#it was a while back but i think the world is ready to see them now

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main short part 2

This was not supposed to be this long. It just kept getting longer, just kept going. I found a cut-off point eventually, but there may actually be a part 3 to what was supposed to be a very short little piece. Whoops. (part 1)

Jason never had the time to be concerned about his words when he was young. Neither did anyone else around him. His dad couldn’t be bothered with anything to do with him, and Jason would have been surprised if Willis actually knew what his words were. His mother was more confused by them then anything else, and even then that was only in her rarer sober moments.

Then Jason moved in with Bruce. Dick wasn’t around much when he lived in the Manor. He had just started tolerating him when Jason had died. Dick probably knew what the words were, but they had never discussed it with each other, and Jason couldn’t begin to guess what his opinion was on them back then. 

Bruce used to entertain his fantasies of trying to think up different scenarios his words could be said in, both of them trying to make the funniest good outcome. It became a game they played when bored on stakeouts, obviously keeping the contents of the words private while playing. To be fair, there were a lot of good and funny scenarios. But they lived in Gotham, and Jason had experienced enough of the world, even at that young age, that he understood the likeliness of a bad scenario.

And then he died. And he didn’t think about his words for a very long time. Too busy training and plotting. Busy coming back to Gotham, enacting his plans and building a criminal empire. He barely remembered them himself until he was back in Gotham, operating as the Red Hood, with a trail of bodies behind him.

Assassin training, heads in a duffel bag, counts of arson, and leader of a gang, Jason was not the same kid he used to be. There were few scenarios in which his words could be said that he couldn’t come to understand. And he was at a point in his life where he could find room for a soulmate again. He was settled, secure as the anti-hero of Crime Alley, tenuous agreement with the Bats and all. He had even been by the Manor to have tea with Alfred. 

Arkham breakouts were old hat to everyone in Gotham. Citizens bunkering down, and Bats readying themselves to round up whoever made it out this time. However, this was the first Arkham breakout since his plan with Bruce and the Joker failed. The first since his agreement with the Bats to use non-lethal means. When Jason heard that it was the Joker that had broken out, he planned to kill him, truce be damned.

The Bats could probably deduce that, it was too soon into the truce for any real change to have been made. And this was the Joker. So now it was a race to see who could get to him first. 

Luckily (in this instance), Jason’s base is much closer to Arkham than the Bats. So while they are all stuck driving in from the better parts of town, Jason is already chasing the Joker down alleys. 

Joker is laughing, practically skipping away as if this is a game, and Jason almost loses him as he turns a corner he didn’t see. Jason can hear the Joker laughing, starting to speak. Probably to taunt him again. Then the sound cuts off with a choke and a thud.

Jason turns the corner to see Joker laid out flat, nose bleeding and neck at a funny ankle. A choked breath escapes him, and he looks around to see a man leaning against the alley wall.

The man’s hands are shaking, breaths choppy, and there's a bit of blood on his right hand.

Jason takes a deep breath, which causes the man to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Jason takes in the scene again. And then again, hardly daring to hope even with the evidence in front of him. 

“Is he dead?” Jason asks softly. The man turns to face him, and Jason takes a glove off and slowly, hesitantly, checks the Joker’s pulse.

“Look, in my defense…” The man trails off, looking to the heavens for a moment. “I really fucking hate clowns.” 

Jason, hope fully settled in as the Joker remains still and lifeless on the ground, pulse non-existent against his fingertips, almost laughs. Then his brain does a record scratch. Rewind. Replays the words ‘Look, in my defense’ over again, head shooting up to look at the man who just killed the Joker. 

Jason takes his other glove off, standing. He takes a step towards the man, pushing up his sleeve. The man seems nervous at his advance, watching him warily until Jason uncovers the words on his arm. The cover falls to the ground behind him as he takes another step forward. 

The man’s eyes light up in realization, and he also rushes to push up his sleeve. One more step forward and they are right in front of each other. Arms held up, brushing together as they show each other their marks.

Left forearms pressed together in the space in front of them, one reading ‘Is he dead?’ and the other “Look, in my defense.’. 

The man laughs and Jason takes in the sound of it, the happiness in his eyes as he looks up at him. Jason slowly reaches up to remove his helmet, domino still on underneath it, and lets it fall to the alley floor as well.

“You’re amazing.” Jason breaths out, hand reaching up to cup the stranger’s, his soulmate’s cheek. “You have no idea what you’ve just done for me.”

“Little bit of manslaughter.” He laughs. “Didn’t think it would be received this well.”

Jason smiles in response. “I would worship you for this, if you’d let me. I will never stop thanking you.” 

“Oh.” The man gasps, breath hitching. Jason, one hand still on his cheek, thumb stroking underneath his eye, places his other hand on the man’s waist and backs him up to the alley wall. Deliberately slowly, watching the man as he takes a deep breath, licks his lips, and lets himself be moved.

“Tell me your name and I’ll start right now.” Jason whispers.

“Danny.” The word is breathy and low, only heard due to Jason’s close proximity. 

“Danny.” Jason repeats his name like an anthem and a prayer. Prepared to give his life for this man already. And then kisses him, pressing his lips to his softly, reverently. Wanting to hold this moment forever.

[dissapointu]

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

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

It would be pretty cool in my opinion.

Have a wonderful day\night.

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

Jinx-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sevika-

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

But you were… different.

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

But then you surprised her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silco -

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

But then you appeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what’s that?”

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

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

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

Vander -

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

But then, there was you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ekko -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the moment Ekko fell. Completely, irreversibly.

Jayce -

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In that moment, he knew he was a goner.

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

And it apparently led to you.

Viktor-

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was the first moment he realized you were different.

It wasn’t the last.

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

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

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

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

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

You glanced up, surprised. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pickingupmymercedes]

34+35 - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: 34 + 35 - Ariana Grande

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: smut (these photos of him in a garage did something to me)

wordcount: +3k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER THE CUT, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

The heavy click of your heels echoes through the foyer, mingling with the faint hum of music drifting from the living room.

You drop your keys on the console, the sound loud enough to announce your arrival but soft enough not to interrupt him—because of course, he’s home.

And of course, he’s doing something maddeningly nonchalant while you’re practically vibrating with tension from your day.

You walk in, ready to unload the day’s chaos onto the nearest chair—or him, whichever happens first.

But the sight that greets you brings you to a sudden halt. There he is, sitting on the couch in a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted white tank top, his body draped over the cushions like he owns the world.

His curls are loose, a few even falling into his face as he scrolls through photos on his tablet, the soft light of the screen casting a golden glow over his sharp jawline.

Your eyes flick to the photos for a split second, and there it is: him, in his new +44 merch, leaning against a vintage car in the shot, all casual dominance and smoldering eyes.

You swear under your breath. You’re already unraveling.

Lewis looks up and smirks, that slow, knowing grin that’s half amusement, half challenge. “Tough day? Or just can’t get enough of me?”

You roll your eyes, stepping out of your shoes and setting them by the sofa to buy yourself a moment. “Both” you mutter, brushing off the comment.

He sets the tablet down, leaning back into the couch with his arms stretched out over the backrest, watching you with the kind of lazy attention that makes your pulse skitter. ��Hungry?”

“Starving.” The word slips out before you can think better of it, and his eyebrows rise just slightly.

“For what, exactly?”

“Lewis,” you warn, though it’s a weak attempt. You’re already losing the battle against the smile threatening to tug at your lips.

“What?” His tone is innocent, but the glint in his eyes betrays him. “Your body is telling me something, you know.

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the arm of the couch to look down at him waiting for him to go on.

“Come here, love. Tell me what is it.” He gestures lazily toward the space next to him.

You hesitate. Part of you wants to sink into the cushions beside him, let his calm energy wrap around you. But the other part—the part still running on adrenaline from back-to-back meetings and decisions—won’t let you.

You shake your head, staying where you are.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, your voice just a little too tight. “The usual chaos. Nothing worth rehashing.”

Lewis tilts his head, studying you like he’s deciding whether to push. He knows you too well, and it’s infuriating how easily he can see through the armor you’ve spent years perfecting.

“Huh” he says finally, his voice slow. “So, you’re pacing the room like you’re about to go to war for fun?”

“I’m not pacing” you shoot back, realizing too late that you’ve taken at least three steps toward the kitchen without thinking.

He laughs, the sound low and warm, cutting through the static in your mind. “Sure, love.”

You glance back at him, narrowing your eyes. He meets your gaze, holding it with a calm steadiness that makes your stomach flip.

“You’ve got that look, you know” he says, his voice softening slightly.

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re trying not to lose it, but you’re already halfway there.”

You exhale sharply, your shoulders sagging just a fraction. He’s not wrong, and the admission stings more than it should. You hate how easily he can disarm you, but there’s a comfort in it too, in the way he sees you even when you’d rather stay hidden.

“Maybe I am” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lewis’s expression shifts, the teasing fading into something softer, more intentional. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches you before getting up and reaching you on the kitchen.

“Come here,” he says again, his tone firmer this time, leaving no room for argument.

And for once, you don’t argue. You take the steps that separate you and settle in his arms, hoping the day would begin to loosen its grip on you.

But regardless of how comforting is the weight of Lewis around you, it’s not enough to quiet the restless buzz in your chest. You stand there rigidly, your back straight and your arms folded like they’re holding the last shards of your resolve together.

Lewis’s thumb rubs slow circles against your back, and while the motion is meant to soothe, it only makes the energy under your skin prickle more.

“You’re still wound up” he says softly, the observation maddeningly accurate. “What’s got you so tense?”

“Nothing” you reply curtly, eyes fixed on the far wall. The response is clipped enough to make him chuckle.

“Liar.”

Your head snaps toward him, a glare aimed to warn him off. But Lewis only smiles, his arm slipping so he can lean forward and face you fully.

“I’m serious,” he says, his tone shifting to that deliberate calm that somehow grates against the storm inside you. “You walked in here looking like you wanted to fight me and the furniture, and now you’re here like the world owes you a fight.”

“I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

“No?” He tilts his head, clearly unconvinced. His gaze sweeps over you, and you can feel the weight of it like a spotlight, exposing every crack in your composure.

“You look like you could use some unwinding” he says, his voice low and careful not to push too far.

“I’m fine,” you snap, the edge in your voice sharper than you intended. “Can we not do this right now?”

Lewis lets out a soft hum of acknowledgment, leaning back against a stool at the kitchen island as his eyes linger on you. “Sure. We don’t have to do this. But you know you’re not just gonna sit there and stew all night.”

You roll your eyes and stand abruptly, pacing around under the guise of needing water. It’s an excuse to put space between you and him, though you can feel his eyes on you the entire time.

“You always do this” you mutter under your breath, reaching for a glass.

“Do what?” he asks, following you like a shadow you can’t shake.

“This.” You gesture vaguely toward him, spinning around to find him leaning casually closer, now against the counter, arms crossed and a smirk playing at his lips. “This thing where you sit here all calm and collected, acting like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I do?”

The nonchalance in his voice makes your teeth grind, and he knows it. He shifts closer, his hand brushing against your arm as he takes the glass from you and sets it back further on the counter.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet command.

“I don’t need to talk. I need—” The words catch in your throat, your pulse quickening as his gaze locks onto yours.

“What?” His tone is steady, unrelenting.

You hesitate, your lips pressing into a tight line. You hate that he can read you so well, that he knows exactly how to dismantle the walls you’ve spent all day reinforcing.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, the admission bitter on your tongue.

Lewis steps closer, his presence cornering you until there’s nowhere to hide. He reaches out, brushing his thumb on your cheek. “Sure, you don’t” he says softly, his thumb grazing dangerously close to the corner of your mouth.

And that touch is enough to send a crack through your resolve, and the frustration bubbling inside spills over.

“I need you to fuck me senseless so I can get out of my head” you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

The moment hangs in the air, thick and electric. His hand drops from your cheek, and for a heartbeat, he’s still. But then his expression shifts, his smirk sharpening.

“Finally,” he murmurs, the word more to himself than to you.

Your heart races as he closes any of the distance left between you two. His hands find your hips, pulling you flush against him, and his eyes meet yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

“Senseless you say?” he half asks, his voice low and edged with challenge.

You glare at him, refusing to back down. “Right here and now.”

His grin widens, wicked and unapologetic. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

And he’s spinning you around, your back now pressed against the cool marble of the kitchen island. His hands are on you, firm and deliberate, and all the tension you’ve been carrying—the frustration, the restlessness, the overwhelming need— finally begins to slip.

Lewis’s lips claim yours with an urgency that leaves no room for overthinking, his hands gripping your hips like he’s anchoring you to him. Your breath hitches as his mouth moves to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin while his hands roam, tugging at your blouse to free you from it.

He isn’t soft, and you don’t want him to be. You want the fire, the friction, the rawness that only he can give you.

"You're still in your head," he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice a low rumble that makes your stomach tighten.

"Am not" you lie, though even you can hear the tension in your voice.

Lewis pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding up your sides, his thumbs brushing the bare skin at your waist. His gaze is piercing, like he can see every thought you’re desperately trying to bury.

"Yes, you are" he counters, his tone steady, assured. "But I’ve got you"

The words hit something deep, something tender, and you swallow hard, gripping the edge of the counter to steady yourself. But Lewis isn’t having it. His hands leave your waist only to slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the island.

"You’re going to let go, babe" he says firmly, stepping between your legs. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider as he leans in. "I’ll make sure of it."

A sharp retort rises to your lips, but it dies the moment his mouth captures yours again. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, then his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if holding onto him might keep you from drowning in your own thoughts.

"I hate how you do this" you mumble against his lips, your voice a mix of frustration and surrender.

"Yeah?" His lips curve into a teasing smile, but his hands are anything but playful. They slide up your thighs, gripping firmly before tugging at the waistband of your pants.

"How you make me need you" you admit, the words cutting through the fog in your mind like a blade.

Lewis leans back just enough to meet your gaze, his expression softening even as his hands remain possessive on your hips. "That’s not something you need to hate" he says, his voice a low murmur.

Before you can respond, his hands move again, sliding your pants down and over your hips, leaving you only in your lingerie.

"Look at me," he says softly, tipping your chin up with his fingers when your wonders.

The intensity in his eyes pins you in place, grounding you in a way that makes your head spin. You feel the fight in you start to waver, your grip on control slipping with every deliberate touch, every whispered word.

"You’re here with me" he continues, his other hand trailing up your thigh. "Stay with me, Y/n."

"I’m trying" you whisper, the words thick with frustration.

"I know" he replies, his tone gentle but unyielding. His fingers graze the inside of your thigh, teasing but firm, and you can’t help the moan you let out.

