#okay in my defense I think people should focus on the humanities a little more

[distxrtionist]

I know a research paper hates to see me coming :3

alternatively: I know my ap sem teacher hates to see me coming because I rob her of every lifesaver gummy she has

[cinderella-ish]

JuJutsu Kaisen Personality Types Part 1: Suguru Geto

Okay, here we go!

Geto is absolutely the character that inspired me to expand this series to JJK, so I figured I should start with him. He's such a beautifully written, tragic character, and one whose descent feels inevitable by the time it happens.

Anyway, here's how I see his personality type!

Geto Suguru's Enneagram

Wound: We don't know a ton about Geto's life before he entered JuJutsu High, so it's hard to say.

Wounding message: Also hard to say.

Core desire: For the world to be just, and to play a role in making/keeping it that way.

Core fear: an unjust world, loss

Defense mechanism: Geto has a strong sense of justice that guides him in his decisions; he falls back on this when he's unsure

Strengths: Geto is highly attuned to the people he cares about, he's principled, responsible, rational, idealistic, hard-working, empathetic, organized, strategic, and he seeks input from people he trusts

Challenges: Geto is resentful, scapegoats non-sorcerers, rigid, thinks of the world in black-and-white, obsessive, easily demoralized, looks down at others

When healthy: Geto has a sense of fun, trusts in his friends, and respects other worldviews

When unhealthy: Geto is angry, vengeful, self-important, envious, uses his empathy as a reason to hurt others

Looking at all of this, here's what connects when I go back to the Enneagram post:

Wound: again, hard to say

Wounding message: I didn't give a wounding message above, but I could see a case for 1, 2, 3, or 8.

Core desire: 1, 3, or 6

Core fear: 1, 3, or 9

Defense mechanism: 1

Strengths: 1, 3, or 8

Challenges: 1, 4, or 5

When healthy: 1, 3, 6, or 8

When unhealthy: 1, 7, or 8

Geto is an Enneagram 1.

I actually think Geto is a pretty clear 1, though maybe that's because I'm a 1 myself and found some of his thought patterns during his descent to be uncomfortably close to home. When things aren't "right," I totally get the impulse to burn it all down. Especially when lives are at stake.

That's the thing about Geto; even though he hurt innumerable people after he turned, he did so out of deep compassion for the people who he'd seen get hurt. He couldn't bear seeing Gojo nearly die; he couldn't deal with Haibara's death, and he finally lost it when he saw Nanako and Mimiko caged by those villagers. No disconnect exists in his mind because he no longer sees non-sorcerers as humans. He even viewed them as lesser before he flipped, constantly referring to them as "the weak."

Ones live in the Gut center, and tend to repress anger. From Personality Path:

Anger is typically repressed by Type 1s. Type 1s try hard not to express anger as they associate it as a “bad” emotion. Instead, they report a lot of irritation. Interestingly, when their anger is eventually expressed, it can be intense, with a laser focus. A harsh inner voice dictating rigid internal standards is often at the bottom of each of the three core emotions for Type 1s.

Wing

The Enneagram Institute calls 1w9s "The Idealist" and 1w2s "The Advocate." I think Geto's wing is a little tricky to suss out, and I could see a case for either.

Geto is fine with conflict and will readily stand up to others when he disagrees with them. However, he loves when Gojo relies on him, and spirals when he's no longer central to Gojo's life. When he turns, he immediately inserts himself into a leadership position in the religious group. His desire to be needed makes him much more likely to be a 1w2, in my opinion.

From Truity:

These Ones are more focused on the livelihoods of other people, and champion causes focused on meeting people’s needs. They may appear overly controlling or critical of other people in an effort to help them become the “best version” of themselves. Like the Type Two, this type wants to help and feel appreciated.

I think, the fact that Twos go to Eight when stressed, and Eights can have more of a "burn it all down" mentality than others, also makes a good case for Geto having a Two wing.

Subtype

In reading about the different subtypes of One, Geto clearly connects the most to SO 1w2.

Enneagram Explained describes SO Ones like this:

Focuses On:  The need to be correct/right with their groups and communities. SO 1s often take on being the teacher or role model with those around them; trying to show others the right way to live. These 1s are often concerned with fairness and justice. Relationship to Their Vice (anger): SO 1s often suppress their anger but are also a bit ok with showing it. Potential Mistypes: SO 1s can often look like type 3s or type 5s.

Tritype

With One as his Gut type, I could see Five or Six as his Head type, and I could see any of Two, Three, or Four as his Heart type.

After reading the descriptions on Katherine Fauvre's website, I think 1-4-6 (The Philosopher) is the best fit:

If you are a 146, you are diligent, intuitive, and inquisitive. You want to be ethical, original, and certain. You are a private and introspective person and prefer to keep your world small to pursue your creative interests. Only one or two know your true thoughts and insecurities. Morally focused, you voice your expectations and criticisms, hoping your insights will help them to improve. However, you are kind-hearted, and cannot turn a blind eye to others you feel you should assist.

Suguru Geto's MBTI

Here's how I see Geto's Type Dynamics:

Feeling: Geto feels things deeply. I believe his Dominant Process is Introverted Feeling (Fi). At its best, Fi can look like someone who "seeks harmony of action and thoughts with personal values. May not always articulate those values. Empathetic, sensitive, and idealistic." At its worst, Fi can look like someone who will "carry the weight of the world on their shoulders, hypersensitive, pompous, feel sorry for themselves".

iNtuiting: Geto is strongly intuiting, making big leaps and connections by noticing patterns. I believe he uses Extraverted Intuiting (Ne).

Sensing: This would make his Tertiary Process Introverted Sensing (Si).

Thinking: Last, his Inferior process would be Extraverted Thinking (Te). Te as an Inferior Process can look like being "overly critical and negative toward others, judge others harshly, quick to take action to try and control/correct their own imagined incompetence which often backfires making the problem worse".

This would make his Type Dynamics Fi Ne Si Te, and his MBTI INFP (The Healer).

Here's how the Myers & Briggs Foundation describes INFP:

Idealistic, loyal to their values and to people who are important to them. Want to live a life that is congruent with their values. Curious, quick to see possibilities, can be catalysts for implementing ideas. Seek to understand people and to help them fulfill their potential. Adaptable, flexible, and accepting unless a value is threatened.

This comes as a bit of a surprise, as I was certain Geto would be a Judging type, but this actually does sound like him.

Interestingly, this means Geto has a lot in common with two Fruits Basket characters: Mayu and Kazuma.

With Mayu, he shares his Enneagram, Wing, Subtype, and Tritype, but not his MBTI or any Type Dynamics (Mayu is ENFJ, The Teacher).

With Kazuma, he shares his Enneagram, Subtype, Tritype, and MBTI, but not his Wing (Kazuma is 1w9, The Dreamer).

I think this gets to the heart of what makes Geto such an interesting and well-written character. He has qualities we associate with deeply compassionate and empathetic people. Arguably, he is an extremely empathetic and compassionate person, but seeing the death and mistreatment of his fellow sorcerers was just too much for him. His empathy (toward his fellow sorcerers) led him to effectively start a genocide.

So, to summarize:

Enneagram: SO 1w2 (The Reformer/The Advocate)

Tritype: 4-6-1 (The Philosopher)

MBTI: INFP (The Healer)

At his core, Geto is someone who thinks and feels deeply about how the world should be, and tries to do what's right according to his own (sometimes very warped) moral code. He is extremely loyal to those closest to him and thinks of himself in terms of his role within the community of JuJutsu sorcerers.

[phantomrose96]

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It��s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

[obeymeluv]

QUICK! KISS ME! [Bros x Reader]

A lead-up blurb before I go to bed.

School is killing me. This has been in the drafts far longer than I wanted.

No offense if your name is Bethany. It’s a name I picked at random.

The follow-up piece will have the kiss scenarios.

△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽

Some of Asmo’s friends may have used you to get into a special makeup event, but it’s okay! They bought you a lip gloss as a thank you! The shade ‘Sealed with a Kiss’ was not what you thought it’d be

△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽△▽

Being one of the first humans in the Devildom could be uncomfortable and sometimes down-right dangerous! It also had its perks. To you, that meant being close with the Seven Lords of Hell (and Diavolo). To other lesser demons and classmates, you were kind of a ‘get out of jail’ free card.

Were they late to class? Oh, just helping the human out!

Caught sneaking in food or drink when they weren’t supposed to? It’s to split with the human, of course! They thought you’d love to try it!

Everyone was keen not to overuse it and you’d actually made good friends this way. It was starting to feel less like an excuse and more of a way to be included. You were the friendly, reliable human that had won hearts and saved some asses. As a thank you, one of your closer friends (a repeat offender for lateness), invited you out to an exclusive makeup release. She was a VIP member and had early access an hour before the store opened to the Devildom public. 

The fact that she chose you, a human, over some LITERAL century-old friends caused a bit of tension but she could care less. “I’ve seen them every day for over a hundred years. You get one year, and we’re going to make it awesome!” Bethany breezed through the store at a dizzying pace, picking through concealers and opening a box of mascara to look at the packaging. She moved at a pace only demons could manage; you thought you saw her by the nail polish display but when you looked again she was throwing sheet masks in her basket. Hooking her arm with yours, she picked up some foundation on the way back to the coveted display of lip glosses and lipsticks.

You weren’t totally versed in the differences between Devildom makeup and human world makeup. In all honesty, there didn’t seem to be a difference. Bethany swatched powdery cream lipsticks on her wrist and followed with ribbons of liquid lipstick. Every now and then she dotted them on your arm; she was adamant about finding a shade the both of you could wear as your thing.  

“This one,” she decided, waving the tube at you and booping your nose with it carefully. “This is our color!” she took you by the hand and joined the checkout line. She had two in her hand but refused to let you so much as hold one, wanting to pay for it first. It wasn’t technically breaking the purchase limit rule; if they tried to nag her she’d just say she was holding onto it so another demon didn’t bully you out of it. You didn’t know if it was her VIP status or the fact that her defense made sense, but you were able to check out without a problem.

A few sour faces and mean glares met you outside but Bethany ignored it all, eager to have a Devilgram-worthy celebratory snack break (snack victory? You know, since you got the makeup?) The plan was to eat, hold down a table at the nearby cafe while her other friends shopped, and have group makeovers (or try-ons) before calling it a day. That plan was interrupted three bites into a croissant sandwich when Lucifer summoned you back to the House of Lamentation. He’d gotten wind of all the girls you’d be with and didn’t feel totally comfortable letting you hang out with them,

Had Barbatos seen something? Did Lucifer feel spurned that you weren’t hanging out with the Seven Lords of the Devildom? He gave no answer, simply asking you to stay put while someone came to escort you back to the house. Bethany was put off by the turn of events but few people dared to complain about the Seven Lords due to their connections with Diavolo (she was no exception). “If we can’t get the full makeover, we’re getting the selfie!” she declared, deftly breaking the seal to her Sealed with a Kiss gloss and swiping it on with help from the front-facing camera on her D.D.D

You busied yourself with opening your tube. Before you could ask for her phone (since the camera was already open), she took the tube from you and tilted your chin up. She dabbed the center of your lips playfully before carefully tracing your lips with the color. The heat rose in your cheeks and she smirked. Being part succubus, she could draw energy from emotions like embarrassment and the feeling of being flattered. Her fingertips pulsed under your chin as she drew on that energy. 

Getting energy sucked could feel like a lot of things -- being light-headed, getting a rush of excitement, all prickly and tingly like your whole body was pins and needles. Whatever it was, it usually faded into drowsiness and kittenish contentment. She probably only touched your chin for seconds but the wash of coziness had you melting against your chair, your cheek cradled in her palm. 

Did she take the pic? What was happening? It felt like Asmodeus had materialized out of thin air, helping you stand and making small-talk with Bethany before pulling you away, out of her aura that was trying to suckle the vestiges of happy energy you offered.

“And what shade did you get on those pretty lips, hm?” the cotton fell out of your head and ears, allowing you to really hear Asmo now that the aura effects had worn off.

“Uh,” you fished around in your bag and looked at the packaging. “Sealed with a Kiss.”

Asmodeus stopped so abruptly it’d almost yanked you back to him. The two of you were barely tangled at the pinkies and now he’d completely laced your hands together. He held your hands captive, drawing them up in surprise and basically dragging you into his torso. You were forced to look up into glittering pink eyes and if you didn’t know any better, they looked a little panicked.

“How long ago did you apply it?”

“I don’t know.” you blinked helplessly at him. That energy suck thing had a way of making your brain tune out and turn to pudding. That aside, who knows how long Asmo stood there and talked to Bethany while you were being siphoned?! “Bethany applied it, not me.”

Asmo clicked his tongue, huffed, resigned himself to only holding one hand. and started scrolling on his D.D.D to find that selfie Bethany posted. You were being dragged along like a child as Asmo’s shoes clicked towards the House of Lamentation. It amazed you how well he could navigate his D.D.D with his long, painted nails. 

Whatever he was looking for, he found it.

Asmodeus tucked his D.D.D into his pants pocket, scooped you up in a way that terrified and amazed you (two people being supported by one set of heels?), and flew to the House of Lamentation. He didn’t always use his wings, as he preferred to decorate them and maintain them with oils, but the fact that he was flying made you nervous.

What had he found? What was the deal?

“Asmo--” you started nervously, the flapping of his wings nearly drowning you out as he pushed himself. Flying against the wind didn’t help. Your hair was a mess and the wind was in your face; the Devildom was always a little chilly but now it was enough to make your face tingly.

“She gave you enchanted makeup. There is a reason humans don’t use enchanted makeup.” Asmo’s pretty brows furrowed as he cut a hard angle and glided over a portion of the square. The tell-tale thicket of trees that lined the winding path back to the House of Lamentation were on the edge of the horizon.

“What’s going to happen?” should you ask that? Did you really want to know?

“You’ll feel something in your lips--some people felt tingling, some people felt pulsing, it can be anything, I think--and then they’ll seal shut.”

“SHUT?!” you yelped. It was enough to make Asmo wince. The startle carried over to his wings; they shuddered and locked; the two of you dropped for a heartbeat or two before he corrected himself.

“If I can’t get some makeup remover on it first.” Asmo panted, tucking his wings in and preparing for a quick descent. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to teleport first--the panic? Trying to one-up Bethany by walking home and being extra cute with hand-holding?--but a quick touch down could roll into a simple skip teleportation and everything should work out!

“But my lips are already tingly!”

“Ugh, Bethany! I can’t believe you! I mean, I can because it’s you, but really, Bethany?”

“Asmo, focus!” you’d already skipped several feet ahead, clearing the front yard in two teleports. The third put you in the foyer. “I don’t want my lips to seal shut!”

The House of Lamentation was huge but when the occupants had supernatural hearing, that exclamation turned heads. 

“What’s this about your lips sealing shut?” Lucifer appeared at the top of his stairs, his head already shaking.

“DID YOU MAKE A PACT WITH A WITCH?!” Mammon screamed down the hall, clearly not far behind.

Asmo scoffed, lowering his D.D.D with a pout. He was halfway up the main stairs, fingers working at lightning speed. “It’s the lip color!” he explained, stomping his foot. Noisy people were just so annoying! If everyone was talking he couldn’t explain! How rude! 

“All this over some makeup?” skeptical Satan peered over the banister, book and arm casually propped up on it.

“If two people apply the color and kiss, they’re locked in a makeout session until it dries down. When one person applies the lip color, they can use it like a cheat sheet to see who secretly wants to kiss them,” his words tapered out from authoritatively informed to quiet and shy. “It’s from their ‘Liquid Love’ collection.” he muttered into the stunned silence of the room.

You were trying to open your lips and ask why. The magic had already taken hold. Asmodeus could see you trying to move your lips and strain your chin. Luckily, demons could read minds. “It’s because Bethany is stupid.” Asmodeus rolled his eyes. “Ambitious, but stupid.”

“Please explain, Asmo.” even when using the dear nickname Lucifer couldn’t hide the demand. His demon aura was creeping up his body and slowly becoming jagged and suffocating.

“Bethany has had a HUGE crush on our little human here, and wanted to seal it with a kiss, so to speak.” Asmo’s cheeks got pinker and pinker as he explained. Mostly because he was mad he didn’t think about it. His heart did something funny at the thought of you kissing someone else. Lucifer also looked like he wanted to murder someone about now, and Asmo had to remind himself that he was being looked through, not looked at.   

“Just grab a napkin and wipe it off.” Mammon shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Asmodeus shook his head angrily. “It’s too late now. We need to find someone for them to kiss! Someone’s lips will break the seal on theirs...that’s kind of the point of the enchantment.”

“So they just pick someone to kiss?” Levi’s face was turning tomato red. Would it be him?! It would at least be one of them, right? What if your person wasn’t in the House of Lamentation and you NEVER SPOKE AGAIN?!

“Sort of.” Asmo patted your shoulders with his gentle, smooth hands. He started to rub them like he was trying to warm you up. Partly in encouragement and partly to get your attention because he could feel your brain spiraling down into panic. “They basically follow their mouth.”

“So that lip color is like a crush detector?” Satan abandoned his book at the top of the stairs and was now perusing articles on his D.D.D as he sauntered down the steps. It sounded like he’d found the one that sent Asmo flying to the House of Lamentation.

“Basically.” Asmo sighed. It was the stupidest way to confess to someone, he thought. Demon to demon, it was fine. Demon to human?! NO! The whole thing gave him a headache. The fact that Bethany thought she could just steal your little lips and be greedy with them was the biggest annoyance of it all.

“So,” Satan’s green eyes cut sharply from his phone to you. The corner of his lips curled up in a smart little smirk. He knew it was wrong to find your predicament so funny, but this was a very human thing to get mixed up in. “Who do your lips want? Who do you feel yourself being drawn to?”

[novamirmirsblog]

No more bed

Word count: 2113

Genre: Not actually sure :3

Request: No

Warnings: Swearing, kissing?

A/N that's the end of the only one bed trope. Technically requests are now closed but if you think of another overused trope you want me to write then feel free to send it in!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You didn't eat that night and went straight to bed when you got too tired to focus on the words. You had made sure the pillow wall was twice the size it was to begin with. You turned off your light when you heard Natasha's footsteps come to the door, turning your back to her and pretending to be asleep. Your breaths were deep and completely even, there was no way Natasha could have guessed you were still awake. You felt her hesitate over you and the smell of reheated food invaded your nose and then heard her walk away.

