#it's not wrong per say at all but let's be realistic for two minutes

[thewritingpossum]

I fully agree that presenting the Vikings as some sort of evil, uniquely violent barbarians who only wanted to commit destruction is very much innacurate but it is pretty hilarious to me how many modern historians are like "the christians only presented the vikings as a bunch of looting murderers because they kept looting and killing them, so irrational 🙄😤"

[goldenstring6123]

Lnds: Fighting with them

Warning: ANGST NO COMFORT! Arguing, fighting & toxic responses to a fight. Self insert. Reader may or may not be the MC

Author's note: Here's my take on getting into fights with your LNDS boyfriend— realistic responses edition! some of you may not like this, be warned.

Fighting with Zayne:

He is a professional, and his method is simply de-escalation. Dealing with so many types of patients, he knows how to handle things from children fighting to burly men wanting to pack a punch. He talks out of conflict or stalls them long enough until security gets to where he is; this happens inside and outside the hospital. During this incident, though he appears cool-headed, he is also aggravated. A keen observer would notice the ghostly frown on his face and his mildly defensive stance.

With you, he's more lenient. More gentle and more understanding. Utilizing a more empathic approach to your conflict. He never raises his voice or shows an ounce of hostility. Zayne would most definitely be more comforting. He is quick to apologize by verbal words or sweet actions.

When push comes to shove and you somehow manage to get on his nerves, which happens once in a blue moon, he'll either:

Scenario 1: He'll stop talking or looking at you for hours. He'll try to calm himself down and stare off into the distance, recalling whatever got him on his nerves. He'll try to find a solution or workaround and meet you halfway. Of course, he'll demand an apology from you if he rightfully deserves it, and if not, he's more than willing to give you an apology instead.

Scenario 2: He'll ask you to leave his house to cool off both of your heads. He'll bury himself in his workload, turning off his phone. When you confront him, he won't speak first, asking if you need something from him. He won't apologize or meet you halfway with his words; in fact, he won't be gentle with them; he'll convey his feelings and messages to you more frankly to the point that it is harsh. His words are somewhat calculated, as if he had already planned what to say, but that would mean he won't let you slip a word in.

By then, the anger within you has already been extinguished. At the end of any scenario, Zayne is the last to apologize for being angry. Still, he states his anger has a reason and that he cares for you and his well-being.

Fighting with Xavier:

When you manage to annoy him, he pouts, still acting cutesy on purpose. He does this more often than anyone could imagine because, in this way, he can demand consolation in the form of baking pastries/desserts or kisses.

When things get hot between the two of you, he'll ignore you for a short amount of time, refraining from entering the same room as you because you know neither of you would give in to the argument, So it was better for you to both calm your minds down, even just for 5 minutes.

When all things go in the wrong direction, Xavier's the type to fuss, complain, and just generally become verbal. He never swears and raises his voice per se but heavily pushes the side of the argument onto you, whether you were wrong or right. Sometimes, he fails to understand your side of the conflict, and sometimes, he flat-out ignores it and acts all childish, turning a deaf ear.

He's capable of not talking to you for days, and he makes it more apparent that he's avoiding you by requesting to switch partners. And when this happens, most of the time, it's you who makes the move to apologize. But on bad topics, it doesn't end there. He still insists on his side of the fight. All while speaking and arguing, he tries to get close to you in an attempt to hold your hand, but you always push him away. You

One time, he got too close to you to make you understand, pressing you against the wall and holding your hand a bit too tightly, and out of sheer anger and fear, you resorted to brute force, slapping him across the face. This took him back to reality and, with it, took his anger as well, exchanging it for grief. Only then did he realize that he messed up in more ways than he could think.

Fighting with Rafayel:

Rafael is the hardest to deal with when angered. He's sensitive and quick to be influenced by emotions. Though people call him a "drama queen," Rafayel becomes a real pain in the neck when people get on his nerves. If he doesn't get what he wants, he'll make sure that the other party loses more than him, and he does that thanks to his network and his money. This seldom happens as He doesn't work with anyone in broad daylight. He locks himself in the studio; only Thomas usually talks to him.

At most, he gets into conflicts with cats.

It's a different thing when he makes shady transactions, though. When he's made into a fool, those people are dealt with by his hired men. Assassinations, theft, blackmail, whatever makes the other party beg on their knees.

With you, though, it's a whole other story.

Conflicts with Rafael are, unfortunately, toxic; He's easy to provoke and quick to retort. It's a gamble when you're with him. On some better days, you can get away with a conflict through an apology and dinner, or better yet, he concedes, and you can have your way.

It doesn't take a genius to know that this will escalate into a shouting match on bad days. Banters, insults, and harsh words are thrown at each other without pause, and it only stops when either of you walks out. It was a mindless conflict led by sheer anger, plus his pettiness and your annoyance. He makes himself look like the victim and points out your flaws more and how you failed to be understanding; conflicts with him end up with tears and devoid of an apology. Neither of you ever even remembered what you were fighting back.

When he has no strength to fight with you, he goes silent. He locks his home and only contacts you for a short period. He vents his anger on his paintings, to which Thomas immediately tells him to take a break and apologize to you. He doesn't, and it's not until a week later that he contacts you again.

Fighting with Sylus:

He's patient but, at the same time, impatient.

When something is amiss, or someone fails to do their task, rather than bother to be angry or inconvenienced, he'd eliminate the cause of that problem. It saves him from emotional exhaustion.

When in conflict with other people, you best place your bet on him being the aggrevator. He's more of the person to start conflicts than be on the receiving end. If there is one thing to know about him when he starts one, he finishes it, leading the other party on their knees, running away or six feet under.

Sylus is a big man who holds himself to his ego, so people tend to be weary when approaching him. Burly, prideful men are eager to fight him, and they somehow get a taste of their own medicine, praying they end up alive after this fight.

With you, however, it's a different story. Conflicts between you and Sylus are primarily caused by too much bickering and you taking his words to heart. Sometimes, he lets his tongue slip too much in amusement. A quick cold shoulder treatment and you blocking his chat is the way for him to show a gram of remorse. Despite being terrifying, he's pretty good at consoling and apologizing.

But when you start to get on his nerves, you're in a tight situation. He doesn't treat you like a partner; he treats you like some sort of business partner, spewing harsh facts with a tinge of insult. He doesn't let you slip a word in; if you manage to, he'll always have something to say again. He raises his voice slightly, asks rhetorical questions, and makes you look foolish. All the while, he looks like he still has his composure. He acts as if he's not your lover, creating a clear boundary between your relationship, and more often than you'd like to admit, this, too, got on your nerves. He never makes a move on you, neither does he curse or do anything terrible. He just sits there all arrogant, as if he always has the upper hand with your emotions.

But there was one particular fight where you're the one who's fuming red with pure, dry anger. You scream at Sylus, reprimanding and scornful, sometimes lunging a few soft items his way, which he catches, yet he never does anything. He stays in his place, but he is undeniably infuriated as well, only this time, he's silent. He lets you go off, not responding to your rhetorical questions and all the words you hurl his way, and when you are finally done speaking, he tells you to leave, grabbing you by your arm and throwing you out of his house.

He hasn't contacted you for a month, and you have been forbidden from going anywhere near the N109 zone. You thought it was the end of whatever you guys had. You sent your break-up message, and to your surprise, he's seen it yet— there was never a response.

That night, you wake up in his bed and in his grasp.

Author footnotes: I know this isn't the romantic type of lnds post but once in a while I want to make their relationships realistic, like, try to apply how people in real life would act.Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost | Dividers by cafekitsune MASTER LIST | Buy me a thread?

[shadowsong26fic]

do i twist; do i fold

Author: shadowsong26

Rating: R

Fandom: BSG

Characters: Gaius Baltar, Caprica-Six

Warnings: Significant discussion of genocide and murder; more oblique references to torture.

Summary: Caprica comes clean a few months early.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of their respective creators.

Notes: Written for the Year of the OTP event. April prompt: canon divergence. This is one I’ve been looking forward to posting since I decided to do this whole event, and while there are a couple things I keep poking at to reword (particularly the last couple lines), it’s one of those ‘If I don’t just let it go, I’ll never stop’ situations, so here it is. Also, while I know The Plan implies a much tighter timeline here, this a) makes a little more sense to me, and b) makes for a more interesting story, so I’m going with what I’ve got here.

Title comes from ‘Voodoo Child’ (Rogue Traders)

(I am also going to do this for Star Wars and some of my original ‘verses, if you’re interested in checking those out! One ship per canon. The fanfic ones will be posted to AO3 probably a day or two after they’re on tumblr. This fic is also available on AO3 here. Master list of all fills can be found here.)

592 days, eighteen hours, forty minutes.

That’s how long it’s taken to get to this point. To complete her mission.

Well, mostly. She’ll have to remain in position until the very end, of course; to monitor for any problems, to guard against exposure, to make any changes to the program that can’t be done remotely.

It’ll take approximately three months, according to the most optimistic projections.

Three months for the last pieces to fall into place, for the final preparations for the strike.

Six months is a more realistic estimate; twelve is the worst-case scenario.

Worst.

592 days, eighteen hours, forty-one minutes since they met. Not that she’s been counting.

And in a few months, maybe a year, it’ll all be over. Really, truly over. Humanity will burn, she will be reborn, and…

It seems like an eternity. To stay with him, to lie to him--and, yes, she’s been doing that for so long already, and no, nothing has changed, not really, but it feels different.

It seems like no time at all.

Her heart races, and her mind whirls, spinning through all the little moments they’ve shared. Not the big ones--not their first meeting, not helping with his father, not the moment he said yes, but the little ones.

His fingertips, brushing against hers as he passes her a cup of coffee.

Lying together lazily in the morning, talking about everything and nothing.

Dragging the whiteboard out of his office to settle an argument; not really caring who won as they built their equations together.

Even that insufferable amused tolerance when the conversation turns to religion.

The way he smiles when he thinks she isn’t looking.

All the little pieces of the life they could have built together. That they almost have.

It will all be gone.

And he--he won’t wake up after. He won’t be reborn. He will just…burn.

He’s sitting there, next to her, like he has so many times before. If he’s having second thoughts, he’s hiding it well. He’s ready to give her everything she wanted.

Everything she asked for.

And all she can think about is that three months, six months, maybe a year from now, he will burn.

Five hundred ninety-two days, eighteen hours, forty-two minutes.

I can’t do this.

(It’s not just him; it’s all of them--however righteous her people’s fury, when weighed against all of those little moments, multiplied by billions of human beings…but if she hadn’t known him, if she hadn’t--loved--)

“Wait,” she says, putting her hand on his. Stopping him from going any further.

He blinks. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“There’s…” She takes a breath. “There’s something you should know.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

His hands are still shaking.

He’s not sure how long it’s been, exactly, since she told him. Since she stopped him. Since he almost--

Gods.

Unsteadily, he pushes himself to his feet; gets another drink; only spills a little. He presses the cold glass to his forehead, reminding himself to breathe, to think, to--

I’m a Cylon.

She’s always seemed so…so real.

His heart races, and his mind whirls, spinning through all the little moments they’ve shared. Not the big ones--not the day they met, not the first time she brought him to her flat, not the moment he said yes, but the little ones.

The feel of her fingers against his when they brushed together across a cup of coffee.

Waking up together and staying in bed for hours, talking or making love or both or neither.

Dragging the whiteboard out of his study so one of them could prove a point, and it not mattering in the end who was right, because they worked it out together.

Even that irrational certainty when she talks about her God.

The way her face softens when she smiles at him.

All the little pieces of the life they might have built together. That they almost have.

…she seems real because she is.

After six hundred days, give or take, of seeing her, of sharing his life with her in ways he never has before, not with anyone, he knows that much for sure.

She is a real person. A real woman. A woman he--

He finds himself back across the room, back on the sofa, not really recalling how he got there. He seems to have brought the decanter along with him--probably wise.

He leaves it on the end table, though; stares at the melting ice in his still-mostly-full glass, and thinks--

What do I do now?

The obvious thing--the smart thing--probably the right thing--would be to turn her in. Tell his friends at Defense that he was…approached. As--as she pointed out, he hasn’t actually done anything yet. Nothing irrevocable, anyway. Nothing he can’t talk his way out of. He wouldn’t have to admit how close--and if she tried to claim otherwise, it would be her word against his, after all.

His reputation would be damaged, possibly irreparably, and he’d likely never work another government contract, but he’d keep his freedom and his head. Which is certainly something to consider.

And she…

He stares into his drink for another moment; slowly takes a sip.

In all likelihood, she would be…be executed. Terminated. Would they even see it as an execution? Would they--could they--even see her as a person?

…but in truth, as much as he hates to admit it, he knows that that is not the likeliest scenario.

A Cylon, one who looks--who feels--so perfectly real? So perfectly human?

No. Murdering her would not be their first move.

She would be studied. Tested, to determine her capabilities, her differences. If she cooperates, she may even be treated--decently. Considering. He would probably never see her again, but she’d be alive. They would both survive this.

Except…

He considers some of his other Defense contacts. What they might do with her. To her.

He shudders again and finishes his drink.

And, yes, all right, it’s entirely probable that cooler--saner--more human heads will prevail, but…

He cannot--he cannot risk that. He cannot risk her. Not like that.

He pours another drink, and pauses, recalling--something else she said.

That he was--that her mission was--their first, best choice for access (and whether he should be flattered or insulted at the thought is something to think about another day).

But he was not--is not--their only option.

The Cylons--her people--have backup plans, alternatives, should her mission fail.

And she doesn’t entirely know what those alternatives might be.

His blood runs cold at the thought.

It doesn’t change what he--what he already knows. He still cannot turn her in.

But he also cannot--knowing what he now knows, he has to do…something.

Can I? Can I really…can I do this? A question he hasn’t really asked himself, not in this sense, not in a long time. He is very good, the best, but getting into this so late in the game, and the risks involved…

…I have to. I have to try.

And if he fails…if he fails, having tried, at least he’ll be remembered as a hero. There are worse things to contemplate.

And she’ll be here.

She came to him for a reason, after all. The first time, yes, but the second as well. If she’d only been doubting her mission, she could have simply walked away. To stop this--if there is any hope of stopping this--she needs him. As much as he needs her.

Whatever…whatever else he might…

His phone is in his hand before he can change his mind, and he dials a number he’s spent five hundred and ninety-three days engraving into his mind and heart.

Not that he’s been counting.

She answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” he says, then takes a shaking breath. “I think that…that is, we should…I’d…can you come over? We should…we should talk.”

She lets out a little breath of her own; what it means, what she feels, he couldn’t say. “I’ll be there,” she says.

There’s a long, aching silence, full of things he wants to say but--can’t. Not now. Not yet.

Perhaps not ever.

“…I’ll see you soon,” he says, when he can’t bear it any longer.

“See you soon,” she echoes, and the line goes dead.

Perhaps it’s simply…a decision has been made, he’s taken a step in a direction, but he somehow feels less…

He puts the phone down carefully; closes his eyes; finishes his drink; settles back to wait.

For the end.

For some kind of frakked-up beginning.

…for her.

[messers-moony]

Help | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Daughter!Reader

Summary: At first it was for him, now everything he does is for her. 

Warnings: Rape, cursing, death, etc

Being wise comes with living. Dumbledore had lived a lot of years. Everyone knows that. The man worked his way up the hierarchy from being a Transfiguration teacher to the headmaster at Hogwarts. He was even offered a place as the Minister of Magic. What people didn’t comprehend or, rather, didn’t think about was, when living that long you realize every button to push, every nook and cranny to get your way. 

Manipulation at its finest. Now, truth be told, manipulation isn’t always evil. It can be good, per se, manipulating someone to stop doing something that’s particularly harmful - alcohol, smoking. But when used negatively, it could make everything worse. 

The Order of the Phoenix was manipulated. From beginning to end. Dumbledore convinced the young kids - naive kids - that they were safe and that’s what they needed. These kids needed reassurance that everything would be okay, and Dumbledore assured them that they were safe. 

But were they safe when the McKinnon family died? Were they safe when Fabian and Gidian Prewett died? Could James and Lily truly depend on Dumbledore to keep them safe with a newborn? 

When Sirius Black joined the order, he had one request. Just one. A linear, singular request. It was saving Regulus Black. That’s all Sirius wanted, was for his little brother to be safe. Sirius knew about Regulus being a death eater, and he needed saving. Regulus didn’t want this life, and he especially didn’t want this with a baby girl. 

He was seventeen, and he was forced. Sirius knew it. James knew it. Remus knew it. Regulus had come to the Gryffindor portrait crying on his knees, begging - no - pleading for his older brother. The Fat Lady was cursing him out for not having the password and being a Slytherin. Luckily, James heard the ruckus and ran to his aid. He was yelling for Sirius. 

“Sirius! Sirius, I need you!” James had never sounded so frantic, so panicky, “Sirius, now!”

Sirius threw the textbook on the floor. James’ voice reminded him of an alarm - crazed, loud, repetitive. The black-haired boy ran down the dorm steps, almost falling over his feet to see the portrait wide open. Everything went in a vignette, zoomed in and black around the edges. Immediately Sirius was pushing James off his little brother and embracing him tightly. 

“S- Sirius.”

Godric, he sounded so broken, “‘S okay, Reggie. ‘S okay. I got you. It’s me, Sirius. You’re safe here, Frère.”

“It- It hurts.” Regulus muttered, his voice shaky and helpless, “Need you.”

“You’re okay.” 

Sirius looked up into James’ worried hazel eyes, “C’mon. We’re bringing him up.”

“Are you mental?!”

“James, he’s my brother!”

James scowled, “He’s also a Slytherin!”

“He needs me. I’m not letting him go.” It was the first time Sirius’ voice had gone stern with James, “Either I’m sleeping out here with my brother, or you’re helping me bring him up to the dorm.”

“Fine, fine.” 

Sirius looked down at his brother, who was tucked under his chin, silver streams trailing down his flushed cheeks. His cheeks glistened with anguish and pain. His fists were balling the back of Sirius’ white button-up, tightly, stressed. 

“Reggie.” For the first time, Regulus didn’t cringe, and instead, he melted into Sirius’ warmth, “James and I are going to bring you into our dorm, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Gently Sirius helped him up, placing an arm around his shoulder. James put his other arm around his shoulder. Both boys helped the sixth year into the Gryffindor common room, getting multiple stares and glares. Regulus managed to up the stairs onto Sirius’ bed, a sniffling and trembling mess. 

James smiled gently at them, and Sirius sat beside Regulus on the edge of his bed, “What happened?”

“She- She forced me. I didn’t want to. Please, Sirius, I didn’t want this.”

“Want what?”

“She touched me.” Regulus whispered, and Sirius rubbed his back, “I- I didn’t want it….”

Sirius hesitated, “Did- Did mum have anything to do with this?”

Regulus nodded, and silent tears fell down his cheeks, “She- Mum, is the reason. I was supposed to be arranged to this woman but- but she did this and- and-“

“It’s too much.” Regulus wailed. 

Sirius held his brother close until he fell asleep. The trails of tears dried on his cheeks, and Sirius laid his head on the feathery pillow. The fleece comforter was placed over his wrinkled button-up, black pants, and socks. Regulus’ black curls contrasted the pillow, and his cheeks were a pale pink. Sirius had never felt so upset. 

Releasing a breath of air, he left the dorm room to go to the common room where the boys were sitting. James perked up, and Remus’ head was pulled into a book, a cup of tea on the table beside him. Peter was playing chess with a fellow Gryffindor across the room, not paying attention to anything but the checkered table before him. 

“Is he okay?” 

Sirius plopped beside James, “He will be.”

The silence was killing Remus to the point of his curiosity tipping over, “What happened exactly?”

“Some girl, my mum, arranged him with did something that he didn’t consent to.”

The teacup that was in Remus’ hand dropped to the carpeted floor, staining, “You’re shitting me?”

Regulus was in pain, physically and emotionally. Although the boys didn’t understand completely, they understood that Sirius’s time would be dedicated to his little brother. No matter what was going on in the wizarding world at present, Sirius’ time was needed with Regulus. 

It was nine months later. Thirty-nine weeks later. Two hundred and seventy-three days later. Left on the doorstep of the Noble House of Black’s residence was a baby girl. Orion and Walburga had left the house previously, leaving Regulus alone with Kreacher, their house elf. The baby girl was crying and helpless. 

His lifeless grey eyes met the young girl's e/c ones, and everything clicked. This was the product of his emotional pain in his sixth year. Regulus couldn’t deny the warmth in his heart looking at the young girl. Gently he leaned down to take her in his arms. A pink silk blanket wrapped around her to keep her warm despite the summer months. 

Once in his arms, the girls stopped crying. The warmth of his body and the softness in his eyes calmed her down. There was an envelope inside the baby blanket, which Regulus opened after placing the sleeping child on his lap. Essentially the letter was telling him to name the baby girl and her birthday. Along with now that the marriage was called off, she wanted nothing to do with him. 

Regulus threw the parchment to the side furiously. Despite his frustration, he picked up his daughter and smiled at her, “I dunno what to name you precious.”

The girl wrapped her hand around his thumb that had been caressing her cheek, “Y/n? I like that name.”

She smiled, and so did he, “You like that too, don’t you, précieux.”

Regulus placed a kiss on Y/n’s forehead, rocking her back and forth, “I love you so much.” 

During the school year, Y/n stayed with Sirius, who was overjoyed to stay with his niece. Regulus only saw his daughter one more time before he decided it was his end. Regulus knocked on Sirius’ flat, looking utterly exhausted. Sirius answered with a big smile on his face. 

“Heya Reggie!”

Regulus struggled to smile, “Hey, Siri.”

“Come on.” Sirius beckoned, “Y/n is sleeping, but you can see her if you’d like.”

He walked in to see a door open to a small room. Inside it was painted in a pale lavender color with white furniture. Regulus walked inside to find a crib with his one-year-old girl sleeping inside. She made this so much harder. Regulus didn’t want to do this, but he needed to do it if he wished Y/n to have a safe life. 

Regulus’ arms cradled his daughter to his chest, “I love you, précieux. I love you too much to express. I know that you’ll never remember me. I’m praying that Sirius will tell you about me.”

“You’re my baby girl. You’ll always be my baby girl.” Regulus’ eyes welled with tears, “And- And I’ll be with you no matter what.”

Y/n’s eyes opened, and she smiled, being cradled in her father's arms, “Dada?” 

Regulus had tears streaming down his face, and Sirius watched from the doorway, “Yes, hi petite fille.”

She giggled, and Regulus had the brightest smile on his face; he nuzzled his nose with hers, “Dada’s here, little girl.”

He spent an hour with her. The last sixty minutes of his freedom was spent cooing and coddling. Regulus wanted to engrave her beautiful e/c eyes in his head, her soft smile, smooth skin, and fuzzy hair. Regulus placed his daughter back in the crib and kissed her forehead one more time. 

Walking back out into the living room of the flat, he saw Sirius waiting for him. Regulus didn’t make any appoint to try and sit down. That’s how Sirius knew was something wrong. He released an air of breath and dried his tears. 

“Sirius, you may have to keep Y/n with you a little longer until it’s safe, okay?”

“‘Course Reggie.”

“If- If I don’t come back-“

“Don't say that, please.”

Regulus looked at his brother solemnly, “But it’s realistic.”

“Okay, just- try to make it back.” Sirius replied. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try.” He lied, “I- I want you to tell her about me, yeah?”

