#it’s just them standing there being silly.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 

His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.

It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.

When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 

To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.

Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

That phrase haunted him for years.

Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.

He got angrier, distant. 

He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?

It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.

He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.

He hated himself for that. 

The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.

People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 

He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.

He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?

His his chest was on fire. 

He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.

The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 

He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.

She should’ve been there.

She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 

Gone. Just like that.

After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 

They’d forget about her in a week.

He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.

When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid��better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 

Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.

But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 

You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."

When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”

If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.

He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”

You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.

Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."

He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.

“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.

“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”

That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.

His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.

He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.

The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.

Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.

“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.

It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 

“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.

“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”

“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”

He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”

Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 

She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 

Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.

Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.

He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.

The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”

He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.

Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.

Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.

It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 

If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”

It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.

After her funeral, things changed.

Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.

Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.

Except when you were there.

Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”

Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 

He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.

Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 

You weren’t in his life anymore—hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.

Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?

Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 

The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.

The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 

He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 

For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.

That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 

He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.

What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.

You weren’t here anymore.

He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 

It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 

He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.

Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.

He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 

What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.

At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 

He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?

Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 

The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.

He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 

Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.

He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.

Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 

People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 

Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.

When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.

She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.

“Can I come in?” 

She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?

“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.

Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”

“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”

Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”

He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”

He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.

He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.

“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”

It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.

Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”

“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.

“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”

Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”

Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”

She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.

He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”

She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.

By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 

She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 

He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.

He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.

“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”

Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”

“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”

“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.

His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”

He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.

“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.

“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”

The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

She knew. She always knew.

He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.

“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

He nodded again.

Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.

“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”

As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 

He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.

“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.

He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.

By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?

That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.

Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.

He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.

The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.

He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.

His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 

The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”

Nothing.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 

When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.

That was his fault.

He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.

He was in, part of your life, part of you.

Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.

He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.

He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.

Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.

He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.

What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”

He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.

“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”

He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.

His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”

He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.

But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.

She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.

By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.

Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.

He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.

Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 

The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.

“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”

Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.

“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”

His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.

“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”

Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.

“I didn’t just make it up.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”

He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.

 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”

His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”

“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”

"You’re just not worth the energy right now."

Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”

“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”

Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?

He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."

He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.

“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”

He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.

"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”

“I ended it. This morning.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”

Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."

Topper still had that number. 

You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”

His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”

“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”

His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.

 “What can I do?”

Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."

"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”

By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[ghouljams]

Aphrodite!reader bringing Hephaestus!Nikto little scraps of metal or full on weapons/armor pieces she liked the metal that it used or thought he would find interesting to forge with.

Aphrodite!Reader asking Nikto if he would ever tell her what he was doing with specific steps in his forging because she just wants to hear his voice

Nikto building a different seat for reader to rest in but still having her little stool available for when she wants to come closer. Not that he understands why.

Reader bringing a drink or pitcher of some cold beverage for Nikto and him also being confused again as to why she’s doing these things. Obviously she’s sharing because she would feel bad if she didn’t and not because she knows that said beverage is his favorite or one that he enjoys.

you’ve definitely won me over (expected) (once again) (as usual) with this au. i am appreciative.

Someone on one of my posts about them mentioned it was fitting for the "god of passion to marry the god of invention." And it made me remember that quote that's like "I loved her to the point of invention" and yeah, good stuff.

It's not like you don't have things to do. You are a god, after all, you have duties to attend to, people to bless and all that. You have battlefields to walk through, soldiers that swear on their love's life, that beg to see them one more time, that take the rage of loss and channel it into power. You have weddings and births, deaths and funerals, first steps, reunions, first and last loves to look over. You have artists to watch, to stare entranced as they paint their muse, their passion seeping into every brushstroke, every strike of their hammed.

You pluck iron shavings off the floor and hum to yourself as you go. You pull arrowheads from broken ribcages. First teeth fall into your hands. Hair from a pet gone too soon. Lace from a wedding dress, notes off pages of music, stone chunks, paint chips, love letters half finished. You collect it all and shuffle through it as you sit outside your husband's forge. You don't have your stool out here, so you content yourself with standing. You shift your weight onto your other foot when one starts to ache.

You think he would like the nails, the arrowhead, the iron shavings, things he can melt down. He has better metal you're sure, but you don't know what to give your husband when you hardly know him. Does he even like his work? Is the forge something he's relegated to and not something he's passionate about. You love Love, you're the god of it, you find passion exhilarating, inspiring, transmogrifying. Nikto must feel the same about his work.

It's well into the night by the time the forge door swings open, your husband running a scarred hand through matted hair, tugging his mask off to reveal a crisp line of soot across his nose and cheeks. The black mark is matched only by the cacophony of white lines that strike like lightning over his skin, pulling his lips into a snarl and puckering his cheek. He freezes when he sees you. His eye twitches.

There's a large part of you that feels silly offering up your treasures. There's a small part of you that stares wide eyed at your husband, at the spectacular carnage that cuts his handsome features, and wishes he didn't slip his mask back on. So you offer him your metals, your scraps of love with nowhere to go.

"This is trash," He tells you, his voice muffled and distorted by the cylinders on either side of his mask, as he hands you a jewel, "we don't want it."

He turns, with your offering, and shuts the door to the forge behind him again. You can hear the heavy *thunk* of the lock sliding back into place.

Your bed is cold.

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

⋆.˚ ☁︎ TEENAGE DREAM ☁︎︎ ⋆.˚

—sometimes at eighteen, young love is anything but a teenage dream.

genres・fluff // young love // awkward confessions // meet cutes. summary・love is embarrassing, especially when you're in high school. from the cozy coffee shop to the local campus, eight boys stumble through the awkward world of crushes—trying, and failing to confess to you. taglist ・@its-stayville-forever, @aris078

a/n・I haven't been on here for a little while, but I wanted to do something silly and fun to celebrate 500 amazing followers! All of these ideas are still in the works, so the plots may change, but I'm having so much fun writing them. I get hit with a pang of nostalgia every once in a while, remembering my very first fanfiction, haha. If you want to be tagged in any of these, just comment down below or send me an ask—and always remember to support your content creators; it means the world to us!!