The way he says it, like he knows you better than you know yourself. You exhale shakily, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, your hands clutching at his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

"I hate how much I need this" you confess, your voice muffled against his skin.

"No, you don’t" he murmurs, his hands tightening on your thighs as he pulls you closer.

The next moments blur together in a haze of heat and motion. His lips are everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, the sensitive skin just below your ear.

The cold of the marble beneath you is a fleeting sensation, eclipsed entirely by the warmth of his body pressed against yours. He’s meticulous, demanding and reverent, as if he’s determined to strip away not just your clothes but every ounce of tension you’ve carried with you.

And he does. Piece by piece, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left but you and him and the steady, grounding rhythm of his movements.

His hands leave your body for only a moment as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and underwear, shedding them in a single motion.

You can’t help but reach out, your hands instinctively finding him, wrapping around the hard length of his dick with a confidence that earns you a raised brow and a teasing smirk.

"Handsy, aren’t we?" he quips, his voice warm with amusement, though there’s also a hunger there.

You don’t bother with a response, too focused on the weight of him in your palm, the way his skin feels hot and smooth against your fingers. But your grip tightens slightly, and he inhales sharply, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by primal need.

Lewis leans down, one hand bracing the counter beside you while the other trails up your thigh. When he glances at you, his intentions are clear.

He’s going down on you.

The thought of his mouth on you, of him taking his time, should be enough to unravel the tight coil of frustration lodged in your chest. But it doesn’t.

Instead, the restless energy intensifies, and the idea of waiting—of anything standing between you and the rawness you crave—makes your pulse hammer in protest.

Your hand shoots out, fingers grasping at his biceps and tugging just enough to make him stop.

“Don’t,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended.

Lewis freezes, his eyes snapping up to yours. For a moment, there’s confusion there, a flicker of surprise that quickly softens into something more intentional.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice low, careful, as his hands pause on your thighs. He searches your face like he’s trying to read between the lines of what you’re not saying.

Instead of answering, you pull his body against yours, locking your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, leaving no space for doubt.

That’s all he needs.

Lewis captures your lips in a kiss that’s all consuming, swallowing the moan that escapes you as he presses closer. His hands grip your thighs, positioning you at just the right angle, and then he’s there, pressing into you in a way that forces every other thought from your mind.

Even after all this time, the first stretch always takes your breath away. The sheer girth of him, the way he fills every inch of you, is something that never fails to surprise you.

A gasp escapes your lips, muffled against his mouth, and he groans in response, his forehead dropping to yours as he steadies himself.

Lewis adjusts his grip on your thighs, his fingers pressing into your skin with enough force to leave marks that will bloom tomorrow—an unspoken promise of this moment lingering long after.

He draws back, his cock sliding almost all the way out before slamming into you again, forcing a broken cry from your lips.

"That's it," he growls, his voice low and commanding. "I know you want to run that mouth of yours, but I don’t think you can right now, can you?"

The words should irritate you—no, they do irritate you—but any retort you might have had dissolves into a moan when he grinds his hips just right, hitting that devastating angle that makes your vision blur.

Your mind tries to fight back, to form some kind of response, something sharp and biting to remind him you’re not completely undone.

"Thought so," he says smugly, his teeth catching your bottom lip in a brief, punishing tug. His thrusts grow harder, more deliberate, and your head falls back against the cool surface of the island.

"You’ve been in your head all day, haven’t you? Spinning, overthinking. Let’s see if I can’t fuck all those thoughts right out of you."

You want to argue. But every time you’re on the verge of saying something, he pulls out nearly to the tip and drives back in, stealing the air from your lungs.

Fuck him.

Fuck this.

Why does he have to feel this fucking good?

"You’re too quiet, baby," he taunts, his hands shifting to grab at your waist, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter so he can pound into you even deeper.

The sharp slap of his skin against yours echoes in the room, drowning out your ragged breaths. "Where’s that smart mouth now? The one giving orders all day?"

Your fingers dig into his arms, desperate for something to ground you. "Lew" you manage to choke out, though your voice is barely audible over the obscene sounds of your bodies colliding.

"Don’t worry, I’m just getting started." he replies, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He adjusts his angle slightly, and the next thrust makes your toes curl and your back arch off the counter.

Your mind tries to claw back some semblance of control, some internal quip to distract from the overwhelming sensations, but it’s useless.

Every sharp comment that tries to form is obliterated the moment he moves, his hips driving into you with unrelenting precision.

"You feel that?" he growls, his voice rough with exertion. His hand slides up your stomach, between your breasts, until his fingers wrap lightly around your throat—just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.

"That’s me pulling you out of that head of yours. Don’t think, babe. Just feel."

You’re too far gone to respond, but he doesn’t need you to. His pace picks up, relentless and punishing, the rough drag of his cock against your walls pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his tone darkly satisfied. "You’re mine right now, aren’t you? Just me and my cock on that pretty little head of your."

You can’t argue. You can’t even think of a reason to try. Your mind is blank, your body a live wire under his control, every nerve ending tuned to the rhythm he’s setting.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Let go for me. I’ve got you."

And with one more thrust—perfect, devastating, him—you do.

The world felt like it had shattered into fragments, each piece scattered too far for you to grasp.

You lay there on the cool counter, body limp, chest heaving, utterly boneless. Reality was an abstract concept—one you weren’t even sure you wanted to return to.

When Lewis pulled out, you barely noticed. It was only the warm sensation spreading across your stomach of his seed on your skin that registered somewhere deep in the recesses of your fogged mind.

But even that didn’t fully bring you back. Not yet.

It wasn’t until his hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your warmed up skin, that your senses began to reassemble themselves.

Your eyes fluttered open to find him watching you with satisfaction, his dark eyes searching your face. His curls damp with sweat, and his lips were swollen from all the kisses you’d stolen—or he’d stolen from you.

Either way, he looked unfairly good for someone who had just ruined you.

"Okay?" he murmured softly, his thumb pausing in its gentle stroke as he waited for your response.

You blinked up at him, still too blissed out to form words. Instead, you gave a slow, deliberate nod.

"Yeah?" he pressed, his voice dipping into that soothing tone he always used when you were at your most vulnerable. His other hand joined the first, cradling your face now, as if you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

Another nod. Your lips parted to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse, barely-there whisper. "On my stomach?"

His lips quirked into a cocky grin, the sharp contrast to his earlier gentleness making you want to smack him—if you had the strength.

"A little souvenir" he echoed, his tone playful but still laced with warmth. He leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Would you rather a creampie"

"Shut up," you muttered, your voice gaining a little strength now.

"You didn’t want me to shut up earlier," he teased, his thumbs sweeping over your cheekbones. "In fact, I think the words you used were—what was it?—‘fuck me senseless.’"

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the counter.

Lewis chuckled, the sound low and warm. "As long as you’re feeling better"

He kissed your forehead, soft and lingering, and you sighed, feeling a strange sense of peace settle over you. Your body was still thrumming from everything he’d done to you, but your mind—your perpetually spinning, overanalyzing mind—was finally still.

And damn it, as much as you hated to admit it, he’d been right.

"Yeah, yeah," you grumbled, closing your eyes again as his hand smoothed over your skin "Congrats. You shut me up."

"Didn’t shut you up" he corrected, his voice brimming with that maddening mix of confidence and affection. "Got you out of your head. Big difference."

Your eyes fluttered open, still hazy with the remnants of satisfaction, and found him staring down at you with a stupidly smug grin.

"Right," you muttered, voice scratchy, "I’m going to clean myself up." Your hand motioned lazily to the sticky trail now spreading down on your thighs, the remnants of him painting your skin.

Lewis stepped back, making no effort to stop you as you slid off the counter, your legs wobbling a little before you caught your balance. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, that same infuriatingly cocky smile plastered on his face.

As you padded down the hallway, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes trailing after you. Halfway to your bedroom, you stopped abruptly, glancing over your shoulder to catch him watching you, leaning there like he didn’t have a care in the world.

"You coming, or are you just going to stand there?" you called back, one brow arching as you let your eyes rake over him for emphasis.

His grin widened, his gaze dipping shamelessly down your body. "I am coming," he replied, pushing off the counter with a slow, deliberate motion. "Just didn’t want to rush and miss the view."

You rolled your eyes and turned back around, but the small, satisfied smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Typical him. Always cocky. Always exactly what you needed.

_____________________________________________________________

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[etclouie]

hey sugar, for your celebration event (congrats btw) could you write the prompt below with our lovely spencer please? if not completely okay

“Just calm down, things will be fine.”

“My wife is being held at gunpoint and you think now is a suitable time to tell me to calm down.”

˚୨୧⋆｡ prompt/s; “Just calm down, things will be fine.” “My wife is being held at gunpoint and you think now is a suitable time to tell me to calm down.” — from 50 dialogue prompts

˚୨୧⋆｡ warnings; husband!spencer, reader is kidnapped/at gunpoint but it’s not described, just spencer battling internally with his worries, angst kinda, if i missed anything lmk

˚୨୧⋆｡ a/n; send reqs pretty please🫶

— celebrate 600 with me?

the sound of muffled footsteps trailed throughout the dark alley, just beyond the warehouse doors. 

inside, Spencer was pacing frantically, his mind running in every direction— but always back to you. 

ever since you had started dating Spencer, and then marrying him, the mere thought of you always seemed to calm him down. 

but now, now was the opposite. 

his hands were shaking and his breath shallow. every thought about you turning into a worry if they’d get to you in time or not. 

“Spence, stop pacing”

Dereks voice pulled him from his thoughts, even if just for a minute. his voice firm despite his efforts to calm down Spencer. 

“just calm down, things’ll be fine”

he continued, his hands grasping Spencer’s shoulders to try and still him but Spencer jerked away. his eyes wide with panic as he started pacing again. 

“my wife is being held at gunpoint and you think now is a suitable time to tell me to calm down?!”

Spencer’s voice cracked, the frustration mixing with the raw fear that churned in his chest.

every breath he took made it harder for him to stop thinking of you, of holding you against his chest and never letting go again. 

“i get it, but right now losing your head won’t help her. we need you focussed”

Derek continued trying to soothe him, and despite his restraints another sigh fell from Spencer’s lips. 

Spencer clenched his fists as he stared at the floor, trying to force the fear down. yet his thoughts still ran straight back to you. 

the fear of seeing you hurt overtook every feeling he had in that moment, the thought being his worst nightmare. 

“she’s strong”

Derek added quietly, watching as Spencer tilted his head to meet Dereks eyes before he nodded slowly. 

“she can handle herself”

Spencer’s breath hitched at that. he knew it was true, hell he was the one that taught you how to defend yourself. 

but the idea of you handling yourself in a dangerous situation like this was something Spencer admired about you, but it only made his helplessness gnaw harder at his insides in this moment. 

he wasn’t there. he wasn’t able to protect you. 

“i don’t know if i can do this”

Spencer blurted out, his voice quiet but Derek still heard him. speaking to himself mainly instead of to Derek.

“we’ll get her back”

Derek said, his voice unwavering as he held Spencer’s gaze. the eye contact make him anxious, pulling away and scratching at his neck as the worry continued to bubble in his belly. 

"you’re gonna get her back, but you have to stay with us. we need you to think clearly."

a moment of silence passed between them, Spencer still trying to steady his breathing while his eyes flickered to the door of the warehouse. 

every second felt like an eternity. 

Spencer swallowed hard, trying to push back the questions spinning around his head. he couldn’t imagine a world without you in it, he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. 

you were his anchor, his reason for getting up every day�� his being to see you smile each and every day. but now, now he was powerless to protect you. 

“let’s get her back”

he finally spoke, voice hoarse but determined. 

Derek gave him a curt nod, both of them moving toward the door and ready to act. Spencer on his left, the weight of the world on his shoulder but with one goal in his head— but he wasn’t alone. 

not this time, not while they still had a chance.

⋆˚࿔ reblogs are highly appreciated 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[literatelyobsessive]

done for the night

axel kovacevic x reader

author's note ⋆｡𖦹 ✮ ‧₊˚✩彡

hiiiii this is my first fic for any CK character so i'm kinda nervous. hope u like it. i started a pt. 2 already bc i just love axel but i also wanna write him in different scenarios as well! will open my requests asap :)

c.w.

s6pt2 spoilers, drinking.

being in barcelona was a dream. you were grateful that you were able to tag along with the miyagi do's. sensei larusso and sensei lawerence always liked you, especially johnny. being miguel's best friend is a privilege you were happy to have. sure, it came with a lot of drama but it also came with a protector, a group of friends, and some karate skills.

plus, being miyagi do's water girl wasn't a bad deal for being flown out to barcelona.

you were enjoying being on the inside of all the events while not needing to fight. the first couple of rounds you seen were intense. being around all these powerful people made you a little nervous but you had hope nothing terrible would happen like the rumble at west valley. these weren't angry teenagers fueled off drama and angst, they're athletes. aspiring professionals.

after miyagi do managed to stay in the game by the skin of their teeth, everyone was getting ready to go out. sam was talking your and devons ear off about spain and all the things her and miguel were going to do in their freetime when there was a knock at the door. you got up from your spot at the vanity and opened it to see miguel.

he was distressed, foot anxiously tapping with a hand through his hair. "is sam in here?"

"yeah, sam." you waved her over to the door. "you good, miggy?" miguel opened his mouth to speak and his eyes immediately welled up with tears. "what's wrong?"

"my mom..." his voice shook as he took sam in his arms for a hug. "something's wrong with the baby, i need to go back home." he spoke, voice muffled by sams hair.

"of course." you nodded. "is there anything we can do?"

he only shook his head and hugged sam harder.

"miguel." johnny said from the end of the hallway and beckoned him.

miguel let sam go and gave you a quick but tight hug before taking off. you and sam share an uneasy look before going back inside the room.

"miguel's going back home? sensei too?" devon asked and the two of you nodded.

"i need a drink." you said, grabbing your purse.

***

at the bar, everyone just seemed to take the gloominess with them. knowing miguel was struggling made it impossible to have fun.

"what are we going to do now that miguel's gone?" devon asked hawk and demitri.

"we could always have y/n take his spot?" hawk said, giving you a look over like he was sizing you up.

you scoffed. "yeah right, i wasn't even good enough to fight for a spot in the sekai tekai. getting my ass kicked on the world stage isn't on my bucket list."

"i'm serious." hawk said. "if they can't get kenny, you're next up. so don't black out this time." hawk pointed at your drink, remembering the time you got blackout drunk and threw up all over the inside of his car at one of moons parties.

"i'd prefer drunk y/n over kenny any day." demitri started. "at least she didn't shit her pants."

"oooookay." you stood up, taking your empty glass with you. "i'm getting another drink." you saw the way they were looking at you. "my last one. i don't think you guys will need me but if you do, i'll be ready. i promise."

you walked over to the bar, where sam and robby were sitting. "hey."

