#like whether you liked their voice acting or not doesn’t matter they’re still real people

[jouno-s]

every time i come across any kind of post that trashes on anime english dubs and acts like japanese dubs are infallible treasures sent from the heavens i just have to roll my eyes

[otomes-and-tears]

it’s meeeeeeeee i’m shiloh enjoyer #3!!!! revolving him around in my brain every day like it’s a microwave 😭😭 i know you’re busy with a lot of other asks at the moment but i’m eagerly awaiting the lizzie post!! and all of your other writing ofc <33 you brighten my day :D

HELLO TO THE MYSTERIOUS SHILOH ENJOYER #3! I think we're all here now haha I'm glad you enjoy my analysis posts! NOW BUCKLE UP, BUCKAROOS! THIS ONE IS GOING TO BE LOWKEY SAD: Elizabeth is perhaps the most complex and defining relationship in Shiloh's life.

First of all, it's one of the few we see glimpses of throughout several steps in his life-- we see how he idolises her as a child, how he acts towards her when they reconnect in his teenage years and glimpses of how the different versions of him act with her in adulthood. It's likely the oldest relationship he maintains that isn't familial, and I think that's incredibly significant when we take into consideration what I believe to be one of the paradoxical cores of Shiloh's character: Connections and relationships are disposable to him, but Shiloh is only Shiloh as long as there’s someone there. He still feels lonely.

I talked a little before about Shiloh's childhood. How the social dynamics he established as a kid ended up influencing his behaviour as a teenager: He sees Lizzie as the obvious leader, since she's older and more assertive than him and MC, and follows her around and obeys her every whim because of it. Whether he genuinely likes her or not is up for debate, but I don’t think it matters to Shiloh. What she means to him is something that can far supersede any simple likes or dislikes that he might feel at that age:

She provides stability and purpose. She’s his anchor against the mean kids, the teasing, the isolation. All he has to do is stay in her favour. Lizzie is his first encounter with a power dynamic he can rely on and emulate as he grows, and therefore she becomes someone he idolises.

Shiloh doesn’t need to be honest, or even be himself, as long as he’s useful and needed. He understands social hierarchies all too well, knowing what happens to people at the bottom. It’s why he insists he isn’t “different” and loses it when Cove calls him “weird.”

He was probably one of the kids who got picked on, so he’s always scrambling to stay just above water and not sink to the bottom with the rest of the “outcasts.” MC doesn’t mean much to him, but in Lizzie’s absence, he sticks to them just as obediently, as they’re the next best thing. Cove, on the other hand, is mostly just a mild annoyance but does give Shiloh a bit of relief because, for once, he’s not the one at the bottom. And it’s not like Cove was ever going to be Lizzie’s favourite anyway.

Whenever Shiloh gets ignored, he panics and tries to wedge himself back into the conversation however he can. And as soon as Lizzie shows up again, he immediately runs back to the safety of their old dynamic.

I think that while most of him admires her at that age, there's a little part of him that resents not being like her. Not being able to be a leader and being relegated to a follower, feeling aimless when she isn't around. As a kid, he's more prone to lashing out when angered, unlike older Shiloh who acts with fake cheeriness and this strange, eery coldness when annoyed. And that's why he pulls her down with him into the water in Step 1.

If he isn't willing to voice these things because he doesn't want to rock the boat and cause issues, he expresses it more subtly.

Shiloh’s just scared—a scared little kid who figured out a way to fit in. And because that method kept working for him, through moving out of state and getting through life without Lizzie, he never really had a reason to change, even if it did a number on his very sense of self.

He got better at these tactics over time, making sure he’d always have a way to fit in, but it cost him a real personality and genuine social skills beyond the manipulation tactics he fine-tuned throughout the years. Eventually, he started taking control in small but crucial ways: He’s the one who walks away from relationships, now. Removing himself from them becomes a choice. It’s not only about leaving when people cease being useful to him but about imposing a sense of control that he felt like he lacked in childhood since he moved schools and states a few times and was likely used to being the “new kid” in different places.

He learned to hide his feelings better, so he wouldn’t blow up the way he did when he was seven. That’s why his relationship with Elizabeth—and the times he had to start fresh somewhere new—were so essential to shaping who he is: Lizzie set the standard for the kinds of relationships he’d chase, and moving around gave him fresh slates and new people to practice on.

That brings us to the serendipity moment in Our life and what we know from him in Xoxo droplets. Now, I know a lot of people haven’t actually played XOD and only have a cursory knowledge of it and the fact that a few characters from it cameo in the Our Life series! But did you know that Liz is mentioned by name in Shiloh’s route?!?

Yes! Back in 2017 we actually had Shiloh mention the events of Serendipity, which I think is a crucial scene to understand Shiloh’s character.

But before we talk about that, Let's talk Serendipity!

After Jeremy brings up “Shiloh’s famous memory” and Liz realizes he lied about not remembering her in the Step 3 prologue, Shiloh actually goes ahead and explains why he is the way he is. His explanation lines up with what we know about him from XOXO Droplets and how he acts in Step 1.

I don’t think he’s lying. Not about all of it, at least. Some of the only concrete information we have on Shiloh’s character and how he functions comes from his childhood, and I think that what he’s saying is a natural progression of that information. He only does things for his own benefit, he’s afraid of being left out and he asserts his sense of control through his relationships with others. But it’s really important to remember that Shiloh doesn’t do things without it benefiting him. While I believe in the core of what he’s saying, the fact that he’s divulging this information at all (how he’s going about it, by putting Liz and her feelings on the matter first, and framing his choices as being mistakes he made out of care for an old friend and by reiterating that they’re too good and putting himself down for pity points) instead of trying to dodge the conversation again, he’s employing a few of his known manipulation tactics: the real me strategy.

Shiloh knows that this new information is hurtful to Liz, and like in Step 1, her opinion is really the one that matters to him. He knows that there’s a limit to how much he can play dumb before they snap, and by Jeremy revealing part of his MO, there isn’t a lot he can do to smooth things over, so the least destructive path is to do exactly what Shiloh does to JB during his route in Xoxo droplets: He feeds Liz little bits of truth because he knows he’ll damage their relationship if he doesn’t. He gives her enough so she feels like she knows him better, like she’s got some new, special insight into the “real” Shiloh that nobody else has, which keeps her around. He pretends to drop his manipulative schtick because by telling her this, she has “figured him out” and there isn’t a point in trying anymore. That itself is a manipulation tactic.

But why bother? He’d be gone again by the end of the afternoon regardless of her forgiveness or not.

It comes back to what I mentioned earlier: Shiloh is the one who exerts control over his relationships. He is the one who decides when they start, and when they end, and by Liz being upset and deciding she doesn’t want to be around him, not only does he lose the control he craves, but Shiloh loses it with the person he based all of his subsequent relationships on.

In the few hours that he spent in Sunset Bird, they all fell back into their old dynamics even though it had been so long since Shiloh stepped foot in that town. He still remembers that she prefers popsicles over ice-cream sandwiches, and even though he’s better at including MC and Cove, Shiloh in a lot of ways fell back into their old routine, looking back to Liz as his leader and following into step as her sidekick. It doesn’t matter if Liz isn’t an active part of his life any longer, what would it mean to him to have those memories tainted? For that perfect template to be ruined?

But Liz stays. 

And because of that choice, we get to see the ultimate consequences of it. Shiloh isn’t a good person. As pitiful and as tragic as he might be, he simply isn’t one. And I think that can be encapsulated perfectly in how he frames his interaction with Liz to his girlfriend in Xoxo Droplets.

He glosses over what he did wrong, he casually exploits that event to garner points with his girlfriend. He ultimately doesn’t care if she takes his and Liz’s relationship the wrong way and frames it as being romantic, even if that’s far from the truth. Even with Elizabeth being miles away and already hurt by him, he still finds ways to use people and spin narratives to his advantage. 

I do believe he holds Liz in higher esteem than most (and arguments can be made that JB, the main character in XOXO droplets and his love interest, and Elizabeth share similarities in both appearance and their strong-willed, confident personalities), since she was his “idol” by his own admittance, but this is a tiny way in which he asserts his control over the situation. It doesn’t matter if Liz believes she holds the reins. If she’s older, admirable and if he still follows her around like an obedient puppy when she’s around.

By choosing to stay, she tipped the scales in his favour. He is the one in control once again, and he's able to continue his interminable cycle of holding people at arm's length while playing the part of a devoted companion.

[cyarskaren52]

menu

Method Man Talks Acting And His Illustrious Hip-Hop Career On The Cover Of ‘Cassius’

by Shannon Dawson | August 31, 2023

PauseUnmute

Duration Time1:57START CASTINGSETTINGSFullscreen

At the age of 52, Method Man is living life to the fullest and on his terms. The lyrical virtuoso and former Wu-Tang Clan affiliate reflected on his decorated rap career in an exclusive cover story with Cassius Aug. 30.

Even though he doesn’t like to be called a sex symbol, Meth looked like a complete snack on the cover of Cassius’ latest feature. For his big story, the Long Island native rocked a satin multicolored shirt that exposed his chiseled chest and big muscles. Meth complemented the look with a sleek pair of headphones and his signature glasses.

52 never looked so good!

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by CASSIUS (@cassiuslife)

Opinions don’t matter to Method Man.

RELATED STORIES

Word Has It Method Man Had The Cast And Crew Of ‘On The Come Up’ Starstruck

The rapper’s youthful glow and “fine uncle” persona may be partly due to his positive views on life. While chatting with Cassius’ director of content Alvin Blanco, the hip-hop legend said that he doesn’t take himself too seriously, and it’s been his secret to longevity in the music industry. Now, Method Man has parlayed his powerful hip-hop resume into an award-winning Hollywood acting career, but some of his rap counterparts haven’t been able to do the same.

“I can’t speak to their stories or why they’re in the predicaments that they’re in, but I do know some of the pitfalls that come with the industry,” the rapper said of peers who are no longer in the music game. “A lot of them are self-inflicted by the artist themselves. There’s nothing like getting an ego-stroked man, but it becomes very addictive and when [it] isn’t up to par with your standards, you tend to slide into seclusion to the point where you become a recluse. When you start valuing other people’s opinion of you more than your own opinion of yourself, that’s when you have a problem.”

The hip-hop star said he never let the opinions of other people stop him from getting to the bag, and in the long run, it worked to his advantage. “The fact that I’m still here is a testament to my work ethic, and people fucks with me heavy, for real,” he added.

Meth made legendary strides pioneering hip-hop alongside his Wu-Tang group mates in the ‘90s. The clan was widely celebrated for popularizing the hard-core hip-hop genre coming out of the East Coast. On the collective’s debut album, Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers), his gritty authenticity and effortless charisma oozed over hits like “Protect Ya Neck” and his solo smash, “Method Man.”

On the heels of the album’s 30th anniversary, the star, real name Clifford Smith, has been amazed to see hip-hop’s growth over the years. “You seen how it went from a million-dollar business to a billion-dollar business. “Just know this, Hip-Hop sets the trend for a lot of the cultures. A lot of the fashion, whether it be Timberland boots or those ugly ass Balenciaga sock sneakers, Hip-Hop did that.”

Method Man’s solo debut came with the release of Tical in 1994, an album that showcased his undeniable talent and distinctive voice. Tracks like “Bring the Pain” and “All I Need” demonstrated his ability to seamlessly blend hard-hitting beats with emotionally charged lyrics, resonating with listeners on a deep level. The latter track, featuring Mary J. Blige, earned him a Grammy Award for Best Rap Performance by a Duo or Group in 1996.

The rapper is making strides in Hollywood. 

Method Man has been garnering praise for his stunning on-screen roles in popular shows like Power Book and Godfather of Harlem. In 2022, the multihyphenate won an NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Supporting Actor in a Drama Series for his depiction of famous defense attorney Davis Maclean in Power Book II: Ghost.

But Meth isn’t new to the big screen. In 1997, the East Coast icon scored some of his earliest roles in Cop Land and 187. He also appeared in Hype Williams’ iconic film Belly a year later. Surprisingly, Meth wasn’t too confident with his acting skills when he first stepped in front of the camera.

“In the beginning, I have to admit I only took roles that, ya know, were me, there wasn’t any acting involved whatsoever,” the “Triumph” artist confessed. “I was very green, and you can tell now it’s apples and oranges to where I am now. I decided to take it serious when I saw exactly what these actors go through just to get a part and to survive on a daily basis. For me, that is motivation enough to go through every step that I have to go through in order to give my best performance. And not just my best performance but my 110% effort to make sure that I’m not the weakest link on this set. ‘Cause there are people that show up hours before I do to make sure everything runs smoothly. Who am I to come unprepared?”

Now, he’s going for the big roles.

Method Man hopes Marvel’s big boss Kevin Feige will come knocking on his door for a role in the future. He’s a big MCU fan. The rapper gave props to Marvel’s casting team for giving French actor Omar Sy the role of Lucas Bishop in 2014’s, X-Men: Days of Future Past. Someday, he’d love to take on the role of Bishop.

“I was just putting it out there to see if I could hook something,” the 52-year-old hunk told Cassius. “Those guys at the MCU, they know their stuff. I haven’t had any problems with any of their casting choice so far. So whoever gets the job… I think Omar Sy did an excellent job as Bishop, but that was before MCU. If they chose him again, I think he’d kill it. There’s a few people out there. But if they’re willing to give me a shot, I’d go for it. Plus, I’ve done all the research already.”

Read Method Man’s full Cassius cover story here.

RELATED CONTENT: Method Man Ain’t With The ‘Suckash*t’, Not Thrilled With Beardless Photoshop

Categories: Celebrity News

Sent from my iPhone

[fozmeadows]

race & culture in fandom

For the past decade, English language fanwriting culture post the days of LiveJournal and Strikethrough has been hugely shaped by a handful of megafandoms that exploded across AO3 and tumblr – I’m talking Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Dr Who, the MCU, Harry Potter, Star Wars, BBC Sherlock – which have all been overwhelmingly white. I don’t mean in terms of the fans themselves, although whiteness also figures prominently in said fandoms: I mean that the source materials themselves feature very few POC, and the ones who are there tended to be done dirty by the creators.

Periodically, this has led POC in fandom to point out, extremely reasonably, that even where non-white characters do get central roles in various media properties, they’re often overlooked by fandom at large, such that the popular focus stays primarily on the white characters. Sometimes this happened (it was argued) because the POC characters were secondary to begin with and as such attracted less fan devotion (although this has never stopped fandoms from picking a random white gremlin from the background cast and elevating them to the status of Fave); at other times, however, there has been a clear trend of sidelining POC leads in favour of white alternatives (as per Finn, Poe and Rose Tico being edged out in Star Wars shipping by Hux, Kylo and Rey). I mention this, not to demonize individuals whose preferred ships happen to involve white characters, but to point out the collective impact these trends can have on POC in fandom spaces: it’s not bad to ship what you ship, but that doesn’t mean there’s no utility in analysing what’s popular and why through a racial lens.

All this being so, it feels increasingly salient that fanwriting culture as exists right now developed under the influence and in the shadow of these white-dominated fandoms – specifically, the taboo against criticizing or critiquing fics for any reason. Certainly, there’s a hell of a lot of value to Don’t Like, Don’t Read as a general policy, especially when it comes to the darker, kinkier side of ficwriting, and whether the context is professional or recreational, offering someone direct, unsolicited feedback on their writing style is a dick move. But on the flipside, the anti-criticism culture in fanwriting has consistently worked against fans of colour who speak out about racist tropes, fan ignorance and hurtful portrayals of living cultures. Voicing anything negative about works created for free is seen as violating a core rule of ficwriting culture – but as that culture has been foundationally shaped by white fandoms, white characters and, overwhelmingly, white ideas about what’s allowed and what isn’t, we ought to consider that all critical contexts are not created equal.

Right now, the rise of C-drama (and K-drama, and J-drama) fandoms is seeing a surge of white creators – myself included – writing fics for fandoms in which no white people exist, and where the cultural context which informs the canon is different to western norms. Which isn’t to say that no popular fandoms focused on POC have existed before now – K-pop RPF and anime fandoms, for example, have been big for a while. But with the success of The Untamed, more western fans are investing in stories whose plots, references, characterization and settings are so fundamentally rooted in real Chinese history and living Chinese culture that it’s not really possible to write around it. And yet, inevitably, too many in fandom are trying to do just that, treating respect for Chinese culture or an attempt to understand it as optional extras – because surely, fandom shouldn’t feel like work. If you’re writing something for free, on your own time, for your own pleasure, why should anyone else get to demand that you research the subject matter first?

Because it matters, is the short answer. Because race and culture are not made-up things like lightsabers and werewolves that you can alter, mock or misunderstand without the risk of hurting or marginalizing actual real people – and because, quite frankly, we already know that fandom is capable of drawing lines in the sand where it chooses. When Brony culture first reared its head (hah), the online fandom for My Little Pony – which, like the other fandoms we’re discussing here, is overwhelmingly female – was initially welcoming. It felt like progress, that so many straight men could identify with such a feminine show; a potential sign that maybe, we were finally leaving the era of mainstream hypermasculine fandom bullshit behind, at least in this one arena. And then, in pretty much the blink of an eye, things got overwhelmingly bad. Artists drawing hardcorn porn didn’t tag their works as adult, leading to those images flooding the public search results for a children’s show. Women were edged out of their own spaces. Bronies got aggressive, posting harsh, ugly criticism of artists whose gijinka interpretations of the Mane Six as humans were deemed insufficiently fuckable.

The resulting fandom conflict was deeply unpleasant, but in the end, the verdict was laid down loud and clear: if you cannot comport yourself like a decent fucking person – if your base mode of engagement within a fandom is to coopt it from the original audience and declare it newly cool only because you’re into it now; if you do not, at the very least, attempt to understand and respect the original context so as to engage appropriately (in this case, by acknowledging that the media you’re consuming was foundational to many women who were there before you and is still consumed by minors, and tagging your goddamn porn) – then the rest of fandom will treat you like a social biohazard, and rightly so.

Here’s the thing, fellow white people: when it comes to C-drama fandoms and other non-white, non-western properties? We are the Bronies.

Not, I hasten to add, in terms of toxic fuckery – though if we don’t get our collective shit together, I’m not taking that darkest timeline off the table. What I mean is that, by virtue of the whiteminding which, both consciously and unconsciously, has shaped current fan culture, particularly in terms of ficwriting conventions, we’re collectively acting as though we’re the primary audience for narratives that weren’t actually made with us in mind, being hostile dicks to Chinese and Chinese diaspora fans when they take the time to point out what we’re getting wrong. We’re bristling because we’ve conceived of ficwriting as a place wherein No Criticism Occurs without questioning how this culture, while valuable in some respects, also serves to uphold, excuse and perpetuate microaggresions and other forms of racism, lashing out or falling back on passive aggression when POC, quite understandably, talk about how they’re sick and tired of our bullshit.

An analogy: one of the most helpful and important tags on AO3 is the one for homophobia, not just because it allows readers to brace for or opt out of reading content they might find distressing, but because it lets the reader know that the writer knows what homophobia is, and is employing it deliberately. When this concept is tagged, I – like many others – often feel more able to read about it than I do when it crops up in untagged works of commercial fiction, film or TV, because I don’t have to worry that the author thinks what they’re depicting is okay. I can say definitively, “yes, the author knows this is messed up, but has elected to tell a messed up story, a fact that will be obvious to anyone who reads this,” instead of worrying that someone will see a fucked up story blind and think “oh, I guess that’s fine.” The contextual framing matters, is the point – which is why it’s so jarring and unpleasant on those rare occasions when I do stumble on a fic whose author has legitimately mistaken homophobic microaggressions for cute banter. This is why, in a ficwriting culture that otherwise aggressively dislikes criticism, the request to tag for a certain thing – while still sometimes fraught – is generally permitted: it helps everyone to have a good time and to curate their fan experience appropriately.

But when white and/or western fans fail to educate ourselves about race, culture and the history of other countries and proceed to deploy that ignorance in our writing, we’re not tagging for racism as a thing we’ve explored deliberately; we’re just being ignorant at best and hateful at worst, which means fans of colour don’t know to avoid or brace for the content of those works until they get hit in the face with microaggresions and/or outright racism. Instead, the burden is placed on them to navigate a minefield not of their creation: which fans can be trusted to write respectfully? Who, if they make an error, will listen and apologise if the error is explained? Who, if lived experience, personal translations or cultural insights are shared, can be counted on to acknowledge those contributions rather than taking sole credit? Too often, fans of colour are being made to feel like guests in their own house, while white fans act like a tone-policing HOA.

Point being: fandom and ficwriting cultures as they currently exist badly need to confront the implicit acceptance of racism and cultural bias that underlies a lot of community rules about engagement and criticism, and that needs to start with white and western fans. We don’t want to be the new Bronies, guys. We need to do better.  

[momowho34]

Here are some jewish myths you might still believe!!!!

(Pls read and reblog I’m tired of people echoing shit like this)

Jesus was not a rabbi. He lived a hundred years before rabbinic judaism even started to develop. Please stop saying this as if it lends him credence in our religion, because no. It doesn’t.

Yeah, Jesus was jewish, but he also rejected mainstream Judaism and hated it. Stop pretending he means anything to us. Idk if you guys have even read your own books, Matthew is like 60% about how the Pharisees are bad and wrong and evil for sticking to the traditions that have kept them alive for 100s of years. It’s also, y’know, historically inaccurate to the actual behavior of the Pharisees in that time period. Seriously man he is not ours and means nothing to us, keep your Jesus and stop trying to shoehorn him into judaism.

Our god is not yours “minus the Jesus.” In trinity terms; divide the Holy Spirit by the Father and then subtract the Son and that is a bare bones grasp of what god appears as for Jews.

Jews are not white as a whole. Are there white Jews? Yes. Are there jews who are literally every other skin tone? Also yes!! We are all over the place. India, numerous Middle Eastern countries, Morocco, Spain, and a lot more I can’t be bothered to list. You are actively hurting poc jews by pretending that all jews are European, holy shit stop doing that please!!! Most white jewish people are Ashkenazi, which is just one type of judaism.

Actually, the historical relationship between Jews and Muslims is a lot more complicated then you think it is. Sometimes we got along, sometimes we didn’t. Some would argue that Jews were treated better by Islamic caliphates in the Middle Ages then they were by Christian kingdoms. Stop trying to pretend we are and have always been “arch nemeses” or some fucking bullshit (that would be the Amalekites for us, actually, and not the Muslims) Also we’re honestly more similar to them when it comes to traditions then christians so like take that into account thanks

Hey guys listen to Romani when they talk about the Holocaust too!!!!! Please, they have a different experience/perspective and deserve to have their voices heard. Don’t pretend they don’t exist and that it didn’t effect them because uh.... it did. To a degree that I don’t think I can properly explain. Do not overlook them and then pretend it’s just because ur a “jewish ally” or whatever the fuck.

Stop pretending that we’re the same as Christianity. We aren’t. Stop stop stop holy shit stop. That’s not how any of this works at all. Christianity is so so so different, it takes like a handful of jewish beliefs and runs with them. Christianity is its own thing and so is Judaism, stoppp.

Not all Jews are zionists. some are explicitly anti-zionists. Not all zionists are anti-Semitic, but some of them are. Basically, jews aren’t inherently zionists and anti-Zionism isn’t inherently antisemitic. That being said, some people do use anti-Zionism as a cover for their anti-semitism. Watch out for those people, they’re not that hard to spot. That’s all I’m going to say about that, don’t want to start on this issue because it isn’t what this list is about.

Jews never actually lived by the literal laws of the Torah. We did not stone people. There is no archeological evidence of that and actually more evidence pointing to the opposite. jewish communities actually held capital punishment as being inherently immoral and was very very very rarely used in some communities. Understand that. Don’t ever say shit like “but the Jews used to live by the Bible too, and they stoned gay people!!!” No. No we didn’t. Ever. Nobody did that in ancient times.