☁︎︎ COFFEE CUP ☁︎︎

BANG CHAN loved being a barista; not only did he get exceptional employee discounts but it was peaceful—he handed people their coffee, they said thank you and walked away—nobody ever bothered him. that is, until one night, ten minutes before closing, you walked in with your bright smile and garrulous chit-chat. It only took you one sentence to have him hooked, eagerly waiting for your next late-night visit. what is bang chan going to do when he finally works up the nerve to write his number on the sleeve of your coffee cup, only for you to toss it away without ever seeing it? (coming to your shelves December 10th)

☁︎︎ ROSE ☁︎︎

LEE KNOW was famous for being the star quarterback turned heartless bachelor—or so everybody thought. nobody could have guessed that the reason minho chased every woman away was because, hidden 60 miles from home, there was the animal shelter where he volunteered. the reason he drove an hour every day to nurture abused pets? you. what is minho going to do when, no matter how many roses he gives you, you just can’t take the hint? (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ MOTORCYCLE ☁︎︎

︎SEO CHANGBIN. there’s nothing he loves more than his motorcycle—well, that’s not entirely true. he probably loves you more, but his motorcycle is certainly a close second. with prom looming, changbin finally gathers enough courage to ask out his long-time crush and childhood best friend. what is changbin going to do when, halfway through, he chickens out—and, in a panic, ends up ramming his motorcycle into your mailbox while trying to back out of your driveway? (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ MY MUSE ☁︎︎

HWANG HYUNJIN has been in love with you for about as long as he’s understood the word love; stuck in the seat beside you since elementary school, hyunjin grew to adore the soft curves of your features. one day, in the middle of art class, he's struck with the urge to draw you. overcome with the fear of never getting the chance to tell you how he feels, hyunjin stuffs the picture in your locker. what is hyunjin going to do when he overhears you talking to your friends about the drawing—and you mention his enemy's name, and not his? (coming to your shelves soon...)︎︎

☁︎︎ LYRIC BOOK ☁

HAN JISUNG is dedicated to securing the top spot in his songwriting class, and nothing is going to stand in his way. that was, until three years ago, when you walked through the door, head held high, speaking of your goals as if they were already part of the present. jisung never thought there would be any competition—until there was. now, he doesn’t know whether to write songs about his overwhelming hatred or his overwhelming ardor. what is jisung going to do when, one day, you’re paired with him for a project, and you discover all the love songs he’s written about you? (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ SUGAR AND SPICE ☁︎︎

LEE FELIX, the school's sunshine, the universe’s fallen star—nothing was going to get him down. well, except for you. no matter how hard he tries, felix just can’t form a sentence around you; his tongue twisting into sailor’s knots whenever you look his way. what is felix going to do when he tries to confess through a cake, baked fresh in the culinary class you share, but trips over his shoelaces and smears the cake all over your shirt instead? (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ BASEBALL ☁

KIM SEUNGMIN worked with a focus nobody else seemed to reciprocate, constantly practicing to be the best pitcher this world has ever seen. his teammates respected him, his coach loved him, and the school only ever saw his poised manners—not the awkward teenager he really was. that is, until he meets you—equally shy and almost as painfully awkward, studying on the bleachers every day after school. there's something about your concentration, the self- assured direction you set for yourself, that makes him want you even more. what is he going to do when, one day after practice, he scrawls his number on a ball and chucks it toward you? and for once, the ball doesn’t go where he aimed. instead of landing in your lap, he nails you right in the forehead. (coming to your shelves soon...)

☁︎︎ THE BOOK WAS BETTER ☁︎︎

YANG JEONGIN lived in the library. on the days when he wasn’t cramming for an exam, he was relaxing with a good book. the library had always been peaceful for him—a sanctuary that students rarely ever touched. that is, until one random morning, he sees you walk in—captain of the cheerleading squad, with your tiny skirt and sparkly eyelids, jeongin almost expects you to laugh at him and his pathetic seating arrangement—all alone. but then, checking to see if anyone’s watching, you pull a book from the shelf, and begin to read it. that's how it started—now, every day during lunch, you come and read your book, safe in the shadows, creating a home nobody else knew about. what is he going to do when he starts falling for you, through the notes he slips into your book after you leave? And what will happen when the wrong girl comes in and tries to take the book? (coming to your shelves soon...)

a special thank you to @jeonginsleftcheek who helped me flesh out all these ideas. I couldn't do any of this without you!! I hope you like these stories <33

[auroracalisto]

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

[luckyofthelawnvariety]

You know what sure, I'll make a list of things I didn't realize about Etho before, after watching his entire Hermitcraft s10:

he is really good at designing little aesthetic details

he enjoys being a little menace to the other hermits (and is used to them giving him shit back, he actually expects it)

(an interesting example of the above is him attempting to tease joel with the statues, but when he realizes joel took it seriously he backs off and gives him his own statues)

he'll branch out on occasion and try something new he hasn't done before (the statues of hermits, armor stands)

he is such a perfectionist my goodness

he isn't a fan of overloading a space with details. he IS a fan of smoothing out build details so they flow into each other as much as possible (see how much he messes with the details on the bridges and gateways, making things the same colors etc)

he will kind of just poke at a problem until he figures it out. this applies to things other than redstone too.

ngl a lot of the redstone goes over my head (I break technology on a good day) but he's very good at breaking it down into chucks, to where I feel I could replicate a lot of what he makes, even if I don't entirely understand it.

on a similar note, the way he and tango both will just...put things together in such a way where you just stare at the result. frogger is insane and wonderful.

also, hilarious how worked up he gets defending his silly setup and decisions. tbf I am the exact same way but it's fun to see (I have a computer that I used until, I kid you not, it couldn't go longer than 10 min without shutting itself down. I am also the problem, mr. mic-stand-tissue-box)

he has his favorites to go bother, of course bdubs, but gem is also a favorite now, and doc and beef you can tell he thinks are fun to mess with

he has a lot of respect for other hermits? honestly it's in a chill way but he likes to go check things out and he'll back off if he feels he's overstepped. which should be standard but still, glad to see it.

he will join in on the bit, but he's normally pretty calm about it unless he likes it

disclaimer: don't mean anything by this, but sir you eat the same sandwich for lunch every day and will mimic sounds and vocal inflections you like. why are you me.

he is so petty. it's easy to miss if you aren't paying too much attention but he is SO petty, he is cleo levels of petty and judgmental.

he also will compliment people when he is genuinely impressed. sometimes it will be only to his viewers, but honestly the hermits are etho fans anyways so they'll probably get the message.