"hey." sam said and robby only nodded.

"what's with him?" you noticed robby's bad mood as soon as you walked up.

"maybe you can help." sam stood up, taking her cup with her. "i'm gonna go sit with the others for a sec, see if miguel still has service."

"okay." you nodded, taking sams spot at the bar. "what's wrong?"

"everything." robby sighed. "i need a drink."

you wanted to tell him not to, that it wouldn't solve anything but you knew that he already knew.

"get one, whatever you want. i got us for the first round." you took some cash from your pocket. "hey, can i get a mai tai and..."

"a rum and coke. double. please." robby asked and the bartender nodded, getting to work on your drinks.

"it's one of those nights, huh?" he only nodded, peering at the other edge of the bar for a moment before scoffing and turning back to you.

"yeah." you looked down to where he had just looked, to see tory and kwon sitting besided each other. kwon had an arm around her shoulders and was whispering something in her ear.

"i'm sorry robby. she's gonna come around, i know she is."

"i don't know. she's doing better without me." robby took a sip of his drink and looked down to where tory was sitting. kwon had separated from her but was still close. "and i'm here." he looked at his drink. "thanks by the way."

"it's not good to drink alone. especially when you're down." you nodded, taking a sip of your drink. "also, i missed out on the robby who smoked weed and skated everywhere. i hear he was kinda fun."

"i still skate everywhere." he said with a small laugh. "just not a skate rat anymore."

"yeah, you're the captain now." you gently nudged his shoulder. "i don't know how that feels exactly, the pressure, but i do know that you're gonna make everyone back home proud. especially tory."

"i hope so." he took another drink and eventually, his was gone.

"i know so. she's been watching every one of your fights."

robby cringed a little bit. "knowing i've lost every one of my fights definitely makes me feel lame."

"you're still in it. there's still tomorrow." you took another sip of your drink.

robby nodded. "i'm gonna go to the bathroom."

you nodded in return, looking over your shoulder to see hawk on his phone, sam and devon talking, and demitri dancing with a girl. when you turned back to where robby was sitting, kwon was in his seat.

"hi."

"hello." you were playing with your straw.

"what are you drinking?"

"a mai tai." your responses were dry but kwon wasn't backing off.

"do you want to dance?" he offered his hands but you shook your head, backing away a little.

"no, thanks."

"what? you're only miyagi do's little girlfriend? not for the rest of us?" kwon leaned in closer. "i can treat you better than keene."

"leave me alone, kwon."

"hey." robby's voice came from behind you.

kwon only scoffed and backed up. "someone's waiting for me anyways." he stood up. "i promise i'll keep her warm tonight, keene." he said before leaving the bar.

"are you okay?"

"i need some air." you stood up and went outside, leaving your friends at the bar. you felt bad for leaving robby alone but you couldn't be there anymore.

you felt the effects of the alcohol as you walked down to the beach. your head was spinning. you stopped and took a seat near the shore, sighing as you looked out to the water.

and then you saw him.

axel kovacevic.

he had been destroying his opponents on the mat. nobody's been able to land a point on him. he was one of the strongest competitors. he was stoic too, especially now as he was practicing his kata about 10 feet away from you. in the moonlight, by the ocean, with the alcohol making your perspective soft, he wasn't robotic. he was focused. until he caught you staring at him.

you made eye contact and immediately looked down at your lap. you waited about 5 seconds to check if he was still looking and he was full on staring. it was awkward. he wasn't looking at you as a threat, but with curiosity.

the two of you observed each other for a silent minute before you decided to say something. "hi." you waved and he didn't say anything in return. "you're axel right?" he nodded. "i'm y/n. i liked the kata you were doing."

"i'm not supposed to speak with opponent." he turned away from you and you stood up.

"i'm not your opponent. i'm not even fighting in the tournament. more like, emergency backup." you smiled, watching the corner of his lips tug upwards.

"why aren't you fighting?" he asked curiously, taking a step closer to you.

"i'm not really a fighter like my friends are." you shrugged. "you're great though."

"i'm alright." he leaned over to pick up his shirt and revealed bruises on his back. the sight made you wince.

"what happened?"

"bo staff competition."

"nobody has been able to land a point on you yet." you looked at him and he had a sort of an embarrassed look. "i know about... your sensei. one of my friends saw. it's not right. you should be out with your team, not practicing alone."

"there's always time for practice. my sensei wants me to be the best. it's because of him i never lose."

"doesn't make it right." you responded. "your entire dojo is pretty great though, i have to admit."

"you're pretty." axel stopped himself. your face was on fire and so was his. "your dojo's pretty good too."

"thanks. do you wanna walk with me? back to the hotel?" you asked, rocking on your heels. axel looked around and nodded and you both took off into the night.

"how long have you been fighting for?" you asked.

"ever since i was a kid. what about you?"

"only a couple years. after one of my friends got really hurt, i decided i had to get serious about learning. he had been teaching me some stuff but when it happened i just had to join a dojo. it was actually... cobra kai."

axel looked at you in disbelief. "you were in cobra kai?"

"yeah. after miguel got hurt, i was really angry and i took it out on everyone."

"miguel..."

"he was the original cobra kai." you remembered when miguel excitedly showed you his first gi. "it's a long story though. those sensei's, silver. they put me and all my friends through hell. so i know what its like to have a sensei do anything to make you the best, even hurt you."

axel couldn't say anything, he could only look at you with wonder. "is that why you don't fight anymore?"

"kind of. i don't know. i'm just not as angry as i used to be. i feel like my anger was the only reason i was ever good and i don't wanna live like that." you shrugged.

"i understand." he nodded. "i love karate but i don't want to be a robot all the time." you shook your head and opened your mouth to speak but he interrupted. "i hear what everyone says. they call me a monster, a machine. sometimes i just want to be axel." you nodded, this time you didn't have anything to say. "that's why i like to travel. i get to disappear in each city whenever i'm not fighting."

"how many cities have you been to?"

"a lot." he chuckled and listed all the cities and countries he's been to. you listened in awe. "what about you?"

"i've never really left california." you responded. "but after being here, i'd love to see everything. the sagrada familia makes me feel small but not in a scary way. it's like a monument to the great things humans can do."

"how cute!" a familiar voice interrupted. "little rival team playtime, huh?" kwon and another cobra kai came from around the corner. "thought you were only for miyagi do to play with."

"and i thought i told you to leave me alone." you tried to push past them but they blocked the path. you could smell the alcohol on kwons breath as he spoke. "just let us go."

"what's the magic word?" kwon asked, leaning in closer to you.

"move." you responded bluntly, not wanting anything else to do with this.

"wrong." kwon scoffed and shook his head. he glanced over your shoulder and you were sure someone was behind you.

"we just want to go back to the hotel." you weren't planning on giving kwon what he wanted.

"okay. you can go, only if you say please." kwon was in your face again, smug smile plastered on his face.

before you knew it, the other cobra kai kicked axel. it barely affected him as he shot into action to defend the both of you.

"come on, hit me. show me why they brought you here." kwon tapped his cheek and you were about to raise your arm when you were grabbed from behind. you elbowed whoever grabbed you multiple times before being able to slither out and kick him across the face. at the same time, axel shoved the other cobra kai into kwon. "okay come on. i'll take you both."

the sound of sirens took everyone but kwon out of the fight. he was still pressing axel and had to be taken away by his teammates.

"come on, let's go."

the two of you bolted back to the beach. after catching your breath, you started laughing a little.

"what?" axel asked.

"that guy kicked you and you barely moved. you have a strong base."

axel looked away from you, a smile spreading across his face. "thanks. that was a nice roundhouse."

"thanks, axel." you smiled at him and then looked out at the ocean. when you looked back at him, he was staring. no, he was admiring you. "what?"

axel said nothing, he only reached to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. his hand brushed against your face and you leaned into the touch.

and then he kissed you.

and you kissed him back. it was perfect. he was cradling your face with one hand, pulling you closer by your waist with the other. his mouth moved against yours softly and romantically. it was sweet. he didn't want anything other than to kiss you and you were happy to oblige and let yourself be putty in his hands.

but then your head started spinning again. you pulled away abruptly, taking a deep breath as you came up for air. the alcohol, the running, and the kissing were all making you dizzy. "axel i-."

"i'm sorry, i should go. already after curfew." axel took off running down the beach.

"wait, axel!" you called out after him but he was gone. you felt terrible as you went back inside the bar to meet with your team. everyone was already heading out and robby was nowhere to be seen. you figured he had went back to the hotel and hoped he would be fine. everyone else on the other hand would be dealing with their drama for a minute, including yourself.

[eregyrn-falls]

^^^^^^ !!!!!

There's so much I'd like to add but it would be carrying coals to Newcastle. Great post! (And a lot of great tag-rants in the notes, too.)

I did want to add one thought to this set of tags from @achromaticegoist, about the punch in particular.

It took me a long while to realize it, but not only is the punch reflective of a whole lot of things about Ford's state of mind on his arrival back through the portral... but, it also serves as some really interesting closure (and I'm not even sure the writers realized it).

In the episode, it's told out of order, so we see the punch FIRST. But later in the ep, when we see the fight that led to Ford going through the portal in the first place, what happens is that he and scan are scuffling, and there's that moment when Ford pushes Stan off with his foot and inadvertantly presses Stan against the glowing (apparently red-hot) symbol on the side of the control panel.

Stan screams in pain, of course. And immediately, Ford is suddenly worried, and contrite. He says, "Stanley! Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! Are you alr-"

And Stan punches him in the face.

That punch is what sends Ford stumbling out into the portal room and falling against the activation lever; and landing inside the danger zone. Ford does get up, but before he gets a chance to say anything else, Stan shoves the journal into his chest, Ford begins to float, and the disaster unfolds from there.

We don't spend enough time thinking that, basically, from Ford's point of view (if he replayed those last moments over and over in his head, as he probably did), the last things that Stan did to him was: punch him in the face, and then shoving him into the portal. The latter was accidental (though disastrous); but the first kind of wasn't. Ford stopped fighting, switching to concern and apology. While Stan lashing out due to the pain is understandable, Stan's punch is what prevents the fight from being over.

Ford coming out of the portal 30 years later and immediately punching Stan in the face kind of creates a book-end with that earlier punch from Stan, doesn't it? Ford getting to hit back the way he didn't (wouldn't?) 30 years ago. (He stands up, but he just stands there angrily staring at and listening to Stan as he approaches. He doesn't try to leap at Stan again or try to wrestle him for the book, etc. Was Ford, effectively, done fighting the moment Stan got seriously hurt?)

As I said, I'm not sure the writers were thinking about that consciously. I don't remember hearing them comment about it (i.e. that Ford's punch was a mirror of the punch that Stan gave him 30 years prior). But I do like to look at what's written and think about it in terms of, these scenes are deliberately written, the way it goes and the details included are chosen, often at the end of a long process of collaboration. I think that what's chosen for the final version is always very interesting.

And I just don't often see people discuss that moment where Ford stops fighting, and immediately becomes worried and apologetic. Not least because, like... up to that point in the series, we haven't seen Stan be apologetic very often. A few times, yes! And it's always notable when he does it. It clashes with the exterior he presents to the world; the man for whom saying "Please" gives him physical pain, etc. Some of which is meant for laughs, too! And some of which is just the product of being hardened by experience and so on.

It tells us something, I think, that Stan truly getting hurt, and screaming in pain, is enough to end Ford's desire to fight. That even after 10+ years of estrangement, he's that ready to be concerned for Stan; and that he's that ready with an apology. Later reads of Ford (post-portal) will portray him as the man who won't say "thank you", and I have other thoughts and feelings about that. But getting back to this, it's the show's choice to have Ford stop their fight and make a slight turn towards a sort of reconciliation. When they could have easily just had him and Stan keep fighting and struggling and the portal turn on because of that. It's such an interesting writing decision; and I just don't hear people dig into what it means for the characters very often.

What's your stance on Ford as a person? Honestly, I believe that for thr majority of canon he is a bad person. But I believe he grew. Still not great though XD

(Love him anyways obvs)

I disagree entirely! I think he's equally as good a person as any of the other main cast.*

*Except Mabel, who, as we all know, is always right about everything.**

(**This is a lighthearted joke. For the love of god, I don't want Mabel discourse in my inbox.)

His biggest sins in the show:

After telling his brother that he was thinking about changing their shared life plans, and then discovering that his brother had gone to the high school that night for no good reason and gone to the science fair for no good reason and messed around near Ford's science project for no good reason and broke it and didn't tell Ford about it... Ford believed Stan did it intentionally and held a grudge for it. You know what, it WOULD be pretty damn hard to believe it was an accident.

Hilariously ill-equipped to cope with Fiddleford's mental health. A guy who responds to "I have anxiety" with "have you tried yoga, it helps me" isn't a bad person, he's clueless. "Character cheerfully enacts a bad idea while a loved one in the background goes NO PLEASE DON'T DO THAT" describes half the episodes of Gravity Falls.

Was successfully manipulated by a professional manipulator into believing his best friend wished him ill. Man, what a terrible person Ford is for being manipulated by a manipulator and saying cruel things to somebody he'd been genuinely convinced was trying to harm him.

??? Didn't say thanks to a guy he was still mad at after the guy fixed a problem he himself had caused. This is a solitary example of stubborn bad etiquette, jesus christ. There's half a dozen different reasons why it makes perfect sense Ford wasn't in the right mindset to feel grateful, this is not something worth indicting his entire character over.

He had high ambitions, which everyone seems to lambast him for, but high ambitions that wouldn't have required doing anybody harm! (Until the professional manipulator started manipulating him into harming the people around him, but we are going to demonstrate some reading comprehension and not blame Ford's underlying morality as a person for things he never would've done if not for Bill's bullying, con artistry, and outright lies.) Like, what is it that he wanted to do with his life? Use his talents to get rich and famous? Shit, that's exactly what Stan wanted to do with his life. It's what Dipper fantasizes about doing with his life. Even Mabel, who thinks about her long-term future the least, dreams big with her art & performances and is already making big money off cheap-ass commissions. What terrible people they all are, for—let me check my notes here—uhhh... unrealistically fantasizing about achieving success in life by doing the things they're good at.

When their dad accuses Stan of lying as a child, Ford puts his entire summer on the line to defend Stan even though he knows Stan is a habitual liar and has no reason to believe Stan is telling the truth this time.

When his new college roommate he barely even knows gets laughed at for proposing an outlandish scientific theory, his first emotion is outrage at this injustice and he drops everything to convince his already-despondent roommate that he was right and help him prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

When he moves to a new town, he tries again and again to befriend his new neighbors, and fails not because he's rude or a jerk, but because he's awkward as hell, tells terrible jokes, and sucks at identifying phoenixes.

