#ignore the awful way i colored the lighting in that one drawing

[nadvs]

hard to ignore (two-shot) (part two)

pairing singledad! zach maclaren x nanny! female reader

summary when you’re offered a job as a nanny, you can tell right away that you’ll grow fond of the little girl you’re taking care of. things are easy to manage until you realize you’re falling for her dad.

content warning parental abandonment

» part one

» masterlist

Zach gets you and his daughter box seats for his next home game.

It happens to be on your first day back at work after his family leaves and he jokes that sooner is better than later, not only because his team might get knocked out of the playoffs, but also because Ella could change her mind about wanting to come.

The private space overlooking the stadium is small, only a handful of other people there, as the late afternoon sun shines over the rich green field.

You learned that Zach is a major league soccer player minutes into meeting him. You knew he had an unusual life and a certain level of notoriety as a professional athlete. But seeing the crowds filling the seats below you makes it real to you.

The music and the announcer’s voice boom through the stadium, fireworks going off as players rush the field. All this craziness doesn’t match the man you know. Zach is kind and humble and beneath his silly sense of humor, he has a gentleness to him that you’d never expect from someone whose last name is sprawled over fans’ jerseys, who’s getting cheered for so loudly that it’s deafening.

Ella excitedly claps when her father appears on the stadium screen, his face hard as he jogs under the bright lights. You gaze ahead in awe, unable to believe that this is the world he lives in when he’s not at the house, running around with his daughter, thanking you for everything you do.

After the game ends in a draw, you take Ella home in time for dinner. As you drive, wipers cleaning away the drizzle that just started to fall, she excitedly rambles about the experience from the backseat. You smile to yourself, glad that she enjoyed herself and proud that you’re the reason she went.

As usual, Ella slips out of her chair with a mouthful of food when she hears the front door open halfway into dinner. You watch her dart out of the dining room, listening to the huff Zach lets out every time his daughter roughly launches herself into his arms.

“That was so cool!” you overhear.

“Really?” he says. “You didn’t get bored?”

“Um, it was kind of too long,” she says, “but I had pictures to color.”

“Appreciate your honesty,” Zach replies with a laugh.

They round the corner to enter the dining room and when Zach’s eyes land on you, your heart does a somersault.

“Hey,” he says to you, nervous.

“Hi,” you reply. “Thanks for the fancy seats.”

“They were alright?”

“Good enough for two princesses,” you tease.

“Princess ballerinas,” Ella corrects you as she sits down again.

“Right,” you say. “Sorry. I keep forgetting that we’re princess ballerinas now.”

Zach mirrors your smile, loving the feeling of sharing a moment like this with you. You stand to clean your plate and it reminds him of what his mother said a couple of nights ago. That you look at him the same way he looks at you.

He hopes that it’s true, because he can’t take his eyes off of you. He’s a little embarrassed that you saw him in a match. He’s always loved soccer, but he never liked how much attention is on him as a major league player.

“Maybe you should wait out the rain,” Zach says to you. “It started coming down hard on my drive home.”

“Good idea,” you say, happy to spend more time with him.

The rest of dinner consists of Ella happily chattering with you and Zach. As she clears her plate, Zach’s phone buzzes on the table top. His lips purse in worry at the notification, and then he shows you the severe thunderstorm warning message on his screen.

“That looks bad,” you say. “How long is it supposed to go on for?”

“It says into the early morning,” Zach answers. “Do you want to crash here?”

“I’m sure I could make it home,” you say. “I’ll just drive slowly.”

Zach’s lips part, and then he closes his mouth, simply nodding.

“What?” you chuckle. His eyes dart away.

“Just worried about you,” he admits. You huff an endeared laugh.

“Fine. I’ll sleep here,” you decide.

He sighs a breath of relief and says, “Thanks.”

Zach takes Ella to bed and you settle on the couch, glad you already have everything you’ll need in your overnight bag in the guest room. You eventually hear his footsteps coming down the stairs over the sounds of the television and the rain hammering down on the roof.

He sits on the other end of the couch next to you, so far that a person could easily sit between you. It’s typical Zach, never getting too close to you. The only time he’s ever touched you is when he shook your hand before your interview half a year ago.

“She fell asleep while I was explaining what offside means,” he says with an adorably puzzled expression. “Trying not to be offended.”

“I can’t believe she’s actually interested in soccer,” you say.

“Ouch.” Zach puts his hand over his heart. “Okay, I’m offended now.”

“I mean because you said she never cared before,” you laugh.

“I asked her so many times if she’d want to come to a game,” he huffs. “But you suggest it once and she’s immediately in. She always listens to you.”

“Not when I’m trying to convince her to leave the park,” you say. He chuckles. “Can you believe she’s starting kindergarten soon?”

Admittedly, Zach’s concerned about it. In less than a month, Ella will be going to school and he never was one to have much anxiety before he became a father, but all he does now is worry. He doesn’t want any teachers or kids to be harsh with his little girl. She’s already been through enough.

“She’ll be okay,” you say.

“What?”

“You have that worried look on your face,” you tell him. “She’ll love school. I’m sure of it.”

“You can read me pretty well,” he says, smiling. You shrug timidly, thinking back to how quickly he’d noticed something was bothering you on the night of Ella’s birthday.

“What?” he asks.

“It goes both ways,” you admit. “You saw right through me after the party.”

Zach’s jaw tightens, the playfulness between you replaced by a fragile air. He takes a breath before speaking. He knows he needs to have this conversation with you.

“Do you feel better about what she said?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply. Now that you’ve had some time to process, you’re okay. “How about you?”

“Well,” he begins, nerves tightening in his stomach, “it wasn’t easy to hear. Ella shouldn’t have to wish she had a different mom. Jade should be here for her.”

He’s never said her name. He’s never looked like this before, his eyes avoiding yours, hand trembling a bit as he scratches his jaw. You can tell this is hard for him to talk about. But he’s choosing to do it with you.

“You said ex-wife that night, but she was never my wife,” Zach admits.

“Oh. Sorry. I just assumed.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I know I haven’t told you much. When we talked that night, it reminded me of just how much you don’t know about it. I just… I hope you know that you’re… you’re so much more than Ella’s nanny. You’re our friend. And you’re obviously a mother figure to her. And it feels weird that you don’t know what happened.”

His words sink into you, every syllable having an effect on your heartbeat.

“What happened?”

“Ella was a surprise,” he tells you. “Jade and I were dating in our senior year of college when we found out she was pregnant. And then I got scouted and we graduated and everything was happening so fast, but we were happy and… I stayed happy and she didn’t.”

You nibble on your bottom lip, looking at him as his eyes stay trained off of yours.

“We broke up a few months after Ella was born. But we were both sure we could handle co-parenting. She stayed at home while I worked. I could see she didn’t like it, though. She wasn’t a bad mother or anything. She just wasn’t very… affectionate with Ella.”

Your chest tightens. It’s painful to imagine Ella wanting love and not getting it.

“I don’t know. I thought she’d eventually feel how I feel about being a parent. I tried everything,” Zach says, remembering how he’d encouraged Jade to go to therapy or take time away or work while they hired help. It was like she was stuck in her unhappiness. “But then she left and… that was it.”

He finally looks at you and the tenderness in your eyes gives him a breath of fresh air. It’s what you do. Just by being you, you give him the push to stay hopeful that he and his daughter will be okay.

“We weren’t in a good place when you came. But you made things so much better,” he says. “You do an amazing job taking care of her. I really appreciate it.”

Your eyes light up, the smile on your face gentle.

“Thank you for saying that,” you say. “And thank you for telling me the full story. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Zach sighs now that the weight of reliving it is gone.

“I really do love her. I meant it when I said it.” At this point, you’re sure you love him, too, but you wouldn’t dare say it out loud. “And I feel lucky to get to watch her grow up. This doesn’t even feel like a job to me anymore.”

“So, what I’m hearing is, you don’t want the pay?” he says. You find relief in his joke, tossing your head back with a laugh. “Seriously, though, let me know if you need me to keep things the same while you’re part-time during the school year. I don’t mind.”

“Wait, are you offering to pay me for hours I’m not even working?” you chuckle. “Zach, no. I’m good. I have other things lined up. But thank you.”

“What? Everyone knows you should always accept free money.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say. “How do you even have the energy to joke around right now? I just watched you run around for ninety minutes.”

Like always, Zach blushes when you bring up his job. He’s intense and focused on the pitch, but he’s different when he’s at ease at home.

“There’s a break in the middle,” he replies.

“I stand corrected,” you say. “So, how’d you get into soccer?”

Your conversation quickly and easily drifts into topics you hadn’t explored before, the storm raging outside as you learn more about him and he learns more about you. He’s still on the other end of the couch, but soon, his arm is resting against the back of it, his hand inches away from you as you sink into the soft cushions, beaming at each other as you talk.

You don’t want to stop, but eventually you can’t stifle your yawn, prompting Zach to check his watch.

“Jeez,” he says. “Ella went down three hours ago.”

“Are you serious?” You sit up. “That flew by.”

Zach knew that the more he learned about you, the more of a goner he’d be. It feels like he just went on the best date of his life and all he did was sit on his couch and talk.

There’s something between you and he hopes that it’s not just his infatuation misguiding him.

────୨ৎ────

You were right. He had nothing to worry about. Ella’s more than happy at school. It’s only a week into the year and she’s already naming all her new friends when Zach picks her up Friday afternoon.

Her first dance recital is tonight and he’s looking forward to seeing you and his family there. Ella had even mentioned that her other grandparents could come. They were elated to get the invitation.

And of course, when he arrives at the studio that evening, you’re already there, reliable and steady like you always are. You greet him and his family warmly and introduce yourself to Jade’s parents.

It feels wrong to hear you refer to yourself as Ella’s nanny. You’ve been in his life for eight months now and you’ve nestled your way into his soul so deeply that he knows you’ll stay with him forever.

He’s been grappling with this since he first realized he had feelings for you; this bothersome sense of wrong. He can’t pursue you. Technically, no matter how much it doesn’t feel like it, he is your boss. He pays you to take care of his child. If things went sideways, it could push you to leave.

Although he’s never felt this much love for a woman in his life, it’d be selfish. He can’t do it to Ella. He didn’t even want to date other women when Jade was still around simply because it could confuse his daughter.

But you’re different.

His thoughts are interrupted when you look at him, pulling him out of his haze.

“I saved us seats,” you tell him.

Zach’s sitting between you and his father when the recital starts. Eventually, Ella drifts across the middle of the floor between the other dancers.

“This is the part she’s nervous about,” you whisper to him, recalling how she’d told you that this part in the choreography makes her trip sometimes.

You watch her hop sideways, focused as the music grows faster. You’re so on edge that you don’t realize your hand slips into Zach’s, squeezing nervously. She lands her last skip and rejoins the group. You let out a sigh of relief. Then, you look down, seeing your fingers wrapped around Zach’s.

“Sorry,” you say, trying to laugh it off as you pull your hand back. “I think I’m taking a five-year-old’s dance recital a little too seriously.”

Zach can only offer a tight smile. His team’s inching closer to advancing to the championship semi-finals and the pressure has never been heavier, but even that hasn’t affected him like the tension he’s feeling right now. His whole body is on fire from your touch, and it won’t go away.

When the recital comes to an end, Zach leans closer to you to murmur over the applause surrounding you.

“You going out to dinner with us?” he asks.

“Do I have to?” you quip.

“What, you got a date or something?” He worries that the joke was too much. Too flirty.

But you laugh and say, “I haven’t had a date or something in forever. Yeah, I’ll come.” Although it’s hard to believe that a woman like you is single, he’s glad you are.

The eight of you sit in the busy restaurant, making conversation. As Zach expected, Ella insisted she sit next to you. You have endless patience for her, listening to her talk, answering her questions, letting her pick off your plate. He would move mountains for his child. He can tell you’d do the same.

Zach picks up the bill and you all say your goodbyes to Jade’s parents, who insisted they didn’t need to stay the night. Before you head out, you tell his family it was nice to see them again. He can tell you’re a little surprised when his mother pulls you in for a hug, but you kindly return it.

Connie obviously appreciates everything you’ve done for her son and granddaughter. Zach tries not to daydream too much, but he likes imagining being your boyfriend and telling you that his mom called that you’d become something one day.

When you say bye to Zach, your gazes meet like you’ve been waiting for a private moment for ages. Things changed on the night you stayed over. You went from friends to a gray area of something more, neither of you acting on it but knowing it’s there.

Only an hour after Ella falls asleep, Zach’s parents and sister turn in for the night, tired from their drive in. Zach is too wired, silently sitting in his living room, his tea not having its usual effect of soothing him.

He goes through his camera roll, wishing he could go for a drive to relax, but not wanting to leave his daughter in case she needs him. He stares at a photo his mother took of you and him and Ella earlier tonight after the recital, Ella’s hair frizzy from all the jumping around she did.

His smile is wide and so is yours and you look like more than just someone he hired to help take care of his daughter. You look like a family.

He opens your conversation and sends you the photo. It’s nearing 10 p.m. and he’s not sure if you’re already asleep, but you respond a minute later: Aw I love this. Thanks :) How’s your night going?

Zach responds: Good… but everyone’s asleep and I’m still wide awake. Yours?

You reply: Is your tea not working?

He smiles to himself and texts back: Not this time.

You text: I’m kind of wired, too.

How come?

Not sure.

He replies with a joke: Could be Ella’s fault. I saw her eat a lot of your dinner. It’s probably hunger keeping you awake.

Once again, his mind drifts to the way your palm felt against the back of his hand tonight. Then, he hears a door open upstairs. In case it’s Ella, he quietly rushes up the stairs to run into his mom, who’s leaving the bathroom.

“Sorry,” he whispers when he startles her. “I thought Ella woke up and I didn’t want her to think I was gone.”

“I’m sure she’ll be deep asleep until the morning,” Connie says. She notices he’s still in the clothes he wore to the recital. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” he chuckles. “I’d go for a drive, but I–”

“If she wakes up, I’m here and if she needs you, I’ll call. Go. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I’m fine.”

“Go for a drive,” his mother insists. “She’s okay. I promise.”

Zach considers it. With work and Ella and you, his mind has been sort of chaotic. A drive, even a short one, will give him some relief.

“Thanks,” he finally says, giving his mom a grateful smile.

The streetlights plunge him in and out of darkness as he drives through town. When he got in the car, the impulse to go see you seemed ridiculous. With every minute that passes, it feels less and less silly.

Zach eventually pulls over and looks at his phone, staring at the text message he sent you ten minutes ago. How could he even ask to come over without coming on too strong or crossing a boundary?

He’s not sure if he believed in signs from the universe before, but when you text him right when he’s considering if he should text you, he takes it as his answer.

Nothing is ever her fault. But now I’m having a midnight snack lol. Are you still awake?

He replies: Yes. Just driving around. Do you want company?

He’s nervous as he waits. But then you send him your address.

Minutes later, you open your door to gentle knocks, heart skipping when you see him. At this point, being apart from Zach is starting to hurt. You lied when you texted him. You know exactly why you’re wired. It’s because he won’t leave your mind.

“Hi,” he says, a pink hue on his cheeks. “Kind of crazy that you’ve been to my house a million times, but I have no idea what your place looks like.”

“Is that why you’re here?” you ask. “You need to see it that bad?”

“I think it’s what’s keeping me awake.”

You laugh, stepping back, inviting him in. Zach’s eyes travel over your apartment, taking in every little piece that you’ve put into it. Being here is more intimate than he expected. And then you shut the door behind him, thickening the tension, both of you now sharing complete privacy in a way you never have before.

“Is that an Ella original?” he says, pointing to a drawing stuck on your fridge.

“Yup. That’s me and her and the castle we live in,” you tell him. You lead him into the kitchen as you gaze at the bright crayon marking the paper. “And that’s her horse. She was very adamant about it being her horse. But I can pet it if I ask nicely.”