this man LIES. it's more obvious in the life series, and it ties into the pettiness and being a menace to other hermits, but he will straight up lie, especially if he thinks it's funny

he's a builder as much as he is a redstoner. it's not this way in every series but he has an eye for design and is good at enacting it, he just also has the ability to just make a build without making it super nice. (some builder hermits I'm pretty sure are incapable of letting themselves build something genuinely ugly. even bdubs stupid house in secret life is good...while etho can value practicality over pretty)

he'll pick up little things from other hermits, either in videos or actions. he's really open to learning. unless he's currently being petty. (see: he does intros similar to gem now, he'll adapt little redstone things he sees other hermits using, or little build details)

he is also really chill about teaching and giving advice, in that he'll tell you what he thinks could be better, same as he judges himself pretty much. sometimes he'll hold back, but he's in it to help you out and help you improve

he likes puzzles :)

he is always thinking of ways to improve, either himself or what he's making or the game of minecraft itself

he gets irritated with himself when he's having trouble with something. he's extremely stubborn and will sometimes out stubborn himself

on a very similar note: he is EXTREMELY competitive (see: giving himself a nosebleed doing cub's maze, not stopping until he gets the highest possible score on impulse's grass game, ALL OF DECKED OUT)

he likes doing things for his friends tbh. he really liked making frogger for the hermits, he likes figuring out new things that the hermits will use. I notice this more as a gem watcher, because the way etho was pretty much like "look at this, look what I did!" to gem about the trident farm...the hermits are hilarious

overall, here for a good time, and a slightly petty and perfectionist time, but a good time. and if he gets to bother the other hermits, or has to put up with the other hermits bothering him, so be it

in summary: I've always been a gem main, but I guess I'm a gemboy and an ethogirl now

[whathorselegs]

Headcanon Chuuya almost always wants to fight the people he respects.

Just one little match, that's all he wants. A no ability sparring match. Just one.

Okay, that wasn't enough, with abilities this time.

Actually, if they were truly testing their capabilities, neither of them would hold back at all.

Okay, now with stakes.

If this person says yes once, you can bet Chuuya will find an excuse to initiate another match. He knows it's not appropriate to ask certain people to a fight, so he literally sits there buzzing like an excited Chihuahua, trying to contain himself.

The Sheep would play wrestle all the time and that's really where it all started. It was a way to teach the younger members how to defend themselves, but also to blow off steam and settle disputes. Grappling each other, shouting silly wrestling moves and pretending to box each other was just a way of showing affection.

Then he became King of Sheep and the other members didn't want to engage in play matches with him anymore. The enemies he fought were boring most days. Once he learned how to deal with bullets there was no challenge to it.

Then came the mafia and with it people like Kouyou, Iceman and Hirotsu. People who could stand up to him and had things they could teach him. People he admired and sparred with regularly. Verlaine eventually was included in this too.

Fights against people like Rimbaud that made him feel alive because they pushed him so close death.

Chuuya found the joy in fighting again and in standing opposite a person you respect on a mat, anticipating their moves, counteracting with you own, an improvised dance of strength and balance.

Begrudgingly, even Dazai was included in that, on the very rare occasion their arguments got physical. Dazai never beat him in a physical fight, but the fact that he knew him so well meant he could stand his ground when he really wanted to.

When he became an Executive and started training his own subordinates, he found yet another new joy in being the one doing the teaching. The pride in seeing his students grow. Unlike with The Sheep, his underlings here knew how strong he was and still stepped up to spar with him, because they trusted him.

Fighting isn't just a battle to Chuuya. It's communication.

[torchickentacos]

pokeani where everything is the exact same but Zoey was allowed to be even more butch

[oh-no-its-bird]

Sakumo being a super popular borderline sex symbol in his era will never stop being my favorite hc, I need to see more of it

All the people his age and younger had a crush on him. It was just a Thing(tm) where 9 times out of 10, a Konoha shinobi's first crush was probably Sakumo. Even other villages young shinobi hung up his bingo book picture above their bunk and dreamed of both killing him, being killed by him (in a hot way), having a battlefield fling with him, and more. There was blackmarket fanfiction. He was incredibly popular among civilians all over fire country. Some popular romance novels had love interests very blatantly based off him.

Even before they were on a team together, Obito and Rin both had a silly kid crush on Kakashi's dad (Obito more than Rin) and he was aware of it. This did not help make him like them any more. (By the time hearing smthn positive ab his dad would have made Kakashi softer, they'd both gotten better at hiding the crush, so to Kakashi it looked like they'd gotten over Sakumo.) Even Minato had a bit of a thing for him, not really but like— strong, popular, feard and very friendly ninja who is now paying him some attention (bc hes his kids teacher) he's not immune. Kushina understands, she is also not immune. (Kakashi is going to throw a fucking fit)

Even after his failed mission, when his reputation crashes and burns within the village, he still can't completely shake his admirers— they possibly just get more disrespectful ab the attraction when it mixes with the hate. (Which tbh could make for an interesting discussion all on its own)

Kakashi is haunted by his father's insane popularity for decades after his death. He does his very best to ignore the lingering evidence of people being insane ab his father.

One day he realizes one of his favorite romance novels has a romance interest based off Sakumo and has a break down ab it and can never read the series again.

When raiding an old abandoned enemy camp w Team Ro, he finds an old, autographed photo of his dad covered in lipstick marks in the communal bathroom. He chooses to ignore it but it's quickly spotted by his teammates, who do not know who Sakumk is, and v quickly begin to remark on the poster, who this mysterious Konoha nin is, and ahaha damn he is kinda good looking, huh? (Kakashi wants to DIE)

Shisui ends up taking the poster back to Konoha with them and hangs it up in the ANBU communal quarters where it is VERY quickly recognized. And also some of the people in that room recognize it so quick bc they also used to own a similar poster. (Kakashi wants to DIE someone PLEASE kill him now)

Its only when he's given team 7 that he finally thinks he's escaped the legacy of his father as Konoha's Most Sexiest Shinobi. Only for Naruto, when being trained by Jiriyah, to find his drafts for Icha Icha very clearly inspired by his dad. Which he can never publish for multiple reasons (lingering respect for Sakumo. Also for Kakashi, who is his biggest fan and would probably never look at him again.)

Naruto somehow accidentally brings this up with Kakashi who like. Has war flashbacks and immediatley stands up and walks away as Jiryah scrambles to try to explain himself and Tsunade looks on in scorn (she will approach him later to carefully ask for the drafts while trying to seem like she's not really asking for them bc she's too proud to admit it)

Naruto and Sakura discover Kakashi-sensei's dad was a sex symbol. I don't even know how they'd react but like. Oh my god. Oh my god you guys.