When Fiddleford gets hurt around him, he cares about it, feels guilty about putting him in that position, doesn't want it to happen again, and tries his best to help even though he's bad at helping.

When he gets kidnapped by a weird holiday folklore creature, he concludes without even thinking about it that he's now in charge of protecting and rescuing the kidnapped kids. Yeah, then he immediately starts hollering at the folklore creature for trying to impose his religious beliefs on Ford and the kids—but like, Ford was right tho, he just had bad timing.

When he discovers that the Northwest family committed atrocities against their poorer neighbors a century ago, his first instinct is to march up to their house, find the first Northwest he can locate, and give them a piece of his mind for it. Like, this won't even FIX anything. He's just THAT OUTRAGED over the injustice.

When he sees what he thinks is a fortune telling fraud conning the people, he attempts to debunk her because he's mad to see someone cheating other people with lies—and when he can't debunk her, he just leaves her alone rather than harass her about it. Typically, if assholes think somebody's doing something wrong but don't have any proof of it and fail to get proof when they look, they decide they're right anyway and keep giving that person shit. Ford doesn't give her shit. That's the opposite of an asshole move.

When he discovers his Portal To Knowledge (And Fame & Fortune) is actually a Portal To Doom (But Still Possibly Fame & Fortune, Maybe Even Godly Power), he isn't tempted for a second to keep working on it anyway. There is no moment where Bill manages to tempt him. No matter what Bill offers, no matter how long Bill offers, never, at ANY point, does Ford have a SECOND of "but what if I did make a deal with the devil?" the way so many heroes in similar situations often do.

You ever notice that? So often moral moments in the show are presented as choices the characters make. Will or won't Dipper give Bill a "puppet" in exchange for knowledge. Will or won't Stan fight a pterodactyl to protect Mabel's pig. Will or won't Mabel hand Bipper the journal. Ford is never given a "will or won't he" moment over Bill's threats, offers of friendship, or offers of infinite power—he steamrolls straight past them without a second of consideration—because, to him, the selfish, cowardly, easy choice ISN'T EVEN AN OPTION. He doesn't even SEE it as making a choice because the possibility of doing the wrong thing is invisible. A character who wavers first before turning Bill down would look more noble for "overcoming" temptation—it's harder to notice just how much stronger Ford's moral compass must be to not even feel temptation in the first place.

Greed and pride never tempt him to join Bill's side. Exhaustion, despair, and fear never tempt him to give up. He bears up under weeks, possibly months of extreme sleep deprivation, physical torture, psychological torture, emotional torture, threats of death, threats of brainwashing, threats to his family. He doesn't hold up so that he can pat himself on the back for being a hero—if that was all it was he would've gone "screw it, this isn't worth it and nobody would know I'm the one who gave up" a week in—he does it because he simply knows it must be done and because he's so isolated (half because of Bill's influence!) that he believes he's the one who must do it, all alone.

Thinking he has to do it by himself isn't egotism or pride; it's helplessness. He thinks no one else stands a chance. He thinks he's alone.

And, when he discovers his Portal To Knowledge is a Portal To Doom, he immediately feels guilty. No trying to deny the situation to protect his ego. No shuffling the blame off to someone else. No "maybe the apocalypse could have a silver lining!" No locking the door and trying to ignore the problem. He blames himself for being fooled—he IMMEDIATELY takes full responsibility for his actions—and he CONTINUES to take responsibility FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS.

He takes more responsibility than is even warranted—he treats himself like he's an idiot for believing in an APPARENT GOD who's been practicing manipulating humans for thousands of years and who had never given Ford reason to believe the portal was anything but what Bill said it was. He beats himself up to no end every single time his past with Bill comes up. He even keeps beating himself up thirty years later when he's shoving warning notes to future readers in Bill's evil unkillable book!

When he falls into the multiverse, he dedicates his entire life NOT to finding a way to rescue himself, but to finding a way to permanently stop the CHAOS GOD who's still at the threshold of destroying Ford's world and countless others. He makes himself a hated criminal in the process, just to stop Bill. He's ready to spend the rest of his life trying to protect a world he doesn't think he'll ever see again. He does it because, as he sees it, somebody has to stand in between the children and the obnoxious folklore cryptid menacing them, and he's the only adult in this damn cave with the skills and knowledge for the job.

When he gets home, he doesn't tell his family about Bill and his quest because he's afraid that doing so will get them involved and endanger them too—and because he's too deeply ashamed of himself and his mistakes to stand the thought of his family knowing about the horrible things he's done (AGAIN, WHILE BEING MANIPULATED BY THE GOD OF MANIPULATION).

He loves his great-niece and great-nephew the second he lays eyes on them; he nevertheless tries to steer away from them to keep them safe from Bill; and yet he caves to the very first temptation to emotionally bond with his great-nephew he gets, because in spite of his noble "keep them safe" intentions, he wants so so badly to be close to his family.

As pissed as he still is at Stan and even though neither of them can look at each other without hissing like cats, he still makes an attempt to start bridging their divide by inviting him to play DD&MD.

When the apocalypse happens, he immediately puts his life on the line to try to kill Bill.

And when he's captured, isn't fazed for a second by Bill's offers or threats... until his family is threatened. The exact thing he'd been trying to avoid & prevent from the very start.

And when he's reunited with Fiddleford, his immediate reaction is to point out that Fiddleford's well within his rights to hate him—which isn't a new revelation, it's not like Ford had to do any soul-searching to reach this conclusion, he'd concluded that 30 years ago the instant he realized Bill had played him and that he'd been lied to about Fiddleford.

And then he tries to kill Bill again.

And then he's ready to sacrifice his own life to kill Bill—and the only reason he doesn't is because he has a metal plate preventing him from making the sacrifice... but, Stan doesn't have a plate. If Ford hadn't had the metal plate, he would have gladly done the exact same thing Stan did—and he would have thought it was right for him and only him to make that sacrifice, because it's VERY clear he feels (and has felt from the start) that this is all his fault and he's obligated to fix it.

Over and over and over, these are Ford's two defining character traits: getting so pissed off at injustice that his common sense shuts off and he goes into terminator mode until he's righted this wrong as best he can, even when he can't actually do anything about it; and feeling like he's Atlas, weighed down with the full responsibility of fixing everything he's done wrong and made to believe that, for everyone else's sake, he has to do it all alone. Even when doing so puts himself in harm's way, even when he has to put his entire life on hold for it, even if it might cost him his life. Scrape off his awkward social skills, his loneliness, his nerdiness, his endless curiosity, his zealous love of the strange, his starry ambitions, his yearning for recognition and success—scrape his personality down to the bone and that's what you're left with. A man who believes in defending the exploited so strongly that it makes him a little stupid.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that you probably don't think Stan's fundamentally a bad person, and that you probably think that isn't even worth questioning. Stan's made a whole career out of swindling people, conning them out of as much money as he possibly can, stealing, lying, committing a long list of goofily-named crimes, and attempting douchy pick-up artistry on women; and to cap it all off, he held the safety of the entire universe hostage to demand a goddamn "thank you." Don't send me any "But he had reasons—" "But it was only to—" I don't need it, I don't want the essay, I'm not arguing that Stan's a bad guy, it's fine.

But. You can look at Stan's moments of cruelty and unkindness, his uncharitable thoughts, his character flaws, and think, "that doesn't define him. He's more than his cruelest moments and worst mistakes. He's imperfect, but he cares so much and his heart's in the right place, and beneath all the flaws his core is good."

And if you can't do the same for Ford, it's not because he's a worse person. It's because we got two seasons with Stan and five and a half episodes with Ford—and while we saw Stan yearning to fish with the kids or encouraging Mabel to whoop Pacifica's butt at minigolf or crying over a black and white period drama or punching zombies to save his family, we only saw Ford at the worst moments in his life and under the stress of a prolonged apocalyptic crisis—and, it so happens, all the moments he was pissed at the guy we spent two seasons learning to love.

Ford's got moments of cruelty and unkindness, uncharitable thoughts, and character flaws. But, at his core, he's a good person, and he always has been, and he still is.

[sanemistar]

THE ONE I WANT

contents ★ dan heng x fem!reader, established relationship, fluff, marriage proposal, 0.8k+ wc. requested for my milestone event. synopsis ★ in which your longtime boyfriend surprises you by a sudden marriage proposal.

event m.list ★ hsr m.list

it was a memorable day that you were about to remember for the rest of your life, everything about it was so special to you. the weather was perfect that day in xianzhou luofu, sunny with a hint of cool, fresh breeze. you and your boyfriend were walking around the shops, trying out different foods and having a good time together just the two of you.

it wasn’t like you never spent any alone time with him for the past five years you’d been together for, but occasions like that were quite rare. because most of the time the rest of the astral express members were present, so by default you two would spend time your together with them. not that you had any issues with that, you’d gotten used to them and became friends with everyone.

so you were very happy doing simple, mundane things with dan heng and being able to spend some quality time with your beloved boyfriend, on a romantic date with just the two of you alone for the first time in a while. being with him had always been something you could never get tired of, you would spend an eternity with him if you could.

you weren’t really aware of how much time had passed by until you saw the sun beginning to fade away in the horizon, signaling the end of the day and your date. on one hand, you were standing there with your eyes being glued onto the beautiful sunset. watching the sky being painted in a mix of red, orange and purple shades. you were struck by the ethereal beauty of the scene in front of you, it was magical.

on the other hand, there was dan heng whom the only thing he seemed to focus on was you. his gaze was solely fixated on your beautiful face, watching your sparkly eyes twinkle as your lips parted slightly at the scenery in fascination.

to him, you’re far more beautiful than any sunset; more than anything in the world actually.

“looks like it’s time to go home, thanks for the lovely day.” you spoke softly as you tore your gaze away from the sky and looked at your boyfriend, only to find his deep teal eyes staring back at you. he held your hand gently, eyes caught in a deep gaze.

you then felt something cool against the skin of your finger, which had caused you to jolt momentarily before your eyes tore away from dan heng’s to look down on your finger, only to be left in complete shock and surprise. your jaw almost fell in awe seeing the diamond ring placed on your ring finger.

“i’ve been thinking about this, about us and our future together, for the longest time and,” he spoke softly, hands still gripping yours. the image of you and him had been living in his head for as long as ever. you waiting for him at home, cooking his favorite meals for him every day. the thought of having a domestic life with you made him feel all giddy and warm inside.

“i think it’s about time that we take the next step in our relationship and get married. because you’re the only one i want, i want to be with you forever.” he proceeded. leaning so close that your noses slightly brushed against each other.

“if i have to choose one person to spend the rest of my life with,” he paused for less than a second before adding. “it has to be you.” you felt a few tears fall from your eyes. which of course, were tears of joy. dan heng quickly let go of one hand and gently wiped them away as he began kissing the spots on your cheeks where the tears fell on.

and it was the same for you as well, it had to be dan heng. he whom your heart desired, the man whom you were ready to be with until you were both old and gray. you never wanted to imagine a world without him, you simply couldn’t even dare to bring your mind to.

“will you marry me?” and it was the fastest, easiest ‘yes’ you’d ever answered to a question in your life. he grabbed your hand gently, placing it close to his lips as he pressed a loving kiss on the back of your hand.

this time it was your turn to let go of his hand. you wrapped your arms around his neck and threw yourself into his arms as he lifted you up and swirled you around. none of you paid attention to the loud cheering sounds surrounding you, because at that moment it felt as if it was just you and him in the world.

you were more than excited to live the future you had always been dreaming about with dan heng by your side, always and forever.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @itoshivy @unriding

[rewiringtoheal]

This Pain Is Temporary

Anna x Fem!Reader

He's Just Not That Into You AU

Summary: I was watching this movie and had a lot of what if questions. What if the main cast actually all communicated with each other? What if Anna actually had some character development? What if Reader was a variation of a female Conor Barry who got a clue? And how would these differences lead to Anna genuinely falling in love with Reader.

warnings: very slowburn, angst, worse before better, eventual fluff.

You feel used. This person that you love…loved?? You aren’t really sure anymore of your feelings toward Anna. It was never simple with her. And truthfully, you wish you could go back to your blissful ignorance.

 You had been so thrilled when she told you she was finally ready to take the next step with you. A real relationship with the girl of your dreams. Having your heartfelt love confession be returned and then making love for hours was more than you ever could have hoped for. 

You now knew it was all a lie. And that Anna was a very skilled actor. In your excitement you had raced home the next morning to tell your best buddy Alex and his new girlfriend GiGi the news. After showing them a picture of Anna and you. The night of bliss quickly turned sour; GiGi hesitantly told you that Anna was the same woman that had a very recent affair with her best friend's husband. And everything the past few months had started to make sense. How Anna would constantly ignore your calls but somehow always be available when she needed her emotional needs met. And finding out that the only reason she wanted a relationship with you was because the man of her dreams wouldn’t leave his wife was heartbreaking. How could you be so stupid? And how could you be so blind to the type of person Anna really was.

You felt a hand squeezing your knee bringing you back to the world around you. You  see GiGi’s hand retreating and her eyes filled with sorrow. You muster up a strained smile.

“Well, at least I had my dream girl for a moment even if it wasn’t real. Looking back, I kinda see now that she treated me like shit but I was so lost in her. I can’t believe I was so blind to her selfishness. And now this…I don’t think I ever really knew her at all,” you say somberly.  

Alex let out a deep sigh, “Dude I don’t really know what to say. She did really shitty things but maybe she's not a shitty person. The moments you had together weren’t all fake. The parts of herself she showed you are probably real. And you can love those parts and still be hurt that she lied about her feelings for you.”

You give a weak chuckle, “You’re right..but I don’t know how to deal with this. I do still love her even if she used me. I see it so clearly now. I’m the back up plan. The person she really wanted hurt her so she chose the safe option.”

Gigi looked at you, her eyes filling with sorrow, “Sometimes people don’t know what they have until it's gone. She is making awful decisions and it’s hurting everyone around her. Deal with this by loving yourself first. I know it's hard but she doesn’t appreciate you. And only wants you when she has no one else.”

That was hard to hear but Gigi was right. You need to take care of yourself. For months you have been putting all of your energy into Anna. Being there for her emotionally, picking up her dry cleaning, giving her rides, and loving her to the best of your ability. All to realize that she never really cared about you, not even as a friend. A friend wouldn’t play with your feelings like this.  

You continue to chat with your friends for a little while longer. Eventually you grow too sad and too tired to keep up the conversation. You excuse yourself for the night and head up to your bedroom. Not in the mood to do your night time routine you just chuck off your clothes, put your cellphone on your night stand and cuddle under the covers. 