He laughs and gazes at the drawing, touched that you’d keep something his daughter made up on display. Even when you’re not at the house, you want to be reminded of her.

“Where am I?” he asks in mock offense.

“I’m sure she meant to include you, but the horse took up too much space,” you explain, looking over your shoulder up at him. He’s inches away from you, towering above you. You’re so close to him that you can see the stubble growing over his jaw.

“The tutus are a nice touch,” he says, pointing to the pink skirts drawn on both of you. You laugh and turn to face him all the way. You clear your throat, smitten that he’s really here.

“She was great tonight, huh?” you ask.

“She was.” Zach’s smile is bright, the same way it always is whenever he talks about her. “And she wanted all the grandparents there.”

“I think that’s progress.”

“Me, too.” He exhales. “It was an almost perfect night.”

“Almost?”

“My hand still hurts,” he mumbles, face pinching as he looks down at his hand.

“Listen…” you say with a bashful smile. “I’m sorry, okay? I was stressed.” Zach laughs and it takes everything in him not to hug you. “Was it really that bad?”

“So bad,” he teases, flexing his hand. “You’re too reckless.”

“Reckless? Is that what you think of me?”

Zach cocks his head, staring down at you with a look that burns through you, and soberly says, “No. It’s not.”

His gaze drifts over your face, taking you in slowly. You think back to the first time you saw those eyes, sad and distant. Comparing the way he looked that morning to how he’s gazing at you right now is like comparing black and white.

The light atmosphere has quickly been replaced by a somberness hanging over both of you. Your heart is thumping against your chest. Hard.

“What, then?” you ask.

How can he even find the words to describe how you make him feel? You fit perfectly in every way. You settled into his life like there was always a place waiting just for you. Even tonight, when you grabbed his hand for only a moment, it felt like he was born to be touched by you.

You’ve brought light to his life. He always looked forward to coming home to his daughter, and now he looks forward to coming home to you, too. And having to continue to live like this, acting like his heart isn’t completely yours, is torture.

“I think you’re…” Zach’s tone is low, lids dropping as he looks at your lips before he speaks again. “Perfect.”

Your breath catches. You’ve been able to keep yourself away from him for what feels like ages. You’re not sure you’ll have the strength for much longer. This is the moment where everything can change. You know you both feel it.

“Should I not be here?” he says quietly.

It’s his way of making sure you’re okay. That you want him to be here as badly as he wants to be here. That even though maybe this shouldn’t be happening, you have faith that it will only bring you both joy, and you don’t need to consider the risks because you’ll never have to face them.

He looks so painfully unsure that you long to comfort him. Your hand finds his and he laces his warm fingers between yours the instant he feels you. He exhales slowly, never having felt so vulnerable before.

Too much is on the line. He’s only thinking of himself right now. He shouldn’t have come here, he shouldn’t have given in, he shouldn’t have–

“Stay,” you whisper. Your simple word untangles the knot in his chest. You step closer to seal the distance that remains between you. His eyes finally drift back up to find yours.

“I can’t help how I feel about you,” Zach murmurs. “I don’t want to mess up how good things are, but I just…”

He trails off into silence, sighing shakily.

“I know,” you say. “Me, too.”

“Tell me to leave,” he says with a note of pity. You breathe a sad chuckle.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want you here.”

Zach’s grip on your hand tightens, his heart feeling like it’s just been put together after being fractured for years. His lips part and while he doesn’t know how to say how much your words mean to him, he knows how to show it.

He leans closer, cupping your face, capturing your lips with a soft and impatient kiss. You dissolve into bliss, eyelids fluttering closed as his hot mouth presses against yours, head swimming, body buzzing.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, eyelashes overlapping as you kiss deeply, hungrily tasting each other in adoration. His arms circle around you and surround you in warmth.

He lets out a short, almost silent moan against your lips, relieved and assured and grateful that you want him this badly, too. Everything about this feels right. He’s where he’s supposed to be, standing here, kissing you, baring his soul.

You’re breathless when you eventually pull away, eyes slowly opening as he tilts to plant a lazy kiss on your forehead, thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“I kept telling myself that I can’t like you,” he says against your skin. “Do you have any idea how impossible that is?”

You exhale a contented sigh, afraid that you did actually doze off and that this is all just a dream.

“I think I do,” you reply.

Zach’s laugh is breathy, leaning back just enough to look at you. He’s in awe, his lips tender from pressing against yours, his knees weak as he holds your face in his hands. Now that he doesn’t have to hide it or force himself not to stare, he lets himself drown in your eyes.

He brushes his lips against yours again and you smile under the kiss, placing your palm over his hand.

“Is this the hand I hurt?” you tease, gently squeezing.

“Ow,” he playfully winces, making you laugh. You nuzzle your cheek against his palm and smile up at him.

“You sure you like me?” you say. He’s sure he loves you, but it’s too much, too soon to say at this moment. “You know you can’t afford any injuries right now.”

“Worth it,” Zach plays along.

“I keep wanting to ask you about work,” you say. He hasn’t spoken much about playoffs, but you did a little research on his team’s standings. “How has it been? Are you stressed?”

“Pressure’s on, but I’m fine,” he says simply. Your words won’t find you at first. It’s sort of unbelievable how he doesn’t ever flaunt his success, not even a little bit.

“That’s it?” you laugh.

“What?”

“Your team could go to the finals and you’re just fine?” you say.

“How’d you know that?” he says, his heart warming.

“Had to look it up. Not like you’ll tell me,” you quip, pulling away, his hands falling off of you. Zach chuckles, following you into your living room.

“Are we fighting already?” he asks.

“We won’t be if you tell me why you get all cute and shy whenever you talk about your job,” you say, settling on the couch.

He sits to face you, his knee bumping yours. You love that he’s as close as you want him to be, instead of keeping a distance like before. He finds your hands, holding them in his.

“Just a second,” Zach mumbles. “I need to process that you called me cute.”

You giggle, leaning forward to nuzzle against his chest.

“I’m serious,” you say, your voice muffled by his shirt. “We talk about my job all the time.”

“Oh, come on. Because we have to. That’s the whole deal.”

“Is it?”

Zach sighs, kissing the top of your head, loving the way your body slightly shakes with your laughter. You sit up again, looking down as you interlace your fingers with his, playing with his hands as you wait for him to speak.

“I love soccer,” he says, “but I never expected I’d be good enough to go pro. And somehow, I did and all the attention that comes with it is just… it’s not me. I’ve never been the loudest guy in the room. Never wanted to be.”

You nod. You could tell soon after meeting him that while he’s confident and loves to joke around, he’s not one to demand the spotlight.

“And now the more attention I get,” he continues, “the more people might want to know about me and I’d rather keep Ella safe and give her a normal life.”

He scratches his cheek, uncertainty flashing on his face.

“And… I’m not exactly proud that I’m not working a normal job. I’m always thinking that maybe it’d be better for Ella if I had a nine to five, but the pay is great and I can’t play forever, so I just want to save up as much as I can for her. Then I’ll find something more steady.”

You're sure you’ve never met a person this humble. It’s nice to know what goes on in his head after having wondered for so long.

“Will you still even need a nanny then?” you ask lightheartedly. Zach purses his lips as he nods.

“I will if she’s you.” You smile as he pulls you in, holding you as your cheek rests against his shoulder.

“I don’t think there’s anything that you shouldn’t be proud of,” you tell him. “You’re an amazing father.”

“You don’t know how nice it is to hear you say that,” he admits. The worries that he’s being selfish have been gnawing at him for a long time. He’s always concerned he’s making the wrong choices for his daughter.

“I think it every time I see you with her. I know you said she was a surprise, but you treat her like being her dad is all you’ve ever wanted.”

Zach leans to kiss your forehead over and over again, palm gently pressed on your cheek, like he’s making up for all the times he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t. You start to giggle under all the kisses, hugging him tighter.

“Speaking of,” you say, “I’m sure you’re thinking it, too, but we should keep acting like we’re just friends when we’re around our boss.”

He breathes a chuckle, nodding as he looks down at you lovingly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “We’ll take it slow. She’ll be so happy when we tell her.”

“You think so?” you say, your heart blooming from the certainty in his words, from the way he unabashedly intends on being with you and telling his daughter.

“She’s always asking me if I like you.” Truthfully, Ella asks if he loves you, but again, he doesn’t want to use that word until he’s sure you’re comfortable with it.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “She actually asks if I like you yet. It’s like she knows it’s inevitable.”

You realize that the way you’re wrapped up in each other does feel like it was always inevitable. You know that your heart would never have been able to resist him. You’re glad he feels the same way about you.

────୨ৎ────

A week after the night in your apartment is the semi-final. You’re sitting in the living room playing with Ella with the game on in the background. She’s partly interested, whereas you can’t ignore the ball of nerves sitting deep in your stomach.

Zach’s been opening up more about his job when you get time alone, admitting that the pressure can give him tunnel-vision sometimes. You’ve taken on the workload as much as you can so that he’s not too stressed.

You’ve kept things the same when you’re around Ella and you’ve already determined that if she asks why you’re so invested in what’s on tv, you’ll simply say you grew an interest in soccer after the home game you both attended. But she’s too busy playing with clay to care.

The first half ends with no goals scored. You set up an afternoon snack for Ella, letting her help, your mind elsewhere as you imagine Zach in the locker room, wondering what his coach is telling him and what he’s thinking about at this moment.

Five minutes after half-time, the opponents score. Your heart sinks. Twenty minutes later, Zach scores. You have to stifle how loudly you want to cheer.

Then, the game goes to penalty shoot-outs. Zach had told you how much he hates when a game comes down to that. It’s a nail-biting few minutes, but Zach’s team wins, securing their spot in the finals. In his next game, his team could take the cup.

Right before dinner, you and Ella change into the jerseys you’d secretly bought a few days ago. Zach already told you that even if his team wants to celebrate a win together, he’d prefer to see you two, so you know he’s coming straight home.

He steps through the front door to see you in his team’s jerseys, rushing to give him a hug. Your arms are around his shoulders while Ella’s are around his hips, both of you excitedly cheering. Zach’s heart has never felt so full.

“So, I take it you watched it?” he mumbles into your hair, reveling in the familiar aroma of your shampoo. It takes everything in you not to kiss him when you pull back.

“You did amazing,” you tell him.

“Daddy, do cats ever come to your games?” Ella asks.

Zach looks at you, puzzled.

“There was a commercial with clips of animals crashing soccer games,” you explain, laughing. “It’s a valid question.”

“I haven’t seen any,” he tells her, kneeling to meet her eyeline. “But I hope we get one so I can tell you all about it.”

“Could we keep it?” she asks.

“If a cat comes onto our field and it doesn’t have an owner, sure, we can keep it,” he says. She jumps excitedly, then runs off to play. Zach stands up again, grinning at you.

“Don’t let her watch any more matches,” he says. “If a cat shows up, I’m done for.” You laugh, crossing your arms simply to keep yourself from touching him.

“Congratulations,” you say. “I know you don’t like the attention, but you deserve it.”

“Thanks.” He looks down at your jersey. “It looks great on you.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning to show him the back. It’s his last name and number. He almost can’t believe this is really happening, that he met someone like you who cares about him this much.

“Better on you, I think,” you say.

“Impossible.”

You face him and he gazes at your lips in the way you know means he wants to kiss you. In the few private moments you’ve had since you confessed your feelings for each other, you’ve shared warm hugs and sweet kisses. You can’t wait until you don’t have to hide your love for him anymore.

“Dinner in twenty,” you tell him. “I bet you worked up an appetite.”

Zach’s legs are heavy as he trudges up the stairs, partly from fatigue, but mostly because the last thing his body wants to do is be away from you.

────୨ৎ────

Zach’s family drives in to watch the championship game at the house. You weren’t all that nervous around them before, but now that you and Zach are privately dating, you’re eager to impress them.

He had mentioned to you that he hadn’t told them about you yet, but he’s hoping to the next time he sees them. He also told you how his mom had a suspicion about you two, which makes you hope you’re not too obvious.

It’s only been a couple of weeks since you decided to date, but every moment you get alone with Zach isn’t long enough. You knew he was kind-hearted, but now that he’s not holding back, he showers you with affection and compliments, reminding you of how much he appreciates you every day.

Just like it is with Zach, it’s easy with his family. You talk and snack and take turns playing with Ella while you watch the game. The game starts off as promising, but unfortunately, the final ends with a loss for his team.

“He did tell me they were kind of the underdogs,” you say to his family sadly, watching the screen. “I still think it’s great that he got this far.”

The stadium he’s playing in is hours away and he won’t be getting home until after midnight. You spend the rest of the evening with Zach’s family, wishing you could see him and give him a comforting hug.

When Zach gets to the locker room, dejected and disappointed, he checks his phone to see a text from you. I know it’s not how you wanted the season to end, but you played an amazing game. We’re all so proud of you, no matter what.

It’s ten minutes past midnight when you hear the front door open. You’ve been sitting in the kitchen, staying awake on your phone after everyone turned in for the night. You turn on the kettle you already filled with water and find Zach in the dim hallway, meeting his eyes with sympathy.

“You’re here,” he mumbles in surprise. You only close the distance, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tightly.

“Wanted to see you,” you whisper. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had better days,” he admits, kissing your neck. “This feels good, though.”

“I’m making you some tea if you want it,” you tell him, “but if you’d rather go to bed, I get it.”

“Tea sounds good.” He pulls back, stroking your cheek. “You’re really proud of me? Even though I’m a total loser?”

You half-chuckle, nudging him.

“Never call yourself that again,” you say.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll stop ‘accidentally’ making too much food,” you joke, earning a chuckle from him.

You settle in the kitchen, reminded of the first time you sat together like this all those months ago to plan Ella’s birthday party. Now she’s halfway to six years old, growing faster than you could have ever anticipated.

After you put the steaming mug of tea in front of him, Zach puts his hand over yours, squeezing.

“I tried to be positive but I saw it coming,” he admits to you. “They were the stronger team. We’ll just train harder and hopefully get them next year.”

“And I’ll be with you every step of the way,” you say. “Just don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? You’re not a loser.”

“Baby…” Zach breathes a chuckle. “Being with you makes me feel like I’m always winning. It sucks to get this far and to put so much work in just to lose, but knowing you and Ella are waiting for me at home… That's what my life is really about.”

You stare at him, awestruck, heart beating so hard that you can hear it in your ears.

“I love you,” he says. “I’m sorry if it’s too soon to say, but I’ve loved you for a long time.”

You bite your lip, giving into the urge to lean closer and kiss him. When you pull back, palm resting on his cheek, you smile.

“I love you, too,” you say. “It’s not too soon.”

“Phew. I was more nervous about telling you than I was about the game,” he says. You laugh, pinching his cheek.

“Stop being so cute,” you whisper.

“I can’t help it,” he quips. “I didn’t forget how you said you haven’t been on a date in forever. What do you think about tomorrow night? Ella will stay with my family and you and I can go out for dinner.”

“That sounds perfect,” you tell him. You chat a little longer before you head home.

When Zach tells his mother he’s taking you out for dinner the next morning, she’s overjoyed to hear that you’re an item now and throws in a few ‘I told you so’s. When the evening rolls around, he tells Ella he’s running some errands and instead drives to pick you up from your place.

Sitting across from you at a restaurant on a real date feels like a dream. He holds your hand on the table and nudges your knee with his every so often, unable to keep his hands off of you like usual. It’s like talking with a best friend, the conversation flowing so naturally that he refuses to believe he’s only known you for just shy of a year.

When he drives you home after dinner, you lose track of time kissing him goodnight.

────୨ৎ────

You and Zach had discussed that today would be the day. Now that you’ve been together for over eight months, he’s ready to tell Ella.

It’s a Saturday and Zach’s making lunch while you and Ella set the table. Long gone are the days of spending just a few minutes together, one of you arriving at the house while the other one gets ready to leave. The three of you are almost always a unit now, settled into a routine.

After lunch, you leave as planned so he can talk to her one-on-one. Zach finds Ella drawing on her bedroom floor after he says his goodbyes to you and knocks on her door.

