’s voice he was just going to fall apart. Piece by broken piece. Sliding the lock button Noah put the phone tentatively to his ear, steeling himself against Reza’s voice. The other boy was upset, and on the verge of tears. It was definitely obvious by the way he talked. But in the end Noah just listened vowing to give Reza his full ten minutes even though he already knew what the outcome of this phone call would be “I don’t” Noah started trying to gather the right words. Something that would be truthful but not too harsh or cause him to start crying… which he was loathe to admit but very liable to do right now “I don’t want to lose you either Reza. But healthy relationship can’t be one sided. And before you say, I’ll change for you, that’s not what a healthy relationship is either Rez and you know it. These things- they have to come from the heart. You have to want to share. And I get it. Trust me. It took me a long fucking time to even be comfortable saying the shit I do about myself, and my life. But I just. I know what I need” The last sentence was barely a whisper, the wetness already lurking at the corners of the older boy’s eyes.

The soft voice on the other end of the line was a surprise. Reza had expected the same stoic tone he'd been left with back at the apartment last night, something to match his curt and angry replies online, but there was just steely pain. Pain that easily transferred to Reza as well with the words spoken. And it was almost hilarious, Noah assuming that the vampire had any sort of knowledge about the workings of a 'healthy relationship', but he supposed he knew that Noah chugging down a beer in pain wasn't a sign of one. And maybe Reza worrying about him finding out about his past every other day wasn't the best, either. Noah making him happy was a selfish notion that Reza had clung onto for way too long now. "I do want to share," he choked out, despite the sensible part of his brain telling him that this conversation was useless. Noah's whisper was all the confirmation he needed but the desperate arguments just slipped out. It was like autopilot, clawing at anything that meant he wouldn't be alone. "I can be what you need, it's not a change just... I'll just be better and... Fuck..." he sighed angrily, wiping away the tears creeping up. "Sorry, this isn't..." Brain tugging in every direction, he found himself lost for words.

“Reza” Noah said gently into the phone, his need to comfort outweighing the rest of his emotions. He was still angry and upset and deep down, but he didn’t actually want to make Reza’s suffer, the younger boy’s voice already practically trembling with every syllable. “You know that saying these things, is just-just trying to put a bandaid on the inevitable at this point. Its.-” Noah paused trying to find the words, sniffing a bit to keep that dam wetness at the corner of his eyes at bay. And noah hated this with every fiber of his being right now, having to be logical and rational when he just wanted to say fuck it and let Reza have it. But purposefully hurting reza wouldn’t make his own pain lessen. No Noah knew from experience that only time would do that. Time and Distance “It’s not that we can’t come back together in the future or some shit. But. If we’re going to make this work, we both need some time.”

Noah's gentle tone guided Reza away from the gaping, dark hole of anxiety and self pity, allowing him to take a small step back and actually listen to what he was saying. The way he was practically manipulating Noah into staying, a few ill spoken words away from guilt tripping him into a relationship. It was less deliberate but just as shit as what had been done to Reza back in the day. "I... I know," he whispered back, hand gripping the phone like a lifeline, lest he slip back into begging Noah to stay somewhere he clearly didn't want to stay. He pushed past the brutal sting in his chest at the thought, hanging onto Noah's very weak promise of the future. A lot of things could happen over 'time'. His stomach clenched at the thought of all the people that could be or become the right person for Noah during this 'time.' But that didn't matter. Or it couldn't matter. "Okay. I... If that's what you need then it's... it's for the best." He knew his voice was dull, hardly believable, but it was the best he could do at this point. Just recycled lines from every break up scenario ever. Because that's what this was, no matter how badly his brain wanted to ignore that fact.

Listening to the shift in Reza’s tone Noah frowned slightly. He had expected more begging from the other boy, especially after how this whole thing had started. But it seemed like… maybe Reza also knew that they were broken? Not irreparable, but enough to hurt. Sitting down Noah just let the silence of the moment wash over not exactly knowing what to say next. Because endings were always the most difficult weren’t they. “Reza, even though we are going to be on a break what i said last night still stands.” Noah’s voice was barely more than a whisper at this point. Because he’d never said what came next to any other significant other before, let alone his first male one. ”I m-may not,” Shit. He was crying now, the reality of the situation finally sinking in.While he knew this was for the best Noah desperately didn’t want this to end. He didn’t want Reza to disappear from his life again even if this time it was Noah’s own making. Wiping the back of his hand across his eyes though he soldiered on, knowing what he was going to say next needed to be said. For Reza’s sake. “I-I may not be able not be there for you f-for a good while, but If you get into some shit and really need me call alright. Because you are o-ohana. Whether you are my boyfriend, or just my friend, or e-even just someone who comes to pet the dogs when I am away. You’re still ohana, and that parts not changing ok.”

The silence was deafening, to a point where the noises far away outside his apartment sounded loud. Noah finally spoke and Reza wasn't sure how reassuring the 'break' part was, even though it provided hope that Noah wasn't just bailing on this relationship to find something better. Someone better. Wishing more than anything that this shit wasn't happening over the phone, that he at least had Noah's presence to make everything slightly better despite the situation, Reza's eyes closed. He could see him now, the way his breath caught with the tears and Reza's face was just as wet as he imagined Noah's to be. The way everything was slowly sinking in as Noah spoke, Reza's chest feeling tighter and tighter, was harrowing. "Okay," he just barely managed to choke out, shivers wracking his body. It took everything in him to let this happen, to not bite and claw his way forward in an attempt to keep Noah fully. God, did he want to. More than anything. "And same..." Reza sniffed, "same goes for you." Fuck, his chest felt ready to implode, whole body curling up in a protective attempt. "I think our ten minutes are almost up..." he breathed, eyes squeezed shut and praying that he could get the last words out without completely cracking. "Mein ap say muhabat karta hoon." And then he removed the phone from his ear, blindly hanging up to spare himself the hurt of Noah doing it. Body wracked with bittersweet sobs because a sensible part of his brain knew Noah was right, but the pain demanded to be felt for now.

And Noah knew he should have expected the click behind Reza’s words, the other boy still to fragile to do anything but run. But he was still mildly surprised when it happened, mind still trying to decipher the Urdu words Reza was whispering. Sitting there though Noah put down the phone silently a small wrecked sob pushing its way out of his chest. Fucking Noah Kalani had been kidnapped, he’d had a kidney transplant, he’d fucking lost his whole family. But somehow, this felt worse. This hurt so much worse. Probably because he had wanted it to work so fucking bad. He had wanted to love and be loved by reza so fucking bad. And the other probably barely even knew it. Slumping over Noah pulled his knees up to his chest trying to breathe through his tears, before a wet nose pressed its way onto his back. “Come here” he whispered patting a spot on his bed as Kea jumped up, nuzzling him affectionately before curling up next to him. And Noah didn’t know when he fell asleep, he just knew that eventually he did, his body fully clothed, the tears that streamed down his cheeks creating sticky patches on his cheeks when they finally dried.