Your mind keeps turning in circles as you lay there. The happiness you had felt earlier today has turned into a deep sadness. And for the first time since Gigi told you about Anna you allow yourself to cry. As silent tears move down the contours of your face you burrow into your pillow; just praying to yourself that you can fall asleep. Anything to stop the pain. 

You briefly wonder if Gigi’s friend Janine is in the same state you are right now. You know more than likely she is worse off than you. Janine's entire life is in shambles. Her husband is awful no doubt about it but you just can’t wrap your head around Anna getting involved with a married man. Nothing makes sense anymore but maybe you never had a clue to begin with.

[menwrittenbywomen]

Jegulus date - word count: 4k

Why did I agree to this again? Regulus questions himself as he follows James down the stairs leading from his apartment.

He’s spending the day with James Potter. The man he’s hated since for as long as he can remember.

After they make it downstairs, they wait while James calls them a ride. Regulus is tempted to ask where they’re going, but he sort of likes the idea of it being a surprise. Normally he hates surprises, but today is not a normal day. Regulus isn’t sure if he likes that or not.

The silence while they wait isn’t as unpleasant as Regulus expects it to be. He’s never been one to try and fill the silence, but he thought James would at least try to make small talk. The man normally never shuts up. However, he seems to be lost in thought at the moment. He’s staring into the distance with a faraway look. Regulus continues to stare at James, taking him in fully without the stress of having him look back. There are no words that need to be said at the moment.

Instead, a comfortable quiet fills the space between them. Regulus likes that he now knows that James has the ability to shut up on occasion. It’s easier to not be annoyed by him that way.

Their taxi arrives a little later, and it seems to snap James out of his thoughts. He turns to Regulus.

“Ready?” He asks, a gleeful look on his face.

Regulus gives a nod and starts forward. They take a taxi because he isn’t a fan of subways. They’re way too crowded, and if there’s ever an available seat, it’s covered in too many unidentifiable liquids.

Trying not to think about what sort of liquids the taxi seats have seen, he gets in and scoots over to leave some space. James sits a respectful distance away, which slightly offends Regulus. What’s so wrong with him that James wants to sit so far away? Not that Regulus wants him any closer. It’s just the semantics that upset him.

The car ride is silent on Regulus’ part. He looks out the window and certainly does not pout while James strikes up a conversation with the driver. Because of course he does. It turns out that they have quite a lot in common. They go to the same gym, enjoy the same movies, and like the same music. Regulus is then stuck listening to Kendrick Lamar's new album for the rest of the short ride. He debates opening the car door and jumping out onto the bustling street.

When they arrive at their destination, Regulus is actually a little impressed. They’re at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. Regulus has never been despite living in the city for a while now. He loves museums and art, but he usually tells himself he’s too busy to indulge himself like that.

He regrets not spending more time doing the things he loves. There are so many opportunities he’s missed that if he tried to count them, the day would be long over.

They both exit the taxi, and James refuses to let Regulus pay. James thanks the driver, who is now a new friend of his apparently, and then holds out his arms as if presenting a prize to Regulus on a game show.

“Ta-da!”

“It’s a museum,” Regulus states. He tries his best to sound unimpressed despite the excitement coursing through him.

“Yes, the best one in Boston! C’mon, it’s gonna be fun.” James skips ahead, genuinely skips, and Regulus wonders if he'll get arrested for assault if he hits James.

James comes back over and sees the unamused look on Regulus’ face. He smiles and ushers to the entrance. Regulus shakes his head but begins walking. James slows to match his pace, and Regulus purposefully ignores the fluttering feeling he gets.

They pay and enter the museum, going first to the large garden called the Courtyard. Regulus lets out a gasp when he sees it.

It’s one of the most beautiful gardens Regulus has ever seen. It’s overflowing with flowers and beautiful architecture. This is the kind of place he could sit for hours and forget the world.

“I love it,” he says aloud. He hadn’t meant to, but when James turns to him he keeps speaking despite himself. “I could stay forever and not worry about a thing.”

James nods along, looking out at the beautiful scenery. “I’d stay here forever with you if you’d let me,” he says, and surely Regulus misheard him. A moment later, James laughs awkwardly, and Regulus supposes he must have been making a joke.

James and his stupid jokes.

Regulus huffs before making his way to the closest room in the museum. It’s called the Macknight Room, and it’s full of wonderful artwork for Regulus to gawk at. He notices James enter behind him, but pays him no mind.

He looks at a lovely watercolor painting of the Grand Canyon. It astonishes him that there are such beautiful places in the world. It saddens him to think that he may never get to see them. Maybe he should be more like James and take time to enjoy things. However, the thought of being anything like James makes him feel a bit sick, so he decides to put a pin in the idea.

Eventually, he and James end up side by side again. James asks him a question about an object on the table in front of them, and Regulus decides to forgive him for his joke. He’s not got much time for grudge-holding today. He answers James’ question, then another, and another, not getting annoyed in the slightest. They begin to make their way through the museum, and it’s surprisingly Regulus who does most of the talking.

They see works by Rembrandt, Degas, and even Michaelangelo. Regulus finds himself enjoying the experience way too much. He keeps telling himself to calm down, it’s just a painting, or a sculpture, or a vase. He starts going on tangents to James about the artwork, and James seems content just to listen to him. Regulus is surprised he hasn’t asked him to shut up yet. He can get kind of annoying about art, as his friends have told him many times.

He interrupts himself in the middle of telling James about a painting by Rubens. “Sorry, I’m ranting again. You can tell me to stop talking, I know it’s probably annoying.”

James firmly shakes his head, surprising Regulus again. “You’re not annoying, Regulus. You’re just passionate. I like hearing you talk about art. Your face lights up when you do.”

Regulus can’t do anything about the blush that appears at that. He turns away quickly and avoids James for a little while.

They eventually make their way through almost the entire museum. The last room they visit is the Spanish Cloister. Regulus thinks this is one of his favorites. It has beautiful works by Sargent, Seville, and many talented others.

Regulus' favorite is one by John S. Sargent called El Jaleo. It depicts a performer dancing in a tavern with musicians playing for her in the background. Regulus likes it because he feels like he can relate to the woman dancing. She’s trapped in the painting, putting on a show for everyone for eternity. Regulus feels like his whole life has been one big performance. Performing for his parents, for strangers, for himself.

The painting is a myriad of colors and objects. There’s so much going on that it’s hard to figure out where to look. Regulus is drawn to the woman, however, and he wishes that she could curtsy so the show can be over.

James comes to stand next to him. “Do you like this one?”

It’s hard to find the words to describe how the painting makes him feel. He can only think of two words to say, but he knows they’re not enough.

“It’s beautiful,” Regulus whispers.

“Yes, it is,” James says back.

Regulus turns and is surprised to find James looking at him instead of the painting, another stupid smile on his face. He must have turned his head a split second before Regulus did. That’s the only explanation.

James is opening his mouth to speak, and Regulus waits with bated breath. He doesn’t know what he wants James to say, but he knows that he wants it to be something monumental.

“I’m glad you asked me to spend the day with you,” James says, and Regulus wants to take back his wish. James is so earnest too; Regulus knows he means what he says. He wants to tell James what he’s thinking, but that would involve being open with his feelings.

Regulus is a coward. He doesn’t respond. He turns away.

It’s silent, and then:

“Are you hungry?” James asks him for the second time that day. Before Regulus can answer, his stomach betrays him by growling. They both laugh. Regulus is learning that laughter can be nice sometimes.

“C’mon, I know a great place not too far from here.” He follows James out of the room, pausing to look at El Jaleo one last time.

The performer, stuck forever in a dance. He’s worried he can understand her a little too well.

He blinks away tears he didn’t realize had formed in his eyes and catches up to James. Look at him, getting emotional over a painting. It would make Sirius laugh.

Regulus hates to admit that he misses that laugh.

Once they’ve left the museum, they grab another taxi. This time, the ride isn’t silent and they keep a nice conversation going. They talk about their favorite things from the museum, and Regulus corrects James when he gets things wrong and laughs at James’ funny descriptions of the art. The ride seems to be over too quickly.

They both exit the taxi, James once again paying despite Regulus’ protests. He wants to tell James that he has the entire Black family inheritance burning a hole in his pocket, but he would probably just be laughed at.

They’ve been dropped off in front of a row of shops. James steps toward the one closest to them. Regulus pauses to take a look at it. The sign above the entrance reads Punjab Palace in bright red letters. James has brought him to an Indian food place. Regulus likes Indian food well enough; some of the dishes are too spicy for him as he grew up in a household where salt and pepper were oftentimes the only seasonings used. His spice tolerance is terrible, to say the least.

James turns to him, an anxious look on his face. “Are you okay with Indian food? If not, we can go somewhere else-”

“James, I’m good,” Regulus interrupts. He’s learning that James cares what people think entirely too much. “I’ve had it before, I like it. Calm down.” His words genuinely seem to calm James, and he smiles before walking to the entrance. Regulus follows him inside.

Once they're seated, he anxiously takes out his phone but doesn’t do anything more besides go to his home screen. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hates small talk but feels it’s what is expected when two people eat together. He waits for James to initiate the conversation.

“My parents used to bring me here when I was younger,” James says in a fond voice. Regulus is glad he’s with someone unafraid to speak. Regulus often feels like he’d rather die than say anything.

He nods along instead of speaking. He’s of the opinion that sometimes things people say don’t require a response from the listener, especially if there are no words that are meaningful enough. He supposes he could say “Oh, that’s cool” or “Nice”, but those aren’t big enough to say how he really feels. He wishes he had the words to say that he thinks that it’s amazing that James’ parents took him to such a cool place growing up, and it’s great that his parents are so nice and loving, and that he’s sad that he didn’t have any of that growing up but he’s happy for James at the same time. But he doesn't know how to say any of that. So he just nods instead.

James doesn’t seem to mind his nonverbal responses and continues to talk. “My mom likes things that remind her of home. Food, music, dancing. I used to love dancing with her when I was a kid.” Hearing James talk so fondly of his mother makes Regulus think of his own. She never danced with him or Sirius and was never kind. Regulus knows that she’s the main reason his brother ran away from home. He’s glad that Sirius was able to find a mother who is nice, even if it meant he was left alone with one who wasn’t.

“She sounds lovely,” Regulus says. She sounds like everything a mother should be. Everything Regulus isn’t.

“She is. She’s the best.” He then says something Regulus isn’t expecting. “You should meet her someday. I think you guys would get along.”

Regulus is surprised that James thinks he should meet his mother. He doesn’t think James likes him all that much. So to suggest that he meet Euphemia Potter is a little strange. And how does James know they’d get along anyway? He barely knows anything about Regulus.

Before Regulus can respond, a waiter arrives to greet them. When the waiter asks what they’d like to drink, James orders something called a mango lassi while Regulus plays it safe and gets a Diet Coke. James also asks for some saag tikki and garlic naan, and the waiter hurries off to put in their order.

“I’m excited for you to try some of this food. Growing up, this was my equivalent to McDonald’s.” Regulus sort of understands the reference; he was never allowed fast food growing up. He supposes his version of McDonald’s would be when he and Sirius would stay with their Uncle Alphard when they were young. He would make them delicious foods their parents wouldn’t let them have otherwise.

It’s then that the waiter comes back with their drinks and appetizers. Regulus mentally applauds the fast service. The waiter asks if they're ready to order, and Regulus panics and picks his menu up. James thankfully orders first, giving Regulus time to scan. When the waiter turns to him, he orders chicken tikka masala because it’s the only dish he recognizes. He’s had it before and liked it, so it’s the safest option.

The waiter leaves again, and a silence ensues. Regulus sips his coke while James has some of his mango drink. James lets out a sound that’s entirely too close to a moan for Regulus’ liking. He shoots James an offended look.

“Sorry,” James says, not looking sorry at all. Honestly, doesn’t he know better than to make noises like that? Someone could get the wrong idea. “I just haven’t had one of these in forever and I forgot how good it is.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t give you an excuse to moan like you’re in a cheap porno,” he says, then immediately regrets it when he sees a glint in James’ eye.

“I bet you’d love-” James is interrupted by Regulus throwing a piece of naan at his face. This effectively shuts him up.

“Do not finish that sentence.” James looks at Regulus with a shocked expression. He clearly didn’t expect to have a piece of bread thrown at him.

“I can’t believe you just threw naan at me.” James sounds offended, but Regulus can tell he’s only joking from the look on his face. He proceeds to pick up the naan that had fallen onto the table after it smacked his forehead and eat it.

“I would have thrown my knife at you, but I’m a gentleman.” James lets out a loud laugh at that.

“Regulus Black, you are full of surprises.” Regulus doesn’t believe that. He’s very predictable. He always has a snide comment or sarcastic remark, and his smiles are almost never present. He can always be counted on to bring reality to someone’s wild dreams and keep them from making rash decisions. So yes, he’s predictable, but he likes that James doesn’t see him that way. He likes that he sees him as a mystery to solve, something that has hidden answers. He then wonders why he likes that it’s James who sees him that way before clearing that thought away. That was dangerous territory.

James takes another sip of his drink, this time behaving himself for Regulus’ benefit. “This was my favorite drink as a kid.” He pushes the glass toward Regulus. “Here, try it.” He takes a cautious sip and is surprised to find that it tastes good. It’s not like anything he’s had before, but he likes it nonetheless.

“I like it,” Regulus tells James as he slides the drink back. This makes James happy. He’s too easy to please.

They make small talk while they wait, but it’s not as painful as Regulus expects it to be. James is a pro at keeping the conversation flowing, and Regulus realizes that he’s actually enjoying himself. He never expected that to happen with James in close vicinity, let alone him being the one to make Regulus happy. Today has to be the strangest day ever.

The waiter brings out their food while they’re in the middle of a debate over whether cereal is a soup. It was starting to get a little heated, so the food came out at a great time.

James starts in on his chicken curry and Regulus can smell the spices from it across the table. He takes a small bite of his own food, and his eyes widen. It’s amazing. He starts eating and doesn’t stop until the whole plate is empty.

He looks up to see that James devoured his food as well. They both seem to be amused at their eagerness. The food was just too delicious to do anything other than savor it.

The waiter comes to clear the empty plates, taking the credit card James hands over.

“I could have paid,” Regulus says, but James waves him off.

“I suggested we come here and you trusted me. It’s on me today.” Regulus nods in thanks. The waiter comes back with their receipt, but neither one stands to go.

“Do you-”

“Are we-”

They both pause when they begin speaking at the same time.

“You first,” James laughs.

“I was just going to ask if you still wanted to spend the day together. Don’t feel obligated to say yes.”

“I was just about to ask the same thing,” James says with a grin. “I’m having fun, so why stop here?” Regulus' stomach does something funny that he ignores.