Sirius chuckled, “You’re her father, Regulus. I wouldn’t not tell her.”

“Don’t let her mum take her. I don’t care what she says Y/n will be in your care.”

Sirius nodded, “One- One more thing. This may sound stupid but, teach her French?”

“Teach her French? Why?”

“It’s how I used to talk to her before seventh year started. I want her to know how to speak it. French was something I enjoyed learning, something that kept me sane at our horror house.” Regulus confessed, “I want her to learn it.”

“If it means that much to you, Reggie.” Sirius replied, and Regulus nodded, “It does.”

“Then Y/n will learn French, after English.” 

“Good.”

Regulus began walking out the door when he felt arms around him from behind and a head in the crook of his neck, “Come back alive, okay?”

“I’m gonna try, Siri.”

He never came back alive. Regulus walked toward the entrance of that cave, knowing that today he was going to die. In the start, this was for Regulus to right his wrongs. Now it’s for his daughter. If anything, Y/n deserved a happy, exciting life. Not one of pain and suffering like Regulus had. 

The Daily Prophet the next day said everything it needed to, “REGULUS BLACK DECLARED DEAD.” This was it. Regulus had inevitably left his daughter and got himself killed. Sirius cried - sobbed - for his little brother who had a child. He wept for his niece, who would grow up not knowing her father. 

Ten years later, Y/n was getting ready for her first year at Hogwarts. Sirius had introduced baby Harry with one-year-old Y/n at the time where they became best friends. Harry was gravely disappointed at his best friend leaving but excited that he’d see her the following year. 

In the bathroom, Y/n was sitting in front of the mirror with Sirius behind her. Sirius was brushing her hair, not because she couldn’t do it but because Sirius didn’t really want to let her go. After setting the brush on the counter, he placed his hands on her shoulders, looking at her in the mirror. She looked so much like him. His hands twirled through her h/c hair. 

“You look like your father.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, “I- I do?”

“You do.”

“I don’t remember much from him.” Y/n stated, “I remember him calling me précieux, vaguely, which I know now is precious.”

Sirius chuckled, “He also made me teach you, French. It was one of his wishes before he- you know.”

“Why?”

“Learning French is a pure-blood thing. Regulus said it kept him sane.” Sirius answered, “I honored that even if I hated that language.”

It was silent for a while, “You know, sometimes when you’re angry, you just start ranting in French?”

“I don’t!”

Sirius laughed, “You do. You definitely do, amour.”

Y/n giggled, and Sirius began tickling her sides. Her laughter and smile were contagious, just like how Regulus’ was. Regulus had such an infectious laugh and beautiful smile. Sirius was almost glad Y/n inherited it. After tickling her, she melted into Sirius’ embrace, hugging him tightly. 

“Je t'aime, oncle Sirius.”

“Je t'aime aussi, amour.”

It was a system Sirius had created with her instead of saying, “Toujours Pur,” like his mother had made him and Regulus say. Y/n is what made him love French again. The way she swore in the language unintentionally. How she’d say the language like a native, just like her father. It meant everything to him. 

Years later. Y/n was in fifth year, and the Triwizard tournament members had just been called. Viktor Krum was called first. Then Fleur Delacour. Then Cedric Diggory. That was meant to be the finality, but nonetheless, Harry Potter’s name got called. As all the members walked into a room away from the Great Hall, Dumbledore began speaking to the worried children. 

One sentence stood out to Y/n particularly, “Help will always be given at Hogwarts for those who deserve it.”

It brought so much rage in her that she couldn’t help but speak, “That’s bullshit!”

Everyone stared with jaws slack, “My father deserved help! Hell, he needed to be saved, and here because of your bullshit, he died! My father is gone because of you and your shitty manipulative ways!”

“He may have been a death eater, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Godric, he needed saving! His own brother turned on him. So fuck you and fuck your stupid sayings. Because you aren’t a saint, and I don’t have to fall to your knees like a worthless soldier.”

Dumbledore was astonished by her attitude as she began leaving the Great Hall, “That's one hundred points from Gryffindor, Ms.Black!” McGonagall yelled. 

“Pardonnez mon français, mais je m'en fous.” Y/n yelled as she flicked off everyone in the room. 

Before she left, she turned around and faced everyone, “If anyone- and I mean anyone, touches, talks badly, or even remotely glares at Harry Potter, so help me, I won’t hesitate to hex you.”

[ryuzakemo128]

Incorrect Quotes - Peaky Blinders ( Part Five)

(Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten )

(Divider by this person here )

Aberama: A pessimist sees a dark tunnel. Thomas: An optimist sees light at the end of the tunnel. Red: A realist sees a freight train. Alfie: The train driver sees three idiots standing on the tracks.

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: You deserve a reward for putting up with me. Alfie: You are my reward. *meanwhile* Red: You deserve a reward for putting up with me. Thomas: True, you can be really difficult at times.

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: You guys worried about Alfie? Red: Totally! Thomas: Yeah, they called me in the middle of the night and just yelled, "what do I do, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do?" Aberama: And what'd you say? Thomas: "I dunno, I dunno, I dunno, I dunno." Red:

Aberama: He's lucky to have you as a friend.

———————————————————————————–

Thomas: Who wants to go out of the country on a road trip? Alfie: Yea, I could drink legally! Red: I could hang out with the boys! Aberama: I could hide from the consequences of my actions.

———————————————————————————–

*The gang is learning CPR on a test dummy* Thomas: So, assessing the situation. Are they breathing? Red: No, Thomas. They are not breathing. And they have no arms or legs. Thomas: No, that’s not part of it— Red: Where are they? You know what? If we come across somebody with no arms or legs do we bother resuscitating them? I mean, what kind of quality of life do we have there? Aberama: I would want to live with no legs. Red: How about no arms? No arms or legs is basically how you exist right now, Person C. You don’t do anything. Thomas: All right, well, lets get back to it. ‘Cause you’re losing him. *Red pumps frantically* Okay, too fast. Everyone, we need to pump at a pace of a 100 beats per minute. Red: Okay, that’s uh, hard to keep track. How many is that per hour? Alfie: How’s that gonna help you? Red: I will divide and then count to it. Alfie: Right. Thomas: Okay. Well, a good trick is to pump to the tune of ‘Staying Alive’ by the Bee Gees. Do you know that song? Red: Yes, yes I do. I love that song. *clears throat, begins to sing* First I was afraid, I was petrified.

———————————————————————————–

Thomas: You’re just being paranoid. Again. Red: When have I been paranoid? Thomas: Um, when you first met Aberama you thought he was an undercover cop…? Red: No one has a wart that big, I thought it was a surveillance camera! Thomas: And last year you were sure Alfie was a mermaid! Red: He hated wearing shirts! COINCIDENCE?! *Later, when Red’s theory is proven wrong* Thomas: Do you have anything to say for yourself? Red: I still think Alfie is a mermaid.

———————————————————————————–

*The squad is playing a team sport* Red: Are you upset you don’t get to be on the same team as Alfie? Aberama: Have you ever played a game with Alfie? Red: No… Alfie: Have you ever been trapped in a cage with a wolverine? *Meanwhile, on the other side of the field* Alfie, chasing Thomas: I SAID FASTER! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE WORD “FASTER” MEANS? IT MEANS MORE FAST!!!!

———————————————————————————–

Thomas: Everyone synchronize your watches. Red: I don't know how to do that. Alfie: I don't wear a watch. Aberama: Time is a construct.

———————————————————————————–

Thomas: It’s time to turn this into a real business. Red: What do you mean? Like, carry a briefcase, and wear a tie, and pay taxes? Aberama: Wait, have you not been paying your taxes? Alfie: I handle our accounting.

———————————————————————————–

Alfie: ARE YOU- Aberama: Fucking. Alfie: KIDDING ME?! YOU- Aberama: Fucking. Alfie: IDIOT! Red: …What was that? Aberama: Thomas banned Alfie from swearing, so I’m helping him out.

———————————————————————————–

Red: Could you guys at least try to see this from my perspective? Aberama: *crouches down* Thomas: *kneels down* Alfie: *sits on the floor* Red:

Red: I hate all of you.

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: My stomach growled super loud in French. Aberama: I would like to clarify, my stomach did not speak in French. It growled during French class. Alfie: Bonjour. Thomas: Le growl. Red: Hon hon hon, feed me a baguette.

———————————————————————————–

Red: What does “take out” mean? Thomas: Food. Aberama: Dating. Alfie: Murder. Arthur: It can be all three if you’re brave enough.

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: Who the fuck broke the toaster? Red: It was Alfie. Arthur: It was Alfie. Thomas: Alfie broke it. Alfie:

Alfie: …YOU PROMISED-

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Alfie: 'Prettiest Smile' Aberama: 'Nicest Personality' Thomas: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Red: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me? Alfie: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it. Thomas: Three of us saw it, Alfie. How do you explain that? Alfie: *points at Red* Sleep deprivation. *points at Thomas* Paranoia. *points at Aberama* Delusional personality disorder.

———————————————————————————–

Red: What’s something you guys are better than Thomas at? Arthur: Mario Kart. Aberama: Yeah, video games. Alfie: Emotional vulnerability.

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: Arthur's first detention, I'm so proud. Red: Whoa, back up. Why did he get detention? Alfie: Because he's an idiot. Thomas, terrified: They can do that??

———————————————————————————–

*the squad is at a dinner party but someone has been murdered* Thomas: You’re acting pretty carefree for someone who’s life’s at stake. Who’s to say you aren’t the killer? Alfie: It’s a murder, not a tax audit. I’ll be fine. Red: What about Arthur? Nobody ever suspects Arthur! Arthur: Well what about Aberama? They have a gun! Aberama: Thomas has a knife. Thomas: Yeah, for fun, not for murder! *stabs Red in the arm*

———————————————————————————–

Alfie: If you took a shot for every time you made a bad decision, how drunk would you be? Red: Maybe a bit tipsy? Thomas: Drunk. Arthur: Wasted. Aberama: Dead.

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: What's the worst thing you guys have done? Alfie: Rickrolled my teacher in 4th grade. Thomas: I kicked Aberama in the shin- Aberama: -So I kicked Thomas between the legs. Red: I burned a town down. Arthur: What?! Aberama: What the hell is wrong with you?!? Red: A lot of things. Thomas: No shit.

———————————————————————————–

Red: So oxygen went on a date with potassium, it went... OK. Thomas: I thought oxygen was dating magnesium, OMG. Red: Actually oxygen first asked nitrogen out, but nitrogen was all like NO. Arthur: I thought oxygen had that double bond with the hydrogen twins. Alfie: Looks like someone's a HO. Thomas: NaBrO. Aberama: I'm done with all of you!

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: How do you connect with a fictional character? Aberama: What? Alfie: What? Thomas: What? Red: *pulls up a 500 slide presentation* I'm so glad you asked.

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: You're a lying piece of shit! Red: Oh yeah? You're the idiot that thinks you can get away with everything you do, WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD! Thomas: I'm leaving and I'm taking Alfie with me! Arthur, gathering cards: Aaaaand that's enough Monopoly for today.

———————————————————————————–

Alfie: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses. Red: This knife is actually a magic wand. Aberama: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel. Thomas: *cocks gun* Magic missile. Arthur: What the fuck is wrong with you people.

———————————————————————————–

Alfie: *visiting the squad* Hello, I just came to- Alfie: *sees Red shoving Arthur into the washing machine while Aberama records and Thomas watches* Alfie: *retreating* Something suddenly came up.

———————————————————————————–

Red: Okay! Let’s play Kiss Marry Kill! Red: First who would you kill? *Aberama points at Alfie* *Thomas points at Alfie* *Arthur points at Alfie* Alfie: *shrugs* I would kill me too.

———————————————————————————–

The Squad: *walking at the mall* Aberama: Hey, have any of you guys seen Arthur? He's been gone for a while.. Red: Eh, nope. Alfie: No, I haven’t... Thomas: Probably ran off to McDonald’s or something. Arthur: Hey. Aberama: Ooh, there you are- Red: What the fu- Thomas: I- where were you?! Arthur: Walking right behind you guys.

———————————————————————————–

Alfie: Are we really going to let Thomas keep Aberama? Arthur: We kept Red.

———————————————————————————–

Alfie: Guys… the principal just called— Thomas: It was Aberama! Aberama: It was Arthur! Arthur: It was Red! Red: It was me!

———————————————————————————–

Red: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends. Alfie: ... Your what? Red: My friends. Arthur: Are they saying “friends”? Thomas: I think they're being sarcastic. Aberama: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Red! All of your friends are in this room.

———————————————————————————–

Thomas: Anyone d- Arthur: Depressed? Aberama: Drained? Red: Dumb? Alfie: Disliked? Thomas: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people...

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: Are oranges named orange because oranges are orange or is orange called orange because oranges are orange? Red: Which came first, the orange or the orange? Alfie: Orange was first used to refer the fruit 1280 years ago but was not used as a color until 1000 years ago. Aberama: What was the color called before then? Thomas: There was no color, duh! Everything was black and white!

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: You're just jealous. All my friends tell me I remind them of Arthur. The Squad: *screaming* Alfie: She looks like Arthur? Are you out of your fucking MIND? Thomas: Arthur, sweetie, I am SO sorry. I am SO SORRY that an ugly-ass bitch like this would even say that. Oh my god. Alfie: Arthur? Arthur? Arthur? You know who you fucking look like? You fucking look like Red!

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: You know what I learned from my friendship with Thomas? Alfie: There’s no such thing as too mean? Aberama: Never let your friends know for sure if you like them? Red: Always hold a grudge?

———————————————————————————–

Red: Plants have feelings too?! What is this? Now I can't have food! Arthur: You can eat a rock. Aberama: Air. Alfie: The fabric of time and space. Thomas: Chugging a bottle of bleach can solve all your problems. Red: You guys are not helpful.

———————————————————————————–

Thomas: Where’s Arthur? Alfie: Doing stuff. Thomas: I don’t like the sound of that. Where’s Aberama? Alfie: Trying to stop Arthur from doing the stuff. Thomas: And Red? Alfie: Trying to stop Aberama from stopping Arthur from doing the stuff. Thomas: I see. And what are you doing here, Alfie? Alfie: I’m supposed to stop you from stopping Red from stopping Aberama from stopping Arthur from doing the stuff.

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: Thomas's refusing to wear their glasses! Thomas: Aberama, look, I wore the glasses for a day. My eyes are much better now. Watch. Thomas: *points to Red* Red. Thomas: *points to Arthur* Arthur. Thomas: *points to Alfie* Sasquatch.

———————————————————————————–

Thomas: I’ve done a lot of dumb stuff. Aberama: I witnessed the dumb stuff. Arthur: I recorded the dumb stuff. Red: I joined you in the dumb stuff. Alfie: I TRIED TO STOP YOU FROM DOING THE DUMB STUFF!

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: You three, explain right now! Red: It was Thomas. Alfie: It was Thomas. Arthur: It was Thomas. Thomas:Thomas: …fuck.

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: Did you bring Red? Aberama, gesturing to Alfie: No, but I brought the next best thing. Arthur: Alfie? The next best thing would be Thomas. Alfie: I would be offended, but Thomas is freakishly strong.

———————————————————————————–

*The gang's thoughts on stabbing* Alfie: Would never stab anyone. Thomas: Would stab someone in retaliation. Red: Yells "I won't hesitate, bitch!" first. Aberama: Would stab without warning. Arthur: Would stab as a warning.

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: Thomas is a strings kid. We must sacrifice them to the band gods. Alfie: Yes. Red: You're right. It'd be a good initiation for me. Thomas: Wait, guys, what about the truce we signed- Alfie: What truce? Aberama: *sigh* The truce that we must destroy all the choir kids and leave the strings alone. Arthur: Wait, I'm a choir kid! Everyone else: *prepares for sacrifice*

———————————————————————————–

Red: If you put a milkshake in one yard and crack open a cold one in another yard, which yard would the boys go to? Thomas: Schrödinger's boys. Arthur: FUCK! Aberama: What about cracking open a cold milkshake? Alfie: As we all know, the milkshake brings the boys to the yard. The presence of the boys is a prerequisite for the cracking open of a cold one, but cold ones do not have any inherent boy-attracting abilities. Milkshakes, however, do. Alfie: All else being equal, the boys would proceed to the milkshake yard. While it is possible to announce the presence of cold ones in the hope of attracting some boys, the pull of the milkshake is much more powerful by comparison. Red: ... Thomas: ... Arthur: ... Aberama: ... Alfie: Mind you, all of this nonsense hinges on whether or not the boys are back in town.

———————————————————————————–

Red: I'm going to be an adult in 4 years and I only have a vague idea of what I'm going to do. Alfie: I’m gonna be an adult in less than a year and I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. Thomas: I'm with you there... Aberama: I'm an adult and I don't know what I'm doing with my life. Arthur: Three types of people.

———————————————————————————–

Alfie: Uh, Red? Arthur is in the pool and I don't think they're waterproof. Red: What? Thomas: I think they meant, Arthur is drowning. Red: WHAT?! *Meanwhile* Arthur: *is drowning* Aberama: OH MY GOD, ARTHUR! KEEP SWIMMING! Arthur: I can't swim, dumbass— *sinks* Aberama: ARTHUR!

———————————————————————————–

Aberama: We’ve been conducting an ongoing study to see what Thomas will and will not eat. Alfie: Grass? Yes! Aberama: Moss? Yes!! Alfie: Leaves? Ohh, yes! Aberama: Shoelaces? Strange but true! Alfie: Worms? Sometimes! Aberama: Rocks? Usually nah. Alfie: Twigs? Usually! Aberama: Arthur's cooking? Inconclusive! Red: How did you… test this? Aberama: You just hand them stuff and say ‘eat this’ and if they eat it, they eat it. Red: ... I don’t know how to feel about this. Arthur: IS THAT WHERE ALL MY SPARE SHOELACES WENT?

———————————————————————————–

*Everyone is giving advice to Aberama* Thomas: It's okay to ask for help. Red: You're not a burden. Arthur: Murder is okay. Alfie: Your feelings matter.

———————————————————————————–

Red: What do you do when someone offers you drugs? Aberama: Take them! Arthur: Punch them in the neck! Thomas: Say thank you! Alfie: Offer them more drugs to assert dominance! Red: … Red: No.

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: Red is late again. Aberama: How did this happen? I called them at 8 o��clock this morning and pretended it was 11. Alfie: I printed up a fake schedule for them saying we were starting at 9 instead of noon. Thomas: I set their clock to say PM when it’s really AM. Arthur: Oh boy. We may have overdone it. *Red bursts through the door* Red: WHAT TIME IS IT?

———————————————————————————–

Arthur: Good morning. Alfie: Good morning. Aberama: Good morning. Thomas: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit. Red: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS!

[demonicheadcanons]

The Obey Me Brothers Reaction to MC Breaking Down Over Schoolwork

(Initial ask contains an ableist slur and so cannot be posted. Please, in future, refrain from using slurs in any asks sent in!! It has since been added to my rules and I will straight up delete asks with slurs in them. Thank you <3)

AN: Apologies for taking so long to get to this one, its been in my inbox for a while. I’m sorry you were feeling that way, its really difficult getting adjusted to everything again, I work in a school and a lot of the students and teachers alike are definitely really struggling. Best wishes <3

I think I’m usually okay at not letting slip that Levi is my favourite boy, but you can tell here ;u; Sorry

Lucifer

He realises all too late that things are probably tough. Initially Lucifer is distant, and whilst he notices how tired you look sometimes at RAD, he decides to ignore it - you were probably distressed because you had been pulled into the Devildom out of nowhere, you’d just have to adapt because nothing else could be done. In his mind it was pointless worrying about it.

However, as he begins to pay more and more attention to you, he realises its more than that. You frown in class, your grades jump around and you don’t leave your room regularly, probably too busy focusing on studying. The few times you’ve accepted his offer of help, you seem to be on edge.

He decides one night to check in on you, and he hears a harsh thud from a few paces down the hall. He throws the door open without knocking, convincing himself that he was just worried you might be hurt because they needed you for the exchange programme and it would be a pain replacing you now, months into the whole endeavour.

You whirl around, arm still raised, your grip tight on your textbook. He looks about and sees other books scattered about, the room a mess.

Lucifer makes a low growling noise in the back of his throat, raising a hand to press against his temples before he freezes, finally taking in the look on your face. Your eyes are wide, having been essentially caught by the one person you really, really wouldn’t want to see you right now. You lower your arm slowly as he approaches, taking your face in his hands before you can duck away from him.

His tone and expression are impossible to place as he silently examines you, gloved hands wiping across your cheeks to get rid of any traces of your tears. You don’t have the time to process any of it before he pulls you against his chest, wrapping his arms carefully around your shoulders.

Lucifer is silent, almost eerily so, and he holds you there without moving until you either push him away or until you stop sniffling and drop the book. Even when he does speak again, he’s quiet, deep in thought as he looks around the room and tells you simply to head over to his - he’ll bring you something to eat shortly, get some rest in the meantime. You mumble something about a test, and he waves a hand. He’ll bring the textbook, its fine, go rest.

It takes him a half hour to get to his room, carrying a tray with some tea and snacks. Your textbook is tucked under one arm, and he gently invites you to eat before he starts talking things out. He asks if classes are too difficult, asks if there’s anything in particular you’re struggling with. He makes a lot of offers - Luci is a busy guy, but he can free up a time slot if you want to study with him, or he can get you a tutor, or you can simply text him your concerns and he’ll respond as soon as he’s available. His advice is simple and realistic.

Once you’re done eating and drinking, he opens the textbook and goes over the things that are most likely to be on the test. He gives tips, explains the things that confuse you in a clear and concise manner. He’s a good teacher, and he’s a lot more patient than you’ve seen him before.

Overall, Lucifer is a quiet comfort, but a determined one. He works to make things easier for you in the background, marking out important parts of the textbook so you know what to focus on, and offering a hand whenever you need it. Also, when you get back to your room later, your books are neatly organised on your desk.

[Other brothers under the read more]

Mammon

Mammon randomly pops into your room quite often, making excuses about how he’s absolutely entitled to because he’s in charge of taking care of you. On this particular evening, you have absolutely no warning as per usual and he doesn’t bother knocking, because this boy only has good manners when it benefits him.

He freezes instantly, and he’s over to you in a second before you can throw whatever’s in your hand. His grip is careful but tight on your wrist and he squeezes until you let it go, tossing whatever it was onto your bed without looking and wrapping you up in his arms. You might feel trapped for a second, but he has this fear that you’re Going To Get Hurt and so he just holds onto you until you settle and start sobbing against his chest. (Mammon is panicking too much to think about it, and he’ll definitely apologise after and try not to do it again if he scared you.)

He pulls you over to the bed and sits you down, a hand smoothing through your hair. His grip remains on you at all times, and you can feel his hands shaking when he asks what’s wrong, MC? Did something happen?

Mammon listens carefully, swallowing and smoothing a hand over your hair when you tell him its because the work here is just too damn hard and you can’t do it, you can’t, you can’t remember all the dates for the history or recall the right Latin to say for this one course and its not like it matters anyway because you’re human, why would you need this?

He mumbles back “I know, I know,” and runs his hands down your arms, back, along your hair. Wherever he can to comfort you, wherever makes your breathing slow back to a normal pace and takes away the hiccups left from sobbing. He doesn’t force you to look at him, almost doesn’t want you to as he bites back sniffles and sobs and wipes his face against his sleeve because crying right now won’t fix anything for you.