Guess what, jews are not rich or greedy! what the fuck are you talking about??? Quit it please. This stereotype has literally been used since the Middle Ages to alienate Jews as a more privileged “other” that deserve their prosecution. Stop stop please stop, please!!!!! People actually believe this shit and commit hate crimes, stop, even as a sarcastic joke.

The Old Testament is not the same as the Torah/Tanakh. It’s just not? For one thing, the Old Testament is a translation of a cut down version of a translation of a different modified version, so no. Not the same. Also the books are ordered differently and the sections are mixed up.

God does not abandon the Jews in the Tanakh or the Old Testament for that matter. It’s like... sort of implicated to happen between the two testaments in Christianity. The Old Testament basically structured the books non-chronologically so that the last one would be Malachi because his prophecies are supposed to echo Jesus. We end the Tanakh on Nehemiah, and there is no “New Testament” for us because there’s only one and it ends at the end of the story.

Antisemitism is definitely still a thing. I don’t know who the fuck told you about this one? The Jews got treated like shit after the holocaust, and some of the few survivors 70 years later got reparations so now everybody’s acting like antisemitism doesn’t exist. It does. It really, really fucking does. Please listen to us.

Holocaust denial isn’t “a fringe conspiracy theory,” it’s genuinely awful and dangerous and hurts real people. I’m serious about this one, holocaust denial (and any genocide denial for that matter, whether it’s talking about the Armenian genocide or Holdomer or any others) is legit dangerous. Pay attention to it and have 0% tolerance for that shit

You are allowed to be invited to a jewish event if you’re not jewish! We literally do not care. Respectfully participating in traditions if you’re invited to is fine! The issue is when people take a jewish tradition and twist it into something for them. That’s a no-no, but getting invited to a seder/bar mitzvah/bris is fine. just show respect to traditions you see, even if you don’t entirely understand them. Do that and you’ll be fine.

Jews are a ridiculously diverse group of people with a lot of different beliefs! We all have vastly different ideas of fucking everything from god to the purpose of pomegranates (not a joke). Accept that we think differently form eachother and aren’t a monolith please

These are all the ones I could think of lol, jewish friends add more if you can think of some. Ok and encouraged to reblog for everyone.

[mistresstaru]

So Silco’s VA is a groomer...

Honestly, nothing surprises me anymore. Jason has liked a few of my cosplay videos on Instagram, and one of them was 18+. So that was weird, but he never messaged me or anything. Silco is still one of my favorite characters of all time, whether he’s voiced by a problematic person or not.

The person he’s dating is a Jinx cosplayer. To me, that’s not a problem. It’s just fantasy. But in real life, he’s 48 and they’re 22. His real daughter is only two years older, and he recently left his wife, possibly for this young person. That’s what’s really problematic. In real life, dating someone half your age or younger is never okay. I don’t care if it is a ‘loving’ relationship. The older person will always be a predator, and the younger will always be a manipulated victim. It doesn’t matter if the younger person is of legal age. It’s just not right. The age difference should only be 10 years. That’s my opinion, anyway. All of this is my opinion.

Yes, we write fanfiction and draw fanart of Silco. But he’s not real. We wouldn’t really be attracted to a real-life villain. Personally, my Arcane OC is five years younger than Silco (we don’t know exactly how old he is). Now, I’m doing the same thing with another middle-aged character and my OC. And yeah, we’re all lusting for an old man character, but again, it’s not real. When we were kids, we had boyband posters in our rooms and lusted for Justin or Nick or Lance with our prepubescent bodies. It’s kind of like that. We like the person, but acting on it is different. These ‘famous’ people taking advantage of these lusty fans is disgusting. Vic Mignogna, Quinton Flynn, and now Jason Spisak. It’s a shame that the more into the fandom the VA is, the more likely they’re a groomer. I liked that he is a fan of his own character and indulged the fans, but obviously this is a step too far. It’s gross. TL;DR, stan old men, but don’t actually date them, and if they agree to date you, that’s a big red flag.

EDIT: Found out his wife left him, not the other way around. Still gross, though.

[furiousgoldfish]

Tactics of narcissistic abuse

Love Bombing & Mirroring are tactics to gain your favour. These will come from a narcissist you’re just getting to know and they’re trying to convince you they’re your perfect partner, soulmate, best friend, ideal lover. Love bombing is showering you with over-the-top affection and support, they’re likely to see what works best on you, then give you just that. They’ll convince you that you’re special and make you feel special, whether it’s with attention, gifts, promises, love phrases, or making you look and feel very good in front of other people. If they can spin this as fate or destiny, they will. You have one lucky coincidence? It’s destiny that you met. They’ll create the image of ‘it’s us against the world’ and convince you that they’re all you need to never be alone, unappreciated or unhappy again. They will say phrases like 'We were born to be together’ or 'You’re the only one who understands’ and make you feel like you’re in a romance film.  Mirroring is the way to convince you that they are just like you, your perfect match. They do this by pretending they want the same things as you. All of your opinions will be shared, your desires will be their desires too, however you want to live, that’s now their ideal life too. If you want children, so do they, if you want to live in a cottage, so do they.

These will be repeated until you feel like you finally got something perfect from life, you commit to them and trust them completely. You will become lenient with your boundaries and disregard minor red flags, because hey, you finally found love, or someone like yourself who makes your life better. These are crucial to keep you around for a long time; the illusion of happiness and perfect companionship you always wanted will keep you holding onto them in hope that things could once again, be this perfect for you. You will not want to let go of them even after the love bombing and mirroring is long gone. Love bombing and mirroring are not indicative of how they’re planning to treat you once you’re committed to them; as soon as they feel you are ready to fight for a life with them, roles will change and you will have to endure escalating abuse from this person, endlessly.

Scapegoats and people badly damaged by trauma will often not get the full love bombing or mirroring, narcissists will be able to win our devotion by acts of basic decency, small thoughtfulness and acting tolerant of our trauma symptoms, this will feel like everything to us, and once we decide this is a good, special person who makes us feel safe and we’d do anything for them, they’ll turn and exploit us endlessly.

Only way to spot this on time is: there will be a little voice of suspicion in your head going ’Isn’t this actually a little too perfect to be real? A little too convenient and ideal?’ and you will not want to listen to that voice. You should listen to it. It’s your instinct, trying to tell you something is off. I won’t blame you if you don’t. Most people won’t just walk away from their ideal partner because things seem 'too perfect’. But, get suspicious at least. Alert to red flags.

Enablers and Flying Monkeys

Narcissists can’t abuse if they’re on their own; they will work hard to build a reputation and charm people who they can later use for purposes of enabling, triangulating, controlling, scapegoating and smear campaigns. Enablers, or Flying Monkeys, are people who are either admiring the narcissists, want to be in narcissists good favour, are trauma bond and scared of the narcissists, are emotionally manipulated or simply too cowardly to point out that the narcissists is wrong and cruel. Most people will fall under the influence and want to be on narcissists side because it’s easier, tempting, feels safer, and doesn’t require much thinking. Narcissist will sometimes emotionally manipulate people to go do their dirty work; they will cry about how they miss their runaway children so flying monkeys would harass and judge children for running away, they will invent stories of abuse and insanity of their spouse so people would shame and judge the spouse who the narcissist is abusing. They create environment in which they can keep abusing and other people will jump to defend, justify, victim-blame and further confuse the victim. “They had a hard life”, “They’re your mother/father/uncle, you have to forgive them” or “He’s not that bad” are the phrases you’ll hear from enablers and flying monkeys. The term “Flying Monkey” is taken from the Wizard of Oz, because the Wicked Witch owned an army of brainless flying monkeys who would do her bidding – much how narcissists do with their enablers.

What enablers are doing is absolutely wrong. They should not be ready to defend abuse, or excuse and justify it, or believe and act on smear campaigns, not for any reason. They are hurting and isolating the victim, and regardless of how much they suck up to the narcissist, they will eventually become the targets too. Victims are right to cut out enablers just how they’re right to cut out abusers. You do not have to suffer for their cowardice or stupidity.

Triangulation is a form of abuse where narcissist brings another person into the relationship in order to bypass your boundary. For instance, you refuse to speak to the narcissist, so they send your family members, friends, or their friends, to talk to you about how much you’re hurting the narcissist and how cruel and unfair you’re being. Or, you’re trying to set a boundary in your marriage, and suddenly a friend or a relative comes talking to you about how unreasonable it is to set such awful boundary and to think of your spouse’s feelings and how bad they have it. Narcissist may try to use you for triangulation too, for example, they might tell you 'Go tell your sister she should do xyz and she’s making a mistake, she’ll listen to you’. It’s implied you agree with the narcissist, and that both of you are doing it for the sister’s good, when it’s more likely the narcissist is trying to force this person to do something they’re deeply set against and would only serve the narcissist. Narcissists will use their children to triangulate a marriage, they will often 'gang up’ other family members on their spouse, or one of the children. If you’re the victim, you’ll find yourself cornered, isolated, and in doubt whether you’re doing the right thing, trying to establish a boundary. Narcissists will also often show affection, compassion or even love to a third person simply to make you jealous and worried that something is wrong with you since you don’t get the same treatment. It’s what creates an illusion that the entire world is agreeing with the narcissist and no matter what you do, you look unreasonable for fighting them.

Narcissists will sometimes invent completely boogus scenarios and try to terrify people into doing their bidding and believing they’re right. As if the world will fall if narcissists don’t get what they want.

Society at large will often enable abusers; you can call out abuse and be rendered a 'killjoy’ because people prefer to enjoy cruelty together with the narcissist than to oppose them. Narcissists are capable of rousing a whole gang of people to turn against the victim and to aid in their abuse; this is scapegoating.

Gaslighting is a form of abuse where the abuser attacks your sense of reality. They will usually do this to obscure and deny acts of abuse. “I never said that” “That didn’t happen” “That’s not how I remember it” “You imagined it” or “You’re crazy, I would never do that!” are common gaslighting phrases abusers use for events that absolutely happened, and they absolutely remember. It’s even more powerful if they get other people to agree that you’re insane for remembering a past event of abuse. They can sometimes try to convince you that something didn’t occur while it’s still happening. This renders your intention of calling out abuse impossible; you’re now debating whether the event even happened and your sanity is questioned.

The point of this is to drive you into insanity; prolonged gaslighting will make you doubt your own memories and senses, and you will no longer be secure in your own point of view or version of reality. You will not be able to fight abuse, because you will get stuck on wondering if it’s even real, or if you’re making it up. Narcissist wants not only to abuse you, but to control your perception of it, reaction of it, and to disable you from telling anyone and being taken seriously. Smear campaign and gaslighting ensures that everyone thinks you’re lying to make problems, even you.

You can attempt to block gaslighting with phrases like 'That was not my experience’ 'I know the truth and I am not debating it with you’ ’ Don’t tell me what happened, I was there’ or ridiculing them for thinking it would work, but sometimes abuse will escalate if you refuse to play along, so be very careful with them.

Baiting, Projection and Scapegoating

Baiting is the way narcissist finds out which triggers will work on you. Types of baits are: Scaremongering, Accusations, False Claims, Guilt-tripping, Victim-playing, False Hope, or Intrigue. They will use these to elicit either fear&anxiety, or guilt&responsibility. You are likely to get pulled in and respond emotionally to these, and thus the narcissist will discover which one of these is most triggering and they can use it to either control you, or to affirm that they can still get you riled up, scared, guilty – they feed on being able to provoke these, it makes them feel powerful. They can later use the same trigger to push you into guilt and fear if you try to resist their control. If they continue doing this to you for a long time, you are likely to develop self-doubt and anxiety about your own persona. Way to counter this is to grey rock them.

Projection is a primitive defense-mechanism, where a person feels uncomfortable with their behaviour or thinking, so they accuse someone else of it to deflect the bad feelings from themselves. This can feel the same as baiting, but narcissists do it without realizing they’re giving you the information about what they’re actually feeling and doing. For instance, a narcissist will accuse you of being self-absorbed after they start feeling uncomfortable with how self-absorbed they are, they will start to call you selfish when it comes to their mind how selfish they are. They will accuse you of the exact shit they’ve been doing whether it’s lying, manipulating, faking for attention, cheating, exploiting, lacking compassion, stealing. These claims will feel like they’re coming out of nowhere at first, but eventually you will wonder if you’re really like that, and accept their projection on yourself, believing to really be as bad, or worse than they are. Even though they’ve done 100% of these things, while you have done none of it. This can also be countered by being aware what is going on and grey-rocking them. Deflecting the blame back to them will not work because they’ll either deflect it back, or throw a tantrum and insult you.

Scapegoating is the most vicious abuse narcissist can inflict on their victims and is designed to completely break a person’s spirit while creating power out of terror. Scapegoating doesn’t only serve to terrify and control the victim; it shows everyone what the narcissist is capable of, causing them to go very far to avoid becoming the next scapegoat. This creates enablers, flying monkeys and other benefits for narcissist to enjoy, while the scapegoat is isolated, not believed, and often shunned by the community to show loyalty to the narcissist.

Scapegoat will be blamed for every narcissists flaw, accused of provocation and creating trouble, shamed for their likes and interests, humiliated for their appearance or needs, their work will be rendered worthless and any pain and injury will be treated as if the scapegoat deserved it, or wanted it. Nothing is out of bounds to criticize or belittle in the scapegoat; flying monkeys will do it too, to either affirm themselves with the narcissist, or because they too crave power by stepping on someone defenseless. If a narcissistic parent decides to scapegoat a child, the other parent might stop caring for the child, and agree that the child deserves only to be neglected and shunned. The illusion narcissists create, of entire society agreeing that a person is irredeemable, deserving only of pain and ridicule, has turned people to suicide.

Scapegoat absorbs all of the narcissist’s malice, cruelty, sadism, baiting, projection, guilt and tantrums, so other people in the environment can get some relief and can use the scapegoat as their shield. You can be chosen to be a scapegoat for challenging the narcissist and standing up to them, for refusing to scapegoat someone else, for seeing thru them and showing any potential for undermining their authority, if narcissist is jealous of you, if narcissist feels threatened by your intellect, compassion and emotional depth they lack. And often, you’ll just be chosen because they’re in position of power and you’re unprotected. If you’re their child, a lonely classmate, employee with no high reputation or lots of friends, a minority, different in the way of sexuality or behaviour, anything that is easily used to sway a group of people against you. Narcissists will make sure to spread a smear campaign filled with lies against you, so that nobody would align with you, or believe you if you try to counter their word.

This type of treatment is beyond anything a human being could deserve, and devastating for the victim’s self esteem and sense of reality. After surviving a scapegoating situation, people might not want to find themselves in any social setting anymore. They might start believing themselves to be unlovable and defective. There is usually no way to counter it or fight your way out, unless there’s a higher authority who could side with you, or there’s a way to physically remove yourself from this environment.

Grey Rock, Hoovering and No Contact

Grey rock is a way to counter baiting and projection; narcissists learn and thrive on our emotional responses, it gives them a thrill to be able to send us into rage, terror, disbelief, shock or panic. Grey rocking means you give zero emotional response, and thus prove yourself very boring and a bad source of narcissistic supply. So, regardless of what egregious threat, accusation, claim or insult they make, you just reply with 'mhmm’ and look completely disinterested. You reply with one-word sentences, say 'sure’ or 'yup’ if they accuse you of something or try to fearmonger, answer questions with 'maybe’ or 'I don’t know’, agree with whatever bs they’re pulling out of their ass without caring, refuse to get pulled in or baited, give them no significance in the conversation until they leave. It is very hard to do, because they will up their game and even fly into rage to get a response, if they feel entitled to it. In some cases they might resort to violence. Often, they’ll keep changing the tactics until something works, and if nothing does, they’ll feel dejected and go find another source of supply. If they feel like they can’t get to you, this undermines their imagined power over you.

No contact is the only way to truly win against a narcissist; if they can’t reach you, they can’t manipulate or hurt you. This means no responding to messages, no letting them know where you live, blocking them on every service, and in most situations, even the enablers have to be no contact, because the narcissist is likely to send them into triangulation and use them to get to you. If you’re unable to go no-contact with a narcissist, a lot of people opt for 'low contact’, which means you only hear from them once a year, or once every 6 months, insufficient for them to gain control over you, and you grey-rock them all the way, and never share any personal info that might be used against you. Hoovering is something a narcissist will do to you after you’ve left them. They might leave you alone for a long time, then suddenly send a message saying they miss you, or they’re thinking about you and wishing you could do xyz together. They might also influence another person to tell you 'x misses you, they wish to see you again, they’re doing bad without you’. This is done to remind you of the 'good times’ and an attempt to draw you back in, as you’re supposed to have forgotten all the abuse already and be ready to take them back. It might come as outrageous expectation or denial of everything bad that happened – that’s because it is. All you have to do is grey-rock this, not respond, and enjoy in knowledge that even if you can’t ensure revenge, you can take yourself away from them, and they will never have you back.

Sources: Baiting, Scapegoating, LoveBombing, Gaslighting(video), Projection(video), Triangulation, Mirroring(video),  FlyingMonkeys (video), Hoovering, Grey Rock

[zhongli-topper]

Hi could you do scenarios for Childe & Zhongli’s fem s/o who’s insecure of herself for being a virgin?

a/n: thanks for the request, nonny! i wasn’t sure if you wanted to include sex scenes in this one, but I hope you still like it 💖

pairings: reader/childe, reader/zhongli

When the two of you first decide to become intimate, you aren’t quite sure how to tell your boyfriend that you’ve never had sex with anyone.

◈ Childe is surprised. A girl as gorgeous as you has never been with someone? No, it’s not a problem, but anyone you’ve ever taken an interest in has absolutely missed out. Well, good for him, he’ll have you all to himself.

Even as he goes on in that vein, you can’t help but feel a little insecure about your lack of experience. Childe isn’t being pushy about having sex with you, but he’s enthusiastic about it, and you’re growing more than a little nervous.

You can’t help but compare the difference. He’s been with a few people, but you’re the first person he’s serious about. It’s part of the reason he’s careful to take things at your pace, because he absolutely doesn’t want to fuck it up with you.

Even at this point in your relationship, you know how physically affectionate he is, and now, how he’s praising you for something you haven’t even done yet. He’s very handsy, even when you make out, and even (sometimes especially) in public. He’s not afraid to let the world know that you belong to each other.

If you’re feeling a little down about it, he catches on pretty quickly. He’s used to taking care of his siblings, and he’s good at comforting you and reassuring you.

“…They’ll never know what they’re missing,” he says, a smirk on his lips, “’cause you’re all mine.”

He’s holding you on his lap and nuzzling into your neck, trailing kisses down your jaw. You’re flattered, but also nervous—with your lack of experience, you don’t have any point of reference. Would you even be able to satisfy him?

He notices you’ve gone quiet. “Babe?” he asks, squeezing you lightly around the waist. “Talk to me. Is it bothering you?”

“…What is?” you ask, unwilling to admit that you were afraid of disappointing him.

“That you’ve never slept with anyone.”

When you look away, that confirms his suspicion. He lifts his head from your neck and presses his lips to your forehead.

“Baby, you know that doesn’t matter to me,” he says. “I’m serious about you.”

“I know,” you say, chewing on your bottom lip, “but still. I’ve… never done it before. I don’t know if I could… please you.”

He frowns at your words before shaking his head and looking you in the eye. “I love you,” he says. “No matter how much experience you have. Fuck, it even makes me happy that you’re willing for your first time to be with me.” He kisses you on the cheek, close to your lips. “As long as it’s with you, I know I’ll have fun.” The cocky tone creeps back into his voice as he looks you up and down, the want clear in his eyes, causing you to blush.

“Childe…” you protest, close to laughing under his affectionate caresses, and he does laugh, pulling you closer to him in his arms.

“Whatever you want, babe, I want it too,” he says, and kisses you on the lips, softly and quickly enough to tease and make you chase after him when he pulls away. The smirk returns to his face when you follow, and he whispers,

“But I want you so damn bad. You know that, right? Whenever you want… I’d just love to see what you look like naked in my bed, and know that nobody else is ever gonna see you that way too.”

◈ Zhongli knows that his long, long lifespan is cause for many uncertainties when it comes to having a relationship with a mortal like yourself.

Zhongli has never given you cause to be insecure. He’s always been gentle and loving to you, always mindful of your boundaries.

Despite how long-lived he is, he has relatively little experience. He’s a man that believes sex is for people who love each other, and as such has never involved himself in casual dalliances. The last person he had been with is Guizhong, a long time ago.

However, you haven’t been like that with anyone. Maybe you were interested in some people before, but it had never progressed that far. Zhongli would be your first, and you were worried you wouldn’t measure up, especially to someone like the Geo Archon.

It takes a long time before he brings up the idea of being physically intimate in such a way. Zhongli is patient and likes to take things slow, especially in romance. If possible, he’d like to marry you first before you have sex—such an act is sacred to him, and the depth of your commitment is important to him.

When the time comes that the both of you decide to go all the way, you can’t help but feel less than confident. You weren’t his first, and how could you, an inexperienced mortal, possibly measure up to a god?

“…”

Zhongli could tell that something was troubling you as you clenched your hands in your lap, looking down at them instead of him, when the subject of sexual experience came up. He had told you about his previous wife, and when it was your turn, you admitted to him that you had never been with anyone in a quiet voice.

He is, admittedly, a little unsure himself. He knows you must be uncomfortable with the enormous difference of life experience between the both of you, and some small part of him feels a little ashamed, of being so much older than you, afraid that maybe you would rather be with someone more equal to you, a younger man less time-worn than he. However, it’s hard for him to admit, and despite his misgivings he loves you, no matter your relationship history (or lack thereof).

“My love,” he tells you, gently twining your fingers with his own, “if it makes you uncomfortable, we need not do it. I will never force you to do anything you dislike.”

His eyes and voice are warm as he holds your hands, trying to let you see his sincerity. You look up and shake your head slowly.

“No, I want to do it… I guess I’m just worried,” you say. “I’m only human. How could I…”

He lifts a hand to cup your face and meet your eyes with his. There’s a gentle smile on his lips, but something sad in his gaze, and you furrow your brow, trying to figure out what it is.

“Do not worry about that, darling,” he says. “You could never disappoint me. I only wish that I could be more suited for you.”

“What do you mean, Zhongli?” you ask, genuinely confused.

“I often wonder if you would rather have someone… younger than me. More like yourself, not...”

You almost laugh when he mentioned his age, but the doubt in his eyes is real. You shake your head, seeing that your beloved Zhongli was, in his own way, anxious about it. “I love you Zhongli. Whether you’re a man or a god doesn’t matter to me.”

He smiles at you, touching the hand on his cheek with his own. “And I feel the same for you, my love. So, do not be nervous.” He pulls your hand away from his face, only to kiss your knuckles lightly, a perfect gentleman. “Whenever you are ready, I will be happy to have you.”

[panda-noosh]

the game {draco x reader}

  masterlist

---

 you’ve been tormenting the malfoy family for what feels like forever.

   it’s become a kind of game at this point, a game everyone is involved in. the malfoys pretend they don’t expect your presence, and you pretend you are tormenting them because you don’t like them. it’s back and forth, back and forth, and you’ve been doing it too long to back out now.

   it starts the same way every time - the gate is open, and they pretend it’s because they forgot to close it. nobody mentions the fact that lucius malfoy hasn’t forgotten a single thing in his entire life. nobody mentions draco’s blonde head peaking out from behind the living room curtains, waiting for the arrival of a person he claims to despise. 

   you stroll in with the ease of someone who owns the place, smiling and waving at the white peacocks that have become so familiar with your presence by now that they don’t even make a noise upon seeing you. they lift their graceful heads, and then they bow them again - it’s as simple as that.

    you knock on the door, grinning even wider when you hear narcissa’s faux exclamation of, “who could that possibly be?” you know for a fact that draco has warned her of your presence already, that all three of them have been expecting your arrival since they woke up this morning. 

   and then the door opens, and narcissa stands there in all her glory. such a tall, graceful woman, and you tell her that on a daily basis, making her blush because you  are her favourite little Mudblood, and she lets you get away with things like that.

    you lean against the door frame, spinning your wand between your ringed fingers. narcissa glares at you without speaking, her jaw working as she inspects you.

