#so ignore the obvious choppiness on some of this

[seance]

a million choices, though little on their own become the heirloom of the heaviness you've known

[sicknessbysalem]

3 and/or 56 for Lana/Kostya?

“Don’t touch me again unless you want me to puke on you.” / “If you don’t stop soon, we’re going to the ER.”

lana and kostya my beloveds

i love the dialogue pairing here and i feel like this fits them very well. this fic feels a little short but i tried to make it longer and it just seemed choppy to do that.

given the pairing i chose sick kostya! i hope that's okay!

if you have any questions, comments, or asks, feel free to send them!

It's only a little after 5pm when Lana get home.

The evening sun cast a warm golden glow through the windows as Lana returned home from a long day at the recording studio. The faint scent of lavender and peppermint filled the apartment. Probably from one of the several diffusers in the house, Kostya was surprisingly a big fan of essential oils and had an almost ritualistic execution of what he used when.

Lana glanced around. Kostya wasn't in the living room, the hall was dark. It's when he heard a noise in the kitchen that Lana knew where to go.

Kostya was leaning against the counter. Lana noticed the trash can nearby, a subtle indication that something wasn't quite right.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" Lana asked, concern etched in his voice as he approached Kostya.

Kostya nodded weakly, but there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a tightness around his eyes that Lana couldn't ignore.

"It's just… the treatment today ran longer than usual," Kostya explained, attempting to brush off his discomfort. "I think I just need to rest a bit."

Lana's worry deepened. He knew how challenging Kostya's treatment could be, but something about Kostya's demeanor seemed off.

"Maybe you should sit down for a bit," Lana suggested, guiding Kostya to a nearby chair. "I'll get you some water."

Kostya nodded, took a deep breath. He felt sick, very sick. He knew he did. And he hated it.

As Kostya sat in the chair, trying to compose himself, Lana fetched a glass of water from the kitchen. He could see the discomfort etched on Kostya's face, the struggle to maintain a facade of normalcy despite the obvious signs of illness.

"Here," Lana said softly, handing Kostya the glass of water. "Take small sips. It might help settle your stomach."

Kostya nodded gratefully, taking the water and following Lana's advice. The cool liquid provided a momentary relief, but the underlying unease persisted.

"I'm sorry," Kostya murmured, his voice strained. "I didn't mean for you to come home to this."

Lana shook his head, his concern overriding any inconvenience. "Kostya, I signed up for this when we found out… You do not need to apologize to me."

Kostya managed a weak smile, appreciating Lana's understanding and support. He knew how hard it was for Lana to see him in this state, but he also knew that Lana would do anything to help him through it.

"Are you going to be sick?" Lana asked.

Kostya shook his head, "I don't think so."

Lana stood beside him, stroking his hand over Kostya's hair, "Can I help you at all?"

"I think I need to lie down," Kostya admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to stand. "Can you… help?"

Lana helped him to their bedroom, making sure he was comfortable before sitting beside him. He brushed a strand of hair from Kostya's forehead.

As the evening wore on, Kostya's condition continued to deteriorate. The nausea that had been lingering in the background now surged to the forefront, leaving him pale and clammy. Lana stayed close, offering words of comfort and support, his hand resting lightly on Kostya's arm in a gesture of solidarity.

But as Kostya's discomfort escalated, his tolerance for touch diminished. He knew what was coming – the inevitable need to be sick. Despite Lana's well-meaning gestures of affection, every touch felt like an intrusion on his already fragile state. Lana was just messing with his hair while he read a book and Kostya tried to sleep.

"Lana, please," Kostya whispered, his voice strained, he moved slowly, breaking away from Lana, "I need… I need some space."

Lana's brow furrowed with concern, but he respected Kostya's request and withdrew his hand. "Your stomach is bothering you pretty bad, isn't it?"

Kostya nodded.

Minutes stretched into an eternity as Kostya battled the rising urge to vomit. He knew he couldn't hold it back any longer. With a sense of resignation, he forced himself to stand, his shaky legs carrying him to the bathroom.

Lana followed close behind, his worry palpable in the tense line of his shoulders. He wanted to offer comfort, to ease Kostya's suffering, but he knew that sometimes the best support was giving space and allowing Kostya to handle things in his own way.

As Kostya leaned over the toilet, he felt the familiar rush of bile rising in his throat. He retched violently, his body purging itself of everything he had consumed. It was a brutal reminder of the toll his treatment took on his body, the relentless cycle of sickness and recovery.

Through it all, Lana hovered nearby, torn between wanting to help and knowing that Kostya needed space. He resisted the urge to reach out, knowing that touch was the last thing Kostya wanted at this moment.

Once the worst had passed and Kostya leaned back against the bathroom wall, panting and exhausted, Lana approached cautiously. He wanted to offer comfort, to reassure Kostya that he wasn't alone in this struggle.

But before Lana could say anything, Kostya spoke, his voice hoarse but filled with a hint of humor despite the situation. "Don't touch me again unless you want me to puke on you."

Lana couldn't help but chuckle softly, the tension easing slightly. "Noted," he replied with a gentle smile.

-

Unfortunately. The night only seemed to get worse. Whatever happened with the longer treatment was making Kostya sicker and sicker.

As Kostya continued to be sick, Lana's worry deepened with each retch and gag. He paced outside the bathroom, torn between wanting to help and feeling utterly helpless in the face of Kostya's suffering.

"Kostya, this isn't normal," Lana said, his voice tinged with concern as he hovered by the bathroom door. "I think we should go to the ER. This could be something serious. You never get this sick from treatment…"

Kostya, leaning against the bathroom sink and trying to catch his breath, shook his head weakly. "No, Lana, please. I can't go to the hospital. I'm exhausted and they'll just want to run a bunch of tests and its just because the treatment was stronger and longer on top of it. Seriously, please. I don't want to go through that."

Lana's frustration mingled with his worry. He knew how much Kostya hated hospitals, especially given his current health condition with aplastic anemia. But seeing Kostya in such distress was tearing him apart.

"I don't want to risk it, Kostya," Lana insisted, his voice firm. "If this doesn't stop soon, I'm taking you to the ER."

Kostya managed a nod, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Okay, okay. Just… give me a moment."

Lana paced anxiously, every minute feeling like an eternity as he waited for Kostya's nausea to subside. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kostya straightened up, his breathing steadier.

"I think… I think it's passing," Kostya said, his voice still weak but with a hint of relief.

Lana's shoulders sagged with relief, but his worry remained. "Promise me you'll tell me if it gets worse again. I don't want to take any chances."

Kostya nodded, understanding Lana's concern. "I promise."

But just as they thought the worst was over, Kostya's efforts from being sick caused a sudden nosebleed. Blood trickled down his lip, staining his shirt as Lana rushed to his side, a fresh wave of worry washing over him.

"Shit," Kostya said, placing a hand on the wall.

"Oh god, Kostya, you're bleeding," Lana exclaimed, grabbing a tissue from the box on the sink and handing it to Kostya.

Kostya leaned against the wall, pressing a tissue to his nose in an attempt to stem the bleeding. Without a thought, he sat down. He had to sit down.

"It's… it's fine. " Kostya said.

Lana's worry turned to frustration as he struggled to contain his emotions. "This isn't fine, Kostya. This isn't normal. We need to get you checked out."

Kostya shook his head weakly, his eyes pleading with Lana. "Please, Lana. I can't go to the hospital tonight. Let me rest, and if it gets worse again, I promise I'll go."

Lana hesitated, torn between his instinct to protect Kostya and his fear of what could happen if they didn't seek medical help. But seeing the exhaustion and fear in Kostya's eyes, Lana relented, albeit reluctantly.

"Okay, Kostya," Lana said, his voice softer now. "But if it gets worse, we're going straight to the ER. No arguments."

[angelmichelangelo]

i feel like “why won’t you let me love you?!” would kill with 2003 mikey and leo during his ptsd arc

Knuckles bruise past the punching bag, letting it snag and swing with force before Leo is rushing his fist back against the leathery plush, a breath escaping past tight lips.

Three hours. That’s as long as he’d punished himself for. A slight wobble in his kata this morning — a rookie mistake called for drastic measures. So here he was, beating the bubbling frustrations out on the poor, helpless punching bag.

There’s sweat beading at the base of his neck where it drips off the dome of his head. An ache forming hot beneath his skin and working into his muscles; a pain that reminds him he still has hours left to go until his mind is fully satisfied. 

He’s fully in the zone: the rest of the lair washed away into the deepest crevice of his mind, like the dojo was all that existed in the universe, until he hears a small voice coming from the doorway, full of uncertainty.

“Uh, Leo?” It’s Mikey, standing timidly at the door with his hands folded together, looking like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself. “Did you want some lunch? I’m making grilled cheeses.” His throat bobs. “You hungry?”

He beats the bag again, hard. The chain makes a whipping hiss sound before it stills again. “No thank you, Mike,” is his short, huffy response.

He waits for Mikey to turn around and leave, but he doesn’t. He stands, lingering, like he’s caught halfway between.