Funniest option would be they accidentally revive his popularity a little bit by being so loud ab it they like, remind people ab him. + introduce another generation to the idea of him

Kakashi is crouched on the floor with his face in his hands. When will he be freed from this hell.

Sasuke does not escape tho, he goes to sound and finds a picture of Sensei's dad in Orochimaru's office (???????)

This is such a shitty sketch but the vision:

Itachi, who learned who Sakumo was from that poster thing, goes on to find a photo of him in ""Madara's"" belongings and gets super weirded out but ultimately doesn't. Super care. But also. Like. What. What.

After Itachi finds the photo, which Obito genuinley forgot he fucking had and keeps in part just bc its like one of the only belongings that remained from his Konoha days, he shoves it somewhere in Kamui to forget about.

But then in the Obito vs Kakashi Kamui fight, it fucking flutters down in the middle of the fight and Obito fucking dies of humiliation as Kakashi realizes he will truly Never Escape and that this reality is his own personal hell

Uhh endgame Kakashi becomes Hokage and accidentally retreads his father's path in becoming the new Konoha Sexy Man. Which simultaneously crushes him (he will never escape) and fills him with delight (he will now be able to impart the pain of having your father figure be lusted after by all ur friends and acquaintances onto his students)

[solar4seekstron]

Just a funny short with IDW!Kup x Reader

Original part here.

Kup was currently yelling at the younger wreckers as per usual while Springer took a small vacation on a planet else where. Bulkhead especially was pretty sad since he accidentally broke something.

You’d then walk in with a couple data pads in your cervos as Kup keeps speaking.

The others then see you and give you pleading optics to help them. Even putting their cervos together. Kup notices and scolds them more. “Don’t look at them. They cant always save you. You bunch off-“

He was cut off as you got to him. Grabbing his chin and turning his helm to face you. “Y/N can’t you see I’m scolding them-“ He soon shuts up as your dermas connects with his.

All of a sudden he seems to soon be calm and shuts up. The other wreckers waiting to see if it’ll work.

Once you pulled away Kup seemed almost intranced as he grumbled a bit with a blush as he tried to speak. His optics almost hazy as he frowned. “Y’all can…go”

His helm resting ontop of your chest as you gently held him. You’d then wink at the others with a smile. In a way you became like a carrier to them since then and the others made their way out to have drinks.

”You’re evil..” Kup says. As you let out a deep chuckle and kiss his helm.

”Still works.” His cervos then holds your waist and he stands a little straighter as connects his dermas with yours. Your arms wrapping around his as your both kissed each other. Alone in the room at last….again.

Bonus Ending:

Bulkhead walked over to Y/N while they were making energon. He had some Cybertronian flowers and wished to give them to you. You accepted and you both started chatting.

Eventually he soon took you by surprise. Bulkhead soon asking after being so entranced.

”Please adopt me.” You let out a flattered chuckle after just looking at him. Before the other younger wreckers budding in. “Adopt us too!!!!”

You give them a soft smile and say. “Heh why not.”

The wreckers giving you a big family hug as they say.

“YES!!!!”

Somewhere else in the ship-

Springer and Kup were having a meeting until Kup got a chill up his spine. Springer noticed and spoke. “You alright?”

”No, I just got a bad feeling right now-“

This is just a silly idea that came to mind. I hope you guys enjoy this! As always a repost is appreciated and I hope you all have a good rest of your day!!!!

[winchesterwild78]

Silly Rabbit

Master List

Characters: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, fluff, language

A/N: Just a quick story from a tagged post by @jackles010378. Reader is an emotional drunk and Dean becomes aware one evening after returning home and finding her crying.

This was written fast and not edited good. All work is my own, don’t take it or copy it. Reblogs, likes, and feedback are always welcomed.

Minors DNI 18+

Dean’s footsteps heavy on the bunker steps as he descended the stairs. He had just gotten home from a hunt and was ready to hold you in his arms. 

As he walked towards the kitchen to grab a beer he heard sobs coming from the dining room. Turning on his heels he quickly went in, finding you at the table. Glass of whiskey in one hand and a cereal box in the other. 

A smirk grew on his face. “Hey sweetheart, you okay?” “Oh Dean, you’re home. No, I’m not okay. We protect people, why can’t we protect rabbits?” Your speech slurred, Dean knew you were drunk. “Rabbits?” “Yes, rabbits.” You held up the box of cereal and Dean saw the cartoon rabbit on the box. He chuckled, “Sweetheart, he doesn’t need protecting.” 

You tried to stand but stumbled. Dean caught you. “Yes, all he wants is some cereal and those mean kids won’t give him any. Why, Dean, why?” You sobbed into his chest. Dean rubbed your head, a light chuckle leaving his lips. “Honey, he’ll be okay. I remember he got some one time, years ago.” Your eyes shot up to his, “Really? So they tease him with a bowl one time and then keep it away. Oh my god, monsters.” Louder sobs came from your lips. “I tell you what, tomorrow we will write a letter to the company and demand they give the rabbit some cereal.” Dean laughed. “Really? You’d do that for me, for the rabbit?” “Of course sweetheart.” He kissed your head. 

Dean had seen you tipsy before, but he’d never seen you this drunk. He knew something happened that caused you to drink this much. 

“Darlin’, talk to me. What’s this about?” “I told you, the rabbit.” He lifted your chin, “No, it’s not.” Your head dropped, “Yes it is.” You cried harder. Dean knew something else happened, but he also knew you’d keep it from him while you tried to work it out for yourself. The two of you were very similar that way. 

Dean grabbed your hands and held them to his chest, “Baby, please talk to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. Is anyone hurt?” You shook your head no. “Did someone die?” Again, you shook your head no. “Do you want a divorce?” Your head shot up and you gasped, “No!” “Good, just checking.” “Darlin’ I hate seeing you like this, please talk to me.” 

You took a deep breath and swallowed hard, “I ran into her today. She asked about you. She wanted me to tell you she still loved you and wanted you back. I told her we were married, and she said she already knew that. She already knew, but wanted me, your wife, to tell you that she loved you and wanted you back. He was with her, and I know she said he’s not yours, but he looks just like you.” 

“Sweetheart, I told you I don’t want her. I want you, I’m married to you. She can try whatever she wants, but she’s not going to get me. You are my wife, my love, my home. My emotional, big hearted, sweet, caring, sexy as hell, wife. There is nothing that will ever change that.” He pulled you flush to his body and kissed you deeply. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have drank so much, but that fucking rabbit still deserves some cereal.” Dean laughed, “Come on sweetheart, let’s take the cereal with us to the bedroom. I want to show you how much I love being your husband.” 