    “evening,” you drawl. “how are you today, my dear?”

   her nostrils flare. “how many times have we told you to stay away from our home?”

    “oh, plenty of times. i’ve quite lost count.” you straighten, craning your neck to see over her tall frame, into the hallway beyond. standing in the foyer, just as you predicted, just as he always does, is draco. you give him a wave before turning back to face his mother. “is he alright? i haven’t seen him much at school recently.”

    “my sons wellbeing is none of your business.”

   draco appears at his mothers elbow. “you can tell professor snape i’ve been feeling ill.”

   you smile - draco giving you orders is moreso his way of answering your questions without looking like he gives a shit. you appreciate it, this code you two speak in, because in all truth, you do worry about the malfoy boy quite a bit.

   you met him in school, your very first year at hogwarts. you were crushed beneath adrenaline, having found out about your powers only a few weeks before being shipped off to this strange and wonderful new school. you had a wand, and a robe, and there was a giant man ushering you into a tiny boat, ready to take you to the future. 

   and then draco appeared, and he knew who you were. he must have looked through the first year list, must have looked you up and realised you were a muggle-born. he did his research, and that was the first point of respect he earned off you.

    “let them in, mother,” draco says now. “the elves made too much food anyway; might as well put them to use whilst they’re here.”

    you give a mock bow. “much appreciated, malfoy.”

   he snarls, before mother and son turn on their heels and lead you into the home you have become so familiar with these past few years. you’ve traced these walls with your fingers a thousand times before, and you do the same now. upstairs, you hear the elves marching around, putting stuff back where they belong, chuntering amongst themselves; silently, you wonder where lucius is. 

    draco and narcissa lead you to the kitchen, where stacks upon stacks of food are set up along the grand dining table. draco hands you a glass of water before gesturing to the plates and saying, “dig in. and be grateful we haven’t got the ministry involved.”

    “the ministry?” you raise a brow, taking a long, loud sip of your water before continuing. “draco, what would the ministry possibly do? you’ve been letting me into your home for years - it’s starting to get a little old hearing you say you don’t want me here.”

    draco blinks, startled. 

   narcissa steps in, grabbing the water from your hand and slamming it upon the table. “we don’t want you here. the last thing we need is some filthy mudblood knocking on our door at all hours of the morning.”

    the word doesn’t even sting any more - it’s a wound that has been closed long enough now to no longer hurt. so instead, you smile and say, “very true, narcissa. i’ll have my water back now, if you please.”

    narcissa growls, turns and walks out of the kitchen. she always does this. it’s become part of the routine.  

   you grab the water yourself and take another sip. draco continues staring at you, a habit he adopted only recently. you remember the first time he did it, the first time it was more than a glance, more than an accidental brush of eye contact between you; he was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen, those slim fingers tapping a rhythm against the expensive granite. you and lucius were chatting, lucius asking - yet again - why you’re here, why you can never leave them alone, why you aren’t at school. you were going to answer, but draco’s gaze was burning a hole into the side of your face, and you truly felt as if you had no choice but to pack it in early and go home, just to recuperate. 

    you’ve gotten better with it. you don’t have any plans of storming out any time soon, though his gaze still makes your face heat up and your stomach squirm.

    “so, you’ve been ill, have you?” you begin. “i won’t lie, draco, you look pretty spritely to me.”

    “i wouldn’t expect you to understand,” draco shoots back. “you should just mind your business.”

    “i never asked you what was wrong. i was just saying - seems like you’re looking for a muggle excuse to get out of going to school.”

   draco glares, though the expression has less effect now that he’s taken to never taking his eyes off you, no matter what his emotions towards you are in the moment. “i’ve told you not to call me that.”

   “didn’t call you anything.”

   “you called me a muggle.”

   you narrow your eyes in faux confusion. “i said your excuse was muggle. don’t blow it out of proportion, mate.”

   he throws his hands up, turning away for what feels like the first time since he laid eyes on you. “why are you here this time, y/n? what could you possibly want from us now?”

    “i’ve never wanted anything from you.” you inspect the endless plates on the table. “although i will pinch a scotch egg, if you don’t mind.”

    draco watches as you reach across the table, picking at the assortment of foods. you don’t break the eye contact, because that’s what he wants you to do. he wants you to show some sign of intimidation, some sign that he has wriggled beneath your nerves in the same way he manages with everyone else. you’re determined to show him you’re not afraid of the malfoys, have never been afraid of the malfoys, and that’s exactly why you’re here. you wanted something, and you were willing to go to the highest rank to get it.

    “you know, if my father finds out about what you get up to, you’ll be sent to azkaban with a life sentence.”

    you freeze, scotch egg halfway to your mouth. “so you’re bringing that up now, are you?”

    “i’m just warning you.” draco shrugs, the sleeves of his black blazer stretching against the motion. “one day you’re going to walk in here, and he’s going to know. he’s going to see it in your eyes that you’re guilty.”

   “he’s going to figure me out.” you scoff. “you really think the sun shines out of your father’s arse, don’t you? he’s not as smart as he likes everyone to think, draco. i’ve been running circles around that man for years now, and he’s none the wiser.”

    “and what if i tell him?”

   the room falls silent. your heartbeat rings in your ears. you hate talking about this with draco, because you never know whether or not to take his threats seriously. 

    he folds his arms over his chest. “you’re lucky i haven’t blabbed yet.”

   “are you threatening me, malfoy?” you lean forward, lowering your voice to a purr. “why don’t you tell me the real reason you’ve taken two weeks out of school, hm? then we’ll both have stories to tattle to the ministry.”

    draco pales. he glares at you for a moment longer before the kitchen door opens, and narcissa malfoy strolls inside once again. you straighten up, schooling your expression into one of immediate calm, like not a single thing is wrong. you pop the remaining scotch egg in your mouth and say, “i should get out of your hair now.”

    narcissa simply scowls.

    you give her a grin, nod at draco once before walking out the door, trying to ignore that blue-eyed gaze still burning into the back of your head.

   ----

    it gets easier over time.

    all of it does, really. the guilt becomes non-existent, and the act itself becomes second nature after a few good attempts. you’ve nearly been caught a handful of times, and you know if your actions were to come to light, you would be expelled from hogwarts in a heartbeat; not even dumbledore could show you mercy, no matter how much he likes you.

    it’s easiest when the streets are full. muggles are so careless, clumped together with wallets jingling in their pockets, unprotected. they don’t even think about what might go wrong, don’t even think a wizard may be lurking amongst them, ready to snatch their belongings right from their person.

    you don’t need it, of course. muggle money means nothing where you come from, but there’s some wizards and witches who would pay hundreds of galleons in trade for the things collected off muggles. it’s a black market kind of situation.

   tonight, you are dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, wand stowed in your back pocket. you don’t need it; you’ve mastered the magic-free manoeuvres of sneaking things from people, and you use such skills to your advantage tonight. a man by the name of richard carpol has put in a request for a muggle passport - an irish one, preferably, but he’ll take anything you can get your hands on.

    you search for what feels like hours before zoning in on the dark red booklet peaking out of a teenagers jacket pocket. their source of ID, you assume, and you feel no guilt whatsoever when you stroll past them and pluck the book free. you stuff it in your hoodie pocket before picking up your pace, ducking into a dark alleyway.

    you flip it open - it’s a british passport, but richard will still pay. he’s not a picky customer, which makes your night ten times easier.

   you make your way back to hogwarts, waving at people in hogsmeade before you disappear for the night. you sneak into the slytherin dormitory with no problems, stuffing the passport beneath your mattress. you wriggle beneath the sheets, ignoring pansy’s insistant questions about where you have been, if you’ve seen draco, how you managed to sneak past filch - she asks this every night, and you have never replied. you just fall asleep, another day successful.

  ----   

   “he’s back.”

   like he’s some kind of god. you nearly roll your eyes, the whispers repeated over and over again throughout morning breakfast. all around you, the slytherin table is alive with anticipation, waiting for draco malfoy to stroll in through the double doors, head held high in that way it always is.

   you knew draco was returning before anyone else did, as he told you the night before in a fit of faux rage at the sight of you in his bedroom, yet again. you had offered to leave, leaned casually against his mahogany wardrobe, and it could almost be considered hasty the speed at which he rushed for his door to close it, uttering a quiet, “no, you’re here now, so you might as well stay.”

    but now he’s back in school, and you’re sick of him. you haven’t even seen his face once, but the whispers and the praise from your house mates is enough to set your teeth on edge. it reminds you that there is indeed a draco living outside of the malfoy manor, a draco you cannot tease and torment as easily.

    “i saw him in the common room this morning putting his robes on. i think his parents got him new ones,” a fellow slytherin whispers. “and his hair has been cut a little shorter - he looks so grown up!”

   you snicker into your porridge, smothering the noise to no avail. the slytherin girl singing draco’s praises shoots you a glare before noticing who you are; her glare folds in on itself, and she quickly retaliates by pretending she didn’t hear your snicker in the first place.

    breakfast ticks by, and it’s only near the end does draco finally decide to grace the dining hall with his presence. the double doors open, and the chatter amongst the slytherins falls short almost immediately. you’re ashamed to admit that even you look up at the speed of light, catching one of the first glimpses of draco malfoy as he returns from what many people assumed was the dead.

    his fangirl certainly wasn’t lying, you notice; his hair has been cut shorter, and he does look plenty grown up. he walks with a fresh confidence that makes you want to roll your eyes - it’s not like he needed a further confidence boost. his robes are clean, brushing the floor. his eyes are trained on the head table, though they linger there for only moments before snapping to where you are seated.

   you raise a curious brow. he blushes, looks away, and takes his seat next to crabbe and goyle, both of whom clap him on the back like he’s just returned from war.

    you ignore him the rest of breakfast, which is a rare action for you. you used to revel in tormenting him, coming face to face with him at every corner just to give another snide remark; it was a game back then, back when the two of you were younger and felt as if you could get away with it. 

    breakfast ends shortly thereafter, and you hurry to gather your things. swinging your bag over one shoulder, you duck your head down and escape into the crowded corridors, losing yourself amongst the sea of black clad students. 

   but you’re a fool to ever think you - of all people - could escape draco’s magnificent return to school. his cold fingers wrap around your wrist before you have a chance to turn the corridor to your next class, stopping you in your tracks. part of you wants to spin around and punch him, just floor him in front of everyone, show him that you’re not just some silly person showing up on his front doorstep every other night.

    instead, you slowly turn and give him a smile, one of your big ones to let him know you don’t mean it, that you’re being hostile.

    his face is set in stone, that frown so perfect and soft looking it makes you want to sob. 

    “where are you off to in such a hurry?” he asks, keeping his voice low because god forbid anyone catch him speaking to you.

    “class,” you reply. “so kindly let go of me, malfoy.”

   “not until you tell me where richard got another muggle passport to sell.”

    you freeze, though you knew this would be coming eventually. richard is one of your best customers, but he’s not very bright; he’s never understood the concept of subtlety when it comes to the trading of muggle artefacts. 

    “he has a new one, does he?” you say. “good for him. his collection must be getting awfully big by now.”

   draco scowls. “my father is starting to get very suspicious, y/n, and i don’t know how much longer i’ll be willing to cover for you.”

    you pry your hand out of his grip, nearly stumbling from the momentum. “is that a threat?”

    “it’s a warning,” he says. “i might not like you, but i don’t need you going down for something like this. people know we’re familiar with each other, and i don’t want you tarnishing my family name.”

    you scoff. “your family name has been tarnished since you-know-who was in power.”

    “shut up. don’t talk on things you don’t understand.”

    “all i need to do is pick up a history book.”

   draco scowls, those blues eyes ablaze. you’ve seen this look on him when he’s speaking to those gryffindors he hates so much, when a teacher takes someone else’s side over his own. you’ve seen this look on him plenty of times, but never aimed at you; for some reason, his expression is always so soft around the edges when trained on you.

    “i’m trying to do you a favour,” draco mumbles. “because i’m serious when i say my father will snap you in half if he finds out you’re the one providing these artefacts to the dark market.”

    “i’m not afraid of lucius,” you reply. “and i think you’re kind of forgetting the fact that your father actually likes me. at least a little bit.”

    draco’s eyebrows fly up in amusement. “what’s given you that idea?”

   “the fact that i’m still allowed in your house after all these years.” you grin, basking in the way draco’s own smile fades at the realisation you have indeed recognised this behaviour within his family. “yes, malfoy. you all try so hard to convince me i’m the scum of the earth, but the truth is, you appreciate my company. the truth is, you make me tea every time i visit. the truth is, you’re all a little fond of me, whether you want to admit it or not.”

    his face pales even more, a feat you didn’t think possible until seeing it with your own two eyes. it’s a delicious win, a point for you in a competition you didn’t even realise you had entered.

    “you’re delusional,” he mumbles. “you say you picked up a history book, then you must know how my family feel about your kind.”

   “my kind?” you raise a brow, feigning ignorance just to annoy him. he hates outstretched conversations, especially with you. “are you talking about half-bloods, or pickpockets? oh! or people who can run circles around you without fear?”

    you don’t give him a chance to reply, because quite frankly, you’re done with this conversation. you’re done with him for today. you prefer it when you’re in control of your daily draco interactions. 

    you turn on your heel and leave, rushing for your next class even as he calls your name. you can’t believe the nerve of him, approaching you like that, telling you to quit the job that’s gotten you off the streets, that’s helped you fund an education for yourself. these robes you’re wearing, the books you read in class, the wand that is an extension of your arm by now - all of it was funded by you, from your own pocket. just because the business is ruthless, not some posh, clean dealing that malfoy is used to, doesn’t mean it’s any less important.

   you want to shove that explanation down his throat, just so he’ll finally look past his own privileged little bubble. you hate admitting it, but the truth is, draco wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t so blinded by his upbringing. he knows how to be nice - you’ve seen it before, experienced it before, though you never talk about those experiences with anyone. there have been a few times where draco has seen you walking past his house, soaked to the bone from the rain, and he’s let you in, warmed you up by the fire, placed a hot chocolate in your hand. he’ll insult you and call you stupid and claim he wants you out of his house as soon as possible, but he was still the man who made the move to get you out of the rain.

    your feelings for draco are a jenga tower. built up to full form, but slowly, pieces get chipped away until the entire thing is falling, and you have to rebuild it and try again. 

    you don’t know why you keep rebuilding it after so many disasters, but as he calls your name at your retreating back, you can feel yourself already putting those blocks back together.

   ----

     charms class really is a pain.

   flitwick is nice enough. he’s patient, which is good, and very much needed when it comes to your skills in the classroom. you’re an intelligent person, always studying because you want to be the best. you love seeing the look on draco’s face when he looks over and sees you’ve got a higher grade than him. it gives you such a thrill.

   but charms is your downfall, because nothing makes any sense. flitwick explains the spell, and the hand movements, and he leaves you to your own devices, and you always somehow end up messing everything up.

   today, all you’re doing is tossing a pillow to the other side of the room. it’s a simple spell, a simple gesture, and yet you still manage to smash a window in the process. flitwick merely sighs, explains the charm again, and gets you to repeat the process until you’ve got it right.

   it takes a while. you don’t like it when things take a while.

    by the half hour mark, sweat is running down your face, and your teeth have been gritted for so long it’s starting to hurt. you throw your wand down on the table, rake your hands through your hair and say, “i’m taking a break.”

   “please do,” flitwick grumbles, rubbing the spot on his head where a vase smashed into his skull, thanks to your handiwork.

   you slump down on one of the pillows you have failed to charm and run a hand along your brow. it’s actually disgusting how much energy gets taken out of you from doing such a simple thing. it’s also very confusing, considering you’re able to master the most difficult spells in defence against the dark arts without so much as a second thought. why tossing a pillow to the other side of the room is getting to you is both a joke and a mystery.

    as you pull yourself together, savouring your moment of rest, someone slumps down next to you. you glance over, an eyebrow raised at bailey o’boyle, a boy you’ve done business with a few times in the past. he was only dabbling in the black market at the time, too young to understand what it was actually all about, but you weren’t going to be the one to ward him off, not when he had a good few galleons with your name on it.

    he looks at you now with a smile, big and dopey, just as it always is.

   “can i help you?” you ask. 

    “yes.”

   you wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. he just keeps staring at you.

    you grit your teeth. “with what?”

    “i need an electric scooter.”

    you raise a brow. already the word ‘electric’ has got your attention, because that’s not something the wizard world is very familiar with. what bailey is doing right now is forming a business deal. you’re not usually a fan of bargaining in the middle of class, but since you have nothing better to do. . .

   you turn, ducking your head and lowering your voice. “what the fuck do you need an electric scooter for?”

    “to sell,” he replies. “i’ve got a man who collects them. he’s willing to pay big money, y/n. big, big money.”

    you like the sound of that.

   “i’m a pickpocket, you know,” you say. “it’s not going to be easy pickpocketing an entire scooter from a muggle.”

    bailey shrugs. “i said i’d see what you could do. but if you’re not up to it. . .”

   your eye twitches; you hate that phrase. realistically, you know this is far beyond your expertise. you steal wallets, and passports, and house keys, tiny things you can sneak away without detection. trying to get something like an electric scooter from a muggle without being caught is close enough to impossible that even the lure of galleons isn’t enough to convince you to do it.

   still, of course you’re going to think about it. there are many different side streets in muggle london that you could go down, and if you do it at night, the shadows could be used to your advantage. nobody would even bat an eye if you wore-

    draco grabs your wrist and pulls you from the floor.

   you yelp, stumbling into his chest. he lifts you like you weigh nothing, and you’re more surprised at his strength than you are at his actions.

    bailey’s eyes widen. he stutters, trying to feign innocence, but neither you nor draco are interested in him any more. you whirl on malfoy, shoving him away.

   “what the hell?”

    “what the hell, is right.” he grabs your arm. “come with me.”

   you struggle against his grip, but truth to be told, you’re not really putting up much of a fight. you’re still in shock at how easily he was able to lift you, at the feel of his fingers around your upper arm. 

    he drags you from the classroom. flitwick being flitwick doesn’t even bat an eye; he’s probably relieved that’s two more students he doesn’t need to worry about.

    in the hallway, draco finally lets go of you. you jerk away so fast your back hits against the wall. draco raises a brow, but he still looks furious. his nostrils are flared, his face is pale, and god, he keeps clenching his fists like he wants to wrap his hands around your throat.

    god help you, you kind of want him to. just to know what it feels like.

    “again,” you say. “what the hell?”

   “i knew you were stupid, y/n, but that’s bad even for you.”

    “excuse me?”

   “you do realise blaise was listening to every word you and bailey were saying in there?” he shakes his head, jaw clenched. “i was trying to talk over you, but your loud mouth is quite difficult to ignore.”

    you blink. firstly, wow. bargaining in class really isn’t a good idea, and you really should have known better.

   but also, wow, draco actually tried helping you out.

   you swallow and fold your arms over your chest. “i had it under control. blaise isn’t gonna do shit.”

    draco laughs. “blaise’s dad is in the ministry, idiot.”

   “stop calling me that. i’m smarter than you!”

    “do you understand what i’m telling you, y/n? if blaise says a word about what he heard to his dad, that’s you done. there’s no getting out of that.”

    a chill runs down your spine. draco glimpses the movement, and you swear his features soften slightly.

    “i just can’t believe you were so careless.”

   “why do you even care?” your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. you kind of hope draco doesn’t hear it, but his eyebrows shoot up, and his cheeks gain a tiny red tint that lets you know he doesn’t really know the answer to that question. 

   you swallow, looking up to meet his eyes. “why do you care, draco?”

   “because.” his throat bobs. there is a moment of hesitation where you think he’s going to tell the truth. maybe he’s going to shock the world and just tell the god damn truth, but then he clears his throat, pulls his shoulders back and says, “i’ve already told you, y/n; if you go down, you’ll tarnish my family name. i can’t have that.”

    your insides wilt like his words are acid being poured down your throat. you laugh a little too loudly, a bark more than anything close to amusement. it’s so vicious, so filled with hatred that draco actually flinches away. in that moment, you want to give him a real reason to flinch, a real reason to be afraid.

    but you don’t, because he’s the boy who pulled you out of the rain.

   instead, you shake your head and say, “tell flitwick i’m ill. and don’t bother talking to me ever again. let me handle my own business, thanks.” and without another word, you rush down the hallway to the dorm rooms, refusing to look back at him. this time, he doesn’t call your name, doesn’t chase after you in that hopelessly stupid way you want him to. of course he wouldn’t. 

    you throw your robes off the minute you burst through the doors of your dorm. it’s empty besides a fellow slytherin’s cat laying on the bed. the black and white feline lifts its head at the sound of you, and you ignore it’s confused little mews as you scramble into your own bed, pull the privacy curtain over and bury your head in your pillow.

   you hate him. you really, really hate him, and that’s not even an exaggeration. he’s the worst person you’ve ever met. he’s this tormented little shit who thinks he has every right to throw his anger at everyone else, just because he isn’t tough enough to stand up to mummy and daddy. he’s so desperate to stay in line with everything his parents say, and it’s ridiculous. it’s embarrassing. it’s a cowards move.

    there are so many things you wished you said to him before storming off, but there’s always that moment of hesitation when it comes to anything you want to say to draco. you either have to check it’s not too nice, and even when it’s mean, you have to check it’s not going to actually upset him, because you don’t want to do that either. you don’t know why. you should spit in his face for the shit he puts you through, the confusion he makes you feel. and he doesn’t even care. he just carries on being a little prick, like nothing is wrong in the world.

   but surprise, surprise, draco. not everyone can live a lavish life, worry free. 

   --- 

    you manage to ignore draco for the rest of the day. it’s easily done, considering draco doesn’t like to make a big deal out of the fact that you two actually have history; he likes to pretend he associates only with people of the purest blood, the most talented wizards, ones that come from the old families.

    but he can’t keep his eyes off you.

    he knows he’s hit a nerve. the way his eyes follow every movement you make, the way his jaw ticks when you don’t even give him the time of day - he’s not a stupid boy, as much as you like to tell him he is. he can see when he’s upset you. 

    classes drag in the rest of the day, and it’s a massive relief when you’re finally released from the confines of lessons, free to do whatever you want. after stealing a bit of food from the dining hall, you head up to the slytherin dormitory; you like it best when it’s empty, when you can just sit with your own thoughts for a while. you need it today, because today you actually let yourself be a normal teenager, and you hate it. you hate the feeling of hormones and overreactions, but sometimes it’s hard to help it. sometimes you need to let yourself feel emotional.

    alone in the dorms, you reach under your bed and pull out your handy box of trinkets. most of the contents are just things you’ve stolen that never found a home - a penny from a london sidewalk, an old napkin with a mystery person’s phone number scribbled on it, a black and white photo of a couple standing in front of the ocean. however, tucked away amongst those simple, boring things is a green emerald - one you stole from the malfoy manor a few years ago.

    you got it from draco’s room, because you weren’t meant to be in there, and you wanted to let him know that you had, in fact, been in there. the emerald was stitched into the collar of one of his shirts, all expensive looking and wasted. you nearly scoffed at the sight of it - when would draco ever get to wear something so glamorous anyway? plus, the emerald looked far too heavy to be confined to a shirts collar; it would be very uncomfortable, you assumed.

   that’s why you grabbed a knife and cut the stitching to shreds, plucking the emerald from it to claim as your own. you tossed the shredded shirt back into draco’s wardrobe, tucked the emerald into your pocket and then walked out, content with the knowledge that draco would be yelling at you in due time once he noticed his missing jewel.

   but the yelling never came.

   draco knew you had stolen it. again, he isn’t stupid. his shirt was shredded, and the jewel was missing, and it was obvious who had done it - the known pickpocket who was strolling through his house every other night. 

   he just never said anything, like he wanted you to keep it, like he didn’t mind it was in your hands now.

   you stare at it, legs crossed beneath you. you’ve always prided yourself on how little you care for expensive things - you don’t complain that you haven’t got much, that you grew up poor, never able to afford the grand things draco has. but you still handle this emerald with so much care, flipping it round in your fingers, looking at every curve and delicate groove in it’s cut. 

    the dormitory door opens. you trust it’s just someone who’s eaten too much and wants an early night, so you don’t panic or falter. you listen to their footsteps patter across the room, the thump of their robes hitting the floor, followed closely by their shoes. you listen to their privacy curtain screeching open, their sigh of annoyance at something you can’t see-

   and then draco pops his head round your privacy curtain.

   you yelp, fumbling with the emerald. it slips from your fingers, however, and crashes to the floor at draco’s bare feet. he stares at it as you curse, an eyebrow raising, and you don’t even try and hide it. you just let him stare, arms folded over your chest, annoyance brewing in your stomach just at the sight of him. 

    finally, he slowly looks up. “mine, i take it?”