The words she said back in that forest shouldn't have hurt you as much but they did. You shouldn't care what she thinks. It doesn't matter that she doesn't believe in your skills as an agent, that she doesn't think you're pretty enough to grab someone's attention.

If Natasha thought the bickering and coolness was bad at the start of the week, she was in for a shock. When she finally came back to that tiny, godforsaken bed and did her usual trick of sliding her foot over the pillow wall, you got up, took a pillow and the spare blanket and went to sleep on the rug in the living room.

When morning rolled around, you couldn't even be bothered to talk to her, focusing much more on the task ahead, just wanting this week to be over. It wasn't even the hurt you were feeling, it was the frustration that you felt hurt that drove you to stop talking to her. You hated her. She was annoying. She had no respect for anything anyone does.

You spent most the day preparing for the party that evening. Sure, it shouldn't take you over half a day to get ready but you had finished your paperwork early and you wanted to try on every single dress and suit SHIELD had supplied you with. You ended up choosing a navy blue, off the shoulder ball gown. Thinking logistically, it was quite possibly one of the worst things you could have worn. A pantsuit would have been a much more suitable choice and yet you looked and - more importantly - felt hot in the dress.

~~~~~

"You're not seriously wearing that are you?" Natasha asked as we both began to change into our formal wear. She had let you splurge out on a taxi but only after you had to walk what felt like 500 miles so no one would know where you were staying.

"Why not?" You asked with a fakeness in your voice "It's a no contact mission, plus, no one would look at me anyway, right?"

"Y/n, that's not what I-"

"Oh look. We're here." You get out the cab before Natasha can finish what she's saying.

Ivan might be an evil person, but he sure does know how to throw a party. It was elegant and high class and he made his way over to you as soon as he saw you. You had both agreed that you would keep him distracted while Natasha grabbed the relevant information.

"Dorogaya, u tebya poluchilos!" (Darling, you made it!) Ivan opened his arms wide, grabbed you by the shoulders and placed a kiss on both of your cheeks.

"Konechno, kak ya mog ignorirovat' takuyu ​​zagadku?" (Of course, how could I ignore something so mysterious?) You laughed and he moved his arm to around your waist.

"Prikhodite, prikhodite, yest' lyudi, kotorykh vy dolzhny vstretit'" (Come, come, there are people you should meet)

~~~~~

Ivan spent most the night introducing you to different 'modelling' agencies. You knew what he was doing, he was showing you off to potential buyers. Ivan ran a human trafficking ring along with some other not so nice business. You weren't worried - not in the slightest. Although, as the night drew on and Natasha still hadn't said anything, you were getting a little more... concerned.

You managed to excuse yourself to the bathroom. Once inside, you tapped the earpiece repeatedly, praying Natasha would answer you.

"Romanoff where are you? Have you got the data?"

Silence

"Seriously, I'm sorry I've been ignoring you but this is childish now."

More silence

"I'll let you have the bed?"

Static rang out in your ear.

Of course SHIELD gave you a crappy ear piece. It was ridiculous. They provided you with three million dresses but couldn't give you a working piece of tech.

Just as you pulled out the burner phone, you felt a needle slide into your neck and the world went black.

~~~~~

"Y/n I have the data."

Nothing. Maybe you were still mad at her.

"Y/n do you copy?"

Still nothing.

"Y/n?"

Natasha's heart beat a little faster.

"Come on Y/n. I'm sorry. I'll let you have the bed?" Her burner phone pinged. It was your location. Shit.

~~~~~

You woke up and looked around, seeing that you were in the rundown hideout, you put your head back on the pillow. Everything felt heavy.

"You were drugged." Natasha states, standing in the corner of the room, her arms crossed and eyes never leaving you.

"Oh." It was all you could muster up the energy to say.

"We leave tomorrow morning."

You push yourself up into a sitting position. "How long was I out?"

"3 hours."

You looked at Natasha, really looked at her. "Then why are you still covered in blood?"

Everything of Natasha's had some kind of bloodstain. She hadn't even washed her hands. It may have been dark in the corner she was standing in, having only the side lamp to illuminate the room, but her skin seemingly glowed, making the blood stand out.

She turned around and left, heading towards the bathroom. You wanted to get up to follow her but while your mouth worked again, your legs did not. Apparently whatever they used on you was a lot stronger than you thought because you fell out of the bed. Again. Natasha rushed out, getting to you in an instant, except this time there were no sly remarks.

"Careful princess, people might think you care." You grin, only for it to drop immediately when you saw a slight wetness to the corners of her eyes. "Hey, it's okay." You said softly. If she wasn't as close to you, Natasha would have missed it.

"I didn't know where you were. I-I thought you had gone off to try and prove something and then I saw you lying there, in some basement Ivan had. You-you looked so... dead."

"But I'm not." you reached up and gingerly stroked her hair, not wanting to spook her. "And look!" You gestured to your toes that were wiggling "I can feel my legs again!"

Natasha let out a slightly wet laugh. "I'm really sorry."

"For what? These things happen all the time. Although I will say, you seem to be unlucky because my missions always go wrong with you." You nudged her shoulder, crossing your legs so you faced her, both of you still on the floor.

"For making you think you weren't attractive. For basically drugging you myself."

"Don't be ridiculous Natasha. You didn't drug me."

"I might as well have done! If I had just agreed with you instead of fighting you, then you wouldn't have felt like you had to prove anything."

"You think I'm attractive?"

"Seriously? That's what we're choosing to focus on now."

"Umm yes? I know it wasn't your fault at all but now I want to hear about how attractive I am." You smirked and Natasha stood up abruptly.

"I'm having a shower."

"Is that a nice cold shower for you to try to get over me?" You shouted as she slammed the door shut.

~~~~~

Natasha came out of the shower half an hour later, towel drying her hair.

"I think you're attractive too." You whispered out, half hoping Natasha wouldn't hear it.

She stilled. Looking at you, trying to see if you were lying.

"Then why do you hate me?"

"I don't think I do. Not anymore."

Natasha stayed silent, encouraging you to continue.

"I didn't like the avengers in general. You guys all act like you're so much better than us. You get all the perks of looking good and none of the paperwork. You don't know the amount of times I've seen top level agents filling out avenger paperwork when they should be out in the field. I thought you were all lazy but spending this week with you... well it made me realise that maybe you're not all that bad."

Natasha had moved herself to the bed, just watching you speak. You looked over to her, signalling that you had finished all that you wanted to say.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt yourself. I'll talk to the team about actually doing their paperwork. Who's the worst?" She asked, curiosity laced in her tone

"Steve."

Natasha let out a full blown laugh at that. "Wait seriously?"

"Yup. I see him all the time, constantly trying to offload his paperwork to someone else. I always thought it would be Tony but it's definitely Steve, then Bruce. Then it's probably Tony."

"I promise I'll try to make them stop."

"I wouldn't make promises you can't keep." You laughed.

"Why...why did you doubt me?" You asked, a little more serious than before.

"It's not that I doubted you... I guess I just didn't like the way you spoke to Ivan..."

"You mean the flirting?"

"Maybe..."

You sat in silence for a bit, you couldn't figure out why. It's not like it was against any rules and it all worked in your favour. Then, it clicked.

"Natasha Romanoff were you jealous!" You let out a slight gasp and grinned at her.

"No. No of course not." Natasha got defensive. There was no way she was jealous of that old, wrinkly, nasty smelling man.

"Aww princess!" You adjusted yourself so you were completely facing her. "I can flirt with you too if you want." Your voice got slightly lower and your eyelids dropped a fraction, making your pupils seem bigger. While you raised your voice a few octaves for Ivan, you knew that to seduce a woman you had to lower it a little.

"Stop it." Natasha hit you.

"But why baby?" You grabbed her chin and tilted her face towards you. "Now you don't have to be jealous." You sent her a wink and let her chin go, watching as her eyes got a little darker.

"Go away. I want nothing to do with you or your terrible flirting."

"You say my flirting is terrible" Your voice now back to normal, "But your body is saying something different."

"Wrong. My body is saying nothing."

"No?"

No."

"Okay then! Night night princess." You leant over to switch off the light when Natasha grabbed your arm, causing you to look back over to her.

"Calling me princess... it - ugh... well it -" Natasha looked conflicted before glancing up to you, looking at your lips and kissing you.

You were shocked. You knew you shouldn't have been. All the signs were there and you were a very good flirt but actually feeling her lips on yours made your brain short-circuit. You kissed her back and climbed into her lap.

"We're not doing it here." You said when you both broke the kiss

"Why not?" Natasha looked at you, her hands running all over you.

"Because I'm 90% sure there are rats and I really don't want to catch something"

Natasha laughed and kissed you a little more. "Fair enough. We should stop this now then."

You kissed her neck. "Yes. We should definitely stop now."

~~~~~

Just before you were due to leave, you called Natasha into the bedroom.

"Y/n, we have to go."

"I know I know but watch." You bounced excitedly as you threw a match at the bed.

"Y/n what the hell!?"

"Well, if you remember correctly, I said that if you crossed the pillow divide, I would burn the bed with you in it. As you can see, I'm generously leaving you out of the bed. You're welcome."

Natasha just looked at you. "I can't believe I like you."

"Aww you like me? That's kind of embarrassing for you." You laughed as you linked arms with her, walking to the jet, but not before Natasha convinced you to put out the fire on the bed.

You watched as the fire fizzled out and silently thanked that damn bed for bringing you and Natasha closer. Literally. It didn't mean you weren't going to have a long chat with Fury about proper size beds though.

[astaroth1357]

"Hi kinda new. I don't know if this is where requests go, but if you haven't done it yet can I request an MC sneaking into the boys beds?" ~irenethehotdog

The MC Sneaks Into the Brothers' Beds While They're Asleep

@irenethehotdog don’t worry, I found ya anyway. 😁 Sooo there was a kind of tender way I could have played this… but then there was a funny way. I hope you're alright that I went with the funny way. 😅 I got two bed requests that are kind of similar-ish but how I’m interpreting them makes them just different enough to warrant two different asks. Here's the first one!

Check out my Masterlist for more!

Warning: Comical nudity? Is that NSFW-ish?

Intro:

Sometimes everybody needs a little comfort, especially in the middle of the night. Any number of things could have drawn the MC out of their bed: bad dreams, nagging thoughts, just general fear of the darkness of Hell that surrounded them, but they decided to try to soothe their unease with the company of their demonic housemates! Wonder how that turned out for them..?

Lucifer

I mean, if you’re feeling a little alone at night, maybe a little scared, it would only be natural to want to seek solace with the strongest person in the nearest vicinity, right? ...Right?

To say it was maybe ill-advised to just climb into bed with Lucifer would be an understatement… Frankly, if the enchantments he had on his door weren’t specifically meant for Mammon then they might have ended up in a very compromised position. But somehow, they managed to infiltrate the demon’s private sanctuary and get right up to his bed.

Now, Lucifer is not a heavy sleeper. Not at all. He’s grown pretty accustomed to waking up at all hours of the night because of his brother’s antics, so he felt the shifting weight on his mattress almost instantly.

They probably weren’t expecting him to suddenly jerk upright and spin towards them, fireball in hand ready to lob at their face... but that’s what they got.

After realizing that it was just the human and not Mammon coming in to take his stuff again, he made them sit down in front of his fireplace while he gave them a looong lecture about personal boundaries and how it’s really not smart to sneak up on demons like that… 

But he was still sympathetic to their sleep-deprived state so he offered them some tea and Devildom sleep remedies in hopes of getting them back to bed. ...Just not his. Back to your bed with you, MC.

Mammon

Mammon was their “babysitter.” Their protector. Their guardian. So why wouldn’t they want to go to him on a difficult night?

Getting into Mammon’s bed was hardly a challenge, sure they had to tiptoe through the garbage heap that made up his bedroom floor but it wasn’t Mission Impossible or anything…

What did catch them off guard was just how… not clothed he felt after they slid in under his covers. Like, pretty much wearing nothing at all. Not even a pair of courtesy boxers. 😓

It was their squeal as they flung themselves out of the bed that actually woke Mammon up. They had him ripping the covers off, ready to leap into action and everything, which definitely didn’t help matters. (Or maybe it did, depending on your point of view 🤷‍♀️).

Both parties pretty much turned into a cursing/blushing mess as he shot them embarrassed, rapid-fire questions while desperately trying to pull on some sweats. Meanwhile the MC stayed plastered up against the wall of his bedroom, answering him in equally defensive shouts.

Eventually, their fuss woke up Lucifer who was quick to send both of them back to their respective beds. The House teased them mercilessly for weeks… How were they supposed to know Mammon slept naked??

Leviathan

Levi might be a… strange choice for bedmate at first glance (he doesn’t really even sleep in bed, but a tub hardly meant for two people). However, there’s a certain level of approachability to him, isn’t there? Considering his own struggles with anxiety, maybe they thought he could relate…?

They tried knocking on his door first, thinking he might have been gaming, but there was no answer. When they walked in and found the otaku actually asleep for once, it seemed like their wishes might have actually been granted!

...But then came the actual trouble of trying to get into bed with Levi to start with. There wasn’t really an easy way to squeeze their body in past his because the tub was so dang narrow…

Any rational person might have just given up on the venture, but not MC. Whatever's possessed them to want to sleep with this awkward shut-in has a pretty good hold on them yet.

Lack of sleep might have been what gave them the bright idea to just try and lay on top of Levi veeerrry sooooftlllly…. Which is how the poor demon woke up to them halfway straddling his waist in the middle of the night.

His remarkably high-pitched scream woke up the whole dang House and the sheer amount of force he used when trying to jerk out of the tub toppled it over… Even after many apologies (and a trip to go buy a new tub), Levi still double locks his door at night to this day… 😓

Satan

Really an odd choice there, not going to lie. They’re well aware of the possibility that they could accidentally wake him and he maaaay not be the best waker (what being Wrath and all) but if it’s irrational worries that got you down, why not go to the most rational person in the House? Sounds like a perfectly logical decision, right?

That might have been what their half-baked disillusions were telling them on the way to Satan's bedroom but actually standing in front of the sleeping man was a whole other story. They felt crazy, genuinely crazy… But they still slipped in under the covers anyway.

Satan stirred almost immediately and turned to face them… but his eyes could hardly keep focus and the look of dopey confusion on his face could have honestly made the perfect screen background. "Huuuuuh…? MC…? What're you doin' 'ere…?"

They kind of had to hold in a laugh while they explained that they just wanted to sleep next to him that night. Satan beamed them an oddly serene smile and just nodded. "Okaaay…" With that he seemed to roll over to go back to sleep… but his mind caught back up with him before his drowsiness did.

"Wait a minute..." Ah shit….

 Like Lucifer, Satan ended up giving them a pretty good lecture on boundaries and the like when he finally snapped out of his stupor. Thankfully he wasn't mad, just a little embarrassed that they had seen him like that. He offered them a good book or two to pass the time if they couldn't sleep, but sent them back to bed all the same.

Asmodeus

Asmo probably doesn’t get people coming into his bed with completely chaste intentions very often, but he’s by far the most emotionally in-tuned demon in the House. If they're after a little sympathy, best just go to Asmo right?

They weren't really sure what to expect when they walked into his room... Does Asmo sleep like a Disney Princess, hair and makeup done perfectly in defiance of all laws of beauty?

Does he sleep like a '60s housewife, with curlers in his hair and leftover chips of mud mask on his face?

Does he sleep like the god of all sex that he is, sculpted chest for the eyes to see and everything underneath laid bare like a honeypot of temptation??

The MC doesn't really get to know, because when they pulled back the covers to climb inside they were met by the sight of someone else's very naked ass taking up the spot where they thought Asmo should be.

They go back to their room willingly, dejected and maybe a little scarred... Apparently they were just too late to the party...

Beelzebub

Okay, everything about Beel screams “Hello! I’m a warm comforting teddy bear!”...aside from the hungry parts. It’s really not hard to see why they’d want to go to him if they’re feeling a little vulnerable.

They didn't worry too much about being quiet when they walked into the twins' room. Belphie could sleep through a rock concert and Beel wasn't too far behind him (as long as he wasn't hungry).

They figured that the tall twin wouldn't mind too much if they just crawled into bed with him… He had make a similar request of them before, it was only fair right?

As they were preparing their tired body for a good night's sleep, they gently pulled the covers back next to Beel but they probably weren't expecting to find so many food wrappers surrounding him… or bags of chips… or packages of cookies… or-

Apparently Beel had yet another sleep-eating run and this time he seemed to have brought the whole kitchen back with him. There was hardly enough room left for Beel anymore, let alone the MC!

Considering their options were to either wedge themselves between a havoc roast and a bag of jerky or just brave one more night on their own, they cut their losses early and went back to their own bed...

Belphegor

They didn’t have to know Belphie since Day One of being there to pick up on how hard he slept. The man was pretty much in a coma for most of the day and that included his nightly rests too. Would he even notice if they… per say… slipped into bed with him to get a little comfort from their nightmares? Surely, he’d stay asleep, right?

When they didn't see his sleeping form in the room he shared with Beel, the MC eventually found Belphie up in the attic room. His little hideaway with a plush-ass bed to boot.

They didn’t bother being quiet at all. They figured that Belphie could have stayed under for anything short of banging pots and pans in his ears so why try to mask their footsteps?

They never expected him to be awake. 😰

The moment they lifted the covers, Belphie struck like some kind of blanket crocodile! He grabbed them by the waist and dragged them into the spot of the bed right under him with a impish grin on his face.

