#like to the point I’ve been considering trying for a masters degree in it or something similar

[shinkaeru]

In Another Universe...

Andrew Marston × Reader (gender neutral!reader)

✪ What if you didn't give Andrew an answer after you and him broke up? (2.9k words)

A/N: I haven't written anything for 2 yrs so writing this was experimental for me. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did!

×××

A few years have passed since you graduated from university, you were already working as a book editor in a well-known book publishing house in London and earning a salary good enough to live independently. 

Lately, all you‘ve ever thought about was work, work, and more work, to the point you might've just grown a few more gray hairs from all the stress and sleepless nights. You've always focused on finishing all your projects first before anything else, only because you didn't have anything else to do.

“She goes back to the place where her lover once promised to see her. As hours went by, nobody came to find her, leaving her in distraught. She realizes in the universe she woke up to, her lover's fate led up to something else.” You read out loud as you write down corrections and suggestions of your client's manuscript of their book.

While you are scribbling away, engrossed by what you're doing, you hear your phone buzz causing you to glance at it for a brief moment. Out of curiosity, you decide to pick it up to see what it is—It turns out to be a text from your former classmate at university. 

“Hey! It's been a while. Do you wanna come hangout with us this Saturday night?” The text says. 

You take a sip of coffee, thinking to yourself: Do I still have time for this? It's not like I have anything scheduled for the weekend. You lean back on your chair, resting a hand on your chin. I guess I can afford taking a break for once. 

“Yeah sure! Where and what time do we meet?” You hit send and waited for your friend to respond. 

Besides, it wouldn't hurt to meet up with your friends from university after so long. Man though, has it really been 3 years already since we graduated? You thought to yourself. 

It seems ever since you graduated, you never looked back from your past and continued pursuing your personal endeavors. 

As you are about to set your phone down on the desk, your phone buzzes once more. 

“Let's meet up at 6pm yeah? I'll send you the location in a bit. Seeya!”

× 

It's exactly six 'o'clock in the evening, you've arrived at the bar your friends have planned to meet up at. As you walk inside, you hear smooth jazz music playing faintly while crowds of people mingle and chat. 

You look around the place, hoping to spot at least one or two of your friends already sitting down with a drink in their hand. Going to such social places as bars like this was considered a rare occasion for you since the last time you’ve ever been to one was when you were in your first year at university. The thought of trying to talk to strangers was nerve-wracking enough for you that it makes you wish you’d be home in isolation until now. 

As you are about to approach the very corner of the bar, you hear your friend’s voice calling your name on the other side of the bar. 

“I’m not late, am I?” I asked as I sat next to my friend while she pulled a pail filled with bottles of beer. 

“Not at all, all of us just arrived.” My friend hands me over the drink while two of our friends were talking about a different topic. She sips on her beer then pulls me into a welcoming hug, calling me by my old nickname. “Pea, it’s been like ages since all of us last saw you! I missed you so much.”  

“Yeah, we haven’t even heard from you that much either. You don’t really go online nowadays.” He adds.  

“I’ve just been caught up with work really.” You respond, taking a sip of the liquor from your glass. “How about you Coconut Man? How have you been?” A chuckle escapes from your lips as the memory of how you and your friends got their nicknames, which was from a Jessie J song that was stuck in your head at one point. 

“I flew back here to get my master's degree in literature. Decided one day that I kinda wanna venture into teaching it too, you know?” He shakes his head with a smile plastered on his face. “Moonhead here was talking earlier about getting into Journalism.” To which, they shrugged off his remarks and laughed. 

“I mean, yeah. I got into this job where we write articles about other musicians, music reviews, live concerts—music journalism basically.” They sip on their drink. “So far, it’s been fun. Sometimes, we even get free tickets to like, music festivals and shit.” 

“You two certainly have something interesting going on with your lives, huh?” You smiled, feeling genuinely happy that your friends have achieved the goals that they have worked hard for all these years.  

“Oh! I also have some news to share!” She gleams with excitement as she tries to hold the grin on her face. “My boyfriend and I just got engaged this week.” She showed the ring on her finger, making everyone at our table cheer while I clapped along to her announcement. 

“Wow, you’re getting married already? Congratulations!” You greet your friend, which made you realize for a moment that you were finally at the time of your life when your friends would get married to their partners. Holy shit, am I really getting that old? You thought to yourself. You could even say you could feel your bones cracking just from the thought. 

“Honestly, that’s one of the reasons why I invited you guys here. My partner and I were already planning out on who we’ll be inviting to our wedding, so I thought about you three.” She sighs. “We’ve all just...grown apart since we graduated. We should all at least hang out some time again.” 

Moonhead adjusts their position from their seat. “You know what speaking of wanting to teach, Pea, have you ever gotten the chance to speak to Professor Marston yet after the uh...whole thing going on between the two of you?” 

Your heart sinks as the thought crosses your mind. Ever since the night Andrew went to your place to address the situation at hand, you haven’t given him an answer out of concern for his career and reputation. You’ve kept your distance since you’ve graduated, which pains you deeply. 

“I haven’t had any news about Andrew to be honest,” You shrug. This information puts your friends in disbelief, which you find a bit amusing. They’ve always supported your relationship with Andrew during those first few months and defended you when rumors started to spread around campus. 

“You...you don’t talk to him anymore?” Her gleeful expression turns serious. “No greetings, no updates, nothing at all?” 

“Well, I still have his number and his email address, but I haven’t reached out to him since his classes ended.” You reply. “Besides you know how he is, he doesn’t really have any social media presence so haven’t heard anything about him since." 

“Both of you did come to terms, right?” He asks, to which you nod in response. “Damn, I thought you guys would be endgame you know? That kinda sucks.” 

“Right? Like, we’ve seen the way he looks at you and it was clear as day that he’s just smitten over you.” She lets out a sigh. “Well, as they always say: there’s plenty of fish in the sea.” 

As minutes passed, you and your friends continued talking about the memories you all shared during university and all the things they experienced after we graduated. Sipping halfway on your second bottle of beer, you feel yourself slowly spacing out, struggling to engage in your friends’ conversation. You aren’t drunk but you are aware enough to be tipsy. 

You look around the bar, seeing people clanking their drinks and laughing away through the night couples with their hands intertwined to each other. Despite reuniting with your friends, clearly, you’re starting to realize that this is getting boring and the idea of going home early sounds like a good idea. 

“Pea!” You snap out of your thoughts as you hear your friend call your name. 

“Huh?” 

“Are you okay? You look out of it.” Moonhead says. You nod your head, trying to think of an excuse to get some time for yourself for just a moment. 

“I need to go to the restroom for a moment…” You stand up and placed your drink down at the table. “…excuse me.” 

As you got to the bar’s restroom, you shut the door and took a breather on the sink. The more you stay inside the cozy restroom by the minute, the more you start to consider that going home is the best option.  

You let out a sigh, thinking if going home would be a good idea, especially since it has only been an hour since you arrived. 

After a moment of contemplating and pacing, you decide to stay for a few more minutes so that leaving wouldn’t feel awkward. 

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” You thought to yourself out loud then unlocked the door open. 

While you were about to approach your friends’ table, you heard a distinct voice coming from the bar’s counter. 

“A glass of whiskey please,” he says. You turn to see a familiar figure sitting near the counter isolated from the buzzing people. His hair fixed properly, his glasses reflecting the warm lights in the room, his attire styled in a particular manner… 

No—it cannot be who I think it is, is it? You thought to yourself.  

As you come closer, you feel your heartbeat beating every step you take. 

“Andrew?” 

He turns around and looks at me, his gaze softens at you. “It’s you.” 

You end up cracking a smile as waves of different emotions washed over you. “May I sit?”  

“Please,” He gestures, making me sit beside him while he sips on his drink. “Would you like a drink?” 

“No, I think I’ve had enough alcohol for tonight.” I chuckle while he does the same. “It’s…It’s been a while,” 

Andrew nods before taking another sip. “It has.” He puts his glass down. “Well, this is an unexpected kind of setting for us to see each other again.” 

“Yeah.” You start to fidget your hands as you feel your palms start to sweat. “You come here often?” You ask. 

“Oh no, it’s my first time being here so I decided to come here by myself.” He takes the last sip of his drink and sets aside the empty glass.

Worried that I might be interfering, I hesitantly ask...“Did you bring someone with you?”

“No, it's just me.” He chuckles. “I should be asking you the same thing, what brings you here?”

“My friends invited me here to catch up and chat.” You shrug to which Andrew nods in response.

“Friends from university?”

“Yeah actually,” You glance at your friends' table, looking unfazed by your disappearance as they laugh on their seats.

“It's good to know that you still keep in touch with them,” Andrew watches them along with you.

Should I say how I feel?

The thoughts inside your head go back and forth, contemplating whether talking about the night he last visited your place was worth mentioning.

Andrew notices the confused look on your face, making him concerned. “Is something on your mind?”

“There is, actually,” You respond immediately, deciding not to hold back. Andrew's expression became serious.

“What's on your mind?” Andrew asks.

Before you could respond to Andrew, you notice your friends watching over us with grins plastered on their faces. They mouth “Go” and “We'll be fine” gesturing to go for it.

“Would you like to talk about it somewhere private?” As Andrew was about to face your friends' direction, they immediately turn away and hid themselves with muffled laughs.

“Sure,” We both got up from our seats and headed our way towards the bar's exit.

As you and Andrew got out of the place, both of you walked further away from the bar to be somewhere quiet.

Andrew stands across from you as he waits patiently for you to speak.

You let out a sigh. “I'm sorry if this is a bad time but...”

“No, this isn't a bad time at all.” Andrew shakes his head as he steps closer. “Take your time.”

“I never got to reach out to you since I left.”

“I already told you I will always support you whatever decision you choose.”

“It's not that, Andrew...” Your voice starts to tremble as your emotions start to hit you like a truck. “I never got to tell you because I didn't want to be a burden to your job as a professor. I understand what that means to you, and...” Before you could continue your sentence, tears form from your eyes trickling down to your cheeks.

“You are never a burden to me,” Andrew shushes as he pulls you into his arms, causing you to cry even more. “I don't regret the things we have done in the past, and I certainly don't regret choosing to love you.” He pulls away, cupping your face to wipe your tears from your cheeks

“I'm sorry,” You let out a chuckle as your lips quiver. You have always reenacted in your head what it would be like meeting Andrew when you get the chance, crying in front of him was definitely not what you had in mind.

Andrew pulls you back into his arms while your emotions kept overflowing. Both of you stay that way, feeling a sense of comfort enveloped by his warmth despite the cold breeze. The memories you used to share with him are coming back to you.

“Feeling better?” Andrew asks.

“Mhm,” You pull away from him as you start to collect yourself. “I didn't mean to soak your coat with my tears.”

Andrew chuckles. “No need to feel ashamed,”

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, finding the words you've been wanting to say. “I thought that once that I graduate from university, I would move on and find someone else that gave me the same feeling that I had with you. I waited for weeks, months, hoping that it would happen one day but…” you look into his eyes, almost getting lost in them. “…At the end of the day, everything always comes back to you.”

“Darling…”

“I still want you, Andrew.” You declare, shaking your head as you crack a smile. “After all these years, it's still you that I long for.”

Andrew stands still speechless, his gaze still focused on yours. The way he's looking at you makes you reminisce of that day—that day when he first kissed you, when he shared those moments with you back in his office, when he gave himself in to hold your hand, everything—it all comes back to you that you immediately look away as you start to feel overwhelmed.

“I apologize for being too forward,” You look down on your shoes. “I thought it would be a better time to give you, both of us, closure than saying nothing at all.”

Andrew intertwines his hand to yours, making your heartbeat rise rapidly.

“Darling,” he gently squeezes your hand as your calm demeanor tarnishes in an instant. “Look at me…”

As a sob escapes from your lips, you follow his request. Andrew comes closer to the point you can feel his breath on yours, lifting your chin with his thumb.

And before you knew it, Andrew leans in as he presses his lips to yours. The spark you thought once lost ignites like a burning flame. You kiss back, sharing your warmth with his. It almost feels as if nothing has changed at all. The ache you felt all those years of longing seem to have washed away by the minute.

As both of you pull away, Andrew looks at you once more. His gaze radiating love and comfort. You suddenly don't even remember how to speak, making Andrew grin as he fixes your hair.

“I never stopped loving you, and frankly, I never will.” Andrew kisses your hand that's still intertwined with his. "I meant it when I said I've never felt like this with anyone until I met you." You start to tear up again as his words felt like a tug to your heartstrings.

“Do you think…do you think we can still figure things out? Together?” You've become completely vulnerable towards him. Normally the thought of yourself begging (or asking for that matter) for someone cringes you, yet here you are doing it anywag. You already prepared yourself for the worst, so you held your breath.

Andrew notices your hesitation and holds both of your hands. “We will, together.” I wrap my arms around him, feeling like my heart was about to come out of my chest.

“I missed you…so much.” You confess, making Andrew chuckle at the sight of you.

“I'm here now,” he kisses your forehead and smiles. “And I'm not going anywhere.” Both of you slightly sway as your arms were wrapped around each other's bodies.

A thought comes to your head, giving you a chuckle. “I wonder how crazy it would be what our relationship would be like if we were in the alternate universe,”

Andrew laughs at the idea you gave. “If there ever was an alternate universe, I suppose whatever path we take, it is inevitable for both of us to be together.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm, I do.”

×××

[nanthegirl]

⭐︎Hi Hello⭐︎

I love reading everyone’s intro posts because they’re so cute and I’m nosy. So here’s mine🧍🏾‍♀️. Although I’m a bit concerned about redundancy because of my bio, but whatever.

• Nanu

• Medical Technology Student

• Germany

• Languages- English, mother tongue and German, B2 C1, who knows?

• Interests & Hobbies- Beginner violinist, trying to get into art, The Sims, crochet, reading, writing only for my Sims though and Disco Elysium.

I was so stressed about writing one of these and it ended up being very anticlimactic. Which is good.

More Semester specific info under the cut🧍🏾‍♀️. (03/04/2024)

I’m in my 6th Semester which, all things being equal, should’ve been my last. But I haven’t particularly been the best student due to a…. bunch of stuff. So I may end up taking an extra semester or two. I’m done most of my classes though so I just have exams to write. A lot. Im also doing the Lab for Physics 2 now cause I wasn’t able to do it in my 2nd Semester because my apartment didn’t have electricity or WiFi lmao.

Main Goals for The Semester

Get 1’s on every exam. Ridiculously ambitious considering the highest grade I’ve ever gotten is a 1,3 and that was just once but if I don’t see the point in not aiming for a perfect grade. Like, I might as well.

Up my gpa as much as I can, hence the 1’s. I want to make sure I get into a good masters program and I’m sort of glad I delayed a bunch of my exams cause I would’ve probably gotten shit grades if I wrote them then so. Silver lining.

Study consistently and try to be more interested in the material. I always feel like a fraud when I pass any exam cause I feel like I didn’t really learn anything and I won’t be able to get a job. My degree has some interesting parts and I want to learn to enjoy the entirety of it. Basically up my curiosity for knowledge.

Work on my German. I’ve not set down a solid plan for this yet but I definitely need improvement. I avoided all the electives that required presentations last semester and I heavily regret it now. The only way to dissolve the anxiety over speaking German is to give myself nothing to worry about in the first place. I’m also looking forward to being more comfortable with it so I can focus on learning my native language and many others.

Practice the violin consistently. I’m super shy about practicing in my apartment cause I assume everybody thinks it sounds terrible and it’s too loud but my goal is overcome that fear and make significant progress.

Practice drawing consistently. I really do want to improve my art and I’m like a beginner beginner beginner. It can feel super discouraging sometimes but also fun and I really hope I can stick with it.

Clean my room every Saturday.

I pqlanned to write a whole lot more here but I’m not in the mood anymore so the whole cut thing feels like a waste. But it’s been done. So. Thank you for bothering to read this and I hope you get to achieve all your goals🤍.

[qqueenofhades]

Okay. So. I have a question about academia and completely understand if you’d rather set this one aside. It’s a bit of a long-winded one on my part.

I started a masters program abroad last fall but had to leave after the first term because of serious illness (compounded by homesickness and burnout of course of course). I’m so happy that I made that decision, despite it grating against everything I have been telling myself for years about what it takes to live a fulfilling life. In truth, my illness revealed that I’d thrown myself deeper into academia for the wrong reasons. I’m grateful to have that insight now.

However, I’ve also gained a lot of new insight now that I’ve been working a normal office job for several months now. It’s a good job, maybe a little too disorganized on the leadership side, but the pay is good and my supervisor is great.

But I’m also really missing my research and classroom discussions and academic library access. If I give grad school another try, I wont be filling out any apps until next winter. I definitely can recognize I need more time (plus I have an idea for a research paper that I’d love to use as a writing sample — my research interests shifted A LOT in the one semester I spent in school).

Of course, that’s also nerve-wracking, considering how poorly I handled grad school the first time around. In addition to that, there’s the frustration with how academia is treated both internally and externally, as well as the fact that the job market for professors is just.. not great.

All of this is to say, what would you tell a grad-school-dropout who’s thinking about making a comeback? Is it worth the money, the time, the job insecurity once the PhD is hanging on the wall?

Thanks so much for taking the time (and congrats on the new bed!!) <3

Welp. Hmm. As ever, I both deeply sympathize with your desire to return to academia and also want to stand on your shoulder as a little Kronk shoulder angel (and/or devil) going BUT ARE YOU SURE???

(Yes, as the most pathologically Eternal Academite possibly to ever, I have zero ability to tell anyone else not to do it, but just picture me as a Greek chorus of worms standing on the passage as your ship sails in, spookily singing BEEEEEEEEWARE.)