   “good guess, rich boy. can i have it back?”

   he picks it up and tosses it into your lap. you’re pleasantly surprised at his cooperation, but still keep that frown on your face.

   “what do you want?” you ask, violently stuffing all your belongings back into the cardboard box. 

    “you weren’t at dinner,” draco replies. “i wanted to make sure you weren’t causing any more trouble.”

    you scoff. “oh, trouble, yes. tarnishing the malfoy name. the end goal for us all.”

    draco stares at you, lips pursed. his gaze is always so warm, a physical thing that makes your skin crawl. “that comment bothered you, did it?”

    “nothing you say bothers me, draco. it just baffles me how you can be so dense sometimes.”

    “ouch. that one hurt.”

   you roll your eyes. “why are you here? i have nothing to say to you.”

   “you don’t have to say anything. i just wanted to make sure you’re alive.”

   “not like you care, though, is it?”

    draco’s nostrils flare. his throat bobs, eyes tracing the length of your throat like he’s a hungry vampire. his lower lip slips between his teeth, the expression startling you. he looks like he’s trying to reel himself back, like some unwanted emotion is fighting for dominance in his brain.

    “you’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” he asks after a moment.

   “you think?”

    “i still don’t know what i did to piss you off so much.”

   you bark out a laugh. “no, of course you don’t. god forbid a malfoy is self-aware for once.”

    he groans. “can you not just make things simple? why do we have to go around in circles like this? it’s a waste of time!”

    “is that meant to be an apology?”

   “how can i apologise when i don’t even know what i did?” he’s starting to sound desperate, like this conversation is taking the life from him. 

    you lean back, pulling the box into your lap protectively. in truth, you don’t even know how to word why you’re so upset - it makes sense in your head, but articulating it to someone else is just going to make you sound stupid, maybe even a little delusional. you should know draco by now, people will say. you should know what he’s like, that he cares for no one besides himself. getting upset over him showing his true colours is stupid, a waste of time and energy.

   but you look into his blue eyes right now, wanting nothing more than for him to just understand. understand what, you don’t even want to admit, not to yourself or anyone else. 

   “you hurt my feelings,” you mumble. 

   draco inhales sharply. “i didn’t think i could do that. i never thought you’d let me.”

    “well, you did. congratulations.”   

   “jesus, y/n, it’s not like i wanted to. what did i even say?”

   you stare at him. he stares back. the ball will drop eventually, you know, because draco is smart, smarter than you’ve ever given him credit for. he examines your expression, and you watch the moment his eyebrows start to relax in realisation, the frown form on his face. it makes anxiety coil in the pit of your stomach, because maybe this is just a little too vulnerable. maybe letting draco figure this out on his own was a bad idea.

    but it’s too late now. he draws back slowly, hands curled around the privacy curtain until the fabric is creasing and knotted in his fingers. “wait. . .”

    “go, draco,” you demand. “i have shit to do. business to take care of.”

    “y/n-”

   “go, draco!”

    he stares at you a moment longer before running a hand through his hair and walking out the room. you wait till the door is closed, and then you wait till his footsteps can no longer be heard, and then you throw the box of trinkets to the ground, watching the emerald slip across the wooden floor.

    ---

     the streets of london always look a little different when you’re angry. a little more violent. a little more real.

   muggle london in itself has always felt like a very hostile place to you, but when you’re angry, things get clearer. you notice the vomit stain on the curb, the neglected baby pram in the bush, the beer bottles smashed beneath window sills. it becomes a different place - it just depends on how you’re feeling.

    tonight, you are angry, and everything around you is angry, too.

    you just want a set of car keys, not the actual car. muggle car keys sell at a good price, depending on who you’re dealing with. nobody has requested them, and usually you don’t go out unless asked to do so by a client, but tonight, you just want to be out. you want to be away from the wizarding world. you want to cause havoc with your fingers in the best way you know how.

    it’s busy. it always is. you can guarantee that almost everyone around you has car keys in their pocket - that’s why global warming is so bad. some of them even wear them around their neck, dangling from multicoloured chains with little souvenirs banging against their chests. those would be so easy to just rip off and run away, but you’ve decided to be subtle, which means your eyes are trained on the bulges in people’s coat pockets. so many of them, so careless. 

    a man in a tracksuit seems like the best option. you follow him for ten minutes, keeping your head down, before he finally breaks away from his group of drunken friends. he laughs to himself, stumbling just the perfect amount - he’s drunk, but not drunk enough to be falling over himself, which makes slipping your hand into his pocket a pretty easy deal.

   you go for the kill, quickening your pace, dipping your hand into his pocket-

   he grabs your wrist, and before you even have a chance to blink, you’re on the ground.

    a gasp is ripped from your throat at both the shock and the pain that spears up your spine. the guy is yelling, stumbling back, and holy shit, if he doesn’t shut up right now, the whole of london is going to be on you.

   gathering as much strength as you can, you roll onto your side and push yourself to your knees. “hey man, calm down. sorry. i thought you were my friend.”

    “did you just try and rob me?” he yells.

   “no! no, of course-”

    “you psycho bitch!” he lunges for you, all drunken vowels and grabby hands. you have no idea what to make of his intentions, you just know you’ve fucked up, and you need to get out of here.

    his hands slam into your shoulders, knocking you on your ass. a cry escapes you, but not from the pain. a tiny snap sounds from your back pocket, and you know without having to look that your wand has just broken in half - yet again. dumbledore is going to start getting very suspicious.

    “son of a bitch,” you growl, before raising your hands. “listen, hey. i’m sorry. i’ve said that already. you need to calm down before-”

    “before what?” he howls. “you kill me? are you threatening me?”

    your eyes widen. “no! would you just-”

    the man opens his mouth to say something else, but his words are sucked back in when a hand wraps around his arm and yanks him back. you wince at the sound of his head cracking against the tarmac, but you don’t get a chance to comment before draco is kneeling beside you, one hand cradling your head, the other resting on your knee. his touch alone is enough to spread warmth through your previously frozen limbs, and you hate that. you hate it so much.

    you tug your knee from his grip. “what the hell are you doing here?”

   “are you bleeding?” he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. when he pulls away, his fingertip glows with a red liquid. 

   “oh. i guess i am.”

   “christ, y/n. do you ever just...” he closes his eyes, taking a moment to redirect his anger. it’s an amusing sight, and you almost smile until you remember you’re mad at him. forever mad at him.

   you jerk your head out of his grip, too. “i’m fine. stop worrying.”

    “clearly i have to, or else you’re going to get yourself killed.” he glances over his shoulder, where the drunken man is struggling to sit up, still slurring protestations. “by a muggle.”

    “he wouldn’t have killed me,” you grumble. “although my wand is broke, so maybe he would have.”

   draco’s eyes widen. you wave him off before he has a chance to chastise you again - in truth, you just want to get out of here, car keys be damned. hastily, you push yourself to your feet, wobbling only slightly, but draco must see this tiny action as a full-on collapse risk, as he wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you close, grumbling curses under his breath. you’re such a pain in the arse, apparently, and god, he wishes he wasn’t stuck with you all the time, and he’s so baffled by the fact you’re still alive, it’s probably all thanks to him, blah, blah, blah.

   you listen to him rant the entire way back to malfoy manor. you don’t argue his choice of location, because you can see narcissa standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, and you already know she’s got a cup of tea waiting for you in the sitting room. you almost smile, but that would ruin the effect.

    she rushes out to meet you and draco halfway, immediately grabbing your face and tilting your head back and forth. you can taste blood on your teeth.

    “what happened?” she breathes, but doesn’t give you a chance to reply. “draco, take them into the lounge.”

   “oh, the lounge,” you coo. “you are spoiling me!”

    “be quiet,” draco hisses, doing as his mother says. he tosses you unceremoniously onto the plush sofa, and you have to ignore the inappropriate thrill that shoots up your body. 

   narcissa appears not ten seconds later, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. you give her a grin, which she rolls her eyes at, even as she sits beside you and brushes your hair away from your face. you take a sip of the tea, smile in thanks, and then lean your head back.

   “sorry about this.”

   narcissa sighs. her breath tickles your cheek, smelling oddly of incense. “i don’t know what we’re going to do with you, y/n.”

   “put me down.” you make a stabbing gesture into your arm and mouth lethal injection at draco. he purses his lips, clearly not taking the joke in stride. “i didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

    “you’re always worrying us,” draco hisses, which earns him a sharp look from narcissa. he meets his mothers eyes and his shoulders deflate. he runs his hands down his face. “you’re just . . . always doing something.”

    “i know,” you mumble. “sorry.”

    “draco, don’t stress them out,” says narcissa, which surprises you; you’ve always known narcissa has a secret soft spot for you, but she’s always tried her hardest to keep it just that - a secret. yet here she is, combing your hair back, giving you a cup of tea, telling her son to treat you nicely. it’s like you’ve entered a different world. “i’m gonna go and make some calls. keep them comfortable, okay?”

   draco nods, lips still pursed, forever displeased. you used to laugh at that expression on his face, but now it just makes you feel bad. 

   narcissa leaves the room, and then it’s just you and draco. you watch as he watches you, eyes never wavering, shoulders never relaxing. he’s got his arms folded over his chest like he’s keeping guard. 

    “i meant it, you know,” you say. “i didn’t mean to worry you. i thought it would be an easy job.”

    “who are you doing business with now? bailey again?”

    “no.” you look down, surprisingly shameful. “it was just for myself. i needed out of the castle, and. . .” you shrug. “you know me. i can’t do anything easy.”

   he scoffs. “yeah, i know.”

   “so i’m sorry.”

   draco closes his eyes and rubs his temples. the rings on his fingers glisten beneath the fancy lights. his knuckles pop, the veins in his arms protruding. “please stop apologising.”

   you blink. “alright.”

    “you act like i don’t understand why you’re doing all this, but i do.” he looks at you, hands dropping to his sides. “just because i don’t have to do it myself, doesn’t mean i don’t understand. why else do you think i haven’t stopped you?”

    your breath catches. you raise a brow, tilting your head cruelly. “you wouldn’t have been able to stop me. you think i’d listen to you?”

    “yeah. i think you would.”

   you reel back, jaw dropping open. “excuse-”

    “you always act like you hate me, but you forget you’ve been coming to my house for years. you forget i’ve known you since we were eleven. you forget that i don’t just put up with anyone. i’ve had time to figure you out, y/n, no matter how much you like to pretend i haven’t.” he folds his arms and leans against the door. his hair is rumpled, along with his shirt and jeans. so casual, so unlike himself. “but earlier on, in the dorms. . . you surprised me with that one.”

    your stomach curls. oh, good god, he’s bringing that up now. you’re sat here with a busted chin and a potential criminal charge, and he’s bringing this up. you could headbutt him.

    despite your glare, he continues. “i knew you didn’t hate me, but i never thought. . . i never thought you liked me, you know? especially not-”

   “don’t say it.”

   his lips twist. “i have to.”

   “no you don’t.”

    “do you love me?”

    your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, which is answer enough for you. love is such a strong word, and you could easily say no, that what you feel for draco is nothing more than a little crush. he’s got the nice blue eyes, and the money, and the perfect hair. he’s got a smile that lights up rooms. it’s a crush. you fancy him, and that’s all there is to it.

    but love sounds pretty accurate. more accurate, actually.

    you swallow. draco watches the bob of your throat, and you watch his. above your head, the massive clock ticks, ticks, ticks. 

     slowly, he reaches forward and swipes his thumb over your chin. it stings just a little, but you’ve felt worse pain, so you let him do it without jerking away. 

     “cat got your tongue?” he whispers.

    you shiver. “i don’t. . . i don’t know what you want me to say.”

    “it’s not about what i want. i was asking a simple question. just give me the truth.”

    “you want the truth?”

   he inhales, hesitates, and then nods.

    “yeah, draco,” you whisper. “i think i love you.”

     slowly, draco draws away. his eyes never leave your own, that frosty blue colour reminding you of the winter sky, or a cold december morning. you remember all those christmas’s at hogwarts when draco would stay at the castle, waking him up because you thought it would annoy him to have your face be the first thing he sees. you always commented on the dreary smile that played on his lips when you did that, and he would always say, “i thought you were someone else.”

    but that dreary smile is returning, pulling across his face, and it doesn’t falter. right now, there is no mistake. his eyes are on you, and he knows it is you, the person who has apparently made his life a living hell for so many years. you’re the ache in his spine, the one he can’t wait to get rid of.

    but you’re also the one he rescued from the rain. 

    you’re the one who cursed hermione granger when she punched him in the nose.

   you’re the one who’s just confessed your love to him.

   shit.

   “don’t look at me like that,” you say, voice hoarse. “don’t pretend you didn’t know.”

   “i didn’t know,” he says immediately, like he’s desperate for you to know he was clueless. “did you know?”

    “kind of. i wanted to ignore it-”

    draco shakes his head, waving a dismissive hand. “no, no. did you know that i love you, too?”

    you open your mouth, but no words come out. your brain just short circuits, taking a second to catch on to what he’s said. that dreary smile is still playing at his lips, and you’re waiting for the moment it turns into a sneer, a mocking little smirk.

    it doesn’t.

   “oh right,” you mumble. “no. i had no idea.” you pause. “are you taking the piss out of me?”

    he laughs, a rare and pleasant sound. he approaches you, kneels at your side on the sofa and cups your head in his hands. you melt into him, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to pull away, to run away, because this is nothing more than false hope. he’s playing a trick on you. you’ve annoyed him to breaking point, and now he’s found the perfect chance for revenge.

    but his hands are so warm, and nice, and your cheek dips into his palm so easily, like it belongs there.

    “you’ve always been kind of not smart in my eyes,” he says.

   your eyes widen. “hey!”

   “kidding. i’m kidding.” he chuckles, running his thumb along your lower lip. “but you’re not doing your intelligence any justice right now. i thought i was making my feelings pretty clear.”

   you glare; he knows full well he hasn’t made his feelings clear. neither of you have. you’ve spent the past seven years pretending to hate each other.

   he grins. “okay, maybe i didn’t make it so easy. but you didn’t make it easy for me, either.”

   “i still don’t believe you.”

   he raises a brow. “why?”

   you shrug. “it just doesn’t seem possible that someone like you could fall in love with someone like me.”

    his eyes soften. “wow. maybe you are not very smart.” 

   before you have a chance to protest, he kisses you. just like that, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, or maybe like it’s an action he’s been waiting to do for years, and now he’s finally got the chance. that’s what it’s like for you, this coil unravelling in your gut after years and years and years of ignoring it’s existence.

   you run your hands through his hair, tugging on those pesky strands at the back that always stick up because he refuses to wear anything other than collared shirts. he growls into your mouth, pulling you closer, closer, closer, until your legs are tangled with his, and his fingers are tracing a line down the centre of your throat. he stops at the hollow, just to feel the bob of your throat as nerves spiral through you. he grins against your mouth, pulling away to see the shock in your eyes.

    he’s so proud of himself. he’s made you a mess.

    you smile awkwardly, trying to regain some amount of composure. he watches you, heavy lidded, one hand still clutching your knee as the other curls around your throat, just where your neck and shoulders meet. the way he stares at you, it’s like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. 

     “so,” you begin. “you’re worry wasn’t actually just for your family name, was it?”

   draco sighs, plonking his forehead against your own. “no, y/n, it wasn’t. my worry was losing you. which i very nearly did tonight.”

   “don’t be so dramatic. i wouldn’t have died.”

   “you could have.”

   “but i wouldn’t have, because that guy was drunk, and a muggle, and-”

   “are you two arguing again?”

   you and draco jump apart as narcissa storms into the lounge, wand clutched to her chest. her narrowed eyes are firm on draco. 

   “i told you to keep them comfortable!” she exclaims. “can you not put your differences aside for ten minutes?”

    you grin, teasingly running a finger along draco’s spine. “yeah draco. listen to mummy.”

    he growls, but turns to narcissa and says, “sorry, mother. you know how y/n gets.”

   “yes, i know,” narcissa mumbles. “but they’re injured. now, let me take this phone call, and then we’ll set up the guest bedroom. can i leave you alone for ten more minutes?”

   “yes,” you and draco both reply immediately. narcissa hums, and walks out.

   draco immediately spins, grabs your wrist and pulls you to him, slamming his lips to yours. you laugh against his mouth, melting into the embrace for only a second before pulling away and saying, “she’s trusting us to behave for ten more minutes, draco. this isn’t behaving.”

    “oh, fuck that,” he scoffs. “come here.”

   you let him pull you closer, closer than you have ever been with him before, because you’ve always been so convinced he never wanted you more than a few feet away from him. suddenly, everything draco has ever said to you is reconstructed in your mind, every action, every little look. 

   you wonder if he’s doing the same. 

[workofheart]

36+40 with Levi 👁

I love ur writing btw that bodyguard one was WOOOOOOO

this is honestly a fav thank u so much for the request, went kind of ham bc i love this idea. sorry if it hurts ur heart <3

one more | levi + “we’re not just friends and you fucking know it” + “if you’re going to act like a brat then i’m going to treat you like a brat”

warnings: angst/implied nsfw, aggressive levi, “hate to love you” kind of fucking, 18+ minors dni

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“i have feelings for you. and i think you have them for me, too.”

levi is not a man of many words - that much is obvious. he keeps it short and to the point, not one for meaningless chatter or even thinking out loud, preferring to save his input for when it matters most. 

rare is such a thing due to him being rendered speechless by another person, not able to speak even if he wanted. he’s never been struck so voiceless in his life, dumbfounded and heart sinking at your admission.

his silence is deafening. coming here so late at night, you thought you had all the aces in your palm. you were so sure, but his lack of reciprocation to what you were just so confident tells you all you need to know.

he can’t stand to look you in the eyes, averting them to the papers strewn across his desk. “...it’s not that simple,” is all he can manage.

feeling embarrassed, you swallow thickly. “then what is it?”

“we’re comrades,” he offers, but damage control doesn’t look good on him. you wonder why he’s even trying. “i’d even call you my friend.”

you let out a wounded laugh at that, crossing your arms over your chest.. “come on, levi, are you kidding?”

there you go again, as if you can hear the thoughts racing through his mind before he can think them himself. of course he feels it, probably more than you, if he’s completely honest. but he can’t do it to himself again. he’s not sure if he can love someone like he wants to love you and come out alive on the other end.

“listen-”

“we’re not just friends and you fucking know it” you mutter, turning away from him. you can’t even look him in the eyes, from the humility, from the chance that maybe you’ve been wrong this whole time, from the chance you’re truly just in denial. have you just been misreading it all these years?

patience thinning, he stands from his chair to look at you properly, on your level now. “okay, and so what? you know how things are. you know how this life gets.” his lips are pursed, unwavering, sour.

a bitter expression takes root on your face. he hates it. 

“i’d rather love and lose than be a coward and never love at all.”

levi’s eyes narrow, a harrowing clench to his jaw ensues. it’s a shock to hear it coming from you. in fact, he’s astonished. he’s never seen your seething denunciations first hand, though he’s heard so much in passing, and such abrasiveness from you feels like a brutal strike to the jaw. your acrid words sting his pride, spear through his facade like you knew it would. 

he could tolerate attitude: he couldn’t tolerate being called a coward.

his voice drops. “don’t talk to me like that.”

“someone has to say it. the stoic act isn’t doing anything for you.”

he scoffs, incredulous. “you’re acting like a child.”

“you’re the one denying your feelings because you’re scared of getting hurt,” you argue, volume rising, “that’s childish if i’ve ever seen it.” you voice bounces off the walls of the room, and you can’t even be bothered to care about people hearing you when you’re so beat down.

you don’t even see it coming. with a swift movement, levi is storming toward you, has his hands wrapping around your upper arms, pushing you back against the door you stand in front of. you barely get the chance to look into his eyes before he has his lips on yours, firm and rough and unrelenting and...

and so, so inviting. once the initial shock fades, you can’t help but kiss him back, trying to match his pace, trying to find something to do with your hands when they’re still pinned back. but as soon as he feels you reciprocate, he’s pulling away.

eyes widening, you shake your head at him. “what do you think you’re doing?” you ask, chest heaving as you try to collect your breath. 

“if you’re going to act like a brat, then i’m going to treat you like one.”

his grip on your arms slides down to your wrists and then he’s dragging you across the room, pushing you inside his separate bedroom before you can even process what’s happening.

“you want me to tell you how i feel? fine.” he grumbles, pushing you down onto the bed and shrugging off his suit jacket. “you’re the only person around here who sees through me.”

he clamors out of his shoes and belt, discards his gear straps to the side. you’re frozen to your spot, unsure whether to undress, to walk away, or to wait for levi’s order. it’s almost laughable, how he has you collapsing so easily in a matter of moments.

“you look at me like you know what i’m thinking.”

he’s down to his trousers, shirt tosses carelessly over the footboard, before he’s crawling on top of you, movements calculated and intimidating as he pushes you back further and further like an animal toying with its prey. panting, he hovers over you, drinking up the hazy fear in your eyes.

 “you make me so fucking frustrated.” 

he grips your jaw in his hand, harshly locking his lips with yours, his rugged hold giving you nowhere to go.

levi presses another rough kiss to your mouth, swallowing the lewd sound you can’t hold back and pulls away, huffing as he forces you to look at him. “you make me feel like my life is fucking falling apart. and you’re right, that scares the shit out of me.”

he’s in a pit of turmoil, stuck between his desires and the thought of consequences, but his rash judgment pushes it all out. he’ll worry about regret later. it’s not like doesn’t already have an abundance of that hanging over him at every given moment - what’s one more?