Turns out they weren't the only ones having sleeping problems that night and as they felt the full weight of his worn out body settle in nicely up against theirs they knew that maybe, finally, they'd get a good night's sleep… 🤭

[tea-and-la]

“Katara is Hot-Headed”

.... okay, so i’ve seen this ICE cold take enough time to warrant a formal post. i’ve seen and strongly agree with the posts i’ve seen that refute this, like @shewhotellsstories post here. but unfortunately, this sentiment is still something that’s widely accepted in the atla fandom. it’s no surprise that “katara is hotheaded” is the common argument for “why zutara doesn't work.” and while it’s more than irritating that zutara antis love to align them in ways that are only negative in nature, i’m not going to get into that. i’m going to focus on katara. 

one of the key defining aspects of katara’s personality is her patience. she is unwavering in her faith of aang (through their numerous supportive talks), as well as her encouragement of her friends when they need it (ex. toph in the runaway and sokka in sokka’s master.) but most notably? let’s talk about the desert episode because this is where katara’s patience really shines. 

there are a lot of things going on in that episode. aang is dealing with grief from the loss of appa and lashes out at both toph and katara while also intermittently flying away from the group. what would a “hot headed” or quick-tempered person do in this situation? let’s look at some of the dialogue: 

aang: [Enraged.] How could you let them take Appa?! ‌ Why didn't you stop them‌?!

toph: [Defensively.] I couldn't! The library was sinking! You guys were still inside and-

aang: [Snaps at Toph in a harsh way.] You just didn't care! You never liked Appa! You wanted him gone!

aang looks extremely furious at Toph as Katara walks over to him. She puts her hand on his shoulder to try and calm him down.

katara: We're all concerned, but we can't afford to be fighting now.

in that dialogue, katara inserts herself in to mediate. she recognizes that he’s in a dark place, and she sees past the harshness of his words to see that they come from a place of hurt, not malice. she reacts with empathy and understanding. 

a quick-tempered person would not have responded in this way.

the majority of this episode, katara is essentially the leader of the group. it’s swelteringly hot, which is enough for any hot headed person to get irritated, but she doesn’t. 

toph: Katara, can I have some more water?

katara: Okay, but we've got to try to conserve it.

sokka: [As he points to his mouth.] We're drinking your bending water. [He tries to define the taste of the water, smacking his lips. Disgustedly he exclaims.] You used this on the swamp guy! Urch!

toph: It does taste swampy.

katara: [Sad tone.] I'm sorry, it's all we have.

in this scene, even momo complains about the taste of the water, the only water they have. and katara’s response was to apologize for something she can’t control. 

after this point, she has to lead toph through the sand, while sokka is high on cactus juice and aang is upset. instead of getting frustrated, she tries to inspire hope into them all: 

aang: [Hopelessly.] What's the difference? We won't survive without Appa. We all know it.

katara: [Encouraging.] Come on, Aang. We can do this if we work together. Right Toph?

toph: As far as I can feel, we're trapped in a giant bowl of sand pudding. I got nothin'.

katara: [Hopeful.] Sokka? Any ideas how to find Ba Sing Se?

Sokka and Momo lie side by side on their backs, arms and legs stretched out. Sokka smiles blissfully.

she does get annoyed, but she doesn’t direct that frustration at any of them, unlike a quick tempered person would do.

katara: [Grabs her head in annoyance.] Ugh ... We're getting out of this desert, and we're going to do it together! Aang, get up. Everybody, hold hands. We can do this. We have to.

the point of these excerpts isn’t to say that anyone else in the gaang is horrible. i just wanted to point out the moments when she could’ve gotten frustrated and lashed out, but didn’t. not once. 

patience and quick temperedness are antonyms of each other. and imo, the fact that so much of katara’s character is defined by her patience (even outside of this specific episode) and nurturing (for over 80% of the show)  is enough to refute her “hotheadedness.” especially, when the other members of the gaang are allowed to be upset and/or angry on occasion and their dispositions/temperaments are not immediately associated with hotheadedness. maybe unpack why that is. 

let’s take the instance when she and toph argue in the chase. first of all, this episode is characterized by all of the members of the gaang being sleep deprived (i.e. not in their normal states), so their attitudes should be taken with a grain of salt. (what humans do you know that are happy-go-lucky when they haven’t slept enough?)

 anyway, the episode starts with katara attempting to lightly hint to toph about  group dynamics. 

katara: So Toph, usually when setting up camp, we try to divide up the work.

toph: [Shrugging casually.] Hey, don't worry about me. I'm good to go.

katara: Well, actually what I'm trying to say is, [Holds arms out in gesture.] some of us might fetch water, while someone else might set up the fire pit, or put up the tent. [Momo flies over to her, dropping several berries he had collected into her hands.] Even Momo does his fair share.

toph: [Breezily.] Katara, I'm fine. I can carry my own weight. I don't need a fire, [Pats bag.] I've already collected my own food and look, [Earthbends a rock tent over her.] my tent's all set up.

katara: [Slightly irritated.] Well, that's great for you, but we still need to finish 

toph: [Angered.] I don't understand what's the problem here!

katara: Waves her hand dismissively and walks away.] Never mind.

from the above excerpt, she drops the issue and doesn’t lash out. later, she even goes back and tries to make amends with toph. she even tries smiling before she heads over there.

Cuts to Katara, who sets down a jug of water. She looks over at Toph, sitting comfortably beneath her earth tent. Her dull expression changes to one of slight happiness. She approaches Toph who is eating some sort of food item.

katara: [Rubs back of head sheepishly.] Hey Toph, I wanted to apologize for earlier. I think we're all just a little tired and getting on each other's nerves.

toph: [Casually.] Yeah, you do seem pretty tired.

katara: [Growing disgusted.] I meant all of us.

Cuts to shot of inside Toph's earth tent as she lazily tosses the food item onto the ground and lays her head down to rest.

toph: Well, good night.

katara: [Slightly irked.] Good night.

none of her mannerisms and word choices are characteristic of someone with a temper. despite toph’s slight unintentional antagonistic remarks, katara doesn’t react. 

later, after they managed to evade the azula’s tank train for the night, they land appa. and katara tries, again:

toph: [Leaping off Appa and lying on the ground, relieved.] Ah, land sweet land! [Rises and says cheerfully.] See you guys in the morning!

katara: Actually, can you help us unload?

toph: [Points a finger at Katara in irritation.] Look! I didn't ask you to help unload my stuff! [Turns and begins walking away.] I'm carrying my own weight.

katara: [Angrily.] That's not the point. [Approaches Toph.] Ever since you joined us, you've been nothing but selfish and unhelpful!

toph: [Enraged.] What? Look here, sugar queen, [Points finger at Katara.] I gave up everything I had so that I could teach Aang earthbending. So don't you talk to me about being selfish!

the only times when katara reacts in anger that could be perceived as impulsive, is when she is insulted by Pakku and when Sokka suggests that she leave the Fire Nation town without helping. Both of these are hardly instances of hotheadedness, and moreso a reflection of who she is as a character: someone who doesn’t turn her back on people who needs her and someone who fights injustice. 

why would we call katara hotheaded for not settling for being antagonized by a misogynistic asshole? she was a trailblazer in that scene and it meant so much to the little girls of the Northern Water Tribe. similarly, why would we call her hotheaded for not being able to turn away from people who are in need? after all, that’s a core part of her character’s trauma: feeling of survivor’s guilt that there was something she could’ve done to save her mom. it’s part of why she has to act to help others. her passion isn’t synonymous with hotheadedness. 

[jaskiersvalley]

🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼 xoxo toss a coin to your bard

You are far too sweet to send this, and my apologies for sitting on this so long without replying! I will definitely be continuing the game and appearing as a loving anon in ask boxes soon. In the meantime, here's a little ficlet of thank you.

As a bit of background, I've been watching Centaurworld recently and this song (Rider's Lullaby) has been stuck in my head for days. So I thought I'd give it a bit of a twist and let the horses of Kaer Morhen have it.

Lullaby of the Wolf

Winters weren't a time of rest for just Witchers. Their trusted companions on the perilous Path were also granted some much needed rest. Roach and Scorpion went years back, familiar enough with each other that Roach's disdain and Scorpion's less desirable personality traits no longer caused problems. They could even be housed in neighbouring stalls which was a major breakthrough on an especially cold winter. All the same, it was a welcome surprise when a bay gelding separated them.

"You're not the prickly bastard's," Roach sniffed daintily.

"My rider travels with him. They call me Nettle. Because I'm a pain in the butt."

There was a snort from Roach and Scorpion laughed heartily at that.

"Bossman called me Scorpion because I stung his pride. He really hoped for a nice juicy steak as his surprise."

Roach dryly cut in, "He should have eaten you anyway, probably would if he could understand you."

Nettle, rather wisely, decided not to comment on that. Or the colourful swearing Scorpion went off on about how a full blooded stallion like him was...actually, Nettle tuned it out in favour of watching a goat trot into the stable and give him a hard stare.

"Prickly's mate is staying, teach him."

Which was how Nettle spent the rest of winter learning the way of a Wolf Witcher's horse. Though he was a Cat Witcher's steed, he was deemed worthy of being brought into the fold. Namely, the lullaby. While horses' singing wasn't audible to humans, Witcher or not, it still seemed to help. Not only did it seem to soothe the Witchers, it helped the horses too, gave them something to focus on outside the wild panic of the situation at hand.

Despite none of them being exceptionally gifted in the way of singing, they all joined in, their soft voices joining to make a chorus.

"Where did the song come from?"

"The old one's mule taught us. Who was taught by the mule before," Roach explained.

The goat, Lil Bleater, chipped in. "It's been passed down generations. Sometimes the old one still hums it. Especially when he's been left by his pups each spring."

That wasn't something Nettle ever heard. But he dutifully memorised the song and even sang it softly under his breath on the way down the mountain, where his human and his mate were tense, as worried as they were on the way up. The others had been right, though they couldn't hear the song, they both relaxed whenever Nettle sang.

It was pure luck that the prickly one's payment for a contract was a horse. She was black, had a tendency to be lame when she didn't want to do something and was, inevitably, named Bitch. Even if she was the nicest horse Nettle had ever met.

"You're a Wolf Witcher's horse now," he told her in the evening as they were left to graze on the sparse grass. "There's some things you need to learn."

Travelling together, Nettle taught Bitch the song. She was definitely suspicious at first.

"Just go lame, they won't pull you in the direction of danger. It's much easier."

Nettle laughed at that. "Their job is to go into danger. And ours is to follow. This is what we can do for them. Carry them, be there for them when nobody else wants to be. It's not much but sometimes we're the only thing they have. It's an honour."

So together they sang and Bitch learned to be brave. She appreciated not being coerced into things, no forceful shoving, no smacks. A lot of cursing and name calling, even a threat of being eaten if she didn't get with the programme but it was all empty words. The underlying impression she got from her prickly owner was that he cared and that was his problem. Because his fragile heart couldn't bear the idea of more senseless loss. Everyone knew the fate of those who got close to a Witcher, human, horse, goat, they all eventually died. But Bitch grew fond of him, she sang the song Nettle had taught her the first night they were alone. Nettle and his Witcher had to head off, she didn't pay much attention to the reason, her main concern was her prickly one and his sudden sullen coldness. It seemed Nettle had been right, Witcher sometimes only had their horses.

They'd been alone together for weeks. Human settlements came and went, monsters too. Her job was to make sure her human got from one place to the next and, sometimes, she kicked up a fuss still, limping in an effort to get him to rest. Despite her best efforts he was still miserable, obviously missing the company of his mate even when he vehemently denied the need for anything but solitude.

Trust was an easy thing to earn. Bitch was content to follow her new owner, following after him obediently. Though his job was as odds with her nature, he had yet to lead her wrong. And she no longer gave him grief either, only insisting on breaks when he needed them too. At least, that was what she told herself until she heard a soft baritone shakily singing.

"You're okay, you're alright, I'll never ever leave your side."

The voice buckled, a soft "I'm sorry" that most certainly wasn't part of the song whispered before continuing, "I will stay and I will fight with you."

Stomping her feet, Bitch pulled at her reins. It had her prickly owner cursing and pulling back, trying to get her to follow along. However, they weren't moving towards the song and Bitch wasn't going to let this go. Rearing up, the yanked her reins free and started off at a canter towards the voice. She ignored the cursing and yelling from behind, trusting her Witcher to follow. Off the path, she crashed into a clearing where a dark horse was curled around a large body. As she clattered to a halt, the horse snorted defensively, ears pinned back.

"If you know what's good for you, you fuck off right now," he snarled. The smell of blood made Bitch shift uncomfortably.

"The song! I know it!" As she approached, the other horse snorted in warning and slowly got to his feet, standing protectively over the barely conscious Witcher.

Though Bitch tried to sing the song, the other horse pawed at the ground. He would have no trouble running her down, they both knew it. Before he could charge though, Bitch's Witcher tumbled into the clearing and blinked once.

"Fucking hell Eskel, what the bloody tits have you done?" There was no hesitation as he barged up to the body and gave the large horse a two handed shove with a growled "move it".

"He's mine," Bitch said, plain and simple. "I've not had him long but he's a good man."

"I know, Prickly is part of Bossman's herd. Didn't think Prickly ever really wanted a steed."

"He didn't. But he got me anyway. Calls me Bitch."

"Nice. I go by Scorpion." The dark horse trotted closer, turning to look at his human with sadness. "I wouldn't do anything to help. I'm glad you brought Prickly here."

They watched together as a camp was quickly set up, potions poured in the fallen Witcher's mouth and wounds tended to with gruff efficiency.

"We might as well settle in," Scorpion announced. "It'll be a couple of days at least before we get moving. And knowing these two, we'll stay in close quarters for a while yet. Welcome to the herd."

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Tf2 headcanons? Aw yeah! So let's say a new merc joins the team. They're a total asshole: Cocky, sarcastic, overconfident, refuse help. But both Spy and Scout see right through that, it's a defense mechanism. How do they go about making this person comfortable enough to not be an asshole?

*chanting* HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMF

Okay, jokes aside, this is one of my favorite tropes. Maybe I’m too naïve to believe that some people are just mean to be mean, or maybe it’s a sort of comfort to know that even the worst people can be understood, but either way, WOOOOOOOOO!

*****************

An Ass For An Ass

Headcanons

Scout:

To be honest, Scout’s threshold for asshole-ery is pretty high. Growing up with eight brothers will do that to you.

But when the new recruit came around, something immediately rubbed him the wrong way.

Recruit always stole his thunder with the crass jokes and over-the-top displays. Every battle turned into a competition, which messed with Scout’s system of fighting. He never had to focus much on his own team before, and now he had to worry about keeping his own reputation upheld while trying not to get stabbed, shot, or blown up.

Recruit also kept hitting on Miss Pauling - even after reminding them again and again that she was lesbian, and was not and never will be into dudes.

“Come on…you just haven’t been with a real man yet…”

“No, no, I’ve been with a lot of men. Real men. I just wasn’t into any of them. After a while, it was kind of obvious.”

But what really pissed a lot of people off was Recruit’s fighting style.

They were an absolute monster on the field - that’s why they were chosen - but every interaction was treated as some sort of survival scenario.

One would think that would be a good thing, but Recruit was ridiculous.

No matter what the situation was, he was fine, he was okay, he could take it, he could fix it.

He could be killed only inches away from a Medic because he would never yell for one. Sometimes Recruit would even show visible anger at being healed. It got to the point where Medic didn’t heal him at all, and just allowed him to die as to not waste time he could give too more grateful patients.

Missions were even worse.

He followed orders to a T, but Pauling had to beg him to leave a failed mission, or to leave without completely destroying the site.

Everyone just took it as Recruit showing off, or having something to prove as a rookie.

It was annoying, but ultimately harmless in most circumstances.

However, it all came to a head when Recruit tried disengage a sentry by himself and was severely injured.

Both Engineer and Medic, who had had to fix most of Recruit’s past and current recklessness, ripped him a new one, one chewing out after the other.

“What we’re you thinkin’, son?! One crossed wire and you woulda blown the whole base!”

“Zhe only reason you are allowed in my lab at all is because it’s in my contract. Personally, I vould have rather left nature to it…”

Since then, Recruit did exactly as he was told, and nothing else. And most of the team liked it that way.

But Scout recognized some warning signs immediately. Fatigue, near silence except for missions, self-isolation, snapping when people got too close…it all paved the way for a pretty nasty (and, for Scout, very familiar) result.

One night, Recruit was sitting on the balcony, and Scout came out with two bottles - a beer for Recruit and a root beer for himself.

(Scout can only drink on the weekends because one, unlike most, he can’t go to work hung over because his job requires a lot of movement, and two, he has no restraint and can’t stop once he starts.)

“What do you want?”

Scout shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?!”

“What are ya willin’ to tell me?”

Recruit just looked at the beer and sneered.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Scout said. “Maybe get to the part where you tell me what kinda Sally Sob Story we’re dealin’ with here?”

Recruit looked away.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t got one. ‘Cause you do. I can see it a mile away. So what happened? Pop leave? Somebody died? Lotta brothers and sisters? Ma had a few too many and smacked ya around?”

Recruit didn’t turn around, but Scout could tell he was crying. He had hit a sore spot. Hard.

“Hey, pal, listen…”

Scout trailed off, then slowly began again.

“…the only reason I know is ‘cause I’ve been through it, ‘kay? Outta everybody I knew, I only trusted me. And that was great when I did a good job, ‘cause I knew I put me there.”

Scout opened his bottle of root beer and took a long swig.

“But when I screwed somethin’ up, it’s like everybody I ever knew just let me down. The one thing I could count on was gone.”

Recruit looked at Scout with tears in his eyes.

“But ya can’t do everything by yourself,” Scout continued. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.”

Scout laughed, but it was mostly to clear the air. He didn’t get serious very often.

Recruit hadn’t touched his beer, but was leaned over the balcony with his head in his hands.

Scout sighed and looked up at the stars.

“But here’s somethin’ that nobody told me - it gets easier, y’know that? You just gotta relax and cut yourself some slack.”

Recruit shifted uncomfortably. “But the Administrator said…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what she said. Gave ya that whole speech about how bein’ part of the team means discipline and focus and whatever. It’s all bull crap. She don’t know the first thing about bein’ on the field. If she did, why’d she hire us?”

“Sh-she said my perseverance was an asset to the team.”

“Perseverance, my ass. You know what would be an asset to the team? Stayin’ alive for more than fifteen minutes!”

Recruit looked at his feet. He had blinked away his tears, but he still looked on the verge of falling apart.

Scout put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little.

“You’re a great fighter, Recruit. You’re one of the best…that’s why you’re here. You got nothin’ to prove to nobody. Not to me, not to the team, not to the Administrator…not even to yourself. You’ve made it, kid. You’ve made it.”

Scout slid his hand off Recruit and started to walk away.

“Hey.”

Scout turned to see Recruit in the process of opening his beer.

“Thanks.”

Scout smiled. “No problem, pal. Plenty more under Demo’s mattress.”

“No, I mean…for that. I needed that tonight.”

“Oh…yeah! Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Scout went back inside and to his room - but not before checking the cameras on the balcony a few times. Just in case.

Over the next few months, Scout kept helping Recruit break some old bad habits.

Recruit learned to take criticism without getting angry, to leave tanked missions, and to take care of himself.