When you’re both calmer again, he starts rambling about something or other to take your mind off it. Mammon isn’t one to offer any immediate solutions, and rather tries to distract you with stories until you fall asleep and he can lay you down and march straight to Lucifer and demand he talk to Diavolo about this, as fearless as if he were defending Belphie or Levi for accidentally breaking something.

You’re assigned a tutor, and have tutoring sessions with each of the brothers for things they’re good at, with Lucifer and Satan covering any areas the others don’t particularly excel in. Mammon himself helps you with maths, and although he isn’t always the best at explaining it, his presence along is comforting and helps makes working through a little easier, and he’s good for taking your mind away from any stress so that you can focus without worry holding you back.

Leviathan

He had just wanted to get something back that he loaned you, a book or DVD. He can’t remember what it was the second he hears a crash and throws open your door, and finds you in a ball on the floor, the room a mess around you. You don’t even look up as the door opens, and the two of you stay in place for a few moments.

Levi doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where to start, but he can do one thing. Quietly and carefully, he tiptoes around your room and starts putting things back where they belong. He tidies your desk, faintly organises whatever notes he finds by subject and piles them up together. He doesn’t touch you, because he’s worried you wouldn’t want him to right now, that he might scare you, and so he just tidies until the room looks a little more normal again.

When you finally look up, he’s sitting a few feet in front of you, headphones on as he stares at his D.D.D., either playing a game or watching a video or scrolling through Wikis as he waits patiently for you to start the conversation or ask for whatever comforts you need. You move over to sit beside him, and he blushes but takes off his headphones and holds an arm out so you can rest against his shoulder.

He lets you watch whatever is on his phone for a beat before asking in a hushed voice if you need anything, if something was wrong, or if someone (maybe him?) upset you. When you tell him it’s about schoolwork, he sighs and pulls you closer without thinking about it. He hands you his D.D.D. and puts his headphones on you, tells you to stay there for a bit and keep watching until he gets back.

Levi returns a few minutes later with Satan in tow, each of them carrying a bag with their own textbooks in them. Levi kneels down to take back his D.D.D. and headphones and to help you up, and tells you you’re all going to start studying together in the library. If you’d be okay with it, he means... he could use the help too, and maybe it wouldn’t feel so bad if you were there. Not for any reason in particular!

Study sessions are added to your schedule after that. Even on days where Satan is off doing something else, Levi will tutor you on whatever he finds easiest - usually history, and oftentimes its history involving the navy. His shyness melts away into confidence as he talks about all the things he’s done, about how he was appointed head thousands of years ago and he thinks he’s yet to let Diavolo down.

After study sessions you go and get a drink together, something like bubble tea or smoothies or whatever, and then play games together to relax and let the info sink in instead of obsessing over it. If you ever start to get stressed out again, Levi gently puts his headphones on you and the two of you wait it out together, and he smiles at you every time you take the headphones off and take a deep breath, ready to keep working. He’s proud.

Satan

Satan is observant enough to notice ahead of time that something is about to happen. You seem horribly stressed and unfocused in your classes one day in particular, and he decides to stop by your room the second he gets home to find out what was wrong.

He knocks and waits for a while, but you don’t answer, and he was sure he heard noise before but now your room is deathly silent. He carefully creaks the door open a bit to call in and see if you’re there, and hears paper crumpling against the door. Deciding to investigate, he opens it a little more and slides in through the gap.

The room is a mess of books and paper and pillows, and you’re at your desk, hands clamped hard over your ears. You’re making some kind of whimpering noise every now and then, and Satan starts to piece things together as he gathers up books in one arm and smooths out paper. He taps you on the back before moving back a pace or two, just in case.

You freeze before turning around to look at him, seeming almost guilty, and he doesn’t really get why you’d feel that way but he holds up your books and clears his throat. “Do you want some help?”

Satan is more practical than emotional and, whilst he isn’t sure what kind of comfort he can offer you right now, he knows he can help with the work, help make it easier. He pulls a chair over beside you, motioning for you to scoot over, and leans against you as he opens the first book and asks where you were struggling. He keeps a constant connection between the two of you, either has his leg against yours or his entire side against you so that you know he’s there, so that you’re permanently aware of his presence.

He doesn’t look at you too often, not when you can see him do it. Even then, there’s no judgement in his gaze, just his brows furrowing slightly out of concern until your breathing in alright and you start to smile in little bursts again. He smiles then as well, scribbling down some notes for you.

After that, Satan regularly pulls you aside after class and asks if you want to come out with him to a cafe or to the library, or he’ll call you to his room in the house and ask if you’ll let him teach you this set of notes so that he can remember it better. He’s subtle, never really brings up what happened and never asks you about it because he’s already got it all figured out in his mind. Instead, he just works on moving on from it and making sure it doesn’t happen again, and if it does, he’ll be ready to be there for you again.

Asmodeus

Asmo had decided to visit your room because you weren’t responding to his messages asking if you wanted to go out shopping with him. Majolish had new season wear and he absolutely needed to go get first pickings at it, and he wanted you there by his side.

He knocks but opens your door immediately after anyway, not giving you time to do much more than turn to face the door, bringing the pillow you were about to throw up over your face instead so he can’t read too much of your expression. He sees the tears, anyway, and without thinking walks over to you and holds your face in his hands.

His voice is laced with concern as he asks what’s wrong, and he immediately looks like he’s going to cry as well, but he just did his makeup and he’s not going to risk ruining it right now. Instead he moves over to the bed and pulls you down onto his lap, holding you tight against his chest. He keeps asking, every few moments, if something was wrong and if there’s anything he can do, and his eyes dart around the room to try to piece it all together. Your books were still out on your desk, pillows a mess around the room, and you... You were curled up against him, shaking and choking down sobs.

Asmo pouts and holds you in silence until you calm down and start talking to him, start telling him what was wrong, what subject you’d been struggling with over the past hour and you were still stuck on the same damn page and not making any progress and the test was only a few days away and everyone was expecting so much from you, you who never even asked to be here. Obviously you weren’t good enough for this, obviously they should’ve chosen someone better-

Asmo cuts you off there, pushes against your shoulders until he can see your expression and cup your face in his hands. He’s not having you put yourself down because you’re struggling with work that the centuries-old demons also had a hard time with, not on his watch, and he tells you just as much. When he’s done half-scolding you, his expression softens and he offers whatever help he can. He’s sure he can rope Satan or Lucifer into helping out, and if not he can charm the examiners into giving you a better score... he keeps going until some of his silly advice gets you to snort out a little laugh, and then he relaxes.

He lays back and pulls you down with him, sighing as he instructs you to take a nap, and then after you two can go out shopping and you’ll figure everything out as you strip Majolish bare of its new wonderful outfits. And Asmo keeps to his word. As you’re trying things on he talks through the stall walls, proposing different ideas to you whilst simultaneously boosting your confidence as he compliments you and finds the perfect outfits for you.

Asmo makes it clear that if ever you should need a distraction, just give him a call - there’s always something better to do than reading over textbooks, and he’ll throw in study sessions so long as you’re there to spend time with him. Anything to make you feel better.

Beelzebub

Beel was in the kitchen, clearing out the fridge as usual when he heard a muffled thud against the wall. He pauses, turning to look in that direction, and realises that its the wall attached to your room.

He’s outside your door in no time, and taps nervously against it with his fingertips before opening the door slightly and calling in to ask if you were okay, and could he come in please? He hesitates when you don’t respond, but decides to head in anyway, because you might be hurt and any embarrassments he’s sure the two of you could live with, but with an injury there was no guarantee, not for a human.

There are books everywhere, the room as messy as he’s ever seen it, and you’re... nowhere to be seen. Not until he hears a sniffle and rounds the corner into the dining room section, and finds you curled up in a ball against the wall, face against your knees. He’s quick to back away, worried that he’ll upset you more, but then Beel kneels down a few paces in front of you and leans forward to tap your arm.

You flinch and look up immediately, pulling your knees closer to your chest until you realise its him, and then you just look guilty. Beel’s chest hurts, he feels horrible - what happened to make you feel like this? Could he help, or should he go get someone else? He asks just as much, voice somewhat broken over the questions as he hesitates. He doesn’t get this anxious often, but right now you remind him of Belphie a few thousand years ago, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

He pushes the thought away and slides closer, sitting against the wall beside you. His presence might not help, and he waits for you to tell him to leave, but after a while you press against his side and he opens his arms to you and holds you as tight as he can until you feel a little bit okay again. And then he asks, again, what’s wrong, and he waits for you to tell him, shaking but as patient as can be. You open up to him slowly, and he listens.

Beel doesn’t know how to help, doesn’t think he’d be a good tutor for you, doesn’t know how to relieve the stress really. But, he promises his arms are always there if you want a warm hug, and... he is sure that there is some resolution to be found, but for now you should just do your best and that’s all anyone could expect from you, and if anyone doesn’t like that then... he’ll be your bodyguard, ready to defend you at any moment. He was good at that, sometimes.

Beel smiles at you and gives you the warmest smile he can manage before tucking your head back against his shoulder or chest. He tells you to rest for a little while, and then you can try working again later. Whilst you’re asleep, he pulls out his D.D.D. and messages Belphie asking for advice, and then Lucifer. By the time you wake up, he’s got a few tips from the brothers and a tutoring timetable is being organised by Lucifer for the two of you, so that you wouldn’t be alone.

Belphegor

Belphie doesn’t know why he was on his way to your room, and he stops thinking about it the second he throws the door open and sees you crying. He’s too tired to put the pieces together as he looks around, too tired to really take in the room, but he’s on high alert when he runs over and wraps you in his arms, looking around properly to see if anyone was there, if anyone had hurt you.

You can hear him growling in the back of his throat until he slowly relaxes, shoulders lowering as he takes in how messy your room is. It must’ve been you, he decides, holding you closer to him. A demon would’ve left this place in a horrible state. But nothing was torn, just scattered around.

He’s more awake when he pulls you over to the bed and immediately lays down with you on his chest. He doesn’t get what’s wrong yet, but he’ll figure it out. He wills his powers, his sin’s influence, over you until you’re drowsy and fall asleep, still sniffling occasionally, and then he starts to work things out.

By the time you wake up, Belphie apologises for how disorientated you might feel. He probably should’ve talked to you first before making you fall asleep. He smiles sheepishly at you, but the concern in his eyes is only thinly veiled, and you can see through to it.

“So, school, huh?” he asks, lopsided smile almost teasing. He wants to make you smile, or laugh if he’s lucky. Instead you make a frustrated noise and press your face into his chest again, and he pats your head to comfort you. You hear him swallow before he pushes against your shoulders to get you to look at him again.

He’s not hiding so much when he asks what’s wrong, and he listens as you stumble through an explanation before sighing and asking if you want to take another nap. He grins when you glare at him, before adjusting you both so you’re sitting up again. “Let’s get to work, then. What subject is first?”

Belphie isn’t the best at a lot of the work, and he’s missed a lot of classes, but he’s a decent help and he keeps your stress down by cracking jokes and patting your head when you do well. He’s a comforting presence, and if you get overwhelmed again he leans his elbows against the desk, head in hands, and suggests you take another nap with him because he could really use one right now. He laughs when you swat at him and tell him to focus, and then looks at you and tells you that you can come to him if you need help, anytime. Don’t wake him up if he’s deep asleep, though - get Mammon or someone stupid to do that, he jokes, just in case he lashes out.

In future, Belphie will tap on your door when he knows you’re studying and, although he often falls asleep at your desk or just immediately heads over to your bed to nap, he gives off a comforting aura that makes the work a bit bearable for longer.

[maybeacrowdedmind]

So I Just Finished Skam...

First of all, I loved it. It was an incredible show and I'm so glad that there are so many remakes because I enjoyed it so much. One of my favorite things about the show was the fact that it feels extremely realistic, and I think a lot of that is due to the fact that a majority of the actors were actual teenagers (rather than actors who are obviously in their mid 20s and playing characters who are 16) and the fact that the characters behaved like actual teenagers (like using Facebook and Instagram, using "bad" language, dancing and singing along to music, etc. etc.). The other thing I adored about this show was the amount of importance that was placed on friendship. Platonic relationships in fiction are normally vastly underrated or underdeveloped in favor of romantic ones, so I appreciated that Skam showed so many friendships. So I decided to make a list of my favorite friendship moments from each season (two moments per season, with honorable mentions at the end before moving on).

Season 1:

1) Noora cheering up Eva by singing Justin Bieber to her:

I am not a fan of Justin Bieber at all (if you like him, all the more power to you, but I personally can't stand him), but Noora singing to Eva was such a great moment. She knew how sad Eva was, and decided to cheer her up by sharing something that made her (Noora) happy, and it was a really sweet moment between friends. It was also something that is realistic to do when someone you care about is down, and even though it was a small scene, it showed how strong a friendship Noora and Eva have.

2) All of the bonding moments between Sana, Vilde, Eva, Noora, and Chris:

I know this is a vague one, but just the sheer amount of time the girls spend together, whether they are doing something important or just hanging out was really awesome to see. Most of the time, tv shows don't take time to show us little moments like characters talking about boys or just sitting hanging out unless it has a more dramatc purpose. With Skam, we got to see those moments, which made the friendship between the girls that much more realistic.

Honorable Mentions for Season 1:

Eva grabbing the wrong Chris for Vilde, leading both Chris and Penetrator Chris (love that nearly everyone calls him that in the show by the way) to share a huge hug and go "name twins!" because that's totally something I'd do if I met someone who shared my name.

Eva and Ingrid finally talking about everything that happened, giving them both closure and the ability to move on, even if their friendship would never be the same (this was such a great scene because it showed Eva apologizing and telling Ingrid that she couldn't change what she did, but she would if she could, and it also allowed Ingrid to be hurt by what happened with Jonas, because let's face it, Ingrid was the injured party in that particular situation).

Season 2:

1) Noora telling Vilde all of the important things that the ingredients for tortilla do for you, and Vilde later doing the same for Noora:

I love how all of the girls take care of one another, but this scene in particular I loved a lot. Noora has noticed that Vilde hasn't been eating, and after hearing Vilde tell her all the reasons she doesn't like potatoes, Noora tells Vilde all the reasons she should. Noora also does so in a way that isn't shaming Vilde or being condescending to her, rather, Noora brings it up in a casual conversation. Later, Vilde notices Noora not eating, and prepares tortilla for her, quoting what Noora told her about potatoes and eating it with her. I loved this scene because it showed how much Noora and Vilde understood one another, as well as the importance of support.

2) The amount of support given to Noora by the girls after she discloses what happened with Nico:

This one is a total no-brainer. Noora had no idea what had happened that night, and had very little to go off of, and she spent the next few episodes terrified. When she tells the girls what she thinks might have happened, they all immediately stop what they're doing and rally around her. The no-dialogue scene in which they take Noora to the doctor and hold her and keep her safe was incredibly touching, and to be honest, nearly made me tear up.

Honorable Mentions for Season 2:

Sana and Chris playing a joke on the girls at the cabin during their break, because that whole episode was hilarious, and the individual ways each girl reacted was totally in character for each of them.

All of the girls telling Noora that they knew about her and William, because it was the most obvious thing in the world, and Noora being sheepish and surprised that she hadn't been hiding it as well as she thought.

Season 3:

1) Jonas, Magnus, and Mahdi telling Isak what to text Even:

This scene was so funny, and not the type I usually get to see when it comes to male friendships. I love that Isak tells them that he has no idea how to reply to Even, and Jonas tells him what he should say, with Magnus and Mahdi inserting their opinions and talking about how they text girls. It was enjoyable to watch because too many times fiction shows us that boys don't have the same relationship confusion that girls do, and it's often not true. I like that this scene allowed the boys to just be boys, because everybody deals with uncertainty, especially when it comes to liking someone.

2) Linn and Even playing video games together:

I know this scene is literally like two seconds and that we only see them ending from Isak's perspective, but hear me out. I'm pretty sure this is the first scene we see that shows Linn actively smiling and looking happy. Also, Even had just come off of a manic episode, was feeling depressed, and when we see him playing video games with Linn, he too looks actually happy, which is always great to see. Plus, the way Linn and Even are interacting with one another, it looks like they've known each other forever rather than two people who have just met, and even though it was a fraction of a scene, it was super great to watch.

Honorable Mentions for Season 3:

The entire development of Sana and Isak's friendship (I almost broke my "only two friendship moments" per season rule for this, but I decided to stick to my guns). Isak and Sana have a great friendship and I love how it came out of nowhere. Their friendship is literally started by being partnered together for school, which only happened because Sana sat by Isak to tell him that she had the weed he hid (a beautiful start to a beautiful friendship).

Isak coming out to Jonas by telling him that he liked someone and giving him the hint that it wasn't a girl, and Jonas reacting by thinking about the hint for a minute and then going "it's not me...is it?" because the expression Jonas had on his face while he thought about who it could be was funny because it looked like the fact that Isak had just come out to him wasn't even on his radar, because he was more concerned about guessing right, and the fact that he guessed himself was humorous to me.

Season 4:

1) Chris being a total ride-or-die friend to Sana after the stuff regarding the hate accounts for Sara and Vilde came out:

Everybody needs a friend like Chris. She is without a doubt one of the most loyal tv show characters I've seen and I wish Skam had run for more seasons so we could get a Chris season (and a Vilde season and an Even season, and a spin-off for Eskild and Linn, who both totally deserve one). Chris is the first person Sana told about the Sara account, and the first thing she did was tell Sana that the hate would blow over if Eva found out the truth (because Eva and everybody else thought Isak was responsible for it, and Eva was pissed AF at him). Chris also made sure that Sana knew that she didn't hate her for what happened, because everybody screwed up (seriously, we all need a friend like Chris).

2) The girls showing up to the bus meeting in their own tiny bus named "Los Losers" for Sana, effectively showing all of the Pepsi-Max girls (like Penetrator Chris, that will forever be their name) that if you mess with one of them, you mess with all of them. Sana was terrified that the girls would never forgive her, and when they all show up in the bus screaming her name, the joy on Sana's face is practically tangible. I love that they all pull Sana into the bus and give the Pepsi-Max girls the finger as they drive off, because really, what better way to show the true bonds of friendship than by collectively flipping off a ton of girls who messed with one of their own.

Honorable Mentions for Season 4:

Sana and Even's friendship, and the fact that she protected and respected his privacy when Isak asked her why she never said that she already knew Even, because too many times do I see characters give away information to other people that isn't theirs to give, and the fact that it didn't matter to Sana that Isak and Even were together, she was still going to make sure that Even had a right to the details of his personal life was extremely important.

The conversation between Sana and Jamilla about their schooling and Islam, because the texts we see between them prior to their falling out show that they were very close, and it was nice to see them talk and reconcile, because that's how life works sometimes. You fight and fall out with people, and after time passes, sometimes there is reconciliation.

[ajaxwrites]

Genshin Impact Fanfic Rec List

(because this is my most current obsession~~)

The Narwhal of Dihua Marsh by GreyLiliy

Childe hears of a strong Adeptus living at the Wangshu Inn. Despite warnings from Zhongli that fighting Xiao would be a deathly mistake, Childe seeks out the Adeptus living in the Dihua Marsh eager for a proper fight.

However, Childe severely underestimates his opponent, and the consequences of his actions may keep him from returning home to Snezhnaya.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: This fic is interesting primarily because it's not necessarily what you would call an easy story to read. The content can surprisingly get quite heavy as the relationship between Childe and Zhongli isn't healthy and it becomes increasingly obvious as the story progresses. You swing between wanting to separate the two and also desperately wishing that they'll work out because there is something there. The story snowballs from what seems like an innocuous, if stupid and rash, decision on Childe's part to a complicated mess that you can’t help but be enthralled in. I went in expecting your typical romance and ended up in something that was more complex than I expected but also beautifully thought provoking.

Entirely Out of Spite by Bgtea

"Welcome to a new user experience! You have triggered this interface with the keywords, ‘Stupid game! Stupid devs! I want my f*****g money back!’ You are now bound to the character Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, codename: Childe! We hope you have an enjoyable user experience and we welcome you once again to Genshin Impact 2.0!”

Those are some of the first words Ajax, starving college student extraordinaire, has the misfortune of hearing upon waking up in a brave new world from what he's fairly sure is a very, very fatal accident involving water and a shit ton of electricity.

Okay, so he's not dead. That's good. But what's this about him being stuck playing the character Tartaglia? Tartaglia, as in the shitty, one-dimensional, cartoonish villain who met his untimely, gruesome death in the first act of the original game?

Fuck that noise. Like hell Ajax is going to share that fate.

And so begins one man's journey to unfuck himself.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Whenever this updates, I squeal. If you’re a fan of The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System or just transmigration/reincarnation plots in general, you’re going to love it. Bgtea does a beautiful job in balancing humor with the trauma that comes with the whole reincarnation plotline. The whole of it is beautiful written and watching Childe/Ajax interact with the other characters (and the perspective of those characters) is a delight! 

the sister by glassdrachma

The tragic and unexpected death of Zhongli-xiansheng of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor occurred to the sorrow of many and the deep skepticism of a few.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: glassdrachma has a gift for humor and romance. In short, Zhongli fakes his death for plot reasons and comes back as Jianlao, the bereaved twin sister. Shenanigans ensue, featuring overprotective Liyue-ians (?), chaotic gremlin Venti, and Kexing. Very light hearted, good for the soul.

The White Cicada Society by clementinesgulag

After his little brother is bundled back to Snezhnaya, Childe makes good on his promise to the traveller and takes the first boat out of Liyue Harbor. Any sense of homecoming lasts about as long as an uncooked steak in front of Xiangling, however, when his boat sinks, grounding him back in the mainland.

It's just as well, because the next morning, a body is found in the Northland Bank. A visit from a fellow Harbinger reveals a far more insidious plot than anything Childe could concoct with a god of the vortex and twenty minutes without supervision. The murders aren’t limited to the one Bank. They’ve been trailing down the Liyue border, getting closer and closer to the city. The Tsaritsa has a new mission for him: to figure out who, or what is targeting Fatui forces.

Against his best wishes, Childe is forced to see Zhongli again at the morgue. It becomes clear that he’s going to need a guide, and Childe resolves to quash his pride, and their differences to request his help to navigate Liyue and solve the case.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: A diamond in the rough that I slept on and then stumbled back to by accident. I had it marked for later on AO3 and forgot about it for like a good week to my utter self-disgust. It. Is. So. Damn. Good! The mystery is intriguing but I live for the realistic portrayal of the aftermath of the whole gnosis plotline. The betrayal, the bitterness, but ah, the sexual tension. The harbinger interactions in this fic make it gold though.

Lungs full of Roses by SecretlyACatLady

Childe had always assumed that he would die young. He had accepted that a long time ago, ever since he accepted the mantle of a Fatui Harbinger. However, he always thought that he would die in a glorious fight, his body broken but spirit relishing the strong opponent that had bested him. He was okay with that type of death.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Fate had decided to add one last insult to injury, because, here Childe was, dying because he had fallen in love with the ex-Geo Archon. The same Archon who seemed to have discarded him like an old toy ever since the Osial Incident. --- In which divine beings are cruel and a cursed Childe starts preparing for his inevitable death because no Archon could ever love a mortal.

…Right?