“Dude. Any more and you’re gonna kill him.” It’s a desperate, clunky excuse for a tension breaking joke. He shuffles carefully into the dojo, eyeing up the abused bag with an incredulous look, almost like he’s hopeful Leo will share it with him. 

He doesn’t. He smacks it again, chest rising and falling with each quick breath that whizzes out of him.

“I’m busy,” he tells his younger brother, sharp enough that he hopes it’ll be obvious enough how alone he wants to be right now. He gives it two more fierce punches. He can understand now why Raph enjoys ragging on this thing. 

It’s therapeutic.

Mikey does not leave. “I know,” he says quietly. “But you need a break, Leo. You’ve been in here for hours.” His throat bobs like he’s swallowing down all the things he truly wants to say. “Raph and Don are worried about you.” His eyes shimmer. “I’m worried about you.”

Leo does a flying kick this time against that bag, making Mikey jump back with surprise as it rocks violently back and forth. Pain escalates up through his ankle, buzzing all the way up to his shell but he ignores it in favor of rounding on it again with his aching fists.

“I’m fine.” He says briskly, voice tight and icy. He doesn’t need anyone babying over him. He can do this. He can punish himself if necessary.

“You don’t look it,” Mikey comments sadly. He takes a brave step forward, resting a cooler hand on Leo’s warm, sweaty forearm, gently curling his fingers around it. “C’mon. Come eat, then maybe we can go for a run, if you like, you and me—”

Leo whips around then, like a ferocious hurricane, he spins, face screwed up and words razor sharp like hail against his skin,

“I said I’m FINE!” 

Silence rings out around the room, so loud it tingles in his ears like a bell. His breath comes in ragged and sharp and all choppy.

Mikey’s face crumples. “No, you’re not.” Something dashed across his face in an instant. Something like hope. “Why won’t you let me help you, Leo? Whatever… this… is?”

Leo turns away from his brother, desperately scraping back all the air from the room through tightly clenched teeth. “You can’t,” is his answer. “You can’t help me.” There’s the indistinguishable sound of Mikey’s breath hitching, wet and wobbly landing in his chest.

“Then why won’t you let me love you?!”

Leo stills, like a wave crashing against the shore, all the air is drawn from his lungs in an instant. He tries to gain it back, his lungs spasm, shooting pain through his veins like a heart attack, he feels his whole body jerk and shake.

“Do you–” Mikey’s voice is broken by a sob. He sniffs, fighting off the onslaught of tears that rush down his face. “Do you even care, anymore? About us? About yourself, even?”

Leo can’t answer that. He does care, about Mikey and Raph and Donnie – with every ounce of his very soul and being he cares.

He can’t voice it though. Not when his chest is still squeezing and shaking, rattling each of his ribs like a drum, and his throat grows tight and narrow and each breath comes in and out with strained difficulty.

He goes back to beating the punching bag, like it will answer for him instead.

And Mikey doesn’t stick around a second time. He leaves and Leo is left in the wake of it all once more.

[villruu]

“Soulmates who are fated to kill each other” with Alex and Tim?

send me a reverse trope and MH & I'll write something for it

Went a bit overboard but the idea of soulmarks appearing only once it is clear you are going to end up killing each other/try to kill each other is so appealing.... Ough.

On AO3

⸻

The writing appears once Tim watches the tape he had taken from the Hooded Figure.

Tim had been curious about the tape, and it was one thing to distract him, one thing to make him not think about Jay (he had been so still…). Once he had gotten home, he had beelined towards his room, making sure to avoid the living room as best as he could.

The floor had still been littered with crumbled pages and Tim had gotten just a small glance of the dried black spot on the floor before he had hurried on.

The laptop struggles to turn on, and Tim waits impatiently, everything set up for the videos inside the tape to be transferred. Despite how bad Tim is with technology, this is a process he had gotten used to lately, helping with the channel.

The screen finally comes online, showing the factory desktop. Jay had borrowed his laptop so many times, to edit videos, to transform them, to upload them, that practically all folders in sight were made by Jay, carefully named with the date and possible entry.

Tim ignores them, focusing on just extracting the information on the tape. This laptop is a monument to Jay’s presence, and that is the last thing he needs right now (how long had he laid there, bleeding out, lonely?). 

After a few more minutes, Tim is left with a video. 

The thumbnail is an image of Brian, Tim would be able to recognize him anywhere. Worried and anxious, he double clicks on the file and watches it in silence.

Oh, he thinks, watching a young Brian joke and smile with a young Alex, That hoodie… That was Brian’s.

With shaking hands, Tim pauses the video. It’s the same hood, the same exact color, maybe a bit cleaner, but it’s the same.

(it’s the fucking same, it’s the same, oh my god, it was Brian, that was Brian, it was Brian, iT WAS BRIAN, BRIAN IS DEAD, HE IS DEAD, HE IS DEAD HE IS DEAD—)

That was at least three people that would be here if it wasn’t for Alex.

Three people. Three People.

(Three people, but what about Amy, about Sarah, about Seth, abOUT JESSICA—)

Alex Kralie is personally responsible for the death of Jay and Brian.

(it’s his fault, it’s his fault, it’s HIS IT’S HIS IT WASN’T HIM IT WAS ALEX ALEX ALEX-)

Tim startles, shouting, clutching his arm as a burning sensation overtakes him.

It hurts, it feels like liquid fire, like despair, it hurts so badly, and Tim can only dig his nails into his arm and try not to scream.

It burns oh so badly, and when Tim takes a lot, he is met with scratchy writing, shaky words etched into his skin as if someone had taken a carving knife to his flesh.

If there’s someone left, you have to kill them. And then yourself.

A soulmark.

Tim had learned about them during his childhood. One of the other patients had one, written in choppy letters and lopsided, wrapped around her neck and left shoulder. A Soulmark. He had heard the nurses, he knew what this meant, he knew, and yet, he touched the words cut into his arm with trembling fingers.

“Either I killed him, or he killed me,” She had told him once, smiling satisfied and bitter, “I hope you never get one kid, because the second the words appear, it is too late for either of you.”

Everyone knew that if your soulmark appeared it was because you would be either a murderer… Or the victim.

There was little to think about who it could be. It was too obvious, too easy. 

But Tim didn’t want to kill Alex. He didn’t want to kill him. Alex… Alex needed help, it wasn’t his fault, it was that thing, preying on him. Alex was innocent, Alex didn’t…

He didn’t want to kill Alex…

And, and he wouldn’t do it! He wouldn’t kill Alex, he wouldn’t. He refused.

Tim hadn’t survived this much just to let some stupid words define his fate. He would save Alex. He would save him and then Tim would move as far away as possible from this place and would never come back to Alabama and everything would be fine. He would move on and nothing bad would ever happen.

A month and a half later, Tim stared at a bleeding body and tried to not notice his own handwriting burned into Alex’s neck, looping around the bleeding throat like a tight choker.

You missed someone, it accused.

Tim hoped it had hurt when it appeared.

[cobragardens]

The thing about Crowley is, he's sexy. Not sexual per se, but he's a demon, and he's played by David Tennant, and with Dylan Hollis' hairstyle even this season, so of course he's sexy. He's stylish, he's slinky, he's thin. He has looked amazing as long as looking amazing has been achievable, sometime after the end of the Shapeless Robes era of human history. And David Tennant, as we have learned from his other performances, absolutely knows how to grab an audience and rivet their attention on himself; that is a plot summary of like 90% of _Doctor Who_ episodes: "The Doctor grabs an audience and rivets their attention on himself."

And the thing about Aziraphale is that he's not sexy at all. His costumes are cut to make Michael Sheen look smaller and softer in the shoulders, bigger and softer in the belly and legs, than Sheen actually is, where the Crowley costumes are designed to make Tennant look not just longer and thinner but pointier at the edges. The level-10 bleached hair is both a terrible color on Sheen and often has visible roots; the colors of his clothes don't suit his complexion at all; the lighting is bad; the editing is choppy; and the makeup is, I'm sorry, fucking terrible for some reason. Aziraphale even wears a bow-tie, which as we all know cuts perpendicular to the grain of sexiness in men with the sole inexplicable yet indisputable exception of Bill Nye.

Aziraphale is also most often the straight man--always a difficult and thankless role to play--to Crowley's dry and acerbic humor, and he's often, as Crowley points out, unintentionally hilarious. He's fussy, he's moral in ways he hasn't realized yet are hypocritical and obscene because the god he works for is evil, he's largely blissfully ignorant of people's opinions of him and his behaviour. He is not sexy. He is not even _remotely_ cool.

And I therefore think a lot about the unbelievable amount of skill and sheer fucking _presence_ Michael Sheen has to exert to make Aziraphale even _show up_, not just against the Chris Columbus tonal backdrop of the series and the bad makeup and the bad hair and the costuming designed to make him look unsexy, unprepossessing, not just against all the attention-grabbing of David Tennant as Crowley, but even against Aziraphale's own character.