He still occasionally flirted with Miss Pauling, but it was now more of an inside joke than anything.

Recruit still isn’t perfect - he still cringes a little when he’s healed, and falls back into survival mode when times are stressful - but he is now a much happier, much healthier person.

Spy:

Spy’s asshole wasn’t a merc, per se.

They were more of an informant, usually giving out important facts about locations, missions, and a target’s history.

Sometimes they would even use the Administrator’s PA system to announce new rules and reminders.

This would be perfectly fine - after all, you get kind of tired of hearing the Administrator all the time - except for the fact that Informant was the most sarcastic, most nasally, most apathetic, most matter-of-fact person on earth.

Even outside of a work setting, which was rare because they stayed in their office most of the time, Informant would go out of their way to be as condescending as possible.

Especially to whoever they considered to be in the “less intelligent” category: Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demo, and Soldier.

To all the “others,” he turned every briefing into a contest to see who knew more at any given time…which, of course, usually meant he won.

“Now, does anyone know where his address is? Come on, any takers? Yeah, I thought so.”

Unlike Recruit, which would only warrant a few grumbles here and there from the team, Informant was the subject of a lot of hissed complaints and terrible rants from even the calmest of members.

Informant was the only one who could get under Heavy’s skin - a personal pet peeve of his was being considered less intelligent or less of a human being because English wasn’t his first language, which Informant chose to remind him of constantly.

It began with a few simple jabs at his grammar or word structure, but once Informant figured out that Heavy wouldn’t hurt a fly outside of battle, the taunts grew more and more daring.

Heavy would usually ignore Informant, which would only exacerbate their need to be noticed. This led to some pretty nasty interactions - from spouting the statistics of Russia’s average intelligence to even saying Heavy was a disgrace to his country by being a literature major.

“How’s that Russian literature major treating you? You know - in America.”

Sniper and Medic had tried to set Informant straight, but Heavy refused to accept any help. This was something that was his to bear, and his alone. He knew that they both took their own helping of harassment.

But one day, Informant went a little to far.

He did the one thing you should never do: insult Heavy’s family.

“You mother and sisters can’t do anything more than wait for you. No wonder you’re the only source of income.”

Before he knew it, Informant was against a wall, struggling to breathe, blood running into his eyes.

Heavy walked away after the incident, and told Medic about it, but he refused to heal him. Informant had called Medic a Nazi on more than one occasion.

This, finally, is where Spy comes in.

Spy was walking by Informant’s office, when he heard a strange sound - barely suppressed hiccups and sobs.

Despite his aversion to displays of emotion, the promise of seeing one of his greatest enemies as their lowest was too amusing to resist.

He knocked lightly on the door, then slowly opened it - always the master of drama.

Informant was under their desk, bloodied and bruised, sobbing into their knees.

Spy entered noiselessly, sitting in Informant’s office chair and lighting a cigarette.

It was only when Spy made a dramatic exhale of the smoke that Informant looked up, tears streaking their face.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spy finally spoke.

“Oh, how the mighty fall. Flown too close to the sun, have we?”

Informant couldn’t do much more than snivel and retreat farther below the desk.

“Who did it?” Spy asked. “I want to give them my regards…and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“H-Heavy…”

“Oh? Well, if anyone can bring him to blows, it’s you.”

Spy put his feet on the desk and continued to blow smoke out of his nose, thinking.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Most offices have at least a few pictures of family. A trip to the beach, perhaps the zoo…?”

He took a quick glance around.

“No children. No army mates. No graduation photos or a large catch at a local lake. The only personal item you have is this…”

Spy picked up a Rubik’s Cube. The plastic still around it crinkled.

“Unused.”

Informant looked at the floor.

“I like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

Spy pursed his lips and squinted.

“How noble of you. But I don’t think that’s the case. You know what I think, Informant?”

Spy took his feet of the desk and bent down, looking Informant in the eyes.

“I don’t think you have a life.”

Informant’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his face immediately crumpled. Bullseye.

Spy smirked and got up from the chair, starting to leave.

Informant’s sniffling turned into sobbing, and before Spy could put his hand on the doorknob, muffled wailing filled the office.

Spy closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to remember something. But the imagery was too strong.

He remembered hiding under a table, like Informant was. People screaming and cursing at each other in French. His knees all scarred and his nose runny from a cold that should have resolved weeks ago. Waltz music coming from next door, trying to drown out the fighting. Glass breaking. Biting his knuckles so he wouldn’t whimper or cry.

Spy’s hand closed into fist. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Informant again.

“But to be fair…”

He walked towards the desk, putting his hand in his suit pocket. He got on his knees and pulled out a pink handkerchief.

“…I don’t have one either.”

He offered the handkerchief to Informant, who put it to his face, still staring at Spy through red eyes.

The pair were silent for a moment, with Spy putting out his cigarette and lighting a new one while Informant cleaned themselves up.

“But the difference between you and I,” Spy said, his voice wavering a bit, “is that I am a Spy. If my information got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of me and my team.”

He tapped his cigarette on a nearby trash can, letting the ashes fall into it.

“But what are you hiding from?”

Informant took a shaky inhale, the handkerchief still covering his nose and mouth.

“W-what?”

“Why do you feel the need to be, as Scout puts it, a tier five jerkazoid?”

Informant sniffled. “I…I didn’t think I took it that far.”

“Took what that far?”

“I just…snrk…I thought that’s what I had to do to get them to take me seriously.”

Informant laughed, but their heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m five foot four with red hair and freckles. I look more like someone’s Andy doll than a contract killer. I thought maybe if I knew everything…I’d be worth it.”

They shrugged.

“At best, they’d be impressed. At worst, they would never get close enough to me to know the truth: the only reason why I’m here is because I can rattle off a few names and that I had good grades in school because I had nothing better to do.”

Spy’s chest ached. He didn’t know why, but it was a strange feeling to him.

“Mon ami…”

He cleared his throat.

“If half of the team is any indication, you don’t need to be Nikola Tesla to be hired. Hell, the fact you can read is an anomaly in itself. But there is something you must understand…”

Spy cleared his throat again. His voice had gotten quite unstable all of a sudden.

“Intelligence is measured in different ways. Scout could never read even the simplest of children’s books, but his physical intelligence - reflexes, spatial awareness, aim - is phenomenal. Medic would have to put my spine back together if I even attempted to do what he does on the field.”

Informant snickered at the joke, or perhaps the image it conjured.

“And me,” Spy continued. “I can speak almost any language, adjust to any social setting, charm anyone, fool anyone…kill anyone. Just like you, I can remember, and I use the information I absorb mostly to show how superior I am to all my lowly colleagues.”

Spy furrowed his brow and looked away.

“But I know less about myself than even my enemies. I have hidden it so deep within my mind that I can hardly remember…or perhaps would rather not remember…who I was before this mask of mine.”

Informant hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, Spy.”

Spy sneered and puffed a few smoke rings.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to have some self-respect - and respect for my teammates. Because next time you are beaten within an inch of your life, you might catch me in a less generous mood.”

With that, Spy got up, reached into his suit pocket and presented a small MediKit, which he tossed to Informant.

“I’d suggest freshening up before going to any more briefings.”

Informant nodded, and set to work healing himself.

Spy started to leave, then stuck his head back in.

“And hang a few posters, would you? Your office looks like a prison cell.”

Finally, the Frenchman took his leave, adjusting his suit and nodding solemnly to the team members he happened to pass - or scowling at them, depending.

He glanced over the security feed, and once he was satisfied, made his way to his smoking room.

Spy closed the heavy oak door, poured himself a small glass of scotch, and sat down in his chair next to the fireplace.

He put a magazine on his knee and began to flip through the pages, but his gaze soon started to wander.

He closed the magazine, tossed it into the fire, leaned into his hand, and wept.

…So what became of Informant?

Well, after a reluctant heal from Medic and a few well-deserved apologies, Informant began to try and break the cycle of self-sabotage.

The process took a lot longer than Recruit’s did - especially since Informant’s transgressions were a lot more egregious - but, little by little, they began to heal.

A lot of the time, the other mercs would have to tell them to tone it down a bit, or to cut him off completely if necessary.

Informant still almost has a panic attack if he doesn’t have the right papers, and his office is still pretty bare, but he took Spy’s advice - a few AC/DC posters hang on the leftmost wall.

As for Spy, well…he needs to have a talk with Medic.

******************

I am so sorry…this is all so messy and weird. One is so much longer than the other, and I’m not even sure half the dialogue sounds right.

The two headcanons were just typed out at different times, the first where I had less motivation and the second when I had more motivation. This wasn’t on purpose, it just happened.

I hope you still like it, though!

[patchofsunlight]

Pretty Eyes | Sokka x Fem!Reader

Hello! This is my first ever imagine and I have no idea of what I’m doing, but I guess that’s the beauty of it all, right? So here we go!

SUMMARY: Y/N and Sokka do not get on well. That changes, however, after one particular night.

WORD COUNT: 6k I’m not used to writing oneshots it got so long I’m sorry if the “keep reading” thingy doesn’t work

WARNINGS: there’s a bit of kissing at the end? also I think there’s one or two cuss words. there’s some angst and mutual pining, since it’s an enemies-to-lovers. Toph is Y/N’s best friend bc I love her. and bad writing! I think it feels kinda rushed and English is not my first language so I’m not really sure how to feel about this tbh

I hope you like it! Also if you want to request something please do just ask me what I write for and I’ll tell you!!

Y/N definitely did not regret leaving Zuko and joining the Avatar and his team. It was probably the best thing she had ever done, the first step to finally forgiving herself for all the years she worked for the Fire Nation and for all the pain she caused alongside it, the first step to letting go of all the hurt she held inside her heart.

But Spirits, she couldn’t take Sokka’s attitude anymore.

“We can’t let Y/N go to the city alone, it’s a three day trip! What if she tells her Fire Nation friends we are here?”

He was the only one who hadn’t warmed up to her yet. Toph had taken a liking to her almost immediately, which Y/N firmly believed was for the sole reason of spiting Sokka, but she didn’t exactly mind. Toph was the first person to treat her like a human being and not an enemy, and she was deeply thankful for that. The first few weeks with Team Avatar were difficult — the Water Tribe people didn’t trust her, Aang was unconscious, Katara was going crazy with worry for her friend, and Sokka accused her of being a Fire Nation spy every two seconds. Siding with the Avatar in the crystal cave had done nothing for her reputation, it seemed: she was still Zuko’s friend, still a bad person, still Fire Nation scum, among other endearing titles.

Katara came around eventually, while Aang was still recovering from his injuries. At one point, the waterbender told her she was the only one not pissing her off in the Water Tribe boat they occupied, which made her smile.

And Aang, well, he was a sweetheart. She would never forget the way the small boy laughed loudly after Katara told him how she punched Azula in the face after the Fire Princess hit him with lightning, kindly leaving out the part where Azula immediately gave her a nasty burn after recovering from the surprise of a fist to the nose. 

“Come on, Sokka,” Katara countered, rolling her eyes in annoyance, “we’ve talked about this.”

Then there was Sokka, who still pretty much hated her, even as they now hid inside the Fire Nation together. “You know I’m right, Katara. You should go with her to make sure she doesn’t turn her back on us.”

“You guys know she is right here, right? Are you ignoring her or something?”

“It’s okay, Toph,” Y/N touched the girl’s arm fondly, avoiding the glare Sokka sent her way. “You don’t need to worry..”

“No, it’s not okay!” Katara snapped, letting go of the shirt she was stitching up and staring at her brother angrily. “Why don’t you go with her, then, if you’re so worried?”

“That seems like a good idea!” Aang smiled brightly from his place beside Appa. “It could be a fun bonding trip!”

“No!” Sokka and Y/N said almost at the exact time before exchanging a very confused look. Something seemed to ignite inside him just as he turned to glower at her with rage in his eyes. “Why don’t you want me to go, firegirl? Is it because I’m right?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s because you are a jerk to her all the time, but okay,” Toph muttered. Katara bit back a snicker, taking the shirt from the ground and trying to focus on it again.

“Well, I’m going,” Sokka announced, crossing his arms, “since she’s hiding things from us and trying to go to the city alone.”

“I am not hiding anything! No one else wanted to go to the city so I volunteered, it’s not that deep.”

“Well, then why wouldn’t you want me to go?”

“I don’t know, Sokka, why do you accuse me of being a traitor all the time?”

“That’s got nothing to do with this! But you did betray Zuko, who was supposed to be your boyfriend or whatever—”

“Zuko was not my boyfriend.”

“— and once a traitor, always a traitor.”

“That’s enough!” Katara interrupted, annoyance written all over her face. “We chose Y/N to make the trip to the city and I can’t take being near Sokka anymore, so you two will leave right now to get us supplies, food and clothes. Do you understand?”

“I—”

“I don’t care, Sokka! Go get your things, see you in three days.”

------

Sokka wasn’t really sure why he hated Y/N so much anymore. Hell, he was even starting to think he might actually enjoy her presence, in a way. Not that he would tell that to anyone.

She was still the enemy, even while Katara laughed at something she said and Toph clinged to her, talking her ears off about whatever was going on through her mind. She was still the enemy when Aang asked to braid her hair and when she talked to Appa and Momo while she thought no one noticed. Y/N was still the enemy while her eyes shone with delight whenever Toph made a joke and while she smiled that pretty smile of hers at Aang, and she was definitely still the enemy when his heart skipped a beat whenever she accidently looked at him without that angry look he always managed to put on her face.

Yes, Sokka didn’t like her in any way. He couldn’t like her, he refused to like her. She was from Fire Nation. Even if the others accepted her, he knew the truth — Y/N would never be trustworthy, would never be one of them.

The caves they were currently hiding in were Fire Nation territory, and the trip towards the city was long, specially since they couldn’t use Appa. After two miles, Sokka was already bored. 

“Is your Fire Nation home close by?” he questioned, a hint of accusation in his voice. Y/N didn’t spare him a glance and, for some unknown reason, Sokka felt annoyed by it.

“No.”

“Well, then where is it?” he pressed, staring at her.

“Where is what?”

“Your Fire Nation home.”

“I don’t have one, Sokka. Are you done?”

The Water Tribe warrior scoffed and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, “you don’t have one, firegirl? Yeah, right. I’m sure you lived in a big house where everyone did every little thing you wanted them to,” he watched as she sighed, her eyes flooding with irritation, “am I wrong?”

It was her turn to scoff, “shut up, waterboy.”

He raised his eyebrows, “waterboy?”

“Come on, the quicker we do this the quicker I can be away from you. We have no time to lose.”

------

They set up camp in the woods near a small village halfway to the city. While walking, they didn’t speak much besides Sokka’s stupid questions and Y/N’s dry answers — he noticed how she acted different now they were alone together, almost as if she had closed up on herself and, ignoring the stinging in his chest, he wondered if she would ever smile and laugh with him the way she did with the Aang, Toph and Katara. With a certain heaviness to his thoughts, Sokka concluded that no, she probably wouldn’t. Not that he cared, obviously.

“I can do first watch,” he let her know, watching carefully as Y/N yawned and arranged her sleeping bag on the hard ground.

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’ll wake you up when it’s my turn to sleep.”

Y/N nodded, falling asleep almost instantly as she laid her head down. When she slept, she didn’t look like a traitor as much as she usually did. She looked like a normal, beautiful girl he would really love to get to know better. But of course he couldn’t, because she was from the Fire Nation and would eventually betray them all, or at least that’s what Sokka told himself to avoid getting too close, too attached. Spirits, he had lost so many people that adding one more person in his care-about list was unthinkable, unreasonable and just all-around stupid.

Sokka wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Y/N started moving in her sleep, her previously peaceful expression now filled with anxiety and fear as she turned and tossed. He furrowed his eyebrows, staring at her curiously.

“No,” he could hear her mutter, “please, no. Please.”

“Y/N?” his voice was calm as he knelt down by her sleeping bag, recognizing the signs of a nightmare. “Y/N, wake up. It’s just a dream.”

“I’m sorry,” she cried out, her eyelids shut tight, “please. I’m sorry!”

“Y/N!”

The girl sat up suddenly, hitting her forehead with his. Sokka groaned at the sudden pain, bringing a hand up to his forehead and touching it lightly. Meanwhile, Y/N took in her surroundings, her breathing heavy. She could already feel a lump forming inside her throat.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a moment, finally noticing her panicked motions and moving forward to touch her shoulder but hesitating. Sokka would usually greet her with a mean comment, but he could see the nervousness on her face and it worried him. “Do you need some water?”

“No, I’m good,” she swallowed, trying to slow down her breathing. “I just—just got a nightmare.”

“I noticed,” the Water Tribe warrior smiled sadly, “I get those too.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, trying to wrap her head around the fact Sokka was actively being nice to her. It felt weird but had a kind of warmth taking over her chest that she didn’t mind one bit.

He scratched the back of his neck, staring at her while she kept her eyes trained on her own hands, “do you want to talk about it?” He noticed her intrigued expression and sighed, going on, “Katara always tells me that talking about nightmares makes them go away. So… Do you want to talk about yours?”

Y/N looked at him attentively, searching for some type of mockery or teasing on his face. Sokka seemed to blush under her gaze, but she was sure it was just the moonlight tricking her eyes. Y/N exhaled deeply, crossing her arms in a defensive stance and biting down on her lower lip as she couldn’t find any bad intention in his gaze, deciding to share some of the vulnerability he was offering her. “It was just something that happened some years ago. Before I left with Zuko, I mean.”

He nodded, leaning on his hands with his arms straight while sat beside her, “I never understood why you left with him, to be honest,” he commented, “he doesn’t seem like the fun type.”

Y/N let out a small smile and Sokka could swear his heart jumped inside his chest for some reason, “he was never the fun type, but he was still my best friend, even though banishment changed him. But I didn’t leave just because of Zuko.”

That was new information. “You didn’t?”

She shook her head, looking down at her hands again, “no.”

“Then why?”

Sokka observed as her entire body tensed and felt the immediate urge to apologize for the question and tell her to go back to sleep. Before he could open his mouth, however, she answered in a broken voice that sounded nothing like her own, “I couldn’t stay. My dad had just died in the war and my mom…” her eyes were full of anguish and misery, still watching her fingers lock and unlock, “she wasn’t doing very well. My nightmare,” she hesitated, inhaling sharply before training her gaze on him again, “it was about her.”

They looked at each other, lazy eyes studying faces with a new curiosity and innocence they hadn’t held for one another before. Something flashed through Y/N’s expression before she asked, averting her pretty eyes from him, “do you want to see it?”