“What are you drawing?” he asks.

She holds up the paper, three figures under the shining sun. When he asks if that’s you, him, and her, she happily nods.

Zach settles on the floor, watching the way she colors in the yellow sun, her legs kicking in the air. He’s seen a change in his child. There’s no doubt about it.

While she was always a happy kid, she’s grown to be much more expressive and affectionate since you stepped into their lives. You bring out the best in her. The best in him, too.

He tries to force down the tears that come up every time he looks at his daughter and thinks about what happened a year ago. She’s too small to have to know the pain of abandonment and betrayal. He pushes away the thought.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Zach says, clearing his throat.

“Do you want another bracelet?” she says.

Zach smirks, looking down at the beaded bracelet on his wrist that she made for him a few days ago. She made you a matching one that you always wear, too.

“Yeah, if you’re not too busy,” he says. “But that’s not it.”

He says it exactly as he rehearsed, telling her how happy you make him and asking if she’s okay with you being his girlfriend. When she grins up at him and asks if that means that you can move in with them, he chuckles, tears pricking his eyes.

Zach always felt like he needed to make up for the love Ella’s mother wasn’t giving her. Now, there’s nothing to make up for, nothing missing. He wishes the circumstances had been different, but he knows he’s lucky that he met you.

He was sure soon after he got to know you that his daughter would grow to love you. Deep down, he was sure that he would grow to love you, too.

────୨ৎ────

It’s past nine p.m. when Zach gets home from training. Now that he’s in the midst of playoffs again, he doesn’t get as much time at home anymore, but he takes it in stride.

When he can’t find you on the main floor, he tiptoes upstairs in case you’ve fallen asleep putting Ella to bed. Sure enough, she’s snuggled up next to you, both of you snoozing.

It’s been a month since he told her about your relationship and somehow, she’s grown to love you even more now that she knows you love her dad. Zach wonders if Ella can see how much happier he is these days. He tried to hide how empty he felt before, but maybe she caught on.

He’d rather not know. He’s rather not think about the past at all, really. Because right now, as he gazes into his daughter’s bedroom to see you hugging each other in your sleep, he knows he’s looking at his future.

(the end) (continuation blurb)

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[hom3landr]

"just lie to me, okay? just this once."

Necessary Lies

CW - Major Character Death, descriptions of gore and sickness, ANGST ANGST ANGST

Homelander’s intentions had been pure when he arranged to dose you with Compound V. He’s reminded by a friend that’s how the road to hell is paved

You aren’t getting better.

Homelander’s stomach turns.

You aren’t getting better.

He’d done everything right. The whole process was done under the supervision of all of Vought’s best doctors and scientists. Even as you screamed and begged, he’d been confident that any complications could be swiftly dealt with. Sure, you’d been an adult when the V had been introduced into your system but you are strong. You have to be. You have to.

He watches you in your room. It doesn’t seem right for you to be surrounded by so much blank white. You are color and light but even you can’t withstand the way the awful room dims your soul. Maybe if you could see the sun you’d get better. But the doctors insist you are too fragile to handle any environment except the sterile one you are contained in.

He bites his lip anxiously as you continue to hack up blood, the bright crimson automatically drawing the eye. His instincts tell him to scan you, to watch as the V twists your DNA and transforms you into something greater.

I told you not to get your hopes up. You tend to have a less than stellar track record when it comes to mud people.

He shakes his head and tries to ignore the little voice in his ear. He’s wrong this time. It’s a hiccup that’s all. You’re strong. You are.

The voice is blocked out but not by his own efforts. A horrible cry leaves your lips as your bones crack and shift under your skin. More red spews on the floor. He winces at the wet splat as a chunk of something hits the floor.

That was juicy. Wanna bet that was a lung?

Homelander tastes iron as he splits his own lip. It feels like it’s your blood he’s tasting. It’s your blood he’s spilt.

That one was a little mean, I admit. But buck up Bucko, this is what you signed up for. Maybe you’ll listen to me next time.

He’s done this before. Why the fuck were you the one with complications?

“There’s a good reason Vought doesn’t do it.”

That’s what he told Madelyn that fateful night.

He’d killed her too

He steps to the side as a squad of sour smelling scientists rush in to stabilize you. But what can they do? What can they do now that the only outcome is for the poison to run its course? He vividly fantasizes about popping each one’s head like a ripe melon as punishment for not fixing this. It doesn’t make him feel better.

Please

He begs the voice in his head.

Just lie to me, okay? Just this once.

The once dependable steady rhythm of your heartbeat is dangerously erratic.

You smell like death.

Please!

He worries the cut on his lip with his tongue. It feels strange to have a wound. The scientists flutter around you nervously. They know you’re a lost cause but Homelander’s icy gaze compels them to at least pretend to be helpful. Their terror burns his nose. He decides to make their demise slow.

No can do Buddy, you know that’s not what I’m here for. I’m the only one who’ll never lie to you.

Your heartbeat grows fainter. Your breaths rattle.

One of the scientists pisses himself.

Please…

You turn your head and despite your eyes meeting his, he knows you can’t see him. You wouldn’t be able to even without the wall in the way. He doesn’t think you can see much of anything anymore.

I told you so. Better go in and say your goodbyes.

I hate you

Aw buddy, I’m the only thing you have left.

Your heart stops and a noise all too terribly familiar leaves your throat. The last noise you’ll ever make. A wail just as wretched leaves his lips.

He didn’t even say goodbye. He let you die in that awful room alone. He wasn’t even holding your hand. You were alone like he was alone all those many years ago. Being poked at like he was.

He vomits bile onto the floor.

You’re gonna need me more than ever now. Better get used to it.

[galamalion]

୨୧. 𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍'

summary. you and sanji go on a date to pick out some perfect pumpkins for the season.

⤷ contents. vinsmoke sanji x gn!reader, fluff + romance, sanji being a sweetheart

⤷ notes. hello! i'm going to try and write a lot until the end of october in order to get out all my halloween ideas, so this'll be the first! enjoy this little pumpkin date <3

autumn was your favorite season for a very long list of reasons.

first of all, its beauty had no comparison. watching the leaves change colors from emerald to cherry red all over the course of a couple weeks was a sight you could never tire of, in awe of nature’s power over its creations.

secondly, the anticipation for halloween was impossible to ignore, and you already had both your costume picked out and a list of activities to take part in the moment the calendar turned october first.

and lastly, the flavors that arose during the chilly season were absolutely exquisite. a hot apple cider for those cold afternoons, or a slice of pumpkin pie made by your one and only personal chef.

“ah, mon chou~! how about this one?” he called out, holding a pumpkin high above his head for you to see.

sanji really was a dream come true, acting as your prince during your weekly fall outings, participating alongside your autumnal activities. he would find you the most brilliantly red leaf among a raked up pile, helped to sew your matching costumes, and he would make your favorite fall treats for you! he was attentive, elegant, and the greatest boyfriend you would ever get.

“a little bigger, sweetie! i wanna do some pumpkin carving with it!” you shouted back, scouring the field for your dream pumpkin,

“oui!” he exclaimed, gently setting the pumpkin back onto the ground. 

you grabbed a nearby small pumpkin, “how about this one, sanji?” you asked, spinning it around for him to see.

“less blemishes, sweetheart! i’m looking for firm and plump!” you didn’t miss the way he wiggled his eyebrows at you, drawing an eye roll from you in response.

an hour of pumpkin judging passed between you two, and a few contenders had risen to your high standards. you carried around five tiny pumpkins in your tote bag, though sanji was aiming for ten due to luffy’s voracious appetite. sanji was hauling two perfectly symmetrical pumpkins, one for each of you to use.

the sun hadn’t quite set yet, a glow still rested on the field for you and sanji to continue picking, but the sky was slowly beginning to fill with oranges and pinks which cast a pastel shimmer of color across your face. sanji stared at your appearance from across the field, taking in the way the soft light struck your visage and framed you beautifully, like a divinity choosing to grace him with your presence. 

“you think ten will really be enough for luffy?” you shouted, picking up a pumpkin to examine it.

sanji snapped back to attention, blinking rapidly as he formulated his thoughts, “i- well i suppose no, when taking his prior portion sizes into account…and if we invite sabo and ace there as well…” 

“at least sabo has manners!” you yelled, chucking any spoiled pumpkins over your shoulder. “i once saw ace use someone else’s pants as a napkin! not even his own! can you believe that, sanji?”

sanji’s focus once again faltered, watching as your lips moved wildly in your frustrated-amused rant. god, how he wanted to kiss you right now. i mean, you both deserve a break right now, right? you’ve been working so hard these past few hours…a little break never hurt anybody, right?

you continued raving and skipped across the fields, unaware of sanji’s devious musings, searching for some more perfect pumpkins for your perfect boyfriend. your deep and intense focus on your little pumpkin hunt led to you missing your perfect boyfriend disappearing from his row of pumpkins, silently creeping up behind you. 

“oh mon ange,” he whistled, “i believe just found the prettiest pumpkin in the pumpkin patch!” his slender, long fingers wrapped around your waist, lifting you high above and eliciting a shriek.

“put me down, you sneak!” you teased, jokingly kicking your legs in an attempt to get loose of his hold.

“but then my pumpkin might run away!” he lamented, twirling you around in circles, sidestepping any precarious pumpkins in the way of his feet. 

“as if i’d run away from you,” you replied, trying to ruffle his blonde locks up in the air.

sanji contemplated your words, throwing you down into a bridal carry while he pondered your response. after a minute of totally-real reflection, he flashed you a big ol’ pout.

“you pinky promise?” he whined, kneeling to the ground with you still in his arms, slipping his arm out from under your knees to offer a pinky.

“i pinky promise, my love.” you kissed him on the forehead, causing a heavy flush to don his cheeks and he rolled around the dirt-covered fields in bliss.

you approached his squirming body and gently touched him with the tip of your foot. “get up, mr. prince, i still need someone to carry our pumpkins!” you sung, slinging your bag across your shoulders and attempting to heave sanji to his feet, “unless you’d like me to leave you here…”

immediately sanji arose in dramatic fashion, sprinting back to grab the pumpkins he had abandoned. with ease he lifted them, returning back to your side as if he wasn't carrying two extremely heavy gourds.

“your prince is here! now what are your next commands, my liege?” he announced, dropping to one knee and kissing your hand.

“hmmm…” you brought your hand to your chin, tapping it in 'deep' thought, “you have to help me find more of your pie-pumpkins, and then we can go home and make cider!” you cheered, grasping his hand and running towards the baby pumpkins.

“anything for you, mon amour,” he swooned, watching the sun cast a luminous amber glow across your skin, “anything for you.”

[auriidae]

more of these guys :] (part 1) (part 2)

classpect thoughts under cut! yippee

these absolute fools gave me SO much trouble. i changed each of their classes and/or aspects like twice while drawing this lmao.

pearle was going to be a rage player initially! i had her down as one for the chaos — yknow, ‘red’s my favorite color’ and all that. but the catch ended up being that in this au, as rage represents in-game chaos and bloodlust, it only exists while the game is in effect, and so rage players don’t have much dominion over stuff that happens after that period ends (which has all sorts of delightful implications for grienn’s character, but anyways). meanwhile pearle definitely continues playing and also grows as a character even in times of peace. i was thinking in terms of comparing her arc in double life to secret life in particular — ‘she left the tower’ and all that, yknow? she went from being terribly isolated and functioning on a completely independent scale, winning only for herself, to being a key member of a team and finding a purpose in helping them. which is pretty incredibly space-coded, in my mind! my personal qualification for space players is that they’re destined to be lonely, often physically separated in some way from others, for a while but not forever — because space is about creation, after all. and if you look at being a witch from the perspective of reinvention — what pearle manipulated or reinvented here was herself. she found her place in the story and the person she wanted to be. witches are also some of the most powerful characters in terms of specifically manipulating their aspect, i think, which is great because i’ve heard she's pretty great at pvp lol

ignore that martyn’s color palette is not particularly great it’s hard to unify the design of a character who is super rustblood-coded but also inextricably linked to the colors green and yellow of all things. i’ll redesign him later. anyways! at first i had thought there might not be any light players in this session — since light is about sort of seeing through the laws of the game and often deliberately defying them, as well as having a certain degree of control over narrative agency due to this. and because, yknow, the life series is a minecraft youtube roleplay series, realistically the ccs aren’t going to be playing any characters that go out of their way to completely ruin the game or refuse to play it by the rules altogether. but then i started thinking — and i don’t know an awful lot about martyn’s character so forgive me if i’m going a little bit off the rails here — does martyn want to understand? because if he as a character tries to understand and affect his destiny even though he’s ultimately limited by the nature of the story itself, then he could totally be a light player. so that’s where i was coming from here. think about how he won limited life in the end, for instance — not by playing into what the game itself had been leading up to, but by acting on and finishing his own story. he’s a knight because i do think knights are a certified Narrative’s Little Guy class — they persevere through so much pressure and often also have that sort of dual persona thing, both of which are particularly endearing to an audience. it’s hard work, keeping up with the narrative and fulfilling his own quest for understanding while he’s at it!! but he does it!!

renn is Such a blood player guys he is such a blood player ohhh my goodness. playing the game in terms of your relationships with others, right? basing how you go about it on allies and interactions, and being a leader above all else? i’d say that’s pretty ren the dog coded tbh. i don’t have too much to say here because i think seer of blood renn is pretty self-explanatory — he sees the entire game as a game of relationships and ties. he has a lot of knowledge about this field specifically, and shares it with his allies in the way he helps direct them and keep them alive. the reason he’s blood instead of light is because he puts his allies over knowledge, i think — he’s far too busy dealing with all that stuff to speculate for too long what the purpose of it all might be, and that would detract from his goal (of winning alongside others or dying nobly), anyway.

again questions abt them are open forever always :3

[putaposyinyourhair]

Slowly but Also Like All at Once

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7

noah diaz x mirage (they’re def boyfriends)

warnings: goddamnit noah cheer up dude (also death/bodies mention)

mirage tones it down with the pet names but then comes in hot at the end with a big one + dad doesn’t seem to approve

“Is the rider part of Arcee?” Noah inquires, watching as the Ducati ahead navigates the curved exit ramp of the Sunrise Highway— Noah is kind of transfixed honestly, awed by the way the early morning light shines off of the pink and white finish of Arcee’s altmode.

“Nah, that’s holomatter,” Mirage reveals offhandedly.

“Holo-what?”

“It’s a projection,” the mech clarifies. “Can be light or solid. We use them to draw less attention to ourselves. Be kinda weird to see a bike drive itself, right?”

Noah nods. Definitely weird. His lips pout to one side, watching Arcee and mulling over the idea of hologram-like projections for a moment before he starts, wide gaze flashing down to Mirage’s radio.

“Wait, can you do that?” he questions pointedly.

“Yep,” Mirage pops the ‘p’ cheerfully, before his radio makes a small, muted buzzing sound. “Well… I used to.”

Noah stills.

“My projector was damaged pretty badly after Peru,” Mirage admits softly, kind of wistfully. “I can project light. I mean, sorta. It doesn’t last very long and it’s really buggy but…”

The mech trails off for a moment.

“I can’t do solid anymore,” he confesses finally, faintly.

Noah sinks into the seat, forced down by the sudden, all-encompassing guilt.

Shit.

“Ratchet tried to fix it but it’s just one of those things, y’know?” Mirage goes on, his pitch rising in volume as if in response to Noah’s physical reaction to his admission. “Bumblebee can’t talk. I can’t use holoforms. No biggie.”

The bot isn’t a very good liar, Noah realizes.

He has zero doubt in his mind that losing a piece of yourself like that has got to be terrible. But he’s not going to acknowledge that out loud though. Not when it’s probably his fault.

Damn it.

The inward confession makes his chest sting.

Noah shakes his head, not wanting to think on it anymore. He’s already cried once. He’s not about to do it again. Mirage is going to start thinking he’s some kind of giant wuss or something.