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: The fic that started it all for me, the one that sucked me into the fandom. This fic is heartbreaking. We always do love a hanahaki plotline but something about the way it frames the disease and the shame that comes with it...I highly recommend giving it a read. The angst is real I tell you.

The Bride of The Golden Dragon by Erika_Bee

“You’re to be sent on a special mission, Tartaglia.”

The young man’s eyes gleamed in interest. “How special?” He asked as he wiped the blood off his daggers.

His superior grinned. “Special enough to put your name in Snezhnaya’s history books.”

—

In which the Archon War ravaged the land of Liyue and to ensure the people’s survival, the God of Geo established the Harvester Contract: One bride per village, every year, in exchange for protection and a good harvest.

Or: Childe is sent on an undercover mission to kill the Geo Archon, but things don’t go as planned.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Don’t let the title scare you off--this isn’t one of those fics where they feminize one of the male characters and reduce their personality to a mindless submissive bobblehead to the point that I want to throw my laptop out of the window. Not that there’s anything wrong if you like that kind of thing, just not my cup of tea. This fic though---READ IT! There’s just something refreshing about the writing and the plot, the way that Childe’s character reads off the page. I live for the interactions between the characters and how the author has mapped the relationships. Warning that recent chapters have swerved decided into NSFW territory though.

the brothers grim by izabellwit

Left in an unfamiliar land with a mission he never wanted, a young Kaeya lies, survives, and somehow finds a family in the process.

Or: How Kaeya came to Dawn Winery, and why he left it. Includes lore, sibling bickering, found family struggles, and a more in-depth look at the years between Kaeya’s arrival and Crepus’s death.

Ships: N/A

Notes: Ahh, little Kaeya. Cheeky ass little shit that’s too angsty and adorable for his own good. I don’t have words for this fic. It makes my heart warm but also makes me want to weep because god, this fic covers exactly how traumatic Kaeya’s situation is and why child soldiers/spies just shouldn’t be. And the dynamic he has with Diluc and Crepus--do me a favor and read it. Screams found family.

the wind through the mountain tops by glassdrachma

Boredom brings Barbatos of Mondstadt to bother a certain ex-Archon of the Earth.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: A light-hearted, humorous and fluffy as hell piece. Short word is that Venti comes to Liyue for some fun, causes chaos, accidentally plays matchmaker, and steals some vegetables. A get-together fic for Childe and Zhongli that includes a surprisingly self-aware (if blunt and snarky) Zhongli and jealous Childe that gets increasingly flustered.

melt (speak or forever hold your peace) by anatakana

Falling into bed with Diluc was an unbelievably bad idea given their tumultuous shared history, but Kaeya’s impulsive urge to amuse himself knew no bounds.

It’s all fun and games until emotions got involved.

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: THIS IS NSFW. With plot though? This is THE FIC that got me shipping the two (though the game did a good job on its own). The angst is real here and we love the sheer gal of both of these two stupid men.

Cascading (In a good way) by Hubbleablubble

Kaeya is a fascinating annoyance.

(Or: A series of events in which Albedo gets to know Kaeya, and they slowly go from strangers to acquaintances to something more.)

Ships: Albedo/Kaeya

Notes: Sweet fic. Not my typical ship pairing. Loved the Khaenri’ah mentions. Kaeya is Trans FTM here though it’s only briefly mentioned. There is also an incomplete sequel (as of May 2021) featuring an Overprotective Big Brother Diluc on a warpath giving shovel talks to everyone except apparently Albedo that’s also worth reading.

The Language of Flowers by Jules (Penwyn)

Kaeya Alberich has made a habit of lying—after all, the only truths he’s ever spoken cost him everything—but there are only so many lies a man can tell before the truth comes spilling out.

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Hanahaki! Except not! Basically, Kaeya pukes up flowers that say the truth whenever he lies. Cue, angst! Lovely and quick read--love Kaeya’s voice here.

i know i'm where i'm meant to go by paperclips (pastel_paperclips)

"Childe," Zhongli says suddenly. "I am enjoying myself greatly."

Childe’s face breaks into a grin. "Then-"

Zhongli gasps, grabbing his wrist and tugging him over to an unsuspecting peddler with a cart full of rocks. "Is that an intrusive igneous pegmatite formed in the Inazuma regions?"

Childe’s grin smooths into a small, adoring smile. He has all the time in the world to figure the other man out.

OR: Finding the Geo Archon is on Childe's to-do list but hanging out with Zhongli is significantly more fun.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Childe, you idiot. Humorous and funny, very light hearted. Makes you wonder if Childe has an IQ. He’s too busy pining/lovesick to realize that he told his target that he’s going to kill him for his gnosis. Zhongli and Liyue remain confused on how Childe still DOES NOT get it but half-ass hiding his Archon status anyway.

the bird without wings by Anonymous

"Kaeya!" someone yells. Small arms wrap around his waist tightly, red hair spilling out of the ponytail, and Kaeya's heart almost stops.

He's talked his way out of all types of situations. From placating international disputes to buttering up his informants, he's always had a quick response to everything.

But for once, Kaeya is speechless. He stares down at the boy with puffy cheeks, slightly crooked teeth and sparkling bright eyes.

Eight year old Diluc beams back.

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: Diluc gets de-aged and Kaeya gets angsty. The interactions between the two are heartwarming and will induce tears. Childe makes a brief appearence that *chef’s kiss*

call me "lover boy" by Anonymous

Zhongli turns back, eyes bright with amusement, a stray lilypad still stuck in his hair, and Childe thinks, wow. I want to kiss him stupid.

Childe's not into the whole "swooning maiden patiently waiting for his beloved to swoop down and smooch the daylights out of him" thing. Nah, that's not his style. He's Tartaglia, eleventh of the Fatui harbingers, and he's going to kiss Zhongli right now.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: FUNNY AS HELL. Childe is straight up just trying to plant one on Zhongli but fate and people just keep interfering. It’s a weird trope aversion where the character is actively trying to confess rather than avoiding it but life gets in the way. 

springtime in snezh-nya-ya by miaomaomei

Tartaglia’s body moves before he can even think about it. He arches his back and flattens his ears against his head, baring his teeth in a hiss. Considering he barely even reaches Scaramouche's knees — Scaramouche, of all people! The guy is practically the size of a fourteen-year-old — he doubts that he is cutting as imposing a figure as he hopes.

It isn't a surprise, though. No one could become a Fatui Harbinger if they were scared of a little cat.

OR

Tartaglia is turned into a cat and he goes to Zhongli for help. It goes about as well as expected.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: TOO ADORABLE FOR WORDS. This is just pure fluff I swear. Love how Childe is written and the interactions between the two are just ahhhh. A balm on the soul.

Melt by tanktrilby

“My name is Diluc,” he says. A scowl naturally furrows his brow, and Kaeya looks like he wants to laugh.

He’s looking at him through his lashes again, blue eyes teasing and warm. “Diluc,” he says. “A knight in overalls isn’t quite where I thought my preferences would lie, but here we are.”

(or: Kaeya loses his memories and makes some assumptions. Diluc can't honestly tell him that he's wrong.)

Ships: Diluc/Kaeya

Notes: As the summary says, Kaeya loses his memories. Diluc plays babysitter for plot reasons. Meanwhile, Kaeya freaks out and has an essential crisis because his instincts freak him out which = angst. Simultaneously, sort of love confessions? 

you are cordially invited by ktenologious

When the Traveler receives a mysterious invitation from a Snezhnayan businessman, they seek out help from the only Snezhnayan they are on good terms with. They decide it is a wonderful idea to go to this business party in the middle of the ocean because, well, what could be better entertainment than watching a Fatui Harbinger at work? It is too bad Childe couldn't come with them...

Meanwhile, the Tsaritsa needs someone to track down the source of a brand new drug at a party on a cruise; it just so happens that she has two Harbingers who specialize in causing chaos and sinking ships. Scaramouche is a sadist and loves this, and Tartaglia... Well, Tartaglia just wants to know why is he the one in the dress again.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe, sort of Diluc/Kaeya & Scaramouche/Childe

Notes: Features a crossdressing Childe and Kaeya for plot reasons. Funny as hell. Love Fatui dynamics/interactions. Highly recommend. Go read it. I’m serious. It’s so beautiful, I can’t. Also Zhongli is so love-sick and jealous, it’s hilarious.

The Road to Snezhnaya by paranoid_fridge

Everything's done and over. Now, Zhongli only needs to adjust to living like an ordinary mortal. Or that is what he thinks until a familiar face shows up in Liyue. Teucer comes looking for his brother who failed to return to Snezhnaya on the Fatui ships. And as Childe's declared "friend", Zhongli must help Teucer find him.

Or: Teucer drags Zhongli on a cross-country goose chase looking for Childe. Zhongli just happens to find a bit more along the way.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: I have no words for this fic outside of the fact that it is clear that Teucer has the only functioning brain and should be Best Man because he obviously did all the work here. Features an oblivious Childe and overprotective Zhongli, plus bystander Kaeya that is getting allll of the gossip. And also the most destructive group of children ever.

basket of knives by oronine

“I just want to be loved,” Childe says to himself, to whoever is listening. “Is that too much to ask?”

They are on the roof once more, this time Childe’s foot touches the edge of the building as he daydreams of something that cannot be. The sky is blank and cloudy and perhaps Lumine fears it’ll all end when he takes a step.

“Not at all,” she says. It’s still the truth.

Contrary to popular belief, Childe hates his family but loves them all the same.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: TW for suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, self-harm, depression, etc. Not a light read by any definition. Set in a modern AU, not in the genshin impact universe. Features a Childe that is Not Okay, good friend but also probably traumatized friend Lumine (and her brother Aether), and Zhongli. Family dynamic is messed up as hell and explores mental health quite well in my opinion. I’m not sure how healthy necessarily Childe’s relationships are but I think that’s a given considering the context and how derailed his mental health is in this fic. Definitely angst as heavy, made me tear up quite a bit. Read, but pay attention to the content/trigger warnings as it does get quite explicit.

Bane of All Evil by tzitzimeme

When Chongyun unintentionally offends Liyue's second most powerful adepti, he vows to mend the thorny relationship between Adeptus Xiao and human exorcists-- even though no one has succeeded in currying Xiao's favor for over a thousand years.

His best friend Xingqiu offers to come alone, mainly because he's worried about what kind of trouble Chongyun will run into. Along the way, they receive help from others: Xiangling packs them meals for their journeys, while Zhongli gives them advice on what demons to track.

Childe is just there because he thinks the whole thing is hilarious.

Ships: Chongyun/Xinqiu

Notes: JFKLFJS I LOVE THIS. I love Chongyun’s characterization and the interaction between all the characters. The dynamic between Chongyun, Xingqiu, and Xiangling are to die for. Also, this line: “Stuck-up Persnickety Bastard.” Random note but Xiao throws Chongyun off a balcony yet is also 100% a softie.

Talks about Nothing by tzitzimeme

In which Zhongli unlocks the Memory of Dust, only to find out:

1. Guizhong is 100% alive (just disembodied) within it, 2. Guizhong has been watching over him this whole time, and 3. Guizhong is very excited by the prospect of Zhongli getting a cute Snezhnayan boyfriend.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe, Venti/Xiao

Notes: The pure judgment that Guizhong unleashes on Zhongli (as well as her sass in general) is pure comedic gold. The dynamic between Xiao and Venti are also adorable. Meanwhile, Childe misunderstands and also just wants to know what the fuck is going on.

xi wangmu by tzitzimeme

Xiangling scales entire mountains to satisfy the palettes of her two pickiest customers.

(Or, two men who are emotionally stunted by their own immortality inadvertantly turn an overly enthusiastic chef into their messenger pigeon.)

Ships: Zhongli/Xiao (?)

Notes: Not sure if it reads romantic exactly, can definitely be read as platonic. The fic boils down to Xiangling trying to expose Xiao to variety because just eating plain almond tofu is a no no. Zhongli gives advice/uses Xiangling as a messenger pigeon. Backstory is explored!

Falling (Fallen) by asinglecrow

It’s only when Childe finds himself in front of Zhongli, a spear protruding from his stomach, that he thinks oh I might have fucked up.

Or: The worst (best) day of Childe's life.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Funny and lighthearted! Gets sort of NSFW with passing mention of mpreg but otherwise, it’s just pure humor/fluff. Get-together fic featuring deadpan dragon Zhongli and Childe that is just done with everything. 

the louvre by morisuke

Here in Liyue, the air is filled with the ocean, and the sun shines through the mountains like it’s flowing through a crack in the sky. Here in Liyue, there is a man with no wallet at a vending machine that is going to waste the rest of his day showing a stranger around their school campus for a pocket sized can of iced coffee.

It’s interesting here in Liyue, Childe thinks.

or

Where Childe flirts with a stranger at a campus vending machine.

Ships: Zhongli/Childe

Notes: Set in a modern/college AU. This is a relatively quiet, soft kind of story. Childe comes to Liyue because reasons and falls in love quietly. It’s more of a snippet of life type of fic that’s sweet and peaceful. Love the change that comes over Childe as he finds a home.

[neproxrezi]

Are you participating in the proposed dbd boycott to get them to do a game health update?

yeah, i wasn't sure at first caus "dont play the video game for a brief period" isn't going to work but "this company has put all its eggs in one basket and they are frankly quite neglectful of said basket, everyone stop buying anything ingame for 3 months" has me interested

more than 'fix the bugs' or anything else like that what i want to see out of the game is them being less god damn stingy with cosmetics (you should not have to pay $10 for ONE FUCKING COSMETIC) and addressing the grind. holy shit the grind in this game is so rough and it could be fixed fairly simply (i'm in favour of removing perk tiers, to cut a long post short)

hold on im gonna complain about dbd under a cut caus itll get long, i love this game so much but oh boy it has issues

it's been said a million times already but dbd's grind made more sense when there were like 4 or 5 characters per side, there are now over 20 and each new one introduces 3 perks to each side

I want to write about the grind in this game for a moment. There are 95 survivor perks in DBD. Every perk has three tiers. Some of them are great, and many are kind of pointless. Realistically, I'd bet you're only going to see about 15 of those perks in action in most of your games. However, if you unlock a perk to be taught to other survivors (which I tend to do even if I don't particularly want it, out of a mix of completionism and a 'may as well get it out of the way' kind of thing), you can't get rid of it. It's in your bloodwebs forever. 95 perks. 285 perk tiers. Let's talk about how long that takes to claim.

You buy a new character in the next chapter. You have every teachable perk unlocked. The new chapter really excited you, and you want to claim every perk on the new character (who I am going to name... Doug), so you saved a lot of bloodpoints in advance. In fact, you played for days and days and saved the cap, which is a million bloodpoints. You buy Doug, after much excited testing him out in the PTB. You spend all million points on Doug. Doug is now about level 35 to 40, out of 50. Hm. Well, time to keep playing. The bloodwebs kind of gave you a bunch of crap stuff on Doug, and you don't feel like running Power Struggle, Ace in the Hole, Babysitter and Breakdown, so you can't play Doug yet. You go play someone else.

Solo queuing as survivor is a mixed bag, and your games range from getting 10,000 bloodpoints (pretty rough game where everyone got wiped) to 27,000 (a great match, maybe with a bloodpoint offering). You save enough to get Doug to level 50. In the later levels, you start being able to get two perks a level instead of one. Let's say from level 1 to 50, you collect a total of 65 perks, because I don't remember exactly when it starts offering 2 per level. Okay, there are 220 perk levels left. Because of the game's propensity for giving you the same perk over and over to get you lots of perks at level 2 out of 3, of those 65 perk tiers you've probably got something like 20 to 25 actual perks. You're missing like, 70. Best case scenario, the ones you picked up include a lot of what you want. Most likely, you've got like half a good build and some gimmicky crap to slot in alongside it. Worst case scenario, which has happened to me plenty of times, you have like maybe one good perk and a pile of gimmicky crap. So. How long is it going to take you to get what you want?

There are 220 perk levels to go. After level 50, the webs are all the same size. It costs about 50,000 points to level up, and you get two perk levels per bloodweb. That's going to be 110 webs to get everything for Doug. Which is 5.5 million bloodpoints. Oh no. How many points were you earning per game again?

If you play with friends, you're probably going to do better. I find this to be true even if me and my friends are playing without voice comms or anything, because I just sort of know these people a bit better. I know my friend who mains Lisa Garland is a hook-diving bastard, so I don't need to go rescue anyone. Ace, god bless him, makes batshit altruistic plays, so I certainly don't need to go protect my teammates when he's out there doing things like this. I think I'm just going to sit on generators in the distance, think about our final gen spread, and try get us out of here. I'd say if I'm playing well, and accounting for offerings and WGLF stacks, with friends I average 30,000 a match and by myself I average 20,000. Playing killer I average more like 60,000, but playing killer is a bit stressful sometimes and I'm very indecisive about actually queuing up for it, so I probably actually get bp faster as survivor. I'm going to call the average per match across everything 25,000, because for every good game there are plenty where you underperform, or things just go drastically wrong. To earn 5.5 million points like that, you're going to have to play 220 matches. A game, including queue times and whatnot, can take ten to twenty minutes. That's... that's going to take a while. And that's ONE CHARACTER.

Now, on the survivor side you only really need to do this once. They're all just reskins of the same gameplay loop. On the killer side, you need to re-earn those perks for every new character you want to try out, because they're all different. Miiiiillions and millions of points. Hundreds of games. I have no problem with the game having a grind, but at this point it's absolute insanity.

In my opinion, removing perk tiers would cut the grind down to a reasonable level. There'd still be a grind, which I'm completely comfortable with existing, but it wouldn't be excruciatingly long, and you wouldn't have to spend as long dealing with bad perks.

HOWEVER, on top of that is the fact that they just. Holy shit the game updates slowly. I don't want to blame them for that in a way of like "these developers are incompetent and lazy", I really do love DBD to bits and I'm sure they do work very hard on it. That said, its update cycle is really slow. Reeaally slow. I wish they either had a bigger team, made balance updates faster (a handful of perk adjustments once every six weeks is... very very slow) or something to just try make the changes faster. Even when things do change it always feels so anxious and tentative, I wish they'd experiment more often. The time they disabled bloodlust to see what happened was really cool!

Yeah in short I just hope the grind gets addressed more than anything else, caus that's the part I actually think there's a relatively straightforward solution to. Also, I never got to play the older events where you could do shit like earn cosmetics, but they sounded way fucking cooler than the new ones. The halloween one last year was absolute shit, it's weird that their special events would get worse over time rather than better.

Buuut I agree with Scott Jund that the Resident Evil chapter was bad news for DBD's long term health because the one thing that would really give BHVR a kick up the ass is competition, and every time they land an amazing licensed chapter they become harder to compete with. They have an absolute monopoly on asymmetrical horror, and I honestly think the game would be in a better state right now if they had some competition >:[

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU, Pt. 2 (Pt. 1, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5)

-----

Peter will admit that during he took an extended moment during his journey home to grieve the loss of his free afternoon, and indeed the impending headaches.

And the rest of his future, if he was honest.

Not that Peter was prone to melancholy by any means, but with this assignment his fate was officially sealed, there was no misunderstanding. He was going to fail this assignment. He was going to, for the first time in his academic career, be forced to submit garbage of a caliber worthy of Tony Stark. It will forever be a black mark on his academic record.

No respectable college is going to accept him after this. In fact, he might as well drop out of school now and hit up Mr Delmar for a job. All of his prep for his MIT application is as good as useless after this. Extracurriculars? Goodbye.

Because it’s confirmed.

He’s doomed.

Swaying with the motions of the train, Peter types a text to Ned, the only person who might provide him with some much needed sympathy.

>  I’m doomed >  paired w/stark for an assignment lollllllllll.  >  help

Maybe Peter could trade with Ned. Maybe he could plead with their teacher, for honest fear of his life and scholastic integrity. He wasn’t even exaggerating. In no known iteration of this universe could Peter amicably work with Tony Stark. It would be like Harry Potter sitting down for tea with Voldemort, or Frodo and Sauron chilling with a pint and a pipe in Bag End. 

It was unthinkable. Implausible. Laughable.

And Peter would laugh, were it anyone but him in this situation.

The feeling is unusual. Never had he found reason in his life to truly dislike anybody before, everyone could be redeemed or given the opportunity for penance. Natasha has said more than once that Peter would offer the devil himself a sandwich if he appeared. 

Tony Stark on the other hand? No sandwich for him.

Well, maybe a slice of bread. A stale one.

While he waits for Ned to responds he catches sight of his injured reflection in the train window, which is admittedly pretty gnarly. Even with his hood drawn up, there was a noticeable berth allocated to him in the busy carriage between himself and the other passengers.

< sux. can I have ur lego hogwarts if u die?

> dude :( pity me.

< lol. so, can i?

Peter sighs.

> sure. Look after May for me, bro. delete my internet history.

< deal. godspeed

Pocketing his phone, Peter wonders if it’s too late to take up praying.

---

By the time he’s back in his apartment his mood has managed to swing back up.

Tony Stark is not going to be the arbiter of Peter’s fate. Hell no. He’s smart, he’s creative and hardworking - it isn’t up to anybody but Peter to determine his outcomes. If he has to do the assignment with Stark then he will. And he will work his hardest. 

If he has to do it sharing the credit with Stark, well, Peter knows a concession when he sees one.

No matter how reluctant he is.

But he powers through it, like ripping off a bandaid. It’s fine! He’s a Parker and he’s come this far in life already against ill, Parker-like odds. What was being paired for one assignment with someone who escaped the nearest hellmouth? 

It’ll be fine. 

Probably.

Not letting himself linger on his fears, Peter clears out his previous plans of going on a YouTube spiral and eating sour gummies until his teeth stick, instead utilising the time to get his foot in and and begins prepping for the assignment. Cursory, preliminary research at first, before the inevitable deep dive begins.

Neanderthal, Peter scoffs, mad all over again. Who is Stark to call Peter a neanderthal? He’s second in his class. He’s a straight A student. He likes school.

And as much as he is moderately skilled in, and enjoys JV, it’s not like he received his scholarship to study at Midtown based on his physical prowess.

The graze on his cheek that stings every time he yawns is proof of that.

Stark can eat his entire ass and choke on it, he thinks darkly, as he continues his research. He doesn’t know the first thing about Peter.

The data is sobering as he delves into job listings and statistics of his projected salary in a three year margin. This is really what his teachers earn? Wow. Depressing.

The contrast of expected salary versus the forecast of steep student loans is disheartening further still.

Teaching quietly slips from second to third on his list of ideal occupations.

Turning on a playlist on his phone, Peter continues to compile notes, amassing a truly gargantuan amount of tabs on his browser. His computer, old enough to be on its’ last teeth, whirrs loudly in protest.

It’s not until his room goes dark that he thinks to check the time.

Ah, shit. It’s nearly six.

Peter pauses. Should he tidy up the apartment?

...Nah, no point in breaking a sweat for Stark.

He continues typing. Then he hesitates, fingers suspended in mid-air. 

But what if Stark sees his unfolded laundry out on the dining table and publicly shames him for his old-but-comfortable Bulbasaur themed boxer shorts?

Goddamnit.

---

A quick, cursory clean ensues and leaves a relatively orderly Parker apartment. No freshly laundered underwear is in sight.

Peter wraps up just a few minutes before six. Right on time.

Taking a seat at the now clear dining table Peter drums his fingers on the surface and waits.

And waits.

And waits.