“Yeah. Why stop here?” Regulus repeats. They stare at each other then. It feels important, and monumental. Then James looks away, and the moment ends.

“Time for dessert,” He announces.

“James, I’m so full. I don’t think I can manage dessert.” Regulus feels ready to burst. He hasn’t had a good meal in forever.

James stands from his chair. “The place I have in mind is about thirty minutes away, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Thirty minutes?” Regulus says as he stands. He embarrassingly stumbles a bit. James reaches out a hand to help, but Regulus just glares at it until he retracts it. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” Hasn't this whole day been one big surprise?

Another taxi. Another drive. Regulus is noticing a pattern to the day. James leads and he follows. He just hopes he’s not led in the wrong direction.

They pass a sign on the way that states they’ve left the city. Regulus looks at their surroundings and realizes where they’re going.

“Why are we going to Cambridge?” He questions James.

James only shrugs nonchalantly. “You asked me to show you my favorite places.”

“Yeah, in Boston,” Regulus deadpans. He’s not sure he wants to go cross-country with James. They’d argue over the music playing in the car and inevitable crash or something.

James refuses to give him any more answers. Regulus is stubborn and tries his best though. He’s realizing James may be almost as stubborn as he is, which is going to be a problem if they continue arguing.

Regulus amuses himself by looking out the window. He’s always loved car rides. It’s nice to look at the scenery as they pass by. It makes him think about how big the world is and how small he is in comparison. Most would find that thought scary, but Regulus finds comfort in it. It reminds him that everything he does is insignificant and won’t matter one day, so he has all the freedom in the world.

They eventually make it further into Cambridge, and the taxi stops. They have arrived outside of an ice cream shop. Regulus loves ice cream, but there’s no way James knew that. It’s just a happy coincidence.

“Ice cream is my favorite,” Regulus admits to James as they hop in line to wait.

“Yeah, you mentioned it before, so I thought I’d show you my favorite ice cream shop.”

Regulus is confused. “When did I tell you I like ice cream?”

James laughs. “You didn’t tell me. I overheard you say it to Remus a few months back.” With that, he turns to look at the flavors on display.

Regulus doesn’t know what to think. It’s thoughtful that James remembered something he said from months ago. Too thoughtful for two people who are supposed to hate each other. Regulus wants to know what else James knows about him. He also wants to learn more about James.

He’s terrible at this whole hatred thing.

When it’s their turn, James orders a double dip of a strange flavor called Passion Fruit Caramel. When Regulus makes a face, James laughs and explains that he’s on a mission to try all the different flavors the shop offers, and that this is the only one they’re offering today that he’s yet to try.

He thinks that it’s a very James thing to do.

Regulus once again plays it safe and orders a single dip of Burnt Caramel. He wasn’t allowed to have very many sweets when growing up, so now as an adult, he attempts to make up for his loss by eating sweet things whenever he can.

Regulus manages to pay for his ice cream even though James insists, and they take their cups outside. There are benches lined along the sidewalk and they have a seat. Regulus notices that James sits a little closer than he did in the taxi from earlier.

James has some of his, making sure to let Regulus and all the passerby know how good it is by the sounds he makes. They are thankfully more PG this time.

Regulus excitedly takes a bite of his and has to force himself not to spit it back out. It’s bitter and not at all how he expects it to taste. He swallows quickly and wishes he had something to get the taste out of his mouth. He sticks his tongue out like a toddler without thinking about it, wanting anything to make the flavor go away.

“Everything okay?” It seems James has noticed his distress. Great.

“No,” Regulus answers petulantly. “It’s bitter and doesn’t taste good.” He gets up to throw the ice cream away in the nearest trash can. He comes back to where James is sitting, mood effectively ruined because of some stupid dessert.

James looks sympathetic. “Have some of mine.” He holds his cup out but Regulus hesitates. “Tastes good, promise.” James sounds so genuine that Regulus really has no choice. He once again attempts to be brave and tries a small bite. James isn’t lying; it tastes delicious. It’s slightly tart from the passion fruit but the sweet caramel balances it well. It’s also super creamy and one of the best things Regulus has ever tasted. He takes another, bigger bite and has to hold back a delighted groan.

The small kindness goes a long way. Regulus is still trying to decipher the mystery that is James Potter. The man is choosing to spend time with him even though he’s been cruel to him, and now he’s sharing his very tasty ice cream when he’s not obligated to. Regulus tries to think of words big enough to encompass his gratitude but falls short. He can really only think of two words to say, and he hopes they’re enough.

“Thank you,” Regulus whispers. It’s probably the nicest thing he’s ever said to James. It makes the man smile, and Regulus decides he may have to make a habit of being nicer to James. Where before he found the smiles quite annoying, looking at it now, it was actually really pleasant to look at. James' smile lights up his whole face. It’s as if there’s this constant joy inside him that’s ready to burst at any moment. Now that joy is directed at Regulus, just because of two small words he said.

And then Regulus does something very unexpected.

For once, he smiles back.

[manitole]

Emmrich x Rook = Ideas for Fanfic

 (This is going to be a REALLY long post)

Context: I’m an awkward millennial that doesn’t know Tumblr very well. I apologize in advance if this post is weird and not perfect, I’m still learning. My activities on this platform are mostly resharing awesome post on my page. Since the last few weeks, I must admit that the communities here around my tags are incredible, positive, academic and just kind of healing my heart. For this reason, I feel comfortable trying to be a little more invested. Introduction to the main theme: I’m really happy to see that I’m far from being the only one to be obsessed and hyperfocused on Emmrich Volkarin, especially his romance with Rook. His personality is different from my typical fictional crushes: this fact had opened new possibilities about scenarios in my imagination. The main theme: I love to write, but I have a thesis to finish. Plus, I’ve already started two fanfictions and I’m not close to be done with those two stories. Since I’m lacking time, experience in fanfiction, knowledge in the DA universe and expertise in the English language (I’m a native French speaker), I must conclude that writing a fanfic Emmrich X Rook would not be the best idea right now. I would LOVE to share some of my ideas if it can inspire some people out there:

A – Too much rigidity versus chaotic (Mortal): I would LOVE to see a fanfic which addresses the mountain struggles of Rook and Emmrich living together after the story of the game. This man has been alone for a long time. We don’t know if he already lived with someone else during a long period of time. Emmrich likes to have his books ‘’pristine’’. I’m also guessing he has a strict routine regarding mealtime. I see Rook being kind of chaotic, as letting their underwear lying around where they needed to remove them (around a bed, coffin, or on the dinning table after some sexy time… why not). I could also see Rook inviting old friends for a late dinner, at the last minute, while Emmrich is already in his night gown, ready to sleep. Anyway, I would LOVE to see character’s development around those struggles: Emmrich learning to be a little more flexible while Rook is learning to be a little less disorganized.

B – Feeling bored after saving the world (Mortal): Could be related with point A or not. I know that everyone has different opinions, but so far, I preferred Rook to also be a Mourn Watcher. It seems natural to think that after the end of the game, Emmrich, Rook and Manfred are going back to Neverra. I could see Emmrich going back to teaching. I could see both possibilities where he is satisfied with this (with Rook and Manfred in his life) VERSUS feeling bored after travelling so often for saving the world. I’m not sure what Rook would want to do with their life after the war. Could they even be able to stay at one place? I could see them needed to travel and leave Neverra for sometimes for fighting or geopolitical stuff. I could also see Rook being done with that kind of life and wanting a normal happy and almost boring routine. Let’s talk about marriage. We all know that Emmrich always thought he would get married someday. Would he be ready to marry Rook? If yes, does it mean that he has outcome the age gap problem (?). I don’t know about Rook since the character vary from person to person. They could want to wait for marriage. I see this possibility more in the Mortal route since I have NO idea how Lichdom works and if a Lich can marry someone…

Now. I must explain before going on with my next idea. I’m not a fan of any pronatalist outcome. I don’t think a couple should have children to be happy or have some news goals. I also love stories and fanfic that show childfree happy people. Having children is not and should not be seen as a normal progression of life. It’s a choice and it should be a free and informed joint decision. Childfree couples are NOT less interesting than parents. But I also can see the difference between real life and fiction, especially in a fantastic universe like DA. I think some fanfic that adds children into the story can be a good thing, especially if those are kind of REALISTIC (happy rainbow sunshine without any struggles at all) and talk about more than only the positive of parenthood. Now, we could argue about Manfred. For me, as a couple, Emmrich and Rook are already parental figures to Manfred. While it’s not a typical experience, there is still something there. Manfred doesn’t need to eat (nor to sleep?) but he can still burn some books by accident, requiring some ‘’parenting’’ from Emmrich or Rook.

C – Parenting: I could see the couple adopting a kid while the opportunity is there. I also think that Manfred would be an awesome big brother. Now, let’s talk about a Rook that could be pregnant (trigger for some people, so please go to point D if you don’t want to read about this idea or about parenting and or reproduction).

1 – Pregnancy (Mortal): I’ve been thinking A LOT about the last scene between Rook and Emmrich when they have sex in a coffin. I’m an artist geek but also a nerd scientific with a nursing degree. Both don’t always match well together. I don’t know a lot about contraception in fantastic universe, especially DA. I can’t stop myself thinking: did Emmrich and or Rook THOUGHT about this? One part of me think that Emmrich would not be the type of person to forget about any risk regarding that subject. It would seem easy for him to cast a charm for preventing a pregnancy? I don’t know. But on the other hand, the end of the world is happening, and him or Rook could not survive to the last battle. The party banter between Harding and Emmrich show that the necromancer can forget some things important when he is with Rook or just by being in a new relationship. So perhaps Emmrich didn't think about it. I could see Rook having sex without having that in mind at all, kind of like a YOLO attitude. They love Emmrich and they are like '' let’s have awesome lovemaking before perhaps dying or whatever''.

Nooooow. Let’s talk about that accidental pregnancy if we could agree that because of those circumstances, no one thought about contraception, because you know… ‘’ End of the world ‘’. Plus, while an accidental pregnancy could be the end of the world for some person, it could not be as horrible for others, like Emmrich and or Rook. So, the team beat Elgar’nan, Solas linked himself to the fade and all. The world is safe for now. It’s the time of celebration. Even after some rest, Rook doesn’t feel really good. They are kind of tired all the time but again, it’s normal since they have been on high adrenaline during the last few months (?). It could explain things. Them and Emmrich could think it is related to the fade or perhaps a curse. Eventually, I’m pretty sure Emmrich would realize the situation before Rook. He was able to spot that stiff wrist. He could see subtle difference regarding Rook. I could totally see his shocked face while understanding the situation. As for Rook, I could see them not thinking about that possibility because perhaps they weren’t having regular periods in the first place because of the hard activities while trying to save the world. Now, let’s ad point A and perhaps point B to this scenario. The couple is trying to live together in a new routine while also learning they are expecting a baby. I waaaaaant to read about that 52-53 years old necromancer realizing his partner is pregnant with his child. Everything is going too fast, and Harding could make snaky remarks on this. I want to read how Emmrich feel about this: He always wanted a family, and he already has Manfred and Rook, but having a child could be something positive to him for different reasons (legacy and pronatalist blabla). But because of his age, it could also be an experience kind of sad, realizing that he could not see his kid grow as much as he would love to. The reaction of Rook about all of this could be really different since again, Rook vary for each player. I would love to see some struggles (perhaps with a big fight?) with a pregnant Rook who still wants to fight and live their ''normal'' life and an overprotective Emmrich (with only good intentions) kind of overwhelming. I could also see Emmrich taking his retirement from teaching sooner than expected, since he wants to spend as much time as possible with his children. I also think he could be the main parent, as the most ‘’maternal’’, kind of overprotective, again.

I see Emmrich having a girl. I’m not sure why, but it flows better in my imagination. It would make a lot of sense if this girl had the name of a flower or a plant, and her middle name could be Emmrich's mother. With Rook and Emmrich as parents, this little girl would become a badass woman with high self-esteem, taking bullshit from no one. She would LOVE her big brother, and Manfred would also LOVE her. I like to think he will learn faster while being a brother figure. I really see the young girl saying to everyone she has a big brother called Manfred without ever explaining that he is actually a spirit in the body of a skeleton. I could see everyone kind of shocked while meeting Manfred for the first time without that context.

Plus: Vorgoth must be one of the godparents, please. And the family should eventually adopt a pig.

Bonus: a time jump where Emmrich is dying, more than satisfied with his life, and all of his family is around him. I don't mind crying.

2 – Lich route (kind of a silly idea): This idea is kind of a joke. I don’t know how Lichdom works, but I’m pretty sure that once you are a Lich, you are sterile? Now… An accidental pregnancy could happen if Emmrich and Rook had sex BEFORE Emmrich became a Lich. I think it would be really hard on him to outlive not only Rook but also his children and perhaps his grandchildren. I could only see this as possible and not heartbreaking if Rook and Emmrich have a kid who is also a mage and would eventually also become a Lich. I could totally see an awkward family tradition that goes on generation after generation where each child gifted with magic MUST become a Lich before they are 60 years old or something. Imagine: you are like 25-year-old mage and Lichdom don’t appeal to you at all, nor does necromancy. Your sibling doesn't have magic so all the expectations are ON you (and that sibling is, of course, jealous of you).  One of your parents is getting close to becoming a Lich, and the ceremony is approaching. You have a grandparent and a lot of great-grandparents who are also Liches, and the festivity dinners are always awkward. Your family is like famously known in Nevarra but from the inside, you just feel weird. Eventually, you take your courage to break this tradition, coming out to your parents, and they tell you: “You are too young to decide this yet. Your great-grandmother thought the same thing at your age. You will change your mind.” To prove your point, you decide to join the Grey Wardens (or any action making it impossible for you to become a Lich), and half of your family is MAD and saying, “Omg, your great-great-great-great-grandfather is SO disappointed in you.” Done. I just find this possibility really funny.

D – Age gap: I would also like lots of scenes where Rook reacts the opposite of expected regarding the age gap between Emmrich and them (this post as an example). I could see Emmrich being a little annoyed sometimes when people talk to him about this subject, but I would love a Rook who doesn’t seem to understand the problem and just reacts possessively, as if the people talking about it are just jealous. That would also reassure Emmrich (I think).

E – Cute little scenes: I want to read about Emmrich and Rook snuggling on the couch in front of a fire, while Emmrich reads aloud a book about some academic stuff. I also would love a scene where Emmrich gives a powerful massage to Rook (since he knows anatomy so well…).

This is it. Thank you very much for reading. Now that all of this is out of my system, I can go back in peace to my boring thesis. If you already know some fanfics with one of those subjects, please tell me. I’m trying to check on AO3 often, but I don’t always have the time.