And Sheen doesn't just show up, he _shines_. He shines right through the makeup and the lighting and the colors that clash horribly with his complexion and the choppy editing and the baffling hair decisions. He _shines_ with Aziraphale's fussiness, his childlike lack of self-awareness, his unwavering sincerity and undisguised enthusiasms and excitements and pleasures and affection. He perfects Aziraphale as a character, giving us the best possible version of him, a being who's bad at his job not just because he's a voluptuary and wants to spend all his time reading and eating delicious foods and drinking delicious beverages and chatting with friends just like we all do but because he is _too goddamned_ kind _to be any good at being an angel_. It's immediately obvious why Crowley adores him. Sheen's Aziraphale is so gd lovely he makes you ache--even when he's fucking up majorly, even when he is Not Getting It.

I was overjoyed when I heard David Tennant had been cast; I think he was born to play Crowley. But I watched Michael Bay ruin Transformers despite the fact that Transformers are fucking awesome _and_ despite hiring Shia LeBeouf as his lead, so it was not until I found out Michael Sheen was going to play Aziraphale that I thought "Maybe somebody in charge knows what they're doing. Maybe it's going to be okay."

In 0.5 seconds and without saying a single word, Michael Sheen changed lives.

This was the bitchiest bitch moment Aziraphale had in all 2 seasons. Thank you for your service, respectfully, I am deceased.

GIF credit: @wildsflag

[an-assistants-musings]

Infuriating Things

A guest who overstays their welcome, and extends the conversation for far too long, despite your repeated attempts at having them leave so you may have some peace and quiet. Instead, though, they choose to ignore you and stay talking for ages. Worse yet, if you have something urgent to do that day. If it is someone who you don’t care about you can be callous and send them away, but if it is someone you must respect, it’s an infuriating circumstance. 

Your wi-fi or phone connection being slow or choppy, especially when you have paramount work to do that day, or you are having an important meeting online. 

People who gawk at you on the street, as if you are some exotic creature. They have no sense of sublety, their eyes are glued to your face in a state of dumb shock. If they are stupid enough to approach you, they will take an inordinate amount of your time, asking inane questions that only impede your day. Worse though are those who think they are being subtle in photographing you, but forget to turn off the flash or are angling their phone in such a gaudy way it is obvious. 

A tinder hook-up who has slept at your place and leaves in the morning in a rush, completely making your room a mess as he tries in clumsy earnestness to leave as quickly and discreetly as possible, so as to ghost you. I hate it even more so when they are bad at sex, particularly if their breath stinks. I cannot stand the odour of garlic on someone’s breath when I am trying to make-out with them. It completely kills the mood. 

I also really hate the way some people go about envying others, complaining about their life so as to fish for compliments. These people are the worst because they act in false flattery, when in reality we all know what they are truly after. They are venomous vipers, one-upping you on every single aspect of your life, using other’s stories and rumours (often which are exaggerated and untrue) because they cannot stand not to be the centre of attention. 

A baby crying in public when you are on the phone, or trying to have a conversation with a friend. In a similar vein, anyone who talks loudly and obnoxiously in public spaces, as if their voice is the only thing that matters. 

You’ve just settled into bed when you hear the drone of a mosquito flying above you, the incessant buzz as it announces its presence, but it’s too dark so you don’t know where it is to kill it. 

Anyone who butts into a conversation they have no business being in, and they talk as if they know the subject, when in reality they know nothing. These people are particularly infuriating because they have no sense of shame or embarrassment, and will continue to act like a fool despite their ignorance. 

Someone who you have cancelled your plans with, because you don’t wish to meet with them. But later that day, you run into them while you are with others. 

A man with whom you are in a relationship with who always compares you to his ex, and still follows them on Instagram. This is especially infuriating if he still regularly talks and likes ex’s said posts, frequently interacting with her. The worst is when it is his last ex, and it is clear he is not over her. Other annoyances of the same manner include any critique of one’s body or style, though those men don’t usually last long. 

Nails that you have done within the week, chipping. Also your eyeliner pencil breaks when you are doing your makeup in the morning, or the smearing of your lipstick when you drink or eat something. 

A waiter gives you a drink with too much ice in it. There is not much of the drink in there, and it quickly becomes watered down in the heat. This is especially worse if it is some cocktail of any kind, and if it is not particularly hot, because your hand becomes too cold to hold the glass comfortably. In an opposite manner, when a waiter serves you a hot drink that is lukewarm. These are both infuriating circumstances. 

And I hate anyone who has the audacity to cut in line, especially if the line is long or the place is busy. 

[wordsafterhours]

Songs About You - Chapter 9

Author's Note: I spent all day writing this because I wanted it to be perfect and have some substance. I wanted to develop their relationship on a level we hadn't yet seen in this story. Apologies if it's choppy or repetitive. I need work on my progression of stuff, which will come in time because I haven't written consistently in a very long time. Practice makes perfect as the saying goes. Thank you for all who read this and stick with it despite my short comings, you really do push me to do and write better.

*I'm very excited for the next chapter as there will be a major reveal :)

Word Count: 4.7k (heyooooooo, longest one yet)

Snippet - Chapter 9 Poster

Masterlist

-----------------------------------------------------------------

The first thought that crossed Aelin’s mind wasn’t that her cheek was pressed into Rowan’s bare and sweaty chest, or that his hands were splayed across her exposed lower back, holding her close, or that again, he had managed to catch her off guard. 

No, the first thought was how he smelled like Yulemas and Oakwald Forest in wintertime, of pine and snow. How she had never noticed before now was a mystery, especially considering how close they had been the night before. But her mind had been completely focused on something else entirely in that moment. 

Now, flush against him, her nose and brain had no choice but to recognize yet another fact about Rowan Whitethorn. With all the physical labor he had been doing, he should have smelled strongly of sweat and masculine odor, but it was only faintly present and not the least bit off putting. Aelin was certain he was now one of her favorite smells and this moment would be ingrained in her mind for the foreseeable future.

She felt Rowan’s chest vibrate as he let out a small chuckle. “That tickles,” he confessed.

Confused, she craned her head back as far as her current position would allow, now able to see his pine green eyes sparking with light. Arching her brow, she encouraged him to explain.

“I think you were, uh, sniffing me. You kept moving face back and forth and it tickled,” Rowan said quietly in the space between them.

Aelin’s brows rose in shock. She hadn’t realized how obvious she had been, and it was mortifying he’d noticed. What would he think if he knew how she’d watched him silently from behind a tree? Unconsciously, she stepped back, trying to distance herself as she withered in embarrassment. His arms wouldn’t allow it though, tightening, pressing her back into his chest has he let out a low tut. 

Was this his way of telling her it was okay? Was this a pity hug? Perhaps holding her close and plotting his next truth bomb? 

She wasn’t sure the man knew how to lie. He always seemed to be so forth coming with whatever he was thinking, giving no care to how it made the other person feel. It was both refreshing and distressing. No one else she knew would have called her out on the sniffing. 

Deciding he wasn’t letting go, Aelin tentatively put her arms around him, naked skin to naked skin. Her earlier assessment of his physique had been correct—Rowan was nothing short of defined muscle and hard planes. The pads of her fingers easily discerning the corded sinew beneath them. It took every ounce of self-control for her not to trace them. 

A weight pressed upon the top of her head as Rowan rested his chin, still refusing to let go. Several times, she opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but trepidation at what might follow, stopped her. Instead, she relaxed into him, enjoying the feeling of resting against him and allowing herself to just pause for a moment. 

Whether this man knew it or not, he was giving her a gift by forcing her into whatever this was. Aelin wasn’t sure when the last time someone had just held her. Maybe that was her fault for the tone she’d set in her relationship with Chaol, keeping him close but somehow still at arms’ length, not allowing him to cross her deepest walls. 

It was easier to ignore her problems and the spiraling depression that threatened to drown her most days if she never talked about it with anyone, never gave it an inch more in her life than it already had. To her friends and the outside world, she was strong, confident, resilient. A girl who had overcome life ending tragedy by finishing college and opening a successful business in the very district her parents had helped restore and preserve. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius had the world at her feet.

It was exactly how she wanted it.  Showing only enough of herself to get by. Yet, as she leaned harder into his tall frame, owning up to just how tired she was didn’t seem daunting if he would be there to catch her. Aelin was only kidding herself though, the day when she gave into vulnerability and voiced how broken she was would never come because that would mean laying her heart bare, laying it open to be bulldozed again by loss. She would not survive it. 

“Thank you,” Aelin mumbled into the warm skin of Rowan’s chest. He was owed at least that for quieting all the noise. 

His arms tightened slightly in acknowledgement before loosening, signaling the moment had come to a close. Rowan stepped back and looked her up and down, his face betraying nothing. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for but assumed he was satisfied when he chose to speak, “I didn’t think you were going to show.” 

Aelin waffled between telling a lie or being truthful. “I wasn’t, but curiosity won out.” 

Not entirely truthful but not an outright lie either. 

“I would have been at the house to greet you if you’d let me know,” he supplied without the usual barb he so often used when chastising her lack of manners. 

“Want to know what I thought about on the way over here?” 