“tell me you want me,” he grunts, stilling his movements. he needs you to say it, needs to hear you so he knows it’s real.

your arms reach up to tangle around his neck. “i want you,” you cry between his lips, hands tugging at his hair with greed, trying to pull him closer. it’s not just confirmation, it’s a plea.

warmth spreads through his body yet he feels himself shiver at the way you cling to him. it doesn’t take long to get you out of your clothes. he wants it off, off, off, and you’re not one to deny him. he bites at your neck, nips at the shell of your ear, whispers cruel teases there right where only you can hear him. each new expanse of skin you uncover for him is a new way to torture you, make you feel how much he wants you now, knowing he won’t let himself have you later in a way more than this.

his eyes are glued to you as he slips inside, staring down at the mess he’s made of you. purple lovebites blossom across your flushed, heaving chest. your cunt is dripping, aching for something only he can give you. you’re hot and needy and lewd, just for him, just how he made you, and you had the nerve to call him a coward. 

your mouth falls open at the feeling of his cock dragging sweet against your walls, squeezing him in the best way possible. it draws a low groan from him; he can’t tear his gaze away from how you tremble, dying for the moment to last, the pure pleasure he’s giving you rewarding him with how absolutely beautiful you look like this.

leaning forward, he drops his forearms to the sheets so he has you caged, chest pressing to yours. by now his skin is glossy, struggling to keep himself together with the moans you let out for him.

reaching down your figure, his calloused fingers find your clit to rub tight, hard circles that have you shaking. he picks his head up just to see your reaction, the way your eyes squeeze together, the way your back arches beneath him, the way you say his name like a prayer when you cum.

levi can bring you to your climax as many times as he wants. he’s more than able, more than willing. your body bends to his commands at a single touch. but the both of you know that’s not really what you’re here for.

he grits his teeth as he chases his own high, savoring the feel of your hands in his hair and how you clutch to his every movement, letting the confession spill off the tip of his tongue.

“fuck, i love you,” he pants into your neck, his heavy breaths puffing against your dampening skin. he feels the start crash over him in more ways than one with tears brimming on his lash line. not letting up, his strokes are smooth and fast and deep, as if he’s trying to make up for lost time, as if he’s trying to coax every filthy sound of reassurance he can out of you in the only way he knows how. “you know i do, shit, and you still make me say it.”

levi is not a man of many words, but god if he won’t give them to you when you ask.

[fairestwriting]

May i please request the dorm leaders where their s/o is like a disney princess who suddenly sings, specially when there are animals.

ive done something very similar with malleus here, so ill do everyone but him, hope you dont mind!

+ if you like my writing, you can buy me a ko-fi to support me!

Riddle Rosehearts

Is sort of startled the first time it happens, taken aback. Is this a time to be singing? Is there some sort of rule he isn’t aware of?

After he figures out you just do it on a whim, he goes through a phase of having mixed feelings on it. Because it’s so disruptive, especially when others join you, especially when they’re animals... but your voice is beautiful, and you look so pretty when you’re singing, he’s so easily distracted by it.

So he allows it. And he eventually gets used to it, beginning to enjoy it even. Still won’t forget that one time you sang at the Heartslabyul garden and a bunch of hedgehogs and flamingos gathered around you, though. It was such a mess, he’ll be constantly warning you to keep your singing only to “appropriate settings”.

Leona Kingscholar

Yeah, he’s not really a fan of it either, at least early on. Too much noise and he’s trying to sleep. You’re lucky you’re so pretty or he’d have... well, he wouldn’t have done anything because he loves you, but he’d be extra cranky for a while.

He’s a real buzzkill regarding that, honestly. You’ll be singing your heart out, joined by bystanders and the animals passing by, feeling like you’re on the top of the world, and your lazy bastard of a boyfriend will come up behind you, draping himself over you, and grumble about how you should keep it down because he’s tired.

He won’t ever really like the big singing numbers too much, probably, but if you sing just to him, in a lullaby sort of way, he’ll start growing more fond of it. Eventually he’ll stop being so grumpy about the singing, but he still gets annoying if you woke him up from a nap with it.

Azul Ashengrotto

So, have you ever thought about being a performer? Because you’re so damn good at this, Azul would love to have you perform at Mostro Lounge. He’ll ask you about that, in fact. 

Of course, if you don’t really want to, he won’t pressure you, but, wow, you’re better than anyone he’s ever seen, and Azul’s seen plenty of singers. You just have such a specific charm, really, how do you get people to join you like this?

Stops to watch your little impromptu performances as many times as he’s able to, praises you endlessly for it. And he joins it sometimes, too, though only if you’re alone together, since he’s a little self conscious of doing it without any preparation in front of others.

Kalim Al-Asim

Joins you! All the time! When he hears the first notes of your singing, whether the song is yours or from somewhere else, he’s just filled with so much energy he feels like he could dance around for hours!

He loves your voice so much, he’ll want to get you all sorts of resources for improving your skills. He’ll buy you an entire auditorium if you want! Just so you can have somewhere to sing your heart out. If you don’t tell him it’s not necessary, he’ll actually get you one as a birthday gift.

You two are the ultimate sunshine couple. Singing and dancing and bringing smiles all around, you’re living in your own little world, somewhere very far away from reality, some people who know you would think. But, well, you are very happy together and that’s what matters.

Vil Schoenheit

He thinks it’s really endearing. If he isn’t busy with anything, he’ll stop to watch you, something about how you just pull everyone’s attention to you like a magnet has him absolutely starstruck. It’s something even performers more experienced than him can’t manage sometimes.

He asks you a lot of questions about it. Did you take any sort of singing or performing lessons? Vil’s really interested on how you manage to just act so... magical, honestly. Asks you about how you make your songs, too, wanting to know your whole creative process.

(He also boasts to himself a lot about how beautiful you two are as a couple. You’re genuinely just like royalty)

Doesn’t join in often, but he might sometimes, if he’s really feeling it. Improv like this is something he’s secretly very into, he just thinks it’s really fun.

Idia Shroud

Oh, dear. He’s known you were a true SSR for a while, now, but doing something like this? Yeah, you’ve completely broken the rarity scale.

He’s the one who’s completely baffled everytime he sees you sing, to him it feels like staring directly at the sun. You’re so beautiful while you’re singing, so charming, so magnetic, people are actually compelled to join you? Animals come rushing towards you upon just a couple words? He thinks you’re genuinely angelic.

If you gather too much of a human crowd, Idia runs away, though he apologizes later. He just got overwhelmed, but he did want to watch you sing until the end of your show! If you manage to attract cats or dogs or any animals he really likes... Idia’s soul comes out of his body and goes straight to heaven. He loves you so goddamn much.

[sweet-dreamins]

careless (f+a)

○ pairing: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x gn! reader, pro hero! reader, established relationship

○ word count: 3.5k

○ summary: after a successful battle you’re confused when katsuki isn’t happy for you, in fact he’s furious. shouldn’t he be proud of you?

○ content: a bit angsty, a bit fluffy, hurt/comfort, mention of cuts and blood

○ a/n: i rewrote this like 4 times lol but here it is!! (i may come back nd edit bc passive voice) feedback is appreciated, enjoy!

You and Bakugou were partners, but you weren’t partners. Sure, you were lovers in the nighttime, but on the field? Yeah, no thanks. The two of you had only partnered up a few times, and that was more than enough for you. Before even entering the field, you were hesitant that he’d let himself get distracted by you and you were right, just not for the reasons you think.

The dynamic shifted juuuust a little too much for your liking. One of the most...memorable times was when you were up against one of the more powerful villains. Anytime the villain would make a move towards you before you could even retaliate, Bakugou would slip in front of you- even going as far as to shove you back. To others watching, it seemed as if he was falling back into his attention-seeking habits or that it was so romantic that he put your safety over his, but you knew better (or at least you thought you did).

After that fight, you two had quite the shouting match in the ER afterward. Until he dragged the two of you home, insisting he was more than capable of taking care of the both of you. That, and his publicist was this close to having another conniption after hearing about your rather loud discussion….that the whole hospital heard.

You knew Katsuki only acted that way out of love and concern for you. You know that he sees you as strong. So, why did it still feel so demeaning? Why did it feel like he didn’t, maybe still doesn’t, see you as strong enough?

Even though after your discussion, you had decided to not do hero work together, the little voice in the back of your head wasn’t erased. Creeping in concluding that you were nothing but a pity fuck. The skewed, brutal honesty of the public never failed to make the little voice louder.

You did your best to not let it get to you, you really did. You ignored the tabloids and told your friends you didn’t want them telling you about the articles they had read. But this past week was just atrocious. Katsuki and you had gone on a coffee date, knowing that he was going to be swamped this week, trying to make up for crammed schedules. The paparazzi managed to find you-instantly getting into your personal space, effectively cutting your date short.

By the time you had got back to your apartment, the pictures were already released and practically everywhere. Katsuki tried distracting you by making you dinner and it was wonderful. But you stayed up that night reading every single headline, article, and comment about the two of you. Drowning yourself in the criticism as the voice began to get louder and louder.

Of course, you would never say it out loud, but since then you had been itching for a fight with a real villain. Somebody who can do some proper damage, somebody strong. Any kind of opportunity where you could prove your strength, show everyone that they’re wrong about you. That you’re good enough for Katsuki, that you’re strong enough to be a hero- that you are enough. And finally, finally, finally, the chance came.

You did wonderfully. The fight had dragged on for a while, long enough for reporters to arrive and commentate on the rest of it. Everyone could see how well that you handled everything, all the footage establishing your reputation.

Once the adrenaline from the fight had subsided, the ache in your body started seeping into your bones. Cuts that had been littered across your skin felt as though they had started glowing red, the cool night air kissing them. You still managed to put on a brave face for the crowd afterward, relief and joy filling your heart as the cheers far outweighed the jeers.

You let their praises wash over you, relishing the fact the little voice in your head had been silenced. Their words seeping into through your wounds, momentarily numbing the burning pain. Your heart was no longer squeezed by apprehension, finally at ease knowing that they believed in you, in your worth. As you gave your last interview and waved to the crowd, you made your way over to the ambulance.

His foot was practically tapping the ground at the speed of light, you were surprised he hadn’t made an indent in the concrete already. Katsuki stood there, arms crossed with a scowl on his face, furrowed brow, and glaring eyes. You didn’t know whether it was the exhaustion or if the night was that cold, but you could’ve sworn there was steam coming off of him.

He had arrived pretty late to the scene, coming from the other side of the city, but the footage of you was everywhere. Katsuki had seen the majority of the fight and despite not saying anything, it was obvious that he did not like what he saw. The lights from the ambulance bathed the two of you in red light. Strong arms envelop you in a firm but gentle hug. You close your eyes and breathe him in. You stand there in silence for a little while, simply basking in each other’s presence.

He leans down to mumble in a gruff voice, lips brushing against your ear,

“I already talked to the EMTs, we’re going home now.”

Although Katsuki had EMT training from when he was younger, only on rare occasions did he fully take patching you up into his own hands. Yes, he was always breathing down the neck of the poor medic who had the misfortune of having you as a patient, but typically he had enough self-control to let them do their job.

You were grateful to have privacy, but his reaction was off-putting to say the very least. He should be proud of you, right? That you handled everything so well, he should be congratulating you, right? So...why does he look like he’s two seconds away from grinding his teeth to dust?

The car ride to your apartment is as silent as the grave, thick tension weighing down the surrounding air, making your tongue heavy in your mouth. Katsuki’s knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel, not once sparing you a glance. Nearly all the lingering adrenaline from the fight and buzz from the crowd has faded, irritation and pain taking place.

Why the hell is he mad at me right now? He has no right or reason to be mad at me. Everything turned out fine!

As the city lights flutter past the window, you sit in the passenger stewing in confusion and anger. Wracking your brain trying to come up with a logical reason as to why he’s mad at you. Once you arrive at your apartment, you wait to hear the telltale slam of the front door, preparing to cringe- but it never comes.

Instead, Katsuki gently shuts the door behind him.

Oh. So he’s in that kind of mood.

Over time, you came to learn that there were levels to Katsuki’s anger. Everyone else in his life had been on the receiving end of his knee jerk reaction at some point. Yelling and slamming down everything he could get his hands on. But tonight, the type of anger in front of you. Only a few people had been privy to. The kind he has the force of an inferno behind it but is trying to channel it into a few million candles. The kind he wants to be careful with his words, spending every passing second trying to remove the barbs from his tongue, so as not to get it wrong.

Before you could get pulled back into your head, a large warm hand pressing at the small of your back kept you tethered to reality. Katsuki gently guided you to the bathroom, wordlessly turning on the shower, a silent signal for you to get undressed. The tension from the car had followed you into the apartment, a dark cloud, about to storm at any moment.

You slip into the shower, drinking in the way the water washes away the dirt and grime of the day. The peace is short-lived, the warm water trickling into your open wounds, your entire body stinging slightly. Peeking past the curtain, you see Katsuki rummaging through the closet for supplies. After he sets everything on the counter, he steps out to grab clothes.

Snatching the soap bar, you scrub your body down as quickly as possible, whimpers of pain involuntarily falling from your mouth. You had waited until Katsuki left, not wanting him to hear you crying out. Frantically blinking away your blurry vision, you finish washing up and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel, taking deep breaths. How are you going to keep it together?

In your shared bedroom, Katsuki was grabbing you a change of clothes while grumbling to himself. After throwing on a tank top and sweatpants, he paces back and forth with a scowl, running a hand through his hair. Trying to untangle the scribbles piling up in his brain, he takes a deep breath and looks into the mirror. He knows he needs to tread carefully, to get his words across in the best way possible. What you need right now isn’t yelling or anger, it’s honesty and support. He doesn’t want his anger to get in the way of what truly matters, repeating it over and over in his head,

I love you, and I care about you. I love you, and I care about you.

He makes his way back to the bathroom, clothes in hand, to see you standing there wrapped up tight in a fluffy towel. The precious sight in front of him squeezes his heart, making it a little hard to breathe. Here, in the safety of your apartment, you let yourself be a little more vulnerable and he loves it, wants more of it. But once you notice him walk in, you stand up a little straighter, wiping away the teary expression on your face. He grits his teeth at this but says nothing, reminding himself to keep it together.

You finish drying off and put on the clothes he brought you, one of his shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. Even though he’s standing right in front of you, being enveloped by his scent is still comforting. He leans against the counter, waiting for you to jump onto the space next to him, reminding himself one more time,

I love you, and I care about you.

He finally opens his mouth to say,

“That was really stupid of you.”

No response.

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, you realize that, right?”

Silence.

“You could’ve bled out and died.”

You spit back, “But I didn’t right? I’m still here, aren’t I? So it doesn’t matter.”

Katsuki grits his teeth, huffing through his nose, growling out,

“It doesn’t matter?”

“No, no it doesn’t because I’m fine. Everything else turned out fine, so who cares?”

You were certain you were right, no doubt about it! He was overreacting about this and it was honestly the last thing you needed tonight, so you had less patience than usual.

He snaps his jaw shut, opting for the silent treatment again with a scowl on his face. Katsuki douses a cotton pad in alcohol and swipes it across one of your cuts.

You yelp in pain and surprise, sucking breath in through your teeth, snatching his wrist. You shoot him a glare, at first he’s ready to glare right back, but once he meets your gaze he softens. That’s what you do to him. You’ve given him a safe space to be soft, to be loving- to be vulnerable. This is why this cuts him up inside so much more, he knows that you’re in pain, that you’ve been in pain for the past week. But every time he would ask, you brushed it off, adamant on shouldering it by yourself. He was even angrier at himself for not pushing harder, if he had you might not have pushed yourself tonight.

You were his safe space and your reluctance to be vulnerable with him, had him doubting himself. Was he not enough for you? Did you not think he could be your safe space? He had beat himself up over this, which added another layer of frustration that had to take the backseat tonight.

He continues working diligently in silence, repeating the process with the same care for every single cut. Rubbing alcohol, bacitracin, a bandaid, and then smoothing over it with his rough fingertips. Repeatedly, gently tracing plain patterns over the material, soothing the both of you. If the circumstances were different, he would’ve littered butterfly kisses over every single one. The amount of self-control that he was showing was unfathomable.

Katsuki was inches away from exploding, pulling his brain in endless directions between figuring out how to get through to you, wanting to just tactlessly spill his guts, and longing to smother you in frantic love. You were nearing eruption as well, desperately wanting him to say something, anything at all, but you also didn’t want to hear a single word of his lecturing. You also wanted nothing more but to hug him, to cling to him because fuck, tonight was terrifying but you couldn’t let him know that-you had to stick to your guns.

Both of you were stubborn as all get out, a trait that you both loved and hated in one another. Neither of you wants to be the first to give in, and yet desperately pray the other will. Here together, in your bathroom, and yet worlds apart, lost in your thoughts. You were unceremoniously dragged back to the moment in front of you by fear.

Whether Katsuki did it on purpose, he had left the worst cut for last. It was the biggest one, crimson and angry, your anxiety building as he prepared to clean it. You had handled the stinging of the rest of the cuts fairly well, this one was going to be your breaking point.

His warm, rough hands wrap around your thigh, lightly squeezing it to steady you.

“Wait! Please.”

Your hand shot out to wrap around his wrist, your brain still catching up to your outburst. He immediately stopped in his tracks, looking up at you and feeling his heart shatter when he saw your eyes. Pleading, looking for mercy in him, and full of fear. As soft as he could muster,

“Hey, hey it’s not going to be that bad, promise.” He carefully watches as you nervously chew on your bottom lip. He raises his large hand to gently cup your face, you instinctively lean into the warmth of his palm. A new, unfamiliar voice pipes up in the back of your head as you get lost in his carmine eyes.

Let go.You’re safe here.

You let go of his wrist to place your hand on top of his bigger one, absentmindedly stroking.

“Just take a deep breath, okay? It’ll be over before you know it.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, you nod and try to relax as he moves his hand back to your thigh. He gingerly wipes the cut, the alcohol instantly seeping in and burning. You cry out in pain, begging him to stop, but he doesn’t listen. He tries to be quick but still efficient, wanting to lessen your pain. He places a large bandaid on it, smoothing it down, and finally, finally, gives in and presses the lightest butterfly kiss on top. 

Fuck.

Your bottom lip is poking out, quivering as you do your best to swallow the sob clawing its way up your throat. Angrily rubbing away the tears that escape, you let out a trembling sigh, still trying to get a hold of yourself. Balling your hands into fists on your thighs, you sniffle and bite your lip so it’ll stop its ridiculous shaking. You instinctively berate yourself for how you’re reacting.

You should be stronger than this. What is wrong with you? 

The new, sweeter, softer voice comes back to say,

But it’s okay. Because it’s him.

Because it’s him. Because he’s the one who is fixing you, who is choosing to fix you. To be here with you, to choose you, and to love you. And maybe it is okay that you’re ‘weak’  in front of him. It’s safe here. Maybe you were wrong an-

“Do you understand why I’m mad at you?” His voice rumbles out, interrupting your thoughts.

“I-I don’t- honestly, no not really, I did nothing wrong tonight” You try not to roll your eyes at how watery and shaky your voice sounds. Katsuki sets his jaw and slowly breathes in and out of his nose, almost like a bull getting ready to charge.

“How am I going to get this through your head?” He mutters to himself, you roll your eyes in return and give him a pointed look. You know that you shouldn’t be getting riled up, but the exhaustion is sapping away your patience. Logically you know that you should just stop with the retorts, listen to him, and yet,

“Well? Are you going to tell me why you’re mad at me or am I just supposed to be a mind-reader?” 

That was the last straw.

“I don’t know how or why you can’t see this,” he starts slowly, mulling over his thoughts, “but the way you handled tonight was...it was...you shouldn’t have pushed yourself that hard.”

“But every-”

“I don’t care that everything else turned out fine!” He raises his voice momentarily, forcing himself to come back down, “I’m not mad that you took care of everything else, I’m mad that you didn’t take care of yourself.” Ruby eyes search your face for any sign of understanding.

“It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks,” he notices how your eyes widen, realizing that he knew your feelings all along. You were mistaken for thinking you ever needed to handle it by yourself. 

“You are already strong and you don’t have to prove that to anyone. You don’t owe anyone shit, you don’t need to push yourself to the point of breaking just to show that you can make it there.” He slips his warm, coarse hands into your softer ones, gripping tightly. He leans forward to put his forehead against yours,

“I need you. I need you in my life, and I need you to take care of yourself.” Desperation seeps into his voice, begging you to give yourself the love you deserve. Quietly, he adds,

“For my sake, at least, don’t be careless, dumbass.” He pulls back slightly to look at you, eyes glassy and full of pain. He doesn’t say anything else, letting his words float around in your head. You laughably admit to yourself,

He’s right. I am a dumbass.

Your face is wet with tears, salty drops still haven’t stopped cascading down your skin. You were being foolish, but you didn’t want to admit it, letting your pride suffocate you. You’re sniffling nonstop but still trying to keep your cries as tucked away as possible, your whole body shaking with stifled sobs. He lets go of your hands to cup your face, thumbs wiping away fresh tears. 

“You can let it out, you know. You let me.”

You throw your arms around him, clutching him, afraid that he’ll float away from you. Keeping him in a tight, tight, tight embrace, hands collecting handfuls of his shirt. Like a broken record, repeating over and over again, strangled, I’m sorry’s. He hums in response, rubbing circles on your back as he holds you. Unbeknownst to you, he’s thankful you can’t see his tears that manage to slip out, knowing you would only cry harder.

The two of you stay like that until your sobs have subsided. He pulls away, wiping away the rest of your tears and holding your face again. You stare into each other’s tired and bloodshot eyes.

“I don’t want you to be careless anymore. I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove yourself to anyone. I want you to see what I already know, what is already true. You are more than enough, you are more than strong enough, and I need you to see that. Okay?”

Nodding, you whisper, 

“I know,” You bite your lip and nod again.

“I know.”

Sometime later, after cuddles and soft voices, you lay in bed, wrapped up in fluffy blankets. Rubbing at the gauze around your arm, you stare at the ceiling, ruminating on what Katsuki said.

He’s right. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone, especially not to assholes who don’t even know me. Next time that I want to be reckless, I’ll just think of him. The one who loves me and knows me.

You close your eyes and smile to yourself.

The one who knows I’m strong.

[sporadiclilbook]

Can I request a Claude x reader x Sylvain fic with an s/o who acts coy but is actually scarily perceptive? Like they notice Sylvain's inner turmoil almost right away and they notice the echoes of Claude's trauma in being ostracized and alienated and their care manifests in extremely subtle ways. How would they react once they find out that they're pining for the same person?

I hope ya like this anon! Hoping that this is how you wanted it too. Golden Deer!reader for plot reasons.

Truth of your mask

(Yan!Sylvain x Perceptive!Reader x Yan!Claude)

You hummed as you walk through the halls of the academy to get to the dining hall. Everything was going normally, nothing much was happening other than getting a new teacher. A former mercenary no less. However you can't seem to read them at all. Not even when you try to talk to the new professor. No smile, no frown or pout. Just.....blank. Usually it was pretty easy considering how most people is full of expression, but your new teacher was like a blank canvas.

It interested you, truly. Perhaps you can continue to observe them and learn a thing or two. You sit down at one of the long dining tables to dig in into your favourite meal. You ate a bit slow considering there was no need to rush. You suddenly heard someone sitting right next to you and immediately knew who it is. "Is there something you need, Sylvain?" You asked as you blow softly on your food to cool it down. "Nothing just checking up on the most attractive person I know."

"Stop it Sylvain, there are lots of other attractive students here too you know....." As you pretended to blush and faced the opposite direction of him a bit. Now you may not be the best with close ranged combat and prefer to strike afar but you admit, you were quite good at intel gathering. Whether it's playing a shy role or feigning ignorance, you think you were quite the expert at it. "No need to be shy now babe, show me that beautiful eyes of yours." Sylvain was a tom fool to you, to think he would easily fall for this act is hilarious to you.

Slowly looking at him, you predicted that he would be wearing that same flirty grin that he always have talking with literally anyone he fancies in the academy. "I-uh....my eyes aren't exactly that extraordinary." You quickly averted back your eyes to your food. Eating it up a bit quicker now. You would have looked at him longer but everytime you do you felt something was off with him. You've seen him flirt around before. His expressions was all the same. It was a typical playboy face. It was different of course when he was alone. There were times when you catch him spending his time in solitary. That's when you notice the pain he has.

It looked like regret and weight of responsibilities. Doesn't help that he is the heir to House Gautier because of his crest. You approached him once, when it was raining, to talk to him a bit. Sure he was annoying at some times but letting him stand there looking so miserable didn't felt right. Of course this doesn't reveal your perceptiveness to him. To most it would look like he had a bad day but to you? You knew he was clinging onto something negative. Something he can't run from.