[cyarikaplease]

this is the way to behave

professor!din x student!reader

summary: act up in professor djarin’s class, suffer the consequences.

warnings: smut

You’re in your senior year at Coruscant University, inching closer and closer to finally graduating. You’re a history major and while you love history with all of your heart, school is draining you. So when your advisor tells you that you have to take Mandalorian Studies this semester, you’re less than thrilled. She sends you a copy of your schedule on your data pad and you take a look at the Mandalorian Studies section you’re in. And apparently, it’s being taught by Professor Djarin? You don’t even know who that is. Maybe they’re new to campus or an adjunct professor? Whoever they are, you hope they’re a good professor, or else this is about to be the longest and most boring semester of your life. 

You send your schedule to your friends, Helia and Mione, also history majors. To your delight, they’re both in Mandalorian Studies with you. At least you can goof off together. You’re so close to graduating that class isn’t that big of a deal for you anymore, you already have some promising job prospects after graduation. You’ll just have to suffer through this boring class. But at least you and your friends will do it together… Right?

-

It’s the first day of the semester. You’re about to head to Mandalorian Studies, in a particular part of campus you don’t normally frequent. The classroom is your typical university lecture hall, with a pitched floor with a desk situated in the center, large screens behind the desk, and seats on each of the steps. Your friends wave to you and you head over to them, sitting in the seat they saved. 

“Are you ready for the most boring class ever?” Helia snickers. 

“Don’t get me started,” you groan. 

You lean back in your chair and close your eyes, shielding them from the bright lights of the lecture hall. Until you hear a collection of gasps followed by one of your classmates saying, “That’s the professor?”

Your eyes fly open to see a Mandalorian in shiny beskar armor heading down the steps to the desk in the center of the floor. Kriff, you didn’t think the professor himself would actually be a Mandalorian. 

He faces the class, a group of about forty students, and takes a deep breath. 

“Hello. I’m Professor Djarin. Welcome to Mandalorian Studies. This semester we’ll be learning about Mandalorian culture starting from the beginning until the present day.”

Maker, his voice is so nice, with a sultry modulated tone. Maybe you could get used to this. At least the boring topics will have a soothing feel to them. 

That is if you pay attention. Because all of a sudden class is over and you didn’t retain a single piece of information. Great. 

As you leave the classroom you glance over your shoulder and get one last look at Professor Djarin. He notices and his visor locks onto you, so you look away quickly and feel your cheeks go hot. 

Upon entering the hallway your friends say, “Total snooze fest, right?” followed by a laugh. 

“I mean…” you respond. 

“Don’t tell me you actually enjoyed that,” Mione says. 

“I didn’t enjoy it. I just think his voice is nice.”

“Maybe it would be nicer if he wasn’t talking about the most mind-numbing topics in the world,” Helia says. 

“Yeah… I wasn’t paying attention,” you admit. 

“Oof, don’t make that a habit if you actually want to pass. I have no idea how this guy grades,” Helia says, pretending to scold you. 

“Oh, he seems like a total hardass,” you snort. 

You all groan in unison. Here’s to the start of a long semester. 

-

It’s been a few weeks since your class with Professor Djarin started. You’ve been doing… alright. It’s been a little tough to pay attention between zoning out to the sound of his deep voice or your friends goofing off. You got a B+ on your last paper, not your best but also not your worst! It was a paper on the Siege of Mandalore during the Clone Wars, so lots of information and also a heavy topic. 

You’ve also come to a realization you haven’t shared with your friends… Professor Djarin is hot, like really hot. You don’t even know what he looks like under all the armor but between that voice and the way he saunters into the classroom and the way he tilts his helmet to the side whenever he’s listening to someone talk, and- Kriff, you got it bad. 

You’re not even subtle about it, fully checking him out as he’s in the middle of lectures, admiring the way he rests a hand in his belt… the arrow on his glove pointing directly to where his cock is under his flight suit. 

Class is about to get a lot worse for you though. Because you’re sitting in the back like you and your friends typically do. And Professor Djarjn is explaining the Mandalorian phrase “This is the way” and… you all can’t stop laughing. 

“This is wayyy,” Helia says in the sassiest but also quietest voice she can muster. 

“This is the wahhh,” Mione says, holding back her own laughter. 

It shouldn’t be funny but it is. And you’re doing your best to stifle your laughs but it’s hard, threatening to rip themselves free from your throat. You swipe the tears from the corners of your eyes and blink a few times to regain focus to see… Professor Djarin staring directly at you. 

“Oh kriff, guys stop it,” you say, lightly slapping Helia on the arm. 

“What?” she asks before following your gaze and realizing what’s going on. “Oh,” she lets out softly. 

For the rest of the class you don’t look at each other, because if you do the laughter threatens to come back. Thankfully, Professor Djarin didn’t say anything. Maybe it’ll all be okay. 

Class is over finally and you get ready to leave. But before you pass through the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder followed by your name being called out. It’s Professor Djarin. You don’t even need to turn around to confirm it. The voice is a dead giveaway. 

You turn around to face the stone-cold glare of the T-shaped visor and take a deep breath. 

“Can you stay back for a moment?”

“S-Sure.”

“You guys don’t have to wait. I’ll catch up with you later,” you say to your friends, both of them looking like they’ve seen a ghost judging by their clammy, panicked appearance. 

This has to be about what happened in class just now. What else could it possibly be? 

But if this is about being reprimanded… Why isn’t he making them stay after class, too?

He walks past you and locks the door, before turning to you and saying, “Meet me by my desk.”

He heads down to the desk and you gulp. Why did he lock the classroom door? This can’t be good. 

You head down the steps and set your bag on an empty chair before walking over to him, facing him and his glaring stance. 

“Do you know why I’m speaking to you privately right now?”

“Look, if this is about what me, Helia and Mione were doing, I’m sorry. I meant no disrespect. I was trying not to laugh but-”

“Oh, before we even get to the topic of that. We need to talk about you eyeing me up and down like a piece of meat, in my own classroom.”

“Uhh-”

“Oh yes, I noticed, pretty girl. Doesn’t help that you’re so obvious about it.”

You’re mortified right now, completely skipping over the fact that he called you pretty girl. As soon as this little talk is over, you’re heading to your advisor’s office and dropping this class. 

“I’m-I’m sorry,” you manage to spit out. 

“That’s all you have to say?”

“W-what do you want me to say?”

“How about I’m sorry, sir?” 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I don’t think that’s enough. I think you need to be punished.”

“What? Please, sir. I’ve already apologized.”

“And I said I don’t think that’s enough, pretty girl. Bend over the desk.”

You can’t deny how hot this is. Being disciplined by the hot professor? Never in your wildest dreams did you think this would happen, especially in this class. 

You move around to the back of the desk, bending over and resting on your elbows. You picked the worst day (or maybe the best day) to wear a skirt. As you bend over, your skirt rides up, exposing more of your thighs. He moves behind you, running his gloved hands along your soft flesh. 

“And who do you think you are? Wearing this short skirt to my class like a whore. Did you want my attention?”

“Maybe…”

“What was that?” he says, resting a hand on your ass. You also picked the worst day (or again, maybe the best day) to go commando. You shiver at the feeling of the leather against your bare ass. 

“Yes, sir,” you say, gasping at the end of your sentence as he runs finger along your entrance. You’re already soaked, having fantasized about him in every class since you laid eyes on him. And of course he notices, bringing his hand in front of your face to show you the physical proof. 

“Dirty, dirty girl, getting wet in class while I’m just trying to teach… Time for you to get punished.”

He moves his hand from your face and spanks you on the ass, the leather colliding with your skin. You let out a moan, the stinging feeling left on your skin in the aftermath. 

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he rasps by your ear. 

Another spank. Another moan, this one deeper than the last. 

“Dirty girl likes getting punished over my desk, doesn’t she?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you breathe out, getting off from the sound of his voice and the feeling of his gloves on your ass. 

“Thought so,” he tuts, drawing his hand back and spanking your ass again. 

You moan again and he says, “I don’t think the spanking is enough. I think you need a real punishment.”

“Please, sir.”

He runs his hand along your wetness again before sliding a finger inside, slowly working your walls before adding a second one. You think about his gloved fingers, pumping in and out of you. Kriff, that thought drives you crazy. 

“You get to cum when I say so, got it? And don’t even think about coming without telling me, or I’ll pull out so fast.”

You whine in response, prompting him to grab you by the throat and pull you upright against him. 

“Got it?” he reiterates. 

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Be a good girl for me,” he teases, letting go of your throat and bending you over the desk again. 

He curls his fingers inside you, pressing up against your g-spot. You feel your pleasure mounding, teetering on the edge of orgasm. You do your best to hold off, to wait for his approval but it’s too hard. 

“Please, sir. Can I cum?”

“Not yet,” he commands. 

You whimper in response, fearing you won’t be able to hold on and you’ll be punished. 

“Please, sir,” you beg, the desperation heavy in your voice. 

“Fine,” he sighs, feigning kindness. 

You cum around his fingers, his leather-clad fingers, shaking against the desk. You shake a little bit, knees threatening to give out just from being fingered. He pulls his fingers from you once you’re done coming, spreading your release around his cock and slamming into you, giving you no time to recover. 

“Oh, kriff,” you curse, walls adjusting to the newfound length and girth inside you.

“You can take it,” he commands. 

“Yes, sir,” you spit in between your labored breathing. 

His hands grip your hips tightly as he fucks you against the desk, making it shake beneath you. He pulls you into him as he thrusts back into you, making your ass slam up against his groin, all while he talks you through it. 

“Dirty girl likes taking my cock over my desk, huh?”

“It’s- it’s so good, sir,” you respond, completely blissed out. 

“Oh, I know. And you’re taking it like such a good girl,” he praises. 

You whimper at his praise and stars cloud your vision, the euphoria swirling throughout your body.

“Can I please cum?”

“I suppose since you’re taking my cock so good, pretty girl.”

His praise does it again, pushing you over the edge. You cum around his cock, convulsing and gripping him as you ride out your high. The lecture hall is filled with the sounds of your moans and cries as he fucks you through your release. 

“Good girl,” he praises, his voice dripping with his own pleasure. 

He grunts and you feel his cock twitch inside you. Kriff, he’s going to cum soon. Before you can even tell him to pull out he’s painting your insides with his release, holding your hips in place. He pulls out of you once he’s done and you collapse onto the desk, your knees finally giving out. 

There’s a layer of wetness in between you and the desk. Professor Djarin chuckles and says, “Look at you. Made a mess all over my desk.” 

You pull yourself off and smooth down your skirt, averting your gaze to the floor. 

“Sorry about that,” you say sheepishly. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles again. 

“Well, uh, I’m sorry about what happened in class earlier. It won’t happen again,” you respond, suddenly feeling embarrassed. 

You grab your bag off the chair and quickly head out. But before you can leave through the door, he says, “Feel free to stay late after the next class,” in a sly tone, hands on hips. 

You nod, feeling your face go hot, and dart out the door. 

Yeah, you’re definitely not dropping his class now. 

[ganxiously]

This is the part of the helicopter crash fic I started writing today. I don't know if I'm going to post it to ao3 but I did want to share it here. Now, this first update is angst so read at your own risk, but it will be a happy ending, I promise. This is Tommy's pov and I'll be back with Buck's side of things and the aftermath as soon as I have finished writing them —

The silence is stark in the aftermath and Tommy’s ears ring like they are still expecting the screech of the altitude alarms or the roar of metal crashing into rocks and trees. He’s not sure what happened, one moment he was flying his helo back to Harbour and the next, the altitude alarms started going off one by one. He had tried to fix it, tried to pull the bird up even as it became amply clear that nothing was working. They had dropped fast, swinging this side and that with the wind and then his tail had hit the cliffside, sending him and his medic rolling down the mountain in a 30-tonne metal can. He doesn’t know what happened to her, Amy, a new recruit with a penchant for keeping to herself. That’s why they worked together so well, a good thing until it led them here.

“Amy?”, he manages to ask, his voice coming out hoarse. “Medic Garcia?”

There is nothing. Not even the sound of feeble breaths. Tommy swallows the burgeoning feeling of grief and panic and tries to think of a way out. It’s dead of the night, the scenery outside the broken glass of his wind-screen pitch black, the flickering lights of the city not even visible from where he’s landed. He tries to move himself and then immediately freezes as the pain threatens to take away his consciousness. 

This is bad, he thinks. I don’t know how to get out of this one.

He is still strapped into his harness and beneath that, his flight suit is soaked with blood. It feels tacky and slippery against his skin, enough of it that he knows wherever it’s coming from, it’s not good news. It’s not survivable. His legs are pinned and he’s pretty sure the wet feeling around his eyes is blood. His ribs hurt and when he tries to move his hands, his shoulders refuse to bear the weight.

Oh, I am definitely not getting out of this one.

The realisation hits like G during a rapid climb and for the first time in long while, Tommy’s scared. He is terrified, as terrified as he hasn’t been since he was a wet-behind-his-ears boy seeing war for the first time. He thinks his hands would shake if he could move them that fast, his breath would stutter if it already wasn’t, wheezing past the damage, past the blood and tickling at his lips.  He doesn’t want to die like this, the thought occurs to him. He doesn’t want to die at all. He wants to turn back time and return to those scant months when he had been, for once, truly happy. He wants . . . he wants Evan. Beside him, holding his hand, his fingers tracing the lines on Tommy’s palm as he talks about anything and everything that comes to his mind.

Maybe that is the thing about impending death. Its finality, its loneliness puts things into perspective really fast. When he had all the time in the world, he had faltered, he had a thousand and one excuses ready as to why it was a bad idea. Now that Tommy’s out of time, there is not one that seems to hold up to reason. He wants Evan, he loves Evan and he should have told him that when he still had the chance. He should have spent every second he had left loving him.

He somehow manages to take his phone out of his pocket, surprised to see that it’s still mostly intact, except for the one thin crack down the middle. He thumbs it open and there he is, brushed golden in the sun and laughing at something Tommy had said. It’s a damn shame he can’t remember anymore what that something had been. There’s no cell service on his phone, which is bad but it also relieves him. He doesn’t have to make a 911 call, only to tell them they are already too late and like this, he won’t give in to the urge to hear Evan’s voice one last time.

He opens their message thread like he has done so many times these past couple of weeks, typing and deleting messages that never seem to be able to convey his complicated thoughts. He clicks on the typing bar, watches the keyboard pop up and then just keeps on staring, looking at the bloody fingerprint on his screen as he tries to think of what to write. What last words do you text your ex-boyfriend who you broke up with? That I’m sorry and I think I’m an even bigger asshole than you probably think I am?

The pain in his body notches up, so spread out that he barely knows where it originates from and he grits his teeth with an effort to keep himself from screaming. Eventually, it passes and Tommy takes the opportunity to click on the voice message button to the right.