He dipped his chin in a silent yes.

“I half thought I was on my way to be murdered. I thought I lived off the beaten path, but it doesn’t have anything on your house. Which is very you by the way,” she admitted sheepishly. 

Rowan’s laugh was belly deep, reaching down into her very soul, further pushing Aelin into bewitchment. There was something so wonderous about other peoples’ joy, his especially, and she found herself laughing, too. “I’m glad you find my terror funny.” 

“You have to admit it is a bit ridiculous.” 

“It’s not! You say that because you’re not a woman. Besides, haven’t you watched true crime documentaries?” 

“I say that because I’m a rational human and I like to think I don’t give off serial killer vibes. Maybe I’m wrong,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking expectantly at her for an answer. 

“I don’t know, your personality is a little bit erratic,” she replied, trying her best to keep the tone flat and even. Inside though, she was smirking. 

Rowan said nothing, appearing to be mulling over what she had said. The silence drug on and Aelin wondered if he had been that easily offended by her words. She was about to apologize when he jumped in her direction, acting as though he was going to grab her, and Aelin yelped, scrambling back and tripping over the same root from earlier. 

A string of muttered curse words escaped her lips as she sat on the ground, trying her best to remain dignified despite having fallen on her ass. Rowan’s shadow loomed over her as he approached, extending his hand to help her up. Her turquoise eyes narrowed when she noted the subtle shaking of his body. He was laughing at her. Again. 

Aelin ignored his olive branch, standing on her own and dusting herself off. “I rest my case,” she threw over her shoulder, refusing to look at him. 

“Fair enough,” he acquiesced. She could hear him moving around behind her and felt something lightly graze her head. 

“I’m not sure how you did it, but this was in your hair.” A scraggly branch entered her right periphery. 

She rolled her eyes. “Well, if someone didn’t go around terrorizing me, I wouldn’t end up with sticks in my hair.” She turned, meeting his smiling face with her glare. 

Was she being a child? Absolutely. Did she care? No. 

“You started it by saying I had characteristics similar to a homicidal maniac!” 

“So, acting like you’re going to grab me doesn’t provide evidence for the point?” she asked, throwing her hands up. 

He did have the gall to look slightly sheepish, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “I can see where that might have been a bit alarming.”

“A bit? ‘A bit alarming’ he says.” 

“How was I supposed to know you were going to fall on your ass?” His green eyes were alight with mirth clearly enjoying this too much.

“You’re just supposed to know. I guess you need to get better at premeditating others’ actions based on your own. You’d make a terrible serial killer, you’re right,” Aelin jested. 

He flashed her a large smile, waving his hand for her to follow as he brushed by, his shoulder playfully bumping into her side. “Just so you know, no one is worth going to jail over. I’d sooner rot than be sentenced to the Salt Mines.”

An instantaneous wave of nausea brought on by crippling anxiety had her bending over, hands braced on her knees as she tried to breathe through the overwhelming urge to heave. She could hear the loud pounding of her heart in her ears, drowning out everything, even her own thoughts. Trying to regain composure over herself, she started counting the dead leaves on the ground at her feet. One. Two. Five. Thirty-three. 

Rowan was new to her life. He didn’t know. He didn’t know that those simple words would and could bring her very world to its knees the minute they were uttered. He wasn’t like the rest of her friends and boyfriend, who had learned so quickly what triggered panic attacks. He hadn’t been around to see how she avoided newspapers, journalists, social media. How she avoided her remaining family. How she had essentially filtered her daily life to prevent anything triggering from falling through its cracks.

But she hadn’t accounted for him. Hadn’t accounted for someone who didn’t know that you couldn’t even joke about something like that, because it was never a joke to her. For her, it was real life and trauma and a house for her own monster come to life. Yet here she was, struggling to pull breaths in and out, drowning on dry land, unable to call for help. A victim of her own short-sightedness. 

The stomach acid burned her throat, tears falling from the corner of her eyes as she refused to give into the panic more than she had. The blackened edges of her vision lessening and the thrumming white noise in her ears quieting just a little. Two hundred and five. Two hundred and six.  Two hundred and seven.  Aelin continued to count all the leaves she could see, eventually loosing count of the ones she had and hadn’t counted.  

Exhausted and a little worse for wear, she stood and waited for the onslaught of questioning from Rowan she was sure she would get. Instead, she found him staring at her with a concerned expression, the dogs sitting at his feet. He was farther away than she had anticipated, and she wasn’t sure where Fleetfoot or Elliot had come from. In the moment, her panic attacks felt as though they lasted forever but only really were a couple minutes. This one, though, seemed like it had drug on for some time. 

Neither said anything, waiting for the other to broach the elephant. If he didn’t have the conviction to ask her, Aelin wasn’t going to volunteer the information herself. With an exaggerated shrug her only response, she closed the distance between them, falling to her knees at his feet. The two dogs were immediately upon her, nuzzling her tear-stained face with their cold noses. 

Fleetfoot seemed to be especially intrusive into her personal space, likely discerning how poor her emotional state was. Aelin hadn’t had a panic attack like that in front of her dog and it saddened her because she didn’t want to stress her out. “I’m okay girl,” she reassuringly cooed into golden fur. 

Rowan dropped a hand onto Aelin’s shoulder, and she flinched, not expecting it. He quickly withdrew, stepping back. 

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time. 

“It’s fine,” she quickly supplied, standing up and doing her best to appear unbothered. 

He started several times to say something but eventually opted to pick up his axe instead. He pointed to a log carved into a sitting bench, never saying anything. He went back to splitting the large stump he had laid out before and she took her seat, mindlessly watching him. Too lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t realized he had stopped until a book was thrust in front of her face. Her fair hands grabbed it and Rowan sat down at the opposite edge of the bench, drinking from his bottle. 

Aelin ran her hands over the worn, faded leather cover. Her fingers could feel slight indentations on the front and spine but couldn’t make out the title, lettering long gone. She opened it, leafing through the worn pages—it was a book of poetry. A lick of surprise went through her, and she briefly looked over at the silver-haired man, trying to reconcile this new fact against what she knew about him. Whatever she had expected the book to be, wasn’t this. 

Looking back, the noted the page she had stopped on to be particularly discolored at the edges and the top right corner creased, indicating it had been dog-eared many a time. Aelin was familiar with the writer of poem, e.e. cummings but hadn’t read much of his work. The poem at hand, “Little Tree”, seemed fitting given their current location. Opting to read it aloud, she cleared her throat before beginning:

little tree

little silent Yulemas tree

 you are so little

you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest

and were you very sorry to come away? 

See I will comfort you

Because you smell so sweetly

I will kiss your cool bark

And hug you safe and tight

Just as your mother would, 

Only don’t be afraid

Look the spangles

That sleep all the year in a dark box

Dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,

The ball the changes red and gold the fluffy threads,

Put up your little arms

And I’ll give them all to you to hold

Every finger shall have its ring

And there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

Sometime during the reading, Rowan had leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes. She might have thought him asleep if not for the pleasant smile he was wearing and the occasional tap of his foot against the ground. She went back to the book, finding another tattered page, again reading its contents audibly. 

It was several poems later when Rowan finally found his voice again. “This was my mother’s favorite book. She started reading these to me before I was even born, and I can remember begging for her to read to me as a boy. When she passed, I started reading them to my father by the fire after dinner as a way for us to keep her close.” 

Aelin turned towards him, finding his eyes still shut, his face marred with nostalgia. “When my father passed, the book became a way to keep them both close. I’m certain one day that I will have worn the very ink from those pages and will only know what they should say because I’ve spent my whole life with them,” he lamented in sad candor.  

She wanted to say a million things to him, to acknowledge how much she understood the feeling. She wanted to tell him how each day she had to fight with herself to get out of bed because she too had lost her parents and it had left a gaping hole in her chest. She wanted to tell him that she had a book, just like this, that she kept in her bedside table and read in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep because the words felt like a hug from her parents. She wanted to tell him how his hug earlier had soothed something inside of her that had been crying out for years. But she did none of those things. 

Instead, she only offered up a sliver of a response, “I used to read to my dad by the fire after dinner, too. I think it’s probably where my love of literary works started.”

The pair fell into comfortable silence after her admission which Aelin was glad for. She wasn’t sure how much of herself she could volunteer up before he started asking questions that she wasn’t ready to or willing to answer. She liked Rowan, liked him even more because he could be held at arm’s length without much of an explanation. They were friends at best; she didn’t owe him anything at this point. 

Deciding to mimic Rowan’s position on the bench, Aelin untucked her legs and stretched them out, toeing the forest floor with her boots. As she drug them back and forth in the dirt, it occurred to her, he had never disclosed why he’d asked her over in the first place. Or why she needed good shoes. 

“Why am I here?” she blurted out. 

“What?” he countered, sounding half asleep. 

“Why am I here? You never told me.”

“It’s Saturday.” His succinct response left her feeling like she was supposed to know what that meant. 

“And?”

Rowan, clearly frustrated at her lack of understanding, huffed as he stood. “Hiking. The hiking group I lead meets on Saturdays. It’s Saturday.”