He sucks in a sharp breath and forces himself to lift and drop a shoulder.

“Who needs hologram—form…things,” he stammers out a bit awkwardly. “When you’re already cool as fuck anyway, dude.”

Mirage chuckles, the sound vibrating through the seat beneath Noah. The leather warms up for a moment and Noah realizes that comfort is exactly what that sensation is supposed to convey.

He’s just not sure it’s working this time around.

The seconds crawl by and neither of them moves to speak again and so they fall into a strange, sort of unsettling silence. Noah, for as much as he tries to not think about it, can only do just that; stew in the guilt.

Because it is his fault.

Mirage had almost died for him.

Mirage had to be rebuilt and repaired from practically the ground up because of him.

Mirage had lost parts of himself because of Noah.

Noah’s a walking, talking hazard around the mech.

He frowns, pulling his feet up onto the seat so he can wrap his arms around his legs and curl into himself— ignoring the way the seatbelt kind of digs into the skin of his neck. In the distance, amidst fog and cloud-cover, he can see Manhattan’s skyscrapers reaching for the heavens.

“Hey, Noah?”

He glances down at the radio— it’s backlight cycling through a few different colors; blue, yellow, green, and red, before it settles on its usual light blue.

“I’d do it all over again in a sparkbeat, y’know,” Mirage claims boldly. “If it meant keeping you safe.”

Noah’s eyes widen so quickly, he half expects his eyeballs to drop right out of his head for a moment. His breath catches in his throat and his chest heaves— his heart stuttering over a couple beats.

Oh, fuck.

Noah’s not one hundred percent sure, but he remembers Mirage once saying, ‘Cross my spark, hope to die,’ and so he assumes it to be the cybertronian version of a heart.

The declaration is… overwhelming, to say the least. In a good way.

But also in a way that Noah feels he is undeserving of.

It compels his own heart to keep pounding away, essentially doing somersaults underneath his ribcage. Which— under the recent revelation that Mirage can actually feel it thumping away— is embarrassing as all shit. But Noah can’t help it.

He’d do it all over again.

Noah doesn’t think Mirage even realizes how much that one sentence means. Or maybe he does. And he actually means it. Noah hopes that’s not true.

He never wants Mirage to do it again.

The radio warbles and Noah watches the backlight flicker again.

“Mirage,” Arcee’s voice comes through, clear and urgent. “We’re needed back at base-ops stat.”

Immediately, Mirage groans— in a long and suffering kind of way that reminds Noah of Kris every time he starts whining about how he still can’t get past Bowser.

“I’m gettin’ my aft chewed out for breems,” Mirage gripes with a sharp huff. “Fraggin’ Ratchet, man. Messin’ with my game. What a hater.”

Noah has no idea what half those words mean but he’s pretty sure he understands the gist of it all.

Which is why he isn’t all that surprised when, instead of driving back into Brooklyn, Arcee leads the way north into Queens and then across the East River into the Bronx.

Noah shifts quietly in his seat.

His ma’s gonna be so mad when he does eventually make his way home. He hasn’t checked in with her for hours, which is unlike him. And Breanna Diaz don’t play when it comes to her kids.

But at the same time, he thinks he can understand the sort of urgency a call from Optimus Prime himself might instill in the autobots.

Both he and Mirage are silent as they make their way into a neighborhood of the Bronx known as City Island— a fitting name. At this point, the sun has risen high up into the sky and the inhabitants of City Island are starting to slowly make their way outside in preparation for another day.

Arcee and Mirage pull into what looks like some kind of junkyard marina at the far end of the island, where old boats have been left to rust in every corner of the property, shadowed by dilapidated warehouses. At the water’s edge, a rickety dock bobs in response to the waves below it.

Noah reaches out and white-knuckles the Porsche’s door handle as Arcee and Mirage roll slowly over the surprisingly sturdy wooden slats of the dock. There’s an antiquated ferry at the end, and Noah does his best to hold in a frightened little yelp when both bots lift off the dock— only half-transforming for a second— so they can step onto the ferry.

Once they’re safely aboard, Arcee’s holoform swings her leg over the Ducati and heads off— Noah assumes to start up the ferry.

“You want out?” Mirage inquires, the driver side door popping open with a muted click.

Noah bites into his bottom lip, thinking for a moment. He thinks he knows exactly where they’re heading.

Hart Island is located just to the east of City Island. It’s a place that’s pretty much synonymous with death, with deserted buildings from different eras lying in an array of ruins all over it— the island having been left abandoned to its’ own destruction since the late seventies.

Honestly, it’s kind of the perfect place for the autobots to hide out.

Noah’s not going to lie and say that it doesn’t freak him out though. Supposedly, there’s thousands of bodies buried in the ground at Hart Island.

So he shakes his head and shimmies away from the open door— not ready to step out quite yet. Mirage quickly closes it with another soft click.

“Okay,” he acknowledges. “I gotchu.”

Noah decides he really needs his friend to stop reminding him of that fact.

He knows.

The ferry sputters to life beneath them and after a moment, it rocks forward— pulling away from the dock lazily.

Noah inhales deeply then blows it out through his nose. And forces himself to think about something else, anything else— aside from the fact that he’s currently on a rusting metal death trap headed towards a possibly haunted island to face alien life forms that probably don’t even like him.

His distraught gaze lands on the Ducati parked off to the Porsche’s right.

“Arcee help you sneak out?” he questions. If a holoform is needed to operate the ferry, it has to be the only explanation. Right?

“Yeah,” Mirage admits, but not like he’s shy about it— more like he’s proud of it. “She’s a real G.”

Noah can’t help the smile the words pull from him.

He’s glad that, despite what he thinks is a clear disdain for him on the part of Optimus, Arcee doesn’t seem to hold any negative opinions when it comes to Noah.

He knows Optimus sees him— them, humans— in a different light now. That the battle in Peru— and both Noah and Elena’s drive to fight for their planet— had changed the giant mech’s opinion of the human race.

But the surly leader of the autobots had only begrudgingly allowed Noah to try and fix Mirage, at first, at the behest of Arcee and Bumblebee. When he’d failed, Optimus had been quick to change his mind, quick to take Mirage away.

Leaving Noah wondering, for months, if he’d ever see his friend again. His best friend, probably.

He’s quickly starting to realize Mirage means that much to him.

“Aw, scrap,” Mirage grumbles suddenly, his altmode shuddering slightly around Noah.

Noah looks up from the steering wheel— from the spot he’d been staring at whilst in his head— to see another dock gradually approaching. Rusting, multi-colored shipping containers stacked at its edge, providing cover for the two autobots standing just beyond them; Optimus Prime and an unfamiliar blue and white autobot with a star of life insignia across his chest plates.

Noah assumes he must be the infamous hater; Ratchet. An immediate thought tickles at the back of Noah’s mind as he recalls his first contact with the autobots in that warehouse months ago.

He frowns.

“How’s Ratchet ‘round humans?” he asks warily, just as the ferry gently bumps into the edge of the dock, their short trip across the water coming to a, thankfully, safe end.

Mirage’s radio drones out a low buzzing sound and Noah takes it for exactly what it is: Ratchet is not a fan of Earth’s native species.

“It’s okay, though!” Mirage advises him cheerily as Noah watches Arcee’s holoform return. “I got your back, bro.”

Noah isn’t all that convinced. Not that he doesn’t trust Mirage or anything.

And it must show on his face because as soon as they’re off the ferry— Mirage gently pushing him out of the Porsche’s cabin, so he can transform into his natural rootmode, Arcee doing the same beside them— he leans down closer to Noah, who is staring up at the clear disapproval on the faces of both Optimus and Ratchet.

“He’s not as mean as he looks, I swear,” Mirage testifies in what Noah thinks is supposed to be a whisper but is clearly heard by the others, including Ratchet who scowls at Mirage. “I won’t let him mess witchu, cariño.”

Noah absolutely freezes.

… what.

[infernothechaosgod]

I haven't seen your oc's yet! Who are they, do they have reffs? 👀 How many do you have?

RAAAAAAAGH MY OCS MY BELOVED BELOVED PRECIOUS LITTLE GEMS

yeah I have a few there and there, plan on making more sometime

first we have pallea whom I desperatley need to draw more since shes one of my faves and she gonna stick around the most, Im gonna be honest prepare to see more of her, she's a bit of a trickster, always trying to get on everyones nerves and only geniuenly succeding on mickey, they have a bit going on between them and like I said I need to post more abt my girl TOT

pallea my beloved, also just throwing it out there, I did NOT name her after pellea the dish I did not even know that existed before making her I remember I was naming her the same way I name alot of my ocs when they dont have irl names and I just took two words and smashed them together, I also wanted a character to have word PAL in the name for puns, I didn NOT name her after the food TOT

then we have my another very beloved oc RAMONA LOSALL

when it comes to her I accualy don't wanna post too much abt her bc shes exclusive for a project I am not even NEAR touching anytime soon simply to not work on whole 4 big projects at the same time like that would just straight up kill me lmao, but she beasictly starts out as a femme fatale untill it turns out shes as good of a detective as mickey and the two of them get into some cases together

designing her was really fun and I am SO proud of how she turned out, I've been meaning to draw more characters in the rubberhose style that fits in with mickey and others that does have more unique features since I am one of the very few people who accualy do mind the same face on every mouse character that isnt just a big snout, shes got much much smaller and in head ears, her eyes are highlighted and big also her pupils are square and my fav her snout is in a diff shape its curved up and goes more thin as it ends that is that one design i am SO proud of omg

also fun fact, she accualy started out as a redesign of ingrid from old mickey comics but writing just kept going and going and redesign was redesigning

then we have "elenor"e exe.24 who guess what were just calling elenore, I don't have that much drawings of her and I NEED to redesign her...again bc I dont like how her body turned out as in its not rubberhose enough imo

ofc my art doesnt do full on noodle hands and thin arms and legs and stuff but it never went on the level where I was like "hm looks like my normal human build" untill it came to drawing her, the issue with the rubberhose style is that you will have just awful time while trying to design a curvy character , anyways shes a robot and I can see that you can see that shes inspired by mimi the pin up girl like shes in the photo i can see that you see but ye just like ramona she started out as a redesign of an already existing character in this case mimi and things got out of hand again, she's apart of the "neon city" and works in the entertainer industry [while activley fucking up the entire system when no ones looking]

then we have amelia who's in something im accualy working on right now so im not gonna tell you much abt her character and will more focus on her design

shes a weasel! her design was my attempt at using shape language more in my art witch i think you can obviously see since shes beasicly a one giant triangle with soft outsides, I tried my best to give her light colors that don't melt together too much and Hopefuly succeded TOT

but I can tell you she would either instantly choke sylvester shyster to death or would sing him lullabies to bed and theres no inbetween

ignore my minor highlighting mistake

making this post made me realize I have no drawing of the bear workers outside of this witch makes me heartbroken im so sorry, but long story short there construction workers who ended up working for sylvester while hoping someone litellary anyone else is willing to hire them so they can leave that weird rat man alone and behind them

[thats just one of them but theres arounf 6 and there all diffrent types of bears I just have the bear one down like I said I need to draw more of them omg]

I have few more but I just don't have their drawing on my laptop and also there not as important as the ones above and I don't have as much to say abt them since there still in baking stage

Exept Riots/roxane shes still being baked despite having a design for like few months by now, I don't have much to say abt her exept the fact im also proud of her design I just like it alot and wanna show off despite bad quality

but THANK YOU SM FOR THE ASK OH MY GOD I'VE NEVER BEEN ASKED ABOUT MY OCS BEFORE AAHHHH THIS MAKES ME SO HAPPY!!!! <3<3<3<3<3<3

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

"Everybody Loves Somebody, Sometime."

(I have no excuse. Its the worms, and well this post (I copied the dang thing in other words, the art triggered something) along with @quibble-auk. A slight hint at self harm, alcohol... that's it. Oh and the twins.)

This was a stupid idea. 

What the hell was he thinking? 

Comet strode down the sidewalk of the downtown as the cold wind nipped and bit his face. He made his way past the partiers of the district with a natural frown, pale face turning red in the late winter weather. The darkness descending on the rows of bars and clubs dotted with restaurants only mingled with the cold like a taunting friend. ‘Betcha can't freeze that guy’s weird fleshy nose off!’ Go on and try stupid earth weather. As if sensing his repugnance a particularly bad gust swept up and through his open coat. The wolf in sheep's clothing cursed and groaned. This was stupid, he was stupid. He flushed as he stowed himself against an alley, trying to ignore the curious looks from the human girls as they ran by, shivering in their short skirts and painted faces for one of the loud buildings. The crowds had not been a problem for him in a long time, but the utter throng of the homosapiens had his heartrate rising. Against the cold brick he almost let his nails grow, to get a good groove in his arm to maybe snap him out of this- this haze. It had been such a long time, it was hard to worry about prying eyes during a war. 

Especially when there's a rather blood thirsty female cybertronian trying to skin him. The unwelcome thought of Sunrazor did nothing to ease his nerves. Those nights hiding, those battles on the edge of his mind praying that monster wouldn't appear. His heart was thrumming in an awful pace now, he needed to leave. This was a bad idea. He shoved himself up and made his way back into the lights and drunk congregations. What was he thinking, letting a stupid female draw him out? He felt a wave of guilt tear through him at the thought of exposing his brothers to a strange..thing like him. Like him. He huffed a choked laugh. The figure draped in vintage clothing stopped staring up at the cold ink space. She was like him. He had smelt it when she had walked past him, saw it in those bright yellow eyes. Her pupils had separated and curved around the edge of her color, he had stopped dead in his tracks. Like a stupid child he had stopped and stared at her. Utterly in awe.

 Instead of killing her like he should have. 

That thought put a pang of loneliness so deep in his heart he had to grip the dirty brick to keep from sliding to the ground in despair. He clutched his chest rage filling his every pore. He was better than this. He knew he was better than this. Better than letting his heart fall out of his chest. Better than allowing her within inches of him. Allowing their noses to touch out of pure innocent curiosity. Because she was like him.

He was breathing too fast. His heart hurt. Every part of him that had led him true now screamed that he had to keep going, find her. Comet turned on his heel deciding that he was done with this. Why in all the worlds had he let his stupid, wonderfully caring brothers convince him he was brave. The blonde punkish man slid out into the crowd trembling and muttering. Rage simmered and danced with his fear till he was clogged with it. 

Damn it all.

 Damn him. 

Damn her. 

He wished so badley- His pocket buzzed. 

Comet froze slightly, hugging the thick coat Sunstreaker had found for him close to his flesh. And waited.

His left pocket buzzed again.

 Letting out a quiet sigh feeling exhausted, he pulled out the cold slab of circuits and plastic. He answered it with a soft growl, moving to where another bar’s porch ended. It was full of flushed beer drinking couples, none paying attention to him however, too busy betting on whatever was going on inside. “Yeah?” He sniffed and decided the place was safe enough as he leaned back against the painted brick, it was a darker red than the alley. “Whatcha up to, you're not home yet?” Comet could hear Sideswipes blunt amiable concern over the phone, he felt himself wince. “Nothing, I’m out seeing the human stuff, remember?” It wasn’t a lie. He kicked a stray beer can with his boot. This was human stuff. “Studying.” Comet heard the slight shift over the phone. “Im gonna go ahead and call bullshit, save us some time.” 

Comet Eater felt himself deflate, Sides and Sunny weren't even supposed to be out of their mandated cell time for another couple hours, he wasn't prepared for his brother's uncanny abilities right now.

“Soo whatcha up to?” Comet took a deep breath. “Im tryna..” Nope no no way, “Find some..food.” That was awful. This situation was ruining him. That stupid girl “..Food?” Comet could hear the eyebrow raise. “You ate yesterday.” Sunstreaker’s baritone made its entrance as Comet wished he had just not tried this route. “......” Comet sat for a moment waiting for one of them to rag on him or ask him where he was. He got an expectant silence instead.”.....” The pressure of his two failed lies spread over him, loosening his jaw.  After a second Sunstreaker elected that he had enough of his younger sibling’s inner turmoil.“You gonna tell us or are we gonna have to come find you?” 