Sokka furrowed his brows in confusion, “see what?”

Y/N let out a shaky breath before raising her tunic slightly. The Water Tribe boy felt his whole face flush with embarrassment but he noticed the marks before he could look away — something that must’ve been a horrible burn, the scar covering a great part of her right side, stretching from her bellybutton to just under her chest. “Iroh spent a lot of time changing mine and Zuko’s bandages in the first months after we left,” she smiled sadly and then put her clothes back into place.

“Your mom did that?”

“She didn’t mean to,” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, “it was an accident, but still. Whenever I think about it, I’m really glad I was born a non-bender.”

“You are?”

“Yes. Having the power to cause so much pain and destruction… I wouldn’t want that in anyway.”

Sokka hummed in understanding and appreciation. He knew she was a non-bender like him but they had never really talked about what that meant to them and to Team Avatar. He wasn’t aware she didn’t crave bending like he did, but it felt nice to hear her speak about it like that.

Showing someone her scar felt… Different, but not a bad different. Y/N had grown accustomed to hiding it all the time, even though she didn’t feel ashamed of it. It was just an ugly part of her that held too many bad memories that she intended to keep to herself. Letting Sokka see it was strange and she didn’t know exactly why she did it, to be honest. It felt right, though. Talking to him like they were friends felt right. Being around him like that felt very, very right.

“You should sleep, waterboy,” she punched his shoulder softly, ignoring her own thoughts, “I’ll keep guard for the rest of the night.”

He was quick to deny, “no, I’m fine, you should—”

“Sokka,” her tone was demanding, “you need to rest too. Come on, get some sleep. I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep again anyway.”

He would love to disagree but he recognized the look on her face. She wasn’t asking him to sleep — she was telling him to. For some reason, that thought made him smile.

“Okay,” Sokka answered quietly as he got into his own sleeping bag, “good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Sokka. Sleep well.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“It’s alright.”

------

The rest of the trip was better than expected. It seemed like that one vulnerable moment they shared affected their relationship in more ways than one, and they traveled peacefully to the city and back. They even managed to spark conversation with each other in some instances.

Sokka would love to say that being in good terms with Y/N made him satisfied, but that would be a lie. Aang, Katara and Toph were really happy with their new dynamic, glad they could talk to each other without mean comments or accusations — Y/N and Sokka were the only ones inside the Gaang who still had to become friends, and now that they did, everyone seemed pleased and content.

Except Sokka.

Being around her was difficult. Now that he didn’t expect the worst of her all the time, he couldn’t ignore what he felt whenever she was close by, the sensations he once thought were just his way of feeling disgust and anger taking a different shape. He would catch himself smiling stupidly at her while she laughed with someone else and would feel his whole face reddening when she looked into his eyes. However, he remembered very clearly the last time he felt something like that, and it didn’t end well. He couldn’t have that again.

Avoiding her was even more difficult and he couldn’t keep it up for a single day. After finally being able to taste what a friendship with Y/N felt like, he couldn’t stop from craving it more and more. Instead of being away from her like he intended so he could get rid of whatever feelings he was gathering, he actively went out of his way to be near her, even when his mind screamed at him to just let go.

Sokka couldn’t get attached to someone like that once more. He couldn’t forget what happened to Yue — liking someone was not his cup of tea, it would end tragically and he didn’t want it, couldn’t have it, not again.

But a part of him entertained these feelings, these thoughts. It didn’t matter, right? She would never feel the same for him, so it was okay. He wouldn’t get hurt because he would never actually have her so there was no way to lose her.

Right?

------

Everything happened fast.

They didn’t think the Fire Nation soldiers would find them anytime soon and yet they still did. They were nearing the Day of the Black Sun and being found out in Fire Nation territory was less than ideal, to say the least. Y/N was just glad they had Toph, Aang and Katara to fight for them — they were truly amazing benders and there were many more soldiers than she would normally expect.

Everything happened too fast.

She had been taught from a young age how to fight with a sword and was slowly trying to teach Sokka too, even though teaching was proving itself to be harder than learning. They fought from the sidelines, hitting the soldiers the three benders couldn’t hit or see. One of them had a sword too and Y/N rapidly engaged in a difficult fight while also keeping an eye out for Sokka, who was fighting another soldier to her right.

She couldn’t deny the feelings growing inside her towards the boy. Weeks before, she would have straight up laughed if anyone told her she would fall for him, and now there she was. Y/N loved his smile and his voice and his stupid jokes and the way he called her “firegirl” with an endearing tone instead of the accusative one he used to always have when talking to her only weeks before. She loved how his cheeks flushed red when she looked at him for too long and she loved hearing him go on and on about his plans and theories. She loved it all so much she didn’t even mind Toph’s constant teasing: “Calm down your heart, Y/N,” the younger girl would say with a mocking smile, “it’s just Sokka!”

“Shut up, Toph.”

Y/N knew he would never feel the same, but a girl can dream, and dream she did. They would talk late into the night, guarding camp together and exchanging childhood stories. Being around him was very comforting, in a way. 

Everything happened fast.

She got distracted when the soldier battling against Sokka seemed to get the upper hand, even though Sokka fought back and took control of the conflict again easily. However, that instant was enough for her own enemy to attack.

The pain was unbearable but Y/N kept on fighting. There was blood running down her skin, staining her clothes, the wound to her ribs deep and distressing, but she couldn’t leave her friends like that. She manipulated her sword the best she could, ignoring the sharp pain felt with every intake of breath, taking down as many non-bender soldiers as possible.

They ran for Appa when there was finally an opening, climbing onto the flying bison and leaving the remaining Fire Nation soldiers behind them.

Adrenaline was responsible for making her able to endure the pain but now that they were safe and flying while Aang and Katara disguised Appa as clouds, her vision went out of focus and she stumbled, clinging to Toph’s arm in a last attempt to remain conscious and alert. “Y/N? Are you alright?” the girl asked confusedly, her brows furrowed in question.

“Yes,” Y/N was able to get one word out, even though her thoughts were getting messier by the second and black dots appeared before her eyes. “Just tired,” she muttered. It was true — she could feel exhaustion taking over her body and head, slowly making her slump over herself.

She felt like her body was on fire, almost as if she had been burned all over. The pain made it hard to concentrate, her mind trained on the feeling of blood soaking her tunic, every breath causing waves of agony to take over her. The stab wound seemed to be throbbing, unabling her of any coherent thought.

“You sure? You seem—Spirits! Katara, come here! Y/N was wounded! She is bleeding!”

A part of her brain registered a touch to her ribs, Toph’s small hands hanging over her with no idea of what to do. She could hear Katara’s voice from somewhere on her right but she knew Katara needed to keep up their cover alongside Aang. They couldn’t afford risking their disguise just yet, they were still too close to those soldiers.

(Or so she thought. She couldn’t be really sure, since her mind was clouded and she felt extremely confused, the black dots slowly taking over her vision until she saw nothing but unrecognizable shadows.)

Amongst the screams, there was Sokka. He had left his place guiding Appa and came running to her, horror written all over his face as he started to put pressure on her bleeding wound, following Katara’s instructions.

“You’re going to be okay,” his voice sounded weird, disconnected, out of place. Y/N wished she could see him properly. She had come to appreciate how beautiful he actually was, with his endearing smile and bright blue eyes. She really wished she could see him. “Stay awake for me, alright?”

“Waterboy,” she mumbled with a lazy smile before darkness consumed her entirely.

------

There was so much blood. Sokka could see how the water covering Katara’s hands was stained, he could see how soaked Y/N’s tunic was. He could see her, her skin so pale she almost looked dead. That thought alone made Sokka’s stomach turn over inside his body, his eyes stinging with anxious tears.

They did an emergency landing on a small island nearby, Katara trying to maintain their cover as Aang rushed to the reins Sokka had abandoned in his frenzy. Meanwhile, Sokka and Toph were screaming at each other in utter panic, trying desperately to help their friend somehow. His hands were still shaking and red from putting pressure on the wound like his sister had told him to. 

“What is happening?” he stopped pacing as he heard Toph’s weak voice, the small girl playing with her own fingers in nervousness. “Is Katara’s healing working?”

There was ringing inside his ears as he stared at his sister. He could clearly see tears streaming down her face as she exchanged the red water on her hands for the clean one Aang had put on a container and positioned nearby. His heart throbbed inside his chest, a million thoughts going through his head at the same time.

Y/N was going to die. He was going to lose her. He would never see her smile again and he would never hear her laugh again and she would never tell him stories about her childhood again. He would never watch her as she played around with Toph and he would never be able to peek at her as she trained her sword fighting skills anymore. He would never talk to her late at night and he would never appreciate the way her voice sounded again.

He would never feel his heart pick up whenever she walked inside a room again. He would never smile unconsciously just by seeing her smile again. And she would never know how much she meant to him, how much he genuinely liked her and everything she did.  He was going to lose her without even knowing if maybe, in a distant time, when the war was over and they were safe, she would want to stay with him, making him laugh and smiling that gorgeous smile of hers at him everyday. Sokka would never know if somehow she wanted him as much as he wanted her, with all his flaws and faults and fears.

He would never know and he would never have her by his side again and he wanted to scream until his throat was sore. He wanted to cry himself to sleep and pretend this was just a bad dream he would eventually wake up off hearing her beautiful laugh as she chatted with Katara and Toph during breakfast.

“Sokka? Please, tell me what is happening. How is Y/N?”

The Water Tribe warrior felt a sudden anger spark up inside him. He should’ve done something, he should’ve noticed she’d been hit, and so should the others. Weren’t they powerful benders? Couldn’t they sense everything through the earth or some other bullshit like that? Weren’t they better than him in every way? Well, they could have at least saved her.

“Shut up, Toph! This is your fault! You should have noticed she was wounded! You should have helped her before it was too late!”

He didn’t mean it. A part of him knew it was not her fault, but his brain was enveloped in pain and desperation and he just wanted someone to blame so he didn’t have to deal with the guilt forming in his chest. He was losing Y/N and there was nothing he could do about it.

Toph went from worried to pissed off quickly, tightening her hands in fists and sending a few rocks flying towards the sea surrounding the island, “how is this my fault?! I was fighting off a few soldiers too, you know? It’s not like I could have stopped everything I was doing and ran to her!”

He moved his arms around frantically, “you don’t even care about her!”

“I don’t care about her? She’s my best friend!”

“You obviously didn’t care enough to help!”

“Oh, you little—”

“That’s enough!” Katara’s voice sounded fragile but terrifying, averting her gaze from her bloody hands to glare at them. “I can’t concentrate with all this screaming!”

“Sokka started it!”

“I don’t care who started it!” she barked, her eyes burning with rage. “Get out!”

Sokka opened his mouth to oppose, feeling his entire body tense with the idea of being away from Y/N in such a moment, but didn’t get to as Aang took a hold of his arm and started to lead him towards somewhere else on the beach. Toph groaned in frustration before leaving in the opposite direction.

“You need to calm down,” Aang sounded serene while dragging his friend through the sand, “arguing is not going to get us anywhere. We need to be together right now to get through this.”

The Avatar turned to look at Sokka when he planted his feet in place, tears flooding his eyes. It almost seemed like Aang was telling him how they had to support each other through their upcoming grief.

He was going to lose her. Damn, he had probably already lost her. She was gone and she would never know.

“Sokka? Are you okay?”

“I—” he hesitated, trying so hard not to cry he could feel his head throb. “I don’t—,” he swallowed harshly, but the lump in his throat didn’t go away, “I can’t lose her, Aang,” his voice cracked miserably and he gave up on holding back his heartache, letting the tears fall down his face. A sob wrecked his body and a hint of understanding went through Aang’s eyes, the smaller boy coming closer to hold his forearms.

“You’re not going to lose her, Sokka. Katara is going to fix it and she’ll be okay.”

“No, she won’t,” it was getting hard to breathe between his cries, but if felt better than pretending everything was okay, “she’s gone. And I—I think I’m in love with her, and she’ll never know. She’ll die and she’ll never know.”

“Sokka—”

“This is what happens every time I have feelings for someone. I lost Yue and now Y/N too.”

“Sokka, your feelings for Yue weren’t responsible for what happened to her. She told you not to be afraid of love, remember? I’m sure she is proud of you for moving on and falling in love with Y/N, and if we lose Y/N, your feelings will not be to blame either. But we won’t, okay? Katara is going to save her, I promise. She will be fine and you will be able to tell her how you feel. Do you understand?”

Sokka felt himself crumble in pain, another sob escaping his lips as Aang hugged him tightly. He cried loudly, holding onto his friend for dear life.

“Y/N will be okay, Sokka. She is strong and she would never leave us like that, okay? Never. I promise.”

------

When Y/N opened her eyes, it was already dark. A tent had been put up around her, but she noticed the cold night breeze even before she saw the starry sky. 

She took notice of the neat bandages covering her stab wound. There was a soreness to her every movement, but the searing pain from before was gone. She exhaled deeply and tried to sit but quickly gave up at the ache that formed in her ribs. Lying on the sand, she breathed slowly.

“Y/N?” she turned her head towards the direction of who was calling her and found Toph’s grey eyes. The small girl seemed tired, rubbing the sleep of her eyes and furrowing her eyebrows as she called again, “Y/N, are you awake? I thought I heard something.”

“Hey. I’m awake,” she smiled softly, moving her arm the tiniest bit just so she could touch her friend’s leg. 

Toph immediately gave her the biggest smile, jumping up from her spot sitting down to try and hug her friend carefully, “Never do that again, you idiot!” a weak chuckle escaped Y/N as she tried to hug back, but it hurt too much. Toph didn’t mind. “You got us all so worried! Aang went crazy trying to keep everyone calm, Katara cried a whole lot, and Sokka got so nervous he screamed at me. He apologized, though, so I’m not angry at him anymore,” Toph widened her eyes in realization, “I have to tell them you’re finally awake! Wait here, I’ll come back in a second. Try not to get stabbed in the meantime.”

Y/N giggled at her words, sighing as she found herself alone in the tent. For a second, she let herself wonder: she wouldn’t be up and about for a while, that much was obvious. However, Team Avatar couldn’t deal with that kind of liability and she asked herself what they were going to do about it.

Aang was the first to arrive, hugging her so tight Katara started screaming at him to be mindful of her injuries as soon as she reached the entrance. They spoke briefly about the gravity of her wound and Katara scolded her for not telling them she had been stabbed sooner while Aang and Toph bit back their laughter.

“Y/N?” Sokka’s hoarse voice was enough to make silence ring through the tent, the bags under his eyes dark and unmissable. Y/N met his blue eyes, her heart clenching painfully when she noticed the bare sadness inside them. 

Katara cleared her throat, grabbing Aang and Toph gently and steering them outside, “we’ll be handling the supplies if you need us!”

“What? I want to stay with Y/N!”

“Spirits, Toph, shut up.”

The Fire Nation girl smiled at the arguing outside, averting his trained gaze. An awkward quiet settled between them — Y/N didn’t know exactly why there was such a heaviness to the air they shared, but it was too clear to ignore.

“I—” he hesitated, a crack to his words as he closed his eyes tightly. “You really scared me today.”

Y/N tried to sit up, frowning from the pain. Sokka immediately knelt down next to her to help and it felt too much like the night he first woke her up from a nightmare, saying soft words and treating her nicely. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, holding onto his forearms for support, “I didn’t exactly mean to.”

“I know,” he muttered in response, sitting down in front of her. She crossed her legs under her and they stared at each other for a few moments, thick tension surrounding them. She couldn’t help but notice how close they were to each other, so close she didn’t have to lean in too much for their lips to touch. Slowly and unsurely, Sokka brought his hand up to put a lock of hair away from her face. Her stomach fluttered at the touch and Y/N sighed happily. “I was just afraid.”

She blinked in soft confusion that made his insides bloom with butterflies, “afraid of what?”

“Of losing you.”

She smiled, “You know Katara would heal me, Sokka.”

“I care about you very much, Y/N,” the words stumbled out of his mouth while she stared, “more than I probably should, but I do. You,” he shook his head, hesitantly taking his hand away from her face and wiping the tears that had escaped his eyes, “you mean a lot to me.”

His heart seemed to burn while she took his hand in hers, squeezing it delicately, “you mean a lot to me too.”

He exhaled deeply, frustrated to no end. “No, Y/N. You don’t understand. I—damn, I don’t even know how to say this.”

“I get it.”

“You don’t. You have no idea how broken I was just by thinking of not having you around anymore. I was so scared. I thought I would never be able to tell you how I feel about you,” he let out a shaky breath before leading his eyes back to her face, “I really like you, Y/N.”

“I really like you too.”

He groaned, “no, Y/N. I mean that I like you.”

“Yes, I understood that much.”

“No, I mean I—” he was interrupted by her soft lips on his, moving so gently he was sure he could die from the sheer tenderness of it all. Sokka was fast to kiss her back, bringing his fingers up to hold her jaw while her hands went up to his hair, a sharp pain running through her body at the movement and making her hiss. He moved away instantly, but her arms held him close. Their noses were still touching and they breathed heavily, eyes trained on each other.

She smirked, “is that what you meant?”

He chuckled weakly, rubbing circles on her jaw fondly with his thumb, “yeah. You’re way better at confessions than I am.”

Y/N threw her head back in laughter and he grinned at her happiness, “why, thank you.”

The couple gazed at each other, eyes sparkling with love. She sighed before leaning in and giving him a quick peck, giggling when his lips followed her blindly as she distanced her face from his. Sleepiness was catching up to her from the exhaustion of being hurt.

“Come on, waterboy. Lay with me.”

Sokka helped her lay back down, lying beside her and feeling his cheeks flush with delight when she snuggled up to him, getting into a comfortable spot with her head placed on his chest. He carefully positioned his hands on her waist, stroking her side absentmindedly. Her eyes fluttered close with satisfaction.

“Did Katara ask about your scar?”

“Not really. I think she was too worried trying to save me from death and all that.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was.”

She grinned, moving to play with his hair and exhaling contently, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He tightened his hold around her, warmth coating his every touch, “so am I, firegirl. So am I.”

In that moment, Y/N cared for nothing but the way his skin felt on hers and the sound of his heart beating under her ear.

so I asked @azucanela​ @beifongsss​ and @sokkascroptop​ on anon if I could tag them when this was done and they said yes so here it is? please give me honest criticism I have no idea of what I’m doing and I admire you all very much thank you!!