He picked you up, carrying you and the box of cereal to your shared bedroom. Laughter and giggles filled the bunker as Dean carried you down the hallway. 

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[ismyteadoneyet]

I took a break from the more serious piece with the throne and all to draw this quicker, silly thing because they have started airing Hallmark movies on TV and I was possessed by the Christmas Spirit :')

There's also a short lil drabble thingy underneath the 'Keep Reading', bcs I couldn't help myself 😭😭 If Tracy won't let her characters have some Silly Time™, I WILL. 😭😭😭

The snowball soars through the air in a high arch, and lands with a wet, satisfying "fwump".

Loud cheers and "woo"s chorus from the other team, and it takes everything in me to hold back my own laughter at the sight. Nick seems to fight just as hard to do the same.

"...Aaand Miss Chen hits the bullseye! Another point for team...what was your name, again?" Valec calls from the sidelines with his, by now, classic announcer-voice, acting judge for today's match.

Classic, because this is the third snowball fight we've had since the snow first fell, and our team has been losing every single one so far. Sel has been too busy dodging the snowballs to realize that he has been our opponents' only target, despite there being three people on our team.

Alice turns to Valec with a wide grin and high-fives William. Lark is doubled over behind them, laughing.

"Team Victory," She reminds him gleefully, and Valec nods with a snap of his fingers. More so to jab another thumb into Sel's side than actually needing the reminder.

Mariah sits at his side, trying to hide her own snicker behind a steaming cup of hot cocoa. She caught onto our pact halfway through the first game, and is now just as eager as the rest of us to see how long it takes the Kingsmage to notice.

"One more point to team Victory! Making the current score.... 5-2, their favor."

Sel tries to wipe the already melting snow off his cheek before it runs down under the collar of his coat. With a wet flick of his gloved hand, he uncovers the scowl underneath.

"What kind of defense are you two supposed to be if you are not defending the whole team?"

"I thought you were behind me, I swear," I say, but can't seem to disguise my lie well enough, because Sel's mouth curves further downwards even before I finish. "You know, behind the shield."

"What's the matter, Kingsmage? Lost yer spark?" Lark taunts from where he now stands straighter, only barely holding it together.

Sel spins around to face the other Merlin with a sneer before shaking more snow out of his hair. "Douglas, you better sleep with one eye open unless you like your dreams of 'White Christmases' very vivid," He growls, and the scheming smirk across his lips makes me certain that the threat of taking the snowball fight off-court and into Larkin's bedroom is a very real one.

He barks out a sarcastic laugh in return, but can't quite seem to keep the amused glint out of his eye, "I sure would like to see ye get 'merry and bright', Kane."

With another flick of Sel's wrist, aether flows to his hands as if he were to craft his usual staff, but instead forms something resembling a lacrosse racket, solid like a shovel. He twirls it in his hand once before bending down to scoop up fresh snow, muttering, more to himself than to the other Merlin;

"Oh, I'll show you 'merry and bright', you-"

"Would you look at that!" William cuts in, making all our heads turn to him.

He looks up at the sky, shielding his eyes from the sun, before taking a step back towards the wall of snow shielding us from Volition.

"Oh, shit!"

Nick understands faster than I do, and casts a new aether shield and grabs my arm in one swift movement. He pulls me along, laughing all the while. "Get down!"

Sel is frozen in place, shovel-racket still mid-scoop, and completely alone on our side of the battlefield. He doesn't bother looking at either of us, but his narrowed eyes and shift in his jaw makes the betrayal apparent.

William reaches out a hand to the wall and shoves it right into the snow. With no visible effort, he lifts up a chunk nearly as big as himself, easily balancing it in one hand. He slowly turns to the Kingsmage with a smirk, promise of perfect aim in his eyes and voice both;

"Midday, is it not?"

[anonzentimes]

The SSS trio Is like going to a fantastic buffet because you get the Sonic, The Pure Light Hero who lives in the present and doesn’t see himself through the eyes of others, always putting others first whilst embodying adventure and virtue. Sonic is burdened by nothing and has a fun edge just from how even though he’s bold headed he’s also confidently cocky yet humble, determined, skilled, and experienced enough to always save the day.

Then you have the Dark Reluctant Anti-Hero with questionable methods who is burdened by his past time and time again, Shadow! Shadow is often fighting his own emotions or fighting with his heart impacted by Maria to risk his life to save the day. Shadow is tragic and has depth, being more morally ambiguous compared to Sonic and the rest. While Sonic is Confidently cocky yet humble, Shadow has immense ego and deep down insecurity from being raised with the expectations and belief that he is the Ultimate Lifeform. Sonic is naturally powerful while Shadow is artificially powerful, they respect each other yet butt heads occasionally and are pretty competitive as Shadow could never stand the thought of being Sonic’s Shadow and Sonic likes to have fun fighting with his equal. It’s also evident that Shadow suffers from PTSD. I think a good word for Shadow is Duality.

And last but not least, you have the perfectly Flawed Hero Silver. Silver carries the burden of the future and is perfectly flawed in comparison to the other hedgehogs as he succumbs to the pitfalls of Anxiety, Loneliness, and an Overeagerness to prove himself which allows him to have an internal struggle of self doubt and arcs about overcoming those struggles that making him a good contrast. Silver is unique as he struggles with emotions that the other hedgehogs don’t but these emotions make us root for him. It’s also evident Silver suffers from Imposter Syndrome, which ends up in him trying to prove himself to his peers despite the fact they already value him as a friend and for his heroic selflessness actions. Growing up in a horrible future of ruin, Silver has become somebody who is filled with Hope, Determination, and Optimism giving him the strength to live in harsh conditions, however this also causes him to be Naive. Emphasis on Naive, not dumb, but due to the isolation he’s had growing up he struggles with social cues and knowing who to trust causing occasional conflict from him trusting villains. As a result his closest friends are usually calm and mature people who help and reassure him such as Blaze and Espio. This isolation also causes Silver to be fascinated with the world, even small things like how pretty he finds the desert to be.