As you note, you have a reasonably fulfilling setup now, you're making decent-ish money (surely more than you would make as an academic, BUT LET US NOT TALK ABOUT THAT) and you crashed and burned the last time you tried grad school. Now, that is not a reason NOT to do it again, since as you point out, things have changed, you're in a better place, you know what you want out of the experience, you changed research interests, etc. All of that means that yes, it is possible that you can rejigger yourself and try again, but I would definitely advise taking it very carefully.

First of all, don't apply for a masters-to-PhD program directly, as that will put more pressure on you and lead to the feeling that you HAVE to finish it if you've applied for the terminal degree. Apply for a master's program in your new field, check out flexible or part-time options for attendance, see what the financial aid is like (I have by far the most student debt from my master's degree, not my BA or PhD, which is... not great) and everything else to see how you can best ease yourself back in and make sure that you haven't committed too much money, time, and irreversible changes if it all goes FUBAR again. Trust me, I KNOW that deep deep yearning for research, academic credentials, and library database logins; witness me singing to the heavens when I got this job and LO, ALL MY BELOVED ELECTRONIC JOURNALS RETURNED TO ME, I HAVE WANDERED IN THE DESERT. I'm researching a new book chapter now, 18 months-ish later, and I still get drunk with power over being able to JUST OPEN FULL TEXT PDFS and USE A UNIVERSITY LIBRARY TO ORDER OBSCURE ACADEMIC BOOKS. It really does just tickle some deep KNOWLIDGE!!! button in your brain, and I get it. I really very much do. So yes, if you still feel that itch despite all the Horrors of last time, it might be worth following up.

I would not recommend uprooting your entire life again to go somewhere else, unless you get a really gangbusters financial-aid offer and/or there's some compelling reason that makes it worthwhile. There may be a school nearer you that offers what you want and which may allow you to stay in your current place and work at your current job, even part-time. Or there might be an online option; plenty of reputable name-brand schools are expanding into online programs, so it's not just scammy diploma mills and the University of Phoenix in that arena. If you want to have the traditional campus in-person experience and don't feel as if a virtual degree is bang for your buck, that is something else to consider, but yes: do take it carefully, apply for only the master's first (as I have said before, if you can be happy doing anything other than a PhD especially in the humanities, please do that), see what your part-time options are, don't rush, reach out to faculty at some potential schools, reach out to the financial aid department, generally do your homework and make sure it feels right. I'm absolutely not going to say don't do it, since as noted that would make me a blazing hypocrite. Just take the hard-earned lessons of last time and put them to careful and thoughtful use, and I'm sure you'll discover what's best for you.

Good luck!

[babygalitzine]

15 questions for 15 friends

Thanks for the tags @taste-thewaste

Are you named after anyone?

No.

When was the last time you cried?

I’m not a very sentimental person in this type, I rarely cry, so it depends on what kind of crying you mean. If you are crying due to the crisis for example, it was once during the pandemic, if you are crying because of someone else, well, I do not know how long it was this, but I think more than 5/6 years, actually, I think even longer than that, when it happened was to literally close a cycle, as if it were the end point. Now, if for the sake of emotional relief vs. spiritual, it was September last year, for this reason I cry more often (but also only in specific situation), because of the frequency of energy and such.

Do you have kids?

No. I don’t even take care of myself right, imagine taking care of another being completely dependent on me.

What sports do you play/have you played?

I’ve done ballet, swimming and capoeira when I was little, this at the time of elementary school, ballet and capoeira I did in school, but were not things simultaneously. And if you consider walking as a sport, well I like to walk around a lot.

Do you use sarcasm?

Not so much, I think I’ve given up trying, people don’t understand when I’m sarcastic, they almost don’t understand when I play innocently, imagine if I use sarcasm.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

When I stop to notice are the eyes after the hair.

What’s your eye color?

Lightbrown.

Scary movies or happy endings comedies?

Certainly comedy. But, I had my time to enjoy a lot of horror movies, it was more out of curiosity than anything else, but I did.

Any talents?

I’m still trying to decipher it.

Where were you born?

I’m from Rio de Janeiro, Brasil. 💚💛

What are your hobbies?

Well, lately he’s been reading firstprince fanfic.

Do you have any pets?

Yeah, I got Thor, dog.

How tall are you?

5'84'. ʙʀ: 1,78.

Favorite subject in school?

I think I liked geography and history, at least most of the.

Dream job?

I think my dream job doesn’t exist, at least not the way I would like to, haha. Let me try to explain, I really like archaeology (the part of early civilizations, their cultures and rituals) and I also like paleontology (I have already interned in the area), however I am currently in botany, specifically in the master’s degree working with taxonomy of the Rubiaceae family, my dream job would be something like working with field research on archaeological sites using paleobotany, for example the relation of plants in rituals, how to use medicinal plants, how to opt for knowledge about them, food issues and everything, almost an Etnobotany, but much more focused on early civilizations. I know this is possible, but at least here in Brazil, it is a very complicated area to work, because there is no support for research of this type, usually those who go to this field can not work in the area, so…

It took me a while, but I answered, haha.

Tagging with no pressure, if you have already been marked, please ignore…: @priincebutt @mylucayathoughts @violeblanche @taylorz-nicholasg @zakhargal @almightaylor @luvtarlos @victoriantimetraveler @lluviaespacial @unassumingoddess . +anyone who wants to 💜.

[explanationpoint]

i miss the joy of asks and thought maybe you did too- so what’s your current favorite piece of media? what’s a hobby that you could talk about for hours? how are you doing personally?

I wish I could give a good answer on my current favorite piece of media. Maybe adventure time? Possibly Trick ‘r Treat (2007)? I showed it to some friends and they loved it, which was awesome. Embarrassingly, I keep finding myself listening to the new Drake album. That man is a train wreck and it is hard to look away. the music is pretty here and there frankly but I laughed a lot.

I have a few hobbies, and I could talk about all of them. But I write rap songs and whenever people like to listen, I’ll tell them stories about rappers and artists from the past. Did you know MC Hammer had shooters? Like you really really did not wanna diss MC Hammer in the 90s. A lot of rappers didn’t like him because they thought he was too poppy (and he is) but they sure didn’t wanna say his name. and hip hop and further, music is just full of outrageous stories or interesting artistic things to talk about and I could do it forever. But I’m also in a media-related class again, learning more about photos and filmmaking and I could easily talk about all that for just as long. Sometimes I feel like I talk too much, I’m trying to listen more.

And wowww I have been up and down. I moved home. I didn’t really want to move home. I broke up. I’m not sure I would have broken up if I didn’t have to move home. But I think the breaking up was for the best, even though it’s been difficult with being *that kind* of alone after four years of being in love (like the “I am seriously trying to spend the rest of my life with this person” kind of love). it’s a pretty big adjustment. i’ve had a series of weird, intense, totally unrequited crushes. my feelings are super intense. it might have something to do with my body going through a second puberty lol. despite all that i intend on taking things slowly if i get involved with anyone. i know that i can’t rely on a relationship to save me or make my life make sense. i have to do better for myself. and i have sort of, and some things are really better and less stressful. my parents aren’t exactly okay with me being trans (love you mom!) but they aren’t kicking me out or flushing my meds. Which is great! But it gets pretty hard sometimes.

I’m loving school. It’s an easy avenue to make new friends (i’ve got a few now, if you can believe it), and this is the first time I’ve been studying something artsy and I’m finding it very satisfying. I feel like I’m learning a lot, mostly about how to manifest my ideas, and I guess it’s making me more confident that I’m capable of making things that are like, good. it’s sort of always been a struggle to believe I deserved good things or that I could do good things. a lot of people in my adult life have tried to tell me that I was capable and could make my way in the world with my creativity/art stuff. and i guess burning out as hard as i have (i am unemployed and have a masters degree. it isn’t in art stuff. or stuff that easily makes money. i’m kind of a dummy) but it’s sort of given me a second chance. the school I’m at right now is very cheap compared to what i did before and i feel like i’m getting a lot more out of it. i know way more about photography and photoshop than I did a month or two ago and it’s nice to have another way to express and let the ideas flow.

i hope i don’t sound too conceited about my stuff, because well. i’m actually super critical about all of it. and myself. and every mistake i’ve made in my life and how i got here etc etc etc. But there’s no point in just rolling around in my self-loathing. I have to keep moving, finally be a person. Nobody is coming to make it easier. I have to do better. And I can’t pretend to be something I’m not, in more ways than one. none of its easy but all of it’s living, and it’s what I need to do. because trust me, i’ve considered the other options. if that’s not too dark. at least i have some excuses for the arrested development. and thank you for asking. i also miss the joy of asks! it’s lovely to think that someone is out there looking at my little rants and thinking about me and my life. i’m sorry if my prose is a little robotic. sometimes my words just flow off the top and sometimes i gotta break them out of the firmament. but really, thank you

[minggukieology]

Hi ! I hope you didn’t already answered a similar ask that I missed but I just wanted to know, if you’re okay to share, are you Korean or from Korean descent or did you learn Korean as a foreigner? I’m asking because I’ve been self-studying Korean for the past 6 months, I’m at the very beginning of my journey haha it’s not easy but I’m loving it it has become a hobby now. I’m always looking for tips and ressources from people who are at an advanced level so if you have advices for a beginner like me…. ☺️ I’m so happy you’re willing to share with us your knowledge about the langage and the culture and stuff regarding Jikook, they’re both my biases and I love to learn more about the way these two talk to each other and the nuance in the language it’s super interesting! Have a good day !

Hi, thanks for your lovely message! ♡

It's great you decided to start learning Korean, I'm sure the members would be grateful (I always think of how thankful Jungkook was in his IG stories towards those who messaged him about it)

Just for clarification and complete transparency, I am keeping my identity out of my jkk accounts because of the amount of trolls and dts I already had to face and I saw other people receive. I talked about this multiple times on twitter but I understand I have to make it clear on here as well as I never claimed or wanted to pretend I am someone I am not. I am not Korean, I am not a native speaker. I've lived in SK, I've been studying Korean for a few years now and I've finished a Master's degree in Sociology with a focus on the spread of Korean culture. Throughout my studies (and even before) I focused largely on Korean society, economics and politics and I am currently in the process of considering a PhD degree in connection with Korean public diplomacy and Korean cultural export. (Plus my passion is learning languages, I'm currently learning my 4th and would like to dust off my French as well at some point 😄)

That being said, I am not sure what would be the best advice because I believe everyone learns differently, for me talking to natives, going to classes, consuming Korean content and consantly keeping engaged with it is what helps me. Some apps for vocabulary, books for self learners are ok too, but for me personally the active use of the language is the most important part. And in the meantime also learning the cultural context and history of the country along with it to be able to learn how to think in the language and recognize the different social situations.

Most importantly though have fun with it! Try to learn little phrases that you heard from the boys while watching their content, try to remember a few new words from their lyrics. Anything that will make you inspired to keep going ✊️

I am cheering you on on your learning journey! 화이팅!!

[sometimesivisit]

something I wrote a while ago.

Melancolía.

Everyone says that “the eyes are the window to the soul”. But when muddy green eyes meet a cold, fog-covered January morning in a run down high school crushed into the middle of nowhere, there’s nothing but smoke and mirrors to behold.

People call me a coin. Two faced and flat. They ask me, “Victor, have you no empathy?” “Forman, have you no hope?” There is neither to be had when the clock ticking within the eternal jewel is set, like lemons inside a microwave: ready to explode. As Shakespeare wrote, “life is but a walking shadow”. There’s nothing at the very pit of it all, so what else is there to do but lie, cheat, and scheme? I have no friends for a reason; they say I play with them like a master would do to a puppet, that I should value them, and myself, more. That the reason I do this is because I don’t see the good in the world. “A poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more”. I’ve rented the stage, mussed my hair and stained my teeth red with agony, and now I must exeunt.

I will get it back.

I will piece the jewel back together.

It’s impossible, I know. To leap over the hour of my death is as imaginative as finding a wishing well.

And I think I’ve found it.

The power. With my unsteady hands I can reach out and grab it. I can escape. I can prove them all wrong while simultaneously beating God.

And I won’t have to feel this anymore.

There is no one more annoying than someone dear to you. It may as well be scientifically proven. They know all your weak spots; your vulnerabilities and pressure points. They know exactly which limb to squeeze to have you writhing. They know exactly which hair to pull to give you a week-long migraine. It’s infuriating. But at the end of the day, you care so much for them that there is nothing you can do but endure.

I never thought I’d have that problem.

“You’re so stupid.”

“I’m working. Be quiet.”

“No, you’re having a kip. If you were working, you’d have your blueprints and textbook. I see not one of them. You’re just laying there enjoying yourself. Don’t lie.”

Her agitating, grating voice does nothing to help the headache forming. Sometimes I wish there was a way to strike fear in the thick, but it’s futile. All I can do is glare so maliciously at her that the room drops a few degrees. “I understand you have trouble with it, but look around. Could you spare me two- no, one measly braincell to comprehend that there is no way to do anything in here? In this white, fluorescent-lit, disgusting room? We’ve been here long enough that you should be able to comprehend. If you’d learn to get it through your neverending skull, you’d realize that there is nothing to do but think.

“And I despise that you’d even consider mentioning this!” I find myself tugging on the tubes they had dug into my arms. The nasal cannula they’d wrapped around my head is threatening to detach. “You- you ignorant- I hate you! You’re at peace! You’re resting! You’ve left me to suffer and figure this out on my own! All you want is to-” an angry bout of wheezing interrupts me. When I can manage a few breaths, I hiss, “Get out!”

“You stand there and accuse me, but why do you lay here and I do not?”

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t. Not today. Not right now when I’m so close. I can make-” I lay back in the bed, shutting my eyes and fixing the cannula. “I can make it better. I know it’s possible.”

“You’re lying to yourself.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Fine.”

My body is itching. Every nerve is firing, trying to bring me back to my death by force. Neurons are firing behind my eyes and I can feel every follicle on my body. My skin is crawling, the nails of reality leaving burning marks on my arms as I slip further and further from her grip. I’m there. I’m almost there. I can taste my future, the future I believed had been buried alongside my empty grave a long time ago. Now, I’m realizing the metallic feel of the shovel is just my own rusting determination. I’m excavating my damn backbone and fulfilling my promise. I won’t let anything stop me.

Yes.

Finally.

The air, once stale and burning of bleach, is fresh and cool on my face. There’s the light scent of salt water coming from somewhere in the distance, but it’s almost completely masked by the smell of the trees and flowers around me. I’m not sure where I’ve landed, but I’m sure it’s in the middle of nowhere. Good, then. The less people that notice me, the better. Keeping contact to the minimal is best when in a situation such as mine.

My spine aches as I sit up, jostling the greenery beneath me. The dirt is moist; not so that the water seeps through my gown, but as if there was a light rainfall the night before. Looking up, the sun is directly overhead. I can’t hear any movement. Not even the footsteps of animals. In fact, I’m surprised I haven’t seen a squirrel, or at the very least, an ant. I feel rather stupid, sitting here staring like a newborn calf. There’s a strange fear in my mind, that if I move I may never find this peace again. My mind has become so still, so overwhelmed with accomplishment that I can’t seem to form a coherent thought beyond simple emotions and physical sensations. I’ve been thinking non stop since I’d been put into intensive care, figuring out how to make the impossible possible. Now, that has become a reality. And I never believed I’d get this far.

Now what?

I know I’ve made it to a place where I can cure my dying body. It’s guaranteed. What is not guaranteed is how far I have to go. How deep I must search to find it. Well, there is nothing I can do by simply sitting here.

I stand, my legs still shaky from lack of use, and I start. I walk for miles, or at least until the sun has become shadowed by the forest. The eerie silence of the woods has me looking over my shoulder every five paces. The view is gorgeous, however; oak trees rise, mimicking the skyscrapers that have been my only scenery for months, a crystal clear lake slides lazily onto moist dirt and then retreats, and the air is far cleaner than any nasal cannula can replicate.

“Hello.”

If I didn’t soil myself by coming here, I definitely did now. I don’t want to turn around. I know that voice like I know my own thoughts, my own skin, my own heart. I hear it day and night, in my sleep and while I’m awake. But of course it’s never real. It’s- she’s never been real. Maybe at one time or another, back when I could taste and smell and hear and feel and see. Back before I was trapped within four walls and one ceiling and six fluorescent lights and God I hate those lights. But I know them. I know the way they buzz, and when they need to be changed to keep buzzing. I know their glare behind my eyelids when I’m too drugged to follow my sleep schedule. I know them, and they are familiar. There is always comfort in the familiar, no matter how hard it is to say it.

And I am very familiar with her. Her voice, her eyes, her stupid condescending grin. Her ridiculous accent that I used to mimic because she hated it, but now she finds it endearing and I despise her adaptability. The uselessness of her words but I’ve never told her that I wish she was born mute, at least not with meaning. The electric touch of her palm on my sweaty forehead when all I could do was lay there and stare at the ceiling fan as it revolved in endless circles, endless pathetic bursts of endless heat pouring onto my blistering body.

I’ve always been sick.

Sick sick sick sick sick.

“Victor.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Please,” I still cannot turn around. “Please don’t. You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not supposed to be a part of it. Of all of it. I’m doing this so I can leave you behind, do you see? Leave you and- and your guilt and your anger and fear and every bull feeling you’ve left behind and I’m trying to give it back! Return it to you so I can move on! You think I’m as content as I’ll ever be, laying there in that bed rotting. You knew it was impossible and you yelled at me every damn day, saying ‘it’s not worth it, Victor, and you know it.’ Well, look! Look what I’ve done! I’ve made it, and you’re trying to ruin it, and I’ll die by my own hand before letting you take me, you hear? Tell me you’re listening!”

“It’s over.”

I’ve been yelling at a tree. It’s so much easier than facing her.

“You’re nothing more than extra skin. A reminder. Ugly. Useless. A burden.”

“It’s over.”

“Stop that.”

“We both know it.”

I whip around so hard the world shifts on its axis. “BUT IT DOESN’T HAVE TO BE! I can fix it all! Look how far I’ve come! LOOK! Open your goddamn eyes and SEE! Look at this tree! Look at the ground and the- the water and the grass and me! Look at me!