---

He knows when Tony finally arrives when he hears the sound of a car pulling up outside his apartment block. The riffs of a Roxette remix can be heard playing loudly  from the ground to the seventh floor of his apartment, the bass so thunderous it reverberates the windows all the way up to his floor.

Drumming his fingers on the kitchen table, Peter checks the wall clock again. It’s nearly seven.

Tony’s late.

Not that Peter is particularly affected with surprise that Tony is incapable of following basic instructions, but still. Really? Really?

By the time there is a knock on his door, Peter is already before it, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face. Every second between Tony pulling up and his ascent to Peter’s floor has him positively fuming. He can’t believe how this day played out. It started with such promise. He had such innocuous, but high hopes.

Clearly, he miscalculated.

Feeling a touch petty, he waits to answer, listening to Stark knock a second and then a third, more insistent time before he rouses enough calm to open the door.

He instantly regrets it when he does. 

Tony’s expression is curious one as he breezes right passed Peter without waiting for further invitation. There’s a smudge of something dark on his brow, his otherwise white undershirt smeared in dark stains.

Peter watches incredulously as the other boy drops his backpack by the door with a thump.

“You’re late.”

He closes the door behind Tony and scowls at the other boys easy posture, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking in the apartment.

“I didn’t realise you lived all the way out in fucking Queens. Do you have any idea how bad traffic is at this time of day? Also, your elevator doesn’t work. I just climbed seven flights of stairs, where’s the hospitality?”

“Try earning it.”

The other boy rolls his eyes. “Like it’s worth my time.” He breezes past Peter and slides his leather jacket off his arms, tossing it atop of his backpack in the corner. “Look, I’m here now. Okay? You can unclench now. So, do I get a tour or what?”

“Or what. This wouldn’t have been an issue if we had just started straight after class like I said.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Tony clutches his hands to his heart before gesturing to the room. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting your busy Friday night, Parker. You got a keg and the rest of the meatheads stashed away somewhere?”

Without waiting for a response, Tony wanders around the living room like a curious child in a new play room. His gaze inspects everything all at once, from peering at up close at the wall mounted photos and hovering his grubby hands over the oddments and knick-knacks speckled throughout the space.

Apprehensive, Peter can’t help but shadow him, afraid he just let loose a hurricane in a china shop.

Without asking, Tony picks up May’s old Magic 8-Ball and gives it a good shake. Peter’s fingers itch to reach over and stop him, but stops himself because then that would require actually making direct skin contact the other boy.

Not worth it.

“Cannot predict now. Huh,” Tony says to himself before placing the ball back in the wrong spot. 

They both watch silently as it rolls precariously close to the edge. 

“Anyways,” Tony helps himself to an armchair, lounging back and spreading his legs wide. “I know your long-term memory is probably as defective as the rest of you, so don’t strain yourself recalling that I had other priorities.”

“Like what?”

“Like literally anything that isn’t being around you,” the other boy grins. “Now, are we doing this thing, or did you invite me over so you could bitch at me?”

“I didn’t invite you,” Peter grumbles, swiping his notebook from the dining table before sitting on the sofa, as far away from Stark as possible. Shifting, he takes his phone from his pocket and opens the notes he’d taken earlier.

“So, I cross referenced some websites and current job listings,” Peter scrolls through his research, adjusting his glasses as they slip down his nose. “Assuming you have no savings, we’re looking at an average of sixty-thousand per annum based on my salary alone. The average rent in --”

“-- Uh, why are we assuming I have no savings?”

"Because... we’re being realistic?”

Tony springs to his feet and paces across the living room.

“Well,” he says, gesturing to Peter, “if we’re being realistic, does having no savings also that mean I have no debt -- or are you paying off two student loans on your salary?”

“I don’t --”

“Do we have car loans? Health insurance?”

“Wait, slow your roll, Stark. I haven’t yet --”

“-- Of course you haven’t. I mean really, Parker, do you ever think ahead? You should try it, we do have a baby on the way, you know.” Tony clicks his fingers and points at Peter. “Oh, names! I want to call it Molly.”

“As in the drug?” 

“No, as in Ringwald. Anyhoo, seeing as only one of us has the intellectual capacity to construct a budget,” Tony gestures to himself, “that would be me, consider maybe that I spent my savings paying off my student loans and bought a car for me and Miss Molly, leaving you with just your own stagnant debt. Happy?”

“Thrilled,” he says through clenched teeth, feeling utterly steamrolled. “But we’re not calling the baby Molly.”

“Yes, we are. Think of all the great nicknames. Hey wait,” Tony pauses in his pacing, “are your parents going to be home soon?”

It was in that moment Peters world narrows down to one, botched cosmic joke.

Turning his gaze heavenwards, Peter prays silently for mercy. What did he do to deserve this. This is all his bad karma come at once. This is the bad place.

“Ah, no,” he replies, eyes widening. “No, my parents are not going to be home soon.”

“Cool. Lucky you.”

Oblivious to Peter’s existential turmoil, Tony resumes his patrol through the living room, picking up a frame on the mantle. It houses an old photo of Ben, May and a young, bespectacled Peter. 

It is one of the more embarrassing immortalisations of his younger self, eleven-years old and grinning widely, bearing his silver braces to the camera as he holds up a science fair trophy, curls wild and untamed.

Oh god. That was exactly what Peter needed on this unholy day - Tony Stark in his living room, witnessing Peter in his prepubescent glory. 

Quick, create a diversion.

“So, as I was saying,” he says loudly, “rent is reasonably affordable with a sixty-thousand budget in --”

“Who’s the babe?” Tony points to a younger Aunt May in the photo.

Peter gets to his feet and removes the frame from Tony’s grasp. He glowers as he places it back on the mantle. 

“No one you would have a chance with. Can you stay focused? Like, are you physically capable of it?”

“Okay, calm down,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “You’ve got a lot of anger for someone so vertically challenged, you know that, shortstack?” 

“Focus, dumbass.”

“I’m focused! Let’s see, we’ve established that I am excellent at managing my money. You have a shitty job and a shitty salary, and apparently my imaginary future self has terrible taste in men. So. Have I got that right? Where are we living?”

“Queens. LIC has some one bed, one baths that could be affordable.”

“Uh, rewind. Going to have to eighty-six that - I am not living in Queens.”

Peter stares at him.

Tony rubs his hands over his face and sighs. “Fine, whatever. But I want a Pontiac Firebird in this imaginary life if I have to deal with you.”

“For someone so keen on getting away you’re doing your best to prolong this experience. It’s literally painful.”

“Well, I just like to see you get all riled up, Princess,” Tony grins, leaning back against the mantle and folding his arms over his chest. “You have this vein that bulges on your forehead when you’re mad. Makes you look like a pitbull.”

Peter swallows the particularly acidic retort sitting on his tongue and tries not to let Tony’s words sting. Be the bigger man, Ben used to say. As difficult as it is to channel even a modicum of the mans’ eternal patience, Peter takes a deep breath and reminds himself to stay focused. The less he gets sidetracked by Tony’s fuckery, the sooner it’s over.

He mentions the next part with unease. 

“...Miss Ahn said that we need references and should do field research. Speak to realtors. Ask people who have a similar lifestyle and budget.”

The look that comes over the other boys face is one of unequivocal revulsion. Peter can relate. The thought of having to spend more time with this guy makes his stomach turn.

“Well, Parker, any bright ideas who we can ask?”

The hinges of the front door squeaks before Peter can respond.

Moments after, Aunt May walks into the living room, placing her bag down on the dining table. She looks between the two boys curiously.

“Hey, Pete,” she comes to his side to squeezes his shoulder. “Who do we have here?”

Tony rushes over with his hand outstretched, an eager grin on his face. 

“Tony Stark, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, ah, okay, well,” May laughs as he enthusiastically shakes her hand. Her eyes are soft as Tony smiles brightly at her. “Nice to meet you too, Tony. I’m May, Peter’s aunt. Are you... friends with Peter?”

Peter snorts. 

“Definitely not. We just have an assignment --”

“-- Great friends, actually,” Tony talks over him, taking a seat beside Peter on the sofa. To Peter’s utter disgust, the other boy puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his bicep encouragingly. “Aren’t we, Pete? Hmm? Best buds. We go way back.”

Peter freezes, feeling the line of heat from Tony’s against his side, the weight of his arm on his body. 

Eyes widening, he feels his skin crawl. 

“That’s sweet,” May smiles, putting her hair up in a loose, messy bun. “Well, I don’t know about you boys, but I’m starving. I’m ordering pizza, Friday special. You should stay for dinner, Tony.”

Tony places his free hand on his chest.

“I would be honoured.”

May looks at Tony strangely before retreating to the kitchen to retrieve the menus.

As soon as she’s out of sight Tony takes his arm off Peter and quickly shifts away from him like he’s been burned. 

“Dude,” Peter whispers, bewildered. “What the fuck?”

“Oh my god,” Tony whispers, shuddering as his face scrunches up in disgust. “I’m going to have to pour scalding hot water on all the places your skin just touched me. Ugh, I feel like I just touched toe fungus.”

Peter slaps his arm.

“What is wrong with you?”

Tony backhands Peter’s arm in retaliation and then shudders all over again.

“Your aunt is crazy hot, okay, I couldn’t help myself. It was an instinctual reaction. Is she taken? C’mon. Vindicate me.” 

“I’ll eviscerate you --”

“-- I mean, clearly she married into the family, she doesn’t share your unfortunate phenotype, but I didn’t see a ring on her finger. So? Yes or no?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Peter hisses as his aunt comes back in. “She’s not available to you. Not now, not ever.”

“But she is available?”

“Don’t even, Stark. You’re like, sixteen. Don’t you have any shame?”

Tony smiles, as she nears. “Not a shred.”

“So,” May waves a menu at them. “You boys happy with pepperoni?”

Closing his eyes, Peter wishes for death.

As fate would have it, he gets pepperoni instead.

-----

If you had ever told Peter that he would be sitting down for dinner with his Aunt and a dirt-streaked Tony Stark, he would have laughed.

And if Peter were outside himself he would probably find the sharing of pizza and soda over their plastic, chequered table-cloth comical -- in that uncanny, Dogs Playing Poker kind of way. But in reality there was nothing funny about the discomfort of having Tony in his personal space or the heavy, suffocating tension that has removed the air from the room. 

The entire time Tony has been hamming it up, cracking jokes with his aunt, complimenting her on the decor, asking what she does for work. Peter doesn’t know if he’s being sweet to May for the purpose of buttering her up, or, given the wealth of his family in contrast to the Parkers, if he’s being cruelly facetious. 

Nonetheless, Peter has felt on edge. It’s disconcerting, is what it is. Every single movement Tony makes, every time he opens his mouth -- frequently to sweet-talk his aunt -- has Peter’s anxiety standing at attention, hyperaware of everything the other boy does.

He’s beginning to feel like a meerkat whose den has been invaded by a lion.

Through the course of a single meal Peter’s attention moves from the sky to the floor. There is no grace or higher power that is coming to save him from this profound, unusual torture. 

So he focuses his hopes to the south, seeing through their tiny, cramped, dinner table, past bargaining. He’s willing to trade his soul to end it all. Surely some wayward being from hell would come to his rescue. 

May has Peter’s chin between her fingers. She turns it this way and that, inspecting his injuries.

“What happened this time, bubby?” She frowns, brow furrowing. “You look like you got beat up.”

Peter, very aware of Tony’s amused gaze on them, gently pulls away from her grasp. He smiles placatingly and picks at his pizza slice. God he’s never going to live this down.

“Training accident. It’s okay, I feel fine. ‘Tis but a scratch,” he brings himself to joke.

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

She leans in to kiss his cheek, carefully avoiding the fresh scabs and injured flesh. “God, you bruise like a peach. Be careful, baby, you’re our money maker,” she laughs. “What about you Tony, do you play football?”

Tony, who is mid way through chewing on a mouthful of pizza, momentarily chokes, beating his chest with his fist to swallow down the obstruction.

“Uh, no,” Tony gulps, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Nope. No recreational sports for me. Can’t.” He gestures to his chest and sighs heavily. “Asthma.”

Peter sips his coke and rolls his eyes, knowing full well there’s a half-empty pack of Marlboro Light’s in the pocket of Tony’s jeans. Asthma. What a schmuck.

“That’s a shame. Do you boys have classes together?”

Unfortunately, Peter thinks.

The other boy seems to have the same thought, as he glares at Peter from over the table. When he picks up his can of coke, he gives Peter the finger outside of May’s eye-line.

“That’s why Tony’s here,” Peter twists his napkin in his grip. “We have an econ assignment together on microeconomics. Teach says Tony’s destined to be on welfare.”

Tony leans in, chin rested on his hand. He addresses May but his stare, dark and odious, rests on Peter.

“Not accurate. Stay-at-home parent, actually. One might say that is the most important job of all. Wouldn’t you agree, May?”

She raises her Coke.

“Hear, hear.”

Tony grins roguishly, the same grin he gave the girls at the lockers earlier. “Petey here was just saying that we should ask you about your experience running a household on a single salary. We’d love to have you as a reference.”

“Was I saying that?” Peter narrows his eyes. “I can’t remember.”

Tony kicks him under the table. The hit lands right in his knee cap.

Wincing, Peter kicks back, satisfied when the other boy bites his lip to hold back a pained groan.

“Yeah, well, not surprising,” Tony says airily, waving his hand. “Hit your head today, didn’t you? Maybe you should get all that damage looked into.”

The napkin rips in Peter’s grasp.

“Maybe you should go f--”

“I’d be more than happy to help with your assignment, boys,” May cuts in.

Whatever snide reply he has in his mouth instantly wilts when he looks over to his Aunt. She looks...pleased. Delighted, almost. Her eyes under the dull, yellow kitchen light seem to get warmer, and her smile is small but softens around the edges.

Instantly, Peter feels like the worst person in the world. Of course May would be the best person to ask. She does so much for him, the least he can do is set his pride aside for one moment to make her feel good about how hard she works for their life.

He reaches over to squeeze her hand, smiling as gratitude swells unexpectedly in his chest.

“Thanks, May. That would be great.”

Across the table, a smug Tony looks like the cat who got the cream. 

Without warning, Peter’s chest goes hot with contempt, his fingernails dig into his palm. He’s not sure he’s ever met anyone he couldn’t like, until now.

I hate you, Peter mouths while May busies herself with rounding up the pizza boxes.

Kiss my ass, Tony mouths back. 

In an instant his expression flips from contemptuous to angelic when he stands and offers to help May clean up.

Peter stands too, sparing a disdainful glance to the floor. Turns out not even the devil was willing to give him a hand.

Natasha was right. It’s going to end in murder.

---

Peter walks Tony to the door after dinner to say goodbye to his ‘friend’. Following him into the hall, Peter closes the door behind them.

“What do you want, Parker?” Tony asks wearily, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket. “I’m trying to make a getaway here.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t do that with my aunt. I’m not joking, asshole. It’s not cool.”

“Relax, princess,” Tony rolls his eyes, fishing for his lighter in his backpack. “I’m not actually interested. Just trying to get under your skin. Worked, see? You’re easy like that. Hey, why do you live with your aunt anyways?”

“None of your business,” he frowns as Tony holds one hand up in surrender and lights his cigarette with the other. “Dude, you can’t smoke in here.”

“Can’t, shouldn’t, gonna. By the way, you’ve got sauce on your chin, it’s very distracting.”

Peter wipes at it without thinking. When he pulls it away there is indeed a smear of red sauce on his hand.

Tony walks backwards down the hall and exhales a cloud of smoke, waving in a sardonic imitation of a farewell.

“See you Monday, bubby.”

Peter doesn’t bother with a response, too tired from the week, exhausted by this whole darn day, and it’s not like the other boy cares what he has to say anyway. He takes a moment to swallow his anger before he heads back inside, sighing. 

Well, at least he has an entire weekend free of Stark to look forward to.

May looks at him curiously when he reemerges, but says nothing. He considers for a moment about heading to his bedroom and playing a video game to disassociate - but then, suddenly, remembers her smile earlier, and how alone she looks now. A surge of affection hits him right beneath his breastbone.

He checks his watch and then catches her eye.  Tilting his head towards the living room, he says, “Hey. You wanna eat some ice cream and watch some Colbert before bed?”

She smiles just like she did earlier and kisses his cheek. “Sounds nice, Pete.”

Maybe the whole day wasn’t lost.

As May heads to the sofa and switches the TV on, Peter catches sight of the Magic 8-Ball from the corner of his eye. He walks over and gives it a shake.

Outlook good.

*

*

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @muse-of-gods

[bentforkent]

to the moon and to saturn - chapter one

spencer reid x fem!reader

navigation and summary 

word count: 2753

no content warnings 

next chapter

seven

“you’re boring.”

“no, i’m not, y/n!”

“you never want to play pirates with me!”

spencer’s hair is long and his glasses are sliding down his nose. the light seeping into y/n’s room from her large bay window is muted by the white sheet covering it. the sheet rests precariously over a chair, forming a blanket fort carefully engineered by spencer, and haphazardly constructed by y/n. there are throw pillows tossed throughout the fort, and spencer makes an attempt to straighten them whenever he gets the chance.  whenever he comes to y/n’s house, ringing her doorbell with a backpack full of books, they work together to add on to their secret hideaway. the white sheet is the newest addition, especially designed to let more natural light into the blanket burg. this follows a poor mishap where a lamp y/n had left on too long burnt a hole through her carpet.

previously, the pair had constructed a stuffed animal room, a reading corner, a designated snack area. y/n’s starting to run out of linens. the fort has been standing for weeks now, y/n’s parents very rarely involved enough to enter her room, giving her and spencer free reign to create their own imaginary worlds to play in undisturbed.

except spencer, with all his practicality, isn’t particularly adept at the “playing in imaginary worlds” part. y/n can’t comprehend that. it’s simple for her to slip into a different universe, enjoyable, even. she’s begged spencer to play mermaids, bank robbers, fbi agents, firefighters, princesses---you name it. spencer indulges her for the most part, but y/n can always tell that he’s not that into it. he’s much fonder of tucking into some obscure poetry book, reading aloud when y/n requests. she never comprehends much of what he’s saying, but he reads so confidently that it fills her with glee anyways.  

for seven year olds, it’s clear to outsiders that they both don’t quite act their age. y/n, with her big doe eyes, dreams too much, her escapism both her greatest asset and most fatal flaw. spencer’s a stickler to the realistic, his pragmatic nature an unconscious choice that gives him a beautiful worldview but will make him grow up too fast. for now, though, the children don’t worry about that. they worry solely about balancing each other out and the purity that comes with being in youth.

y/n is splayed on her back on the floor of the fort, where her scratchy carpet is covered with a fluffy pink blanket. her hair fans out around her head in a halo. spencer’s physics book is closed and set gently in the corner, and he’s attempting to braid a small chunk of y/n’s hair. “pirates is my least favorite game,” he says.

“what about knights?” y/n angles herself to look back at him. she’s far too young to execute a soul searching gaze, but the way her eyes strain to scan his face comes close. she takes note of his facial expression giving away his inner thoughts. the way his lip quirks up indicates that he definitely does not want to play knights with the girl in front of him, but the softness in his eyes tells y/n that she’s won.

without another word, they crawl out from their blanket fort and jump onto the bed. “my armor is blue,” y/n says, unsheathing an imaginary sword and holding it up in joust. “knight armor was typically made of iron or steel, and there was no way to make it blue in the late 15th century,” spencer piped up, mirroring her actions. he likes playing at y/n’s house. his parents would never let him jump on the bed. y/n’s parents let the two of them do a lot of things, spencer thinks, and he’s never heard them fight like his parents do either.

“cool, spencer!” y/n says enthusiastically. she’s always enthusiastic when he tells her a fact, even though she rarely really understands him. she knows people are terrible to spencer because of his intellect, and had made a pact with herself when they first became friends that she would never ever ever be mean to spencer for being smart. “we can pretend, though. yours can be blue too!”

“okay,” he replies, and y/n begins to coach him through the game, attempting to loosen him up a bit. they play, bouncing around on the bed and wielding fake medieval weapons until the sun begins to go down and spencer remarks that he needs to go home before dark or his mom will be upset.

y/n reluctantly lets him leave, knowing that he has a lot less fun at his house, but finding comfort in the fact that he’ll come back the next day.

spencer and y/n spend every day together, without fail. they’re young, and they don’t know much about life, but they know that they’re the only people for each other. they’ve been inseparable since y/n had toddled into spencer’s first grade class and heard him reciting a john lyngate poem. her favorite book at that time was a brightly colored picture book, so she was both fascinated and confused by the boy in glasses in front of her. that day, they’d sat together on the bus and chatted the whole way home. the pure elation that occurred when the children realized they shared the same bus stop was unmatched. y/n, who’d just moved to las vegas, was relieved she’d met a friend in her new hometown.

she didn’t really meet any other friends after associating herself with spencer. he’d warned her that being his best friend was basically social suicide, but y/n was already attached to him like superglue. once, a girl in their class had tried to invite y/n to sit with her at lunch. the girl not-so-subtly made it clear that spencer was not invited to the table, and y/n had shut that down quickly with a swift spoonful of red jell-o down her shirt. spencer decided then that red jell-o was his favorite.

to sum it all up, in super simple terms, y/n and spencer were close. and everyone in their town knew it, including their parents, although both sets of adults were generally nonplussed about what their children were involved in as long as they were alive and surviving.

y/n’s parents aren’t neglectful, per se. she’d just had to learn how to fend for herself very early on. y/n’s existence had been an accident, and although she didn’t know that in explicit terms, it wasn’t hard to figure out based on the lack of maternal instincts from her mother. y/n’s mother sat on the back porch of their house a lot, looking out at their tiny, barren backyard with a cigarette in hand. her father went away on many business trips, coming back to greet the family only with a pat on y/n’s head before he padded up to the bedroom to slip into bed. one day, y/n would realize the intensity of the mental health problems both of her parents were suffering from, but as a child, the adults in her life just felt far away.

spencer’s parents were similar in a sense that they weren’t the best. rather than the silence that settled over y/n’s house, his home filled with argument. it’s why he found solace with y/n, with their blanket fort. y/n’d offered to let him live with them constantly, but spencer couldn’t leave his mother. his father? he couldn’t care less. but his mother...as much as spencer longs to spend his days curled up in y/n’s bed, reading, he knows above anything else, he’s got to protect his mother.

after closing the door behind spencer, y/n skips to the kitchen to pour herself a drink. her and spencer had made fresh lemonade the day before, squeezing lemons y/n had stolen from her neighbor’s tree. spencer had been in charge of the sugar, and he’d added way too much. the pair tried it, though, and liked the super sweet taste.

y/n fills her glass with ice, having to stand on her tippy toes to reach it in the freezer. after the cup is filled with the sugary beverage, she takes a second to peer out of the window and check on her mom outside. y/n expected to find her in her usual plastic chair, cloud of smoke encircling her. but she wasn’t there. this was odd. she sets her sweating glass down on the table, and wanders upstairs to get a location on her mother.

loud moans float down from the top of the stairs, and y/n, ever naive, follows the sound to its source. the stairs creak under her feet, her house old and probably close to crumbling. y/n pushes the door to her parents’ room open with both hands, and is immediately sick at the sight. at seven years old, she doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, but she knows that whatever she is seeing is wrong.

william reid, spencer’s father, is laid naked next to her mother, also fully exposed. they’re startled by the door opening, shocked to see young y/n standing there, witnessing their adultery. the three of them are in a trance, suspended in surprise. y/n’s brain is moving a mile a minute, she knows, but she can’t seem to form any cohesive thoughts except “this is not right.”  it feels like forever that y/n is holding eye contact with william before her mother speaks. “y/n,” she starts, but y/n doesn’t stick around to hear the end of the sentence. she’s out of the bedroom and out of the house in 30 seconds flat.

as she runs down the suburban street, she’s barely aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks or the pain in her feet. she’d forgotten shoes. she runs, runs, runs, hair flowing behind her. she runs until her thoughts catch up to her. where can she go? she realizes that her body had been taking her straight to spencer’s house, but she couldn’t. how could she look him in the eye? how could she tell him that her own mother is responsible for his family falling apart? how could she ever even be near him again? stopping in the middle of the road, y/n lets out an anguished scream. a ferocious scream. a scream that claws its way out of her chest. and then, sufficiently exhausted by both her physical activity and her emotional despair, she turns back the way she came and begins to trek back towards her house.