Ever since that day, he always seemed to make an effort to speak with you. Sometimes Felix or Prince Dimitri will berate him for disturbing a student from another class but there was no real harm, were there. Maybe he just want to make you one of his flings. At least that's what you thought until you see it in his eyes. It was not an usual flirty eyes. It was not lust or some kind of playboyish ones.

It looked like infatuation. Genuine infatuation.

That's when it hits you. It must have been something related to his past. Was he not loved by his family? Is this why he was seeking flings, hoping to finally find the one? Did he decided you were the one simply because you talked to him to ask if he was ok?

Perhaps you were wrong. There are times when your expertise was wrong. Rarely, yes but the chances are not zero. But for now, you will keep him at an arms' length. "Nonsense, your eyes shines brighter than the stars." You smiled sheepishly at him. Not knowing what to respond. He was about to talk more when suddenly a new yet familiar voice join. Your house leader, Claude.

"Well well if it isn't Mr.Smoothtalk, he's not bothering you right (Y/N)? What am I saying of course he is." Claude was like you, observant. But he only looks whats on the surface and not below. But who knows, he was quite eccentric. Maybe he does know you're feigning ignorance. Maybe he doesn't. But then again he would have talk to you about it. He's secretive but sometimes he will overshare his thoughts, ones that has no purposes anyway. You remember the day you enrolled here. Being a citizen of the Alliance automatically sorted you into Golden Deer. He was nice to you. Welcoming you and showing you around. In fact all of the Golden Deer was. Leonie might said something without thinking at times but she would apologise. Raphael was a gentle giant. Hilda was lazy but you reminded her of Marianne and that wanted to make her put in effort.

Claude was always all smiles and schemes. Even so, not even he was immume to you. When you spot him in the crowds of students it was clear as day. He felt isolated. Different. Foreign even. It intrigued you. Why would he felt out of place? Could it be tied to the fact he suddenly show up as the grandson to the leader of the Alliance? As curiosity plagued you, you made an effort to befriend him slowly. Pretending to have problems with class that you known he was good at and even picking up a bow sometimes seeing how his heirloom relic weapon was the bow Failnaught. He learns about you and vice versa. One of his simple mistake was when he invited you for tea.

He served you Almyran tea. He asked what you think of the tea and you just said tea was tea. Just like how people are people. The blend is different but in the end, it's just another beverage. He seemed delighted at your answer and you were delighted at his actions. He was Almyran or half-Almyran. It make sense seeing how Lady Tiana eloped a long time ago. Even after years, people talked about it. You decided to keep it a secret. You didn't really care about his heritage. What only matters to you was bringing back the cat that was killed by curiosity with satisfication.

Oh however. He too, had the same look upon his face. The same as Sylvain's. No one notices it, only you did. From their expression to their subtle acts. How Sylvain's pick up lines sounds like him courting you instead of flirting. Claude subconscious favouritism over you. And it scared you, truly. What were they planning exactly? Does Sylvain needed someone to finally let out his trouble thoughts to? Did Claude wanted to see if he can become vulnerable around you and reveal his secret himself to you? What is their true motives?

"Oh? Hello to you to Mr. House Leader. No need to worry, I'm not bothering them too much." Claude sat to the vacant spot next to you. "Yeah I can see that. But talking to someone who is enjoying a hot meal isn't that nice you know." You continued eating as you ignore their bickering. At least neither of them would talk to you and instead hurled passive-agressive responses to each other. When you finally finished your meal, you stood up. "You're done already (Y/N)? I was hoping I could talk to you a bit but see you at Golden Deer I guess." It was clear as day that Claude specifically said to meet you in class as in a mockery to Sylvain. "U-uh, yeah....see you at class Claude..." With that you returned back to class.

Claude and Sylvain sat together in a tensed silence. But they knew why they were still sitting here. The still noisy atmosphere of the dining hall proved perfect to conceal their conversation. "(Y/N) huh? Not a bad taste but I'm afraid you can't have them." Claude chuckled at Sylvain's statement. "Can't have them? They're in my house. They're Golden Deer not Blue Lions. And you think you have a chance?" Sylvain gritted his teeth at him. "And so? That won't stop me." Claude just shooked his head at him. "Oh Sylvain, maybe if you didn't use all your brains for pick up lines you'd have a great chance. It's unfortunate we liked the same person." Claude smirked at him. He knew the day Sylvain kept pestering you that he was also lovestrucked like he was. But Claude thinks you don't deserve someone like Sylvain. While Sylvain thinks Claude is trying to take advantage over your 'meek' personality. Seeing how schemeful he is.

"Bring it on then, Riegan."

"Don't hold it against me when you lose, Gautier."

[revenant-dumpster-fire]

Hunter (Revenant x Reader)

Part 1 of 2 of the chapter “Hunter & Prey”. [Full chapter on AO3.]

Theme: The trios game is here, and Revenant's plan comes to fruition after days of planning.

Warnings: Male dominance, threats of violence, descriptions of violence, sharp objects, pain, bipolar, depression, mania, fluff.

Reader's Notes: Revenant (Apex Legends) x Reader, reader is female.

Writing Notes: Can I write non-fluff? Maybe? Or perhaps I need to maximize fluff to balance? I guess you'll find out.

Navigation:

First Chapter | Previous Part (Styptic & Canine)  | Next Part (Hunter & Prey)

Revenant manages to wake you up in the middle of the night with nothing but his incessant nuzzles and purring. His new chassis may be deluxe, but he can't seem to control how much he wants to show off all its features. He's holding you from behind, completely enveloping you in a warm hold, his nuzzles starting on the back of your neck and making their way around to the side of your neck. You've definitely slept some, but not quite enough to feel awake.

You reach up and begin lightly petting the top of his snout. His bovine skull emits a long, deep purr that can only be described as a very happy growl. He almost seems to be in a trance in his new body, as if something in the code is different, and he's acting out of something reminiscent of instinct. It's nice. He's almost like one of his prowlers. You extend your snout pets to reach from nose to the top of his head, and his purrs extend to last the length of each stroke. He leans into your pets, hoping for a firmer touch, which you try your best to comply with.

You roll over to face him, causing him to pull away a little. He looks at you with a little concern initially, like you might be upset, but you quickly quell him by holding his visage in both of your hands, pulling it close to yours. In truth, you're not sure what you're doing, but you can tell he likes it. His new silicone tongue licks your nose lightly, surprising you but not enough to make you pull away. He definitely has some software changes, whether he realizes it or not. He's definitely acting more like an animal. You slip your hands down to feel his giant mane, made of locks of fur. It feels both soft and fluffy; you can't help but run your fingers between each lock as you pet it. You work out any tangles you find, causing him to purr with delight over the free grooming. The tip of his nasal cavity presses into your nose, intentionally tickling you with his breaths.

"You should sleep," he manages to get out in his purrs.

"Nah, I'm just going to be watching the game tomorrow. You're the one who has to work." You whisper to him, massaging his neck through his fur.

He sighs a small moan at your massage, clearly giving up on his request in favor of getting more affection. He reaches out and holds your waist, softly brushing your sides in return. His head tilts up, revealing his throat. You carefully move your hand to touch it, moving all the way from the tip of his chin down to his clavicle with a soft touch. His breathing slows as you caress him, turning his purr into a low hum and vibrating in your hand. Eventually, his maw opens up, emitting a scary but relaxed hum and revealing his fangs. He's clearly enjoying every moment of it.

"Little skinsuit." You hear him mutter quietly. You pause for a moment, acknowledging him. He closes his mouth and locks eyes with you, pushing his nose into your face and huffing in it. He doesn't immediately speak, just nuzzles you on the side of your face, intentionally breathing into your ear to get you to wince from the tickling feeling. He shoves his tongue right on your face, licking you like a dog.

"Ack, what is it?" You lift your hands up to your face to defend your face from further onslaught. He pushes his snout into your hands and licks them instead. "Rev... Are you okay?"

He stops, pushing his snout through your hands and touching the tip of your nose.

"What are you supposed to taste like?" He finally utters. You're a bit taken aback by his question.

"I don't really know, why? Do I taste strange?"

"Honeysuckle. That's what I taste." He pulls you right into him, enveloping your whole body. "I haven't had a real tongue in so long. I don't remember what anything is supposed to taste like anymore." He sounds saddened by his conclusion, but you can't get your hands free to comfort him. You shove your face in his mane instead, snuggling up against him. You struggle to find any words to say, but try to come up with something.

"Hey, Revenant?" He doesn't respond, but it's safe to assume you have his attention. "I like you no matter what." You retreat into his mane as deep as your face can go, unsure of how he will react.

You feel his body heat up, and his claw cup the back of your head. His head tucks around your shoulder, and his legs surround you to pull you into his frame. His spare arm wraps around you, and his body starts to rattle in a purr. You carefully wrap your hands around his waist and softly caress it, unable to press into it like his other body with leather allows. You're stuck otherwise, so you make a small kissing gesture and noise into his mane, unsure if he hears you.

"Sleep, my little skinsuit. Before you convince me to forfeit this game." He purrs in your ear, brushing your hair with his fingers. You're not sure what he means; you've asked him to do no such thing, but you let yourself snuggle up against his heat, easily drifting to sleep as he coos at you.

• • • •

You wake up in a mess of damp fur, mouth open and now dry as a desert. You close your mouth and pull your face away from the sopping mats of fur, emitting a sound similar to a snore as you breathe through your nose again.

"Didn't realize you'd be the one to get me wet, skinsuit." Revenant teases, running his claws through his soaked mane. "Your dreams must be real fun for you to drool all over me like that." You snap to as you realize what you've done.

"Oh no, I'm sorry!" You pull away and try to dry him off with the sheets, to no avail.

"Don't be sorry, this is perfect." You ignore him, sitting up to dry him off at a better angle. He lets you, but you quickly abandon the sheet and go grab a towel from the bathroom. As you rub into his mane, he looks up with you with something that feels like a smile, but you can't be sure. Either way, he seems to be enjoying it. He lets you continue as he slowly sits up, leaning into your rubs and purring under his breath. You get as much of your drool out of his mane as possible, but eventually you finally have to give up and pull the towel away.

Revenant makes his way out of bed, satisfied by your work, although you don't feel the same. He stands tall over you, looking down at you with curiosity and adoration. He pushes his hand into your hair and rustles it.

"Don't look so dejected, you didn't ruin anything." He reads your mind; you feel like you've destroyed his favorite chassis with drool of all things. "Trust me, I was banking on you making a mess. It'll all work out in my favor. Shut off your little brain and let me do the thinking, just trust me." His voice growls seductively as he pokes the tip of your nose with his claw.

"Now, go eat before I force feed you. Your girlfriend should be here in an hour or so to watch the match with you." His voice is so smooth but growly. "I need to go prepare. Take care of yourself, skinsuit. I expect you here when I get back." And with that, he turns heels and confidently glides out the door, gone for the day.

You stare for a few moments, deeply hoping he will reappear so you can stare some more. Even his gait is so alluring, so confident, so strong. He is focused, powerful, and yet so secretive. You may not be sure how to respond to his flirtatious gestures, but knowing he is possessive of you is an honor he clearly doesn't give to many. What did you do? Does it matter? You want him to come back and make your face turn red again, tease you into forgetting about your depression, and treat you like his most prized possession. You want to make him melt with snout rubs, warm him, and delight him with your inherent shyness. You finally feel comfortable, but--more importantly--you feel attached.

You come back to reality, quickly scrambling to find the television remote, turning it on to the main event. They're still talking about Loba from the previous match, throwing up pictures all over the screen. How long can they talk about the same thing and still not run out of things to say? You sigh, knowing they will have to let up as the opening of the game starts.

You move over to the kitchenette and start warming up your leftovers. Chinese for breakfast is the sign of a good day, in your opinion. Some people say it's better the next day, but you can't wholly agree. It's different, not better or worse, but you love both. With your appetite finally back, you almost feel like waiting for it to finish, but you know showering while it heats up and cools off enough to eat is the wise choice.

• • • •

You answer the door, seeing Sherry bashfully waving to you with an unsure smile on her face.

"Hey Sherry, Rev told me he--"

"Put in a request for me to come and keep you company, right?"

"Yeah, I hope it's not too much trouble." You step aside so she can enter, which she does.

"So that's what he told you, but do you know what he really asked?" She reels around, fancying a tease as her finger twirled in the air.

"Oh no..." You trail off, already expecting something embarrassing. Sherry makes her way to the couch, throwing herself down and patting the seat next to her to invite you over.

"Oh, nothing that bad. He specifically asked me to make sure you were having a good time and safe. He requested that I not let you get sad, even if I had to--" she clears her throat, preparing to make a direct quote, "--encroach on my territory again." She giggles at the choice of words not even looking up to see your cheeks turn a light pink. He's definitely partially influenced by his software, that's the kind of thing a prowler would say if they could speak. Although, he is possessive on his own too.

"To be fair, you did shove my face in your tits right in front of him..." You sit down next to her, pulling your legs up to cross them.

"I dunno, the way his head tilted made me think he might have liked it." She throws her arms around you for a hug, relishing in pulling you in despite your pulling away.

"You're just as bad as he is." You sigh, accepting the hug that is forced on you.

"Oh? Maybe I can gang up on you with him sometime."

The innuendo isn't lost on you, making you grimace in further realization that you've surrounded yourself with people who tease you with questionable remarks. Sherry lets you go, turning her attention to the television.

"So, got any insider information on what we're about to see?" She lets you off the hook, for now.

"Well, sounds like our favorites are teamed up, for one." She beams, clearly excited at being able to root for the same team. "Second, Revenant has been teasing some grand plan for a while... apparently he's not fond of--" you nod towards Loba holding Revenant's scarf on the screen, "--that. He plans to erase it from everyone's minds."

"Not going to lie, that's the most exciting thing I've heard in ages leading up to a match." Sherry snuggles into the plush couch. It makes sense, she's been working here since before you started. Heck, she's the one who got you the job. She's probably heard everything when it comes to hype, and is likely unaffected by the commentator's excitement anymore. A Legend having some grand scheme for a match would be way more promising. "I'm just glad Revenant and Wattson are on the same team. It means I don't need to root against your shiny metal boyfriend." She smirks at you.

"You'd date Wattson if you could." You retort, trying to fend off her wit.

"Oh! So you are dating!" Ah, shit. You didn't mean to imply that. "So how is he? Is he everything you dreamed? Does he satisfy you?" She's so excitable, despite your answer being completely predictable.

"It's not like that." You turn away, hoping she won't push it.

"It's not like that--yet." She has to push the envelope, every time. She just can't let anything go. "I think he likes you. I bet he's thinking about you right now."

"When there's blood to be spilt? Fat chance." You finally see an opening for a comeback, and you take it. Sherry looks at you with shock, until it melts into a beaming smirk.

"It's cute how much you like him." She finally says.

"Oh, shut it." You leave it there, happy with the ceasefire, knowing you'll likely lose ground if you push it.

The television starts announcing the teams, showing Revenant with Wattson and Wraith. The camera holds on Revenant, standing in the middle and in front of his teammates in the drop ship, giving the commentators time to fawn over his unusual chassis. The floral language they use to describe the viciousness of his new body makes you chuckle as you think about how much he loves snout rubs. You feel a little badass for once; after all, you've tamed the unholy beast they seem so reverent of.

Revenant turns his head, locking optics with something off screen. The camera pans to see who, and a familiar masked face appears. If Bloodhound could have an intense look, this was it. It was a primal look, a pure determination that could only be described as a hunter locking eyes with a most dangerous prey. This is what Revenant meant. This was his plan. There was no chance this would end without a fight for the ages. His animalistic appearance only added to the allure of this soon-to-be battle.

"Hey, why don't we watch the team channel?" Sherry breaks your immersion in the game.

"The what?"

"Oh my--you've been here almost as long as me! How do you not know these things?!" You shrug, still not sure what she's talking about. "Every room gets a special team-specific feed with communications and everything. We should watch it if Wattsy and Revenant are together." She gets up and grabs the remote, clicking a button as she returns, causing the perspective to shift and the commentators to fall silent. You can hear the team instead, loud and clear. Why didn't you know about this?

Sherry bops you on the back of the head before returning her attention to the television.

The voices come through loud and clear on this channel.

"Are you sure about this?" Wattson asks, looking up at Revenant's massive frame.

"Yeah, this seems like a good way to get knocked out early." Wraith crosses her arms, sounding equally skeptical.

"I don't need you to trust me, but I'm going to be chased down. I need to drop separately and lose their trail. I need you to kit up without me, and I will meet you where you are." Revenant must be referring to Bloodhound.

"And what if we're targeted for landing as two instead of three? Not to insult your intelligence, but this seems particularly unwise." Wattson is always so sweet, even when she's not very fond of who she's speaking to.

"You'll need to drop cold. Drop within running distance to me and I will come to your aid if you're targeted." Revenant insists. Wattson sighs, clearly unsure of how to change his mind.

"Very well, please do not get us all killed, even if it is in your programming." Wattson relents.

They walk over and stand tall near the open hatch, barely keeping themselves up and not falling into World's Edge. The wind makes it impossible to hear the communications, but you see Revenant pointing to a few places and Wattson making hand motions as if to discuss options. Wraith just keeps her arms crossed, looking like a badass behind them.

Revenant steps away from the two to step further inside the ship, leaning against the ship wall and appearing to sigh. You hear a voice pick up on his communications.

"You are not as clever as you think, bráð." Revenant turns his gaze to meet Bloodhound, who is haughtily ignoring their teammates in favor of stoking these flames. "You may have disguised your scent with that of your apprentice, but all I must do is hunt your apprentice in order to find you." Revenant huffs, unfazed. "I will be disappointed if this hunt is unworthy of my skills."

With that, Bloodhound turns away to face their teammates, returning to planning. Fuse and Caustic seem completely okay with Bloodhound's previous absence from the conversation, willingly taking time to catch Bloodhound up on their plans. Revenant moves back to his team, Wattson clearly having noticed the exchange over her comms.

"Making friends, are we? I did not think you had it in you." She chuckles a little. She's a bit sassy herself, no wonder her and Sherry get along.

Revenant blows a puff of breath out his nostrils and into his mic, refusing to acknowledge her question.

"You'd be surprised, I think our local murder machine is going soft on us." Wraith pipes up in a taunting manner. Revenant looks very concerned that she might expand on her statement, but Wraith clearly is just enjoying his somewhat panicked reaction, smirking at him with delight.

"Perhaps this is a story for another day. Our drop is coming up!" Wattson chirps, clearly getting a bit excited.

The comms go quiet, spare for the blowing wind near the hatch, before they all jump into the white abyss, the drone camera attempting to follow. As the camera breaches the cloud line, you can see the trails of the team splitting, two in one direction and the other in the opposite. A message appears on the screen reading: 'calling additional drone' before it follows Wraith and Wattson down below.

"Do you want to watch your big metal hunk?" Sherry teases you. "He went off by himself, so I don't mind watching him. I'm comfortable that Wattsy will just be picking up loot safely in that area. Nobody really drops over there."

"I'm being hunted as expected. Stay alive, you two. I'll be there soon." Revenant's voice can be heard over the television.

"Yes! How do we watch him?!" You pipe up, instantly concerned.

Sherry hits a button on the remote and a new visual appears. This new camera drone isn't at Revenant yet, but staring down Bloodhound instead. Bloodhound is looking back and fourth, clearly flustered. The drone hovers, refusing to move as it may give away positions of either Legend.

Bloodhound runs up to a bunker, opens the door, and immediately puts their gloved hands over their mask, as if they're smelling something pungent. They run over to the control panel, wiping the surface and sniffing their fingers. Suddenly, they look invigorated. Impressed, perhaps? It's hard to say. Bloodhound appears to speak into their communications mic and runs off in a full sprint, disappearing from the drone's view.

The drone watches longingly after Bloodhound's trail before it suddenly jostles, making the view blurred and incomprehensible. The camera slows, eventually able to capture an image. It's Revenant's visage, clearly holding the drone at arm's length while sprinting.

"I know you're watching, little skinsuit. Hug your girlfriend if you get too scared." The drone mic isn't as clear as his team comms device, but he's still understandable. "In fact--Sherry--keep her warm for me. You have my support, but I get her back as soon as this is done. Deal?" His voice is full of vitriolic flirting, if that description makes any sense. He crushes the drone and the screen becomes static. Sherry turns to you with a devious smirk.

"Oh, he's so kinky for you." She uses her deep voice and leans into you, wrapping an arm around your back. Your cheeks burn red. "You must have something special, huh? How else did you end up with a big dom daddy like--"

"Oh my fuck, please stop Sherry!" You burst from embarrassment, burying your face in your knees as you pull into your frame. "I can't handle you two teaming up."

She laughs, but not sadistically for once. She gives you a quick hug, a pat on the back, and changes the channel to the other, working camera drone.

"I'm fine, but I have another favor to ask." Revenant's voice brings you out of your human sphere. You don't recognize this area, it's not considered a hot spot.

"You're really pushing your luck today, rustbin." Wraith stays stoic about the whole thing, attaching a scope to a Havoc.

"Let's hear him out. What is it? I cannot promise I will agree to anything, though." Wattson is undeniably kind, but sounds like she's trying to be stern.

"If Bloodhound survives to the end with us, let me single them out and fight them alone. If I fail to finish them, you can kill them and take the match without me." Revenant plans to do what he originally teased you about: defeat your first favorite Legend. How did he find out it was Bloodhound? Or does he even know?

"The chances of that seem unreasonably low, and it seems quite risky, but if you really want to I will respect your wishes." Wattson says as she rummages through a supply bin, picking up some shield cells and batteries.

"The chances are actually strangely high..." Wraith almost mutters as she loads her Havoc. "Did you bribe some people to throw or something?"

"No, I gave the Hunter a challenge." Revenant says as he begins adding improvements to his RE-45, making a satisfying chunking sound as his mag extender slots in. "My mind is on making a spectacle of our battle, and the only thing on the Hunter's mind is surviving until they can kill me. Call it actualization."

"Yeah, you'd have no reason to pay your way to the top, you enjoy this too much." Wraith tests her scope by looking down the sights, apparently pleased with her meager kit for now. "Alright team, we need more equipment, let's move."

They all begin to move towards an area known as The Harvester. You had been dragged there and touched all the controls, doors, and climbed an excessive amount of the area. It makes you tired to even think about it.

"So, I have some actual questions though." Sherry brings your attention out of the television, so you turn towards her. There's not much point in watching until there are gunshots anyway. Otherwise they're just going to be finding more gear. "What happened to your leg?" She points to the puncture wounds on your calf.

"Oh, um--well..." You accidentally revealed it when you pulled your leg up on the couch. "He has a thing where he can't control himself for a few seconds after he reboots." She pauses, processing your response. It is a really odd string of words to put together.

"So... he's homicidal, and if you don't get away--"

"No, not homicidal. There is zero chance of that. More like possessive and overly passionate about it." You hope it makes sense. She pauses again, trying to process the meaning behind the words.

"So it's a sexual thing?" Of course she gets it all wrong.

"No, more like a 'nobody can have you' kind of thing, and then he got too worked up and clenched too hard."

"So... are you sure about this whole thing? What if this keeps happening? That's not okay." She seems genuinely concerned, and a bit unhappy.

"It was an accident, honestly. Sort of like tripping into someone and knocking them over." You try to make it as mild-seeming as possible, but you know she won't fully buy it. She sighs, crosses her arms, and shrugs a little. That's enough acceptance for now.

"So, follow-up question: are you sure you're safe?" It might as well be the same question, but you relent.

"I'm pretty certain."

"That's a horrible answer!" Obviously she'd be a bit upset that it's not complete certainty, but how can you lie to her? Nothing is completely certain.