[gummy-friend]

An AU where Wilbur and Techno are borrowers in Phil and Tommy's house

Masterlist • Next chapter

Content warning: Language.

Also, I made up the medical scene by myself— don't worry, it doesn't contain blood or serious surgical stuffs or anything— it's just a "how do I write it so it has a bandaging scene? 🤔" type of thing

Ch. 2

—————

Phil thought it would be a normal morning for him. He noticed that he's lacking in some ingridients, so he thought it'd be nice to make a mental list of what he should buy for his grocery run. Yeah. It should be normal. Phil never expected that he'll found himself staring at an unconcious body of a tiny person.

Before him— laying unconscious— was a tiny person. Phil quickly realizes that Tommy was, In fact, not dreaming when he told him the story of how he found two tiny people bickering. Phil haven't forgotten himself thinking Tommy imagining seeing a pink-haired tiny person sure is strange when he heard Tommy mentioned it at the dining table. Wait— wasn't there two tiny people in Tommy's story...?

***

Wilbur is currently frozen still. He couldn't do anything as he watches the human staring at Techno's unconscious body. Fuck— He should've listened to Techno when he said that "It's too early" and to "Wait for the human to go outside, just to be safe". Now Techno is laying unconcious in front of the human, and who knows what the fuck will the human do to Techno.

A whole minute felt like an hour to Wilbur as he stared down at the human who was staring at his twin. Eventually, the human broke out of his trance and decided to poke at Techno's limp body— No no no- what's he going to do to Techno— ..and then the human speedwalked away. His footsteps gave a little echo to the house, he looks like he's in a hurry.

Now's my chance Wilbur thought. He had the vague idea of climbing down as fast as he can, try and drag Techno towards the shadow, wait for the human to leave (while praying that he won't look for them), and go home— That way the human can forgot about Techno and possibly thinking that he was imagining things. It's okay. The borrowing trip can wait. It's okay.

It is not okay. Because as soon as Wilbur was about to initiate his plan, his plan failed. With the human coming back to Techno— with several tools bottles in his hands. Fuck— is he going to experiment on Techno???

Wilbur stared for a good moment at the human and Techno before a loud "Heey!!" startled him. The human was yelling to thin air, to his surroundings. "I know there are two tiny people" oh fuck "please come out, your pink-haired friend is unconcious, and I honestly can't tend to him accurately! If you're here, please help me treat him!!"

Huh?

"Please, I heard from Tommy— The other human— that you two seem pretty close, please help me treat him. I don't want him to die"

"He's going to die?!" Wilbur exclaimed from the top of the cabinet, and the human's head shot up to meet his eyes and Oh fuck, they locked eyes

"Oh phew there you are—" the human breathed out, still locking eyes with Wilbur. "Oh- uh- I actually don't know. I hope not. Can you- uh- can you help me treat his wounds?" he plead. To which Wilbur doesn't know what to do. He wants to go down. He has to. His twin is at the mercy of a collosal human and if Techno is going to be taken away, Wilbur at least doesn't want Techno and himself to be left alone.

Wilbur nodded.

Wilbur nodded and struggled as he tried to climb down the cabinet. He wouldn't dare using his and Techno's path nor his tools in front of the human. It can be used as a proof that "hey! I live in this place long enough to know what I'm doing here and how to tread this place!" and that is not a desireable scenario.

For a moment, Wilbur noticed that the human was opening his hand in favour of a platform— Wilbur dodges it. It doesn't matter if there's a possibility of the human wanting to help him, the thought of him standing on a human's hand was scary and weird.

"How... How do we treat him..?" Wilbur said, words slow when he finally able to reach the same surface as Techno's unconscious body

"Wait a second-" The human cutted his sentence as he takes out a slim, rectangular object, and begin tapping it— to which Wilbur responds VERY defensively, by the way. He doesn't know what the fuck does the object do, but he shouldn't trust whatever the human is doing —Fuck, has he fell right into the human's trap? "So it says here that it's best to check for other injuries, and if the patient is bleeding, to clear out the blood"

"Huh—?"

"Here, I have tissues for that" The human said while handing Wilbur a big sheet of tissue. His face buried in favor of reading the now-shining rectangular object— no wonder he didn't notice how bewildered Wilbur's face is

As a result, Wilbur took the sheet of tissue panickingly, he forgot how light a tissue is, and almost fell over

"Ah fuck— I'm sorry, was it too big? Do I need to cut it for you?"

"Cut what?" Wilbur's expression paled, he wasn't paying attention to the human one for a while. This situation was already weird and scary enough for him. Fumk, is he talking about cutting—

"The tissue" Phil answered, interrupting Wilbur's morbid thought. If Wilbur listened more closely, he could hear the tone on the human's voice mirrored both worry and concern for the him.

"Oh- uh- N-No. I can do it myself, I'm sorry—" Wilbur breathed out. Fuck. No time for panicking. No. Focus. Focus on Techno. He has to treat Techno's injury. Even if it means he'll have to work with a human.

ｏｏｏ

" —and then I believe after the bandage is wrapped, he should not be moved for a while in caution for any broken bones" the human finishes, and put down the slim, shining rectangular object— which Wilbur swear he knew what the thing is called— swapping it with a pair of scissors, and began to cut the bandage cloth to the appropriate size. "Here, please wrap the bandage"

"I... I don't know how" Wilbur meekly replied, taking in the texture of the bandage cloth in his hand. It's actually a good texture for sheets, maybe he should borrow some sometimes—

"Oh," the human began to look up picture tutorial on how to wrap bandages on his phone. Not noticing Wilbur's pale face.

Fuck fuck fuck. The previous realization finally caught up to Wilbur. He's a borrower— a small, small being— next to a Human —A huge being who have too much power over Borrowers and is very ....cruel.

"Here" the human said, as a sudden shine encompassed Wilbur's view.

It's the rectangular object—No, wait, it's a "Phone" right?— It's the phone. Specifically the shining side of the phone— the side that the human was reading the information from— directed towards Wilbur. A white screen with pictures and instructions on how to wrap a bandage was shown on it.

"To be honest I actually didn't know so I had to search it up. You can follow the instructions here— uh..?"

Wilbur's vision blurred, and his knees feels weak, and before he knew it, his face is now wet

Has the human ever shown any ill intent to both of them this far?

"Are you.. crying...?" the human's— Philza's — sudden voice from above him woke him up from his trance, and Wilbur shot his head up to look at the human.

This is actually Wilbur's first time to look at Philza's face so very clearly, without the usual fear that clouds his mind. His face was big, sure enough, and it took up Wilbur's whole view. But it's not that, Philza's face was so.. Kind. Oh stars they are so kind. A pair of big green eyes are locked on to his brown pair. Philza's expression reflects no malicious intent, his eyebrows furrowed in worry for Wilbur, his mouth half-opened in concern of an unsaid "are you okay?" for Wilbur, and his eyes are practically shining with kindness. Kindness that is directed towards Wilbur.

It teared down the dam on Wilbur's heart.

And Wilbur cried.

Wilbur cried until his body was exhausted on energy, and he sleeps. Wilbur fell asleep with the soft bandage cloth in his hand, and Wilbur fell asleep without knowing the soft bandage cloth blanketed his body by Philza.

[thepartyresponsible]

this soundtrack fill is for kittenlzlz, who i cannot tag because it’s all sabotage all the time over here. also, i'm sorry, i didn’t realize you’d changed your prompt until after i wrote this one, so this is for the first thing you sent in.

anyway, here’s some dystopian sci-fi angst for sam and bucky with a hopeful ending. the song for this one is “achilles come down” by gang of youth.

                                                         —

When he was young, Sam spent thirty-seven weeks in New Mexico, learning how to keep people alive until evac. That others may live was a motto they preferred to operationalize rather than idealize, and, without the EMT training, pararescue tended to turn into high-risk body retrieval. So he spent the better part of a year learning how to keep a body breathing, and he learned, also, how to recognize when any effort was likely to be wasted.

Which is how he knows that what he’s looking at isn’t fully human. Because a human would already be dead.

It’s the blood that tells him, more than anything else. The Chitauri bleed a thick, dark blue substance that goes black if their cybernetics are leaking. And there’s plenty of blue and black puddled on the asphalt, but that red is a hemoglobin gift, and that means it’s all human.

“Shit, man,” Sam says, crouching next to the only human at this massacre. “You could keep a blood bank in business all by yourself.”

The man lifts his head and blinks at him, slow and a little dazed. Not dazed enough, though. He can almost focus on Sam’s face. “Not anymore,” he says, after a beat.

More blood bubbles up at the corners of his mouth. Sam can see it between his teeth.

“Yeah,” Sam says. And he laughs, because he might as well. Because he came out here with a team of ten to clean out the aliens, and it looks like one guy did their work for them. “Guess not.”

He’s a pathetic sight, really. Ragged body armor, hair clumped together, skin sticky with blood and ichor. He’s belly down on the cracked parking lot, and there’s a smear of blood behind him, showing exactly how far he’s managed to drag himself.

Sam’s not excited about what he’s going to see, when he rolls this guy over on his back.

“You gonna fight me if I help you?” he asks.

Most of them, these Enhanced, the surviving Super Soldiers, they can’t help it. Sam’s had to put a few down himself, although not for a while now. It’s been almost a year since he had to kill anything with a human face.

The man sighs. He rests his forehead against the asphalt, closes his eyes. His fingers flex and then go still. “I don’t know,” he says.

That others may live, Sam thinks. But the problem has always been that lives are balanced on both sides of the scales, and, sometimes, saving one means sacrificing another.

This man killed fifteen Chitauri, and he did it alone. There are kids back at the base. Vulnerable people.

The safest choice would be to leave him here. Let him save himself, if he can. But Sam’s never really been the safe choice type.

“Okay,” he says, hands curling around his shoulders, carefully rolling the man over on his back, “let’s see the damage.”

It’s enough to kill a human. But that’s not really what he’s dealing with.

                                                           —    

The Super Soldiers were a desperation play. Sam was supposed to be one of them. The best of Earth’s fighters, dosed with serum, patched up with cybernetics based on Chitauri tech, sent out to face the enemies that had invaded the planet.

Sam’s still not sure exactly how it happened, what level of their defenses failed. He only knows failure by its consequences.

The neural implants were hacked. The soldiers turned against their people. Sam, who’d been four days out from his own procedure, was shifted to a team tasked with hunting them down and eliminating them.

These days, there aren’t many left. There’s not much of anyone left. The Chitauri fundamentally misunderstood their target. Sam could’ve warned them. The species of mutually assured destruction was never going to die quiet.

He thinks about that while the Soldier sleeps, chained to a bed in a locked basement in an abandoned building two miles from the base. Sam keeps watch. He has a radio in case anything goes wrong, but he doesn’t intend to use it for anything other than warning them what’s coming.

“I could’ve been you,” Sam tells him. And then, smiling at nothing, shaking his head, “Hell, you could’ve been me.”

He wonders where he’s from. He wonders what his name is.

He wonders, when he can’t help it, what he did. If he ever killed anyone Sam used to know.

                                                           —    

The Soldier sleeps for forty hours and then sits straight up in bed, rips the chains off his wrists like they’re pipe cleaners, and then turns to face Sam. “What the hell,” he says.

“Oh, well,” Sam says, too startled to be afraid. “Didn’t want anyone stealing you.”

The Soldiers makes a face at him, an incredulous sneer that twists up his mouth and pulls his dark eyebrows together, and he looks so human, so perfectly skeptical, that Sam starts laughing.

“Well,” he says, with a shrug, “you killed fifteen aliens with a tire iron. You’re a treasure.”

“And I want it back.” he says, immediately. “Where’s my tire iron?”

“Confiscated,” Sam says.

He glares, and Sam‘s probably meant to be intimidated, but he knows – they both know – that, if this guy wanted to scare Sam, he could just start breaking bones. Or walls. “I want it back when I leave.”

“Leave,” Sam repeats. He kicks back in his chair, balances on the back legs as he swings his feet up onto the Soldier’s bed. “Why’re you leaving?”

The Soldier stares at Sam’s booted feet near his knees. “Usually it’s the fact that I’m a timebomb that chases me off,” he says, “but it looks like your manners are the real horrorshow around here.”

Sam grins at him. He’s merciless about it, uses the most charming smile in his arsenal. He expects the guy to soften a bit, but he’s not expecting the doubletake he gets, the there-and-away bounce of his stare, like Sam’s suddenly something he wants to look at but doesn’t want to get caught looking at.

Huh, he thinks.

“When’s the last time you hurt someone?” Sam asks.

The Soldier’s face crumples up and then flattens out. “What is this? Some kinda trial? An interrogation?”

“If this were an interrogation, I wouldn’t’ve given you the soft pillows,” Sam tells him.

The Soldier doesn’t look like he buys it. But, after a moment, he tips his head to the side. “Probably wouldn’t want to get blood on these white sheets,” he acknowledges.

“Christ,” Sam says, because that more or less seems to be the only thing he could possibly say to something like that.

The Soldier shrugs. He brushes his hair away from his face, blinks, and gives Sam a skeptical sideways stare. “Did you wash my hair?”

“With a firehose,” Sam confirms. “Damn near shaved the whole thing off. You were a mess, man.”

He shrugs. “It’s messy work.”

And, sure, it is. Sam knows. His base is the first resettlement outpost in this region. They’ve been clearing Chitauri out of the area for months.

But he still takes a damn shower whenever possible.

“Who were you?” Sam asks. “Before the program?”

The Soldier looks away. Looks at nothing. After a long pause, he recites, careful and rote, “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 107th.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “James. When’s the last time you hurt a human being?”

He worries at his lower lip, teeth pressing into the skin. He’s quiet for a very long time. “Thirteen months, ten days,” he says, finally.

Sam considers the timeline. “You think it’s over?”

“I think the implant’s in my fucking brain,” he says. “It’ll be over at brain death.”

“It’s just a chip,” Sam says. “It’s not sentient. Someone’s gotta send the message, right?”

The Soldier’s jaw works. “Even if the aliens stay out, there’s gonna be plenty of people who want to use someone like me, as soon as they rebuild enough to manage.”

It’s a hell of thing, and it could’ve been Sam.

He nudges the Soldier’s knee with his boot, and the Soldier stares at the point of contact. He doesn’t look angry anymore. If Sam had to use a word to describe the expression on the Soldier’s face, he thinks he’d use something bittersweet and barbed, something like lonely or longing.

“Gonna be a long damn time before anyone’s rebuilt,” he says.

“Aliens could have reinforcements here at any time,” the Soldier says.

“Maybe,” Sam says, although he thinks they might’ve learned some kind of lesson. At the very least, they’ve probably learned that it’s just not worth the effort.

“Look,” Sam says. “I think you should come back to the base.”

“No,” he says. Immediate and definite, louder then he’s been so far.

Sam expected it. Maybe part of him hoped for it. “Okay,” he says. “Then we’ll stay here. And, when you’re better, I want you to take a radio. And I want you to check in with us. All right? Every day.”

The Soldier stares at him. “Why the hell would you want that?”

Sam smiles, studies the hollows of the Soldier’s face, the scars, the freckles he must’ve earned when he was young, used to play too long in the sun. He has, Sam thinks, beautiful eyes. “There’s not a lot of us left,” he says.

“‘Us,’” the Soldier repeats, scoffing audibly.

“Us,” Sam repeats. He nudges the Soldier’s knee again, and the Soldier cuts his eyes away, glares at the wall. But, a moment later, he shifts, leans his knee into Sam.

                                                         —      

His name is Bucky Barnes. He’s fussy as hell, stubborn beyond belief, helpful every chance he can get, and fond of cats and songbirds. He doesn’t cheat at cards, and he doesn’t accuse Sam of it either, even when Sam beats him damn near every hand.

He’s a good man. Even now.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Sam says. Because it’s been two weeks, and Bucky’s decided he’s well enough to go.

Bucky ducks his head. “Shut up,” he says.

Sam wonders if he was always this head shy about affection.

“C’mere,” he says. “I’ll give you a goodbye kiss.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, practically scuttling away, head still ducked. When he raises it, he’s grinning one of his ghost grins, the ones that almost show who he used to be, like a faint echo of a louder, happier man.

“Okay,” Sam says. “But if I don’t get a goodbye kiss, I’m definitely not gonna talk dirty to you on that radio. You gotta put in the work, Bucky.”

“I hate you,” Bucky tells him, and his crush couldn’t be more obvious. Sam would be embarrassed for him, if he weren’t busy being charmed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says. “Check in every day, or I’m gonna track you down.”

“Hm,” Bucky says. He adjusts his pack on his shoulders. He’s got that tire iron, an alarming number of knives, and two guns. He’s setting off to kill more aliens. He’s going alone. “That supposed to be a threat?”

He was a Barnes in the Army and Sam was a Wilson in the Air Force, and so Bucky is a Super Soldier and Sam is not. It’s unpredictable, sometimes, the way mercy falls.

“Be careful out there,” Sam says, and he knocks his elbow against Bucky’s.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He rolls his eyes and then catches Sam watching, and he blinks, falters. “Yeah,” he says, again. Softer, steadier. A promise, not a joke.

Sam considers him, lets the moment hang. Waits. Sometimes, all Bucky needs is the space and time to make up his own mind.

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” Bucky says.

“There it is,” Sam says, grinning, almost crowing in triumphant. “There--”

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes again, getting theatrical about it. “I already regret saying it.”

“Can’t take it back,” Sam taunts, grinning wide and smug.

“I’m going,” Bucky says, and he starts off, doesn’t look back.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam calls, when Bucky’s just about to break through the treeline, disappear into the woods. “I hate to see you go, but I love----”

“Fuck off, Sam!” Bucky says, but he’s laughing, and Sam can still hear it – surprised and happy, fully human – even after Bucky disappears.

[bigskydreaming]

Hello, hello, tis I, your friendly neighborhood ‘dude who is obsessed with people making jokes and insults out of Dick’s name’ back with another episode of Why No But Seriously Why!

In today’s episode, we’re going to focus on the fanon of the swear jar. That thing ordained by Alfred that makes many an appearance in fics and headcanons....including ones that also show Jason and/or others calling Dick a Dickhead and other things all willy nilly and suchlike and forthwith.