- - - - - -

“penny, i have no clue how you do your job,” y/n says, handing the blonde woman before her a hot macchiato in a to-go cup.

her hair is longer now, her eyes more weary. the wonder she felt as a child is long gone, sucked out of her on that fateful night. y/n hardly thinks about it anymore, but that night after she had gone home, her mother made her pack her bags and took her as far away from vegas as possible. as far away from spencer as possible. she never saw him again. it’s been almost twenty years since she’d last seen the geeky boy. the loss of her childhood best friend was a dull wound now, one tucked safely in the back of her subconscious. sometimes she wonders how he turned out, but their time together feels more like a dream than a memory.

y/n moved away from her parents as soon as she turned 18, straight to washington d.c.. with no money, no degree, no friends or family, y/n turned to her work. she got a job in a tiny coffee shop, and the elderly lady who owned it took her under her wing. her name was janice, and she was an old, childless widow. y/n’s kind disposition filled a void janice had given up on trying to fill, and the two became a fierce pair. janice provided y/n with the apartment above the shop, higher-than-minimum wage, and when janice passed five years later, y/n inherited the coffee shop itself. she’d been owning and running it ever since.

it was at this shop that she met penelope garcia. penelope frequented the kitschy coffee place before work, and had gained quite the soft spot for the raven-haired owner. the two of them chatted every morning as y/n flitted around behind the counter, making whatever caffeine-filled concoction penelope had ordered. eventually, their friendship progressed past casual small talk at y/n’s work into wine-filled sleepover nights at their apartments.

“my job is hard, my friend,” penelope replies, shuddering. “some of the stuff i see gives me the heebie jeebies.”

“yeah, like dead bodies.” y/n turns and begins making her own personal coffee to start the day, penelope leaning on the counter in front of her. “heebie jeebies is an understatement!” y/n faces penelope again and grins, pouring copious amounts of sugar into a mug that janice had used while running the café.

“you know, y/n, i only know one other person in the world that takes that much sugar in their coffee,” penelope remarks while she watches the barista stir her obscenely sweet coffee with a wooden stirrer.

“hmm, they must be my soulmate, then,” y/n says. penelope’s ears perk up at that. she makes her way to the door, and y/n raises her mug in lieu of a wave. “have fun at work, pen! see you at your place tonight! i’ll bring wine!” penelope responds with a witty goodbye and heads to work, just the jingle of the bells on the door to signify she was ever there.

-----

penelope saunters into the behavioral analysis unit office 30 minutes later, cup of coffee long empty. “good morning, babygirl,” derek says.

“i’ll show you a good morning, hot stuff,” penelope deadpans, walking through the bullpen to greet all of her coworkers. penelope’s so bright that she immediately lights up the dreary BAU.

“spencer!” she calls, prompting the shaggy haired doctor to look up from his desk.

“good morning, garcia,” he says with a small wave.

“this morning, i got coffee at my favorite place,” penelope begins to gush, “and the barista puts just as much sugar in her coffee as you do!”

spencer doesn't understand why garcia is telling him this until she continues.

“this particular barista happens to be super cute and also one of my closest friends.”

spencer shakes his head with a laugh. “no, garcia, i’m not letting you set me up again.”

“okay, the first one was not good, i’ll admit.” she perches on the edge of his desk.

“but i actually know this girl! and i love her!”

spencer shakes his head again, giving penelope a light, joking push off of her seat. “no,” he emphasizes, and garcia gives him a dramatic sigh.

“okay,” she says, dragging out the word. “i’m going to go to my lair now to give you time to

think about it.” she presses a kiss to the top of his head, and with a ruffle of his hair, she floats to her office.

i’ll convince him, she thinks. i mean, how could i not? coffee aside, the kids are perfect for each other. she doesn’t know how she missed the blatant similarities between them. penelope’s usually very perceptive, and that makes her really good at setting people up. i might as well be cupid, she thinks, except for that one date i’d sent spencer on. she chooses to ignore that one. a minor lapse in judgement.

penelope pulls out her phone to text y/n.

penelope (7:56): y/n, my love, my light, i have found the most perfect guy for you

y/n (7:57): no penny, not again

y/n (7:57): remember the last date you set me up on?

oh yeah, penelope remembers. she’d sent both of her friends on two completely separate, shitty dates. maybe cupid wasn’t the best nickname for her.

penelope (7:59): you’re right. ugh. ix-nay on that idea then

she attaches a lot of sad emojis, then tucks her phone away. there goes that. penelope tucks that idea away, into the depths of her brain, and forgets about it.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Star Trek: The Characters

Storytelling, especially where it regards movies and television, is always evolving.  

Whether it’s in deeper themes, better effects, different genres, or evolving archetypes, there is always something that is changing, except, perhaps, where the importance of characters are concerned.

Characters are an integral part of storytelling, particularly where it concerns television.  When it comes to television, the setup is everything, and the characters are part of that setup, that ‘home base’ that the audience returns to at the start of every episode.  The characters are the people that the audience gets to know, who star in each adventure.  Characters are what holds the audience’s investment, the reason fanbases tolerate bad episodes and praise good ones.  In the end, the main characters keep an audience’s attention, making each episode, even the bad ones, enjoyable.

In short, characters can make or break a television show.  It is vital that they be likable, or at the very least, interesting, lest the audience utter those eight deadly words:

I Don’t Care What Happens To These People.  

Once those words are uttered, it doesn’t matter how gripping your narratives are.  The viewers will start to leave.

See, while a film can get away with some lesser characters by distracting with an interesting concept, set-piece or a fast-paced story, television can’t.  Thanks to a smaller runtime and a smaller budget, television, by necessity, tends to be character based.  As a result, the main cast of a television show has to be able to work in multiple stories of different kinds.

This means that writing for characters on television can be pretty difficult.

The best television characters tend to merge two ideas together: That of relatability and entertainment value.  

You see, television, like all stories, tells stories of exaggerated versions of reality, especially in the cases of science-fiction adventure shows like Star Trek.  The only way to make an audience buy an unbelievable world is to create believable characters to place in that world, that relatability in the stories and characters.  When we see McCoy’s frustration, or Kirk’s boldness, or Spock’s reservedness, we see elements of ourselves, our own personalities and lives.  It is vital to make characters seem real, if not realistic.

The question is, does Star Trek manage to do that?

That’s the question we’re going to be answering today.  Let’s take a look, starting with the Captain of the Enterprise Crew: James Tiberius Kirk.

Kirk truly was The Captain in every sense of the word.  A Reasonable Authority Figure who did far more adventuring than realistic counterparts would have, Kirk was an Action Man, level-headed, dutiful, and always loyal to his ship and his crew.  A Bold Explorer (it’s in the job description), Kirk, while not fearless per say, took the Chains of Commanding quite seriously, and would often face down hugely powerful beings, power-mad computers, or other forces beyond him in order to save his crew.  A Determinator to the last, known for his interesting ways to think outside the box and refusal to accept a ‘no win scenario’, he is the unquestionable Hero of the show, the Leader, who often throws the rules aside to do what he feels is right, in a constant battle To Be Lawful or Good.  He was a Charmer, an expert fast-talker, and very smart.  In later installations of the franchise, Kirk would become a Living Legend, much as he became in our own pop culture.

All that being said, the common cultural image of Captain Kirk isn’t quite right.  Allow me to adjust it, as best I can.

More than any other character in Star Trek, or perhaps the history of television in general, Captain Kirk is possibly the most misrepresented character of all time.  Since the ‘60s, Kirk has evolved into an icon of heroism, machismo, and brash boldness, with even the recent Star Trek reboot depicting, not Kirk, but rather, the distorted, separate idea of Kirk in the modern light.

This idea, quite frankly, is just not right.  While Kirk did have his share of romances, he was no womanizer, often entering into dubiously consented-to relationships reluctantly, in order to save the ship.  The relationships he did actively pursue, he threw himself into wholeheartedly, and he was just as crushed as the other party every time they fell apart (for proof, watch City on the Edge of Forever or The Paradise Syndrome).  Kirk was no player.  As a matter of fact, he was a deeply compassionate man who respected the women in his life as much as he respected Spock and McCoy.  It just so happened that the women in his life tended to not stick around, unlike his one true love: The Enterprise.

Even his reputation of the ‘Cowboy Captain’ isn’t accurate.  As I mentioned before, Kirk was defined by compassion.  His moments of ‘rule-breaking’ wasn’t to impose ‘the way he thinks things should be’, it’s because Kirk cannot bear to watch helpless people in trouble.  The few times where he does break the famous ‘Prime Directive’ (To not interfere with less developed races) is to help.  Kirk was a deeply moral character, determined to not stand by while people were taken advantage of.  He wasn’t rash, either.  While it may be accurate to say that the ship’s doctor, Leonard McCoy, was a bit on the hot-headed side, it is entirely inaccurate to accuse Kirk of the same.  Kirk was an extremely smart man, a level-headed captain who was an expert at thinking fast.  He trusted his instincts, but he trusted his advisors too, often finding a balance between McCoy’s impulsiveness and Spock’s cold rationality.  Kirk’s intelligence and competence is often lost, overshadowed by his more extreme companions, and some audiences have forgotten the truth of Kirk’s character: a cunning problem-solver capable of saving the day under enormous pressure, whose decisions are far from based in irrationality.  He is a romantic, duty-bound to protect his ship and crew, greatly exaggerated and mis-characterized in the years following his captaincy.

As such, Kirk was a well-rounded, balanced character, far more three-dimensional than the modern idea of him tends to give him credit for.

That’s all well and good, sure, but how does he fit as a main character in a television show?

As a matter of fact, absolutely incredibly.

Kirk serves as a wonderfully effective lead, compelling, entertaining, and interesting.  Infinitely more developed than most leads of his time, and even more modern examples, Kirk was a game-changer, a revolutionary kind of protagonist who just worked.  The perfect balance of the main trio of the series, Kirk is the perfect face for Roddenberry’s ideals: a hopeful pragmatist, an idealist who proves the best of humanity: compassion mixed with intelligence, boldness combined with understanding.  A man of action surrounded by True Companions, Kirk was an extremely gripping protagonist who felt intensely, a perfect person for the audience to connect to and be invested in.  He drove the stories, opposed the villains, and always saved the crew, as a hero should, but it’s important to note that Kirk was hugely human, possessing many of our greatest attributes, but some of our failings as well.  He wasn’t perfect.  Sometimes he made the wrong choice.  In the end, though, he was us, or us as we should strive to be: always learning and helping, and always reaching for the stars.

But of course, Kirk wasn’t alone in his position as the ‘lead’ of the show.  It’s doubtful the show would have survived in the popular culture as well as it did if it weren’t for his support team, his True Companions: Dr. Leonard McCoy, and, more famously: Mr. Spock.

If Kirk represented the best of humanity, Spock represented the critique of it.  In a previous article, I pointed out that Spock exists as a very unique character: a half alien, half human crewmember who, while equally valuable to the script and the characters as Kirk was, served a different purpose: to point out and explore humanity from the outside.

Like I’ve mentioned before, Spock is a different sort of character than Kirk is.  Where Kirk is a demonstration of the best of humanity as we see it, Spock is a demonstration of humanity as someone else might.  He served as a criticism of the human condition, a character at war with himself and his heritage, split between the emotional humans, and the rational Vulcans.  Spock is the Number One, almost Comically Serious as he eschews his more illogical half and chooses to embrace the stoicism of the Vulcan people.  A Gentleman and a Scholar, Spock has Hidden Depths, a heart of gold and deep emotions that he usually succeeds in hiding.

Most of the time.  More on that in a minute.

Spock’s role in the show was The Smart Guy, the Stoic who had all the answers, all the statistics.  He was the champion of impartial logic, of cold rationality.  His job was to give Kirk the hard answers, to bring to him the facts and give him their options, especially the unforgiving ones.  He is the cold to McCoy’s hot, a stern-faced, cold-blooded computer.

Or is he?

Much like Kirk, there is a lot more to Spock than meets the eye.  While the cultural perception of Spock has often mutated into a parody of itself, much as it has done to Kirk’s reputation, Spock remains a much deeper character than he, or a brief skim of the series, lets on.  As I said earlier, Spock is at war with himself, uncomfortable in his own skin.  He insults humans for their humanity, but has strong, deep friendships with them.  He is not above expressing frustration and their emotional natures when pushed (usually by other forces that knock his guard down), but isn’t frustration a human emotion?

Spock is a bag of contradictions, a supposedly emotionless master of sarcasm, a man without feeling who invites his close friends (emotional humans) to a private Vulcan ceremony, a cold-blooded creature with undying loyalty who occasionally makes ‘illogical’ decisions that would make Kirk proud.  A lover of music and a sympathizer to space hippies (Not one of Star Trek’s better episodes, admittedly), Spock was an outsider who fit neither fully as a Vulcan or Human, a person who was struggling to find his place in the universe.

At first, this seems incongruous with the ice-cold exterior he projects, however, rather than being an example of inconsistent writing, it’s a shining example of development and nuance.

You see, Spock never gives up his following of logic.  He just begins to approach it differently.

Spock’s style changes slightly as Star Trek progresses (most notably in the films, released ten years after the show’s final season), from cold, ‘computer’ logic to something else: human logic.

One thing of especial note in the original Star Trek show is that you could see characters visibly affecting one another.  Kirk, Spock and McCoy all influenced each other in the ways they thought, reacted, and planned, and worked best as a unit.  In this, the humanity of the main cast affected Spock in his slow, reluctant appreciation of human merits.  In time, Spock began to make one or two decisions based on human logic, intelligence and emotion.  In episodes like The Menagerie or The Galileo Seven, Spock makes decisions that seem out-of-character for him, based in emotion.

Spock is, in many ways, Star Trek’s best known and favorite character.  The most visibly recognizable, as well as the most distinct, Spock is given more episodes exploring him than any other character, with installments like Amok Time and Journey to Babel, (the latter of which we explore his parents, and discover why it is that Spock has such a hard time with his human half) helping to examine Spock as a character.

The end result was a beloved science fiction icon, Kirk’s right hand man, an analytical, fascinating character as well-crafted and loved as Kirk himself.

Spock and Kirk are often remembered fondly, and are typically considered the most memorable and iconic characters of the franchise, but they don’t work alone.  Their dynamic is as effective as it is because of balance.  Spock is one extreme, and Kirk is the middle, but it’s no good without the other extreme: Dr. Leonard Horatio “Bones” McCoy.

McCoy is all hot-blooded human, the third of the main Power Trio.  An old-fashioned competent doctor who wasn’t entirely thrilled with deep space, McCoy is a deeply emotional character, duty-bound to follow his morals.  He clashed with Spock regularly, routinely criticizing him for his perceived lack of emotion.  Despite the fighting, McCoy respected Spock greatly, counting him as a close friend, despite their arguments and different perspectives.  A cantankerous pacifist (though not above getting into the action when needed), McCoy is a Super Doc and a Sarcastic Devotee, a Grumpy Old Man who serves as the Heart to Spock’s Brain (hah!), a man who values Honor Before Reason who values the Good Old Ways.  He’s a Determined Doctor who does everything he can for his patients, and a Deadpan Snarker to the point where he can match Spock in verbal sparring.

Bones represents the unpolished rawness of humanity, getting carried away with his emotions sometimes, but always with the best intentions.  Another Jerk with a Heart of Gold, McCoy’s gruff nature accompanied a deeply moral man, very concerned with human empathy and doing the right thing.  No philosophical discussion was complete without McCoy’s two cents, telling Kirk what he thought the right thing to do was.  He was the quintessential Knight in Sour Armor, who would follow Kirk to the ends of the earth, complaining the entire way.

Despite the fact that he’s not as well-known as the other two members of the Power Trio, Bones was a vital component to the True Companions dynamic.  His Vitriolic Best Buds relationship with Spock made up one of the most interesting and compelling dynamics on the show, serving as perfect counterbalances to one another.  However, although his most famous role in the show was arguing with Spock (and delivering phrases such as ‘He’s Dead, Jim’), there is another, equally important position that he held in the trio.

McCoy served as a foil to Kirk, as well as one to Spock, a confidante, a close friend, providing perspective.  While Spock was focused on the logic, Kirk on the best thing for the mission, McCoy’s focus was purely on the ‘patients’, the people, the right thing to do.  No matter the situation, McCoy was the closest to empathy with the people involved, and provided the audience with another surrogate, saying the things that the viewers are thinking.

While not being a terribly big fan of space (and liking transporters even less), Bones was the epitome of the Frontier Doctor to the stars, taking care of every patient, even if they weren’t humanoid (Devil in the Dark) or a heavily pregnant woman who refuses to listen (Friday’s Child).  McCoy was painfully human, reminding us of our most problematic traits while also holding onto that wild, fiery compassion that made him so incredibly humane, relatable, and understandable, making him just as vital to the Enterprise and her crew as Kirk or Spock.

The trio worked best together, providing a perfect main cast for an audience to follow.  The formula was an interesting one, allowing the audience to hear separate viewpoints and ideas, listen in to the philosophical banter, and truly feel the strong friendship holding the leads together.  The dynamic between them was powerful, an extremely vibrant bond that connected all three very different characters.

The result?  Extremely dynamic characters that remain iconic and memorable even to this day.

But the cast didn’t stop there.

The other characters of Star Trek, while not quite possessing the pop-culture iconography of the main trio, still hold their own rather impressive cultural footprint.

None more so than the chief engineer, Montgomery Scott.

Scotty’s job was to be a miracle worker, solving impossible problems in impossibly small amounts of time.  Whether it was the transporters, the phaser banks, the shields, or the engines, Scotty was the man for the job.  Nobody had a better understanding, or love for the Enterprise than Scotty (except maybe Kirk).  He was the king of outside-the-box solutions, and had the Enterprise jury-rigged to push her past her limits more times than can be easily counted.  As the name implies, he was also Scottish, and extremely stereotypically so.  Kilt, whiskey, haggis and all, Scotty was extremely proud of his heritage (though not quite as much as Chekov).  Fitting the traditional stereotypes, Scotty had a fiery temper, with a Berserk Button triggered by any insult to the Enterprise.  A Gadgeteer Genius (and the inventor of Scotty Time) as well as a Genius Bruiser, Scotty was both the brains and brawn, more than capable of holding his own in a fight, or thinking of a new, creative way to push the Enterprise past her capacity.

Scotty also held the distinction of being third in command, routinely taking the Captain’s chair when both Kirk and Spock were in the landing party.  He was also the focus of a few episodes, making him a rare character with a Day in the Limelight, with episodes such as Wolf in the Fold, The Lights of Zetar, By Any Other Name, and The Trouble with Tribbles giving him a little more screen time and story than is typical.  Scotty was an indispensable member of the crew, a life-saver on more than one occasion, and another of the legendary, iconic characters of the original Star Trek.

But it didn’t stop there.

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura was another prominent character.  As the ship’s communications officer, she codified the term ‘Bridge Bunny’, although she proved herself far more useful than she’s typically thought of.  Whenever given the chance, Uhura is a capable Action Girl, intelligent, witty, and good at her job, being extremely fluent in multiple languages.  She too got her days in the limelight, with episodes such as Mirror Mirror, The Gamesters of Triskelion, and The Trouble with Tribbles giving her more to do than just sit at her station and say ‘hailing frequencies open’.  Uhura was Silk Hiding Steel, not typically in the heat of the battle, but tough as nails when she had to be.  (I’ve talked about Uhura’s extensive influence on the real world in the Legacy article, but even that doesn’t scratch the surface of what Uhura’s impact has been.)

There were others on the bridge crew of equal importance, including the ship’s helmsman, Hikaru Sulu.

Sulu was a level-headed officer, amiable and cultured, with an extensive knowledge of botany, fencing, and antiques.  Yet another Deadpan Snarker (it must run in the cast), Sulu is another Genius Bruiser, as skilled in fighting as he is in his piloting, with a great sense of humor.  He is given special attention in episodes like Mirror Mirror and The Naked Time (Albeit as evil, and Brainwashed and Crazy), but often got great character moments in multiple episodes (especially Shore Leave).  A reliable officer and loyal to the core, he made an interesting character by himself, although he did end up forming a fun ‘Those Two Guys’ dynamic with the youngest of the cast, Pavel Chekov.

Chekov was introduced in season 2 as the navigator of the Enterprise.  A bright young man with a fierce, passionate loyalty to Mother Russia (which evidently invented every good thing known to man), Chekov tended to be at the receiving end of a lot of the embarrassing agony in the series (mostly because Walter Koenig had a great scream).  Also serving as a relief science officer, Chekov was plenty smart, if a bit of a Cloudcuckoolander, and the king of Cultural Posturing.  Reckless and impulsive to balance Sulu’s calm good humor, Chekov’s temper tended to get the better of him.  Like the others, he’s given a bit more screen time in episodes such as Mirror Mirror, The Trouble with Tribbles, The Way to Eden, The Deadly Years and Spectre of the Gun, but got to shine in plenty of other episodes, demonstrating his capabilities (despite being ‘The Intern’ and the Plucky Comic Relief) as a competent officer.  Unsurprisingly, he was yet another Deadpan Snarker, lending his style of jokes well to bounce off of Sulu’s drier humor.

But there was more to the crew than the bridge.

Another crew member of note was Christine Chapel, one of the nurses who operated in the sickbay.  Chapel was notable for having an attraction to Spock, as well as being another in the long line of Enterprise Deadpan Snarkers.  One of the most caring of the Enterprise’s crew, Chapel was given larger roles in episodes like The Naked Time, What Are Little Girls Made Of?, Amok Time, and Plato’s Stepchildren.

Arguably though, one of the most important characters in all of Star Trek was the Companion Cube: the Enterprise herself.

The Enterprise was one of the most powerful ships in Starfleet, a character in her own right.  The epitome of the Cool Starship, the Enterprise was well known for Explosive Overclocking, and always coming through in the end (with a little help from Scotty).  A Lightning Bruiser of a ship, the Enterprise became as legendary as her captain and crew, as beloved as the characters themselves to the point where one of NASA’s shuttles was named after her.

The characters of Star Trek are legends, both in and out of universe, and they are for a reason.  No member of the crew is useless.  Everyone has a purpose and a job to do, and each was distinct and unique.  No two characters were the same, and each brought their own special personality and abilities to each episode they appeared in.

And that’s what made the drama of the show work so well.