"It's complicated, but this is a risk I'm absolutely willing to take." You surprise yourself with your own calmness. "I know this seems insane, but my life has only been better for every crazy decision I've made, and I need this to happen. Life is short these days, even if I die I want to do something better than nothing." Sherry stares at you with a dumbfounded look, apparently impressed by your short speech.

"I guess that makes sense, but if stuff gets too violent... please leave." She averts her gaze, looking down at her feet.

"I promise, but really, I'm quite happy." You hug her, and she hugs you back for a moment.

"So he must be really good in bed then, huh?" She ruins the moment, she absolutely has to. It's practically her purpose in life at this point.

"I don't know, to be honest." You try to sound as serious as possible to avoid further teasing.

"What? Are you kidding? He makes it sound like you guys are fu--"

"Don't say it please." You put your face in your hands, questioning why you're still so easily embarrassed by these things. You're always blushing, which seems to goad people like Revenant and Sherry into teasing you. It is a little fun, though. Their power trip of teasing seems to make them both so happy, and in a weird way you share in that happiness as a willing victim.

"Well, okay, but I hope you get some soon," she snickers, "Honestly I don't think it'll be much longer now, anyway."

Gunshots ring out on the television.

"I've taken hits! If you've got a sniper, try to cover me!" Wraith sounds hurt, despite phasing towards the opponents on a hill nearby. Revenant pulls a Longbow he must have found recently, doing his best to take shots at the opponents while Wraith closes the gap. The scope must not be the best, because you can clearly see his stature get frustrated as he whiffs his shots. The return fire seems just as poor, hitting at Revenant's feet and the wall behind him, leaving gaping bullet holes. Suddenly, you hear a crack as Revenant's shot lands, then another.

"One closest to you is weak," he quickly states.

"Got it, engaging." Wraith barely finishes her statement before she's downed her opponent. Without the fancy graphics of the public broadcast, you're not sure who is on the enemy team, especially with how far the drone is.

"Engaging on the opposite side! Someone is alone!" Wattson suddenly appears on the opposite side as Wraith, immediately engaging another body as Wraith moves in towards the final contender in the middle. The gunshots are really going now, but the camera drone has been staying near Revenant, who is hanging back taking sniper shots.

"I'm down, but he's hurting!" Wattson's voice comes over comms, prompting Revenant to switch to his RE-45 and sprint to close the distance. The drone lags behind slowly, not closing enough distance to make out the opponents.

Wraith curses over the audio as she and her opponent go down simultaneously, leaving one weakened contender to Revenant. He's closing the gap excessively fast; it looks like they're trying to use a med kit.

"I'm not wasting the bullet." You definitely watch Revenant's silhouette stab the other before the med kit is finished, prompting the whole team to be deathboxed. The drone suddenly kicks into high speed, catching up to Revenant. It makes sense that the drones shouldn't give away positions, but this was a little frustrating at times. They either have to stay side-by-side or it has to hang back.

Revenant goes to Wraith first, pulling a medical syringe in his fist. He pauses, looking down on her for a moment. He twirls the syringe in his fingers, stopping it so his thumb lands on the plunger and his pointer and middle finger brace the flange on the barrel. He kneels down to her, pinches the muscle near her shoulder, and injects it quickly. He tosses the empty needle in a different pocket on his belt and helps her to her feet. Wraith is staring at him with a strange but subtle smile. He huffs at her and turns to tend to Wattson.

"So you did pay attention." Wraith sounds soft for a moment, but it doesn't get a reaction out of Revenant, who is doing the same to Wattson.

"Have you ever thought of the long term effects of all these injections?" Wattson asks as Revenant helps her up.

Wraith clears her throat loudly, crossing her arms.

"Yeah, it can do crazy things for sure." Wraith says with a heavy layer of frustration.

"Oh, I am so sorry, I did not mean to dredge up old memories." Wattson shakes her hands in front of her as a motion of apology.

"Yeah, science these days tends to be used to ruin the lives of as many people as possible." Revenant adds.

They all stand there in a circle, silent. It's not an awkward silence, it's a mournful silence. Revenant's stare is deep in the distance. Wraith's body language exudes frustration over past traumas. Wattson looks at the ground, almost like in secondhand guilt for being a woman of science. The stillness hangs for an uncomfortable amount of time, before Wraith breaks it.

"Nothing we can do, we are who we are now." She sighs. "We're top seven now. We need to find some other deathboxes and pick up better gear. We're going to stay sneaky until we're down to the last two." She immediately begins running towards the center of the new circle, close to the giant ice-like structure known as the Epicenter. Revenant and Wattson immediately move to follow. More boring running for a while.

"Who do you think was on that team?" Sherry asks, understanding that there's not much point in watching these segments.

"I'm not sure either. Sneaky play is boring, but I can't argue with the results. I'm going to run and get snacks, do you want anything?" You stand up, wanting to move around after a long while of sitting. Sherry immediately lays down on the couch, taking up all the space you left.

"Sure, give me anything with that cheese powder crack on it." She shoots you finger guns.

• • • •

"Sherry, I'm not getting you more chips."

"Please?"

"No, you've literally had three and a half bags, you're covered in cheese dust, and I'm pretty sure you're an addict. How strong is your metabolism, anyway?" You're brushing dust off the couch, at this rate you might as well get a vacuum. You ate a half, and then Sherry destroyed the rest plus all the other bags you got. You wonder how on earth she keeps her thinner figure like this. She must be cut from a completely different cloth than you.

"I have the same metabolism as all of my tapeworms." She stretches, and attempts to wipe the dust off her pants. "Sadly this has been pretty uneventful so far. They're being so careful. Three teams left now, and it looks and sounds like the other two are fighting it out." The gunshots are weak and in the distance.

"We're kitted as best as we can be, we should approach this like we did last time." Wraith has a 30-30 Repeater now, extremely well-modded.

"Did you notice that we're in the circle and they are not? We should set up a bit of an obstacle course here!" Wattson chirps.

"We can actually use it to attract our opponents and engage them from afar too." Wraith is beginning to smile, seeing a good path to victory.

"Leave Bloodhound for me." Revenant mumbles, just as a reminder.

"You'll get your wish, we've got this." Wraith's smile is unusual for her, but it's hard not to be at least a little happy in the face of such a massive victory.

Wattson begins setting up electric gates in the area as the circle closes in from the distance, creating a strange set of gates around the Survey Camp, trying to get around and weave through cover. Wraith finds a spot away from the tangled mess, Revenant joining her.

"Do you think they'll win?" You hold your breath, not as sure as Wraith is.

"Of course, Wattson is with them!" Sherry pumps her fists together as if she didn't just eat an inhuman amount of crisps. How can she move so jovially with a stomach that must weigh as much as a brick?

Gunshots ring out, Revenant takes sniper shots at the last remaining team as they escape the incoming heat wall.

"Why did you give our position away!?" Wraith punches him in the shoulder, but he doesn't flinch.

"Use your portal to charge them, hit Bloodhound in the leg, and come back immediately through the portal. Let them follow." Revenant has no fluctuations in his voice. He's dead serious.

"This better work!" Wraith yells as she disappears, leaving a strange portal hole next to Revenant.

"Wattson, come throw down your Interceptor Pylon here, we need to make sure they come into the portal after Wraith." Revenant seems to have thought this through, but why does he want to fight up close?

Wattson throws it down and it immediately stops an incoming Knuckle Cluster, barely getting it up and running in time. Some incoming grenades meet the same fate.

"Excellent, thank you Wattson." Revenant sounds excited. Wattson pauses in minor confusion.

"You're... thanking me? You never do tha--"

Wraith appears in front of Fuse, Bloodhound, and Caustic. She pulls out her 30-30 Repeater and nails Bloodhound in the leg, taking many shots herself before retreating into the portal. Bloodhound takes a knee and begins using a med kit as Caustic and Fuse jump into the portal.

Revenant is unarmed on the other side, all his guns, grenades, recovery tools, and ammo on the ground around him. He's holding his sharpened arm right up against the portal's center, practically posing. Fuse first appears and is immediately skewered through the chest, exhaling in surprise. Revenant flicks his entire arm to the side, causing Fuse's corpse to fly off to the side, blood spewing everywhere out of the hole in his chest. He is deathboxed before he hits the ground. Revenant's other hand is already poised for an encore.

Caustic comes through second, taking the sharpened point in the neck. The blood is immediate and generous. Revenant lifts his body off his feet, letting the blood roll down his stabbing arm and drip everywhere. Caustic drops a live Gas Grenade as he dies, spitting blood. Revenant throws his body in much the same manner, and Caustic is deathboxed midair.

"Well, shit, that worked." Wraith has almost healed her injuries completely, Wattson watching over her and armed to the teeth. "I guess the rest is all yours, maniac."

"Do not make us wait too long, please! I am looking forward to this win!" Wattson helps Wraith up and begins to run in the other direction to escape the spreading gas.

Revenant immediately starts sprinting towards Bloodhound in a straight line with no gear of any kind. Not even a gun. He's thoroughly coated in fresh blood and looks like a monstrosity, surely he's going to be shot down.

"Is he trying to die?!" Sherry screams at the television. "They almost have it! What even is this?!" You wish you could defend Revenant, but in truth you have the same questions.

No gunshots come though. Bloodhound stands there, newly recovered thanks to their med kit. They're situated right near the tangle of electrical gates, arms crossed and waiting patiently. It doesn't take long for Revenant to meet them, standing tall and unarmed a few feet away, locking their gaze. Bloodhound begins throwing their guns, grenades, health items, and ammo to the side. They finish, staring down their opponent in a strange silence. You're glad you're on a private channel, this would be ruined by any crowd sounds or commentators talking over it.

Finally, Bloodhound reaches behind them and pulls out a beautiful axe. It looks ancient but well-maintained, certainly a relic from their sordid history as a hunter.

"Congratulations kill leader, how many did you kill to get to this moment?" Revenant asks.

"Fourteen bodies lay behind me." Bloodhound states very plainly. That's an insane number. Revenant growls happily at their answer. "I have fought hard to meet this moment. I will confess, you are more clever than I expected. I am sorry for underestimating you before. You brought your apprentice here and ensured she left her scent everywhere, then disguised yourself with the same scent."

You're stunned into silence. All that running around was to literally make it impossible for Bloodhound to hunt by scent alone. You almost felt happy to be a small part of this, in some way, but also a little frustrated at how hard that day was. It explains why Revenant took your shirt before, why it came back so grimy, why you had to touch everything, and why he wasn't upset that you drooled all over his mane. Is this simulacrum also a conniving genius?

"I noticed you didn't use your sonar to find me earlier." Revenant pries a little.

"It would be disrespectful to the honor of this hunt." Bloodhound is beginning to sound excited in a bloodthirsty manner. "You also have come unarmed, so I meet your challenge as my ancestors would."

Bloodhound shimmers the blade of the axe in the sunlight, proudly caressing its blade. They've got one knife, an axe, and their wits. Nothing more.

Revenant begins to sidestep, Bloodhound sidestepping to match, never leaving each other's gaze. They're circling each other, neither making the first move. Bloodhound breaks the silence with a thunderous declaration.

"May the Allfather bless this hunt!" They lunge forward, axe at the ready.

Revenant leaps to the side, avoiding them, immediately lunging to counter. His giant maw is wide open, going straight for Bloodhound's head. Bloodhound ducks, and plunges one of their smaller knives into Revenant's gut. They push the knife in hard enough that Revenant buckles at the torso and falls backwards, letting the knife slide out in Bloodhound's grasp.

Revenant's clawed foot hits Bloodhound right in the breathing mask, causing them to stumble backwards long enough for Revenant to get on his feet. Revenant lunges again, but uses his arm length to pick Bloodhound up and toss them through the electrified fence. Bloodhound lands on the other side, obviously hurting. A knife comes flying through the fence and chunks into Revenant's chest. Revenant grabs at it, clearly in pain from both his hits so far. He leaves it in despite his pain, knowing that Bloodhound can't have it back this way without getting close.

Revenant strafes to the side to see around the electric fence just to find nothing there. They've vanished in the web. Revenant begins to prowl around the inside of the fence with all its jagged nooks, looking for anything. Revenant keeps turning to look behind him, clearly expecting some kind of attack from behind. The heat wall closes in on the fenced in area, leaving only half of the area available. Revenant watches as the wall moves up close to his face, then begins to turn to leave.

Bloodhound leaps onto Revenant's back from behind the heat wall, their garb charred a bit from hiding beyond it. Bloodhound gets their axe around Revenant's throat and pulls so the handle begins to choke him, but Revenant throws himself backwards into the heat wall, burning Bloodhound. They shove the axe upwards in an uppercut-like fashion, stunning Revenant so they have time to dismount and leave the heat wall before swinging for another blow. The axe lands in Revenant's hip, but Revenant grabs it and holds it in place, lunging forward with his open jaw to bite. Bloodhound jumps back, avoiding the bite, but losing their axe in the process.

Bloodhound shows no fear, immediately lunging for Revenant's lower body, taking advantage of his shifted center of gravity and forcing him to fall forward, right on the knife in his chest. Revenant emits a horrid sound which is only compounded when Bloodhound pulls the axe from his hip. Bloodhound swings for the head, but Revenant shifts so his horn takes the brunt. Revenant grabs Bloodhound's leg and in one swift motion gets to his feet and throws Bloodhound like a ragdoll across the field, away from the fences. Revenant sprints towards them, leaning so far forward that he's nearly on all fours. It's bestial. Bloodhound is able to sit up just in time to save themself from a massive bite, but only by shoving their axe in Revenant's jaw to force it to stay open.

Revenant takes the opportunity to get his hands around Bloodhound's neck, claws fully out. Bloodhound retaliates by using their free arm to pull the knife from Revenant's chest, causing him to reel in pain. He still is unable to close his mouth, and Bloodhound isn't choking fast enough to save him from getting his throat slashed by the now freed knife. Revenant is forced to release Bloodhound completely and staggers backwards, holding his own throat now instead. You could be mistaken, but it looked like the inside of his mouth might have been injured from biting the axe too.

Bloodhound immediately throws the knife again, hitting Revenant in the thigh. He falls to a knee, giving Bloodhound enough time to get up and lunge, landing the axe right in Revenant's mask. With a twist of the wrist, their axe is free and Revenant's mask is cracked. Revenant's pain seems to convert to adrenaline, as he lets go of his throat and grabs Bloodhound's leg out from underneath them, causing them to land on the back of their head before Revenant goes in for a stab. Bloodhound deflects Revenant's arm stab with their axe. Revenant's arm chunks into the ground next to Bloodhound's head instead.

Revenant is making a disconcerting wheezing noise. There's tons of damage all over his body, and the pain must be unreal at this point. Bloodhound is banged up too, taking mostly concussive damage to the head. Their chest rises and falls rapidly, but you can't hear them pant through the breathing mask. Despite all the apparent hurt, you do not expect either of them are done.

Revenant lunges down for the bite and nails it this time, his maw right around Bloodhound's head. Bloodhound is bleeding immediately, but takes the opportunity to pull the knife again from his thigh. Revenant, now wise to the possibilities, uses his whole body to fling Bloodhound by their head to the side. Revenant is finally able to stand up completely, but he limps a little.

Bloodhound's head is bleeding pretty badly now, their blood splattered on the ground from being bit and thrown. They quickly get to their feet but quiver a bit while doing so. They seem confident now having their knife and axe at their side again.

"Allfather is pleased by this battle." Bloodhound states very factually. "Were it not for my weapons, I surely would have lost this fight long ago."

"Hate to break it to you, but you're still going to lose." Revenant's voice sounds wispy from exhaustion. He limps closer, and Bloodhound stands their ground.

Revenant ignores his limp just long enough to lunge, this time claws out and jaw open. Bloodhound sidesteps, but Revenant recovers quickly and turns to lunge again. Bloodhound is ready, and uses both the knife and the axe to stab and brutally chunk into his back as they take a massive bite to the waist, as well as an arm stab to the thigh. Bloodhound just begins wailing his blades into Revenant's back, who seems unwilling to release the hold he has. Bloodhound's waist is dripping blood and the cloth on their outfit is soaked crimson. Revenant's body seems to be giving out on him, but not before Revenant uses his spare arm for a stab towards the chest.

Bloodhound clearly plans to take it. They're unable to dodge or move, but before Revenant can land the blow, Bloodhound plunges the knife into Revenant's throat. Revenant's stab finishes, but his chassis goes limp right as Bloodhound is deathboxed from the stab to the chest.

The final camera shot of the fight is of Revenant's bestial chassis limply hanging off the edge of Bloodhound's deathbox, his head resting on the top like a mourner on a coffin. Then Revenant is deathboxed, ending the match.

The camera shifts to Wraith and Wattson who were watching the fight from afar, now waving in victory to the camera and celebrating. Wattson holds a Nessie plush toy over her head in victory, but where did it come from? As the camera zooms in, you see she's surrounded by a few. What the heck?

Sherry and you sit, stunned in silence. Sherry changes the channel to the public broadcast, and you hear the crowds reeling in cheers at the primal violence they just got to enjoy. The commentators are losing their minds over the ending, calling it 'The Allfather's Hunt' and practically gushing at the seams over the imagery of the Hunter and the Prey dying together. Wraith and Wattson are showered in confetti and champagne, although Wraith doesn't seem as much into the celebrations as Wattson is. Revenant really did make a spectacle out of the whole thing. Nobody was going to care about 'Loba the Scalper' after this.

Sherry seems conflicted. Normally she would be on her feet, screaming loud enough to warrant a noise complaint whenever Wattson wins. However, now she seems worried over what she just saw. She turns to you.

"This guy can and might kill you." She speaks very quickly and quietly. "I just watched him kill with no weapons, just brute strength. He can throw people and crush them and stab them and bite them, and he can absolutely break every bone in your body if he wanted." She looks down at her hands, as if to soak in the frailty of humanity. "I don't want you to end up like that."

"Sherry, I know. Trust me, I do. He's the strongest, most terrifying person I've ever met, but I'm not and will never be his target." You speak confidently. "He finds some kind of comfort in me and has taken a liking to me. He will not intentionally hurt me. Unintentionally it may happen, but he seems to know how to handle that when it does happen."

Sherry sighs.

"Do you love this guy that much?" She asks.

You pause. It's not a word you've really used yet to describe how you feel. Like, sure, but not full-on love. You think about it. You don't like throwing that word around.

"I am that fond of him, yes." You finally say. "I just want to see where it goes."

"If you're sure, just please don't get gored." Sherry stands up, a concerned look still plastered on her face. "I'm going to go clean and decorate Wraith and Wattson's room for them. I would do this one too, but Revenant never seems to like it."

"Thanks for hanging out, Sherry. Don't worry, I'll be okay, I promise."

Sherry nods a little, then leaves the room, allowing you to stretch and relax until Revenant gets back. You wonder how long it will take this time.

• • • •

It's mid-afternoon, by now all the broadcasts should be finished up on all the different planets, where it should be later in the day. Morning matches are a theme here, but it lines up perfectly with the end-of-the-workweek evenings for other planets. It also means the lighting during the match is perfect. Sometimes the broadcast will be held off to make sure it shows at prime time on each planet, but that always means tourism to the planets where it's shown live is excessive.

Right about now, this planet should be clearing out from everyone who wanted to watch the Apex Game live today. Talos probably had it worse today, if you can call tons of tourism worse. After all, they must make bank in souvenirs, assuming the locals are one to sell souvenirs. You question if the people Bloodhound came from would be the type to do so. Probably not. Anyone who is willing to though: they must be rich.

It's been a few hours and despite last time, you cannot shake the anxiety that Revenant might never come back.

There's a knock at the door, to which you quickly go and open it.

"Oh, hello, just dropping this off, as requested!" This stout but strong mustached man with permanently squinted eyes rolls in a large deathbox on a caddy. He must work in a different section of the volunteers than you did, otherwise you would recognize him. He carefully lays the deathbox on the floor. You move to help, but remember when Revenant collapsed on you and realize you're not strong enough for this. This guy is impressively strong to be able to carry it. He wipes a bead of sweat from his head after finishing, and begins to roll his caddy out.

"Have a nice day ma'am!" He waves goodbye and shuts the door after himself. You turn to stare down at the deathbox.

Open it.

You want so badly to open it. You have to know. Yes, you need to know. Does his chassis really have all the parts a human does, or was his flirtatious teasing all a grand bluff?

Open it.

This box may not contain all the answers, but perhaps it can solve that one question. Does he really like you that way? Is it possible that he could like you that way? Or is it possible regardless of his body?

Open it.

Is this an invasion of privacy? Probably, but since when has he given you the same courtesy? If you're lucky enough, he won't be back in time to even notice.

Open it.

However, you don't think it's right. You meander to the bed and sit down, turning on the television to see more of the commotion. They're not going to stop talking about 'The Allfather's Hunt' anytime soon. This isn't a good distraction.

Open it.

Forget it, you start flipping through the channels. There's some sickeningly optimistic and colorful kid's show. Now it's news, listing off dozens of people murdered just in the city streets yesterday, per usual. Now it's a show about an unsolved murder from a few years ago. Now it's a documentary about the Frontier War. This isn't working.

Open it.

You grab your badge out of your pocket and leave the room, freezing outside of the door. Right, there's not a single soul back from the medical bay to talk to. You didn't know Wattson well enough to go knock on her door, and you're not sure where Wraith was moved to after Revenant busted her door. Even if you did, you don't know her that well either.

Open it.

You scan your card and reenter Revenant's room, stagger over to the box, and mess with the latch. Once unlocked, a button releases the door and it springs open.

Tears well up in your eyes. Why did you do this to yourself? He's lifeless, bent up into a tangle of limbs and parts to fit into the box. What did you expect? He looks like an old sarcophagus that was forcefully shoved into a box he could not fit in. His corpse is so beautiful, but so empty and void of life simultaneously, like an art piece left to rot in the elements. You can't help yourself. You have to get him out of there.

You move to one side of the box and leverage your legs to begin tipping the box. It's very heavy, but you have to do this. The box tips over its center of balance and rotates the rest of the way over, spilling Revenant's corpse onto the floor. You pull the box back upright so the opening faces the ceiling again, and get back up to run over to his body. His chassis is laid out now like a more normal corpse would be, although his limbs have fallen where they may.

You crouch down, letting your tears hit the chassis with a hollow thumping sound. You hold his hand, but there's nothing: no squeeze, no sharp points, not even a bashful resistance to such an act of affection. No amount of knowledge that he will come back can fix how you feel right now.

You struggle to pull his body into your lap. This may be lighter than his classic metal body, but it's still difficult to move it around. You silently weep, finally getting his crushing weight on your legs. You lean forward into his nuzzle and rub it, hoping for that awkwardly stifled joy he shows when he likes something. There's nothing, his eyes are void.

You begin to cry out loud.

You carefully cradle his head, ignoring the matted fur in the way. You rock back and fourth, crying into his cheek and begging him internally to wake up. The tears flow around and into the giant crack in his mask. He had wounds all over him, and you trace your fingers around each one. Hope is worthless; it can't fix him. You touch his horns he seemed so proud of. There's a massive break in one of them and the horn is almost loose off his skull. So much damage. So much pain. Your crying gets louder.

Why did you open it? Why did you have to be curious? At first you just wanted to look to see if he was bluffing about this body having sexual mods. You didn't bargain for the excessive and overwhelming grief of seeing him dead. You rock his body, mourning in utter despair, cradling his head so close to your chest that it hurts. You squeeze your eyes shut to try to hold back the tears, but it flows right through. Maybe not seeing the body will help.

You continue to sob and rock him for what feels like an hour. In truth, it's probably only ten or so minutes. It hurts so bad, even with your eyes closed the image might as well be etched on your eyelids. Your nose is stopped up from the crying, but you cannot find the energy to try to wipe it so it can breathe again. Your only air flows through your mouth in painfully hitched gasps between sobs of agony.