I love the SSS trio a lot, I have a hard time choosing a favorite so I refuse to! I love them all!!! I’m sure there’s stuff I missed too but this was my way of articulating them and sharing my passion. Wasn’t really focusing on their physical abilities as fitting in “also by the way Shadow can use Chaos Control to stop time and Silver has Psychokinesis,” seemed silly. Silver is the most relatable, Sonic is the most admirable, and Shadow is the most compelling. That being said they all have overlapping traits such as Silver is admirable too and blah blah blah but that’s how I’m wording it. I love these characters a lot they’re some of my favorites of all time for a reason!

Also I want to see Silver playable in a mainline game again, MAKE IT HAPPEN PEOPLE!

[lustlovehart]

I know I’ve expressed it before, but I absolutely love this monster au and its Reverse set up too, especially with how the dynamics change! No matter the universe and its setup, MC is surrounded by besotted, dangerous individuals, whether monster or man.

I wonder how this setup would work with Jack, since he and Hunter!MC are coworkers even if separated. Perhaps he met Monster!MC prior to becoming a hunter, spared by them for some reason or another and, after being inspired by Leona too, Jack decided the best way to find Monster!MC again was to learn from the best and track them down.

Love how Malleus is so clearly already obsessed with them even before meeting them and returns frustrated and in love to the point few of his faction even comment on his brooding. Poor guy just wants to woo the beautiful monster he’s been assigned to kill, but he will ignore the orders from Crowley because he acknowledges it’s a stupid order.

And just all the scenarios of the Event dudes too!

Human Fellow quickly going from personal to romantic gain after meeting Monster!MC is so funny, especially when he’s not affiliated with the Hunter organization. He’s probably spared by them for this reasoning:

Monster!MC to Human Fellow: You’re stupid, I like that in a man.

That or the fact he’s accompanied by young Gidel and Monster!MC has some boundaries about killing kids or leaving them orphaned. Either way, they’ve now added a conman to the list of their dogged pursuers.

This is probably just a random idea, but Neige’s blurb for the reverse au makes me wonder if he did meet Monster!MC in another lifetime, only to recall them via his dreams/memories (depending on how old MC is here). Perhaps as a besotted young royal who saw the beauty of the monster long ago, only to die tragically before he could express his love or before they could return it. And perhaps there is a near forgotten law from ages past of some forgotten kingdom, whose destruction is credited to Monster!MC, that Riddle finds that would have pardoned a monster from execution via marriage to someone of high standing.

A law Riddle may keep in his back pocket to justify his obsession while finding a loophole to executing Monster!MC. One that a few others might discover if he’s not careful…

Rollo, Rollo my favorite Catholic guilt menace. You are not immune to hot monsters in your area.

Seriously, love this au and all the fun scenarios fit paints, thank you for the brain rot and creativity!

Jack is such an interesting concept in both Au’s! There’s a certain masked stoicism he gives off, whether he has a tail or not, he gives the vibe of one wagging behind him whenever in your vicinity, even when avoiding eye contact…! When I think of one of Jack and Monster!Mc’s first meetings, I imagine you falling out of a tree again except this time, Jack is there to accidentally catch you (Through push ups. When you fall on him, he stays in perfect push up form. It’s you first sign there’s… definitely something different…) When you don’t attack him despite having him underneath you, his curiosity spikes once more. Leona busts into their lounge complaining about you escaping once again.

Maybe… Jack can prove himself to Leona if he catches you (totally has nothing to do with you though, definitely not.)

He has no idea this will actually backfire on him.

Ahh!! I’m so glad the Malleus idea is appreciated!! It’s actually a parallel to Twst!Mc knowing absolutely nothing about Malleus in their first meeting. Meanwhile, Malleus knows everything about you! He knows your capabilities, your height, your weight, your hand size, but.. He knows nothing about you. His only wish is to know your favorite color, your favorite time of the day, perhaps your favorite… gargoyle? Crowley knows about his ever growing infatuation with you…

He always tries his best to tell Malleus you’re just a heinous murderer… But then he glares at him, and the Foundations all powerful leader, backs away immediately.

Fellow is so silly, he looks at you with dollars signs in his eyes, and then you growl a “Shoo” too him with your face in view, and the money is replaced with heart eyes. And ugh!! You’re so right about Monster!Reader not killing younger humans!! Both Mcs have a semblance of kindness. While Hunter!Reader may have a much much bigger soft spot than Monster!Reader, M!Reader doesn’t like the thought of killing a mortal who hasn’t even had the chance to do anything wrong yet… The hearts in Fellows eyes grow bigger while he schemes about having Gidel expose you’re human empathy much more.

You’re actually right about Neiges whole meeting MC in a different life!! It’s really up to interpretation but my idea with it was more like, Neige remembering Monster Hunter!Reader instead! I was listening to “Birds of A feather” by Billie eilish when I was writing his part and then these lyrics popped up and I was struck with inspiration!!

“I knew you in another life. You had the same look in your eyes…” I like to think, even though Monster!Reader is the reason his comrades are on the verge of dying, for single moment, you and Neige lock eyes. He recognizes the way they soften… A more humanized version tenderly smiling at him as they decorate his wings with pretty paint. Except, he never remembers having bright feathers flailing behind his back. Neige is the only one who experiences this phenomenon. When he brings it up the rest of the Reverse cast, they look at him in confusion for these so called dreams.

I do love the idea of him being a prince though, and forbidden romance!! Maybe while Neige damsel in distress carries you away, he confesses a love he never remembers existing. And then… You’re left wondering… How the hell did the royal from 200 years ago find you again? The one who… Begged you to rule over his kingdom with him?!

Riddle finding loops holes in rules is also yummy?!? He wants to follow rules so bad… Finding loopholes almost feels like breaking them in truth, but then again, many less than legal actions have happened within the other units (Not Heartslaybul though, he’ll never let that happen). Before you know, You wake up painted in red roses, Riddle crouching next to you. The pattern is inconsistent, but that’s not the point…

“One is forbidden from yearning for a clean, unsullied, pure monster.” You shiver with the feeling of red paint dripping down your head. “You’re not clean anymore. You’re dirtied with red.” Your clawed hand reaches to wipe the paint from your face, but calloused hands stop you. “That means it’s not forbidden.”

I like how rather than having four ways to treat you like everyone else (Depending on the Au and its Mc), Rollo only has 2. His attitude depends on soley whether you’re a monster or a human. For a human, it will always be “You’re pure, untainted I love you I shall forever stand by you.” Meanwhile 💀, Rollo has a more domineering countenance if you’re a monster… He’ll call you all mannerisms of a devil, yet the beating in his chest can’t stop the fact he heavily yearns for your touch. He’s convinced you’ve hexed him. He’s litterally that Plankton meme. “Oh no, you’re hot!”