He had mentioned that in the bookstore during her probing about Lyria. It hadn’t really registered in her mind at the time because it wasn’t the most important part of their conversation. Now she remembered and felt slightly dumb in having forgotten. “I remember now. Sorry, it was a long night, and my brain still is bogged down by the aftereffects of drinking.” 

“Well, you can have aspirin and water back at the house, it should help. We need to head back that way anyways, it’s almost time for people to start showing up.” 

Rowan didn’t wait for response before plucking the forgotten book off the bench and letting out a low whistle to garner Elliot’s attention. She didn’t bother calling for Fleetfoot, as the two were connected at the hip.  Aelin followed close on Rowan’s heels, taking in the last moments that they would have together, just the two of them. He hadn’t put back on his shirt, leaving her the opportunity to slyly look him over once more. The man was unfairly attractive. 

As they ascended the gentle slope behind his cabin, Aelin could see a light on through the back window. She thought it odd. There had not been light on before and Rowan had been with her the entire time. Rowan didn’t seem to notice or if he had, likely thought he had left it on. 

He opened the back door but stopped in the entry way, surprising Aelin. Her hands unconsciously splayed out on his back to steady her. He felt tense beneath her hands, and she didn’t know why. His frame took up the entire doorway, limiting her view which made her impatient. The promised glass of water and pain medicine was calling her name.

“Hey, I wondered where you were,” Lyria said, her voice light, warm, and betraying a level of familiarity between the two. Aelin didn’t need to see her to know the smile the dark-haired woman was wearing. 

“Lyria,” he acknowledged in a clipped manner. 

Aelin didn’t know Rowan well, but she knew enough to know that he wasn’t happy with Lyria being in his house. She pushed slightly on his back, hoping to move him forward. He could sort out his boundaries or lack thereof after he let her in the house. It was awkward to be hidden behind him. 

He didn’t move much to Aelin’s chagrin. “You didn’t call.”

“No, I saw your truck was here, so I figured you were out somewhere with Elliot. I wanted to set up the snacks and drinks I brought before the group showed up,” Lyria explained. 

“Well, next time can you give me a heads up that you’ll be hijacking the kitchen?”

“You usually don’t mind,” she answered. “But yes, I’ll let you know in the future. Now, come inside and try these! It’s a recipe from Doranelle. I can’t remember the name… it loosely translates to ‘meat on a stick’.”

Aelin’s breath caught in her throat as she listened to what Lyria said. Her mind flashing back to first day she met Lyria in Present Tense when the woman was looking for a cookbook with Doranelle recipes. Now here Lyria was, using the cookbook Aelin had procured for her to impress Rowan. The porch suddenly felt too small. The awkwardness she felt earlier was nothing compared to what it was about to be. 

Rowan maneuvered his left arm behind him, grabbing and pulling her forward as he side-stepped into the house. She had no choice but to confront the situation head on.

Lyria’s chestnut eyes flashed quickly in what looked like disdain but disappeared too quickly for her to be certain. The smile affixed on her face seemed forced. “Hi, Aelin! I didn’t know you were here.” 

“I had a free weekend and thought I’d try something new,” Aelin lamely answered. Given more time, she would have come up with a better lie, but her anxiety seemed to be short circuiting her brain. 

“You know I love having new people join us,” Rowan’s lilting voice sounded behind her. 

“Yes, you do,” Lyria agreed enthusiastically closing a cupboard door a too harshly. 

“I’m going to go rinse off. I can feel woodchips stuck in places they ought not to be stuck. Can you get A a glass of water and some aspirin, please?” he asked before heading up stairs she hadn’t noticed until now. 

With ease, Lyria opened the appropriate cabinets, grabbing a glass and bottle of medication. She filled the glass and set it on kitchen island looking expectantly at Aelin. 

Aelin opened the bottle, quickly downing two pills with water. She cautiously sat down and watched Lyria continue to plate the spread. The meat on a stick smelled excellent, as did the bread she was slicing. “That looks wonderful. I see the cookbook came in handy,” she praised.

Lyria’s movements faltered slightly with Aelin’s compliment, and she wondered if she shouldn’t have said anything. “I won’t say anything to him,” she said quietly to her, trying to undo whatever hole she’d just dug for herself.

“It’s not any of my business what you two talk about. Although, I wasn’t aware you two did much talking.”

Aelin’s brows pinched in confusion, her mind attempting to work through what Lyria was implying. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Lyria stopped slicing the bread altogether, laying the knife down. Her expression was hard, her chestnut eyes roaming over Aelin’s face. “Rowan hasn’t mentioned you two being friends. I know all his friends. He’s a pretty private person and doesn’t share his personal time with people outside his friend group.”

There it was. 

Lyria was marking her territory: Rowan. And by proxy, his friends, this house. Elliot. She didn’t have to say it in so many words but her actions, her attitude, they said more than plenty. Aelin once thought her terribly sweet but now, she saw her for what she was, a flowering thorn bush. Pretty at first glance yet with closer inspection, riddled with barbs. 

Aelin wanted to give into the anger she could feel burning beneath her skin’s surface, to knock Lyria down a few pegs, but she did not. It wouldn’t help. “I don’t know that we’re really friends. I think he invited me because he felt bad for his past behavior.” 

“Past behavior?” 

That hole she mentioned earlier, it was quickly on its way to being her grave. “He got into a fight with a customer in the store,” Aelin casually presented in explanation.  

“That doesn’t sound like Rowan at all,” Lyria countered in disbelief. 

“Well maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”

Lyria rounded the island coming to stand in front of Aelin, which was more like over her, as Aelin was still sitting. “I know him better than anyone else,” Lyria angrily declared into the limited space between them. 

Aelin slid her stool back and stood, toe to toe with Lyria. If she thought she was going to intimidate her, she had another thing coming. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here Lyria, but I don’t like it. Quite frankly, Rowan is grown enough to decide who he talks to, and he does not need anyone’s permission, lest of all yours.” 

“I’m just making sure you know where I stand in his life,” Lyria stated, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Understood, message received,” Aelin confirmed with an embellished thumbs up. She tried to stop there but when Lyria looked a little too satisfied, she couldn’t stop what came out next, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a boyfriend and I’m not out to steal the one you don’t even have.” 

Aelin brushed past Lyria, refusing to give her a moment more of her time and headed out the backdoor, harshly closing it. The idea of hiking through the woods with Rowan and his club hadn’t sounded terrible until now. She didn’t see her dog anywhere and Fleetfoot wasn’t responding to her whistles, but she knew she’d come running when she started the SUV. Fleetfoot loved to go for rides.

As she rounded the front of the house, making for the driveway, the front door opened, and Rowan came barreling out yelling her name. She ignored him, getting into the vehicle and starting it up. Damn Fleetfoot for not already being in the car.

“Aelin, open the door. Or roll down the window. Talk to me. Where are you going?”

Still, she ignored him, watching the rpm handle bob up and down as the engine idled. 

“Can you at least open the door for your dog or are you leaving her too without an explanation?” he asked, angry. 

His words stung. Her turquoise orbs welled with tears, this all feeling a little too much like something Chaol would say to her.

Aelin hastily threw the driver side door open, narrowly avoiding Rowan and Fleetfoot only because he had been paying attention. She couldn’t see his face but could tell his hair was down, water darkening the t-shirt where it touched. Afraid her voice would betray her, she motioned for him to put the dog into the driver’s seat. 

Carefully, he bent down, stuffing his upper body into the vehicle as he loaded Fleetfoot up. She expected him to move so she could leave but instead, he remained in the doorway. 

“Can you move please; I want to go home.”

“Not unless you tell me what happened. You were fine when I left you and gone when I came back. Lyria said you weren’t feeling well.” One of his hands tipped her chin up, forcing her to acknowledge his gaze and line of questioning. 

“It’s nothing,” she lied, attempting her best to be convincing by keeping the answer short, concise. 

“If it was nothing, Aelin, you’d be staying. Would you not?”

“I wish everyone would quit telling me about me. It’s maddening,” she declared, throwing her hands up and shrugging his off in the process.  

“What happened?” he pleaded again, stepping towards her. 

She stepped back, shaking her head. He stepped forward, not heading her “no”, she stepped back again. “Aelin, what’s wrong?”

Angry Rowan pushed her buttons. Half-naked Rowan made her core flush with heat. Laughing Rowan warmed her soul. Pleading Rowan, with his lilting accent, he had the power to lay waste to all her defenses if she let him. Her resolve was wavering and if she didn’t give him the smallest bone now, she would regret it later, or worse, he might after he realized how good and truly fucked up she was. 

“Go ask your girlfriend,” Aelin yelled, shutting the door to her SUV and throwing it into drive. Further tormenting herself, she glanced in the rearview mirror to see him still standing there, watching her leave.  