“Please look at me.”

I’ve always thought myself good at reading expressions, but no matter what I do, I can’t pull a single bearing from her face. There is not one wrinkle, not one twitch of a muscle to give what she feels away. It’s horrible. She’s staring almost through me, but at the same time she is taking me apart so diligently that I want to run to that crystal clear lake and let it absorb my decaying corpse within the ice cold wave of its embrace. But my feet have grown roots and become one with the dirt beneath them. I can’t move, I can’t breathe, and I can’t look away from her.

“Do you remember how many years it’s been? Since it happened?” her lips move, there is a voice, but I can’t pick up any sort of tone. It’s terrifying.

I swallow. My throat feels raw. “Three, as of tomorrow.”

She hummed and turned to the silent lake. I am finally able to pick up a trace of something: melancholy, as if she were remembering. “You’ve been sick since then. Everyone thinks you picked something up from the water.

“It’s not the water, is it? It was never the water.”

My chest has been growing tighter since she began talking.

“It was never the water.”

“So what was it?” she asks, turning back to me. “Or what is it? You’re still sick. Sick sick sick sick sick,” the air settles, falling stiff as she walks towards me. If there were birds in the trees, critters scuttering across our feet, they would not have moved. Her steps were so smooth, so non-existent, that she floated instead of walked. “Mum is overcome with sadness. She’s lost two for the price of one. And you’re not gone yet, but then… you are.

“And you can’t move on with that hole in your chest,” she pokes my sternum. “So now you’re here.

“Do you even know what ‘here’ is?

There’s no point in looking around, I’ve taken in all there is to see. But, of course, that’s not what she means. It was never this place that held the answer. It was what this place inhabited. Not the trees, not the lake, not the plants. It was this moment, this thing standing in front of me. The thing I used to know. I know her, I know this place, I know it all.

“And that’s why we’re still standing here, time at a standstill. You’ve created this figment to help you deal with the hatred you’re harboring in that caged beating muscle in your chest. You’re driven mad every day, every waking moment that you’re not up to your head in medication. You let yourself writhe in pain- and I say ‘let’ because this is your choice. It’s on your own free will, on your own conscience, that you’re here, fighting the inevitable. You’re punishing the disgust of yourself, all the tears and the guilt and the exhaustion. You’ve given voice to them through me, but it’s such a corrupted version that you can’t tell what’s reality. You think this is where it ends. This is where it begins, Victor. This is where we begin.

The sheer stupidity of it all comes crashing down on my shoulders. I want to cry, scream, punch her, rip my arms to shreds, run deeper into this illusion, and leave her behind, all at the same time.

“Forgiveness is on the horizon.”

“You’re going to forgive me?��

“No, you sod. You know exactly what I mean.”

This room is… not what I’m used to. It’s filled with auburns and deep summer colors, trinkets and posters and a strange chandelier that reflects so confusingly that I try to take it apart with my eyes when I grow bored. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, coating the office in a golden glow. A red scaled cockatiel squawks every now and then from its perch by the desk; we watch each other diligently. Beside me, on the sofa, lies a Norwegian Forest Cat. It sleeps soundly, the tips of its fur brushing my hand. I have the urge to run my fingers through the orange, brown, and white coat, but I’ll refrain for now.

All these attributes connect right down to their master, Eve. I’ve already forgotten her last name, as she refuses to allow me to call her as such. Her olive green eyes and tan skin glow in the light of the sunset. Her dark brown hair curls in soft ringlets, placed messily into a claw clip at the back of her skull. Her circle-rimmed glasses sit naturally at the base of her button nose. Little to no makeup hides her freckles and the wrinkles forming at her smile lines and the corners of her eyes. She sits with an open expression, an ankle crossed to her opposite knee. Her leather notebook rests upon her thigh, her eyes fixed on me.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to make good on your promise, Victor,” her voice is light and hopeful. I was not exactly responsive when we made this appointment.

“I’m not so sure I’m glad, myself,” I pull my knee to my chest.

She hums and glances at my twitching fingers, itching to touch the resting feline next to me. “Her name is Melon. You can pet her, if you’d like, I can see she’s taken a liking to you. Do you have any pets at home?”

My eyes grow dim at the question. “I practically live in the hospital. I don’t have time to take care of an animal. That would be cruel.”

“I see,” she diverts the conversation. “Let’s get to the point, then. Why are you here?”

“Has my mother not told you?”

“She has,” Eve nods slowly. Her gaze meets mine again. “But I’d like to hear your reason.”

I look down at the cat. My hand moves, ever so slightly, to brush its fur. Melon makes a small noise, acknowledging my presence, before falling back to sleep. I marvel at the softness of her coat.

“I made a friend,” I start. “A longtime ago. She was an exchange student from Liverpool. My family took her in. The time we spent together was not a lot, but it was meaningful. I feel as if she knew me better than my own family, perhaps even myself. Her trust was everlasting, and back then I was so sure not to break it. Being myself, though, of course I hurt her. But she stayed. She wanted to stay. And out of the goodness of her heart, she continued to trust me. We were practically inseparable.

“I think that was the best I’ve ever been. Mentally, physically. I was happy. Not sick, not confined to a hospital bed and staring at fluorescent lights and listening to the beeping of a monitor. Instead, I lay in a bed of grass and stared at the shapes of the clouds and listened to the chirping of birds and whatever she had done that day. She was ridiculous. I hated her, she hated me. The most fun I’ve ever had. I never wanted anything from her; friendship nor anything romantic. Neither did she, on the romantic side of things, but we were as close as pseudo-siblings could be. I never expected the way we would end.

“‘What goes up must come down’, and vice-versa. I’ve always hated that phrase. But I suppose we all hate the truth.”

“And that is?”

“That I could never be happy,” it’s ridiculous how my voice cracks. “I got my driver’s license and crashed us into a river. That’s what happened. I landed myself in a coma and killed her. She told me that her greatest fear was being suffocated, or drowning. Of course she had to experience it. Of course it had to be me that made her go through that. They dug us up with water to the tips of our lungs. No one knows how I managed to get out alive. It eats me every day. Every waking moment I sit there, staring at her ghost and knowing it’s not there. It’s my own twisted mind making me relive the worst moments of my life through her image. I’ve corrupted her over and over again, making her say hateful things just so I can get that satisfaction that ‘yes, she hates you. Good.’ And if that was taken away from me, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I see.”

Of course she does. Of course she doesn’t. Of course there is a hand on my shoulder, not asking me to look, but telling me she’s there.

And I know that one day, that won’t be there. The twisted comfort, the spite and the guilt and the hate that has gotten me through every day. That hole between my lungs will be covered with clay and fired so that I may breathe again. I want to look forward to it, but I’m scared. I’ve always been scared. That’s why I have no one but my parents and the illusion of her.

“I miss her.” I whisper, not meeting Eve’s eyes.

“I’m so happy you’ve said that,” she smiles. It’s genuine. “Now we can get started.”

I force myself to meet her gaze and I know she sees right through me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I get the feeling you’re a philosophical kind of person,” she writes something down in her leather notebook. “Our eyes give away so much information about ourselves. That’s why we feel so vulnerable when we make eye contact, especially with someone new, or that we’re talking about something sensitive to.”

“‘The eyes are the windows to the soul’.”

“Exactly.”

[madacademic]

Mad Academic: An Introduction

Hello, I’m Nicole (but you can call me Nic if you’d like), a queer, Mad, disabled, and chronically ill occasional part-time university student. And this, as you can probably tell, is my newsletter, Mad Academic. Though I’m not entirely sure where this Substack will end up, my current goal is to focus on assumptions in the areas of psychology and disability, as well as those assumptions’ impact on society as a whole. (Yes, that is purposefully vague. I don’t want to limit what I write here—at least not yet.) However, this project is just getting started, and I know there will be mistakes along the way. This will definitely be a learning experience for me, but stick around, and maybe you’ll learn something, too.

More About the Writer

I’ve never been the best at talking about myself, but here we go. Born pretty close to the East Coast in Northern Virginia, I grew up among the humidity and greenery, which heavily contrasts with the desert-like state I’m in now (New Mexico). I was also pretty close to Washington DC, a place I loved to visit.

I grew up unschooled for the most part. When I asked to try online school—and eventually in-person high school—my health problems, overwhelm, and lack of motivation got to me, making it so I never finished a semester, even if I just took one or two classes. I felt like a failure. Some might’ve called me lazy. Some might’ve called it the emergence of severe depression along with some other things. Some might’ve chosen a different lens and considered the ongoing trauma that began around that time as well as the fact that I never had much school experience. Maybe some would’ve gone even deeper and considered more societal implications. Me? I had no name or explanation for what was going on. I think I thought it was just part of me being weird.

Despite not doing well in anything school related, I took my first college course when I was seventeen. It was an introductory psychology course, and it actually went really well. However, I struggled with taking more than two or four classes for the most part. Back then, I would spend a lot of time on homework but almost always received grades of at least 100%. But, over the past few years, getting 100% on everything turned into either getting 100% on a project or not turning it in at all. The last time I took classes, it got to the point where I usually wouldn’t turn in assignments at all.

I started to identify what I’m going through as autistic burnout. As I’m close to starting my Master’s degree at this point, I really want to return at some point, but I’ve also heard of autistic burnout never really going away for some people. As much as I want to go back, my plan is to take things slow for now. I’m very lucky in that I can do that in the first place.

So what have I been doing during my break from school? I started doing some streaming and reading. (You can find my stream over here.) And from here on, I plan to do more reading and streaming, along with some writing, too, starting with this newsletter.

I consider myself disabled and have been diagnosed with multiple physical and mental disorders throughout my life. Though I used to care a lot about the DSM, ultimately memorizing the criteria for many disorders (it was a special interest, okay?), I’ve started to realize it’s limited and even harmful to people. (And now I often use my knowledge to bash it!) Today, I continue to learn about the effects of the psychiatric system on different individuals.

Why Bother Writing About This?

I’m writing about this because it feels important; impacts me; hopefully will inform others; and allows me to learn, evolve, and be corrected in this area of knowledge.

What to Expect

I’m not sure what exactly I’m going to post about other than my thought on issues that arise in psychology. Maybe there will also be some other societal topics—maybe some personal topics. But in the end, I’m hoping for it to keep the same theme while letting the newsletter evolve however it’s meant to evolve.

Overall, this is meant to be a place to post my finished (or almost finished) thoughts related to psychology, disability, and potentially all kinds of societal issues. I’m planning to do a lot more research in the future, which is why the future topics of this newsletter are partially to be determined. It all sounds like a mess. I know. I figured the fastest way to figure out what this newsletter should be about is to learn as I go. I guess we’ll see how that works out.

How often will I post? I’m hoping to start with one post on the first of each month. I’m also hoping to post at least one Instagram post a week, but that will be further figured out later. (For anyone who doesn’t know, my Instagram account is @madacademic.)

At the moment, this newsletter is entirely free, and it might stay that way. While there are paid options, those are just for giving further support to this project and do not affect which content you can access. If I ever change this, I’ll be sure to announce it.

[aquata-the-champ]

The Next Chapter | Self Para

Date: June 2023 Warnings: None

Aquata follows up on an opportunity she was pretty sure she had in the bag.

Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be better than the feeling of walking out of Swynlake Secondary for the last time. Finally getting out from under Prickly’s thumb. No more stupid staff development days. No more punishments in the form of after-school activities she did not want to run. The recommendation was sent, the dissertation was submitted, Aquata’s desk was cleaned out. When the head coach suggested Aquata consider returning full-time, Aquata wanted to laugh in her face. No way. She was getting out of here.

Especially because she was pretty sure she had a job lined up. Her former assistant coach from her Pride U days had just gotten promoted, and now there was a vacancy on the swim team staff. Surely the reason she’d mentioned that fact to Aquata was a sign she was going to recommend her, right? Why else would she have brought it up?

So Aquata walked into Becca’s office feeling pretty good about this. “Hey!” she said, looking around. “Wow. This is crazy. This is all yours now?”

“Right? I can’t really believe it either,” Becca admitted. “You want to have a seat? Want anything to drink? I’ve got a fancy new water cooler now.”

“Very fancy,” Aquata agreed, letting herself actually start to get excited about this thing she had imagined for a long time. Finally working on the Pride U coaching staff. And now she’d get to do it alongside Becca, whom she’d always looked up to. 

Becca was grinning, her eyes wide. Aquata couldn’t help but smile too. “So what’s new with you?” 

“Oh, y’know. Got my degree. Got out of Swynlake Secondary. Got the summer off before I start my dream job.”

“Dream job?” Becca’s eyebrows shot upward, like she had no idea what Aquata was talking about. Okay, weird...

“Well, yeah,” Aquata replied, like it was obvious. She gestured vaguely around. “You’re hiring the assistant coach, right?”

Becca’s expression faltered.

“Yes. Er, about that...”

“Wait, what?” Aquata laughed, but there was an edge to her tone. She wanted to believe that Becca . “We always said, once you became head coach, I’d be your assistant. We’re the dream team.”

“Aquata...”

“What?” Aquata demanded. She hated that look on Becca’s face, like she was trying to soothe a tantrum-throwing child. Like this was such a ridiculous thing to expect. Becca had been dropping hints all spring, hadn’t she? Ever since she’d found out she was taking over this job? Why was she suddenly being cagey?

“We’ve already filled the position. I’m sorry.”

“With who?!” Aquata blurted out.

Becca sighed. “Jess. Look, I’m sorry, Aquata. It’s out of my hands. And Jess has got a really good record, she was an alternate on the national team. It looks good for the program.”

“She was an alternate. And I’ve got a bloody master’s degree,” Aquata argued.

“Aquata, I had a feeling you were going to react this way,” Becca said wearily, rubbing at her temples. “It’s why I wasn’t going to lead with it. But there are a lot of opportunities in the athletic department. And I’m sorry, but if you want them, you’re going to have to do something about your attitude...”

“My attitude?!” Aquata snapped. “Is that what this is really about? My personality?”

As soon as she said it, she realized... well, it actually probably was. At least partially. And could she really blame Becca for that? Her face burned with shame.

“I... sorry. Forget it,” Aquata grumbled, standing up. “It’s a really nice office.”

“Aquata—”

“Congratulations. And tell Becca I said so, too.”

Once she left the office, it occurred to Aquata that, if she had just put her hurt feelings and indignation aside for a moment, she probably could have gotten some solid career advice from Becca. Considering her only option at this point seemed to be begging Herc to let her work at the gym full-time. But she was too embarrassed to turn around and go back into Becca’s office. And she had a feeling Becca was done with her anyway.

She sighed and went home. She had a shift to get ready for later, anyway.

[sylvielauffeydottir]

Hello, it is I, your friendly neighborhood historian. I am ready to lose followers for this post, but I have two masters degrees in history and one of my focuses has been middle eastern area studies. Furthermore, I’ve been tired of watching the world be reduced to pithy little infographics, and I believe there is no point to my education if I don’t put it to good use. Finally, I am ethnically Asheknazi Jewish. This does not color my opinion in this post — I am in support of either a one or two state solution for Israel and Palestine, depending on the factors determined by the Palestinian Authority, and the Israeli Government does not speak for me. I hate Netanyahu. A lot. With that said, my family was slaughtered at Auschwitz-Birkenau. I have stood in front of that memorial wall at the Holocaust memorial in DC for my great uncle Simon and my great uncle Louis and cried as I lit a candle. Louis was a rabbi, and he preached mitzvot and tolerance. He died anyway. 

There’s a great many things I want to say about what is happening in the Middle East right now, but let’s start with some facts. 

In early May, there were talks of a coalition government that might have put together (among other parties, the Knesset is absolutely gigantic and usually has about 11-13 political parties at once) the Yesh Atid, a center-left party, and the United Arab List, a Palestinian party. For the first time, Palestinians would have been members of the Israeli government in their own right. And what happened, all of the sudden? A war broke out. A war that, amazingly, seemed to shield Benjamin Netanyahu from criminal prosecution, despite the fact that he has been under investigation for corruption for some time now and the only thing that is stopping a real investigation is the fact that he is Prime Minister.

Funny how that happened. 

There’s a second thing people ought to know, and it is about Hamas. I’ve found it really disturbing to see people defending Hamas on a world stage because, whether or not people want to believe it, Hamas is a terrorist organization. I’m sorry, but it is. Those are the facts. I’m not being a right wing extremist or even a Republican or whatever else or want to lob at me here. I’m a liberal historian with some facts. They are a terrorist organization, and they don’t care if their people die. 

Here’s what you need to know: 

There are two governments for the occupied Palestinian territories in the West Bank and Gaza. In April 2021, Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas postponed planned elections. He said it was because of a dispute amid Israeli-annexed East Jerusalum. He is 85 years old, and his Fatah Party is losing power to Hamas. Everyone knows that. Palestinians know that. 

Here’s the thing about Hamas: they might be terrorists, but aren’t idiots. They understand that they have a frustrated population filled with people who have been brutalized by their neighbors. And they also understand that Israel has something called the iron dome defense system, which means that if you throw a rocket at it, it probably won’t kill anyone (though there have been people in Israel who died, including Holocaust survivors). Israel will, however, retaliate, and when they do, they will kill Palestinian civilians. On a world stage, this looks horrible. The death toll, because Palestinians don’t have the same defense system, is always skewed. Should the Israeli government do that? No. It’s morally repugnant. It’s wrong. It’s unfair. It’s hurting people without the capability to defend themselves. But is Hamas counting on them to for the propaganda? Yeah. Absolutely. They’re literally willing to kill their other people for it.