Comet was washed over by an image of his twin brothers hunting him down through the crowded street, the pressure on his mind building. His jaw unhinged. “IMETAFEMALE!” Comet wished more than anything that a bomb would drop on him. It sounded like one had hit the twins instead, their silence making his case of motor mouth worse. “We saw each other while I was here a week ago! A-and I maybe sorta went out to see if I could findherbecauseshemaybesortaaskedmetodancebeforeIranoff-” The twins didn’t say a word. The silence was unnatural and eerie, especially from them.“...Guys?��� Comet glanced out to the street and back to his phone clutching it like a lifeline. His pain only grew by ten fold. “A girl huh?” Sideswipe broke the silence with a sly purr. “When's the wedding Coms?” Sunstreaker chuckled, the smirk obvious. Comet wanted to die. He groaned, rubbing his heated face, “Stop.” 

They didn't. 

“Did you have the spine to kiss her- Betcha they made out-” Comet whimpered, rubbing his face as he slid against the wall. “What's she look like?- Is she cute?- How’d she ask you to dance with her-” In the middle of his personal hell Comet wondered if he moved the brick support if the weight of the wooden porch would kill him. “Well?- Did you find her or not?- Com- Commy- Baby brooother- SHUT UP” A couple of the local men looked over the edge of the porch glaring down at him. Comet Stumbled up and away rubbing his face, almost slipping on a wine bottle. “Just. shut. Up-” He darted out into the stream of humans again, flushing and dodging the groups of teens and adults alike. “No I haven't-Then what the frag are you on the phone with us for!?” Comet stuttered to a stop, “You called me!?” his voice hitting the divine point of both insult and embarrassment. “Well remember Romeo- Smile- Act like you have a happy thought in that cute helm of yours- Don’t slouch- Be confident- We believe in you- Call us when you make it back to base- don't have too much fun-” Comet felt like his face could not get any hotter, he could even feel eyes on him now, Great. “We won't wait up!” They hung up with a click. 

The pretender stood in the middle of the sidewalk like a deer in headlights. There was now way he was living this down. Maybe he could hide out. There was a mountain range nearby. He sighed deeply glaring up at the glow created by the bar. He hated to admit it, but he felt better. Those two idiots made him feel better.

 But he wasn't doing this.

 He rubbed his face one last time before turning and beginning his trek back home. He could find a spot to take off in about a mile, forget the whole thing happened. Comet pulled out his phone, slipping through the book list he had made for Sideswipe, he mentioned he wanted to read the Iliad, some Greek thing. That would level off any disappointment he might have over him not coming home with a Conjux, or trying to for that matter. Sunny would like some wax, he mentioned- “Hello? We haven't met officially,” He felt those eyes again, the scent wafted around him softly. Cometeater turned slowly to find a slim woman gently touching his elbow. Her eyes gold, glowing and too big for the human mask she wore. Her tone was shy.

“But you have no idea how much I’d like us to.”

[azems-familiar]

more of the ascian Azem au beneath the cut: aka i finally wrote the Sundering (and wow was it hard to get the tone right)

They’re standing on a street corner conferring with Elidibus and Lahabrea - or rather, Hades is conferring with them and Azem is only half-paying attention to the conversation, keeping their eye out for their little follower, who they last saw skulking in the shadow of a nearby residential building half-destroyed in the Final Days and yet to be reconstructed. They should try to get her name out of her when she follows them home tonight, Azem thinks absently, and maybe some paperwork to establish their apartment as her current residence. If- if she wants to continue staying with them. Someone will need to have guardianship of her if she’s to be properly taken care of, and she at least seems to allow Azem to help.

The first sign that something is wrong comes from Elidibus. He stops speaking abruptly, turning to stare up at the strange white satellite that’s been visible in the sky off and on since Zodiark was imprisoned. “What is She doing?” he says, voice low - and then his eyes widen behind his mask and he almost sounds like Themis again, younger and far more present, when he says, “No, don’t!”

And the sky fills with Light. There’s a sound, more felt than heard, like shattering glass, like a crystal cracking down the center, and the world warps around them - ripples on water, wind through leaves, sunlight on windows, a reflection that shifts and morphs and grows, the very ground beneath their feet folding in on itself and then stretching apart on a spider’s web of a million invisible fractures. Against the glaring brightness of a magic just as if not more powerful than Zodiark’s creation, a brightness that sears Azem’s very aether, a bitter burn they can feel all the way to their soul, all they can think of is the child, and they sprint in her direction, ignoring the way Hades cries their name.

They barely make it to the building before there’s a grinding sound that seems to come from everywhere at once and the Light turns so bright they can’t do anything but close their eyes and cower away from it, away from the blade that passes by them so close they can feel the wind of its passage against their skin. It isn’t a real blade, it can’t be, but they feel something cleave anyway, and there’s that awful noise like the star itself is tearing apart-

Then all at once, it stops.

The silence in the air is absolute. Azem opens their eyes, slowly, and- and still they stand where they were a moment before, just inside the main entrance of a residential building’s lobby, but there is something inexplicably wrong about it, as if everything around them has somehow…diminished. Become lesser. A drabness, like the haze of grey they’ve lived in since Helios’s death has manifested over the star itself, all color dimmed and the sunlight shading in through a window weak and thin as if it’s falling through a heavy layer of water. And the aether, when they look at the world through that second sight, drifts past in pale streams so faded as to be nearly intangible, like motes of dust in a sunbeam. One spell, were they to cast it by drawing on the star itself the way Helios has always done, might drain those currents entirely dry.

Horror builds in their throat like nausea. This is wrong. This is wrong. Sickly and feeble and empty, a distorted shadow of what should be-

They suck in a shaking breath, turning in a slow circle, and everything is as it was but nothing is as it should be. They- they can barely feel Zodiark’s presence anymore, His power a muffled pulse that echoes across some unimaginable distance. Not long ago they probably would have been glad for the space between them and His overwhelming Darkness, but now they just feel cold.

Footsteps draw their attention and they turn to see- golden hair, red eyes, their little follower, drifting across the floor towards them. Her mask is gone and there is something- different about her, a dullness to her eyes - and in the aether, in the aether she is nothing but a shade, less present than the weakest animal, more a ghost than anything living. She’s not- she’s not a person anymore - the tiny, fragmented soul they can sense would barely elevate her from the classification of ‘arcane entity’. There is no life in the empty gaze she casts briefly over Azem, unrecognizing, before she simply moves on, a spirit borne on the wind.

She looks exactly as Helios had, when he laid there unmoving on the dirt, unseeing and unhearing and gone.

Azem gathers their aether and pulls themself across the aetherial sea to the aetheryte near the Capitol, something desperate clawing its way through them, as if- as if they can prove that this is just an outlier, as if the world will suddenly change - but everywhere they look they see dead faces somehow still walking, empty-eyed husks shuffling through a fragmented reality, all of them walking away as if driven by some echoing impulse. These- these are not Azem’s people, who they love, who they have given their life to shepherding. This is some ghastly mockery, puppets being drawn across an invisible stage, except they recognize the barest traces of aether left behind in many of these bodies. 

They can’t- breathe. The air is too thin, the aether is too thin, the star is too thin-

Hydaelyn did this, they think numbly, and it feels like ice freezing slowly over the surface of their soul, sealing them away within. Not Venat - Venat is gone, has to be, if there was any shred of her left she would never have struck such a blow, would never have broken the star and the people the way Hydaelyn has. These faded and frail reflections of life - why would She do this? Light lingers still in the air, a persistent sharpness that sinks into their bones, and they stare up at the sky, at the satellite that mars its even curve, and wonder if Her blow had missed them so deliberately as some sort of punishment.

Bear witness to what your failures have wrought, they can nearly imagine Her saying, with that hardness in Her eyes that Venat had developed the moment she learned about the future. It feels apt. One last lesson to the wayward student who has ever been the lesser choice for their seat: abandon your duty and it will be taken from you.

Perhaps Etheirys should have burned, if this is to be its fate.

Some indeterminate time passes around them. A breeze stirs up; it blows right through them. They are not here. They are not anywhere, adrift on the ice floes of their soul. The sky darkens, the stars spill across it like pinpricks of fire against an endless expanse of ink, and Zodiark and the souls He is made of remain frustratingly out of reach. They do not need to look to know that Amaurot is empty.

A warm hand on their shoulder brings them back to the ground, eventually. They blink away the static and lower their head, wincing against the crick in their neck, almost afraid to turn - but then they do, and standing next to them is Hades, his mask loose around his neck and his cowl down. His eyes ache with unshed tears, but they are alive - he’s alive. Hydaelyn’s blow missed him too. That simple fact - that they are not alone - makes them want to cry, though they don’t.

“...everything is dead,” Azem says, as hollow as the rustling leaves. “I’ve seen the people. What is left of them, the shades they are. But…” They swallow, gaze drifting away from Hades’s face to the silent street behind him, and whisper, “I do not know if they are the condemned ones.”

Hades makes a soft, choked sound almost like a sob and pulls them closer, wrapping his arms around them, and they let him maneuver them until he can rest his head on their shoulder, his face tucked into the crook of their neck, his tears cool on their skin. For a long moment they just- stand there, eyes caught on a faded lavender leaf swirling in little circles over an embossed sidewalk panel, caught in the grooves in the material, and then they slowly let out a breath and slide one arm around his waist, tilting their head sideways to lean their cheek against his temple.

When Lahabrea and Elidibus find them later - the last four living things in all of Etheirys, spared the blade of Light in what cannot in even the most twisted sense be called a mercy - Azem does not let go.

[desultory-novice]

These comments seemed to deviate a bit from my “villainous Magolor” post where I discovered them but they also inspired me, so I’ll go with it and deviate some more on the topic of the “villainous friends”...

Now, personally, I've never seen the Mage Sisters as all that heroic. I mean, I adore them. I don't doubt for a second they're part of the good guys "now" but heroic? They're still wearing their evil cult (cough) "religious" uniforms! I imagine all three of them still lean a little hard on the "murder is okay!" side of things.

They helped because they had a reason to help. But are they still going to have “goat sacrifice Tuesdays” for a while? ...Possibly! (It could just be me, but I do think it's hilarious when the entire Jamba gang continue to be blatant worshippers of a dark god while chilling with the rest of the cast.)

I do think that this topic is nearing the core of why my feelings on Magolor have been in flux since DX. I’m happy for him to have a redemption arc, but I really don’t want to see him de-fanged...? I never did write that translation comparison post, but I’m endlessly thankful to the English translation for the “I just want to hear everyone scream...” :pause: “...with laughter!” exchange because it at least shows that Magolor has an unusually grim sense of humor, as opposed to him being a wholly innocent victim of the Crown. 

(Obviously, he did what he did in RtDL. No one’s questioning that. They wouldn’t name a song “Atone for One’s Misdeeds” otherwise. But I am concerned about the implications that the Crown was manipulating him from the moment he landed on Halcandra. Manager Magolor is fun and all, and while I don’t want to have a “Magolor is still the bad guy lol” Kirby Light Novel situation, I hope the sussy wizard stays somewhat sussy down the line.)

Anyway, the long and short of it is my love of gray morality characters is why I fell in love with so many of them and why I try to write all the former-antagonistic Dream Friends as still being in possession of a few villain traits. I really don't want to see anyone "brainwashed into being good" or must-always-be-on-their-best-behavior now. I want to see these flawed individuals make nice but flawed, characterful decisions.

I want the three Mage Sisters to occasionally each say really messed up things in a blithe way without realizing why said thing is weird. I want Susie to think she can solve most things in life by throwing enough money and science at them. I want Taranza to openly white-knight his beloved tyrant queen and naively blink his eight eyes over the awful things he did in her name. 

I want Magolor to engage in shady business practices with a smile and a wink, walking away while counting his cash. I want Dark Meta Knight to whole-heartedly believe murder is a "reasonable" option to most everyday situations. I want Daroach to casually purloin the cast's possessions when they're not specifically watching him, just because he can. I want Marx to break into loud hysterical laughter when someone trips and falls or breaks a plate.

The Dream Friends might as well be 10 different colored Waddle Dees if we expected them to all act good and peaceful and harmless all the time.

-

I just wanted to say though, @icedragonlizard​, I don’t know what kind of convos are going on outside my own little space on the internet, but I think people really aren’t as upset or /neg about Susie as they used to be.

There are maybe a few holdouts out there - I wouldn’t know as I don’t really go searching - but you’ll most likely never change those peoples’ minds and its best just to ignore them while shoring up a space for yourself where people aren’t attacking your blorbos just to get a reaction out of you or to spew unhappiness everywhere.

Here, have this “Deal With It” Susie w/ shades!

(PS: I recently learned I had been drawing both Susie and Taranza quite off-model! Her helmet actually goes down way longer than I thought, less of a “headband” and more like a metal boudoir cap. And Taranza’s lowest set of hands start at the middle of his body and go up toward his head. I thought I remembered them as starting at his waist and going down instead. Oops!)

[rusty-gloinks]

May I ask art tips on coloring? I often have trouble getting colors to blend well together and I often make them too bright or make a boring palette

OKAY, this’ll be a long post! I got carried away!! :’]

An example of this drawing, notice how the actual drawing itself without the lighting is desaturated, as well as dark parts, whereas lighter parts are more saturated and the complete opposite? The colors also match the environment they’re in! almost like a dark blue.

Here’s another one, the colors here "compliment" each other! This drawing shows a mix of warm and cool colors (warm being pink/salmon, yellow, orange; cool being blue , white-blue, green, etc.)

To add, when using white or blacks (for coloring, using them on lineart is fine) make sure they aren’t the pure color, more to match the area or character. If in a dark environment use dark blues, purples, reds, etc on your character/object, If in a white environment, don’t use pure white, use the example shown! Basically like a very light blue , but this can apply for anything.

I’ve also made an example with a much older piece of art:

This looks sad to glance over. There’s no light source in one direction! The light is coming from the top, not even the sun. The lineart is lighter than the actual colors used, etc etc.. I could go on.

here would be some ways to adjust this!

The colors on the left are the original colors, the new ones are on the right. See how much better that looks?

As for the background, it doesn’t have to be too detailed, but notice how the colors in the farther back look lighter, it’s because it blends with the back so the more saturated colors on the front have your attention.

(Ignore my awful writing on these screenshots) -coloring lighting tips as well!

Use this mode with the color red over the light (overlay) , Saturation gives it more color.

Colors in bg (background) are more cool, so you may use these! (Cool colors for shading.) These colors are more warm (pointing at warm colors outlined in blue)

On the shading layer, blend red on the shaded parts closer to the light source! After, add more saturation on the red parts.

Finished product!! :)

hope this somewhat makes sense!! If you need like further explanation , ask me! :’D

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

The way I fell in love with this fic immediately!! OP has such a fantastic grasp on words, and pacing it fr had me completely entranced with the story. Jason and the reader felt so fleshed out and real that I just wanted to tuck them both into bed and tell them it's all going to be alright! I talk about my fav parts below the cut:

All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The stakes here are already giving me anxiety, mentally had to check if I had any high-stakes projects to take care of (I do not) but I am immersed and still feel like I do

Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

Ugh this is so visceral, I can literally feel my chest tighten at this scene (But I'm also thinking about how terrible Gotham traffic is, like I know every other day you have to change your route home because some rouge decided to rob a bank and crash their getaway car)

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

ooooh, ow, that's heavy. The day has just been so awful and all you want is just a moment to yourself and when you finally think your space is safe there's another issue to deal with and there's blood on your cream carpet. What's worse is that you don't him to be consider an issue, but in the moment when you're already so drained and exhausted and he's only making things harder, it's difficult to consider him as anything else

Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.” He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap.