“Buck.”

He hates that name on his tongue. 

“Evan.”, he starts and then stops again because it still doesn’t feel enough. It doesn’t feel like it encapsulates everything Tommy associates with that name — the warmth, the safety, the incredulous how is he real? and the helpless adoration that he just can’t seem to keep at bay no matter how much he tries. So, he gives it one more shot, “Evan. My Evan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about a million things.”

A cough stops him, the movement jostling him enough that pain rips through him anew and he is left gasping and sobbing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay away. I’m sorry I didn’t leave earlier and I’m sorry I left when I did . . . I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He swallows the blood in his mouth or at least, he tries to but all of it comes out with the next cough.

“I should have stuck around. I should have stayed and I should have loved you as long as you let me. I should . . . I should have told you I love you. Even—even if you don’t and that’s okay. You should— you shouldn’t love someone like me but that was no reason to not tell you I did. I just . . . I should have loved you as hard as I could while I still had the chance, Evan. You, at least, deserved that.”

He’s getting colder by the second and the part of his brain that still works, tells him that he is going into shock. Tommy’s running out of time and he’s running out of time fast.

“I don’t want to die.”, he manages to say through the sobs racking through his throat. He thinks he should feel pain but there isn’t anything beyond numbness anymore, “I don’t want to die and I don’t want to go through death alone. I want you . . .”

No, but that’s not right, is it? He doesn’t want Evan in this mess. Evan doesn’t deserve to get hurt again just to accompany Tommy in his last moments. He should be far away, happy, healthy and at peace. Maybe it is better that they broke up. If this was always supposed to be the end, it is surely better that Evan no doubt hates Tommy a little bit now. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Evan will leave a flower on his grave one day.

“I really wanted to be your last, you know?”, he finally says after a minute of silence, the words spilling out almost conversationally, long after he thought he’s run out of things to say. “But more than that, I wanted you to be my last and I’m happy that I got it, even if it’s not in the way I wanted it to be.”

And it's so fucking typical of him, isn’t it? He is being so selfish right now, ruining Evan’s life like this just so he can get some things off his chest. And he knows Evan, he knows what this message will do to him. Evan will go through life with the burden of Tommy’s regret on his shoulders and he hates how tempting that thought is, that if not in his heart, Tommy’s existence will at least have a place in the scars he carries for the rest of his life.

Here lies Tommy Kinard. He’s the bastard that broke my heart once upon a time.

But no, he can’t do that to Evan. He’s been selfish when he kissed Evan the first time, when they decided to give it a second try and when he hurt Evan to protect himself. He’s been selfish every moment that he managed to steal in between.

“Nevermind.”, he breathes out, smiling through the blood that’s threatening to choke him. “Nevermind, Evan. You— you don’t need to know all that. You should forget me. Forget there was ever a Tommy Kinard who loved you. Live a happy life and maybe . . . maybe in our next one, I’ll get to keep you. I’ll delete this now. I would have deleted myself out of your life too if I could’ve but this will have to do. I’m really outta time here, kid.”

He tries to blink away the blind spots around the edges of his vision but he’s fading fast. He fights against the unmoored feeling that is taking over, tries to swipe his screen in hopes of deleting the message but his hands are too slick and too weak to do anything anymore. The phone slips from his grasp and falls with a thunk somewhere near his feet, not that it matters. Not when he can barely remember what he was doing with the phone in the first place. Something to do with Evan. Maybe.

He huffs at his uselessness.

“Evan.”, his lips shape the word with care even though his voice doesn’t quite manage to colour it fully but it’s enough. It’s enough to have that be the last thing he speaks, to be the last thing he thinks about. The name washes away the cold like dawning sunrise on a crisp winter morning and Tommy is at peace, he is content.

“Tommy?”

That’s Evan’s voice. He has to go. He has to answer. He has to—

[twenty-qs]

I find it SO interesting how Viktor and Ekko present different versions of an “underground utopia.” It represents their different philosophies of technology as well as their approach to environmentalism.

On the one hand, we have Viktor. He believes science will save us, specifically science that augments the human form. I think a lot about the hex claw as his vision of “improving lives”—because honestly, Heimerdinger was right. That thing is a blatant safety hazard. It is not ready for a mass rollout. Also, the only thing it would accomplish is making the exploitation of labor in the Undercity more efficient—it makes the individual more productive, and as Jayce puts it, enables the individual to work longer and harder, while doing nothing to actually improve the working conditions and rights of the laborer. Everybody knows what happened after the well-intentioned invention of the cotton gin, right? But Viktor was blind to this because he had spent so long separated from life in Zaun, because of his desperate ambition, and because he does genuinely believe that science is Good. Especially science that augments the human body’s capabilities.

This carries over to his Herald arc. “The goal of evolution is to supersede nature.” His idea of a utopia is a world where the pains and horrors of the human body are obsolete—where bio-engineered plants can flourish, where violence doesn’t exist simply because nobody thinks to engage in it. He’s the type who would look at a chemical spill and say, hey, we can engineer bacteria that can break the chemicals back down to something safe. It’s great, it’s a good thing. But it doesn’t address root causes, it just enables people to keep spilling those chemicals. It remains to be seen exactly what the price of his utopia was, but it’s notable that his version of “superseding” nature is fundamentally unsustainable. Once Viktor dies, once he takes his power and inspiration and knowledge away, the whole commune dies.

On the other hand, you have Ekko. He also builds a non-violent utopia in the middle of the Undercity with a culture centered around nature. But his idea of utopia is living with nature, stewarding it, taking only enough to live by and paying forward with the rest. His technology is simply part of the tree’s ecosystem. The hoverboard is explicitly inspired by the firelights. Bugs play a central role in the ecosystem by helping to pollinate plants across large distances. Ekko’s people use the technology to move around the tree to help take care of it, and to move across the Undercity and spread their ideology. He doesn’t interfere with or supersede nature. He sort of just—shepherds it. And when Ekko disappears, the Firelights are seen functioning perfectly well without him. That’s what sustainability means.

Ekko focuses on social inequities of the impact of technology. If he saw a chemical spill, he’d go to whoever spilled it and try to make them stop. Root causes.

Ideally they’d work together. After all, Ekko can’t help people who are too far gone on Shimmer. But I’ll be very interested to see if we get some Ekko and Viktor interactions in act 3.

[highfantasy-soul]

omg this tension with Evan and his character arc this season is sooo juicy!!!!

spoilers for episode 9 of mismag season 2

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

At some point, the tension is going to break and I really really hope the entire pilot program sits Evan on his ass and, since he's so concerned about people being plain with their speech, gives it to him like it is. How he's being so SHIT to his friends and at every opportunity spitting in their faces and calling them liars.

My jaw was on the GROUND when they went back to piss-berg and he accused the Quoli (spelling - who knows spelling??) of being purposefully obtuse about why he gave Evan the book and what his sad expression meant. Evan took it as "Evan's life will permanently be so sad and pathetic" and when confronted, the Quoli explained that wasn't the reason, Evan wanted answers and the book has what Evan had wanted when last he came to the island - but the whole reason the Quoli looked sad was inappropriate to tell Evan.

Like, the Quoli straight up said 'Evan, your emotional healing and self-realization has got to come from you - you can't get that shit handed to you by an outside force' and Evan threw a little tantrum.

What really made my jaw drop was when in response to Evan claiming the Quoli thought his life was all super sad and pathetic, the Quoli LOOKED TO THE OTHERS to ask if they thought Evan's depiction of his life was accurate. The others staunchly and firmly said 'no, we don't see Evan's life as just a sad, pathetic never ending cycle of depression - that's not who he is' - the Quoli looked to Evan and asked 'Do you really need ME to explain to you what your friends already know? (and just told you) or do you trust that with more time, you'll understand it for yourself?' (again, telling him - yo, you can't fast track emotional healing, but you got a whole ass support system here for you. To quote Bo Burnham: the love has got to come from YOU)

And EVAN'S RESPONSE WAS: "I don't like you. There could be clarity here and there's not. I'm not sure if that's your fault or just the nature of the world but either way, I don't have to be in a good mood about the imposition of mystery on someone who's just looking for answers."

My jaw DROPPED

Evan just heard his friends give clear and direct answers to the question he was asking and he TOLD THEM TO SHUT THE FUCK UP - THEIR THOUGHTS MEAN NOTHING, THEY DON'T KNOW SHIT AND HE WANTS A GOAT TO TELL HIM WHAT TO FEEL!!!!!!

He's claiming there's mystery and a lack of clarity but EVAN IS THE ONLY ONE OBSCURING HIS VISION!!!!

You can bring a horse to water but you for sure can't make him listen to his friends when they tell him point blank the answer to his question!

If I was Jammer, I wouldn't have just asked Evan if he was ready to go, I would have grabbed that motherfucker by the collar and drug his ass out of there and he'd be getting the cold shoulder for A WHILE

I really hope that's where his character arc is going because I get heated every time Evan insists his friends are shit and liars and 'no, no, they don't understand, I'm the most specialist boy in the whole wide world and my sadness is everything that defines and and I'm going to pretend to hate it, but every time my friends counter it, I'll ignore them and tell them they're stupid liars and retreat back into my comfortable sad boi aura that makes me feel special.'

Like, at some point, something's gotta break, right? I know K has the most to lay out for Evan in that department, but I kinda hope Jammer is right there with them because I don't think Evan will listen to K at all - he'll dismiss her as just a jilted lover who's opinion is the least among the group.

I know it's an improv show and there's no guarantee everything will pay off, but I think it'll be really good if they're able to fit it in.

---

Obviously, this isn't me dogging on Brennan and his choices while playing the game - it's a very VERY compelling and realistic look at the difficult healing journey that people who have gone through (or gone through similar) what Evan has might take.

What I will say though, on a serious note, is that if you find yourself in a relationship with someone who behaves the way Evan does, take care of yourself. Just because they've suffered unimaginable trauma doesn't mean it's ok for them to abuse you. Even if that abuse stems from their trauma, you do not have to accept being treated like that.

You cannot help someone who doesn't want to be helped. You cannot force them to drink the tonic you offer them, accept the help you give, or believe what reassurances you give them.

You cannot tell them how to view themselves - even if you think it's helping them see themselves how you believe they truly are. The belief HAS to come from them, you can't do their emotional labor for them (though many will try to make you and then have you blame yourself when it doesn't work).

Of course leave room for love and meeting people where they are, but trauma does not excuse abuse - you are not a bad person for stepping away from someone who is hurting you even if they're hurting, too.

[overlyobsessed223]

wrote a quick halbarry drabble to try and ease myself back into writing, thought i'd throw it up onto here. with this i can cross the "only one bed" trope off my ever shrinking list of cliches i've never done before

---

“What are you doing?”

Barry blinks in confusion, pausing in his efforts to make up the couch and turning his head in the direction of Hal’s voice. The hotel room is dark, all the lamps turned off and the drapes drawn shut, meaning he can only barely see the vague outline of Hal’s form on the bed. The one, singular bed they were given instead of the two beds Bruce had promised he’d reserved for them. Upon entering the room and realizing they’d only been given the one bed, Hal had been immediately convinced that Bruce had lied just to be an asshole, while Barry had been more inclined to believe the apologetic hotel manager when she’d told them she was so, so sorry, but there was an error in the booking system and, unfortunately, there were no more double rooms available for the night. 

Having already been worn down from the day’s Justice League mission, Barry hadn’t felt much other than faint resignation regarding the bed situation. He let Hal grab a shower first, and when Hal sauntered over to the large, king-sized bed and flopped onto it face-first with a pained groan, Barry figured it was only fair to let him have the bed. After all, Hal’s bruises and sore muscles surely won’t fare well sleeping on the stiff and lumpy couch cushions, and it might make for a rough night of rest for Barry but at least his fully healed body will be able to handle it better. 

“I’m… getting ready for bed?” Barry responds, glancing back down at the half-prepared couch, trying to figure out what he’d missed and coming up empty. 

“Yeah, but why are you over on the couch?” Hal sounds just as confused as Barry feels. “Why don’t you just sleep in the bed?”

“Uh, because you’re already in it,” Barry points out. Shouldn’t that be obvious?

“So?” Through the darkness, Barry sees Hal prop himself onto his elbows and hears him pat the empty side of the bed. “This is literally the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. There’s more than enough room for both of us.”

It finally dawns on Barry, then, that Hal means they should both sleep in the bed. Together. Barry swallows, his mouth suddenly having gone dry. 

“Oh, um, I don’t think,” Barry frowns, nervously rubbing at the back of his neck. He’s been Hal’s friend for many years at this point, but they’ve never shared the same bed before. Barry’s always been under the impression that that would be weird and in violation of some kind of friendship boundary. Not that he’s spent much time thinking about sharing a bed with Hal in the first place. Honest. “I’m fine with just taking the couch, Hal. Really, I am.”

Even in the near pitch blackness, Barry can still feel Hal’s stare boring into him.

“Barry, you’re not sleeping over on that shitty ass couch over a perfectly fine bed, that’s just stupid,” Hal says. Barry can practically hear the eye roll in his voice. Sighing exasperatingly, Hal cuts off the protest that’s currently loaded up on Barry’s tongue, “would you just come get into bed so we can both get the fuck to sleep? Seriously, Bar, this doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”

“Okay,” Barry acquiesces against his better judgment, shuffling over to the bed. He awkwardly slides under the covers, and admittedly, the mattress feels worlds better on his spine and neck than the couch. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he lies there stiff as a board, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the city outside and Hal’s breathing. 

“You can relax, man,” Hal huffs with laughter after a minute. “Don’t worry, I swear I’ll keep my hands to myself. I won’t cuddle up to you in the middle of the night or anything. I mean, not unless you want me to.”

Barry lets out a soft snort, feeling himself start to unwind and relax. It’s just Hal, he reminds himself, his best and most trusted friend Hal. There’s no reason for him to feel weird, or self-conscious about this. Really, the situation is only as awkward as they decide to make it, and clearly, Hal has already decided he’s not bothered. Maybe Barry shouldn’t be, either. 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Barry blurts out without thinking. He instantly regrets saying it, his eyes growing wide and his face heating up instantly. “I—I mean, uh—”

“Yeah?” Hal questions suggestively, and Barry can imagine him quirking his brow, wearing the beginnings of a cheeky grin. 

Barry lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“Yeah,” Barry says, busying himself with playing with the edges of the blanket. 

“Alright,” Hal hums thoughtfully. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And when Barry wakes in the morning to Hal’s arm slung over him, face pressed into his shoulder, it feels just… normal. Completely and utterly normal. 

Oh, Barry thinks to himself. 

Oh. 

[acekindaneat]

worms on a string 👍👍