Each character felt real, memorable and genuine.  We as an audience worry for them with each danger, and cheer with each victory.  We liked these people.  We cared about what happened to them.

And they worked.

In each scenario and situation, the characters found new and interesting ways to deal with the circumstances, while never losing the core elements of their personalities.  That’s important, hugely so.  These characters were loved, and still are, for a reason.  They work very well as characters, both in main and supporting roles, providing entertaining and compelling figures for the audience to invest in.  The balance between relatability and entertainment was hit perfectly for every single character, allowing everyone to shine in their own ways in each episode.  They felt real, and in the end, that’s the point of a character.

After all, one doesn’t get to be some of the most iconic television characters of all time by being boring.

Thank you guys so much for reading!  Join us next time as we discuss Star Trek’s place in the times and the culture.  If you have anything you’d like to say, don’t forget to leave an ask!  I hope to see you all in the next article.

[sydneywritespursuedbyabear]

Darkness Day 2022

Darkness Day for @brutal-nemesis

This one has a prologue, but before I begin: CW: Antisemitism, terrorism (full triggers for the work are at the end of the prologue)

Last Saturday, the 15th of January, a synagogue in Texas was taken hostage by an armed Islamist. Very few non-Jewish sources covered the attack, and those that did often refused to acknowledge antisemitism's role in the situation. I could write a long essay about the situation, but that's not why I'm making this post. What I'm really mad about at this point is that no one acknowledges antisemitism in American society. It is an incredibly prevalent issue from all areas of the political spectrum: Neonazis are not the only people prone to violent antisemitism.

Why is this relevant to whump, you ask. Good question. Writing is a political tool. And I had no inspiration for this month's prompt, so I wrote a story about darkness and antisemitism. The story I am about to tell is not a depiction of events I know have occurred in real life. But they could happen. Most of the whump I write is realistic fiction, and this is no different. An attack on a synagogue is not some far-off myth. It is real. It happened last week. The hostages last week were lucky that they did not get hurt. They were lucky that the Rabbi had been trained for a situation just like that. It could have ended much differently, but it didn't. So I wasn't ready to have my characters get injured as a result of antisemitism. This story is mostly emotional whump, but it mirrors the real thoughts and feelings of Jews.

I recognize that I take a huge risk by posting this. I let the world know that I am Jewish and that I will not be quiet about it. I'm turning commenting off. All antisemitic reblogs will be blocked and reported. You do not have to read the story if you do not want to.

One final disclaimer: I do not condone any of the behaviors in this story. I am not endorsing anything in this story. I am not lying about real experiences; this is a work of fiction.

HEAVY Trigger Warnings: antisemitism, terrorism, guns, anti-jewish slurs, lockdowns

“We turn to page 157 for Maariv Aravim,” Rabbi Harwitz says.

Chaia couldn’t even turn the page before she could no longer see the siddur in her hands. A sudden darkness encapsulates the sanctuary. The only light came from the eternal light above the ark and the two Shabbat candles on the bimah. This isn’t supposed to happen, Chaia thinks, there must be a power outage.

“Well, that’s ironic,” the rabbi jests into the still-on microphone. “I’m sure we’ll find out what’s going on shortly.”

The power can’t be out if the microphone is still on. The microphone is almost always on so it doesn't need to be turned on during Shabbat, but lights are also almost always on. Something is wrong.

James, Maria’s favorite security guard, rushes into the sanctuary carrying a flashlight. “We are dealing with a situation out front. I need everyone to take cover on the floor in front of your seats and remain absolutely quiet.” The light disappears as fast as it appeared. James runs back to the lobby.

Chaia slides off the velvet cushion of her seat, joining her purse on the floor. She curls up in a ball, tucking her siddur between her legs and her chest. Maria does the same. So this is it, Chaia thinks. Hundreds of years after Maria’s family fled Spain and decades after my family fled Germany, we’re still targets. We should’ve moved to Israel after Maria finished culinary school.

Chaia’s thoughts are interrupted by a thud outside the sanctuary. A loud voice shouts, “They will pay! The Jews, the Zios. They are Nazis. They control the world, pulling strings that make life harder for people like me!”

The words send a chill down Chaia’s spine. Terrified, she pulls her wife closer and into an embrace. Her hand subconsciously finds Maria’s pulse. It’s hard and rapid. Even without being able to time it with her watch, Chaia knows that Maria’s heart is beating more than 150 times per minute. Is this a panic attack or a tachycardia episode? Chaia can’t tell and she can’t ask Maria. She gently feels the floor around her, searching for her purse. She instinctively grabs the pulse oximeter but realizes it’d be pretty bright in the darkness, which wouldn’t be great. It isn’t even what she is really looking for. Finally, she wraps her hand around the water bottle she’d packed. Chaia gently unscrews the lid. She grabs Maria’s right arm and places it against the bottle. Next, she slowly feels for Maria’s face with the hand the lid is in. She guides that bottle to Maria’s mouth.

Maria gratefully accepts the water, gulping down what had to be at least ten ounces in thirty seconds. She slowly lowers her upper half to the ground, allowing her heart to be at the same level as her head.

Moments later, a chorus of footsteps storms into the room. As they enter, the lights turn back on. “SWAT Team keep your hands where we can see them!” one calls out.

The entire congregation tentatively raises their hands into the air. Chaia slowly stands up, making sure that her hands are visible to everyone else at all times. As per her expectation, all the black-clad figures in the room shift to aim their machine guns at her. “My name is Chaia Glassman,” she states in an oddly calm voice. “My wife is having a medical emergency and needs assistance. She is on the floor next to me.” Despite her outward appearance, Chaia is freaking out. Her stomach flutters. Her legs are numb. Her eyes well with tears.

One of the figures turns into the radio on his vest. “We need medical.” He then turns his attention to the whole congregation. “We need you to evacuate through the back door over there.” He points to the door he entered the sanctuary from. “Keep your hands where we can see them. You may take your things, but they will be screened when you get outside.”

“What about our coats at the front door? It’s cold out!” a scared voice asks.

“You must exit through the back door. There is a warming station set up outside.” The officer responded.

“Why?” another voice chimed in.

“We have reports there may be a bomb out there. The bomb squad is sweeping the place.”

Rabbi Harwitz rises, keeping his hands interlocked behind his head. He walks to the door and a SWAT officer accompanies him out. Others follow suit, but Chaia waits attentively by Maria.

After almost everyone else is out, EMTs surrounded by seemingly an entire SWAT unit enter the sanctuary. “Over here!” Chaia cries out.

The EMTs park the stretcher in the aisle beside the row of seats Chaia and Maria are in. “Ma’am, you have to go outside now,” one of them tells Chaia.

Chaia hooks her foot through her purse and shuffles into the aisle to get out of the way of EMS. “She has dysautonomia and mast cell activation syndrome and- you know what, her emergency medical booklet is in my purse.”

An officer kneels down beside Chaia’s purse. “May I?” he asks, picking Chaia’s purse up to find the booklet. As he does that, one of the EMTs picks Maria up and lays her on the stretcher.

The other EMT takes the booklet from the officer and flips through it. He looks at Chaia. “She’s in good hands. We’ll start treatment once we get outside.”

[ninja-bitch]

Could I get some Lavi and Link hc?? Nsfw but if you have any general dating hc those are welcome too. Thank you!! 💕

Yes hello, allow me to be a soft bitch for a minute a write some cute short dating HCs. Thank you for you ask love <3

Link Howard dating HCs (SFW)

Ok but I would love to go on a date with this man. Casual Link Howard is something I need in my life.

Wouldn’t get too casual, I do think he’d have pretty traditional and formal dates. Especially if he’s the one that asked for it.

Think dates in a restaurant, or café...etc. Would take them home too.

Could decide to cook them something if he really is into them. But that would take some time for someone to get there.

If his potential partner was the one who initiated it, they’d decide what they do and they would be able to maybe, just maybe get him to relax a bit more.

Nah but challenge him to a board game, talk with him, I think he’s a very pleasant conversationalist and would love someone that could both listen and keep up with the conversation. I think he’d love for them to tell him about what they do, especially if it’s entirely different from his job. He strikes me as someone that would be curious.

I feel like he could drink during a date. Just putting it out there.

No but with his job I swear he never ever goes on date, he might be a bit stressed out.

I think that out of the two of them, he’d be the one who REALLY wouldn’t mind if they ended up having sex.  I feel like that’s how most of his dates would end. He’s picky and when he does ask someone out, he’s interested (Lust or mind who knows? Both? Maybe both?) He’d be pretty blunt when he asks that but if he feels like they wouldn’t mind either well, he goes for it.

Link Howard HCs (NSFW)

Ok, ok so I HC him as a horny bitch that doesn’t indulge often. That is all.

Wouldn’t necessarily be too kinky but would be pretty intense.

Like I said he’s a picky partner but he would go for it if he found someone attractive. It wouldn’t lead anywhere if he doesn’t like them much more apart from that.

He would have one night stands. Especially since he cannot really maintain a steady relationship with his job though. He’s very discreet about it though. 

Nah but he would be a tease. Just getting off on that tbh. The type that would just whisper “no” in your ear when you ask him to touch you and keep doing his thing.

Would just really like quick but deep and hard sex. 

Doesn’t get really loud. 

Surprisingly would talk a lot though. Encourage his partner to talk or do something. If you thought he couldn’t swear much, lemme tell you that you’re wrong too.

I feel like he’d get pretty confident but wouldn’t let go that much. He’d be quite serious.

He does have a lot of stamina but definitely would have more if he didn’t work so much tbh, but it’s ok. He does make up for it with foreplay and usually ends up going down on his partners after sex.

A biter ladies and gents, a biter.

Lavi dating HCs (SFW)

Ok so we know that Lavi is pretty quick when it comes to getting crushes. It’s canon people. But actually dating someone, steady and shit? I feel like his status as a bookman somewhat stops him from actually going for it.

I feel like he’d take people he meets on one date and then never see them again. Like it was nice but ciao, I’ve got world archives to write.

Now he’s been in the order for some years, so it’s a bit different. Now let’s ignore canon for a minute and say he’s not getting tortured and held hostage

I feel like dates with him would be pretty fun, light hearted. He wouldn’t show much of himself though. It’s pretty nice on the surface, but yeah. Not really open about himself overall. He could be though he could be. But it would take some time and some rebellion on his part.

Would invite a potential partner to talk and just enjoy their company. Making the occasional jokes and all. Ah he knows a lot of things too, so ask him all about different cultures and history, definitely interesting.

Definitely a flirt. A blunt one at that. He’d be all about complimenting and making the person he’s with feel good.

I don’t feel he’d go for something more, or at least I feel like Bookman (Like grandpa Bookman) would definitely have him break it off.

I don’t think he’d be one to necessarily want to have sex at the end of a date. He just likes spending time with someone. He wouldn’t mind though. But yeah, not really a huge thing for him. Also he could have one night stands, but with his room’s setup, and grand father lurking he wouldn’t risk it.

Lavi HCs (NSFW)

Yet another horny man, I will say that. But not as much as the other actually.

He won’t go for lovemaking since he’s not really allowed to do that (per the bookman rule YOU SHALL NOT LOVE) but he’d be really good at that it’s a crime I swear. Very very soft, funny and great man that we have here ladies and gents. 

I think he’d be great at going down on someone. Would probably love that. Would go all in tbh.

I feel like he’d be pretty fun in bed. 

Again, I will say that his stamina would be more significant if he slept more.

May or may not remember everything he does so y’know, theorically would go for one night stands too but realistically tries not to. He has in the past though, he has. So that would be another reason why he wouldn’t go for that too much. (plus his room and grandpa y’know)

BUT I don’t think he’s got lot of experience. He’d act as if he had though. Plus he knows a lot, in theory, so he thinks it’s all good. 

I feel like he’d have some hidden kink that he wouldn’t talk about. Idk.

Oh but he’d definitely speak to his partner in a language they don’t understand.

Would definitely be up to have sex with multiple people if given the chance I think. 

Could and would try weird sex position just because he can. 

Side note : Both of them are great at aftercare I think. Or at least at making sure their partner’s ok and hydrated. Would have a lady pee after sex too. Would massage a partner’s back if it got a bit rough. Both would talk more after sex too before dozing off Or going back to work because self care apparently doesn’t exist

[pandoraswrld]

WARM

— in which yuna and jiyoon talk about love

characters / boo yuna, kim jiyoon

words / 1.9k

warnings / none, it’s mostly just fluff n comfort

유나나 at 01:15: can i come over?

오렌지윤 at 01:18: sure you can

Yuna was already halfway there by the time she sent the text, she knew Jiyoon would never say no to her, even if it was way past midnight and she had a schedule tomorrow.

It was only a short trip to the Jinx dorms, Yuna had made her way there so many times before that it had been muscle memory for her to just twist and turn around the streets until she arrived at their apartment building.

Jiyoon had greeted her with her usual smile, cheek to cheek with open arms. Her orange hair had faded since the last time they had seen each other, brown roots now taking over the once bright colour. With the week left of promotions for Jinx, Yuna was sure she would be invited over at some point to come help her dye it again.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jiyoon had quickly ushered Yuna into her room, Rosie sleeping soundly in the far right of the room. Yuna would be more worried about talking with her in the room but she knew that the younger girl could probably sleep through just about anything.

“How do you know I wanted to talk about anything? Can’t a friend just want to see her other friend.” Yuna’s lips pouted outwards.

“It’s one in the morning, you always have something to say at one in the morning.” The other girl deadpanned, arms crossed as per usual.

Yuna simply rolled her eyes, falling down onto Jiyoon’s bed to rest her head on her lap, “Fine, I want to talk but you go first.”

“Me go first? What do I have to talk about?” Jiyoon chuckled.

Jiyoon’s hands had taken purchase in Yuna’s hair, just like always. One tangling in the soft strands of pink hair and the other resting lightly on Yuna’s cheek.

“I saw you and Joohyuk the other day, what is that about?” Yuna was feeling cheeky that night, bringing up the scenario she had spotted at the cafe in the HJK building, one involving a particular Kim Jiyoon holding the hand of her ex boyfriend as if nothing had changed at all.

“That was nothing, he just wanted to talk.”

“And what about all the fondling?” Yuna cooed.

“There was no fondling, I just wanted to hold his hand,” she paused for a second, “for old times sake.”

“So there is something going on, hmm?”

“No silly, we only talked for like five seconds about our relationship and then he went back to his dorm and I went back to mine.” Jiyoon sounded entirely unsatisfied with her own story, there was something more, there was always something more when it came to those two.

It only took a minute of Yuna staring up and into Jiyoon’s eyes for her to crack, “Okay and he told me he’s sorry for everything.”

“What! The Oh Joohyuk apologised? What brought this on?” Yuna had straightened up, eager to hear more.

“He told me he’s been thinking of me.” Jiyoon was almost giddy saying these words as told by the smile slowly creeping onto her face. “He acknowledged that he was wrong for everything that’s happened over the last few years, he wants to make things up to me.”

Yuna observed Jiyoon as she talked, a habit she had formed over the last few months. Jiyoon always smiled when she talked about Joohyuk, even when she was mad at him, which was most of the time. She reckons it’s because she was still fond of him, recalling all the times Jiyoon had reminisced over their past with Yuna. She didn’t want to make any assumptions but she’s sure Jiyoon’s still in love with him.

“What are you gonna do with this information? Are you gonna be friends or do you think he wants to go back to how things used to be?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Yuna, part of me wants him back.”

“I could’ve told you that.” That earned a hit to Yuna’s arm from Jiyoon.

“Shut up, this is serious! Obviously I can’t let him have me back so quickly but I’ll be damned if I said all the tension between us didn’t make me want him even more.”

“My best advice is to just be cautious about things, if you really want to get back together, I don’t want you to get hurt again.” Yuna held Jiyoon's hand in her own, rubbing small circles into her palm as she spoke.

Jiyoon shook her head, “Of course, we don’t want a rerun of me crying in front of everyone in the produce dorms, that was so embarrassing.”

The two girls sat and laughed for a little bit, the memory of Yuna shielding Jiyoon off and telling the other trainees that she was just sad because of her performance coming across both of their minds.

Once both of their laughs died down a silence came over the room, Yuna assumed it was now her turn to talk now, after all she was the reason why they were having this conversation in the first place.

“Jiyoon, how did you know you loved him?” Yuna was hesitant with her words.

Jiyoon looked over to the other side of her bed, clearly in thought. After a moment she simply laughed and turned to give Yuna a soft smile.

“I wanted to do anything for him, I always got this inexplicable feeling in my chest whenever I was with him and that’s why it hurt so bad when he ended it.” The ginger girl simply sighed, throwing her hand back into Yuna’s hair, coming to brush the loose strands out of her eyes and tucking them behind her ear.

“Have you ever been in love, Yuna?”

“I think I loved a boy once.” Yuna started, her breath hitching ever so slightly and her heartbeat steadily rising. “He was sweet, kind to me but he was kind to everyone.”

“He made me feel like sunshine, I was always warm when I was around him.” She smiled, each memory she had of him was positive. It was rare that she ever brought them back up. Yuna wanted to keep each memory of him safe, away from the prying eyes of others and away from the negativity inside herself that she knew would one day overtake them.

“What happened?”

Yuna sighed, she began to recall how cold she felt when he had left, her fingertips had turned blue and she couldn’t feel her nose anymore. The worst of it was how she felt inside, sure she was physically cold but something had run through her blood and frozen each and every nerve. She knew he wasn’t coming back, she knew he never would.

“He left, I moved on.” Yuna exhaled, she couldn’t feel that same cold again.

This is why she never liked talking about him. Every word she breathed about him made him even more distant. It had been years and yet when she talked about him it only felt like days since she last saw him. She wanted to feel warm again, she did, but if the warm was followed by the sinking feeling of freezing up again she couldn’t do it.

A beat of silence followed Yuna’s words before Jiyoon began to talk, “Is this related to that conversation we had after your date with Sanha?”

Yuna sighed, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe it was, she always thought about it when she had time to herself, she thought about how no one quite measured up to him. There was so much confusion going on in her brain that she couldn’t handle it half of the time, she wasn’t sure if she was ready to deal with all of it. That’s usually when she’d go to Jiyoon or Juliet and distract herself with their problems but she’s already here with Jiyoon, there’s no hiding for her right now.

“It’s not really a matter of if it was a boy I loved or a girl, I just can’t love like I did back then, it hurts.” She rarely talked like this, she was never one to share anything less than positive with those around her.

“The closest I’ve felt to that feeling was when I was around Somi, it probably wasn’t love but maybe even what I was feeling back then wasn’t love. All I knew was that they both felt good to me.”

The last time Yuna had met up with Somi was a couple months ago when she got her first win. She shared so much of her happiness that night and she just wanted to feel like that forever, or at least for a little longer than she had that day.

“I don’t know, things were just different with her. She makes me feel like…like when you see the sun hit the water just right and it sparkles? Like that.” Yuna always tried to make sense of her emotions by attempting to connect them to moments, scenarios, anything physical and real. Jiyoon understood her most of the time, she was the easiest to talk to when it came to explaining how she felt.

Yuna’s eyes had fixated on the ceiling light, how it was decorated with little paper butterflies most likely done by Rosie as told by the crumpled edges and jaggedly cut lines. She wanted to feel like those butterflies, she wanted to feel like everything, there was no way to explain it. Everything emanated something to Yuna, those butterflies were simply a sense of something free, crafted for nothing other than decoration but still placed lovingly in and around the room.

“Realistically though, I think that if I were to feel that same love again it would be for a girl.” Something heavy had finally lifted off of her chest once she had finished her sentence. It felt freeing to finally say what had been sitting at the back of her mind for the last few weeks, even though her hands and legs were a little jittery she felt like she could do just about anything in the moment.

“Boo Yuna are you coming out to me?” Jiyoon gasped, feeling Yuna’s elbow nudging into her side.

“I’m not saying anything! I don’t exactly know how I feel, I like girls ninety nine percent of the time but there’s always him.” Yuna saw his face clearly in her mind, every detail the same as it was all those years ago, “Maybe I’m not meant to know who I am? I don’t identify with anything I just am, you know?”

Jiyoon threw her arms around Yuna’s body, drawing the older girl’s body closer into her and resting her head on top of Yuna’s. The smell of Jiyoon’s fruity shower gel comforted Yuna greatly, if there was one thing she could always count on her for it was that she would always be there, never changing.

“That’s completely fine my love, sometimes labels just aren’t right for people and if you’re happy with where you’re at then I’m happy and I will always support you!” She left a kiss on Yuna’s cheek, pinching it right after in typical Kim Jiyoon fashion.

Yuna grinned at her friend, her eyes turning into half-moons as her cheeks rose. Jiyoon always made her feel good about herself, even in her worst moments. Yuna truly was grateful to have such a person in her life, she made her want to be the same positive influence for others, she made Yuna want to be a better person.

“I love you so much Jiyoon, you’re the best.”

[yuzukult]

midnight snacks || junmyeon & reader

title: midnight snacks genre: idol!reader, idol!suho, romance, fluff words: 5.5k notes: as requested!!! sorry it took so long... i just... sleep so much after working earlier in the day and also my weekends just fly by so quickly :( hope i did not disappoint!

Saying that you were anxious is an understatement.

Your hands are clammy, so moist that you lose your grip on the door handle, constantly slipping the metal hardware from your hands that a staff member aids to your side, opening the door as you mutter a quick ‘thank you’ with a head hung low, shuffling into the dressing room.

The place is chaotic—people running around palms full, ranging from iPads, makeup brushes, hair products, hair tools... just name any cosmetic item and you’d find it laying around somewhere in the room or in the hands of a stylist. In the chairs are your band mates, one by one are being attended by at least four people per person. You’d jokingly tell some of them that it takes an entire team to make them look somewhat decent enough to be on television. 

There’s suddenly a knock on the door, gaining your attention but those around you are oblivious with different priorities in mind. The visitor bows at the staff that he captures the attention of, making his way to the couch where the rest of your girl group is seated.

“I got your favorite orders from your manager.” He says, placing bags of beverages and snacks that overwhelms your entire band, gawking and thanking the senior. “I figured since this is your debut stage, I’d come wish you guys luck!”

Kim Junmyeon— or known as Suho of EXO on stage— is the epitome of a perfect man. He’s a senior at the same company, a leader of one of the biggest groups in Korea, and you found yourself becoming one of those girls who had swooned over his beaming smile and generous actions. With his hair slicked back, dressed neatly in a casual white button up in his blue jeans and a black blazer, he always seems to make your heart skip a beat. 

You might have a tiny small crush on Kim Junmyeon.

It probably started during your trainee days where you got to watch him and Jongin teach the newbies Love Shot as a dance exercise. He’d been patient with the group, constantly repeating himself when he needed to but also coming to anyone’s side and helping them perfect their movements in order to improve and advance to debut.

Unable to do a body roll as well as Jongin, Junmyeon laughs at the side of your stiff body, pressing his hand on your lower back, watching you uneasily. “Is this okay?” He asks for permission, knowing there’s a thin line between the two of you. He doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Is there anything wrong with him?

“Thanks, Junmyeon oppa!” One of your bandmates exclaims, cheeks already full of the boba from the milk tea he delivered. There’s smiles all around the room, all because of him, and you want nothing more than to be the cause of his as well. But you know better. Today was your debut stage, someone who is barely making way in the industry, and he was someone who had already claimed a spot, a well-known name.