How does this track, asketh I? Does Alfred provide exemption clauses for making fun of your brother, to the others? Does Alfred not consider making crude insults out of the name Dick to be a swear? Does Alfred, a born Brit, hailing from the land of the “We’ve Been Calling Richards ‘Dicks’ For Longer Than The Rest Of You Have Been Calling Them Rich’s,” not consider the fascination with making penis jokes out of the name of a child he’s helped raised from the age of EIGHT to be uncultured, crass and frankly unacceptable in any house he resides in?

I’m just saying, does it really make sense, and is the risk of pulling readers out of your story if they’re NOT amused by the jokes made of his name really worth whatever it is you feel is added to a story BY making the same old jokes about Dick’s name?

As I’ve said many times before....Dick Grayson? Fictional character. Has no feelings that actually need protecting....OUTSIDE of fiction. Making jokes about his name from beyond the fourth wall, just people commenting on a fictional character’s name? Go wild, go crazy, have a freaking Bacchanalia. Truly does not matter, if you ask me.

But IN universe? IN fiction? Totally different story, because look what those jokes require or make assumptions out of:

1) That Dick truly has no protective or defensive feelings whatsoever about his childhood nickname, and genuinely feels nothing about people habitually taking his choice to keep it as an invitation to insult or mock him.

1b) That Dick doesn’t in any way ever perceive peoples’ insistence on associating his name MORE with the insults and penis jokes than they do with it just being a name, to in any way be a slight against his beloved parents, of the “well they should have known better than to call him that” variety.

1c) That Dick has no negative feelings whatsoever about the fact that even his close friends and family regard his name as being no more worthy of respect or being ‘offlimits’ than the average Gothammite or public citizen might regard it, despite the fact that his close friends and family are perfectly aware of the public’s history of looking down on Dick for his origins and thus you’d think would WANT to appear different than them in Dick’s eyes.

1d) That Dick has never at any point expressed anger, frustration or bitterness that he can’t even have his name respected without even loved ones superimposing their own associations on top of it, no matter what it means to HIM.

2) That Alfred truly has no opinions whatsoever of the other charges in his care disrespecting Dick’s name and its origins stemming from his first parents.

2b) That Alfred has never expressed this opinion to any of them or made his displeasure about such jokes known.

2c) That Alfred doesn’t find it disappointing that the rest of the family and associated friends and allies seem disinclined to separate themselves from the general public’s opinions of Dick’s name by regarding it with a little more respect as at least a sign that they regard Dick himself with a little more respect than the general public.

3) That Jason or none of Dick’s other friends or family have never taken the initiative to wonder for themselves how Dick might actually feel about the frequent jokes or insults, and if shockingly, he might not actually be fond of them.

3b) That Jason or Dick’s other friends or family have chosen not to care or respect the opinions of Dick and/or Alfred or anyone else who states or suggests that these jokes or insults aren’t welcome.

4) That none of Dick’s other friends, be they Titans, or Uncle Clark, or siblings like Cass or Damian or frankly anyone, ever speak up in defense of Dick’s name and suggest that there’s a significant lack of respect around it and thus around him, that they personally take a very dim view of. (Even when Jason’s best friends include Dick’s former fianceé and own longtime BFF).

5) That nobody has ever bothered to think that only EVER being addressed by some form of insult by even his own siblings might possibly have a slightly demoralizing effect on someone’s self-esteem over time.

5b) That nobody has ever bothered to think that making sexual jokes about his name and thus innately sexualizing Dick from even his earliest days in Gotham, when coupled with the hyper-sexualized stereotypes people often apply to Romani individuals and further coupled with the suggestive rumors surrounding Bruce’s reasons for taking in a young boy, might possibly have contributed over time to Dick having an extremely skewed view of himself as an innately sexualized being no matter what he actually did in terms of sexual behavior.

I mean.....there’s more. If I felt like it.

But the point is......there’s a LOT of implicit assumptions that creep in alongside the seemingly harmless jokes and insults surrounding Dick’s name, the second you start to really focus in on how it might appear from his POV....IF you include even just the possibility that he DOESN’T like it.

EDIT: Also, lots of people have pointed out that its just sibling culture to make fun of a sibling in ways that you wouldn’t be okay with someone outside the family making the same jokes. And this is absolutely true! BUT. My issue here and why I don’t think the Dickhead jokes fall under this umbrella, is because I can say in my experience being from a blended family, and from what I’ve discussed in the past with other kids from blended families....there are ‘rules’ about this sort of thing, when you have adopted siblings, and the one near-universal truth that I’ve always found is that anything that stems from an adopted sibling’s first family, the one you do NOT share with them, is absolutely off limits. You mock them for something that originated outside your family, you’re the asshole, because at that point, you’re literally no different from outsiders to your current family making fun of that sibling. That ‘joke’ is not YOURS to make or share in, if you do not have the history with the thing you’re basing the joke on, that your sibling has with it. Shared history is the entire basis of siblings being able to mock each other while still citing solidarity against outsiders, and in adopted families, there absolutely are elements of each others’ lives that YOU are the outsider to, and it absolutely falls on you to respect that just as you’d want your sibling to respect the same of you in turn. If Jason absolutely would not be okay with Dick or anyone else making jokes about Catherine or his life with her, he should not be okay with making jokes about Dick’s name, circus origins, or other aspects of his life that stem from or call back to his time with his first family. The same holds true of all the others as well.

The other aspect of this name-calling not falling under the excuse-umbrella of just being typical sibling culture is its entirely one-sided. Show me the tendency where Dick responds to these everpresent jokes or insults by even light-heartedly calling Jason and the others insults like Hey Asshole, or Dumbass or anything like that. When things are entirely one-way, the impression given is not that of a camaraderie of back-and-forth. It becomes just one person or multiple people punching down in a way they feel confident from experience the other person will NOT respond in kind, which gives them an outlet for venting frustration, resentment or aggravation which risks them nothing, because they KNOW Dick won’t retaliate, and at that point that exchange becomes something very different from a general sibling back-and-forth....because there’s no ‘back.’ What you end up with at that point is literally just hostility, no matter if more mild than other cases, and a situation where one sibling is simply taking ADVANTAGE of the opportunity afforded by another sibling’s good nature and refusal to engage in hurt feelings even while you feel free to cause those feelings in them. And that’s just not a good look. Its just not. And even if you find those exchanges humorous yourself as a writer or a reader, you might want to keep in mind that to plenty of other readers, its making even the characters you like and INTEND to be liked, just....come across as kinda not cool assholes instead.

END OF EDIT.

And here’s the other point:

Its not really about his name, and never has been.

His name is simply emblematic of how EASY it is for people to fall into the trap of just....choosing to overlook Dick’s POV entirely, the second its pitted against other characters and what they might gain from their POV....even if that ‘gain’ is as simple and basic as the slight moment of humor Jason gets from making a joke or mocking insult out of Dick’s name.

Here, let me present this another way:

Every single person alive has SOMETHING they get defensive or protective about. SOMETHING that they’re like no, this is offlimits to people, this is not for their consumption, their entertainment, its not for THEM to take and twist into something other than what it is for ME, because its MINE. This is basic human nature. EVERYONE has this feeling about SOMETHING that’s particular to them.

And with Dick, most of the things that we’re generally given to view him being protective or defensive about are either almost more about other people than him - such as being protective of his family members - or else, they’re things that he’s not ALLOWED to be purely defensive or say, territorial about.

Like for instance, the name Robin.

Think about how Robin is pretty much one of the ONLY things Dick is largely deemed to be defensive or proprietary about.....BUT how that’s also largely used NOT to have him wholly in the right for feeling that way.....but to put him in conflict with the other Robins, given that they also have strong feelings about the name regardless of its origins, and its not solely Dick’s anymore.

Now here’s my question:

If for example, you go with the take that Robin was Dick’s mother’s name for him, and that’s why Dick is so protective and defensive of that name.....why would he be any LESS protective or defensive about his mother AND father’s OTHER name for him....given that the only possible reason for him TO stick with the name Dick all throughout adulthood, is that its the form of his name they referred to him by, and thus, clearly, it DOES carry emotional significance for him?

See what I’m saying?

Why is it, that the only time so many people see Dick laying a claim to something, being defensive or protective of something that’s HIS, standing up for HIMSELF.....is when the waters are murky, when its not a clear cut case of him being wholly in the right, when it pits Dick against someone else and says both are at least somewhat valid?

Why is it so RARE to see people imagine Dick putting his foot down in defense of himself, in defense of something that’s HIS.....where its 100% crystal clear that he has every right and reason in the world to feel this way, where there’s no doubt whatsoever that he’s on the correct side of thinking “this is mine and I get to say this”?

Even about something as simple and basic as his own name?

And why is it the only time we seem to see people sticking up for Dick or weighing in on his behalf, its in the case of extreme actions like him having been raped or abused? Why are there hardly any stories of people looking at alleged family and friends bitching about Dick or heaping insults on him or his capabilities and saying hey, he’s been doing this while most of us were sitting in middle school detention, you could show him some respect? Why do none of the people who value and respect Dick so highly ever seem to weigh in like THAT in stories?

My challenge, should you choose to accept it, is just to look at the above list of possible reasons why Dick might not be thrilled about how people use his name....and just IMAGINE what it would look like, if Dick just said to another character....”Hey. Could you cut that out. I would appreciate it if you didn’t do that.” Even just “I really don’t like that.”

How does a scene like that go? One where Dick is wholly and completely justified in putting his foot down, in feeling that someone is overstepping or paying him an insult or a disservice?

We hear all the time in fandom about how in the name of ‘humanizing’ Dick and ‘making him more relatable’ some people focus overly much on emphasizing his flaws, his alleged temper, his secretiveness, etc.

I’d like to argue that flaws are not actually the only staple of humanity. Risking making a character more dislikable is not actually the only way to make them feel more human or relatable. THIS is another way to do that. Make them defensive, proprietary, territorial, even prickly.....but with REASON. With CAUSE. With JUSTIFICATION. Because people are ALLOWED to be, when people are being a - all irony intended - total dick to them.

And there is a long, LONG history in fanfics, of people being exactly that to Dick, and him just....smiling.

EXCEPT for when his choice NOT to smile, and to actually take offense and push back......pits him against another character but with the other character usually being granted just as much right and reason to not give way.

So? I’m saying you have right here a perfect example of how to flip the script on that. To make it abundantly clear that Dick has just as much right to put his foot down with even people who love and care about him and say hey, you’re doing something I don’t like, that in fact even hurts me, and I want you to stop.

Why not use it? Why does there always seem to need to be an ARGUMENT about whether or not Dick is in the right to feel wronged in some way.....when its so abundantly clear that he’s given no shortage of reasons for that in practically every other fic?

And consider.....if you’ve never previously entertained the idea that Dick might take offense to how people treat his name, or feel defensive about it......what else might you be overlooking that he could feel that way about, and is there any reason why you think you tend not to view Dick as being defensive of HIMSELF and things that are uniquely his?

*Shrugs* Just food for thought, mayhaps.

[a-lil-bi-furious]

Scisaac :D

oof, thank you for this ask, and I am so sorry this took so long to respond. It’s finals season and I grossly underestimated how much I have to do 😅 But here it is, in all it's (hopefully understandable) rambling glory: Scisaac

*aggressively hits ship button* 

1) What made you ship it?

I’ve been on the Scisaac train for a looooong time now. When I was first watching Teen Wolf, during my own very teen-y but non-wolfy years, I don’t think I actually started to ship them until a bit into 3A. When I re-watched the show, though, that scene in the club with “No, I mean you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” had me as done for as Isaac. (There’s this lovely gif set someone made, too, that’s just a close up on their hands during the syringe hand-off, and all the subtle, soft finger brushing makes me go feral.) Anyway, that scene was the shipping spark, but it wasn’t really what established Scisaac as an important relationship to me.

For me, the scene in the clinic with the dog (in 2x11 “Battlefield”) is what really cemented that. It’s funny, because this scene really isn’t a shipping scene, right? This is a learning moment which focuses more on resident-mentor Alan Deaton extending to Isaac the opportunity to learn how to use his abilities for something other than anger and power. And I love it so much for that! But the interaction between Scott and Isaac makes me weak. Because you’ve got Isaac--this jaded, abused kid who holds a lot of resentment and fear and accepted the bite, most likely, to feel like he had some modicum of control in his life and the strength to not feel helpless anymore, and in the end externalized all of that rage--experiencing this moment of raw vulnerability with two people who, by all counts, should want nothing to do with him. And we can talk about how that moment in the club was probably one of the first times anyone has shown genuine concern for Isaac’s well-being (and how this act of kindness was coming from someone he’s been hostile to) in who knows how long, but what about the first moment Isaac acts in compassion and tenderness? How long has it been since he considered himself capable of feeling something that wasn’t pain, fear, or that deep seated fury which swallows everything else? How long has it been since Isaac knew any language other than violence? For a moment he’s cracked open and everything is overwhelming and rather than using his hands as weapon and shield, he’s using them to heal. He cries, and for a moment he’s even startled--maybe scared. And what does Scott do? He immediately offers a point of connection and consolation (“It’s okay, I cried the first time he showed me, too.”)

Scott has this heart which is (sometimes dangerously) open and exposed. He cares and he believes so deeply in humanity and goodness that even when he’s spent weeks(?) fighting Isaac, distrusting Isaac, he’s also been worrying about Isaac. And the way Scott acts in this scene is so soft and curious as he’s standing by, watching. It’s like he’s just been waiting for Isaac to let his guard down just enough to step outside of what Derek’s been teaching him (about anger and control, just like he did Scott). And he gets this tiny little smile on his face as he watches it happen, because I can imagine he knows almost exactly how Isaac is feeling. Scott presents it differently and he often buries it down, but he’s angry too. All the time, at so many things, but he chooses to channel his energy into helping other people. And seeing Isaac, who up until this moment has mostly shown animosity and apathy, brought to tears when he learns he can take pain from others just proves to Scott that the tenderness pays off, that caring heals. Everyone is capable of kindness if they choose it, and to watch Isaac open himself up a little bit to that option--one that hasn’t been available to him for a long time--is incredibly rewarding. It just was such a warm, vulnerable, and genuine exchange between all three of them, and given how closed off Isaac is it was a significant indicator of the safety he was starting to feel around Scott. 

2) What are your favorite things about the ship?

re: above, my favorite thing about this ship is how tender and vulnerable each of them can be with the other (in their own ways) and how they challenge each other in ways they both really need. Scott encourages Isaac to turn away from aggression as a solution and to focus more on others, on compassionate and peaceful forms of resolution. (It’s uhhh....a work in progress.) Scott softens Isaac in a way I think he really needs. Conversely,  Isaac challenges Scott in ways he really needs. Isaac encourages him to place more focus on himself and actually attend to his needs. And also? I just think they would have fun, because Isaac = trouble and Scott 100% enjoys shenanigans more than he acts like he does. He’s a little shit at heart, and I’m here for Isaac encouraging that.

Also, I think their relationship has a good balance because they’re very different people, but I think that they have some points of relation that run deep in ways many people wouldn’t understand. For one thing, I think that Scott has a foundation of understanding for Isaac’s experience of childhood abuse and how this informs his behavior. This is entirely up to interpretation because the show never specified beyond the time Rafael accidentally(?) pushed Scott down the stairs, but even if Scott didn’t experience physical abuse outside of this incident, it’s pretty clear that Rafael is an angry, violent drunk and that the relationship in that home was toxic and (judging by his interactions with Scott and Melissa) likely emotionally abusive. It probably wasn’t always that way; it wasn’t always that way for Isaac either. The abuse that Isaac endured was different and more severe (at least in a physical sense), and whereas Scott’s dad left when he was ten, Isaac was stuck with his dad until the kanima killed him. But I think that experience of living in a home that doesn’t feel safe is something they both share. Isaac’s initial reaction seems to be to run away or retreat when he’s unsafe, but Scott’s is to make it a safe place. I could ramble on and on, but what I’m getting at is just that I think even with extremely different personalities and ideologies, they’d be able to understand each other in very specific, personal ways and help each other cope. I’m also a huge sucker for the fact that Isaac showed up on the McCall’s doorstep and that Scott’s home literally became his home--but, really, Scott became his home. And rather than run or hide when things are scary, he defends his home now (metaphorical and physical) and keeps building it up again. (And yeah, sometimes defense means beating a guy he already hated senseless over Scott not healing and then Scott probably being less than pleased about it, but it’s a learning curve okay?)

3) Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship? 

I’m not sure what the general opinions are on this ship, especially now. But the most unpopular opinion I probably have is about Isaac’s temperament. A lot of people have a tendency to kind of take aforementioned softness and turn Isaac into a very gentle, sweet, puppy-like character, which I just don’t think is realistic. Really and truly, Isaac’s a sarcastic asshole with anger issues and not a whole lot of tact. And, though I tend to think he softens up quite a bit with Scott, I don’t think that changes the nature of his behavior, if that makes sense? I actually think part of the reason Isaac is a good match for Scott in the first place is because he’s this way. Scott has a tendency to ignore his own needs, which often means his wellbeing suffers. Isaac’s the kind of person to point out the bullshit, no sugar-coating, and stubbornly counter Scott’s attempts to excuse his own self-neglect at every turn. Isaac is loyal and caring, yes, but he’s pushy and aggressive about it. And I honestly think Scott needs a partner who won’t put up with his self-sacrifice; he needs someone who’s going to be persistent, because Scott also tends to be pretty obstinate.

In conclusion, I love them your honor. 

(Send me a ship and I’ll ramble about why I do/don’t ship it!)

[therenlover]

The Doctor Is In (Part Two of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: Peter’s first few days in his new home are mostly uneventful, so he decides it’s the perfect time to dust off his running goggles and steal some shit. The building with the massive circular stained glass window seems like a great place to start! People with buildings that lavish are usually rich and weak, so what could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Attempted Theft, Secrets, Suspicions, 

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language, Slight Sexual Innuendo

Word Count: 2800~

This work, as well as the other completed parts of this series, have been crossposted to my AO3! 

-----

To Peter’s credit, it had all started with good intentions… okay, semi-good intentions, but that was the best defense he had to offer.

One moment he’s speeding into a funky building with a cool glass window looking for a knick-knack to take home to Y/N and the next he’s falling through endless darkness, searching for anything he could possibly grab onto. It was hell. Worst of all, though, he couldn’t use his speed. The world was only emptiness and darkness for as far as he could reach. Well, it was until he hit the ground.