You know why this works for Hamas? They know that Israel will respond anyway, despite the moral concerns. And if you’re curious why, you can read some books on the matter (Six Days of War by Michael Oren; The Yom Kippur War by Abraham Rabinovich; Rise and Kill First by Ronen Bergmen; Antisemitism by Deborah Lipstadt; and Israel: A Concise History of a Nation Reborn by Daniel Gordis). The TL;DR, if you aren’t interested in homework, is that Israel believes they have no choice but to defend themselves against what they consider ‘hostile powers.’ And it’s almost entirely to do with the Holocaust. It’s a little David v Goliath. It is, dare I say, complicated.

I’m barely scratching the surface here. 

(We won’t get into this in this post, though if you want to DM me for details, it might be worth knowing that Iran funds Hamas and basically supplies them with all of their weapons, and part of the reason the United States has been so reluctant to engage with this conflict is that Iran is currently in Vienna trying to restore its nuclear deal with western powers. The USA cannot afford to piss off Iran right now, and therefore cannot afford to aggravative Hamas and also needs to rely on Israel to destroy Irani nuclear facilities if the deal goes south. So, you know, there is that).

There are some people who will tell you that criticism of the Israel government is antisemitic. They are almost entirely members of the right wing, evangelical community, and they don’t speak for the Jewish community. The majority of Jewish people and Jewish Americans in particular are criticizing the Israeli government right now. The majority of Jewish people in the diaspora and in Israel support Palestinian rights and are speaking out about it. And actually, when they talk about it, they are putting themselves in great danger to do so. Because it really isn’t safe to be visibly Jewish right now. People may not want to listen to Jews when they speak about antisemitism or may want to believe that antisemitism ‘isn’t real’ because ‘the Holocaust is over’ but that is absolutely untrue. In 2019, antisemitic hate crimes in the United States reached a high we have never seen before. I remember that, because I was living in London, and I was super scared for my family at the time. Since then, that number has increased by nearly 400% in the last ten days. If you don’t believe me, have some articles about it (one, two, three, four, and five, to name a few). 

I live in New York City, where a man was beaten in Time Square while attending a Free Palestine rally and wearing a kippah. I’m sorry, but being visibly Jewish near a pro-Palestine rally? That was enough to have a bunch of people just start beating on him? I made a previous post detailing how there are Jews being attacked all over the world, and there is a very good timeline of recent hate crimes against Jews that you can find right here. These are Jews, by the way, who have nothing to do with Israel or Palestine. They are Americans or Europeans or Canadians who are living their lives. In some cases, they are at pro-Palestine rallies and they are trying to help, but they just look visibly Jewish.  God Forbid we are the wrong ethnicity for your rally, even if we agree.

This is really serious. There are people calling for the death of all Jews. There are people calling for another Holocaust. 

There are 14 million Jews in the world. 14 million. Of 7.6 billion. And you think it isn’t a problem the way people treat us?

Anyway (aside from, you know, compassion), why does this matter? This matters because stuff like this deters Jews who want to be part of the pro-Palestine movement because they are literally scared for their safety. I said this before, and I will say it again: Zionism was, historically speaking, a very unpopular opinion. It was only widespread antisemitic violence (you know, the Holocaust) that made Jews believe there was a necessity for a Jewish state. Honestly, it wasn’t until the Pittsburgh synagogue shooting that I supported it the abstract idea too.

I grew up in New York City, I am a liberal Jew, and I believe in the rights of marginalized and oppressed people to self-determine worldwide. Growing up, I also fit the profile of what many scholars describe as the self hating Jew, because I believed that, in order to justify myself in American liberal society, I had to hate Israel, and I had to be anti-Zionist by default, even if I didn’t always understand what ‘Zionism’ meant in abstract. Well, I am 27 years old now with two masters degrees in history, and here is what Zionism means to me: I hate the Israeli government. They do not speak for me. But I am not anti-Zionist. I believe in the necessity for a Jewish state — a state where all Jews are welcome, regardless of their background, regardless of their nationality. 

There needs to be a place where Jews, an ethnic minority who are unwelcome in nearly every state in the world, have a place where they are free from persecution — a place where they feel protected. And I don’t think there is anything wrong with that place being the place where Jews are ethnically indigenous to. Because believe it or not, whether it is inconvenient, Jews are indigenous to the land of Israel. I’ve addressed this in this post.

With that said, that doesn’t mean you can kick the Palestinian people out. They are also indigenous to that land, which is addressed in the same post, if you don’t trust me. 

What is incredible to me is that Zionism is defined, by the Oxford English Dixtionary, as “A movement [that called originally for] the reestablishment of a Jewish nationhood in Palestine, and [since 1948] the development of the State of Israel.” Whether we agree with this or not, there were early disagreements about the location of a ‘Jewish state,’ and some, like Maurice de Hirsch, believed it ought to be located in South America, for example. Others believed it should be located in Africa. The point is that the original plans for the Jewish state were about safety. The plan changed because Jews wanted to return to their homeland, the largest project of decolonization and indigenous reclamation ever to be undertaken by an indigenous group. Whether you want to hear that or not, it is true. Read a book or two. Then you might know what I mean.

When people say this is a complicated issue, they aren’t being facetious. They aren’t trying to obfuscate the point. They often aren’t even trying to defend the Israeli government, because I certainly am not — I think they are abhorrent. But there is no future in the Middle East if the Israelis and Palestinians don’t form a state that has an equal right of return and recognizes both of their indigenousness, and that will never happen if people can’t stop throwing vitriolic rhetoric around.  Is the Israeli Government bad? Yes. Are Israeli citizens bad? Largely, no. They want to defend their families, and they want to defend their people. This is basically the same as the fact that Palestinian people aren’t bad, though Hamas often is. And for the love of god, stop defending terrorist organizations. Just stop. They kill their own people for their own power and for their own benefit. 

And yes, one more time, the Israeli government is so, so, so wrong. But god, think about your words, and think about how you are enabling Nazis. The rhetoric the left is using is hurting Jews. I am afraid to leave my house. I’m afraid to identify as Jewish on tumblr. I’m afraid for my family, afraid for my friends. People I know are afraid for me. 

It’s 2021. I am not my great uncle. I cried for him, but I shouldn’t have to die like him. 

Words have consequences. Language has consequences. And genuinely, I do not think everyone is a bad person, so think about what you are putting into the world, because you’d be surprised how often you are doing a Nazi a favor or two. 

Is that really what you want? To do a Nazi a favor or two? I don’t think that you do. I hope you don’t, at least.

That’s all. You know, five thousand words later. But uh, think a little. Please. 

[twilight-orchid]

How The Demon Brothers React After Fighting With Their SO

tw: some angst with resolution at the end, mentions of past arguments, insecurity.

Lucifer:

This man is petty as hell.

He doesn’t do the silent treatment, but he acts like you aren’t dating.

If you need to work on something together, you’re a co-worker.

At RAD you’re a classmate.

Around the house you’re just a housemate.

His poker face is immaculate and it will not crack when you’re around.

If someone didn’t know what was happening, they’d probably think you two barely knew each other.

However, you won’t notice, but as soon as you look the other way his eyes are on you.

He’s used to arguing with his brothers and is no stranger to explosive fights that end with he and the other person not being on speaking terms.

But you’re different.

He tries to go on with business as usual, but he can’t think about anything other than how much he misses you.

Yet, he lets it continue because he just can’t put his pride aside and apologize.

If you decide to sleep in your old room it’ll both hurt his feelings and royally piss him off.

He thinks you’re being childish and will be pretty rude about it, but that’s because internally his blood just ran cold.

It adds a degree of seriousness to the argument that he’s uncomfortable with.

Yes he’s mad, but he can’t lose you.

If you still sleep in his bed, he makes sure to scoot over to the very edge so he doesn’t cuddle you in his sleep.

In fact, the first night after the argument he’d probably put a pillow between you just to really punctuate the fact that he’s still upset.

I’d say it could go 4 days to a week tops without you making up.

After a point though, he just can’t function until the issue is resolved. He can’t sleep, he’s falling behind on his work, and he’s just generally not doing well.

You get called to his office one night and find him at his desk surrounded by piles of paper, disheveled and exhausted.

“MC, come sit down. I’d like to talk this through. Please.”

Mammon:

He’s so dramatic.

You dare defy him? The Great Mammon can’t believe this tiny fragile human would have the audacity.

The theatrics are just a front though.

His ‘The Great Mammon’ act is a mask for his insecurity, one he hasn’t had to use with you in awhile.

Even as the words leave his mouth he regrets them.

He’s going to be very uncomfortable with everything until the argument is resolved, but most of all himself.

He’s learned not to take his brothers too seriously when they toss insults his way, but words have a way of morphing to belief over time.

Internally he is going to be super hard on himself. 

Regardless of if the fight was his fault or not, he’s going to kick himself constantly for making yet another mistake.

He’s over the argument pretty fast. The anger quickly melts into anxiety.

Are you going to leave him? Do you hate him? Did he hurt your feelings? 

That being said, he doesn’t know if you’re still mad and he doesn’t know how to ask. 

As a defense mechanism, he defaults to how he treated you when you first arrived in the devildom.

Calls you human, disregards you, stuff like that.

If you decide to sleep in another room, before midnight expect him to be knocking on the door.

“Oi, MC. You awake? I just - I can’t - *sigh* Can we talk about this?”

If you sleep in his bed, he makes a point of sleeping with his back to you.

Less because he’s actually mad and more because he doesn’t want his image of you as he drifts to sleep to be a look of anger.

Though as soon as he passes out he’ll roll over and tuck you into his arms on instinct.

I’d say any after effects of an argument with Mammon would be resolved in a day, maybe two tops.

Leviathan:

Arguing activates his trolling the forums mode.

Goes back to calling you a normie and contradicts everything you say.

He’s less mad about the argument and more using the bitterness to cope with how upset he is.

He feels like a break up is less of an if and more of a when.

Why would someone as amazing as you settle for weird otaku like him?

Honestly doesn’t understand why you’re with him in the first place, so when there’s a serious argument he assumes its over.

Tbh don’t know how you and Levi would sleep together being that I doubt two could fit in a tub, but any deviation to your routine sends him into a panic.

It’s his reality check that the situation is serious and he needs to fix it NOW.

He’d have trouble apologizing in person. He can’t think of what to say, he stumbles over his words, and he feels like he’s on the verge of a panic attack.

Instead, expect a long ass text message.

He says how sorry he is, how much he misses and loves you, and legit begs you to forgive him.

If you sleep with him like normal, he’ll probably try to make up after laying there for awhile. His mind is going a million miles an hour and there’s no way he can sleep.

Still really has trouble verbalizing how he feels, so give the poor boy a break and take over the conversation.

He hasn’t had a serious relationship before and he doesn’t know what he should do to make it better.

So the after effects will last however long it takes him to read several mangas, watch some anime, and play a few games to see how the characters get over arguments in the story.

Satan:

Satan makes sure not to fight with you over minor issues.

He’s worked tirelessly to tame his wrath and he refuses to feed into it over a minor issue.

Thus, if you fight with Satan it’s a major argument and it’s explosive.

The aftermath isn’t much better.

He doesn’t want to risk blowing up again, so he’s frighteningly calm.

He’s an absolute master of the silent treatment.

He won’t say a word to you until he’s certain he’s calmed down enough.

For the first few days he’ll straight up leave a room if you enter.

For a good while the only way you can expect to communicate with him is through his body language and the expression in his eyes.

Satan’s biggest fear is losing control and lashing out at you. 

He couldn’t live with himself if he hurt you and he can’t stand the thought of you being afraid of him. 

He’s a whirlwind of emotions, so he isolates himself until he can figure out how to deal with it.

Not just from you, but from everyone else too. 

Satan will not share a bed with you for at least the first night.

If he got worked up enough to actually fight, it’s gonna take him time to simmer down.

And he’d rather not risk doing or saying something he regrets in the meantime.

Once he’s ready, he’ll approach you when he’s completely calmed down and has thoroughly analyzed the situation.

He’s considered both of your sides, tried to pinpoint what caused the disagreement to turn into a fight, and made a plan of action to prevent it from happening again.

“MC? I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what happened. Would you please talk it through with me?”

He won’t apologize for the argument if he feels like he was right, but he will apologize for letting the disagreement escalate into a fight.

Satan could go weeks without making up if necessary, but he tries to resolve it within a couple of days.

Asmodeus:

Wants to give you the silent treatment, but is physically incapable.

He can’t stand to have you ignore him.

He’s the type to go back to normal then suddenly remembers you guys had a fight.

“Wait, no! I’m not talking to you! I’m mad at you!”

His biggest downfall is that he’s so stubborn.

If he thinks he was right, he will die on that hill.

There are arguments with his brothers that happened a thousand years ago and he could still tell you exactly why he was right.

But with you, he realizes that doesn’t matter too him nearly as much as it usually does.

If it means going back to normal, he’ll forget who’s right or wrong.

If you sleep in another room, he’s beyond offended.

“What?! Well fine! I don’t want you in my bed anyway!”

Laying in bed alone is a different story though.

He can’t sleep. All he can think about is you. Your face when you sleep next to him, your smell, the feeling of his arms around you.

He 100% cries.

Finally goes and knocks on your door with wet, glossy eyes.

“MC? Can we talk about this? I can’t get my beauty sleep and my tears are wiping off all of my skin care lotion!”

Will throw himself into your arms before you can answer.

If you sleep next to him still, he rolls over and watches you sleep.

It puts him at peace and he decides seeing your sweet, resting face every morning is worth more to him than the argument.

He’ll initiate the conversation the next morning.

I think Asmo could make it a few days if it was a really serious argument, but he will not function well until you make up.

Beelzebub:

Wants to make up immediately.

He doesn’t like to argue, even less so with you.

Whether he was right or wrong, he blames himself. He’ll take all the blame in the world if it makes you happy.

He’ll go make you your favorite food and bring it to you.

If he thinks you don’t want to talk to him, he’ll leave it outside your door and text you to let you know it’s there.

He’s honestly devastated if you decide to sleep in another room.

You guys migrate to your old room when you want privacy from Belphie, but you almost never sleep separately.

Seeing you grab your pillows and march out of the room nearly stops his heart.

He goes completely numb and silent as he just stares at the space you had just occupied.

Like Levi, he thinks this means the relationship is over and he genuinely does not know what to do with himself.

He can’t even bring himself to eat, he just wants to lie there, lost and trying to grapple with his emotions. 

He’s another one who will absolutely cry, but unlike Asmo he will make sure no one knows it.

If you still sleep in his bed, he’s very nervous about it.

He doesn’t know if it’s okay to touch you, what he can or can’t say, stuff like that.

He just lays there stiff as a board not even able to close his eyes.

Honestly the fight would probably have to be resolved before bed. His anxiety just can’t take it.

I don’t think he’d initiate the apology. Not because he doesn’t want to make up but because his confidence is rock bottom in these situations.

He catastophizes and honestly thinks you hate him.

If you don’t initiate the apology soon, Belphie will. He can feel what his twin won’t say, and he knows Beel won’t approach you about it for fear of making it worse.

Belphie will lock you two in a room if that’s what it takes for you to make up.

Belphegor:

The embodiment of if looks could kill.

He won’t talk to you, won’t look at you, basically pretends you aren’t there.

If he must interact with you he’ll roll his eyes and sigh the whole time.

Tries to sleep through any interaction so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

He feels almost betrayed by the fight.

He thought the relationship was stronger than to have such a huge divide, so he’s really insecure about it.

After the first day, the anger has melted away to guilt.

He ‘s not guilty that you fought, but he is guilty about how he treated you after.

Guilt and self-blame have become unwelcome friends at this point. Guilt over Lilith, over his plans to destroy the human world, everything.

But more than anything else, the guilt for the fact that he attacked you weighs on him every day.

He moved past it quickly after, essentially pretending he hadn’t killed you, but that’s because he just couldn’t confront what he’d done. 

He feels like the luckiest demon alive that you forgave him, let alone  opened you heart enough to love him, and now it’s all in tatters.

Another thing to regret.

If you decide to sleep separately, it’ll hit him like a bag of bricks.

“You - what? Where are you going?” 

It’ll take him a second to process what you were doing, but then he’ll roll over and let you leave.

“Fine. Don’t let the door hit you.”

No one will see him for awhile. 

Belphie sleeps all the time anyway, but he just can’t make himself get out of bed.

If you don’t approach him to apologize, Beel will tell you that he’s been nauseous and randomly emotional which must mean his twin is coping very badly. 

Will beg you to go make Belphie happy again. 

If you sleep in his bed still, the argument will be resolved by morning.

He can’t keep himself from embracing you in his sleep, and it’s hard to say you’re mad at someone when you wake up in their loving arms.

It’s hard to pinpoint how long it could last with Belphie. If you don’t apologize first, he won’t let himself be conscious long enough to approach you.

This is both my first hc post as well as my first obey me post so I’m sorry if le boys are ooc. I just got this idea and couldn’t stop thinking about it so here we are.  Especially Belphie, he was hard to me for some reason. Let me know if you guys agree or disagree and if you want to send a request or ask, my box is open! 

[astaroth1357]

Brothers React to a Demigod MC 

So, I've gotten some interest to do a Brothers follow-up to a previous request of mine (Undateables React to a Cute, Badass MC), however, I've thus far refused to write one. Honestly, this HC actually plays on a trope I personally dislike and had it not been a request I would have never done it to start with. I just can't see any reasonable way a non-magic human can beat a bunch of demons, I just can't, and that hinders my imagination quite a bit. …But someone who’s not so human? That I can get behind. Fair warning, I grew up with the Percy Jackson series so that’s going to paint quite a bit of how I see modern demigods. Ready for things to get super-ultra fanfic-y for a bit?

Intro:

The day to kidnap bring the exchange students to the Devildom has finally come and the demons have all gathered in the Council Room to open their portal to the human world. Really, things started without a hitch - the portal opened with and their future student dropped down out of it and landed on the floor… before they suddenly leapt up, pulled out a weapon, and lunged at them!

… This isn’t your normal human, it is?