---------------------------------------------------------------------

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[kudossi]

Doubt

Ashfur’s tail lashes as she turns from him, her ears flattened and tail dragging through dust. His face, crumpled and weary, is etched in her mind — she tries to shake it away, but the image only becomes clearer. His shock feels as overwhelming as the great waters of the sun-drown-place, beating against her with overwhelming force. She is not trying to be cruel — she doesn’t love him, and that is that; she won’t pretend in order to make him happy, and there is nothing wrong with that. She is allowed to be happy, and whole, and if that is achievable with Brambleclaw — well. Then she owes it to herself to try. Still, even if she is right, she feels the weight of it for seasons to come.

He seems understanding, at first — he and Brambleclaw had been denmates nearly all their lives, and had gotten along well. Maybe she’s naive when she purrs at Ashfur from Brambleclaw’s side, when she invites him to share a rabbit, when she accompanies him on hunting patrols. But soon his equanimity turns frigid, and he turns away from them both when they invite him to meals. If the Clan notices, they say nothing — but she catches Ferncloud watching her sadly sometimes, her paws shuffling on stone.

—

Slowly, life returns to something like normal. The forest is gone, but the lake is here. It’s peaceful, usually, but she gasps for breath when it’s not, as if salty water is pushing her beneath the surface. Once, when Brambleclaw is out on sunset patrol, she speaks to Ashfur, who knows her sundrown nightmares intimately. Instead of sitting with her, washing her fears away with soft words and assurances, he snarls at her and turns tail; hurt, she never brings it up again. Instead, she vows to avoid the water’s choppy surface altogether, and nudges Brambleclaw along when he lingers. He seems bemused, more than anything — but when he asks, and she tells, he takes to keeping away as well. She knows that the avoidance is for her, not him, but says nothing — the relief is too palpable, too real. Some days, though, she pushes the fear aside and sits where Hawkfrost’s blood mingled with Firestar’s, wishing that things could have been different.

—

Her sister’s pregnancy should have been obvious, in hindsight — but Squirrelflight hadn’t wanted to acknowledge her sister’s brief absence, and certainly didn’t want to speak about Crowfeather, of all cats. Her sister — her littermate — had been willing to betray ThunderClan — to betray everything she’d worked for, to betray her own blood — for a WindClan warrior still grieving for a she-cat from yet another Clan. And Leafpool — with thought, certainly, as she never did anything without thinking, and didn’t that make it that much worse? — had done all those things, and had betrayed Squirrelflight besides. So maybe Squirrelflight is much happier pretending that those particular days never happened to begin with. Until — until Leafpool tells her about kits, and asks her to adopt them, and asks her to lie, and she can’t ignore it anymore. Squirrelflight says no, of course. She ends up taking them anyway.

When she brings the kits back to camp from where they’ve been born out in the snow, away from the protection of the Clan, she hopes that, at the very least, Ashfur will finally see sense. She is Brambleclaw’s mate, not his — she will never be his (even if the kits aren’t Brambleclaw’s. Even if the kits aren’t hers). But his eyes widen as she pushes through the gorse tunnel, Leafpool slumping in awkwardly behind; he starts, pelt bristling, something flickering behind his gaze that she hopes isn’t hate (even if she knows it is, late at night, feeling ice across her pelt. She’s never safe from him).

Brambleclaw is strong and imposing, and his face is one of joy and near-rapture, but there’s claws wrapped around her heart. She’s lying to him, after all they’ve been through — after his lies had nearly killed her; after Hawkfrost’s blood had turned peaceful blue to bright, fearful red; after her father’s eyes had lost their glaze and had stopped shining with stars. She had begged him, then, on ground stained by the lives of both their kin, never to lie again. Never to trust blindly what others couldn’t see; never to assume the worst of her when all she was trying to do was help him.

And yet here she was, purring and entwining her tail with his and looking down on kits that were borne by some other cat (by the sister she loves, has always loved, and will love until the stars themselves blink out). Here she is, lying to his face while he collapses among kits too young to truly interact with him. He’s whispering affections to them and spinning adorations for her; she can stop him at any time, can spit out the awful truth and let his joy turn to anger and upset, can relieve herself of a burden she hadn’t wanted -- and yet she does not. She presses her nose into Lionkit’s fluff instead, hiding her purrs as they choke in her throat.

—

The kits are WindClan, through and through. How does no one see this? How has no one even twitched a whisker toward the moor? This can’t work. This won’t work, not with the scrutiny the Clan affords them. Kin of their beloved leader! Of course they’ll be on display! Lionkit’s pelt might be fluffy, disguising his shape, but Hollykit and Jaykit are smaller and leaner, with short pelts and long limbs. Their faces slope like a full-blood WindClan warrior’s, and yet no one finds it strange; instead, they blame it on kittypet traits that even Firestar doesn’t possess. They murmur tales of odd-featured kittypets, make ill-considered jokes that they look more kittypet than their half-kittypet mother, and move on. She bristles at the snide comments, but encourages them all the same; after all, she has no doubt that if one cat finds out, two will; if five cats know, the rest of the Clan will by sundown. Secrets don’t stay secret, not in such close quarters; while loners and rogues might be able to hide, Clan cats rarely could. And if, StarClan forbid, Ashfur were to find out — he will ruin her sister, just to ruin Squirrelflight herself. He will do it without mercy, without quarter; he will burn her to cinders where she stands, and he will take anyone who speaks up for her down with the embers. He is a senior warrior, and well-respected; he can do what many other cats cannot.

[dxrkenedheights]

★・・・・・・★

Oskar has always respected Thea's work, as anything practical seems to sing to his methodical and logical mind. It makes sense why this has gnawed at Thea's own brain, too and his intrigue is noticeable over his expression while she speaks. "Luckily, I did pay attention in science classes so I could probably offer some help." he says about the equation specifically, giving the other witch a faint smile and nod. With his coffee in tow, Oskar abandons his initial idea of spending extra time on his own work and travels back from the hallway to Thea's office. For a while during and after their divorce, entering seemed an intrusion of her privacy. But, as Oskar steps over the threshold, he ignores the blatant metaphor of the recent blurring of lines. "I suppose thinking along the lines of talismans is a good mindset." he muses mostly for his own thoughts as he sips his coffee. "But emitting, carrying instead of holding." Oskar adds, gaze moving over the equations. He can see where Thea has already been going with her thoughts, from the gold and the silver and the copper.

His mind that's been created to find anomalies kicks in soon after, but without making it too obvious, Oskar gently erases a little number two in Thea's calculations and changes it to a three. "That might...make a little more sense now." he says, standing away from the board so she can survey it herself. "I'm sure the institute will find great use of this when it's successful. There's three Revenants now, not sure if you heard. Something like this could probably stop all their nonsense." Oskar's grin is slight, turning his attention from the board to glance at Thea as the topic shifts to their son. He can sense Sterling hovering close by to Henrik's room, undeterred by Tybalt which causes Oskar to clear his throat.

He laughs slightly at Thea's choppy Swedish, giving her a pointed look which is only faint. "You both need to practice." Oskar chuckles, before realizing, why on Earth would she? His realization has him sipping from his coffee as a means of distraction. "He still needs to work on the Swedish lisp, I was trying to teach him but I suppose it proves he has perfect pronunciation of English." but ever deflective, Oskar can meet the questions about the sudden plans with ease. He gives her a well meaning smile, accompanied by a gentle shrug. "Everything's fine. I think it all started as one of Madisyn's whims, and well, she treats them like a compass." he says easily, not quite meaning it as a compliment nor a slight on his own daughter. "Other than how old they are, nothing's happened. But, I figured it makes sense for Henrik to meet them. Realistically, it will probably be the only time. Unless Greta and Karl have it in them to get to over a hundred."

Thea nods, always keen to talk about her work. "Yes, very," she agrees with a huff because it's been giving her a headache the past few days. "It is. Along with every other substance known to man at this point. It's the whittling down that takes the most time. I have to test it all. My control is a basic spell, cast to see which reacts best." She moves her hands as she speaks, emphasizing different words along the way. "And from there, I can maybe create some sort of hybrid alloy from the most effective ones to help amplify energy-producing spells." Thea explains, having thought of this for a while after working on Felix's dimmer.

"I'm only a quarter through the periodic table basically," she jokes, but really, there's a lot of work ahead, so it's not a far off statement. "It's just, you know, a side thing. I'm still working out use cases but I think, for starters, basic things like lights and electricity can be supplemented if this works. A hybrid between science and magic." She declares proudly because ever since she'd discovered her magic as a girl, Thea has been finding ways to combine it with the science she loved so much. "And your work is interesting, Oskar. Numbers are important. And practical." She chides good-naturedly before taking a sip of her coffee.

"It'll be good for him either way," Thea affirms, knowing that he'll be excited to spend extended time with his dad and uncle. "He keeps telling me, uh," she clears her throat, dusting off the limited Swedish she'd practiced while they were together and had since shelved since their divorce. Before it actually. "Mamma, titta? But shortens it to tit?" Thea snickers, rubbing her cheek, "so I think he should work on that. I do like when he says kan vi läsa en bok?," which she say, a bit choppy, "but I like his little accent when he speaks it." She admits warmly before nodding again. Henrik has the ability to thaw any conversation, even if he isn't there. Elsewhere in the house, Tybalt flutters his wings as she thinks of her son and flies around the hall a bit before settling on one of Sterling's antlers. Thea clears her throat. "Alright, if you're sure." The fact he'd cleared his schedule for this trip has her raising a brow though as she takes another sip.