It was a sudden jolt after what felt like hours of captivity when Peter hit the cool tiles of the flooring below him. The bright light after total darkness burned his eyes. He winced against it, lifting his arms to shield his face. There was no time to acclimate to his new surroundings, though, which were definitely not part of the building he had been inside before he might add, because the second his vision came back into focus a booming voice rang out from behind him.

“Peter Maximoff, what purpose did you have for breaking into the Sanctum Sanctorum?”

Peter spun around quickly on the ground to find a man floating behind him. Wait, floating? He didn’t even have time to question how the stranger knew his name while he was questioning what the hell he was. Was he a mutant? The man looked furious, his red cape billowing out behind him in an almost menacing manner while he stroked his goatee, eyebrows pinched together with rage. Peter had no clue what his deal was or who the hell he was looking at but he did know he had to calm him down fast if he wanted to avert disaster.

Apparently, he was thinking too long though because he wasn’t fast enough.

“I’ll ask you one last time,” the man’s hands came down to chest level, whirring with some sort of orange power, “why did you break into the Sanctum Sanctorum? This is your last chance,”

Somewhere in the distance, a dull thud sounded against the tile, like someone dropping a purse or bag. Peter didn’t have time to think about that, though. He was too busy saving his own life. All he had to do was get to his feet so he could run off! Unfortunately, that was better said than done.

“Woah, Woah, Woah!” he scrambled backward trying to stand but found his feet bound with the same orange sparks that were growing by the second in his attacker’s hands, “I have no clue what the hell a Sanctum Sanctorum is! I think you’ve got the wrong guy, man,”

His assailant cocked his head to the side. “So you’re telling me some other inhumanly fast kleptomaniac mutant from another dimension broke through all of my wards and tried to steal priceless magical artifacts from the Sanctum?”

Peter shrugged nonchalantly. “Magical artifacts? Dude, magic isn’t real. You’ve got the wrong guy,”

Thankfully, the man sighed in exhaustion, letting the orange sparks in his palms disappear as he pinched the bridge of his nose leaving only the ones around Peter’s ankles remaining. For the first time in his life, Peter was glad to be annoying.

“Jesus, I should have had my coffee before dealing with you…”

“I know right?” Peter propped himself up on his hands, “it’s always tragic when you catch the wrong guy, but I’m sure you’ll find your thief eventually. In fact, I think I saw some super speedy dude running towards Central Park when I was walking past that fancy building with the big circle window. That’s so weird! Maybe you should let me go so you can go find your guy,”

The man only seemed to get more pissed off the further Peter dug himself into his own grave. “Oh, I’m not planning on letting you go any time soon. I’m just avoiding a reckoning by letting your keeper know I’m taking you into the Avenger’s custody before we go,”

He was so screwed. “That’s not a-”

Before Peter could even finish his sentence, a crash echoed from across the room.

“STEPHEN STRANGE,”

Now, Peter couldn’t decide if he was saved or even more screwed than before.

There, across the room of what he had now gathered to be a large exhibit at some sort of museum, was Y/N. To say she looked furious would be an understatement.

The art on the walls seemed to shake in her wake as she stormed into the open center of the room, eyes boring holes into Peter’s assailant as she rolled up the sleeves of her paint-stained denim button-up. He could only imagine that this was the reckoning the magic dude was trying to avoid.

The man, Stephen, didn’t waver despite Y/N’s entrance. “Would it kill you to just use my title? I got my doctorate for a reason, you know,” His tone was flat and almost bored as Y/N seethed.

“Fuck you,” she spat, “what the hell are you doing with Peter? And bringing him here of all places? I thought you were supposed to be the responsible Avenger,”

“And I thought you were supposed to keep this menace under control. It looks like we both have a few responsibilities we aren’t keeping up with, huh?”

Across the floor, Peter winced. He hadn’t intended on getting anyone in trouble, he was just looking for a little fun to pass the time and maybe a housewarming gift that would fit in with the rest of Y/N’s antique decor. How was he supposed to know that a crazy, magic, floating guy would take him to what he could only assume was magic prison for breaking into his wizard’s lair? Surprisingly, Y/N picked up his movement.

“Peter, are you okay?” Her eyes never left Strange, flaming with a ferocity that bordered on homicidal, but her voice softened considerably as she spoke to him. He was quick to respond.

“I’m all good! A little tied up at the moment, but it’s nothing I can’t handle!” He shouted back.

Y/N nodded. “Good, just stick tight while I deal with this asshole,”

As the last words left her lips all the softness she had mustered for Peter’s sake dissolved, leaving behind pure, unbridled anger once more.

“You had no right to take him, Strange. We made a deal,”

“You’re right, we did make a deal,” Stephen responded, floating to the ground and taking a step closer to Y/N, “but my duties as Sorcerer Supreme will always come first,”

“That has nothing to do with him! He poses no threat to this universe!”

“He was attempting to steal extremely powerful magical artifacts, Y/N! If a mutant from another dimension had gotten their hands on the Book of Vishanti or the Clock of the Ages who knows what might have happened?”

Y/N stilled. “Peter,” her voice wasn’t the same as it had been when she was shouting at Strange, but it also wasn’t half as gentle as it has been before, “did you steal anything from Stephen?”

Peter, still dazed from the entirety of the experience, was quick to defend himself.

“No! No, I didn’t steal anything!”

One sharp look from Stephen and Y/N sent him spiraling for an excuse.

“Okay, I went in with the intention of stealing, but I had no idea that stuff was magical! I didn’t even know wizards existed! Witches I understood but wizards too? In the middle of New York? Besides, all of this is a moot point! I didn’t actually take anything,”

Surprisingly, Y/N’s expression seemed to soften once again. “See, Stephen? Peter didn’t mean any harm. Now let him go, and this can all be a thing of the past,” As she spoke, he could have sworn that her eyes began to faintly glow.

“I still don’t think it’s a great idea to let him roam free,” Stephen ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair and the restraints around Peter’s ankles tightened slightly.

“Then you’ll have to take him from me,” Y/N brought her hands up, small rippling balls of light beginning to grow in her palms. Peter had never been so scared and aroused in his life. Was this the ‘small power’ she had mentioned to him when he moved in?

“I have remained civil with you and the mages of your order, Strange, but you have no power over me, especially on my own home turf. You lack the time stone now, so you know what will happen if you and I go toe to toe again. Besides, none of that matters. Peter is mine. Mine to protect and defend until he returns to his rightful place in his universe. So, will you let him go, or will we have to settle this the old-fashioned way?”

Y/N’s eyes were definitely glowing now, a brilliant green gleaming from within her as a rough breeze began flowing in from the door across the room. Stephen made no move to attack though. Instead, he heaved a sigh. “You can have your man child back Y/N, calm down,”

Slowly, the glow dissipated, the orbs of light shrinking into nothingness as she lowered her hands. “Thank you, Stephen,”

In an instant, it was as if the pair had gotten along the whole time.

He nodded. “Don’t thank me, just keep him away from ancient magical secrets next time,” Strange paused as if he was finished speaking, but then chuckled softly. It was the most human Peter had ever seen him. “You know how this ends, Y/N. We both do. Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”

It was Y/N’s turn to nod. “I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, but I made my choice a long time ago. There has never been another path for me. Please respect that,”

Peter was clueless as to what any of their exchange meant, too busy rubbing the ache out of his newly freed ankles to think too deeply about whatever deep exchange was happening in front of him, but a nagging feeling in his chest made him think that it must have something to do with him.

Then, in a burst of golden light, Stephen Strange was gone, leaving Y/N and Peter alone as they took in everything that had just happened. It was silent for a moment, the two of them caught between being stunned and glad to see each other, before Y/N’s angry facade melted away.

“What a fucking asshole,” she snickered, making her way over to Peter and offering him a hand, “I hate that guy,”

Peter took her hand and, with a soft pull, was finally upright again. “I know, right? He seems like a total douchebag,”

“Right? Like, yeah it’s terrible enough to kidnap you and try to take you into Avengers custody, but trying to get me to hand you over at my job? That’s just rude on a whole new level,”

“You work here?” Peter gestured at the art on the walls, making Y/N smile.

“Yeah, this is where I go every day. Welcome to the Brooklyn Museum!” She began to lead him out towards the door, linking her arm around his in a strangely intimate act. Peter was sure that she didn’t mean it like that but something about her closeness made his heart flutter.

He guffawed as they walked, passing happy couples and exhibits packed full. “It’s cool here, but I just assumed you worked somewhere… I dunno, more hero-y?”

Y/N laughed. “Everyone always does, but I’ve been attached to restoring paintings since before I ever took up the whole hero gig. I guess it’s the one stable thing I’ve had for my whole life.”

Watching Y/N’s face light up almost made Peter forget that less than an hour earlier he’d been shoved in an infinite dark dimension and threatened with imprisonment by a wizard. It was like she was the only thing worth seeing in a building full of priceless art.

“I’ve always felt strangely comfortable in museums,” she continued, hand brushing against Peter’s bicep in what he could only assume was an accident, “being surrounded by history just feels right to me. It’s like coming home,” Peter couldn’t help but grin, holding back a snicker.

“I’m guessing that’s the real reason you offered to take me in,” he teased, gently ribbing Y/N and making her giggle, “just couldn’t help but bring home a blast from the past who still has their youthful good looks,”

“You caught me! I just couldn’t resist your elderly charms,”

In a moment of poor judgment, Peter found himself leaning into her touch but was surprised to find her leaning right back into him. His heart began to pound faster. He could only hope she couldn’t tell. The feeling of being close to Y/N, listening to her laugh, being the shoulder she leaned on… it was like nothing Peter had ever felt before.

The short remainder of their walk to Y/N’s destination was mostly quiet, but neither of them tried to pull away from the other. Their moment only ended when they reached a large door labeled ‘Staff Only’. Y/N finally unlinked her arm from Peter’s before turning to face him. He was proud to note the flush on her face.

“I’m gonna go grab my bag,” she muttered, worrying the edge of her lip with her teeth, “do you mind taking me home? Traveling with you would probably be faster than hailing a taxi, and way less expensive,”

Between the thought of getting to be close to Y/N again and the excitement of getting to show off his powers, Peter was eager to please. “Sure thing! Do you want me to grab your bag for you? I’m sure I’d be quicker?” He emphasized his statement with a wink. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect.

Instead, Y/N looked almost nervous as she shook her head no. “I’ve got it, Peter,” she insisted.

He quirked up an eyebrow in surprise. “You sure? We could be home in a minute tops, just say the word,”

“There’s just a lot of important museum stuff back there! I trust you Peter, but this is priceless art we’re talking about, so I’d rather not take any chances. I’ll be back in a second!”

She slowly backed towards the door, offering him one last smile before disappearing into the darkness beyond. Something about her expression turned Peter’s stomach. It wasn’t unfamiliar, she had acted similarly in a few days Peter had known her at seemingly random times, but it just seemed… suspicious, like there was something he should definitely know that he was being kept in the dark about. Despite everything, he shook off the feeling, chalking it up to him not understanding all the intricacies of this new universe. If love made him blind, he was willing to take that chance.

It only took a few minutes for Y/N to emerge, a small messenger bag in hand, but when she did she was joyful once again, offering Peter an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

He shook his head, pulling down his goggles and offering her his hand. “Not much, just the end of the world,”

She giggled. “So do I just hop on your back or what?”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. In a second he was down on his knee. “All aboard,” He did his best to keep still as Y/N settled herself on his back, then he was lifting her easily, arms hooked under her knees as she giggled into his hair. “What’s so funny?”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders securely as he stood. “I just expected you to call yourself the Bohner express,”

It took all of Peter’s strength to keep his laughter under control. “You tell me that now? After the opportunity to use it has passed?”

Y/N squeezed him a little tighter. “I’m sure you’ll get to use it next time,”

The thought of a next time sent Peter’s heart rate through the roof. Oh, it was on.

“I’d hold on if I were you,” he said, smirking, “the Bohner express is leaving the station,”

Y/N was quick to snap back. “Let’s hope it doesn’t disappoint,”

“Oh Y/N, the Bohner express never disappoints,”

“Prove it,”

Peter had them back to the brownstone in record time.

[piracytheorist]

A ridiculously needed defense of Mia Winters

(and I say ridiculously because I don't particularly care for her as a character. But I care for Ethan, and I care that he went through so much shit to save her and never gave up or even thought to, so by extension Mia needs to make sense to me so I need to have a clear image of her in my mind to justify Ethan's ridiculously brave actions in re7, and his devotion to her in re8. But also because my experience watching the show Once Upon a Time and engaging with its fandom has taught me to not hate on characters when they're not fully fleshed out and their bad actions are not adequately explained, especially when said characters are women written by men. And considering that Ethan himself is not fully fleshed out in re7 either, it's no wonder Mia's character is suffering)

So. I'm not here to tell people they're wrong to hate or even just dislike or distrust Mia. That's not my point. But if you do continue to read after the title, you're checking in on your own accord. And my main gripe with people hating on Mia is that they seem to dislike her character when the game itself didn't give much of a good basis on her character in the first place. So yeah, being a woman myself and having seen how fandoms work, I do tend to get a little pissed when people (no matter their gender) are so ready to hate on female characters for no good reason.

Now, I'm not saying Mia is a saint, far from it. RE7 makes clear she holds a lot of the responsibility for what happened, and she even accepts that. But she's also been given redeeming qualities, if you're willing to look for them.

The first glimpse we get of Mia is of her sending a happy message to Ethan, then immediately after we see her admit her wrong and warn him to stay away from her. There's a reason we even get the second video, and that's called setting. The writers wanted Mia to be shown as protective over Ethan while also accepting responsibility from the very first moment - and it's something that repeats itself when we do find her. She apparently has no idea she asked Ethan to come, she self-harms in an effort to stop hurting him, and even through Eveline's control she manages to tell him to leave her.

(like idk why people take lightly the fact that she fucking banged her head on a wall, giving herself a concussion, all in an effort to protect Ethan from what she knew she had turned into but leave it to a fandom to underplay self-harm I guess)

But that's only from the beginning, and from the confused POV of Ethan and a first time player. In Mia's flashback, we see that she'd been given orders that should Eveline get out of control, she had to be eliminated. Now, Eveline had grown fond of Mia, and she was super powerful herself. Taking a powerful being on your side and using them to be on top? That's a super villain origin story if I ever heard one. But Mia doesn't even consider it, from the first moment that civilians are getting in danger, she's ready to eliminate Eveline.

And that's when the first holes start appearing. For what kinds of wars did Mia know that Eveline was made for? How long had she been working with The Connections? Was it before or after marrying Ethan? How did they approach her? How did they know she'd be okay with making a bioweapon to assist in wars? And as herself, how deep was she willing to go in terms of human experimentation?

That's all stuff we have no way of knowing, and frankly any answer, from one extreme to the other, can be assumed. For all we know The Connections approached her, and before she had even realized she was assisting them in creating Eveline. So in general I feel it's kinda unbased to jump on the Mia Hating Train so easily when there's so much missing from the whole story.

Though again, I’m not here to tell people what to like and what not to like. It’s just that I feel there’s a bit too much focus on how Mia is such a horrible person and the true villain of the story and like, it’s getting super tiring, entering fandoms and seeing people being so fucking pissed at some characters. Like, ok. You can’t like everything. But it feels like some people are trying to make that everyone else’s problem.

And the victim blaming is not helping, either. People say all of what happened in re8 is Mia’s fault because she didn’t tell Ethan the truth about what he is, and like. Are we fucking serious. Like I see people call Chris dumb for not explaining the story to Ethan from the beginning, and how it could’ve made things much more simpler if he had, but I don’t think I’ve seen anyone call him the villain of the story (if anything because without him being cryptic we wouldn’t have had the story in the first place). He had his reasons to be cryptic, and if you pause your hate train for a moment, you’ll realize Mia had her reasons as well. We don’t know how long she knew that Ethan was all mold - she wasn’t even conscious during the moment Jack killed Ethan in the first place to see how serious the injury was. For all we knew she only noticed while being pregnant with Rose, or after she was born - so we can’t really blame her for not speaking up. If anything, considering she did realize it and still she stayed with him and knew he and his feelings mattered (”We matter, Ethan! You matter!”) is a big thing. She also seemed to want to tell him, but like, how do you even begin such a discussion? Ethan also saw that she was troubled; you can’t convince me that they were like this, with Ethan knowing she was holding something from him, and Mia knowing and knowingly having a child with him who would definitely be infected by Mold, for three fucking years.

Like at some point you start going like “They can’t have shown us such a fucking toxic relationship and expected us to feel sad for Mia at the end.” But like, people do believe that yes they intended them to be so toxic and Mia to be such a horrible person and for us to just shrug at it, so of course they would blame everything on Mia and not like, idk, Miranda, who was actually the one actively harming the entire Winters family. Or that Rose getting kidnapped was because Mia had been working with The Connections, and that’s how Miranda found out about her, and I’m like, y’all can’t separate butterfly effect from actual blame, can you? Ethan and Mia decided to have a kid two whole years after the Baker incident - when they felt they were safe, on the clear from whatever could be chasing them. They were on witness protection, the newspaper Ethan looks at in the beginning says that Ethan and Mia’s whereabouts are unknown; they were understandably feeling safe to move on with their lives, until someone from The Connections found where Mia was, and through them Miranda was able to learn about Rose. That’s an entirely different concept from Mia being careless or carrying the entire blame for Rose getting kidnapped or Ethan being self-sacrificingly determined to save her. But of course, let’s hate on Mia and then seriously ship Ethan with the villains because they have redeeming qualities and Mia doesn’t ig

I don’t know. Maybe I’m a bit too jumpy of people hating on female characters. But on the other hand, it says a lot that I don’t really care much for Mia or her character, so it’s not like I feel defensive because my fave is receiving hate. If anything, Ethan is my fave, he gets much more uncalled-for hate and I just shrug that off because who gives a fuck about them haters right. But with Ethan... I feel that the hate he receives is mostly because he subverted expectations; he’s not your average trained badass who knows what he’s doing and remains calm through anxious situations, he’s the exact opposite, and people hate on him for not being the former like... you’re missing the entire point of Ethan purposefully being clueless, panicking, saying cringy-ass quips, and honestly, your fucking loss lmao. With Mia, it feels like people choose to see the worst in her when there aren’t too many things to see. And knowing stuff about the world of gaming, it’s fucking telling. In the world of fandom, that’s just fucking annoying. I hate stuff too. But after a certain point you learn to not make your biases everybody else’s problem. Or at least you should. What would I know, being here hoping fandoms could be calmer places.