Trapped in your own thoughts, you’re blurred back into reality at the sound of your name being called repeatedly. Shaking your head, you turn to the caller, eyes meeting with Junmyeon. “Oh, uh, thanks for this, by the way.”

“Of course,” He says, giddy. “Is this what you like? I asked your manager, and he named a couple things but I wasn’t sure which was your favorite.” He has an iced coffee in his hand, and a bun with what you can assume is filled with bbq pork, something you’d always get. His effort was admirable, just another thing to add on your list of things you liked about him.

“Pork bun?” You clarify, taking it from his grasp as he nods in confirmation. “Your favorite?”

“Yes, more than just a favorite, my one true love,” You exaggerate, opening the wrapper before your leader stops you by placing her hand in between, blocking you from eating as you frown. “Why!”

“We’re about to perform! Do you really want a button to pop on stage?”

“No...”

“Aw, come on, let her have one bite. Oppa’s request,” Junmyeon chimes in, an innocent look on his face. “I want to see her appreciate my gift.” Glancing over to see her expression, her face softens as signals you to take a bite. Opening your mouth as wide as you can, you munch on a large portion as her face contorts in disgust and surprise. “What— I said one bite!”

“It was one bite,” You respond, mouth full of inhaling half of the bread before choking on it from taking in a quick breath as Junmyeon chuckles heartily, handing over the coffee to you. Slurping abruptly, you slap your chest before regaining your breathing and your leader rolls her eyes. “Junmyeon, if I get in trouble because of her, I’m blaming you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the blame!” He chuckles, patting your back. “Seems like she enjoyed it a lot, it’s worth the blame.” His words warm your heart and you mentally kick yourself for being so easily swayed by anything he says. Your leader looks over at you, slightly agitated by your actions and you know you’re going to get a talk later, but in the presence of Junmyeon, she could never confront you. She excuses herself, walking away from the two of you before Junmyeon bursts into a giggle and you scowl at the older male.

“Stop it, she’s going to lecture me when we go back home.” You whine, a pout upon your lips.

“Nobody told you to take such a huge bite!”

“Well, nobody told you to buy me a pork bun! How am I supposed to resist?” He’s gifting you his signature smile again, and you feel like your chest is going to explode. “Is this what I get for trying to be nice? A complaint from you?”

“I mean... I did choke on it.” You argue, closing the plastic of the baked good, placing it on your dressing chair. “But... it was good, Junmyeon, thank you.”

“Anything for my favorite trainee,” He grins, leaning over to pinch your cheek gingerly. “I’m eager to see you perform. You’ve worked so hard all those years, you’ve come a long way.”

You want to tell yourself that maybe Junmyeon was being too caring and attentive toward you compared to your other members and trainees under the company. Realistically, with who he is and his capabilities, you found yourself falling back into your pit, convinced that he treats everyone this way. He was intimidatingly successful, responsible and altruistic. You? You were just his temporary mentee who only caught his attention from your clumsiness.

The name of your group is called by the station, and you’re all adjusting your stage outfits anxiously, taking in deep breaths in tempts of calming the nerves. Glancing over at Junmyeon, he sends you a soft smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb comfortingly. “Hey, you got this. You guys are going to kill it.”

Was it Kim Junmyeon’s motivational words that made your debut stage an amazing one or was it the pork bun he provided?

Probably the pork bun.

Almost immediately after the cameras turned on, the turmoil of jitters squandered. Your group performed as a team, and for the first time in your life, you felt like you belonged somewhere. The cheers in the crowd were the music to your ears, swelling the hearts of yours and those around you, eager to continue this pathway of aspiration, feeling as though the hurdles you’d jump over through the years of training had all been worth it.

Hoping off the stage, still living in the high, you spot Junmyeon standing behind stage, his signature smile stretching from cheek to cheek. 

“Look at that, you guys did great.” He says, hands in the pocket of his jeans. Skeptical of the confidence that abruptly washes over you, you extend your arms, pulling him into a tight hug, despite your sweat and sticky body. “I finally made it, Junmyeon. I got to perform on stage.”

Junmyeon never misses any of your stage performances since then. 

He found himself enjoying the sight of your face with an elated expression. He relished in the way when you finished your performance, the first person your eyes lay on is him, energy running on a high, rushing toward him with your arms wide open. Your warmth, your scent— it all drives him wild, and he’s not sure what the feeling is, but all he knows is that he loves it.

There’s a tap on your window, and sluggishly, you glance over to see who it is, realizing it’s nobody before pulling the covers over your head again.

Tap! It occurs again.

Frustrated, you groggily drag yourself from the bed, dressed in a baggy T-shirt and shorts, peering out of the window. There you see Junmyeon, standing on the patch of grass outside of your dorm complex, waving eagerly before gesturing to open the window. Complying, you tug on the sill up. “What?” You hiss in a whisper.

“Come out and grab a snack with me.”

“A snack? Junmyeon sunbae, hate to break it to you but it’s 1am.” 

He shrugs at your response, before shaking the key fob to his car in his hand. “Doesn’t matter what time it is. My stomach says, ‘time to eat’ and I don’t argue with it. Come down and grab a bite with me, kid.”

Sometimes just watching Junmyeon eat makes you full. But knowing Junmyeon, he doesn’t let you observe him consume the food, no, that’s not why he invites you out during the late hours of the night. 

He thinks you’re funny and yet so brutally honest, two of the best qualities you have, and there’s only so many minutes in a day that he can spend with you, so utilizing that he’s “hungry for a midnight snack” or “needing company for fresh air” was always the excuses he used to bring you out and enjoy some time with you. There wasn’t a moment within the day that you weren’t with your band members, so sneaking you out once the moon makes an appearance became common when he realized how pleasing it is being around you. 

“Junmyeon, I hate those, why do you keep buying them? They’re atrocious,” You cringe, throwing one of those white sausage packs in his direction. “If you want me to come out with you, at least get me something I like.”

“I did, check the bag.” Junmyeon’s peeling one of the sausages out of it’s plastic casings, taking a huge chunk into his mouth. “Mm. I know if my manager saw me eating this he’d be super disappointed.”

“I’m pretty sure that both of our managers would be kicking out asses if they saw us out here right now, in the middle of the night, in public while eating these fatty snacks.” Peeking into the bag, you notice a familiar logo. “Oh—what’s this? Where did you find this? Did they sell this at the convenience store?”

The recognizable blue box from Kellogg’s is hard to miss with it’s simple bold lettering that reads ‘pop.tarts’ and your mouth waters at the sight. “And it’s strawberry. Where the hell did you get this, sunbae? They don’t sell these in Korea.”

He loved watching your face lit up the moment you tear open the box to pull out one of the foiled packaging, tearing it up to grab a piece of the pastry. “I know they don’t. Remember when you asked me why I enjoy eating maxbons so much? Because it reminds me of my childhood and growing up. Then you mentioned that you loved poptarts when you were living in the US, so I did some digging and found it.”

“Wow, sunbae, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you have a crush on me. You must have went through lengths for this!” You say jokingly, stuffing your mouth with the poptart. It’s hard and crunchy— the texture wasn’t ideal for a pastry and you knew that this was not some high end snack, but the memories of sitting in your elementary school’s playground with one of these in your hands and a box of apple juice with a bendy straw brought you back. 

You moved from the States to Korea at a young age, with your parents deciding it was time to return back to their hometown when your grandfather’s health began to decline. Transferring to a school that was unfamiliar and having to adjust to a different language that you’d only been barely a beginner in was difficult. Making friends in an entirely new country was arduous, especially when you’re trying to adapt to a new culture and their language.

Reminiscing back to the time you’d leave your middle school exit, attempting to follow the route back home yourself, a recruiter of some sort persistently solicited for your attention. She kept saying that she could make you famous— or ‘well-known,’ was the closest term you could understand, and you were almost weeping on your way home before she decided to leave you with her card, suggesting that you should give her card to your parents to contact her. 

Turns out she was a recruiter for SM Entertainment.

Your parents figured it was something you could occupy your mind with and training under an entertainment company would be helpful in improving your Korean and meeting new friends.

And boy, they were right. The company had invested in so much money on trying to expand your knowledge on how to speak the language, including the other trainees, especially these guys that were also from different parts of the world, so studying never felt lonely.

“I want you to feel like home here, or at least with me. I know how much you’ve missed it there and it’ll be awhile before you get to visit again.”

Something about Junmyeon is disparaging in this light— is it the way the moonlight bounces off his cheekbones? Or the way his eyes twinkle in your direction? His hair blowing in the route of the wind gives you a glimpse of his forehead— is it possible that a forehead could be so... beautiful? ... All this because of a poptart?

You want to slap yourself back into reality, but if you did it right now in front of him, he’d probably think you’re insane.

“Are you planning on going to the States again?” You ask, attempting to shake your mind from drifting into any more thoughts. The artificial flavor of the strawberry hits your tongue and you can’t help but feel so giddy inside with the feeling associated with the taste.

Junmyeon smiles in your direction, one that warms your heart. “Possibly. But I’d like you to tag along if I go. Maybe you could take me to places I’ve never been before.”

Peculiarly, that isn’t the only time Junmyeon takes you out in the middle of the night.

It becomes consistent, an every other day kind of thing, and although your endurance on running on lack of sleep is infamous, Junmyeon is not that great in comparison.

“Oppa, are you dozing off?”

“Huh?” He flinches in his seat, shifting awake. He’d been sitting in the waiting room in the SM building, possibly expecting someone, but he was falling asleep every five seconds in the midst of a conversation with one of your bandmates. 

“Is my story that boring?”

“No, no!” He says abruptly, eyes now wide while waving his hands in front of him in disagreement. “I’m just... very tired lately.”

Furrowing your brows while seated beside your bandmate, you watch Junmyeon as he rubs his tired lids before yawning. “Maybe you should sleep a bit earlier, sunbae.”

He heaves out a deep breath at your suggestion, running his fingers through his locks. Junmyeon didn’t style his hair today, different from his other days but familiar to your nights out with him. However seeing him in his most comfortable form in the daylight is divergent— he’s even more handsome, if possible. “I should. Sleep doesn’t really come easy during the nights, though.”

“Mm,” You hum, unconvinced. “Sure.”

Your bandmate nudges you in the stomach, earning a wince from you as you shot her a glare. “What?”

“Stop being so mean to oppa. He’s always taking care of us, why are you always so straightforward with him?”

“I’m not—“ But before you could defend yourself, Junmyeon does it for you. “No, no, I like when she’s like that. It means she’s comfortable enough to be that way with me. It’s fine, trust me.”

“We’re trying to teach her better manners,” She says while you roll your eyes at the girl. “Our entire group is even making it into a challenge.”

“Why so? I like her like this, it’s endearing.” 

Groaning, you throw yourself back into the couch, head lulling back. They were talking about you as if you weren’t sitting right there! You were starting to feel like you were a kid, and the adults were having a discussion about your behavior.

“Endearing? Oppa, it isn’t lady-like for her to gnaw on a corn on the cob on TV. Wouldn’t it hurt the reputation of our group?”

“Honestly,” He begins, and it was like all the tiredness had been swept away from his eyes. “It makes you guys more relatable. Like— idols, they’re not these gods, but rather they’re people like us. Fans will worship the ground you stand on, but in reality, you don’t want that. You want them to see you as a person, a person capable of mistakes, and you wouldn’t want to change someone from who they really are. Have you seen how crazy Baekhyun and Chanyeol are? What about how intimidating Kyungsoo could be? And yet, I wouldn’t want to change any of them. It makes them more appealing, even.”

“Why do you do that?”

Looking up from your phone with a repulsive piece of the sausage that Junmyeon favors in your mouth, you raise a brow questioningly. “Do what?”

“You never call me oppa. All of your other members do, except you. You keep addressing me as ‘sunbae’ and it feels very... detached.”

“Is there something wrong with me calling you sunbae? I respect your position in our company and the industry, and I want to make it known.” 

He sighs, leaning back in his seat. The two of you are yet again sitting outside in front of another convenience store, seemingly going to a new one almost every outing. “We hang out so much and you’re acting like we’re not friends.” His expression drops in comparison to how elated he usually is, indicating how deeply he must’ve felt about this topic. You think, maybe you should try a bit harder.

“... Oppa.”

“Nevermind, forget I even said it.”

“What—“ Confused, you wrinkle your forehead. “Junmyeon, you asked me to call you oppa and I did, now you’re not happy with it?”

“Honestly, it sounds totally weird when you say it. Like... it’s not natural.”

“What—“ You heave a deep breath in disbelief, shaking your head. “It’s not natural? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Usually the sound ‘oppa’ coming from a girl sounds cute. But you make it sound... uncomfortable, like someone is holding you hostage.”

“You’re basically holding me hostage to say it.”

“I am not!” Junmyeon contends, snatching your phone from your hand. “And stop playing on your phone when you’re out with me, it’s so disrespectful to your senior.”

Pouting, you aggressively munch on another piece of the sausage, and a smile tugs on the edges of Junmyeon’s mouth. He thinks you’re cute like this— the way that puffing your cheeks full of air that blows the strands of hair away from your face. Your personality didn’t quite match your baby-face, yet he still found everything about you just... cute. 

Huh, he thinks to himself, observing your annoyed expression as you finish up the sausage. Maybe... in some shape or form, I kind of like her more than other girls.

“You’re not sneaking out to meet with a secretive boyfriend, are you?”

Nearly choking on the serving of kimchi on your spoon, you drop the utensil into the bowl in front of you, quickly wiping the drips down your chin. “What?”

Your leader apologizes for being so blunt, but nonetheless, needed an answer from you. “If you have a boyfriend, you should tell me about it.” She says, leaning back against her seat at the dining room table of your dormitory. “We’re a team here, and management really doesn’t want us to date but... if you really can’t help it, at least let me know. Maybe we can work something out and not have them noticing. I really don’t want any of us to hide from each other...”

“What— no, no. There’s no boyfriend. Sometimes I need fresh air.”

“There’s a male’s voice though.” She responds abruptly, as though she has all her pointers written in notes. Knowing how uptight and well-planned she was, you shouldn’t be surprised if she did have notes. “I hear a man’s voice calling for you during the late hours of the night.”

You hum in thought for a moment, playing with the grains of rice in your bowl with your spoon. “Honestly... I’ve been just going out and taking walks or sneaking snacks with Junmyeon.”

She raises a brow questioningly. “Junmyeon.” The girl reiterates the name in incredulity. 

“Suho,” You echo with his stage name instead, mimicking her seating position. “Kim Junmyeon. I guess he’s lonely sometimes and wants me to keep him company. Can’t really say no—“

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?”

Hesitatingly, you chew the inside of your cheek in thought. Were you caught? Was your crush on Junmyeon that obvious? It was like your leader could read your mind— or you just sucked at feigning your expression because she sits up, arms resting on the wooden table before speaking again. “Because regardless of what the answer may be, it’s okay.

“It’s okay?” You repeat, this time, you’re the one in disbelief. “It’s okay,” She says again, gathering up her empty bowls and stacking them atop of each other. “He has that aura about him. Generous, a gentleman, and always there when you need him. He’s a sunbae, that’s what you call him, don’t you? Sometimes in the industries we all work in, signs can be hard to tell.”

“So you’re saying I’ve mistaken his actions for him being a kind senior.”

“Honestly, I think so.” Opening the door of the dishwasher, she begins to load it with the plates. “He’s literally Kim Junmyeon, this is EXO we’re talking about here. Why would he want to date a rookie? Baekhyun freaking dated Taeyeon. Like, Taeyeon from SNSD. SNSD! What are we in comparison to them?”

“Nothing,” You mutter quietly, pushing away your bowl since your appetite is long gone now. “We are pretty much nothing.”

“Exactly. Please don’t hurt yourself by dreaming about dating someone like that. It’s going to be painful to just yourself, and a waste of time. Now hurry, we need to clean up and head to practice later.”

You’re bummed for the rest of the day. It was implied that Junmyeon was out of reach, even you could decipher that yourself, but hearing someone else say it made it feel too real. He had the reputation of someone who was a great leader, a talented performer, and a kind-hearted person, as for you, your bandmates had labeled you as someone without manners, and unladylike. You knew that they were only looking out for you, going through the training process had been brutal, and finally getting to debut meant that this was your opportunity to shine in the best way possible. But you want to be better— someone who was worthy of Junmyeon’s love... yet that seemed impossible.

“I thought you said you didn’t like him,” one of your bandmates approaches you, your favorite member and one you’ve developed a close relationship with through the hardships of being a trainee. “You’re acting awfully like someone who got their heart broken.” 

“I don’t know,” You sigh, dropping your body onto the hardwood floor of the studio, taking a break from practicing the dance routine. “I thought I didn’t. I mean, I knew I could never stand a chance with a guy like him, but hearing our own leader say it makes me feel so... discouraged.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have said it like that.” She comforts, leaning over to ruffle your hair into your face playfully. “You’re deserving of a man like him. She’s probably just afraid that if you two dated, there’d be a whole scandal and it’d be her fault.”

“She makes a point though,” You interject with a frown. “He’s the epitome of a perfect man. Sure, he makes dad jokes that aren’t funny, and he’s into the most boring and lamest things, but isn’t that what makes him... him? Makes him more attractive, it’s tempting.”

Your bandmate scoffs, watching you with a raised brow. “And so what? What are you going to do? Confess to the guy?”

“No,” Responding firmly, you sit up on the floor. “But maybe I should stop going on those night trips with him. It’s making me delusional, and I’m manifesting as if I could have a relationship with him.”

“You... could try, but wouldn’t it be obvious that something is up?”

“I’ll just pretend I’m sleeping.”

junmyeon sunbaenim [11:32pm]: get up, it’s time for our weekly snack trip

Nibbling on your bottom lip in between your teeth, you make sure that the lights in your room are off, and the curtains are closed, but just enough for you to peek through. Guilt rushes over your body at the idea of ignoring Junmyeon but you knew that this is the best for you— spending too much time with him was starting to be impractical for your imagination.

junmyeon sunbaenim [11:33pm]: did you fall asleep? junmyeon sunbaenim [11:33pm]: tsk, there’s no way. knowing you, you run on 2 hours of sleep and still manage to dance during practice as if you’ve slept for a perfect solid 8 hours.

Throwing yourself onto your bed, the only light in the room being from your phone. It was hard to avoid Junmyeon, he had a way of luring you into his trap, and you desperately wanted to see him. Hitting yourself on the head, you shake yourself off of the feeling. 

junmyeon sunbaenim [11:34pm]: talk to me. i know you’re awake. your phone brightness is probably at 120% because I can see it through your curtains.

Fuck. You groan, pushing the curtains aside to see Junmyeon sitting in his car, eyes locking onto yours with a wave.

junmyeon sunbaenim [11:35pm]: you’ve been caught, kiddo. the best trainee [11:35pm]: i am very tired today, sunbae. junmyeon sunbaenim [11:35pm]: bullshit. what’s wrong? did i say something that made you feel uncomfortable? junmyeon sunbaenim [11:35pm]: i thought we had that kind of relationship, but i could be totally misreading the signals here the best trainee [11:36pm]: ok, honestly, boss says i shouldn’t be cheating on my diet anymore and i need to stop going out late! i might get caught and tabloids will be all over it. junmyeon sunbaenim [11:36pm]: i could always talk to her for you junmyeon sunbaenim [11:36pm]: but let’s be honest here. it’s not that, is it? 

You swallow. Something in your head would like to believe that you’re not that obvious when trying to hide something, but Junmyeon had spent enough time with you to determine what runs through your mind.

Junmyeon Sunbaenim is calling...

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. What do you even say? You were stupid enough to have your phone brightness on max and look through the window to see him— what’s your excuse now? You’re obviously not asleep, and if you don’t pick up, you’re not even sure of what the outcome will be.

So you slide the green phone image on your phone to receive his call.

“Uh, hello?”

“Why are you ignoring my texts?”

“I’m... responding.”

“Bullshit.” Junmyeon doesn’t curse quite often, but you’re starting to realize that this is a side that you haven’t seen from him yet. He’s mad, possibly, if not annoyed with you at this point for being so stubborn and not telling him why you’re not communicating as fluidly as you used to. “You need to talk to me and tell me what’s wrong.”

“Junmyeon, I’m just very tired today, is all.”

“You are most definitely not tired.”

“Don’t tell me how I’m feeling and what I’m doing!” You snap, finally hitting the final chord. It was quick, you admit, how fast it escalated, but at this point, Junmyeon was probing you with these assumptions, and although he was right, it was becoming overbearing. “I’m—I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you.”

He’s silent on the other line, so quiet that you had to double check that he was still in the call. “Junmyeon?”

“I just want to know what I did wrong,” He says, this time, voice low. He knows you mean well, and that the outburst was just out of frustration, but the feeling was reciprocated. “I really enjoyed our outings.”

“I did too,” You respond honestly, twiddling with the fabric of your bedsheets between your fingers. “But...” Inhaling in a deep breath, you knew that with Junmyeon, it just felt so wrong to hide and lie. Gathering enough courage, you continue. “It’s getting kind of hard spending so much time with you.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because I can’t tell between your generosity and your feelings for me.” You blurt, turning to drop your face into the pillow. It was embarrassing, admitting  these things to him, but he was going to prod you until you spoke up.

“Come down, will you?”

It required a lot of gallantry to shuffle your feet down the stairs, making your way out of your dormitory and toward Junmyeon’s car that’s parked out front. He’s sitting where he was moments before, position never moved and eyes still glued to the screen of his phone. Taking in a deep breath, you were brave enough to knock on the window.

The doors unlock with a click.

You feel like your heart is in the midst of falling, replaying the phone call just from minutes before, and how quick he reacted without showing a hint of any emotion. It was difficult to decipher what was going through his mind, but nonetheless, you slip into the passenger seat, still in your PJ shorts and loose fitted T-shirt, while he’s in an unbuttoned dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows paired with his slacks.

“Can you tell me what you were trying to say on the phone? I’d like to hear it in person.” He’s not facing you, but rather his arm is rested on the steering wheel, gaze diverted ahead.

“Junmyeon, I think I like you. I know, it’s crazy, I’m just a rookie and it’s insane for me to even be glancing in the direction of a higher up in the company, but we’ve spent a lot of time together, and I think I’ve developed some feelings for you.” Rubbing your face with a hand for a moment, you release a breath you’ve been holding without realizing. “But I can’t see you anymore. It feels wrong, to myself especially, to keep lying about how I’ll be okay if you didn’t return feelings. I’ve already talked to my leader, she says it’s unrealistic—“

He sharply turns his head to meet your stare. “She said it’s unrealistic?”

“Well, she said that someone like you, from EXO, wouldn’t want to date—“

Before you could even finish your sentence, his hand is laced through your hair, pulling you into his embrace of a kiss, lips pressing against one another. The way his lips felt against yours was... heavenly— almost like you were floating on cloud 9, pillowy and smooth. For a moment, you swore time stopped until Junmyeon drew away, clearing his throat.

“It’s... not impossible. Remember what I said the other day? Idols are people, like every other person, who live normal lives. We’re flawed too, we’re not perfect, and don’t put us on a pedestal because again, we’re human. We’re regular people,” Junmyeon says, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “Why do you guys always assume that because I’m from some big group that it means I’m out of reach?”

“Because you are,” You retort hastily, yet still recovering from the kiss. Did Junmyeon really kiss you?

“I’m holding you right now, in my car. Am I really out of reach?”