Lucifer

Oh Devil, this couldn’t have been any farther than what they wanted… They were looking for a human and they managed to pull out a halfling! A divine halfling no less!! Why wasn’t this in their file?!

Look, Lucifer might not be on good terms with his father, but even he knows he had it better than any children of the pagan gods… The levels of petty vindictiveness that run through that bunch are literally the stuff of legends...

After he and Barbatos were able to restrain the MC before they hurt themselves or anyone else, Diavolo explained everything to them and gave them a pardon for attacking the Demon Prince on sight… After they identified themselves and their parentage, Lucifer knew they were in for some shit…

He and Diavolo had to iron out an apology letter to their godly parent for days just to keep from saying anything that could accidentally cause a second Troy or worse... It was a mess...

But on the bright side, the “human” came pre-prepared for fighting monsters and demons, which honestly took a bit of a load off his shoulders. That’s less responsibility for Mammon - and in his experience, the less responsibility Mammon has, the better things usually turn out.

… Though their ability to actually hold their own in a fight did make things complicated sometimes - like whenever he was their perceived opponent... 

He wasn’t expecting to have to manage a being that was actually capable of meeting him toe-to-toe on the battlefield and it did hinder his intimidation factor to some degree…It was hard to be threatening to someone who’s likely faced worse than you could ever offer.

In the end it probably worked out for the best, as a live exchange student is better for Diavolo than a dead one - but man did it get on his nerves until they made their pact together… Be scared of him, dammit!

Mammon

The first time he tried to threaten the human, they straight up pulled out a weapon and looked like they were ready to whip his ass!! Didn’t they know he wasn’t being serious?? 😫

He really didn’t know why he had to be on babysitting duty, anymore... This huma-er demigod could handle themselves just fine!

When he first ditched them with Levi, he later found out they managed to cleanly toss his brother over their head and make a break for it all by themselves! And Levi’s no pushover either!!

Later, he saw them getting ambushed on their way back from school and they soundly knocked out about five demons before he even caught up to them… and he’s, like, fast and stuff… 

Their strength is kind of unreal at times, but he could tell they were still far from a mindless killing machine. They were more or less a normal person, they had wants and dreams like anybody else, but they just happened to be a long stronger than the average mortals around them. 🤷‍♀️

After he eventually got to know them and a bit about how their life worked, he felt a little bad for them... Who wants to be hunted down just for being born?

After learning about their struggles, Mammon ended up resolving to help keep them safe (even if a part of him knew they didn’t need him that much).

I mean, if the whole world’s against you, then you can use all the help you can get... right?

Leviathan 

Levi found out exactly one thing about them within the first two minutes of meeting them… their reflexes were killer.

After Mammon ditched them on Day One, he tried to drag the human to his room to tell them his genius plan but they broke out of his grip and threw him flat on his back like was just second nature! 

He was stuck on the ground for a full minute, trying to process what just happened, while they ran off into the House all alone…

Did he just get tossed around… by a human?? Was he really that pathetic!?!

Finding out later that they were actually half-god certainly helped out his self-esteem because, man, if he had lost so easily to a human of all things... He might have just never left his room again…

Levi pretty much kept his distance from them until they finally made a pact together and then he discovered that the MC wasn’t so scary after all. If he’s being honest, being in the same house as a demigod was actually kind of cool...! 

Like, it was almost exactly the plot of the show: “Wait, I Thought I Was the Son of a Pagan God So What Am I Doing in a Christian Hell??” but their MC seemed to know a lot more about fighting than the protagonist of that show ever did…

Plus, because he never had to worry about their safety, he had even more excuse to never leave his room. Win-win!

Satan

A demigod, eh…? He had done plenty of research into human world mythologies in his spare time, frankly he thought the old gods had died out - but it seems they were still up and kicking… and making babies for whatever reason? Horny bastards...

Satan's original interest in the MC was purely academic. It’s not everyday that you get to meet someone of such a unique heritage and he fully intended to learn if all the legends about their greatness were true… and well...

He could say that the MC was certainly different than how he pictured humans being. He’d never met very many before, but from what he could gather they were a weak race that really got by on wit and persistence… However, nothing about the MC was weak.

Their aptitude for combat was surprisingly sharp, both in skill and reflexes. He had once blown up at them in anger and not only did they dodge his swipes but they got in a good few hits themselves with a nearby lamp… He never once thought a mortal could give him a black-eye but, somehow, they pulled it off. 🤷‍♀️

Combine their physical skill with what magical gifts were granted to them by their godly-half and they were a force to be reckoned with… Even Solomon seemed to hesitate and think more about his actions around them (which is saying something for a sorcerer of his strength).

It’d be fair to say a part of him grew to respect the MC long before they ever made their pact and that respect only grew afterwards. If he had to be bound to any master, human or otherwise, he’d rather it be one that he could right about consider an equal not only as a friend, but in strength as well.

Asmodeus 

A demigod…? Oooo, he hadn’t come across one of those since he bedded Aeneas all those centuries ago… Such a gorgeous man, got all his looks from his mother~! 🤭

Asmo was probably the most interested in their godly heritage, but it felt like he was treating them like a zoo exhibit for a while… Something pretty and new to look at, but not exactly someone he wanted to know personally...

He openly and readily admitted that watching their little demigod in action got him hot and bothered (or well, more hot and bothered than usual ) but it didn’t take him to see they weren’t interested at the time…

He decided that he just had to have a pact with them after they saved him from Henry 1.0! It was before he noticed the giant snake and he was lurching back to strike, but the human swept in to knock him out of the way. They probably could have made mince meat of the creature themselves if Levi weren’t begging for them to spare his former pet...

Post-pact Asmo treated them with a lot more respect… but also still fanboyed over their fighting skills hardcore. 

Like, their body had to be fit to keep up with all those monsters, right?? What was their training routine? Could he watch?? Oh please say he can watch!! He just can’t get enough of that fighter’s physique…! 😍

Beelzebub 

So… the human isn’t a human but only part human? And the other part is a god? Does that make them any sturdier than normal humans…? Call him curious…

Beel was probably one of the few brothers who was legitimately weary of the MC from the beginning… He can get a certain feel for a person pretty quickly and something about them just felt…frankly, kind of dangerous.

But they also intrigued him a little… Beel’s used to being one of the strongest demons in any room he walks into (not a boast, just a fact) so for him to get that feel from a mortal was pretty impressive. A part of him just wanted to test them… you know?

So. He did. He asked them to help him train his martial arts one day and even with his awareness, he was not expecting the results that he got.

The MC was strong. Very strong. They were not only able to keep up with him and dodge his blows, but they were able to predict his moves and counterattack in kind. They didn’t even need to tell him that they had actually been fighting for their life for years, he could tell. They had a skill you don’t get from practice matches...

After that point, the two would go to each other to train and keep their skills sharp… but also just to spar for fun. Their fighting styles made a pretty good match and they bonded pretty damn quick because of it. 

If anime tells us anything, when you find a good fight buddy, you stick with them. Even if one’s part god and the other is a demon. 🤷‍♀️ 

Belphegor 

A demigod is still human enough to hate, sorry MC. Not that he knew about their godly heritage at first…

Really, he should have been a little more suspicious of how easily they seemed to take to life in the Devildom... Weren’t demons supposed to scare humans? Why did they seem so comfortable down here...?

His confirmation only came when he tried to enact the final part of “Use the MC to Escape the Attic!” plan and take their life to seal the deal… but oh boy, was he outclassed real quick… 

The MC had already socked him in the jaw by the time he got his full demon form out and then they threw him across the room by the tail… the TAIL!! And it hurt like a bitch, too!! Even during the full blown fight that followed, he could tell they were holding back and it pissed him off something fierce...!

Why was the MC so strong?!? Humans weren’t supposed to be strong!!!

His brothers heard all the commotion and the Lilith confrontation ended up happening up in the attic between a somewhat beat-up Belphie and a barely-scratched MC. Had Beel not come to his defense on instinct, it might have turned out worse for him in all honesty… Something about that human just wasn’t right…

He only found out about their god-half after everything settled down and he promised not to try killing them again (not that anyone thought he could...) and that put some things into perspective. So the Lastborn Ruler of Hell isn’t as strong as one mortal demigod…? Ouch. Okay, fine then... Whatever...

He does think it’s too bad he missed them beating the crap out of the rest of his brothers, though (minus Beel)... That would have been fun to see. 😔

So I tried to keep this one God-parent neutral, but I’ve upgraded this to its own series! Check it out if you’re interested! 😊

Demigod MC Series: Intro, Aphrodite, Hermes

[liesoverthec]

OG 911 Character Details from Canon Pt 2

Hi y’all I’m back! I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reblogged the last details post - I sort of just thought people would like it and it would die, so to see it travel and hopefully reach more writers was so great so thank you again!

Details under the cut since I went a little crazy 😅 and if this is your first time seeing this, the first part, and any future parts, can be found under this tag here!

Quick note before I get to the details - always, ALWAYS take details from dialogue or plot over details from the set or props if they contradict each other. The writers have the ultimate say over what happens on the show/for the characters, so whatever they say goes, even if it goes against something props has already laid down (eg, Chim’s birthday, sorry Libra crew. He’s an Aries or a Pisces). So keep that in mind for the future in case some of these details I have which are from props/set are changed in the future, or if you’ve noticed something yourself!

Also if you have questions, I am MORE than happy to answer them, although if you leave them in the tags on this post I’m probably gonna lose them, so if it’s something you’d genuinely like an answer to, drop it in my inbox! Besides my standard “ask” tags, I’m also tagging asks about canon details with this tag here. Every time I make a big post like this, I’m going to link all the asks I’ve gotten since the last post, but if you’re looking for more info in the mean time, that’s the other spot to look!

Buck has a grill on his patio.

Eddie doesn’t hang Christopher’s art on the fridge - instead it is either hung on the corkboard in Chris’ room to the left of the door, or Eddie puts it in an actual frame and hangs it using a hammer/nails in Christopher’s room. All the Diaz family has on their fridge is a bunch of bendy people magnets. (I absolutely ADORE him putting all this effort into treating Christopher’s art like it’s something you’d buy from a professional artist).

Info on everyone’s ages can be found here. (Little more discussion of Chim’s situation here).

Albert has a bachelor’s degree! I don’t know in what though, except that it’s some field for which is a Master’s is useful.

Athena was in a sorority in college, Delta Sigma Theta. Their website describes them as “ ...a sisterhood comprised primarily of Black, college-educated women ... [that] considers the issues impacting the Black community and boldly confronts the challenges of African Americans and, hence, all Americans ”, which I love for Athena, and feel is very in-character for her at that time in her life!

Chim is an aviators dude. When he wears sunglasses, they’re always aviators.

Athena also wears nothing but aviators.

Bobby wears square aviators.

Eddie, on the other hand, always wears Wayfarers.

Buck either doesn’t really like sunglasses or he constantly forgets he owns them, since we’ve only seen him wear them once in 60 eps, in a move I’m pretty sure was ONLY for dramatic effect.

Hen’s sunglasses change style over the seasons like her regular glasses do, but she tends to like browline sunglasses.

Info on Christopher’s school can be found here!

There are two colors of dispatch polo, and there doesn’t seem to be any rhythm or reason for who wears what. Maroon - Maddie and Linda. Blue - Josh and May. Jamal has actually worn both maroon and blue, so it doesn’t seem to be TOTALLY set in stone although I’ve never seen anyone else switch. Sue is too badass to wear a dispatch shirt.

Both Bobby and Eddie drive 4 door pickups. Bobby’s is navy. Eddie specifically has a black, 2020 GMC Denali 1500 pickup truck (in case you want to specifically look up what the inside of it looks like or what features it has 😂)

Info on the 118’s medical certifications can be found here.

Correction to Eddie’s living situation from last post: no next door neighbors, but instead UPSTAIRS neighbors. (Pointed out by Abigail in this ask). Also since someone else was wondering the notes of the last post - no, there is absolutely no discussion on the show of whether or not Eddie rents the apartment or owns it. But based on the fact that it’s 1) LA and 2) an apartment, my guess would be he rents it.

When Maddie isn’t feeling like herself, she tends to straighten her hair rather than curl it. It seems to be more when she’s uncertain about her place in her own and other people’s lives, rather than just when she’s simply worried - eg it’s straight in 2B, when she’s uncertain if she wants to continue working as a dispatcher/is unsure about her relationship with Chim.

For work, Chim, Eddie and Buck all use black duffel bags with a LAFD patch on the top. Hen uses several different cute bags, and Bobby seems to have a plain black duffel bag.

Watches - Bobby, Athena, Chim, Hen and Buck all wear their watch on their left wrist (but Athena ONLY wears hers for work, she takes it off at home.) Eddie wears his on his right wrist, and Maddie doesn’t wear one.

Chim (and Maddie by default) literally still have the exact same couch as in the pilot. (Which means that Chim has cuddled Tatiana on that couch, AND Albert has had sex on it. TIME TO GET A NEW ONE, BUCKLEY-HANS 😂)

The 118 has five different rigs - the engine (E118), the ladder truck (T118), two ambulances and the captain’s truck. 95% of the time, when the team is chilling in the cab of a rig and chatting (eg the ‘stuck under a live telephone pole’ scene in Jinx), they’re in the engine, not the truck. (Which I personally learned recently are NOT interchangeable terms!)

Athena and Michael got married when Athena was 37.

If you’d like to give Maddie a full name beyond “Maddie”, you should use Madeline. (I know, I know, in 4x04 she says Maddie is the name on her birth certificate, and that you should never use props details if they contradict script details, but I always thought that was a super weird exchange in 4x04 which could be explained by Maddie getting a nickname since she was born when Margaret and Phillip, you know, actually loved their kids and showed it, so of course Buck doesn’t get one, and in 4x04, Maddie was trying to avoid the entire issue of why she got one and Buck didn’t. But! Do what you want, and use Madeline as the full version of Maddie if you’d like, since that’s what’s on the BOLO in 2x13 😂)

Athena’s call sign is 727 L30, but she doesn’t have a specific squad car - the number changes throughout the series.

Chim really likes chewing gum, but he’s the only one out of the entire family!

The station has an Xbox One S, and it’s white.

In the real LAFD, there are stations 1 through 114. To avoid confusion while filming on the streets (I’m assuming), our fictional LAFD never uses the number of a real station. So if you want another station for a fic, and you want something that would be real in OUR universe, use the numbers 115 and above. They’ve gone as high as 221 in our universe.

Battalions - station 118 is in Battalion 7, which is also not a battalion in real Los Angeles. The 118 has interacted w/ Battalion 1, which is a real battalion, but other ‘non-real which makes them more likely for our universe’ battalions include numbers: 3, 8, 13, 16, 19 and above.

S1 Buck knew the term Jedi, but based on context, didn’t understand AT ALL the context provided by Star Wars, so there’s another edge of his pop culture limits for you.

Chim is the most tech-savvy out of everyone, hands down.

Athena has a VERY active Twitter account.

Abuela’s house number is 8902. I don’t have a street name for you unfortunately though. :/

Athena’s favorite flowers are white roses. None of the other women are really flower people.

Michael likes to wear purple.

When they’re at a call, Buck does pretty much all of the stuff with the hammer and the saw. Eddie does all the work needed with the drill.

Harry goes to Meadowbrook Elementary.

Buck lives on the fourth floor of his apartment building, across the hall from Apt. 416. The lovely @lovelessmotel found this listing for what is more or less the apartment. What happened was: the set crew rented this apartment for the one episode at the end of s2 when Buck moved in, and then over the summer before s3 built their own set of it, and changed some things - eg giving him an island, and moving the sink to a second counter against the far wall, you can see the changes here in this amazing gif set by the awesome Austen, but the listing should let you click around a little more upstairs and figure out dimensions better than what the show provides!

When Athena and Hen go out to eat together, it’s always fast food burgers and fries.

Waffles are Athena’s favorite food, and tiramisu is her favorite dessert.

Every takeout we’ve seen Buck eat has always been in a Chinese food takeout container, and we know he likes Thai food the best. EXCEPT! The one time we see him eat takeout with Eddie and Christopher, they have pizza. So take from that what you will......

Eddie has a cell phone and a landline.

Chim is a shameless multiple texter.

Chim and Bobby sleep closest to the door in their respective bedrooms (both right side of the bed if you are standing at the foot, facing the headboard), and Athena and Maddie sleep furthest away from the door (left side).

Some canon last names for other firefighters at the station in case you wanna add more people to a fic - Mitchell, Sanchez, Serrano (woman), Porter, Meyers (woman), Maxwell, Voyta

Hen and Karen really love decorating their house with dark/red wood.

Karen is Mommy and Hen is Mama.

Bobby has a brother, and a grandmother, and that’s literally ALL we know about his family outside of Marcy and the kids.

Evidence points to Eddie being the oldest child in his family.

Karen has multiple brothers (no sisters), but no idea how many - just that one of them is named Trey, and one of them lives in LA and has kids. They might be the same brother and they might not be.

Both Hen and Athena are only children.

Athena has been on the police force for 30 years.

Christopher and Denny are the same age (born in 2011), and Harry is two years older than them.

Michael lives in apartment 308.

The bank in this universe is CalAm.

Hen and Karen have a picture of Denny, May and Harry on their fireplace mantel.

Eddie having a black thumb + a lot of plants in his living room = him buying fake plants bc he likes the aesthetic ™ or someone (cough Carla cough) is taking care of them for him.

The COVID timeline in OG’s universe is fucked up compared to the real world’s, so it shouldn’t be used as a way to measure time! They just throw it in wherever it makes sense for the story they want to tell (eg the vaccines in s4 ep 8), since s3 was both done before COVID hit but also airing while it was happening. It makes absolutely no sense for May to graduate in March nor for Chris to be going to what is specifically labeled summer camp, and the vaccine plotline was INCREDIBLY early, even for real life, so don’t use anything from that as a measure of time. I’ve found except in specific examples, eg the two tsunami episodes, it’s very safe to say every episode covers a week - fall holidays on the show line up with their real life counterparts, indicating about the same amount of time is passing for us and them.