Ahhh, sobbing because it's not even an 'I'm sorry' and maybe normally you don't need it to be, but today it's just another thing drawing you closer and closer to breaking

But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Love this little insight, if it's not you, then it's no one, and he's been coming around long enough for you to know that

It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep.

!!! This line is such a standout for me, poetry fr

You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

I looove the tension building here, it feels like bubble about to pop, a scream about to break the silence

You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

SOBBING, wow, no words for this other than we all definitely need to cry

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.” You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—” “Okay.” He goes quiet.

This whole interaction is written incredibly, it has me sucking in breath and my eyes going wide. There's just this heaviness with it, both of them are trying in their own way, but nothing is going to make you feel better right now. And there's an ache that they're both messing up? Like, maybe you're not going to want him to come back after this. Or maybe he won't want to, and the whole tentative relationship you've built will just vanish

Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

oh no

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor.

OH NO

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

!!! OP!!! OW!! I'm going to go stare into the void, but YOU need to go stare at a wall and think about what you've done

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

I gasped, but it's so true to his character for him to shut down when hurt

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

Art

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand.

In awe of your way with words here, I can feel the hurt and the comfort with every line

Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch.

oooh, this action feel so big, so much, a line that you want to cross but neither of you are ready for

you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

Yeah, wow, that's fantastic. This gets right to core of knowing Red Hod and wanting to know who's underneath, it's so compelling and I eat it up every time

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could. You know why.

SCREAMING, I want to give them the world and wrap them up in blankets! Seriously, this fic is just so, so good. I loved every line, and I don't think I blinked the entire time. Jason felt so human, flawed, but still kind and good. Incredible work as always, OP!! 💙💙

you're good to me, baby

with the roar of the fire my heart rose to its feet, like the ashes of ash i saw rise in the heat. settle soft and as pure as snow, i fell in love with the fire long ago.

or; because the red hood bleeding onto your living room carpet is exactly what you need right now [3.6k]

Jason Todd x fem!reader; based on this lovely ask; ngl this turned into a personal vent jason doesn't show up until 1k words in LMAO; warning there’s blood (duh) and reader is type A and suggested to have heavy anxiety; pre-established relationship where reader doesn’t know his identity + muzzle red hood bc HOT

Compartmentalize. Create baskets in your mind. Analyze the situation, and drop the corresponding emotion in the appropriate basket.

One: You had a fight with your best friend. She called you selfish because you weren’t enthusiastic about her new relationship. She just can’t seem to understand that no matter how happy you want to be for her, it’s painful to see everyone find safety in another person when you can’t. Every attempt at romance is squashed by something or the other that you keep doing wrong. I thought you were hot, your latest dating attempt had said when you ran into him and asked why he never texted back. But you’re kind of a lot. Not something I have the space for right now, you know?

Two: There’s an important presentation today, one that could determine the fate of your position in the company. Your coworker, the one who’s convinced you stole his promotion (he just flirted with the higher-ups while you actually completed the requirements), refuses to let you forget how much is at stake. All it takes is one misstep, one stutter, one hesitation, and he will take it as an excuse to demand your demotion— or worse, termination. You’ve been preparing for this presentation for three weeks. If after all that effort it’s still not good enough, maybe you should be fired.

The emotions here? Frustration. Anger. Exhaustion. Jealousy. Just to name a few. But there’s no time to dwell on anxieties right now, so you shove those thoughts aside. Drop them in their compartments and move on because, after all, if you can strip them down to their bones and find where they stem, you can yank those anxieties from the ground before they have the chance to root. And then there’s no need for unnecessary heartache, right?

(Who cares if the baskets are overflowing, crumpled fragments spilling over the sides like garbage in a landfill? Who cares if the room of your mind is so packed that you’re pressed against the wall and breathing becomes painful.)

The digital clock beside your bed reads 6:12. The numbers blink in and out of the window, their red dots and dashes taunting your heavy eyelids. You still have forty-eight minutes of peace before it will scare you awake. Its beeping will ring so loud and angry that the adrenaline from the startle will power you through your morning routine, and your beating heart won’t dare still to entertain wishes of just five more minutes. 6:13 now. You have forty-seven more minutes of peace, minutes which should be spent sleeping, giving your poor brain a break from itself. But you can’t. Every time you close your eyes and begin to sink below the level of consciousness, your heart pumps a house-special cocktail of cortisol that laces through your bloodstream and convinces you that if you fall asleep you will miss your presentation and you will get fired. The off-grid escape plan formulating in your head switches from hypothetical to tentative when your neighbors, apparently awoken to lust as well as tired by it, start going at it again. You want nothing more than to bang on their door and scream obscenities until they hate each other enough to never touch again, but you resign yourself to consciousness, giving up on the dream of what would now be forty-four more minutes of sleep. 

It’s Friday morning; only one more day to get through before the sweet release of the weekend finds you. (The whole weekend will be spent contemplating the start of a project, feeling like two days is not nearly long enough to complete anything, and dreading Monday until it finds you with nothing done and the same, endless cycle awaiting.)

After completing your morning routine 44 minutes early, you use the spare time to go through your presentation once more, just for good luck, wrapping up the third run-through just in time to hear your alarm to leave for work.

The presentation goes decent, at least well enough to quell any doubts about your ability to do your job. Your coworker ate his words for sure, and you might have enjoyed the look on his face had you not mentally checked out as soon as you finished your closing remarks. Rush hour traffic has the ice cream tub you bought at the convenience store dripping condensation all over the passenger’s seat and your hips hurt from being in the same sitting position for most of the day, but you remind yourself that peace is only a few miles out. Stopped at yet another red light, your grip tightens on the steering wheel. Breathe in. Breathe out. The line of cars starts to move forward.

When you get home, your frustration is close to boiling over. You kick off your shoes right at the door, your keys and bag following close behind.

Far be it from you to break down on the floor in the middle of the room, the plan begins to formulate. There’s a box of tissues on your desk– that can go on the nightstand, along with two of the chilled water bottles you keep in the fridge for after you work out. And you’ll need something for the tissues, right? The small wastebasket from the bathroom should be fine. You drag it over to the side of your bed, sitting in your usual spot to make sure you placed it at a reachable distance. You won’t want to get out of bed to wash your face after this, so a washcloth should go next to the tissues. And an extra one, just to be safe. There’s a half-pint of ice cream left in the freezer, you remember, and store that information for later.

You keep a set of comfortable clothes ready, the nicest, softest pajamas you own that you only wear after an everything shower. This shower, however, is a quick one, not much more than a few minutes under scalding water to comfort you, if nothing else. The light pink pajamas are a high-quality cotton and you feel like you’re in the clouds when you slip into them. Remaining is the ice cream, which you set out on the counter right before your shower so it would thaw just enough to be soft but not melted, With everything in your room ready, you go to retrieve the ice cream but stop with a startle when you round the corner.

“Jesus,” you mumble.

He’s just sitting there, doing nothing except bleeding out on your cream-colored carpet. He’s spread out on the couch like he owns the place, head leaned back against the wall as he lets his injured arm hang over the armrest and drip blood and dirt onto your cream-colored rug. The liquid seeps into the expensive wool, staining it with reddish-brown hues and the scent of iron, and he doesn’t even notice.

“Hey.” The Red Hood lifts his head when he sees you.

On any other day, you’d be quick to action, hauling him up off the couch and sprinting for the first aid kit under the bathroom sink. Today, your arms are too heavy and your gaze remains rooted on the widening splotch of red against white. Your throat feels dry. “You’re getting blood on the carpet.”

He peers over the armrest. “Oh, shit,” he curses, lifting his arm to hover it over his lap. He sounds robotic through his muzzle mask. His hood, pulled down to reveal his thick black hair curling at the ends from humidity and sweat, rests on his back.

I don’t have time for this, is what you want to say. You want to scream it in his face and kick him out for having the audacity to think he can come and go as he pleases, that you’re nothing more than a drive-through emergency room who will drop everything if he gets so much as a paper cut. But you can’t say any of this, and you do want him to come to you whenever he needs help. God knows he won’t go anywhere else.

Holding back your heavy sigh, you wordlessly walk to the bathroom. He takes that as an invitation to follow. 

It’s clinical. Rehearsed. Neither of you speak. It’s a partnered dance long since committed to muscle memory, steps you can take in your sleep. He knows to seat himself on the step stool you got just for him, for nights like these. He knows where to find the first aid kit and which supplies to hand you first. You know the exact steps to follow. Check the palms for abrasions. Antiseptic to the lacerations. Concussion exam. 

Maybe he can sense the air of tension surrounding you, because he doesn’t say as much as he usually does (though, granted, it’s still not much). It’s a reflection of your dynamic several months earlier when this arrangement began, back before you’d managed to chip away at the surface of his rough exterior. You notice the way his fingers curl against his thighs when you, somewhat carelessly, wipe the dirt from his skin with more pressure than necessary and the way his eyebrows tilt inward when you work slower than usual. You notice, but you ignore it.

We both know you have at least a dozen people who could do this for you. The words echo in your mind. Don’t act like I owe you this. If anything, you owe me a new carpet. These are things you wish you could say, but never will. Being realistic, you’ll probably never be able to say things like this. You’ll be subjected to all the shitty coworkers and unsympathetic friends and exploitative vigilantes of the world for the rest of your life.

This isn’t his fault, you remind yourself, but still, your lips turn down and your jaw feels tight with the effort to keep your face still, to not burst into tears right on the spot. In the second it takes for you to calm yourself, your hands pause. He notices. He says nothing. 

It’s not until you’re finished with cleaning the blood from his arm wound and giving him a wad of gauze to hold against it that he tests the waters and asks, “Is it too bad?” 

He sounds automated, but over the last few months, you’ve learned a thing or two about reading even these robotic actions. There's a certain quietness to the beginning of his sentence like he’s debating if he should say it or not. 

“It’s fine,” you say, shortly. 

“Sorry about your rug,” he says. He tugs at the strap of his muzzle with one finger, rubbing at the skin underneath the leather. “I can get the stain out.”

You retrieve the needle and thread from the kit and don’t respond. You don’t even look at him.

After a moment’s hesitation, he continues. “It’s easy. You just need salt and—”

“Okay.”

He goes quiet.

You don’t mean to be so tetchy, but you don’t have the energy for anything more. Every little thing has you feeling on the edge of shattering. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It’s when you’re kneeled at his side, staring into the gaping wound on his bicep and trying to thread the needle, fingers trembling from the chill of the tiled floor with nothing but a layer of thin cotton to keep you warm, that it happens. He shifts on the stool, a mere twitch in an attempt to get comfortable, but it brushes his bloody arm against yours. Flecks of fresh red on the light pink fabric. First your carpet, now your pajamas. Your favorite, special, extra soft matching cotton pajama set, a rare splurge after your promotion that stood out among old t-shirts and sweat shorts. Ruined. Again, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Did I say something?” Hood asks. He waits for your response, but when none comes, he adds, “I’m sorry if I did.” He speaks so quietly you may not have been able to separate his words from the whirring filter of his mask, if not for the chilling silence of the bathroom floor. The insulating brick walls of your old apartment building are something you’re usually grateful for, but tonight you find yourself wishing for the city’s commotion to seep through the walls. Something, anything to buffer his proximity to you.

You hear his inhale as he prepares to say something else.

“Can you just let me work?” You snap before he has the chance to speak again. It’s loud, louder than you’d ever dream of speaking to him, and he flinches. Your eyes shut in apology, but only for a moment before you get back to it. He looks away. His feet point towards the door.

He wants to leave, you can tell, and you don’t blame him. You just messed everything up. But you started this, so now you have to finish it.

You sit in silence for the several minutes it takes for you to clean his wound and stop the bleeding.

He’s not looking at you, gaze transfixed ahead of him on a chip in the paint. At least, you assume. It’s difficult to guess what’s going on behind the milky white covering over his eyes. His subtle body language can be read if you pay close enough attention, you’ve learned, but that’s not something you care to do right now.

(Maybe you noticed in the back of your mind that he’s not exhibiting any body language since you snapped at him, but the compartment in your head for guilt is already overflowing, so maybe you didn’t notice it, you tell yourself.)

You stare at your sleeve, at the patches of blood blooming like ink blots. The red and pink hues blend together behind your blurring vision. You sniffle.

“Are you—” Hood starts. Because now he’s looking at you.

“Excuse me,” you say, pushing yourself off the ground and stumbling out of the room without so much as a glance back at him. You stagger into your room, needle and thread still in hand, and push the door closed. The lights are off, and the darkness is calming, quieting your buzzing thoughts. You close your eyes and lean against the door. Breathe in. Breathe out. You continue this exercise, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth to soothe your sympathetic nervous system, the same way a therapist instructed that one time you went. You wipe away the moisture that has collected in your eyes, roll out your stiff neck, dry your sweaty palms over your thighs. You toss the needle and thread aside, because they are definitely not sterile anymore, and take a few more breaths before opening the door and going back to the bathroom.

You avoid his face, following the lines of grimy grout between the tiles before resuming to your spot at his side. His inspecting eyes burn on the side of your face. You wipe down the forceps with a sterilizing wipe and rip open the plastic packaging for a new needle, holding it up to the wound, but your hand refuses to steady.

Another deep breath. Then another.

Hood sighs. It’s almost chastising. “I think I should go.”

“What?” You’re just surprised enough to be torn away from your thoughts and look him in the eye (mask) for the first time all night.

“You can’t do this,” he says, gruffly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll let you figure it out.”

You scoff. “Yes, I can. I’m fine.”

Before he can argue, you grab him by the wrist to hold him in place just as he starts moving to get up. He winces, but you keep your grip tight on him. You can feel his scrutiny through the cold, expressionless barrier of his disguise, practically track his pupils as they search your face.

You both pretend he couldn’t break from your hold in an instant if he wanted to.

“You’re shaking,” Hood says. His voice is much softer now.

You follow the turn of his head to your hand where it hovers the needle right over his skin. You are shaking. Trembling, in fact.

“No, I’m not.” It comes out as an empty whisper.

You focus all your strength on steadying yourself, but the harder you try to stabilize, the harder you tremor. Your other hand releases his wrist to clamp over your dominant hand and force it to stay in place. It guides the needle closer to the skin, but now your vision is blurring. You blink rapidly, but it’s not enough. The tears start falling. You look away from him, but a warm hand settles over yours. You don’t dare look at him, unable to bear showing him your shameful face, wet and blushing and screwed up in misery. You turn your face into your sleeve. Clamp your eyes shut tight, thinking maybe if you keep them closed, this darkness will swallow you up and he won’t be here anymore.

But the warmth of his skin on yours is the first feeling of softness, of relief you’ve felt in months, and then it’s gone. Your shoulders are shaking, quaking with the effort to keep your sobs quiet.

One finger ever so gently hooks around your chin, pulling it back up to face him. You keep your eyes closed, not wanting to see him see you like this, but the tears are still streaming. He brushes them away. Whether that makes it better or worse, you can’t be sure, because you cry even harder, snatching your face away from his grasp to muffle your sobs into the back of your hand. You don’t realize he’s pushed himself off his stool to sit cross-legged on the floor until you feel his hand circling your arm and pulling you closer. The tools in your hand clatter on the floor as your palms come up to press against his chest, fighting against him with half-hearted protests murmured through your cries. But even with only one good arm he’s too strong for you, and you’re pulled into him.

He’s so gentle with you, rubbing your back and resting his chin atop your head while you cry and cry and cry into his shirt. Several minutes pass like this, with your face buried in his chest and his good arm holding you tightly against him while the other dangles lamely at his side, throbbing with an intensity he’s trying to ignore.

When your sobs die down, and you’re sure you’re all cried out, you linger against him. He smells like smoke and gasoline, and his shirt is soft and warm from his body heat seeping through. His hand continues to stroke up and down the length of your back, even after you’ve quieted. The edge of his mask digs into your scalp where his chin sits, but it feels worth it. Your hands, still pressed to his chest, slide higher, completely of their own volition, out of a newfound desire to wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t hear it, but you can feel his sharp draw of breath, his chest rising quickly under your touch. Your hands lose their nerve at his clavicle as you hold your breath for fear of the smallest movement drawing attention to your forwardness. You wait for him to rebuff you, to lean away from your touch, or grab your wrists and pry them off. He doesn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. His chest finally falls.