She cants her head to the side as he continues, setting her mug down. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're going, and that you want to take Hen but..." the witch furrows a brow. "Why so sudden?" Unless someone's sick, the trip seems out of the blue. Urgent almost. "Is everything alright?" she prods, uncertain if he'll say if it's not but figuring to ask regardless.

[sugamamacustard]

Feral Animal

Pairing:  Alpha! Kentarou Kyoutani x Omega! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Request:  Hi! I love your abo blog! I was wondering if you could write about Alpha!Kyotani with an Omega!Reader, where their first encounter catches everyone by surprise? Like, Reader has a traditionally alpha scent (like burning/smokey wood) and can usually get away with being mistaken as an alpha at first glance? It’s fine if you’re asks are full or you don’t want to do this but thanks for your time 😊 —Sno

Summary:  You just wanted to get the boys to practice on time. You weren’t prepared to deal with this.  Good thing you had a gaurdian angel- or should we say, dog. 

Author’s Note: I love Kyoutani so much. Like he’s in my top three people I simp for. 

Requests: Open!

Kentarou Kyoutani

➵ No one gathered in your way when walked down the hall. You smelt strong enough to put them on edge. 

➵ Peoples hackles were constantly raised when you were around, and truthfully, you didn’t know why. 

➵ You were still you. You were still an omega. 

➵ You still ached to reach out for touch, to scent someone, to just have the smallest bit of attention from anyone that wasn’t Iwaizumi.

➵  You and he had met when you were young, and he took to being your personal guardian—since he was a year older than you.

➵  You were thankful for him and his friendship, but that was all it would ever be. You both tried dating in your first year of middle school (Dating being a loose term), but it was obvious you were better off as friends. 

➵ You both still hung out constantly though, and eventually he grew to be an older brother to you.

➵  When you got to high school though, you quickly realized that with Iwaizumi came Oikawa. You had known him just as you had known Iwaizumi, but the other male seemed to keep his distance from you.

➵ It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was keeping his distance with you. When you and Iwaizumi explained to him there was nothing between the two of you, nor would there ever be, he calmed down. 

➵ The fellow omega (Oikawa is an omega ass bottom change my mind. Unless it comes to requests. Then he’s an alpha for you :D) grew to be close with you as well and if one or the other was being idiotic you stepped in as the shoulder to cry on. 

➵ You were happy for them, truly, but you knew sooner or later you were going to be out of the picture.

➵  They were third years, and you were a second year. They had a relationship that ran deeper than any thing you could offer them.

➵ And that was okay.

➵ Facing the obvious, it’s clear that, because your best friends are those two dorks, you’re into volleyball. Or in the very least, know of it and how to play. Because of this, you’re elected manager.

➵  No more choice. 

➵ You don’t fawn over Oikawa constantly, you can handle Iwaizumi’s outbursts, you were calm with the first years, and you don’t put up with any fan girl’s bullshit. 

➵ You didn’t get the chance to refuse honestly.

➵ “I’m sorry, but unfortunately, Oikawa-Senpai is busy at the moment- “

➵ “Please, just- Let me see him! I won’t be long!” The Alpha pleaded, trying to appease to your sense of empathy. Unfortunately for her, that was dried up before the second girl even looked at you to ask the very same thing. 

➵ You were tired of girls, obviously not getting the hint, trying to confess their undying love to Oikawa every other day. How did they not see he was an Omega? 

➵ Yeah, he had suppressants out the wahzoo but, good golly, his mannerisms were all Omega.  

➵ Apparently this alpha though her and Oikawa would be the ultimate power couple.

➵ “Like I said before, he is busy. Any time you take up is time wasted.” You snorted, turning tail and shutting the gym door, ignoring the screech of anger behind it. You were used to it.

➵  Most times you locked them out, they’d throw a bitch-fit, turn and bad-mouth you to their friends for a few days. 

➵ They’d tease you for your scent—which was a, frankly lovely, pinewood and amber scent—and poke fun at you, saying how ‘you’ll never get an alpha smelling stronger than them” with a sneer. You’ve learned to ignore those types of girls.

➵ What you didn’t expect however, was for her to scream some more, banging on the metal door.

➵  It was ripped open in your moment of shock, making you turn on your heel to face her. 

➵ Her hair, though still relatively upkept, was frizzy with fly-a way’s running out occasionally, but her eyes were what scared you. 

➵ They were constricted to ball point bulbs that were locked onto you, fangs poking out as she snarled at you.

➵ Of course. Because why wouldn’t a feral Alpha be part of your day today?

➵ You growled yourself, trying to reign in your scent but it was getting harder and harder as she stalked closer.

➵ No one else was in the gym, as they were changing in the club room, but you figured you could handle her.

➵ You hoped at least.

➵ She tried pouncing on you, your arms quickly crossing in front of your face to shield yourself, but instead of an angry alpha trying to claw your eyes out, you merely got a gust of wind.

➵   Peeking open an eye—you couldn’t recall closing them, but whatever—you frowned at the face staring back at you.

➵  You hadn’t talked to him, personally, but you knew who he was. Kentarou Kyoutani. 

➵ He was incredibly strong, a worthy advisory, and worst of all…

➵ A ticking time-bomb of an alpha.

➵ He had the resting bitch face to end all resting bitch faces, and the attitude to go with it. He had only said one word to you ever and it was ‘move’. His voice was gruff and angry when he said it, but his eyes softened when you looked up at him. 

➵ He waited patiently for you to gather your things before moving. That was the first, and what you thought, last time you’d ever see the alpha. He entranced you though, so you wouldn’t ever necessarily be opposed to seeing him again. 

➵ Just maybe not in this circumstance.

➵ Kyoutani held the alpha by the collar of her shirt, his lips poked up in a snarl with his canines gleaming dangerously in the sunlight

➵ . Contrary to popular belief, he’d only ever gone feral once in his life. His stepfather, an awful, awful, excuse for an alpha had raised a hand to his Mama.

➵  He refused to let anyone ever raise a hand to omega that day and stuck to his grits with it.

➵  Many people often feared him because of his careful eye and quick reflexes. 

➵ They claimed he was close to going feral because they never cared to admit they were planning on hurting someone. He didn’t care.

➵ At least he didn’t. When he saw you simply turn and close the gym door, he felt his heart skip a beat. 

➵ Maybe it was just the fact that you didn’t relent, or maybe it was the fact that you didn’t care or bend or submiss in the absolute slightest, or maybe it was the waft of the most calming scent he’s ever smelt before.

➵  He knew the other alpha’s scent, as she had practically reeked all over him while asking him for things Oikawa liked before he snapped on her, so this was all you. And he…liked it. 

➵ He hated scents that were too sweet or too ‘exciting’ in a way, but this? This was calming and euphoric all in one and he wanted to straight up bathe in it.  It smelt that good.

➵ He watched the alpha screech, stomping her foot—he could guess she was the very definition of daddy’s girl with her reaction to being told ‘no’—and before he could growl at her to leave, she was forcing open the door and snarling. 

➵ So, he dropped his bag and ran to make sure you were okay. His alpha pawing at him to hurry up. 

➵ He had felt the very same as they day he ran his stepfather out of his life, but this time…This time, he would be sure not to go feral. That would scare you and he couldn’t, wouldn’t risk that.

➵ When he got there, the alpha lunged and he had barely enough time to grab her. You looked shocked to see him, or maybe it was residue from when she broke into the gym, but you didn’t say anything.

➵  He took that as a good sign, turning tail and dragging her to where he dropped his bag. He grabbed it quickly, instead dropping her and rushing back to the gym.

➵  You closed the door behind him, Iwaizumi and Matsukawa quickly locking it. In the time, between Kyoutani dragging out the feral alpha you had the chance to text Iwaizumi, sending choppy and shaky, but succinct, messages to let him know what was going on.

➵  The rest of the team were on their way anyway, so they merely hurried their steps. When they turned to lock the door, you stopped them, crying for them to just wait for a minute.

➵ Kyoutani had run in seconds after your plea and the door was quickly shut. 

➵ Scents were going insane in the gym, but his was most discernible to you. He smelt scared.

➵  Before anyone had a chance to mention it though, he was turning to you and reaching for your face.

➵ you flinched but that didn’t stop him. His fingers were gentle, more so than you could expect from him, and he was so soft while turning your face to observe the damage. Iwaizumi tried to get close, but he was growled at as you were held to Kyoutani’s chest. 

➵  The team could only watch, flabbergasted, as you were hugged and scented by their mad dog. Even more so when you began laughing and purring, placing your hands around his neck.

➵  You whispered something (They were ‘Thank you’ and appreciation whispers) into his ear, making his shoulders visibly relax. No one could really understand what had happened, but they weren’t sure if they wanted to question it just yet.