On that note - Jee-Yun was born in late January, early February 2021. (Conceived in Pinned, which was end of March/beginning of April, meaning Maddie was around a month along at May’s graduation in May ➡ 42 weeks + 3 days from then = late Jan/early Feb. Which unfortunately means we most likely won’t see her birthday celebrated on screen. If we assume she was conceived on the date Pinned aired, aka the very sexy hotel scene, then January 21st or 22nd would be Jee’s birthday, depending on if she was born after midnight or not.

Buck has had at least one other Jeep between the one Maddie gave him, and the one he has now, which means that when he needs a new car, he is purposefully choosing Jeeps.

I hope this was all as interesting/enjoyable to you as it was to me! And just to repeat - I love answering questions so pls let me know if you have any at all ❤

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

Tagging: @buckbuckley

[snowdice]

Creased Hoodies (Chapter 9: Preparations) [Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sander Sides

Relationships: Logan/Virgil, Janus/Patton (background), Remus & Roman  (background)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Virgil

Appear: Patton, Roman

Mentioned: Janus, Remus

Summary: Virgil just wanted to go on his planned summer research trip to do an anthropological study in 2005 America. However, when he is taken off course by an unknown enemy, he ends up stranded in the summer of 2018 with no way to get back the the 44rd century. Luckily, 2018 happens to be where a certain illegal time agency is based, and he might have an in with one of its agents.

This is the intermission for the story Folds in Paper. It takes place between Folds in Paper Book 1 and Book 2. It also takes place after the first 5 chapter of “Messages for a Hacker” which are side stories in the universe. Check all of this and more out on my Folds in Time Master Post.

Chapter Summary: Everyone gets ready for the trip to Cuba.

Notes: Time travel AU

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

It took a little over two weeks for Logan to get everything in order. He’d already been in the process of updating all of their equipment for quite some time, and their current situation spurned him to complete these improvements even sooner. That was easy.

What was more difficult was trying to meet all of Patton’s demands for his new survival kit. His list had already been quite long when Logan had started, but Patton had continued to add to it. It seemed like the list would be endless for a short while as Patton had been adding things as fast or faster than Logan could address them.

He’d even slipped in a request for a boat at one point despite Logan’s protests that Camaguey was nowhere near the sea.

Virgil, thankfully, didn’t seem to mind the delays too much. In fact, he may have had a hand in causing some of them. His natural inclination towards anxiety seemed to infect Patton who had already been stressed given his last trip through time. Patton’s request for the boat had come after one of their brainstorming sessions.

Virgil and Patton were spending a good amount of time together, actually, as Logan worked on supplies. Virgil had offered to help Patton with researching. While Patton was fairly good at doing his own research for time travel destinations at this point, Virgil was undeniably more experienced with that sort of thing considering his profession and his involvement with the TPI. Patton seemed to appreciate his input.

Roman, on the other hand, decidedly did not appreciate Virgil’s input on things. The two of them were prone to arguments about clothing which had gone beyond talking about Cuban clothing days ago. They were currently refusing to speak to each other after a discussion about the fabric composition of Ancient Greek clothing over dinner the night before.

Logan honestly… could not tell if these fights were friendly debates or not. There seemed to be a lot of anger around the topics, but they also seemed to enjoy their arguments to an odd degree.

Logan had inquired after Patton’s opinion on the matter, but he’d shrugged and claimed he also could not tell.

Neither Roman nor Virgil’s responses when asked directly about the nature of their relationship was helpful either, but Logan had noticed Roman slightly change the design of the outfit he’d made for Patton’s trip to Cuba.

Virgil was helpful in preparing for the mission, taking some of the stress of research off of Patton and Roman which was nice. He was not much help to Logan’s endeavors unless you counted the original intel. He had a basic understanding of mathematics and physics, but not enough to help in that regard.

He was, however, very good for company. It helped that his sleep schedule much more closely resembled Logan’s own in those weeks unlike the other occupants of the apartment. Typically, Roman and Patton went to sleep at a much earlier hour than Logan did himself and Logan would work alone in the living room. However, with Virgil living in the apartment, there was constant companionship while Logan worked. If it was less volatile company than he was used to working with, that was just a bonus.

Virgil fit into their little group in a way that Logan had not anticipated. (Well, socially he fit. Physically, there were simply not enough beds and Logan had been sleeping on the couch for over two weeks now.)

Eventually, with all of their combined efforts, everything was ready to go. Patton was supplied with three different time appropriate outfits, a good amount of knowledge about the festivities he was about to step into, new time travel equipment, and a survival pack that could help him survive in an apocalypse if needed.

Patton planned to arrive in Cuba two days earlier than the TPI protocol would dictate Janus be sent in. That way, he would have more than adequate time to get set up and acclimated before the TPI sent in their agents.

For now, however, he was busy examining his new and improved timepiece.

“This is cool,” Patton breathed, flexing his fingers to see the hidden screen on his palms light up with a map of the area.

“The controls are the same configuration as on your previous device. The only thing new is the control panel to control the cloaking technology and the button to access the survival kit features.

“It looks great, Lo,” Patton said, still flexing his fingers to get used to it. He changed it to its default state of a metal band projecting the screen and then back to the time appropriate bracelet Roman had designed. There weren’t many options for the device’s form yet, but more could be designed and added in the future. For now, it only had the default band, the bracelet, and a simple wristwatch.

“I’ve already tested it a good number of times, but you should familiarize yourself with it anyway before your trip.

Patton nodded, flicking his fingers. He disappeared for a moment before reappearing in the same place. Then, he did it again and reappeared directly next to where he’d been standing. He did a few other simple mini trips before predictably growing bored and starting to do ‘tricks’ which mostly involved landing in ridiculous poses and “accidently” jump scaring everyone in the apartment at least twice.

Eventually, Logan confiscated the device for the evening so they could have dinner in peace.

Patton went to bed early after dinner, planning on leaving the next morning. Roman also retired to his room shortly after leaving Logan and Virgil alone in the living room.

Despite knowing his calculations were perfect, Logan still found himself sitting on the couch and checking over them one last time, just to be sure. Virgil sat on the floor with his back against the couch watching videos on Logan’s cell phone with headphones borrowed from Patton’s collection.

He glanced up when Logan shifted positions and Logan flashed him a smile.

Virgil removed the headphones to speak. “Thanks, by the way,” he said. “I already said it to Patton and will again in the morning, but thanks for helping me out with all of this.”

“It wouldn’t have been particularly kind of us to leave you stranded,” Logan pointed out.

“Sure,” Virgil said, “but you still all have been working really hard. Right now you’re up at 3am working on it.”

Logan shrugged. “I’d likely be up working at 3am on something anyway,” he replied.

“Maybe,” Virgil said, “but this time you’re doing it for me, so yeah, thanks.”

“You’re welcome then,” Logan replied. “Any time.”

Virgil titled his head and grinned at him. “Was that a time travel pun?” he asked.

Logan scowled instantly. “No.”

“It sounded like a time travel pun…”

“It was not intentional. I will never intentionally say a pun,” Logan said.

“You’re telling me you live with Patton and never make any puns?” Virgil asked.

“I, unlike my roommates, am a responsible adult,” Logan insisted.

Virgil seemed skeptical. “Is that why you’re drinking forbidden coffee out of an orange juice carton at 3am?”

“Not so loud!” Logan hissed instantly. He leaned forward to put his hand over Virgil’s mouth while glancing back towards the hallways to see if anyone was about to come storming into the living room with yet another intervention.

Logan’s hand was bit.

“Ow!” Logan exclaimed, tearing the hand away.

Despite his childish violence (or perhaps because of it), Virgil’s eyes were shining.

“How do you know?” Logan asked in a whisper. The ruse had been working on Roman and Patton for years as neither of them liked orange juice.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “I can smell it,” he said. “I’m not dumb.”

“It’s worked on everyone else,” Logan said.

“No,” Virgil said. “It’s worked on one dramatic idiot and one man who trusts people not to lie to him way too much. I, however, am a paranoid bastard with a doctorate degree in human bullshittery. You cannot fool me.”

Logan couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose I have met my match then,” he said.

Virgil titled his head back all the way, so his skull rested on the couch cushion, and he was staring straight up at Logan with his piercing hazel eyes. “Heck yeah you have,” Virgil said with a grin.

Logan was not much for sentimentality, especially not romantic sentimentality, but there was something about the shadows softening the edges of the rooms and the almost golden glint in Virgil’s eyes from the reflection of the lit lamp that suddenly made it more difficult to breathe.

Virgil was relaxed here in Logan’s apartment at 3 in the morning. His eyes were softened with sleepiness as he looked up at Logan with a smile on his face.

He fit here, Logan thought. He slotted into Logan’s life with an ease Logan could never have anticipated. He’d found Professor Virgil Eran interesting from the moment he’d first heard him speak over the telephone. He’d found him endearing when they’d corresponded through emails and occasionally one-sided video chats. Yet it was different with him right here in front of Logan.

Logan could reach down right now and touch him with ease if he chose to. He could brush his slightly unruly hair out of his eyes. Logan wondered what Virgil would do. Would his eyes shine the same way they had after biting Logan earlier. Would he grin wider than he was now? Would he get embarrassed like he did the first day in the coffee shop after oversharing?

“You… good man?” Virgil asked, pulling Logan from his musings.

“I am perfectly well,” Logan replied, clearing his throat. He glanced away from Virgil. “I think perhaps my roommates have a bit of a point when it comes to caffeine.”

“What do you mean?” Virgil asked.

“I find myself a bit disconcerted at the moment.”

“Well, maybe a carton full of iced coffee at 3am is not the best choice,” Virgil said in good humor. “You aren’t a college kid anymore.”

Logan glanced down at the college professor on his living room floor. “Well, thank goodness for that,” he mumbled.

Virgil gave him an odd look but didn’t comment.

“You know,” he said instead. “I think your calculations are probably fine anyway,” He reached up to gently taking the papers out of Logan’s grip. “Why don’t you put the coffee away and we do something else?”

“Like sleep?” Logan asked.

“Do you think you’ll be sleeping anytime soon?” Virgil inquired with an eyebrow raised.

“Fair point,” Logan replied ruefully.

Virgil grabbed the television remote from the coffee table. “Why don’t we watch a bit of that time inappropriate copy of the Epithet File I know you have.”

“Sure,” Logan agreed. He glanced down at Virgil who was already turning on the television. “You can come onto the couch if you like.”

“Nah,” said Virgil without looking at him. “You can come to the floor.

Logan sighed. “Very well,” he agreed and slid to the floor.

Want to read more? Click below!

Folds in Time Universe Master Post

My Main Masterpost

[emerald-chaos]

Insomnia

*gif not made by me, credit goes to the owner*

Hi Everyone! So it's been probably like...10 years since I wrote my last fic lol. Watching TFATWS has rekindled my undying love for Bucky Barnes and I just couldn't help but start writing again. I had to get my feelings out! I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've been considering writing some more parts...so tell me if that's something you'd be interested in! I appreciate any and all constructive feedback or just feedback in general! Much love.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2533 (lowkey popped off...oops)

Warnings: Just in case...vague allusions to a dark past, struggles with mental illness, explicit language, and some suggestive conversation. Oh and some really bad jokes lol. Fluffy and angsty.

No matter how much you tossed and turned, how many sheep you counted, or how much you prayed and pleaded to any higher power that would listen – the release of sleep just wasn’t going to happen. You’re not sure why you were surprised, it’s not like this was the first time. You let out a heavy sigh and toss off the covers. This has been a nightly occurrence for as long as you can remember. When you were trying to rest, when there was no noise to block out the images in your head, it was a battle. A battle which you have always lost.

You flip on the bright florescent lights of the bathroom as you trudge in, dragging your feet in exhaustion. It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to the harshness of the light as you place your hands onto the countertop. The cool marble feels good against your palms as you close your eyes and lean your head back, another sigh leaving your lips. You twist your neck from side to side, trying to release some tension and maybe get a satisfying pop. No such luck. As you open your eyes and gaze upon the person staring back at you a small laugh tumbles from your chest.

Jesus, she looks awful.

The dark circles that permanently reside below your eyes appear more pronounced than usual. The corners of your mouth hang low and you just look…tired. Like you were rode hard and put away wet.

The bottle of melatonin tucked away on your counter catches your eye. You pick it up and twirl it as you inspect the writing. “Sleep Support” you read, “may help promote restful sleep”. What a load of shit. You place the bottle back down and inspect the orange one next to it. The pills inside were about as useful as the melatonin. Nothing seemed to quiet the voices or stop the scenarios that plagued your mind. You splash some cold water on your face and grab for a towel to pat it dry. Your eyes drift to the mirror again, as if though the water was going to wash away the dead look in your eyes.

Yeah, fat chance.

Before you know it, your legs are carrying you through the compound. The only sounds present are the whirring of various appliances and the soft patter of your feet against the tile floors. The moonlight casts shadows over the various pieces of furniture and lights your path. Your fingers curl around the handle as you pull the sliding glass door open. The crisp outside air kisses your skin as you step out and close the door behind you. You find yourself settling down in your usual spot on the balcony and you sink into the comfort of the chair.

Many a sleepless night has been spent out here, admiring the way the moonlight gleams off of a nearby pond. Before the compound and the balcony, it was a fire escape and a bottle of bourbon. You kind of missed that coping mechanism a little bit. You were thankful, of course, to call this place your home. Thankful to feel safe for once. Thankful to be a part of a team that felt like more of a family than any sorry piece of shit who had been in your life before. Not that you were bitter about that or anything. A little baggage builds character. However, life hasn’t always been kind to you and your stupid brain had a cruel way of constantly reminding you of that fact.

In all honesty, Tony rescued you. You absolutely hated to allow him to relish in that fact, but it was true. He took a chance on a royally fucked up kid out of college who managed to skate by and earn a mechanical engineering degree. If you were to ask him, he would say it was because the first words you said to him were fuck off. Apparently, something about that translated to, “hey, I would be a great addition to your tech and development team”. Although, you were pretty sure you just really meant that he should fuck off. I mean, the guy’s reputation does have a bit of moral gray area to it. Somehow, some way, your tenacity made an impression on the billionaire. Now here you were - living at the Avenger’s compound, sitting on a balcony at 3:30 in the morning because you couldn’t turn your brain off long enough to find some peace and sleep. What a life.

Even as you were sitting here in your special spot, reminiscing about some actual good memories – your brain still tried to drift into the darkness. Glass breaking; voices, thick with hate, engaged in a screaming match, and the cold nights spent trying to find a safe space to eat and lay your head. Your fingers gripped into the arms of the chair as you felt the heaviness in your chest increase.

“God damn it,” you cursed through gritted teeth.

The panic attacks were a second nature at this point, but you still really hated when you lost control. Your eyes closed tight as you tried to rack your brain to remember the bullshit your therapist had told you earlier in the week. Something about 5 things you can see?

“We gotta stop meeting like this, Doll”

The voice ripped you from inside your mind and back to reality. Your eyes opened and were met with a beautiful pair of cerulean ones. You blamed the skip in your heartbeat on your fading panic attack - although, you knew better than that.

“Well, it seems to me that the only logical conclusion is that you’re stalking me, Barnes” you quipped as a grin spread across your face.

“Could say the same about you,” Bucky retorted as he sank into the chair beside you, “besides, been doin’ this a lot longer than you’ve been around”.

You rolled your eyes, but the super soldier had a point. Almost each and every time, aside from the ones that happened when the team was away, you two would meet like this – here on the balcony, both searching for something to replace the sleep that neither of you could find.

“Yeah, we get it, you’re old” a laugh fell from your lips as Bucky snorted at your remark, a grin remaining ever present on his lips.

The familiar silence took over as he leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. Meanwhile, yours were hungrily taking him in - tracing over the stubble on his chin, the soft pinkness of his parted lips. Recently he’d gotten his hair cut and even though you much preferred the long hair, you would rather die than actually admit that to him. Your crush on the 106 year old grumpy ass was one of your best kept secrets. At least, you thought you’d kept it from being painfully obvious.

The man sitting before you, he had a tough exterior and a horrific history, but you knew him better than that. You knew about the way his nose scrunched up when you made him laugh and the way his eyes looked as he listened intently to every story you ever told him. You knew the sweet melody of his laugh and the far off stare that meant he was also held captive by his own thoughts. This late-night rendezvous had become somewhat of a routine for the two of you and you would be lying if you said it wasn’t your favorite part of the day.

The first time it was a short nod and typical white person, thin-lipped smile as you left to find a different spot to suffer alone. Shortly after, it developed into cohabiting the balcony – staying on your own separate sides of course, only occasionally sharing words. Then, before you knew it, the two of you would be sitting beside each other, shooting the shit like you’d known each other for years. Just two, incredibly fucked up individuals, trying to make each other feel a little more human.

Bucky had always given off the quiet, brooding energy. Typically he kept to himself, other than with close friends like Steve, choosing to stand in the corner and listen to the conversation rather than be a part of it. Occasionally he would give a quip during a meeting that would catch people off guard, but mostly he just sat there and stared. The Bucky you had come to know was nothing like the person that others wanted to make him out to be. Sure, at one point he was a masterful assassin who killed like he got pleasure from it – but that wasn’t him. The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were not synonymous.

If only the world could meet Bucky at 3am.

“What’s going on in that empty head of yours over there?” Bucky’s voice once again brought you back to reality as you laid your eyes on the familiar grin plastered across his face.

“Please,” you huffed, cheeks tinted a light shade of pink at the thought of him catching you staring, “which one of us has a college degree again?”

His laugh was a symphony to your ears. Your smile mirrored his when he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at you.

“So, what is it tonight? That nightmare again?” he asked, voice dropping an octave as his facial features softened in a way you really hoped only you got to see.