Eyes opening, your thumb swipes over the edge of the red bat symbol just below his collarbone.

His movements pause, lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt for just a moment, before releasing it. “It’s alright,” he tells you.

You pull back from his chest to look at him, the way his cold and unfeeling expression stares back at you. You wonder from time to time what’s under the mask, but tonight the desire is overwhelming; you ache with the want to know what he looks like. The color of his eyes. What his mouth looks like when he winces over a deep cut or chuckles at one of your anecdotes. You wonder if his lips are soft or chapped. If he’d like it if you dragged your thumb across the bottom one.

The metallic odor spreading through the room brings you back to the present, and you hope the flush from your tears hides your cheeks’ growing heat when you realize where your mind had wandered. 

“Oh, fuck, your arm.” You speak in a watery voice, wiping at your face as the urgency returns to your senses. Though you try to move away, his firm hand on your back pulls you back in.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, resuming his caresses up and down your back. “I can take care of it.”

“Then why do you even need me?” You sniffle with a small smile.

He stays silent. But when you search his face, waiting for an answer, his hand moves to your side, palm sliding a fraction of an inch closer to your waist and fingers tensing, you can almost see through the mechanical muzzle to the way his lips shape the words. At least, he wishes you could.

You know why.

this was lots of fun to write and thank u for your patience ik i said i was gonna "knock this out in a day" 2 weeks ago😬😬 also we're gonna pretend they aren't just letting his open wound marinate for half an hour when it should be getting stitched up bc it's fiction ok? everyone say thank you mostly-imagines for proofreading this😚

but anyway happy new year!! it's been barely 2 months but starting this account made my year so much better🫶🫶🫶and ty for 500 followers that's crazy🫣🫢

[acidsaladd]

i missed him 😪

[id: It is two drawing pages of Kai from ninjago. In the first page the first drawing is Kai looking to the side and raising one eyebrow, he has a band aid on his cheek. Next is a drawing of him looking straight to the camera while drowning and pouting, also with a band aid on his cheek. Next to that there is a sketch of him grinning and raising one eyebrow while going “oho!”. Below that is a drawing of him on his gi looking down with a confused frown, one hand on his hip and the other one directing a small fire ball with his finger; there is a small text bubble next to him that reads: “ha?”. Next to that he is drawn laughing embarrassed with one hand on the back of his head. Lastly there is a smaller head shot sketch of him giving a crooked smile to the viewer.

In the second page, the first drawing is of Kai slightly hunched over, defeated and annoyed, saying “Jay wtf did I just tell you”. Next to that is a smaller drawing of him as a lego shouting “FIYA!!!” while holding one hand up with a fire ball over it. Next there is a sketch of Kai holding his phone on his lap while Nya is on her phone, leaning her back on his arm, Lloyd is on his other side laying his head on Kai’s lap while holding a game console over his head. Lastly is a sketch of Kai smiling but with a concerned look in his eyes, carrying Lloyd on his back. Lloyd has his head buried on Kai’s shoulder as Kai says: “did that tea really make you bigger? Cuz you kinda weight the same to me. Maybe I’m just that strong really”./ end id]

[after-witch]

The White Dove [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: The White Dove [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You shouldn’t have looked. But you did, and you’re the one to blame for what happens after. 

For Horrorfest prompt: Kai Chisaki + "You weren't supposed to help her."

Word Count: 776

Notes: Yandere, kidnapped reader, medical horror (non-graphic); non-graphic descriptions of child abuse.

 The world is sideways. No, that’s wrong. The world isn’t sideways. You are sideways. Sideways and immobile and strapped to a hard, white, unyielding surgical table. Your arms and legs, even your hips, are strapped down. Your head is free to move but all that does is make you dizzy as you shake it from side to side, willing the rest of your body to obey.

Your skin tickles. You’re dimly aware of the scratch at the hospital gown over your skin. When did he put that on you? Did you fall asleep? How long were you out? What else did he do while you were out?

Thoughts buzz and zoom, flittering and terrified. You can’t quite make sense of the world right now, and you don’t know if it’s because he drugged you or you’re simply so horrified that adrenaline has replaced your blood. Maybe both, and that might just be the truth.

There’s a soft sound above you. A tsk.

You whimper pitifully before you even confirm it’s him. But of course it’s him. Who else would it be?

Kai Chisaki stands above you, surgical mask snug over his face, gazing down at you with eyes that are judge, jury and executioner.

“You pitiful thing,” he murmurs. And there is a tone akin to sympathy in his voice, but it’s edged out by the presence of something harder, sharper, and darker. “You brought this on yourself, dearest.”

Your wrists strain against the leather holding you down. But you’re not going anywhere. You’ve known that for a while, haven't you? Since long before you found yourself on this table, harsh light above you, harsher eyes staring down at your fruitless attempts to free yourself.

“Please don’t…” You don’t even know exactly what you’re begging him not to do. But it can’t be good. Not when you saw what you saw, and heard what you heard. Not when he looked so angry. Not when you stumbled on him doing that awful thing to the little girl strapped to the table, all bruised and bloodied and crying and-

Oh God, was this the same table?

You feel the limits of your muscles stretching and tightening until your body gives up, slumping. You’re unable to even pull against the restraints, trembling and cold and thinking wildly, adrenaline or drugs or fear or all of the above. The tang of remembered blood fills your nostrils. The sight of her frail body, her eyes bugging in fear…

If he did that to her… what is he going to do to you?

His gloved hand rests on your forehead and you still, afraid to break the momentary spell. Maybe if he forgives you, he’ll let you up. You can go to your room. You can color. You can read a book. You can do anything, anything at all, but this.

“You weren’t supposed to see such things.” He sighs, a tired, busy sound. “You’re too delicate for them. That’s why I told you to stay in your rooms, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” you push out, voice tiny and helpless. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

��I know you won’t.”

The lines around his eyes crinkle and cold dread spreads inside, soaking into you like water spilled on paper.  He draws his gloved hand back from your face and you hear it, you hear the sound of the metal tray, and the fact that it’s a needle--not a knife--in his hand doesn’t make you feel any less terrified.

“Please, Kai.” Your mouth is dry and your lips smack together as you fumble for anything. Mercy, mostly. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry.”

He presses the plunger of the syringe and a little liquid beads out. He ignores you for the moment, instead using his other hand to swipe your arm with something cool and wet.

“Oh, angel,” he coos, and you want to move, you wish you could at least try to get away from whatever is going to come. “I would never hurt you. After this…” The needle finds it way neatly into your arm, and there’s a sudden burning sensation, tingling, unnatural, that begins to spread from the injection sight. “You won’t feel a thing.”

If he didn’t drug you before… well. The sensation is unpleasant, and you can practically feel it as it works its way throughout your body. To your limbs, to your fingers, to your toes. Making your body heavy and tingly. You slowly, straining, turn your head to look at Overhaul.

“When we’re done, you won’t think about breaking the rules at all.”

You wish he looked angry when he said it.

Instead, he looked excited.

[wabbitriii]

On a broader I’m also just exceedingly fucking an noyed at the tictokification of serious mental illnesses and terms; yeah man things like depression, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and suicidal tendencies are more than just drawing pretty little lines of blood in a large bathtub full of rose petals while shedding three(3) tears, stealing glances to the rain pitter-pattering on the windowpane as fall leaves coat the building of whatever stupid fucking dark-academia castle were in right about now,

and neurodivergency isn’t rainbow loom bracelets on a toddler mat with cutesy little toys in perfect rows color coordinated and sorted and it’s all goo goo gaa gaa babies that need to be pwotected fwom da cwuel owtside wowld owo

god fuck that shit, lets start with neuroatypicals

it’s not very fun to overindulge in harmful, destructive behaviors because seeing past 5 years is nothing, it’s not very fun to expect to end up dead before life can even begin, it’s not very fun to actively look on living as nothing more than the “hard way”, it’s not fun to constantly think everyone around you is plotting your demise, in fact they all fucking hate you, and you’re not even good enough to stand around others, so hole up! hole up in your disgustingly messy bedroom realistically contemplating what it’d be like if you were dead, and how people would react! hole up and ignore every text, every message, every outside interaction because the very movement to pick up a phone and open up that avenue makes you sick and want to vomit

oh hey on that subject, let’s go to neurodivergence! when my cat died and my mom held her corpse, my brain decided to put the image of maggots in my mind. maggots everywhere. oh hey wouldn’t it be funny if you took a bite of her? doesn’t the smell of fucking death sound appetizing? hey if you don’t stand that pen up you’ll kill your sister. hey here some more cute thoughts of your parents and you, now shake your head like a fucking dog to get rid of them! hey go twitch in class, like a classic horror movie possessed character, im sure no one likes to gossip about that! oh hey here’s anxiety back to tell you to kill yourself!

fuck I wish it was playmats and rose baths- oh wait we haven’t even TOUCHED on schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, bpd, psychosis in general, actually, did, and the whole other side of neurodivergency that nobody likes to look at because “those people are psychos and schizos, and are, like, ACTUALLY crazy!!!! not just plain old delulu like meee!! my intrusive thoughts won,,, my hair is pritty pastel pink now hehe I’m just so ocd about-“ oh my god shut UP addison, you aren’t a cute yandere psychotic, you aren’t a neat freak ocd girl boss, you aren’t a delulu manifester or whatever the hell tiktok idiots keep coining it, keep it in the brain and pipe down

but fuck me, for I am a hypocrite, and every day I wish I could be as pretty as those cute little dark academia girlies or boys or ESPECCIALLY those very fem boys but not in the femboy way but the longish haired (mullet prolly) gnc pretty boy bishonens yaknow? like what a life to live huh! to also be able to take the most pretty and romantic parts of awful situations and apply them all to yourself and get zero repercussions, I bet I could be that person if I was skinny- oh wait a minute, I haven’t even began to talk about PHYSICAL disorders!!!!!

ok that’s enough. that’s enough. I know I’m directly feeding into this negative feedback loop, I know it’s uninformed people having fun, or even people who yes ACTUALLY have these disorders and are using platforms like tiktok to find a community where they ordinarily couldn’t, and yes I KNOW my situation is far more ideal than so many others are, but fuck me, I’m tired of idiots making light of the struggles I do have

maybe (yeah it is) part of this is me being insecure about my own identity, my own feelings and stupid dysfunctional brain, about my own appearance, about, fuck, everything that’s happening, and I just yearn to have that sort of innocent happiness yknow?

here comes the depression again, to shut that the hell down

god I’m tired, this should probably be in a notebook

this probably won’t be posted anyways

“we’re doing a thing called a ✨✨mental diet✨✨ where if you think unpleasant things,,, just think of something different!!!!!!!!! 🎀💗🎀”

ok thanks I’ll remember that when I get horrific obsessive intrusive thoughts that last for minutes at a time

wow ive been cured, didn’t realize I could simply think of something else that one time I hit myself in the head repeatedly to stop the thoughts about bugs in/on my skin

didn’t realize I could simply think of something else those many times I can’t face dishes/dirt/old food due to the upsetting thoughts that flood my head

yeah man this’ll help out so much, I’m sure I’ll stop the corpse - eating thoughts in no time 💕

[vinyl-shelf]

THE ARTIST.

Wednesday x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Some making out

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Wednesday asked to see your collection of artwork, which went well.

A/N: Hey everyone. This is my first uploaded fanfic, I hope you like it! I surely will upload more, I take requests!!

"Y/N Y/L/N, you're late." Ms. Thornhill spoke. Your sudden appearance stopped her mid-teaching.

"Pardon me, Ms. Thornhill. I was doing- business." You chuckled sheepishly, your eyes glancing at the students one by one, trying to search for a specific presence.

You were interrupted when Ms. Thornhill asked you a question, "Now Miss Y/L/N, could you please tell me the name of this plant that I'm holding?"

You stared at the plant as you walked closer to it. Studying and analyzing its color, petal, and smell. At that moment, you instantly knew it was the one unique-looking poisonous plant. "Ah! That's Aconitum. Also known as Wolf's bane." You answered with confidence in your voice.

At the same moment, you didn't realize that one particular girl was intensely staring at you with a hint of admiration.

"Perfect! Thank you, Miss Y/L/N, you may take a seat." Ms. Thornhill gestured to the seats.

Of course, you scanned the room to look for one girl, hoping the seat beside her is empty.

And it was.

Your gaze stopped at the alluring figure who was softly flipping the pages of her textbook. You walked up to her and sat down beside her quietly.

"Hi, Wednesday," You greeted, knowing she'll only reply with her signature death glare.

"Y'know, you could also try saying hi too for once." You joked, with a hint of seriousness.

"I don't want to dissipate my time talking to mindless people." Wednesday replied flatly, as usual.

Not knowing how to respond to her statement, you replied with a simple nod. Fetching your sketchbook from your backpack, instead of your textbook. You started scribbling something, and the girl beside you averted her eyes slowly to the direction of your sketchbook. Staring with curiosity.

"If you want to watch me draw, just say so. I won't mind," You stated, finishing off your sketch with a gentle brush from your thumb, revealing it to be a detailed drawing of a stalk of black petunia. "Black petunias, it somewhat reminds me of you." You added.

Without you realizing, you have made the girl's stone-cold heart flutter a little. But she hid it with an eyeroll and proceeded to ignore you once again. You smiled either way and continued to sketch the whole period.

-----

"I despise her, Enid. She makes me feel abnormal things." Wednesday spoke as her fingers were clicking on her typewriter.

"And what are those 'abnormal things' that you're referring to?" Enid replied while having her nails painted by Thing.

"The way she makes my heart stir a little after telling something about me or the way my eyes light up everytime she's close by, I don't like it. It's quite agonizing." She replied, emphasizing the last part.

"Awe, Wednesday, you're just in love. You should go talk to her, I heard she likes you back!" Enid replied with energy, slightly moving her hand and accidentally smearing the nail polish all over her finger. "Oh, shoot! I'm so sorry, Thing. I'm way too ecstatic. Wednesday has a crush!~" She teased, walking up to the girl working on her novel.

"Enid, stop. She doesn't like me, and I don't like her." Wednesday retorted, tidying the pages of her novel.

"I could help you get close to her, if you want." Enid spoke, standing beside Wednesday and nudging her shoulder.

Wednesday contemplated for a while, and with a face of disappointment, "How?" She asked and sighed.

-----

Steadying your posture, you pulled the arrow back, took a deep breath, and released the arrow. Much to your surprise, it landed right in the center.

"Dang, nice aim." Xavier said, dabbing you up.

"Please, these are too easy." You joked while making stupid celebratory movements.

You were doing archery with Xavier, your archery teacher and partner in crime. You and Xavier have lots of similarities. Like how you two have impeccable talent for drawing, the only difference is that Xavier has the ability to bring his illustrations to life.

"So, how's that thing going with Wednesday?" He asked, suddenly bringing up your crush.

"As usual, man. She's hard to impress." You replied promptly.

He laughed and punched your shoulder lightly as a response. You slapped his stomach afterwards.

You were preparing to shoot another arrow when you sensed the presence of a raven-haired girl beside you. As a reflex, you flinched, causing you to let go of the arrow and it landing on the center again.

"Shit, Wednesday! What the hell?" You screamed, dropping your bow and placing your hand on Xavier's shoulder, who was also startled by the girl.

"Y/N." The girl spoke.

"Hey? I thought you didn't want to 'dissipate your time talking to mindless people', why are you here?" You asked with seriousness.

“I wish to see your art room.” Wednesday spoke up out of nowhere, her emotionless face on display.

You were puzzled by her suddenness of the favor, "Why-"

"Please don't ask questions, am I permitted to see your art room?" She asked, cutting you off.

"Uh- well- I guess?" You replied, stuttering.