Suddenly, something cold and metal begins wiping away your tears.

You wince in surprise, but as you open your eyes you see nothing. You look side to side, panning the entire room, but there really is nothing. The door didn't open, you would have heard that. If Revenant was here, you would have seen him, right? You make sure to turn fully around and look behind you, maybe he's in your blind spot. No, nothing. What even was that? You turn back around.

You take a deep breath and sigh in disappointment, a few more tears escaping your eyes.

Hands cup around your cheeks, drying them again. You look up. He's on the ceiling, attached by his feet, but holding his hands downward to touch you. He's back in his normal, red body. He carefully releases himself from the ceiling one leg at a time, being careful to step behind you. He curls around you in a hug so your back is against him. He carefully pulls you backwards so the chassis in your lap rolls off of you, and he envelops you in his cool embrace. He uses a foot to push the corpse further away from you. He grabs your jaw to force you to face him as he leans his head forward to look at you.

"Why are you crying?" His voice is plain and without emotion, but his face--his eyes--have life. You begin to cry again in some kind of disbelief, forcing your body to turn towards him and hug him back. You grip the red straps on his chest and press your face against his metal torso, letting the tears roll down him. You won't let go. This one is alive.

He brushes your hair with his claws, lightly scratching your scalp as he does. His other hand rubs into your back, careful to press into your spine and knead it. His legs bunch up and cross around you.

"I was secretly hoping you would snoop around in my deathbox, looking for something you shouldn't." He sighs into your ear. "Instead you cry over me. What a disappointment when I was hoping to catch you being naughty. Do you really feel that attached to me already?" He squeezes you a little, but you can't stop crying to answer him. "You must, otherwise you wouldn't cry for me like this, despite knowing I will always come back."

He continues to try to soothe you as best as he can. He's warmed up and is now reflecting heat back at you. He nuzzles his mask into your shoulder. He takes breaks from brushing your hair to try to wipe away any tears that'd don't make it onto his chest.

"Idiot." He lets out a small chuckle. "You're making me soft." You can't respond, but your tears are finally beginning to run dry. "You know, they say the best way to know if you're loved is to attend your own funeral. Obviously, that's impossible for most. Thank you for attending mine, and showing me this." He unwraps his legs, scoops his arms under you, and stands as he lifts you up with him. You refuse to let go of his straps, although your arms have to extend to hold on as you lie back in his hold.

He brings you over to the bed and lays you down carefully. He touches his mask to your forehead, and begins to pull away. He catches on your grip on his straps. You're still trembling a bit and probably still have that ugly crying face you're self-conscious of, but you can't help it. He carefully starts to pry your fingers off of the straps, but you grip even harder. You're not letting go. You won't let go. What if he leaves?

He sighs, recognizing your distress. He lets go of your fingers and scoops you back up again, this time so you're sitting against his shoulder. He's so excessively strong, he barely even seems to be bothered by the weight of you. He walks you over to the computer desk and sits down with you, leaving you in his lap. His hands wrap around you and begin typing on a keyboard. You carefully touch his face, not paying attention to what he's doing.

He pauses, looks to you, and takes your hand for a moment. He pulls it to the ridge of his mask that has a lip-like tint and angle, pressing the back of your hand into it for a moment before releasing your hand and returning his attention to the computer.

For the first time since you opened that deathbox, you trust what you're seeing. He's back, he's alive, and he's okay. You let your body limply lean into his shoulder, release his straps, and let him handle your weight with his body. You close your eyes and remember how to breathe normally. There's no reason to have a panic attack anymore.

"Take a nap. You're more exhausted than I am somehow. I'll wake you up soon." You feel his hand forcefully guide your head over his shoulder where it can rest comfortably. "Don't argue with me, now. Just do as I say."

You really are exhausted from all the excitement and emotion. You snuggle up against him as he shifts his body to fit your comfort. He makes a slow, heavy breathing sound in rhythm with his typing, and occasionally lightly runs his fingers over your bare skin. You're gone soon after.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

a romanced hancock reacting to sole wanting him to be a father figure in synth shaun's life?

Thank you so much for the ask anon!

So, I couldn't decide if I wanted to do more of a drabble or headcanons, so I just did both! I thought this prompt was really sweet, I hope you enjoy!

You stood in your shared room at the top of the Old State House, before the man in the red coat, the man you loved, awaiting his answer to your proposal. Having just asked him the question that had been patiently waiting at the back of your mind since the day that Shaun had come back into your life.

"Oh sunshine..." Hancock's gravelly voice broke the silence that had followed your question, "I'm beyond flattered that'd you'd ask that. I mean, I love that kid to pieces, but... you really think a ghoulified, blood-soaked, mega-junkie like me is the best fit for the kid to look up to?" The ghoul gave a soft chuckle, but Sole could see his brow furrowed slightly with uncertainty. A rare sight, given his usual gusto.

"Hancock," you said, in an attempt to reassure him, "you're a hell of a lot more than that. And Shaun is crazy about you, the reason I brought this up now was because he asked me when he could start calling you 'dad'." Hancock's dark eyes widened at your words and it took him a moment to answer.

"He- he did? Man... It's not too often I find myself at a loss for words but, I mean, me, a dad? I never thought that would've been possible, given my eh... present condition," He brought his hands up to gesture at his whole body. Your eyes never left his, the only change in your expression being a small smile, encouraging him to respond to your earlier question. Hancock sighed, taking a few steps towards you.

"So I suppose the thing I'm trying to say here is, I'm not sure I'm qualified for the position you're offering me." Your shoulders slumped at his words, you couldn't help but think he'd have been more receptive to the idea of being Shaun's new father. He may not be perfect, but he's one hell of an upgrade from the synth child's last "father."

"Look sunshine," Hancock decided to break the silence again, noticing your disappointed expression, "you sure you want this? I don't really tend to think of myself as 'daddy material'." You cocked an eyebrow at him, despite the weight of the conversation, you found yourself unable to keep a suggestive smile from spreading across your lips at his choice of words.

"Hey now, aren't you supposed to be the responsible one in this outfit?" Hancock quipped, his crooked smile imitating your own as he took another step closer. Before he could reach for you, you brought your hands up and grabbed ahold of his shoulders, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"Look, John, I know you don't always see it this way," you looked him in the eye, willing your next words to sink in, "but you really are an outstanding role model. I mean, look at all you've done for the people of Goodneighbor, and the Commonwealth. You're out there actively trying to make this wasteland a better place, lending a hand to the little guy and doing all you can to take down the tyrants. You're a skilled leader who genuinely cares about the people you're responsible for, you're fiercely protective of the ones you love, and of the ideals that you support. You're a good man, John. And I couldn't think of anyone better for Shaun to call 'dad'."

"Shit sweetheart, you really know how to make a ghoul blush. Tell me, how did I ever get so lucky to have you in my life?" He whispered softly, shaking his head slightly as he looked deep into your eyes. You couldn't help but blush at his comment and at his unrelenting smoky gaze, you looked down to break the tension for a moment.

"We're talking about you here, John, remember? So..." you trailed off, hoping to finally get a straight answer from him.

"So?" He asked.

"So, what do you say? You gonna make me ask you again, or what?"

"Look," he reached a ruined hand out to lightly take your own, his thumb rubbing soothingly over your knuckles, "you and that kid are the most important thing I've got going on in my life, and if you really want me around, then I'm not goin' anywhere. And for the first time in my life, I fucking mean it." He grasped your hand tightly, before you gently removed it from his own, instead bringing your arms up to pull him into a tight embrace, which Hancock happily leaned into, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck.

"Just one thing..." you said, finally pulling away, "we might have to work on that foul mouth of yours."

"Don't worry sweetheart, if we're doing this thing, we're gonna do it right. I'll teach the kid all he needs to know. The real creative foul language, how to cure a hangover, where to get the best chems. All that important shit." You rolled your eyes playfully, mirth shining behind your dilated pupils as you stared into the eyes of your son's new father.

"Now, about that foul mouth of mine..." his hand slunk around your waist and pulled you into him as a mischievous grin spread across his lips a moment before they met yours.

And now, a few headcanons, for your consideration:

- After agreeing to act as Shaun's father, Hancock would seriously clean up his act. He may occasionally still take chems and drink (cuz, let's face it, he's still Hancock, and quitting cold turkey is hardly an option) but much less than he used to, and never around Shaun. This is only partly because he doesn't want to bring Shaun into that part of his life, but also it has a lot to do with his decreasing dependency on self-medicating. Being genuinely happy with his family, he doesn't feel as though he needs to escape.

- He would continue to be mayor of Goodneighbor, but would leave many of the day-to-day decisions to a committee (composed of Daisy, Fahrenheit, Dr. Amari, and an elected security guard). While Hancock, Sole and Shaun would live at another (more kid-friendly) settlement of Sole's choice.

- Hancock would actually excel at teaching Shaun. Whether it would be a shooting lesson, showing Shaun how to cook, teaching him to fish, or telling him about pre-war history (usually with a good amount of focus on the American revolution given his own fascination with it), even if Hancock wasn't extraordinarily knowledgeable, he would do his absolute best at helping Shaun get some form of an education.

- Once Sole was able to convince Hancock that Shaun liked his voice, rough as it may be, he would love to do bedtime stories. Even though Shaun is probably just getting old enough to outgrow them, he has a particularly hard time getting to sleep, and he soon finds that the ghoul's low, calm voice is a surefire way to drift off when the sun goes down.

- Hancock would be one of those parents that always looks like they know what they're doing, he would be patient during Shaun's tantrums, would be very focused on communication, and would have a nice blend of being protective of Shaun, but not to the point that it would be stifling. That being said, he would remain awfully uncertain and need constant reassurance from Sole, seeking their advice on almost everything to do with Shaun. Inside, he would have trouble realizing he's as good of a father figure to Shaun as everyone says he is. However, outwardly, he would be as confident as ever. Even fooling Nick into believing that he was completely at ease in the role of being Shaun's dad.

- He'd be killer at all of the popular kid games, playing hide and seek with Shaun when they visited the Old State House, or playing tag back in sanctuary, or even imagination games where he had to be the deathclaw and Shaun got to be Grognak the barbarian (do deathclaws exist in the Grognak universe? It doesn't matter, they do to Shaun). Hancock normally wouldn't let anyone win, he believes in playing fair, but occasionally for Shaun, he'd hide in the obvious places, or trip when running away in tag, or let it slide that Shaun says Grognak is strong enough to punch a deathclaw's head clean off in one hit. (Man, if only he could do that.)

- If other kids were bullying Shaun, Hancock would be the type of parent to bring the bully aside and have a frighteningly quiet conversation. And by conversation, I mean an in-depth description of what Hancock will do to the kid if he's mean to Shaun again. (Think of that scene at the beginning of the first Jurassic Park movie where the main character is describing to a kid how a velociraptor guts its prey and eats it alive. That's Hancock. Both the man, and probably the velociraptor too if the bully doesn't heed his warning.) Hancock wouldn't necessarily kill the kid for being mean to Shaun, but it's because he wouldn't have to, after his 'discussion' with the kid, he'll never even look at Shaun the wrong way again. Thankfully, the 'discussion' is all Hancock's ever had to do when kiddos are involved.

[sinner-as-saint]

Mob!Seb NSFW Alphabet.

Mob!Seb/Cherry!Seb x reader. 

Themes: smut, fluff, daddy kink, language, dirty talk

A – Aftercare

He’s quite tame after having spent so much time fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. Aftercare with Mob!Seb would consist of him holding you close to him, spooning you from behind and kissing your skin constantly, softly.

“You were so good to me, baby. I know you’re tired but don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

He’d run you a warm bath, and cuddle you inside the tub as well. Maybe he’s have you on his lap and he’d take his time and wash your body and your hair.

Or on days when he’s still not satiated, he’d have you sit in between on his legs in the tub, surrounded by warm water and his hand would sneak in between your legs again; his fingers slowly circling around your clit while he murmurs how much he loves hearing your soft whines and moans. Eyes closed, head thrown back against his shoulders and your body overstimulated, you’d have no other choice but to endure the sweet torture.

 B – Body part/ bondage/ Breeding kink

He likes your hands. Mainly because he doesn’t admit it but he sure likes to be caressed and touched as well.

“Touch me.” He murmurs while he pushes himself deep in you. He likes the feeling of your hands running over and down his abs, or how you grab his butt, urging him to fuck you harder and deeper. Plus, the mere thought of your hands wrapped around his thick erection is enough to make him all frustrated and hot even in places where he shouldn’t be – like meetings or parties.

You like his hands because they’re always on you. Whether it is holding your hands in public, choking you during sex, pining you down on the bed while he pounds into you, or how he mindlessly reaches for your hand at night even in his sleep so he knows you’re right there with him, always.

Bondage, sometimes. He’s not into hardcore BDSM, but he will occasionally tie you up to the bedpost with his tie, or experiment with handcuffs but most of the times, his strong grip is enough to tame you.

He does think about what it would be like to fuck you when you’re all big and swollen with his baby inside you. He does have a breeding kink and will absolutely make hot, needy and passionate love to you when you have a baby bump.

C – Cum / cockwarming

Yeah he’ll cum in you most of the time, because you’re on the pill. But he also likes to fuck your mouth and watch you swallow everything like a good girl should. Mob!Seb likes messy sex. So he’ll often toy with your overstimulated and worn out body by just fingering his cum back into you after fucking you for hours. He has no shame.

He genuinely likes it when you warm his cock, unmoving just wrapped around him deliciously. You often wake up feeling tingly and warm and sense his cock snug inside you, stretching you out. Or often, he’d make you sit on his lap while he’s working, or answering phone calls. And he’d push his cock inside you and cradle you in his lap, caressing your back and kissing your hair while he orders his people around.

D – Dirty talk/ Daddy kink/ Dirty secret

Oh he loves to dirty talk. In bed, in public, on the phone – he doesn’t care where you two are or how many people are around. He’ll whisper the most audacious and filthy things in your ear and watch you squirm in your seat because you can’t take it anymore.

“You look absolutely stunning in that dress, babygirl. And I know you’ll look even better when I finally take it off later.” he’d chuckled darkly upon seeing how you’re clenching your thighs together. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you?”

Does he like being called daddy? Yes he does. He’ll even refer to himself as ‘daddy’ whenever you’re way too needy or acting up. “Need daddy to take care of you, huh? You just act up all the time so daddy fucks you real good and reminds you who you belong to, don’t you baby?”

His dirty secret is that he has a transportation kink. 

E – Experience/ Edging

Oh you best believe Mob!seb knows his shit in the bedroom. He’s a boss in bed, knowing just when to tease you and how far to push your limits, and when to give it to you raw and hard. He knows your body like the back of his hand and he sure knows how to pleasure it, to make you beg for it, make you whine and moan – knowing no one else is ever going to make you feel this way.

He loves edging you as well. Be it calling you on the phone when he’s on his way home and ask you to touch yourself while waiting for him; making sure you’re all wet and ready, waiting for him to fuck you into oblivion once he gets home. Or teasing you with toys and vibrators and bringing you to the edge multiple times and never giving you permission to cum. Not until you’re begging wantonly.

F – Fantasy/ Favorite position

His number one fantasy is to fuck you while you’re pregnant one day. He can’t wait to fuck you slowly, putting your comfort first, but also fucking you nice and deep and making you moan and squirm under him while you have a baby bump; knowing you’re all his.

His favorite position is definitely missionary. He does experiment and bend and contort your body often, but that’s his favorite way of fucking you. Mainly because he gets to see your face morph into a frown of pleasure as he strokes your walls so perfectly with his cock. And when he gets rough, he’ll pin your wrists above your head and pounds into you relentlessly, watching your tits bounce with each thrust.

G – Goofy/ got caught

Is he goofy and giggly during sex? Not so much. Maybe only when you’re both drunk and stumbling and holding onto each other for dear life but also trying to fuck the living shit out of each other. But otherwise, he’s a passionate, focused lover in bed who knows what he is doing.

Have you two ever gotten caught while fucking? Yes, by his driver while the two of you were going at it in the back of the limo. But Seb didn’t care, he kept making you scream his name as he pounded into you harder.

H – Hair/ hot spots

Body hair? Mob!seb is well groomed everywhere. Does he like his hair tugged during sex? Yes, he likes it a lot actually. It makes him growl and grunt and he immediately speeds up into you once he feels you sliding your hand into his hair and fisting his hair.

Hot spots? His neck. Once your lips touch his neck, he goes crazy and won’t be satisfied until he’s deep inside you.

I – Intimacy

Is he romantic leading up to making love? Yes, most of the times he is. Soft touches, gentle kisses, caressing and cuddling and caressing. He likes to take his time with your body.

Then again, sometimes he just gets right to it. Especially when you’re acting up, or when he’s jealous or frustrated or when you’ve been ignoring him for too long. He would just pull you close and wrap his hand around your throat and look you deep in the eyes.

“Do you need to be taught a lesson, babygirl?” and nothing gets you excited faster than the sound of his low, raspy voice.

 J – Jealous/ jack off

Is he a jealous lover? Yes. Mob!seb is extremely territorial when it comes to you. And he’s never shy to show it. Be it kissing you in a crowded place, his mouth moving against yours like nobody else is in the room. Or jealous sex after you supposedly ‘flirted’ with someone. He could stop the car on the side of the road and fuck you right there.

“You’re mine,” he’d growl into your ear as he has you bent over the hood of his expensive car. “You hear me?”

Does he masturbate while he’s away from you? Yes, he could get hard just thinking about you. And being away from you, he knows he has to take care of his own business. But he’s kinky enough to film it and send it to you.

K – Kinky/ kisses

Is he a kinky little shit? Yes he is. He’s definitely down to experiment a lot. Try out new things in the bedroom. He’s got a little collection of toys and ropes and handcuffs maybe.

His kisses are deep and passionate most of the time. During sex, they get a little messy and rough because he tends to kiss your open mouth like he owns it; tugging at your lips and biting down and shoving his tongue into your mouth.

L – Location / Lap dances

He likes to have sex mainly in the bedroom, behind closed doors where you’re all his and he doesn’t have to care about time or getting caught. But he also likes the thrill of fucking you in his office, or on the balcony at parties, or in changing rooms, or in the shower.

As for lap dances, then he’s definitely up for that when you’re getting cozy at a club. He likes to show you off, and tolerates men looking at you for one night. Because god damn does it feel good to see their envious stares while you’re grinding on him so sensually, to music which only makes him want to fuck you right there.

M – Masturbation/ motivation

Personally, he doesn’t like it when you touch yourself without his permission because if you ever need to orgasm, he’s here for that and he’d be more than happy to make you cum whenever you ask him to. That’s the one rule which applies no matter what, even when he’s away.

But when you do break that rule, which you do often, he punishes you in the best ways possible.

N – No

Hard nos for him? He would never have a threesome. He can’t imagine letting someone else touch you like he does in bed. It angers him just thinking about it. You’re his and he stands by that. Besides, with a man with a stamina like his, you don’t need a third party.

O – Oral/ turn Ons

Mob!Seb eats you out like he’s made for it. Taking his sweet time at first, licking and teasing your clit with his tongue and teeth. Then he goes completely feral and eats you out like there’s no tomorrow. Tongue poking at your entrance, beard chafing your inner thighs, the lower half of his face fully submerged into your wet, dripping cunt.

“You’re so sweet, babygirl. I could spend forever right here, just tasting your sweet little cunt.”

Mob!Seb’s major turn ons? As much as he loves you in low cuts and lingerie, he gets weak and speechless whenever he sees you in satin robes, lounging around at home. Just the thought of that silky, thin material being the only barrier between him and your naked body drives him crazy.

P – Pace/ Punishments

He normally fucks you hard and fast and for a long, long time. Just absolutely nailing you into the mattress and pounding into you relentlessly But he’ll slow down whenever needed; especially on days when he’s missed you or after you’ve spent some time apart. He’ll slow down and hold still so you both can just feel each other and feel how your bodies are connected. Also, he likes how your walls clench around him so he’ll slow down whenever he wants just to feel that.

Punishments usually ensues when you’ve been a brat, or when you prevent him from working because you always need his attention.

“Over my knees. Now.” is usually enough to let you know that he’s serious and you’re in for a much needed punishment. Yet at the same time, he knows how much you secretly liked being spanked.

“You’re not supposed to enjoy your punishments this much, baby.” He chuckles, caressing your sore butt. “Yet here you are, dripping all over me.” Smack.

Q – Quickies

Even on his most hectic days, he definitely makes time to show you just how much he loves you because he needs it more than you do. But it a quickie in the kitchen, on his desk, in the shower in the morning or in the car. He just can’t seem to go a day without making you cum around his cock.

R – Rough

He can get pretty rough in bed. Not to a point where it’s unbearable, of course he makes sure you have a safe word.

Each morning, he gauges how rough he’s been by checking out the scratch marks and love bites you left on his body. And the more marks on his body, the bigger is the smirk that he wears all day that day, shamelessly parading around shirtless and allowing you to see what you did to him the previous night.

S – Stamina

Oh but Mob!Seb could fuck you for hours on end. He’d make sure you’re hydrated and fed well though. But he’d could be at it until you’re crying and begging. And he was sure he had ruined anyone else for you.

T – Toys/ transportation kink

He has a set of toys that he often uses to tease you, or edge you or prep you. Vibrators, plugs, handcuffs. He’d often like to tease you while you’re out at an event or a party; and he’d often make you wear a plug. And throughout the whole night, he’d whisper the filthiest and most sinful things in your ear just to torture you even more.

Mob!Seb has a transportation kink. Be it his private plane, his yatch, his limo, his expensive fleet of cars – he’s fucked you in every vehicle he owns. And doesn’t plan on stopping.

U – Unfair

He likes to tease you a lot. A lot.

“You’re being unfair.” You’d whine, realizing he’s bringing you on the edge each time but never allowing you to cum.

“Yeah?” you hear the mischief in his voice as he flips the two of you around, with you now on top and his cock throbbing inside you. “Then show me how it’s done.” He murmurs, pulling his hands away from you and folding them behind his head. And he has a smirk on his face as he watches you trembling and struggling to ride his thick, fully erected cock.

V – Volume

Mob!Seb can get loud during sex. Especially when he’s close to coming undone, he’d growl and grunt and groan. Or he’d shamelessly tell you how good you feel, tight around his thick cock. If you two are fucking in a place where you can’t be loud then he’d bite down on your shoulder to keep himself quiet.

W – Whimpers and whines

He loves the sounds which escape your lips while he’s pounding into you. Be it loud moans, you screaming his name and begging for more. But his favorite thing in the world is the sounds you make when your mind is a foggy mess from being fucked too hard and deep. The messy, blubbering mess you become when he’s just ramming his cock in and out of you, using your body like a toy. The whimpers and whines which escaped your lips then are his favorite.

Then again, he whimpers and whines when you’re sucking his cock as well. Or when you tease him by running your tongue along his tip and grazing his slit with your teeth gently, to a point where he throws his head back and hisses in pleasure.

X – X-Ray

Oh he big.

And frankly, you like him better naked. Yes, he sure does look absolutely mouthwatering in his tailored suits but god damn is he a sight when he’s naked in your bed. Muscles, tan skin and his voluptuous ass.  

Y – Yearning

Mob!Seb is always needy when it comes to you. He’s always ready and needs to fuck you at least once every day. Even on days when you argue, you two have angry sex and fuck the frustration out of your systems. Then you fuck again to apologize to each other.

Z – Zeal/ zzz

Energetic and enthusiastic? Yes. You two rarely have lazy, soft and sensual sex. It’s always extremely passionate, hot and steamy with Mob!Seb.

And he’ll never fall asleep before you do. He always makes sure you’re showered and warm and comfortable before he spoons you and whispers sweet nothings in your ear until he can hear you snore gently. He always kisses your forehead and whispers, “Good night, my angel.” Before he himself falls asleep with you safe in his arms.