I’m so happy my brainrots have been enjoyed by you! I’m always looking forward to your comments on Monster!Twst posts with your thoughts! It’s amazing to see and feel how much you enjoy the Au and my writing ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡

[the-lazyyy-artist]

What Are You Doing, New Year's Eve?

(a fem!reader x oliver aiku holiday smau special)

Chapter synopsis: Enjoying your time as Shidou and Sae's third wheel on the most romantic day of the year, you unexpectedly met someone who you think can change the course of your single life.

Notes: affectionate names from Shidou (bc who even is Shidou if he doesn't call you names affectionately?

masterlist • prev • next

Chapter I: The Meet-Cute (pt.2)

"Hmm," you hummed, feeling the warmth of the hot chocolate overcome your body. The Christmas village was packed this year, seeing couples and families enjoying the Christmas cheer and music in the air. Shidou and Sae sat side by side in front of you, enjoying the atmosphere. "Quite a crowd," Shidou peeped, nudging Sae's forearm. Sae tsked as his hot chocolate almost spilled with the action, causing a chuckle from Shidou. "Thanks for letting me come along," you said for the hundredth time.

Despite being their official third wheel, you'd still feel grateful that they include you on almost every date. It was Shidou's idea to keep you involved, because according to him, the moment Sae signed up to be his lover, he got a 2-in-1 deal. "Where I go, you go," he once said, "and besides, I don't want your single ass to wallow in sadness, dummy." You slapped his arm silly after he said that. "Hey," he laughed, watching your efforts to hurt him in response, "no need to be butthurt! It's true!"

"Would that cause me to feel more miserable? Tagging along?" You asked, crossing his arms. Shidou shook his head, "Nope!". And surely, it just felt like hanging out with friends... With the exception of Shidou being so clingy around Sae, stealing kisses and holding his waist whenever he has a chance. Sae would look away or look at you as if saying "You're friends with this guy?"

"No need to say thank you," Shidou replied, "Sae would want you here anyway. Right, baby?" Shidou asked, purring. Sae sighed and nodded in your direction. You know Sae is so reserved towards you, but you like how he's acknowledged your presence and importance in Shidou's life.

After finishing your hot chocolates, you three decided to walk around and check out the booths and stands, buying and trying things. You'd snap photos of the couple anytime you had a chance, seeing the glow in Sae's eyes whenever Shidou does something for him and how Shidou's smirks soften into small smiles whenever they act like it's just them in the world. Makes you wonder if a love like that would find you someday. The type of love you'd only read in books and hear in songs, and they personified that. They brought out the best of each other, both in their relationship and on the field.

Cue in: Oliver Aiku. He bumped into you as you took another picture of the couple, apologizing as he chuckled. "Didn't see you there," he said, his deep voice filling your space. As you looked up, you were met with the most beautiful heterochromatic eyes you've ever seen in your entire life. The way the Christmas lights bounced off of them, shining like stars in the galaxy. Words got caught in your throat, and just in time, Shidou came to the rescue.

"Captain," he chirped, his usual smirk appearing back on his lips, "got lost?" Aiku smiled slyly and shrugged. "Just walking around. You with Sae?"

"Why do you want to know?" Shidou asked in a sing-song tone. Sae then stood beside Shidou, face emotionless. His turquoise eyes looked back at Aiku with a bored stare. Aiku let out a soft chuckle and shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Nothing." Aiku then turned to look at you, still shocked that this was not only Shidou and Sae's former teammate, but this was also THE Oliver Aiku. Still speechless, you reached for Shidou's hand, as if saying "IS THIS HIM???"

"Oh, by the way, this is y/n. Y/n, meet Aiku, and yes, it's him," Shidou said, his tone teasing. You still said nothing, still starstruck at the soccer player. Aiku smiled softly at you, and you really didn't hear what he said, but the next thing you knew, he was off.

"Oi, what was that?" Shidou asked, laughing, "Cat got your tongue?" You frowned at him, embarrassed by the fact that yes, you froze and that yes, you really didn't believe that Aiku was more beautiful up close. "Shut up, Shidou."

"Hey, don't be surprised if he messages you later," Shidou added, his teasing tone never leaving his voice. Sae sighed beside him and gripped your arm gently. "By all means, if you want to talk to him, tread carefully," he warned. This surprised you. Sae was always the type to speak when needed, so it was nice that he gave you this warning.

Though, you're not blind. Articles upon articles of Aiku being with different girls almost every week or month have bombarded your news app since you started following the star player. It's a good enough warning not to dance along with him. But being friends with him won't hurt. Maybe.

You nodded at what Sae said, and Sae nodded back.

As soon as the clock struck 12 midnight, you saw couples kiss and greet each other a Merry Christmas. Romance definitely filled the air. You turn to look at your two other companions and there they are, whispering to each other after sharing a quick kiss. Sae was never big on great acts of affection, but he'd let Shidou shower him with little ones that were soft and subtle that only they could enjoy in the crowd.

You interrupt them by running towards them in a hug, and Shidou pulls you closer to them. "Merry Christmas, dummy," he said, "make sure next year you have someone to kiss and not looking around like a fucking weirdo."

🎄📌: @shidousprincess @soleilonthesun @pan-kojiwa @anglefish3008 @thebestsetter @shrii-kk

Taglist is open!

[fractal--cat]

let's start to take beldaruit seriously!

wha fandom pls share this post, my blog is finally not shadowbanned and i really want more people to see this. thank you

(also no beta read but who cares. feel free to correct me)

this is a beldaruit analysis written after ch.81. spoilers: he's absolutely not just a silly old man on a chair, but actually one of the most well-written characters in wha i think

1. IS HE ACTUALLY THAT OLD?

yeah im really meticulous, but i want to start from this and want you to read it. being old is not bad at all, but i think y'all guys exaggerate beldaruit's actual age.

please just go search some pics of real people in their sixties, seventies. go compare his face with other actually old char's faces. he's not that old :)

beldaruit's smoke figures of himself look younger than his real body, that's true. but here's the comparison of his true appearance to others' who are really about 60-70 i guess

+ beldaruit's lifestyle is not healthy at all. his physical state is bad, he has not many ways to do physical activities, he spends most of his time being in his room. all the more so, he smokes. knowing this, i think he looks even older than he actually is and he's mostly like 45-48.