Wednesday nodded and looked up to you and Xavier before walking back to wherever she's going to.

You and Xavier looked at eachother, "Dude, go! Your chance!" Xavier spoke, slapping your back.

You, still puzzled by the girl's question, nodded and followed the girl.

"About time you catch up." Wednesday stated, her gaze fixed on the scene in front of her.

"Why do you want to see my art room? And, now?" You asked, piling up questions.

"Yes, now. When again?" She returned, ignoring the first question.

You nodded, still on the way to your dorm. When you two were almost at your dorm, your mind reminded you about all the Wednesday portraits you drew. You widened your eyes at the sudden thought. Your heart was racing, and cold sweat was starting to slide out of your head.

When you were already infront of your dorm room, Wednesday was waiting for you to open it. "Wednesday, I, uhh, I don't think you can see my art room today." You spoke nervously, earning a glare from the girl.

"Why? You were fine with it just a few minutes ago." She asked.

She wasn't patient enough to wait for an unclear reply from you, so she opened the door and went inside, with you joining her seconds later. "Uh, welcome to my domain, Wednesday. I have no roommate because I requested not to have one. I needed more space for my art." You explained in hopes that Wednesday wouldn't discover your incredibly detailed sketches of her.

"I could only wish." Wednesday retorted while going through the pages of your illustrations.

"Your drawings are incredibly detailed, Y/N. You must have an amazing pair of hands." She complimented, flipping through the pages of one of your sketchbooks that she picked up.

If you are stunned by her comment, she would owe Enid a hug and Thing a hand lotion. If you aren't, she'll give them the opposite- or maybe even worse.

"Oh, um, thank you! I will treasure that compliment forever." You replied, smiling uncontrollably.

Great. Now she needs to give Enid a hug and buy Thing some hand lotion.

Wednesday was slowly walking up to the big canvas you were worrying so much about without you realizing it because apparently you were still dazed by her compliment.

Once you're back to your senses, her hands were already pulling down on the sheet covering the canvas. Widening your eyes, you screamed, "Wait no, not that one!"

Too late.

Wednesday took a step back to see what the drawing was, and when she realized it was her, she turned to look at you who was standing like a stone statue then back at the drawing. She fairly studied the sketch. It was when she was playing her cello. She could tell you drew this thoroughly and accurately. What she was most interested in was how you drew her face. You drew her face as if she was trapped in the feeling of playing the cello, which she was.

"I'm sorry, I feel like a creep for drawing you. To be honest, I have a bunch of them," You took a step closer to her and fetched one of your sketchbooks from a pile of them. You showed her the label attached to the book, which said 'Addams'. You handed the book to her, and the girl opened the book and saw pages of sketches of her doing something.

"This one is my personal favorite," you said, pointing to the large canvas.

"I saw you playing the cello the other day, you looked very passionate playing that cello of yours. I've never seen you so energetic like that, so uh, I drew it." You explained.

"Don't be sorry for something you're not guilty of." The girl infront of you commented, looking at you right in the eyes.

You saw this as a chance to open up, so you did.

"Can I tell you something?- Actually you know what, I'll say it right away," You took a deep breath, Wednesday looking at you in confusion- and hope.

"I...like you, Addams. I've liked you since our first conversation ever, which was, I think, two months ago...yeah. I like you. Heh," You spoke fast, too fast.

The raven haired girl stared at you in awe, you were worried that she wasn't comfortable about this.

To ease the tension, you spoke again, "Look, I know you don't like me back and such, but-"

Wednesday cut you off by pressing her lips against yours. Your body jolted by the sudden gesture but you joined the kiss right away. You cupped her cheeks and smiled to the kiss, confident that Wednesday could sense your happiness. The kiss was soft and passionate. Wednesday's lips felt good on yours. You tried to extend the duration by heating up the kiss. The two of you enjoyed this moment too much. Too much, the both of you were obsessed with eachother already.

-----

Wednesday entered Ophelia Hall quietly, which startled her roommate a little when she heard the door close.

"Oh Wednesday! So, how'd it go?" Enid asked, elongating her words.

"Nothing much happened." Wednesday shrugged and walked over to her typewriter.

"Aww man! But tell me, what happened there?" Her roommate asked out of curiosity.

"I became her girlfriend." Wednesday replied, starting to type on her typewriter.

At that moment, the room was filled with Enid's squeals of excitement. She also did a victory dance, which slightly annoyed Wednesday. But she was also slightly happy that she now has a thing with you.

[motzgurke]

Seasons change

Needed to write something because his goddam puppy eyes in the last chapter are stuck on my mind. Just some thoughts about his progress throughout the story

Words: ~2700

Fluff, comfort

You moaned tiredly as a soft touch on your cheek woke you slowly from the land of dreams. As your eyes blinked open your gaze met the mismatched orbs of your boyfriend illuminated by the silver moonlight shining through a gap between your curtains. The soft light accentuated his round cheeks and the dual-colored silky strands framing his gentle expression. You returned the small smile he blessed you with and yawned again, delicately stretching your limbs beneath your blanket. “Hey”, you whispered and cupped his hand still stroking your cheek with your own, relishing in the soft feeling of their warmth.

“Hello, love”, Shoto answered quietly and watched in awe as you snuggled further into his touch, “I’m sorry for waking you up.” You took a deep breath and then slowly sat up in your bed, drawing him up with you as you kept his hand in yours. With a small shake of your head, you dismissed his apologetic gaze. “It’s fine, but why are you up? How late is it?”, you asked and turned to the clock on your nightstand, reading 0:14 AM. As you glanced back at him, one eyebrow drawn up in confusion, you noticed a tinge of pink on his cheekbones, his free hand rising to comb through his unruly hair, “I couldn’t sleep and thought you might take a walk with me?” He seemed a bit shy as you responded with a short laugh, pulling the blankets from your legs. For someone who was usually easy to fall asleep and hard to wake up, Shoto seemed awfully energetic in the middle of the night, the only indication that he had indeed tried to do so were a few stray strands of red and white pointing in random directions.

Carefully your reached up and evened a few of the hairs out, gaining you a pleased purr from your boyfriend. Sometimes your heart felt like exploding when he was this cute, so different from when you had first met him at the beginning of your U.A. career. You had to admit that the first thing you thought about him was what an arrogant rich bastard he probably was, at least that was what you had figured after he had ignored every attempt of indulging him into a friendly conversation. He was powerful, handsome, and intelligent, to be fair he still is, but at that time this seemed to be enough to make him think he wouldn’t need anyone, least of all someone like a friend. But since the sports festival, Shoto had changed so much, opening up and making friends at some point, he had even apologized to you for his rude behavior and from there you two had grown closer and closer, ultimately resulting in your current relationship.

You couldn’t be happier. As time passed you had learned that Shoto was the kindest person you had ever met, silently caring and protecting others without a second thought, smart but dumb at the same time with his lack of social skills that had made you laugh more than once. When you started dating you sometimes had the feeling that you were slowing him down, preventing him from going on his own adventures, making his own mistakes by binding him to you, but along the way, he had more than once reassured you that he enjoyed the time with you. “You’re not slowing me down. If it wasn’t for your guiding hand I probably would have missed so many things already.”

The memory of the day kept your heart warm, despite the disturbing thoughts that had sometimes crossed your mind. And since the war had started, destroying the faith in the society and sowing doubt and fear in the people, it was one of the few things that kept you going, overcoming the struggles you were put through and the fact that Shoto was by your side no matter what made you believe in a bright future.

You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t noticed how you were already standing next to him, not till he draped his jacket over your shoulder did your mind set back into reality.

“Something on your mind?”, Shoto asked with worry written over his features and you answered with a pleasant smile leaning back against his chest. “You. You are always on my mind”, you teased and turned your head to plant a gentle kiss on his jaw, sending a delightful shiver down his spine before you turned back to open the door. As Shoto tried to calm his beating heart you carefully tip-toed through the dorm halls until you reached the entrance and closed the door behind you.

The night was chilly and you pulled his jacket closer around your shivering form, but as usual, Shoto was instantly by your side intertwining your fingers to share his warmth with you. It still didn’t sit right with you to abuse his quirk like this, but you had learned your lesson after countless arguments in which he reassured you that he wanted to do it and he actually enjoyed keeping you close to him. Some people might mistake his behavior for possessiveness but actions like this were Shoto’s way of showing his affection. He wasn’t good with words, and instead settled for smaller but meaningful touches, which reminded him of the days his mother used to hold him when he was upset and wanted to recreate the embrace that had protected him from breaking apart during his darkest hours.

The campus was unusually quiet as you walked down the path hands joined and slightly swinging with your movement. In between the ruins of a once lively and bright city, it wasn’t possible to see anything but the black ceiling above, but these days where the lights have long gone out and the people were seeking shelter in the hero schools across the country the nights have become quiet and lonely. Despite the bone-crushing happenings you couldn’t help but admire the sky above, brighter than ever as millions of stars were visible for the first time in forever, the artificial lights had blocked them out for so long that a glistening ceiling like this felt more like a dream than reality. But maybe this dream was what the people needed, seeing that despite the chaos raging outside the U.A. walls there was still something beautiful, something to fill their hearts with joy, even if it was just a tiny glimmer of hope.

“I never thought I could miss something like the sky. I had always taken it for granted and now it feels like the first time I’m actually looking at it”, you admitted and let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The battles had taken a toll on you, on everyone, and since the situation had settled down a bit you had started to ask yourself what other wonders you had missed in your life. Shoto seemed to agree with you as you felt him squeeze your hand gently. The way his eyes were fixed on the ground made him look like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should, so you leaned closer. “What is troubling you?”, you asked and leaned closer waiting for him to find the right words.

His eyes darted back and forth, expression changing so fast that you weren’t sure what he was thinking right now, but somehow despite his inner turmoil, Shoto held onto the peace he had found along the way. You had been so worried after the Dabi-Toya incident, fearing what it might have done to his fragile feelings, but against all odds after a short amount of time he had seemed to cope, no, he seemed to have calmed down even more. The new shine in his eyes had caught you off guard, while everybody else was drowning in self-doubt, Shoto had found a new will to fight. His eyes slowly drifted up to the sky, features softening even more as he dreamily stared at the glistening stars above. “I thought this sky was mocking me. The moon and stars shining so easily while down below the world was dying”, his face scrunched in agony and your heart skipped a beat.

His expression reminded you so much of the day you saw him sitting in the hospital bed, severely burned by his brother’s flames that you immediately stopped in your tracks and turned in front of him, throwing your arms over his shoulders until you were pressed flush against him. The tears you chocked back were the same as that day, you had felt so powerless while Shoto had to put up with a wave of despair, drowning in a flood of emotions he didn’t know he was able to feel. If it wasn’t for the arrival of his family and the kind words of his mother you wouldn’t have known what you were supposed to do. You had comforted him before, but the exhaustion had made you vulnerable enough that you hadn’t been able to catch yourself, lest him from falling.

On that day you had met Rei Todoroki for the first time. To your sheer surprise, she hadn’t said a single word instead she had rushed over to her son in your arms and without hesitation had pulled the both of you into her soft embrace. Instantly the trembling in your body died away as you froze on the spot, despite her cool touch it was the most comforting hug you had ever received, the image you had of her vanished and left the picture of a loving mother. If this was the feeling she ignited in Shoto you understood why he cherished her so much.

When she had pulled away slightly you looked at her dumbfounded, releasing your tight hold on Shoto to let him turn to his mother. Rei had the softest smile as she stopped you from leaving his side, holding your hand while the other ruffled his dual-colored hair. “You must be the one Shoto had told me about in his letters. Thank you for being with my son.”

A long talk followed when Fuyumi and Natsuo joined the three of you. Without a doubt, they had included you in their familiarity, the pressure of the situation clearly visible on their expressions but they still shared their thoughts with you, showing how much they cared despite the rumors picturing them as a broken family. And somehow they were, it was obvious how each of them carried their own package, but at the same time, they seemed to have grown with their hurt, carrying on to reach their desired future. It was inspiring to see them interact, treating you like a part of the family had you in tears.

It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but the thought that Shoto had such lovely people caring for him, released a lot of weight from your shoulders. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to care about him, but working through both your troubles had taken its toll on you, now that you knew he would always be in good hands, the worries in your heart subsided.

 The fact that his distressed expression had returned to his face caught you by surprise and you had acted on instinct, your touch was one of the few things that would always help steady him. Even more surprising was that when he pulled back enough to look into your eyes he was not the slightest bit disturbed, instead, a soft smile was adorning his lips, eyes hooded with pure fondness. “Thank you so much”, he whispered and leaned in, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. Meanwhile one of his hands found a spot on your waist, rubbing circles on your squishy flesh while the other held your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “Sometimes I don’t understand how I deserve you.”

You stiffened, “Shoto…” But before you could start to scold him he guided one of your hands to his scarred cheek, turning it slightly in his hold to kiss your palm. “I know”, was everything he said, but the look in his eyes made your heart flutter. He seemed so confident in his feelings, totally different from a few weeks before, a new light shining in his eyes. In just a few weeks he had changed again, getting impossibly gentler in his interactions and opening up more and more. You were impressed how he was able to grow so much from the terrors he had faced, turning the downs up and walking further ahead with even more conviction.

The confusion must have been written obviously on your face as the heavenly sound of his voice reached your ears, “Did I say something?” His now again serious demeanor shook you even more, the person in front of you looked like Shoto but his aura was so different. “Are you really Shoto?”, you whispered and immediately clasped your hands over your mouth in embarrassment. You felt kind of rude to question his newfound confidence like that and turned your gaze down to your feet, “I’m sorry.”

He chuckled and your cheeks flared up with the realization of how easy he had laughed, it had always been a rare sight and you had treasured every single one of the few memories you had of him doing so. But the sound of his chuckle was so carefree and gentle that your heart went into overdrive. “Are you not feeling well? Your cheeks are burning”, he stated and that is when you lost it, bursting out in laughter as tears ran down your cheeks.

Shoto was more than confused by your weird change in behavior, but as he heard your lovely voice he just relished in the sound and patiently waited for you to calm down. It has been so long since he had last seen you so happy, that he couldn’t bring himself to stop you on his own. The guilt of burdening you with his struggles had been gnawing at him for ages, but with time he had discovered that you genuinely cared enough about him to aid him with your possibilities. Not once had you asked for something in return, rather giving than receiving, so these seconds when he was able to make you happy, even if it was just as simple as keeping you warm while he made you walk through a cold night or make you laugh with his denseness, he made sure to do so.

You had become his safe heaven and if Shoto could wish for only one thing in this world, it was to be yours. Your place to come home to, your person to draw your beautiful smiles out. Whenever he was stuck on the ground you pulled him up, showing him the beauty of the blue ceiling called sky he wouldn’t have spared a single thought before and whenever you risked flying too high, he was already there to catch you. Shoto wasn’t sure if it was okay to feel so many things for a single person, but you had taught him so much and still are, that he couldn’t care less if someone thought ill of it.

When your laughter died down, you saw Shoto gazing up again, then his mismatched eyes shifted to you, filled with affection a thousand words couldn’t describe. “I had taken the sky for granted too”, his serious tone drew your attention to him, “I didn’t understand how something so simple can make you feel so much.” Your eyes turned up again but focused on the reflection of the stars in his eyes.

No, this definitely wasn’t the Shoto you had met months ago, the Shoto that was cold and unyielding, eyes filled with burning hatred while he relentlessly pushed himself forward.

This was a new Shoto, a caring, gentle soul, becoming a hero to protect. Still reaching for his goals, but accepting that it’s okay to take a break to heal his wounds and that it’s okay to accept help, who knew that small things are enough to change a person, who now could cry and laugh and cherish without hesitation.

Both, you and he knew that the battle was far from over. There were still so many problems to solve, the first one rescuing his brother from his despair, but if you were sure of one thing then it was that this new Shoto would be strong enough to do so.

And when the seasons change, you would still be by his side because together, there wasn’t a sky you couldn’t reach.