“Mm, not quite” you responded, your voice a broken whisper.

Bucky wasn’t the type to pry, but with you he wouldn’t even have to. Talking to him, sharing your deepest secrets and fears, telling him about the nightmares that kept you awake at night – it all came easily. Too easily.

“This week it’s...it’s that image of my stupid mother. Standing there with her black eyes and busted lip, telling me that it was me that was the problem. That it was me who...” you swallowed hard, the heaviness creeping back into your chest and tears fighting to wet your eyes. God you hated that you let this get the best of you.

Just as your mind started to bring you back to that dark place it was interrupted by the feeling of warmth spreading over your body. You looked down to see Bucky’s large hand resting right above your knee. When your eyes met again, he gave you a soft look that made your heart scream.

“I’m sorry,” you could tell he meant it as he gave your knee a soft squeeze.

A small smile flashed over your face and you had to resist the urge to reach out and cup his soft, stubbled cheek in your hand.

“Hey, we’re all a little fucked up, right?” you joked.

“Some more than others,” he replied, those beautiful wrinkles appearing around his nose as he scrunched it up with another laugh.

“Thanks, Buck... I’m sure you’d rather be doing anything other than listening to my sob story,” you reluctantly broke eye contact and looked down at the hem of your shirt as you fiddled with it in your fingers.

You were all too aware at the loss of contact as Bucky drew his hand back and leaned back into his chair.

“Doll,” he started as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes again - you could swear you almost saw a grin on his lips, “there are very few things I’d rather do than sit with you on the balcony at 3am”.

At that moment it felt as though time stood still. Sure, you had flirtatious banter back and forth occasionally and made a habit out of spilling your deepest regrets to each other during the wee hours of the morning, but this felt different. This felt like a confession.

You’d be lying to yourself if you tried to convince yourself, or anyone else for that matter, that you didn’t have a thing for him. I mean - who wouldn’t? The guy was a gentleman; he was soft spoken and caring, he was a dork who loved to crack jokes at the most inappropriate times, the type of person who would give you the shirt off of his own back if it meant you were taken care of.

He....well, he was Bucky.

And god damn it if you didn’t love him.

You’re unsure of how much time has passed, but one minute you’re sitting on your chair, chewing your lip and droning on about the man in front of you in your head. The next minute you found yourself on his lap, knees seated on either side of his waist as your legs straddle him and your hands connect with the skin they so desperately craved to feel. Bucky’s eyes opened slowly and met yours as you let the pad of your thumb gently run along the curve of his bottom lip. The uneven breaths leaving your chest hitched as you felt his hands grip your hips softly. Refusing to break eye contact, Bucky gently pressed a kiss to the pad of your thumb. You dragged his lower lip down briefly.

“Well,” he began. His voice was barely above a whisper but it’s thick, lustful tone made you shiver from head to...well, you know, “are you gonna kiss me, Doll? Or do I have to do all the work myself?”

He barely finished his sentence before your lips captured his. It was messy, almost all teeth and tongue. It was needy, as if it was the last time either of you would ever kiss anyone again. It was fucking incredible.

Bucky’s metal arm snaked up your back and found its way into your hair, curling his fingers gently around the strands at the back of your head, as his other arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to his form. He was intoxicating. This whole situation was something you had briefly imagined months ago, but ultimately pushed out of your mind. There was no way that he would ever be interested in someone like you. Yet, here he was, tongue fighting for entrance into your mouth.

You aren’t quite sure who pulled away first. Both of you were gasping for air, chests heaving up and down as you both stared into each other's lust-blown pupils.

“You kiss pretty well for someone who hasn’t had a girlfriend since 1940,” you teased, laughing as he rolls his eyes at the comment.

“You just don’t know when to shut that mouth of yours, do ya?” he practically growled, ever so slightly tightening his grip on your waist, and you almost lost it from just the sound of his voice alone.

“Why don’t you make me, Barnes?” you leaned in close, warm breath fanning over the shell of his ear.

A yelp escaped your throat as you were suddenly jerked up to a standing position, locking your ankles behind his back as he effortlessly held you up by your thighs.

“Oh Doll,” he chuckled darkly into your neck, almost making you pass out from the sensation, “I thought you’d never ask”.

[sondepoch]

Breaking (4/5)

Breaking the Collar

Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary—and you've reached a point where you accept it this misery, just going along with the motions of life because there's nothing else to do.

Diluc and Kaeya change that.

They enter your life on a regular workday afternoon, stepping inside Childe's massive office under the pretense of sorting out a business deal, but a single hastily written message makes it clear that they're not here to hurt you: they're here to help you.

The only issue is that you have no idea how to escape Childe.

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

MASTERLIST

Childe is broken. 

That’s the only way to explain it, really.

Something in him seemed to change after his meeting with Diluc and Kaeya. The lazy smiles, playful grins, and rugged charms that Childe used to project as naturally as light off the sun have evaporated into thin air, leaving nothing but a shell of a man you once thought to be so powerful.

“Ajax,” you whisper, calling his name to wake him up. All he really needs to do is open his eyes. You know that he’s already awake, long used to how rhythmic the rise and fall of his chest is from months of sleeping by his side, but the redhead ignores you, pressing his head deeper into the crook of your neck.

“Ajax,” you repeat, frustration beginning to drip into your tone. “Ajax, you have to wake up.”

Except that he doesn’t actually have to.

The man received an onslaught of calls the day after his meeting with Diluc and Kaeya, all of which he answered with varying degrees of frustration, but ever since then, his phone has been radio silent. Where Childe used to be out of bed every day by eleven and in his office by twelve to attend to his meetings, he’s now done nothing but stay in bed all day—and the worst part is that no one seems to care, his phone completely silent save for the daily calls he’s been avoiding from Scaramouche.

Where a few days ago, you were annoyed with the fact that he forced you to do nothing with him for hours on end, not even fucking you at night the way he always used to, now, you’ve begun to grow concerned.

“Ajax, get up.”

You try to pull his head off your shoulder in hopes that you can force him to at least look you in the eye, but the way he instantly stiffens and burrows deeper into your shoulder is proof enough that he’s not going anywhere.

You sigh.

This marks the third day where he’s refused to even brush his teeth in the morning, the fourth where he’s refused to speak. If your life were anything normal, you’d have forced him up long ago—but you’re hardly in a position to pretend you have any authority over him. It’s clear that he knows that, too.

“Ajax, I really need you to get up...”

—which is a true statement, surprisingly. 

The plan you’d developed to initiate your escape, perfected over the car ride back from Childe’s meeting with Diluc and Kaeya, was simple: snag a knife from the kitchen in Childe’s apartment, sneak into his office, use said knife to tear open the briefcase you know must have your documents inside of it, and then start running to the hotel Diluc and Kaeya said they’d be in.

You spent hours perfecting this: figuring out where Childe would be most likely to store the kitchen knives, what time of day will be best for sneaking out, and even what clothing you’ll wear when running away, since you can’t exactly run through the streets of Snezhnaya in your usual birthday suit, and for once, it seemed like the stars had actually aligned for you.

Unfortunately, when you developed your plan, you hadn’t accounted for Childe’s sudden change in behavior.

“Ajax, please…”

But the man barely even shifts in response. 

Hours later, after you’ve long given up on waking him and have instead decided to join him in his slumber, you both wake up together to a voice much louder than either of yours.

“What the fuck,” Childe groans, throat hoarse from not speaking for days on end, “is that sound.”

In your opinion, it’s pretty clear what that sound is: Scaramouche’s aggressively loud shouts of “Open the fuck up!” and “Stop dodging my calls!” and “Get out of bed, asshat!” accompanied by a nonstop banging that makes you grateful no one else lives on this floor doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

Instead, all you say is a quiet ”I think that’s Scaramouche.”

Childe withdraws his head from your neck with a mocking glare as the intensity of Scaramouche’s banging increases. 

“I’m coming in, dickweed!” the man shouts from many rooms over, and that’s the only warning you and Childe get before you hear what has to be the sound of a door being kicked in.

“Did he just…”

Childe stares at you in shock.

A small smile flits onto your face, grateful that someone has finally come to snap Childe back to his senses.

Scaramouche doesn’t bother quieting his footsteps as he stomps towards the master bedroom. He throws the door open with such force that you almost fear it'll rebound straight back into his face, but Scaramouche is across the room with his hands around Childe’s neck so fast that you’ve barely blinked before your owner’s head is being bashed against the bedframe.

“What the fuck,” Scaramouche snarls. “Made you think it was a good idea to tell anyone that you were the one who lost Lumine.”

“I didn’t—” 

Your owner’s voice is cut off when Scaramouche grips Childe’s neck and wordlessly threatens to hurt him again.

“Do you know how many problems this will cause? No one wants to work with you anymore, Tartaglia.”

“I know, and—”

Scaramouche pushes Childe’s head back into the bed frame, albeit with a little less force this time.

“No one wants to work with me anymore for having worked with you. Same for Signora and Dottore.”

“There’s nothing I can—”

“And all your big clients somehow got wind of it, too. They’re trying to switch over, and they’re all going to traffickers who aren’t associated with the Fatui because you—”

“Do you think I fucking wanted people to find out?”

It’s the first proper sentence you’ve heard from Childe since he left that meeting room with Diluc and Kaeya.

“Do you think I fucking want the literal shittiest people in the world thinking that they can look down on me?” Childe shoves Scaramouche off him, blue eyes narrowing into a glare. “I’ve already lost everything, asshole, so I don’t need you here if all you’re going to do is remind me of that.”

Scaramouche’s face settles into a frown, though you do see a hint of apology in his eyes. The pain in Childe’s voice didn’t go lost on anyone in this room.

“You smell like shit,” Scaramouche says abruptly, looking away. “Take a shower. We’ll figure out how to fix this after that.”

Childe doesn’t say anything at that, merely stepping out of bed in his sweatpants and walking to the bathroom.

“Go with him,” Scaramouche tells you. “You smell even worse.”

You’re partially insulted, partially grateful when Scaramouche says that. Insulted because, well, it can hardly be considered your fault that your owner clung to you in his bed for days on end without letting you shower. Grateful because after watching Childe do nothing for so long, you’re not sure he’ll even be able to take a proper shower on his own. 

“Ajax?” you whisper softly, following him into the bathroom. “Ajax, should I—”

“Be quiet,” he whispers. Childe steps inside the shower, eyes downcast. “Please,” he adds in a softer voice.

The man doesn’t start the shower until you’ve stepped in beside him, and you’re jarred when you realize how familiar this position is. It reminds you of how, months ago, when Childe first declared you his favorite and began inviting you to spend the night with him in his apartment, he brought you with him to the shower because he couldn’t trust you to be alone for so long. It was probably his first step in his attempts to win you over, since even back then, he was always so touchy with you, always asking what your preferred shampoo scents were and insisting that you let him wash your hair.

Back then, you were the sullen one, timid to speak and hesitant to look your owner in the eye. When he washed your hair for you, it was all you could do to shut your eyes and wait for his touch to go away, but now...

“Let me,” you tell him when he reaches for a bottle of shampoo.

It’s the first time you’ve ever initiated anything like this. You hold your breath, wondering if Childe will refuse you.

Wordlessly, the man bows his head to you.

You don’t entirely know what compels you to massage shampoo into his hair with such tenderness. A part of you says that it’s because you feel guilty, since it’s obvious by now that your slip-up to Kaeya that Lumine and Childe were connected is what’s resulted in his current plight, but another part of you does it simply because it feels natural. Standing next to him, his body blocking out most of the water as you let the soapy suds rinse from his hair, feels homey. Peaceful. Pleasant, almost as if the relationship between you isn’t owner and slave, as if the two of you are actually equals and you’re simply caring for him out of the goodness of your heart.

Childe seems to sense it, too, because right after you’ve washed conditioner from his hair and have finally begun using a loofah to clean his body, he stops your arms. He holds them loosely, just enough strength in his fingertips so that you know he wants you to stop but still sufficiently little that you’d be able to keep moving if you want to, and the two of you stand there like that for much too long, naked and vulnerable, staring into each other’s eyes as warm water beats down at you.

“I…”

It’s the first time Childe is actually speaking to you in such a long time, and his eyes soften the way they always do when he looks at you and makes you feel like you’re the only thing to exist in this world.

“I think I—”

“Hurry up in there!” The sound of Scaramouche kicking the door ruins the moment, and Childe abruptly drops your wrists from his hold. He steps back quickly, almost as if realizing how close his lips had moved towards yours, and a familiar pink stains his cheeks as he glances away from you and hurriedly scrubs the rest of his body clean. 

“Sorry,” he blurts, so quick and uncomfortable that it almost reminds you of how he normally is. You’d believe it, too, if not for the slight twinge of distance in his eyes that tells you he’s still thinking about Lumine or whatever it is that has him so out of it. “Uh, thanks. I’m, uh, gonna go. Gotta talk to him, y’know? You can, uh, finish up in here.”

You almost want to laugh at how awkward Childe is as he steps out of the shower and towels off to brush his teeth, blue eyes flickering to your form only to glance away in embarrassment when he realizes that he’s being watched.

“I’ll put new clothes on the bed for you, so…”

Childe nods stiffly at you and closes the door, and it’s all you can do to blink after him. 

Ten minutes later, once you’re fully clean for the first time in much too long and you’ve worn the clothes lain out for you on the bed, you make your exit from the master bedroom and follow the sound of voices into the living room.

“Listen, I—”

“Wait.” Childe puts up a hand, gesturing for you to come over. Wordless, you do, though it surprises you when your owner lets you sit at his side instead of on his lap. “Alright, continue.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes the slightest before going on:

“All I was saying was that your career might be salvageable if you relocate. Let’s say you drop the name Tartaglia and instead fill the role of Capitano. You’ll have to move to Sumeru, but you might be able to continue your work there. Everyone now knows that Tartaglia was responsible for losing Lumine, but as long as you don’t tell people in Sumeru that you were Tartaglia, no one should question you there.”

“I hate everything about that plan,” Childe says, crossing his arms. “I don’t even know what language they speak there. I’ll be the foreigner. Everyone will think that I came to Sumeru as a last resort because I couldn't sell my merch anywhere else. Do you know how much I made fun of those two Mondstadt pricks for trying to do business here? They didn’t even have accents either, so imagine what people will say when I—”

“You don’t exactly have the luxury of caring about what people will say behind your back.” Scaramouche glances away, sensing that it’s a low blow. “I mean, listen. No one wants to work with you anymore, and this is the only way ‘you’ can become someone else.”

But Childe remains silent.

“You can keep all your merchandise,” Scaramouche continues. “In fact, the people in Sumeru will probably like that, since it means that the girls won’t know the language and they won’t be able to escape or ask for help. Hell, you can even bring her—”

“Is that even a question?” Childe asks defensively, a hand wrapping protectively around your knee. “Listen, Scaramouche, I appreciate you trying to help me, but Sumeru isn’t—”

“Isn’t what? Isn’t ideal? You letting it slip that you’re the imbecile who lost Lumine wasn’t ideal, but look where it—”

“I didn’t say shit!” Childe hisses in response. “Do you seriously think I’m that dumb? That I’d let those two Mondstadt pricks, of all people, know something that could destroy my career? That has now destroyed my career?”

“If not you, then who, Tartaglia? The only people who know are a part of the Fatui, and it’s not like—”

Scaramouche gestures to you wildly, evidently about to say that it’s not like you could have known, except that he now remembers that he did let mention Lumine in front of you to Childe once, and you can see the moment where he connects the dots.

“You fucking bitch,” Scaramouche whispers, eyes wide with fury and shock.

“No,” Childe says, standing up abruptly. “She didn’t say it intentionally. She still doesn’t know who Lumine is.”

“But she told someone, Tartaglia. You’re literally going to be kicked out of Snezhnaya because of her, and you still want to protect her?”

Childe’s mouth forms a thin line.

Scaramouche laughs mirthlessly.

“Fucking hell. Do you think this is a joke? Your life isn’t the only one she sabotaged, Tartaglia. Everyone in the Fatui is suffering, and if you keep letting yourself get seduced by your fucking toys, you should just quit being a human trafficker before one of us shoots you.”

Tartaglia says nothing.

“You’re a disappointment. At this point, you’ve caused more trouble for us than you have good. Everything you do seems to be another international incident, and I’m fucking sick of it.”

More silence.

“It’s people like you that make me terrified to retire. The more I talk to you, the more I think that you would have been better off as a slave rather than the owner. I never should have let you move up. You were built for taking dick, not for trying to control it.”

Your eyes widen as Childe remains silent.

“And you know who takes the blame every time you fuck up? Me. It’s me. Everyone in the goddamn Fatui thinks I made a bad call now when I set you free and, I’m going to be honest, I’m beginning to think they’re ri—

Childe stiffens next to you, standing.

“That’s enough,” he says, the look in his eyes dark. “What’s done is done,” he says. “Or do you need to vent some more?”

Scaramouche crosses his hands, a look of...regret? embarrassment? pity? Flickering across his eyes. He stands up with an unreadable look on his face. 

“I’m...being serious. Consider whether or not you still want to work in the Fatui. This is the best shot you’ll have at leaving.” Scaramouche’s eyes flit over to you, where Childe’s hand is now wrapped protectively around your waist. “Though if I’m honest, I don’t think you even want to be a human trafficker anymore.”

Childe says nothing to that, merely waving casually as Scaramouche exits the apartment through the hole he made in the door. You wince when you see the damage, wanting to ask your owner how he plans on repairing it, but another question is more pressing on your mind:

“Ajax?”

“Yes?”

“Who’s Lumine?”

Your owner looks at you, brushing his thumb by your cheek as his eyes take on a nostalgic tint. 

“I’ll tell you some other time.”

Childe goes back to his bad sleeping habits as soon as Scaramouche leaves. Within seconds, your owner is shirtless and has flopped onto the bed, shooting you a pleading look to curl up next to him. Thankfully, this spell seems to last a little shorter than the previous one because although the man refuses to get out of bed, he at least entertains you with a conversation.