to be short, he's mostly like your dad, not your grandpa :DD

2. IS HE ACTUALLY THAT SILLY?

yeah he's the silliest. but it's a bit more complicated.

observing, i've came to the conclusion that beldaruit acts silly, too energetic and entertaining only with kids or with ones he remembers since they were kids (e.g. qifrey, olruggio)

there's a simple obvious reason for it, beldaruit says it himself:

yes, he genuinely loves magic and to teach magic. his emotions are true, but a bit overplayed to affect on younger witches and to make them as in love with magic as he is.

one more remark. beldaruit's behavior with riliphin is not as with most kids. i think it's because beldaruit creates a unique approach to each of little witches. beldaruit is able to control and tune his emotional bombing depending on the situation. he is also able to feel well what's going on in others's hearts and minds and he builds his own behavior based on this.

the silver eve arc lets us know more obviously that beldaruit can be serious, responsible, communicating calmly and constructively when it's required. he obviously can modulate his overplaying and emotions when he must do so, there's no problem for him! he is also abnormally loyal to witches' world laws and values, literally more loyal than the most of witches (but we'll talk about it a bit later)

beldaruit is broad-minded, he often manages his own personality qualities to match others', he can entertain others while at the same time taking a huge responsibility (he's the one of three sages after all)

3. IS HIS DISABILITY ADDED JUST FOR REPRESENTATION?

thoughts below are just my hypotheses and personal opinion, keep it in mind

beldaruit's disability is a really important part of him that affects the plot and i think it can help us to understand his outlook and values better.

these engendale's words is kind of synopsis of my take on it:

on the one hand ofc that's not true that beldaruit sees himself better and more important than others! but on the other hand these words are not just a misconception and i'll prove it

as i said, beldaruit is like abnormally and even compulsively loyal to witches' world laws and values. he is also strictly against the forbidden magic. yes he is kind of flexible in this question, but still strictly against the direct violation of the law. that's because he thinks that lack of devotion to the law and to the image of an ideal good witch is a sign of weakness and egoism.

but why does he connect these dots? i think that he cultivates his own fortitude in not using forbidden magic for healing himself, not getting magic and medicine together. beldaruit is the wise in teachings, "stands at the pinnacle of society", maybe the person who knows about magic more than anyone else, at least he's a really thoughtful and smart person. so he'd easily find a way to heal himself using magic with minimal losses of reputation and quality of his life. but he rigorously rejects this idea.

the fact of following this strict inner moral code is a kind of ego supply for beldaruit. despite of his own thoughts about altruism and global equality - how ironic - this is kind of self-affirmation for him, through overcoming himself and a bit demonstrative self sacrifice to the law and greater values.

⬆️ and that's why beldaruit is so aggressive with deanreldy, who wants to mix medicine with magic and talks too light-headedly about it. yes, beldaruit remembers the day of pact and that's really a strong reason already to act so, but i think there are more personal reasons too

⬆️ even more obvious reference on beldaruit's health state in his own thoughts on forbidden magic (it was out of topic, him and coco weren't talking especially about healing)

⬆️ there (and not only there.. like.. in general) is a hint on parallel/contrast between beldaruit and qifrey. qifrey is ready to consider the option of using forbidden magic to bring his eye back. beldaruit sees it as simply giving in to temptation. that's the thing that makes them different

in ch.81 beldaruit shows almost protruding humility and resignation to the fact that his hand is broken. and he has the same mindset about his disability in general. and that's not because he doesn't care about it. his behavior patterns are similar to self harm, that toxically much he is affected by ideas of altruism, self disregarding and not showing signs of weakness.

and he is attach so much to his own image of being disabled. not in a pitiful way, but in a way that makes him motivated to show and push his mental strength to others. i think beldaruit is kind of floating between self-devaluation (that makes him show that much humility) and self-exaltation above others who are "egoistic and weak" and break the law and/or use forbidden magic (of what engendale was saying about)

WHAT'S THE CONCLUSION?

beldaruit is so amazing ahahdhahagha😭

he is so complex and so versatile and so underrated. his personality has so many forms and shapes, you can find both wonderful and displeasing parts there and that's literally a sign of a well-written character. his lore is very subtle and implicit, but so interesting for trying to understand.

beldaruit needs a patpat .

[the-cooler-kizy-art]

This was inspired by the many silly and funny posts of Athena freaking out about Odysseus being "pregnant" with Telemachus, but with my own spin!

The King and Queen of Ithaca are waiting by the sea shores, with their son in the queen's arms. They seemed to be concentrated.

Penelope: Alright, love.. Remember what we practiced?

Odysseus, nodding: Yes. We tell her the truth before she starts panicking the moment the idea gets in her mind!

Penelope: Good. When is she going to appear?

Odysseus: If my senses are correct, she must be arriving... Now!

Penelope and Odysseus are now standing in front of Athena who flew down to them, divinity on full display with her spear in hand. Athena looks quite confused as to why she had been called and seeing the delighted looks on the Royal couple as she sees the Queen carrying a bundle of.. something.

Odysseus, stepping closer: Athena, we wish to have you meet our son... Telemachus!

Penelope passed their son to Odysseus and he held out Telemachus to the Goddess of Wisdom. Athena holds Telemachus carefully with a curious hoot.

Athena: Telemachus?

Odysseus: Yes, that is the name we chose for him. AND JUST SO YOU KNOW, I DID NOT CARRY-

Athena: Odysseus, i am aware that Penelope was the one who carried your son.

Odysseus: And he absolutely did come out of my head- Huh?

Athena: I am perfectly aware that mortal women are the ones who bears the child. Did you assume that i would think your son was born out of your head because i was?

Odysseus: ....Yes?

Athena: I am quite offended, Odysseus of Ithaca. I'll remind you that my father is the King of the Gods, Zeus himself. I have witnessed many births from mortal and even the weirder ones.

Odysseus: I, I apologize for assuming you didn't know, Athena...

Athena: Hmph, That is alright, for now. Next time, don't assume such a thing. It was an honor to meet the Prince of your Kingdom, by the way.

She gives baby Telemachus back to Odysseus and she flies off to Olympus, maybe

Penelope: I was sure she would've thought it was you who carried Telemachus.. It would have been quite funny to watch.

Odysseus: So did i... But i guess we were wrong, huh? She probably must have seen weirder things, anyways.

Later, back in Olympus. Zeus is peacefully sipping some nectar from his cup when suddenly-

Athena: Father, you have lied to me.