“What else?” you ask, a playful smile on your face as Childe continues telling you stories about Xiangling. 

“Well, there was this one time where some kid was making fun of Xiangling for being bad at art, so she and I decided that we’d bring in sandwiches for the entire class and make his extra spicy. I actually helped her with the cooking process and all, so I watched how much chili she put into the sauce she was going to use for this kid’s sandwich and it was ridiculous, like I thought she was trying to murder him or something, but anyway, we get to school and start handing out the sandwiches, and…”

You’re completely enthralled as Childe tells you the story of how he had to go to the nurse’s office because he, unfortunately, was the poor soul to eat the overly-spicy sandwich through a Xiangling-esque mix-up—and you don’t care that he’s probably making it up just to see you laugh, all that matters is that the man is smiling and talking and not staring miserably at the ceiling the way he has been for the past few days.

“You should try that the next time you’re in a business meeting with someone you don’t like,” you say, giggling. “It would be such a flex if they thought that you could eat something so spicy while they’d struggle.”

“Maybe,” Childe chuckles. “I really wanted to do something like that to those two Mondstadt pricks—and it might work, too, since they’re at least still doing business with me—but they already left the country.”

“What?” you ask in alarm, fear presenting itself as excitement through the speed with which you respond.

“Yeah,” Childe hums. “They had to go early or something. I guess it’s fine since we already agreed on the mode of transportation, but—”

“Wait, really? B-but hasn’t it been less than two weeks since your last meeting with them?”

Alarm bells begin to ring inside your mind. You remember—you swear you remember the two of them telling you that you’d have at least two weeks to get the documents before they’d leave. But could it be that they’ve forgotten about you? What if they decided you were trouble? What if they know that you’ve begun to grow close to Childe as of recent? What if they—fuck—you’ve actually begun to like the redhead, haven’t you? The fact that he’s not bringing to meetings anymore, handing your body off to be fucked like a toy before he takes you back, has made you forget that the man in front of you is a monster, hasn’t it? Could they somehow know?

A pool of dread rises in your stomach.

What you did today in the shower, willingly touching him and showing him affection he’s done nothing to deserve, was disgraceful. How can you expect Diluc and Kaeya to free you if you’re not even doing your best to be freed? What if they know about what happened today? What if they think you’re a lost cause? What if they abandoned you here because of your own naivety, and you’re cursed to a life of human trafficking for the rest of your days because of your own idiocy?

“Angel?” Childe asks, cupping your cheek. You violently flinch away from his touch, a defensive anger creeping into your eyes. “Angel, I—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I…”

You shut your eyes, reminding yourself of your position. He may not be using you right now, but Childe is a human trafficker. You’re nothing more than his favorite toy. Getting close to him like this will do nothing but hinder your escape.

“It’s nothing,” you say, averting your eyes. Still, you make no effort to return to Childe’s warm embrace. “Just, um, tired. I’m going to take a nap.”

Childe must know that what you’re saying is utter bullshit, primarily because these past few days have been nothing but sleep and rest and more sleep, but he doesn’t push it. “Alright,” he says, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

You turn away from him before he can get close. 

There’s a strange sound Childe makes, then. It’s something between a sigh and whimper, dejected and hurt all at once, but you don’t turn around to check on him. He’s a monster, you tell yourself, forcing the image of Childe looking like a kicked puppy out of your mind. A fucking monster.

And the only two people in the world who are willing to get you away from this monster may have just abandoned you, so you really need to get your shit together.

Pretending to be asleep comes naturally to you after nine months of learning that sleep, even if feigned, was the only escape you could ever have from this life. Hours pass until Childe really has fallen into slumber, something you test by calling his name out quietly, and then you know that it’s time to go—or to at least go do what you can.

You’re abruptly grateful that you and Childe went to bed right after Scaramouche left because it means that you’re fully clothed, which is an unnatural state for someone like you. When you quietly climb out of bed and out of Childe’s apartment through the hole Scaramouche made in his front door, it almost makes you feel normal because even though you’re still dressed in a cutesy skirt and blouse, you’re not being accompanied by the one man who has never let you go outside alone.

When you finally take the elevator down the ground floor of Childe’s building, no one pays you a second glance as you walk out the front door.

Then, your mind is abuzz.

Don’t look at anyone, you tell yourself because you know that if you have a panic attack here, no one will be able to save you. Don’t look at anyone, just go to the hotel.

Hours of pretending to be asleep helped you sort out your thoughts: it makes sense that Childe would believe Diluc and Kaeya to be gone. After all, they don’t want your owner getting any ideas that they were the ones to free you; however, you need to make sure that they’re actually here. 

And besides, you reason to yourself as you cross the street and step towards the hotel you’ve seen so many times across Childe’s apartment. It’s best to make sure I know where they are so that I don’t get confused when I actually escape. It’s important to do this.

With your eyes locked on the ground the whole time, you enter the hotel and take the elevator to the second floor where rooms 213 and 214 will be, just as Diluc and Kaeya instructed. No one pays you any attention, as if reminding you of your insignificance, but you’re grateful for how invisible you seem to be as you exit an empty elevator and wander down a carpeted hall. 

This hotel is a considerable downgrade from the extravagant location Diluc and Kaeya were renting out as a front for their supposed trafficking, but it sets you at ease. When you finally stand in front of room 213, it looks almost...normal.

Hesitant, you raise a hand and rap your knuckles against the wood.

“E-excuse me?” you ask, tension beginning to seep in. “Is anyone—are—Diluc? Kaeya?”

Their names sound foreign off your tongue but you repeat them anyway, the intensity of your knocking increasing until you’re practically banging on the door the way Scaramouche was this morning. 

No response.

Panic begins to surface, and you quickly switch over to room 214, not bothering to start knocking quietly as you bang on the door desperately.

“Is anyone there?” you call, trying to keep your voice sufficiently low so as to not disturb other patrons of the hotel, but it’s really hard when your fears that Diluc and Kaeya really have abandoned you grow truer and truer with each passing second. “Please!” you sob, practically kicking the door in your attempts to will it into opening. “Diluc! Kaeya! You—you promised you’d—”

The door opens right as you’re about to bang your fists against it once more, and an incredibly annoyed and shirtless Diluc stands to catch both your fists right before you can hit his chest with them.

“I’m here,” he says in that familiar, deep voice of his. “Calm down. I’m here.”

“Oh,” you say, relief suddenly washing through you as you practically go boneless in front of him. You know it’s inappropriate, that the two of you share no real relationship other than the fact that he’s trying to help you escape, but you can’t help the way you instinctively throw yourself forward to embrace him. “Thank you,” you practically sob into his chest. “Thank you for being here.”

“I—” Diluc is quick to pull you back, and he levels his stare with you just as he wipes the tears from your cheeks. “Did you escape? Do you have the documents?”

The redhead glances around the hall once to confirm that no one is watching before he pulls you inside his room. You’re surprised to see a gagged and naked Venti on his bed, the boy’s eyes round in...fear? concern? You’re not sure. The gag surprises you until you remember Kaeya’s previous declaration that Venti was a masochist. He must be into BDSM, too.

“No,” you tell the man, shaking your head. “I just—Ajax told me that you and Kaeya left. S-so I wanted to check to see if you’d actually…”

It sounds stupid when you say it out loud. From the face Diluc is making, he seems to be thinking the same thing.

“Okay,” he says, effectively inviting you in as he walks back inside the room. He approaches the dresser to slip on the black and red gloves you saw from him last time, wearing them before moving to sit on the bed next to Venti, big hands cupping the boy’s slender thighs. “Okay, we’re here. And we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Okay,” you respond, trying your hardest not to look at Venti. It’s clear that you walked in on an intimate moment. “Um…”

“We were having sex.”

Your cheeks burn. “Right,” you say, nodding your head. “That’s—um—all I—just wanted to check—going to—”

“Don’t leave unless you’re sure that there’s nothing you need,” Diluc says. “We can help you, you know. Give you a lockpick or a hammer or even a gun if that’s what it’ll take to get you access to those documents.”

“No, I’m…”

A soft smile floats onto your face. Awkward as he may be, you’re sure that this is just Diluc’s stoic way of being nice. 

“I’m good. I already have a plan for the documents.” You’re about to smile and make your leave when you remember something that’s been at the forefront of your mind for ages. “But…”

Diluc lifts an eyebrow, waiting.

“Um...you don’t need to answer this, i-it’s actually not relevant, so I should—”

“What is it.”

Somehow, when Diluc says that with such a sharp gaze, it feels like less of a question and more of a demand.

You shudder, familiar with the sensation. Nine months of training makes your response automatic:

“Do you know what happened to Lumine?”

Diluc’s face changes. 

“I mean—you don’t have to tell me. I was just curious. Ajax keeps talking about her and Scaramouche kept mentioning her and I don’t understand why she’s so important, so I haven’t—”

“Lumine was the name of a human trafficking slave who escaped,” Diluc says, folding his arms. Next to him, Venti leans into him and pulls his knees in, hiding his manhood. “I don’t know any exact dates, since there was probably a gap between when she escaped and when people began finding out, but it happened sometime within the past two years.”

“O...kay?” You cock your head to the side. That...honestly doesn’t sound like a big deal at all, honestly. Slaves escape all the time: heck, Scaramouche said that Xiao disappeared just a few weeks ago, so why isn’t Zhongli facing the same loss in business that Childe’s going through?

Diluc seems to see the confusion on your face.

“The thing was, when Lumine escaped, she took important documents with her.” Oh, you think, beginning to understand why that would be a problem. “At the time, no one knew who had lost her, since that person maintained anonymity during the whole affair, but those documents were said to have definitive evidence that could be used to prosecute basically every human trafficker who had business dealings with Lumine's handler. And since that person was anonymous, it meant that every human trafficker in the world was at risk.”

“I...see.” Now you understand why people wouldn’t want to work with Childe at the revelation that he was the man who lost Lumine. “That’s unfortunate.”

“I guess.” Diluc shrugs and crosses his arms. “The incident was resolved pretty quickly, and everyone soon found out that Lumine had been killed before she could hand the documents over to anyone of importance. Still, though, for someone as prolific as Tartaglia to be the imbecile to have lost his merchandise…”

You hate how your heart immediately beats in defiance when Diluc calls Childe an imbecile. He is an imbecile, you try to tell yourself, despite the fact that you feel nothing but sorrow and pity for him now that you understand what situation you’ve put him in. An imbecile. An asshole. A monster. 

But somehow, your heart doesn’t seem to agree with your mind on those words.

“And it’s my fault everyone knows…” you mumble, more to yourself than Diluc or Venti.

Scaramouche’s words from this morning echo through your mind—Your life isn’t the only one she sabotaged, Tartaglia: everyone in the Fatui is suffering—and instantly, guilt hits you like a ton of bricks. Yes, these are human traffickers, but if you remember the utterly dejected look in Childe’s eye this morning, it feels infinitely worse to know that you’re the cause of his misery.

“Are you feeling bad for him?” Diluc asks in a whisper, but the look in his eye is dangerous. Even Venti, who had been pressed beside him up until now, begins to look fearful. “Are you seriously sympathizing with Tartaglia?”

“No, I—I’m not—”

“I hope not,” Diluc says, stony. “Because there are hundreds of other girls who want to be freed and haven’t begun to feel bad for their handlers, and Kaeya and I would much rather focus on them.”

“I’m not—”

“I hope so.”

Diluc stands abruptly, and you take that as your cue to leave.

“Th-thank you for taking the time to—”

“Yeah.”

Diluc practically pushes you out the door frame, then, his broad chest obstructing your view of the inside of the room, but your eyes fly to Venti, who kneels on the bed to make eye contact with you over the redhead's shoulder.

As Diluc begins reiterating the instructions for your return, you focus on the boy in the background.

Venti doesn’t seem to care that he’s nude. Hell, there’s not an ounce of shame on his face despite being gagged and covered in hickeys, and it would alarm you if you weren’t focused on the way he lifts his bruised arms up in an X-formation and begins shaking his head frantically. His lips appear to be forming the words to something, but you can’t understand what he’s saying through the gag.

You’re about to ask what Venti is saying when Diluc turns to see what you’re looking at.

For a second, the room seems to drop ten degrees. Venti freezes, staring at Diluc with round eyes, almost scared, and you swear you hear the redhead growl for a second.

A muffled whimper spills from Venti’s lips.

Diluc turns to you, a gentle smile that unsettles you on his face. “I think you should go,” he says. “Venti must really want my attention now if he’s trying to play games to get it.”

“O-oh, but what was he—”

“I suggest you leave now,” Diluc says, the kind-not-kind smile beginning to slip from his lips. “Because you’ve been here a while, and the last thing you should want is for Tartaglia to find you missing.”

“What about Kaeya—”

“Kaeya’s at the gym,” Diluc practically spits. “So unless you want Tartaglia tracking you there, too, I’d go straight back to your little apartment with him and pray that he didn’t notice you left.”

Despair builds in your chest at that. You were certain Childe was asleep when you left, but what if he reaches out for you while he’s sleeping? What if that wakes him up and he sees that you’re gone? What if—

“Go,” Diluc orders.

The redhead doesn’t wait for you to respond, then, simply slamming the door in your face. Immediately, you’re back in action. You dart for the elevator, knowing that you need to get home as quickly as you can if you want to minimize the chance of Childe waking up to find you gone.

Panic begins to rise. The familiar vines of anxiety begin to climb higher and higher through your stomach as the elevator begins to close with painstaking slowness. Your fingers fumble with the urge to make things move faster, and you doubt yourself for a moment, thinking that you should have taken the stairs, but it’s too late for that, now, with the doors just about to close, and—

You hear the beginnings of a scream. A high-pitched wail, something agonized and miserable and ruined.

Then, the sound cuts off with the closing of the elevator doors.

Too panicked to think, you don’t bother pondering the source of the sound as the elevator reaches the first floor and you stumble your way back to Childe’s apartment. 

This time, you’re in so much of a rush that you do attract attention as you exit. Somehow, though, the thought of Childe waking up and finding you gone manages to overpower your fear at being seen, and you stumble forward through the hotel and towards Childe’s apartment building as fast as you can. When you’re safe inside, you have to take the elevator once more: because while Kaeya and Diluc were on the second floor of their hotel, Childe has the penthouse of his apartment, a distance much too large for the stairs to be a viable option, but your nerves begin to calm as you feel the elevator shift higher and higher. 

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get home safe and everything will be okay.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

Probably not.

The elevator opens directly in front of Childe’s front door, where the hole Scaramouche busted open this morning still remains. Ever careful, you step one foot inside, shift your weight forward, and duck inside. 

As soon as you’re completely within the apartment, the pressure and fear of having escaped dissipate. You think that you’ve made it back safely, that you snuck out and will be able to sneak back in with no consequences.

Then, you see him.

“Y-y-y-you’re—”

Childe is shaking like a leaf, looking pale and sickly. His hair is disheveled, messy in a way that lets you know that he’s been running his hands through it for as long as you've been gone, and his mouth is caught open in a mix of shock, confusion, and relief.

“You’re back,” he mumbles in disbelief, and the way his eyes glisten in the darkness of his apartment, catching what little moonlight shines in and reflecting it off, tells you that he’s on the verge of tears.

Then, he blinks, and the tears begin to fall.

“I…”

Words fail you. You don’t know what to say to justify your leave. You don’t know if Childe even wants justification. The man stumbles towards you, and while logic tells you that you should guard yourself, should protect yourself, should prepare to be hit or whipped or assaulted the way a human trafficker would normally behave when his merchandise acts out, the vulnerable look in Childe’s eye makes you think that he won't hurt you.

“I-I—I thought you left,” he blurts, reaching forward to catch your palm in his, squeezing it as if he can’t believe you’re real. “Why—why didn’t you—why are you—”

Back.

He reaches forward to clasp your other hand in his, and when he stands so close to you, holding your hands to his chest like your touch is his lifeline, everything else seems to disappear. For the first time today, the conscious thoughts that this man is a monster and he’s a human trafficker who destroyed your life and you should hate him all disappear—leaving nothing but pain for how miserable he looks at having been left, how shook he is that you decided to come back, how overwhelmed he is that, likely for the first time, someone has chosen to come back to him.

It shakes you to the core. 

Never have you seen Childe so rattled. Displays of weakness like this are ones he rarely indulges in, and never at your side. This is the first time you're seeing him openly cry, the man practically clinging to your hand like it's the only thing grounding him, and you realize that he's hurting, too. That Lumine and Diluc and Kaeya and everything else in this godforsaken world of human trafficking have fucked him up just like it's fucked you over, and what you're seeing now is the culmination of all of that.

"Relax," you whisper, letting go of all your resentment for a single moment to pull him close into a warm, loving embrace. "Ajax, relax. I’m here. I’ve got you."

They're the same words Childe used to comfort you when you had a panic attack in the middle of Xiangling's restaurant, the same words that pulled you to safety at a time when even your mind had turned traitor against your heart. 

You can't explain why you're comforting him when he's done nothing but ruin your life.

Yet, as Childe clutches your figure and chokes back a harrowing sob, thick, wet tears falling onto your shoulder as he chokes out the words “thank you” over and over again, you can’t help how your embrace instantly tightens.

MASTERLIST

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

Word count: 6.6k

Notes: OKAY so you know how this was supposed to be four chapters? yeah unfortunately that would make the final super duper rushed or super duper long so there's going to be a fifth chapter! and after the fifth chapter there'll be a short epilogue-y chapter!! the fifth chapter (finale!) and epilogue will be posted together at the same time - i can promise this bc i already have the epilogue written - soo yeah :D my apologies as usual for being late, hope you enjoyed the developments in this chapter! comment thoughts and predictions <3

Comment & Like

Next Update: 7/18/21 (hopefully)

I do not own the rights to Genshin Impact or any of the characters within it.