➵ Well, most of team didn’t at least.

➵ “Aw, Mad dog-Chan! How do you know our little Chibi-chan?” Oikawa laughed, leaning off Iwaizumi as he spun a volleyball on his pointer finger.  

➵ Kyoutani grunted, abruptly pulling away, only to growl and pull you back when his alpha snarled. “Don’t.”

➵ “Wait- wait, wait. Hold on.” Hanamaki snorted, holding his hands up. “So you, Mad dog, most vicious alpha this side of the equator, just decided fuck it, and chose to not only save an omega you’ve never met, but then hog her? I don’t know, Mattsun, seems kind of sus to me.”

➵ “Very sus.” Matsukawa agreed, snickering. He yelped however, when Kyoutani turned to snarl at him, only for you to hold him back. Matsukawa had never felt more scared for his life in that very moment, and he owed you a whole ass chapel.

➵ It stayed like that for the rest of the practice, with you calming Kyoutani down ever time he needed a ‘time out’ and over time he got much better at controlling his anger.

➵ No one was surprised when you walked in two weeks later, a small, thin leather choker clipped on around your neck with a hand-made moon charm hanging from it.

[hooterhorror]

Hiii!! If you don't mind, could i request the Sawyers' (either the whole family as 1 headcanon post or a few of em individually, whatever your comfortable with!!) reaction to a really nosy reader, asking about their business, routines, kills - sounding like a cop or something when in actuality they're just really curious. Tysm !!! :o)

sure thing! I tried to make this as detailed and in character as possible, sorry if I missed entirely XP

Sawyer brothers with a nosey s/o (+ Thomas!)

shut up Thomas is apart of this fucked up family.

format: headcanons

warnings: probable swearing, not proofread :)

Thomas.

He's used to being asked what he's doing by his brothers and being bugged, but I'm not sure if he's expected it from his partner!

He'll let you follow him around but guide you out of the basement (even if you already know what he does/what his family is)

doesn't mind the questions at first... but when Hoyt plants the doubtful seed in his mind that maybe you're not who or what you seem, he gets a little tense and starts to shake his head in response to overly snoopy ones

if you have some form of separation anxiety or are snoopy/nosey because of being overly shielded as a child, please explain that to him! it'll wipe any doubt from his mind in a second!

He will still want to keep you away from his work, no matter how much you try to prove that it's ok and you understand it and you can handle it- he fully believes you can but he doesn't want you to. He wants to separate that part of his life from his life with you.

Bubba.

he like Thomas, doesn't mind at first! he might be a bit confused later and not answer some but.. he really doesn't mind since you've gained his trust

He understands curiosity! if you ask him what he's doing he'll take a step back and let you take a look!

like Thomas he does want to keep you away from his other side... but because he's scared you'll leave him or think he's a monster. even when you assure him otherwise, he's reasonably hesitant!

If Drayton or Hoyt tried to convince him you're suspicious and taking advantage of him, he grows distressed and very defensive! there's no way you'd do that to him!

expect to be cuddled a lot more later

Chop Top.

I use he/they for choptop because if a personal non-binary headcanon :)

He's nosey too, always peeking over your shoulder when you're doing something that he isn't involved in. Which is rare because when you date them.. he's just always by your side and wanting to spend time with you

"W-why.. why you asking so many questions, babe? hehe."

thinks it's rather adorable and teases you for being clingy even if they're the same

you're just curious? okay he accepts that as an answer

Drayton might express some suspicions but it's met with chortles of laughter from choppy, he doesn't believe you're a cop or anything for a second! beside, Hoyt is the sherrif.

he may find himself wondering if the could be right, but quickly ignores that little voice that tells them to worry about it more

loves bothering you, and I doubt you really mind <3

Nubbins.

I love nubbins

He's always on the move. this brother is particularly hyperactive so he's either outside searching for roadkill with his camera ready or hitching rides. which you're very much invited to, by the way! It's very obvious from the start what he and his family is doing, even more so when you're dating him- plus he doesn't mind if you're involved.

he kinda tries to force you into it also, just tryna drag you along.

so you're very involved in everything! I doubt you have much to ask about, but when you do, he teases you like his twin :)

"y-you're pretty, pretty obsessed with me huh?"

doesn't mind though and also doesn't listen to any warnings he gets from draytron or Hoyt. might also laugh in their faces if he's feeling particularly daring.

you'll probably find him watching you and watching whatever you're doing often, so he would be a hypocrite if he got defensive or upset by your actions xp

[honeyju]

home run; lee minho

The four times you try to ask Lee Minho to the winter formal, and the one time he asks you. 

genres: fluff, friends to lovers au, high school au, sports au (baseball player minho!!)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: merry christmas!! this is a christmas collab that i’m doing with my friend alice @jjacob​ in which we write for each other’s ult biases! (mine is juyeon, so if you’re interested in the boyz, i recommend reading her story here, especially since our storylines are a bit connected!) i had a lot of fun learning more about minho during the writing process, and i hope this story represents him well <333

TRY ONE: KEEP IT SIMPLE. 

If there’s anyone in the world who knows Lee Minho better than you do, it’s Lee Juyeon. 

The two of them have been joined by the hip for as long as you can remember, and if Minho is the relentless tease, spirited and carefree, Juyeon is the gentle thinker, all sweet smiles and wise words. So that’s how you end up frantically dialing his number at nearly one in the morning, too panicked to consider the possibility of him being asleep. You wait with bated breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times before Juyeon picks up the phone, his breathy laugh greeting you instantly. 

“I was waiting for this.”

Juyeon’s words cause you to let out a small noise of surprise, and his chuckle sounds in your ear, a little choppy and distant-sounding due to the poor connection, but bright nevertheless.

“What do you mean you were waiting for this?”

“Silly girl,” Juyeon says, and you can tell he’s grinning despite not being able to see him. “Don’t think I didn’t see you look at him when they announced the dance this morning.”

Your face turns red as you recall the mention of the winter formal during the school announcements and the way your head had immediately turned to Minho’s. You were certain that no one else had noticed the longing upon your face when you looked towards your close friend, but hearing Juyeon now leaves you unsure. 

“Was I that obvious?” You groan, burying your face in your hands out of embarrassment. 

“I wouldn’t worry that much, it wasn’t too apparent,” Juyeon assures you, and yet the spark of doubt in your mind still lingers. 

“You think he knows?” You question as you run your fingers through your hair. 

“That you like him? I don’t think he’d get that from just one glance.” Perhaps he’s right, for you know that Juyeon is just naturally more perceptive than others, and the things he picks up on don’t tend to be the same as what others notice. 

“I hope you’re right. This isn’t how I wanted him to know,” you groan.

“Oh? So you’re planning on telling him? That’s why you called, right?” You know Juyeon’s teasing you by the tone of his voice, and you resist the temptation to whine at him. 

“Help me ask Minho to the dance, Juyeon,” you plead, trying to let every ounce of your desperation show in your tone, praying that his response will be yes. There’s a pause, and you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation as you await his next words.  

“Well, I can’t exactly ask him for you,” he starts, “but I’ll try to give you some advice.”

“Thank you, Juyeon,” you breathe in relief, switching the call to speaker mode so you can peel it away from your cheek.

“Don’t mention it. First things first, though . . .”

Juyeon trails off without an explanation, and you understand why a few moments later when you catch a flicker of light erupting from your phone out of the corner of your eye. When you lift it up a little higher in your hands, you see that Juyeon has turned his camera on, his face just slightly too close to the camera and his smile filling the screen. You rush to turn yours on as well, switching on a lamp so your face can be seen in the near darkness of the room. After an exchange of waves, Juyeon clears his throat, and even through the blurry quality you catch the blaze in his eyes that suggests he’s gotten idea.

“Y/N, Minho’s at your place right now, isn’t he?” Juyeon asks, and there’s something about his tone that strikes you as a bit too bold for your liking. 

“Well, yeah,” you answer hesitantly, “but I think he’s asleep right now.”

“How about you just ask him whenever he’s awake?” Juyeon suggests, and you raise your eyebrows incredulously as you watch him shrug his shoulders like he’s just told you to do the easiest thing in the world.

“Are you insane?” You shriek, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth when you realize how loud you’ve gotten. Juyeon only laughs, his eyes morphing into crescents and his bunny-like smile widening. “You think I should just ask him like that, no preparations or anything?”

“Trust me, Y/N. It’s nice to make things special, but I think that Minho will appreciate your honest confession more than anything else.” Juyeon’s advice is laced with sincerity, and you don’t need to look at his face in the camera to know that he wants the best for you. 

“I’m blaming you if things go wrong, Lee Juyeon,” you sigh reluctantly. “But I suppose there’s not really any other way to do it.”

“Give it a try,” he encourages. “I think he’ll like it.”

“Thanks, Juyeon. For picking up so late and for the advice,” you tell him genuinely, and he smiles. 

“Anytime, Y/N.”

With that, the two of you hang up, and your head automatically drops to the table to rest in between your arms.

“Just ask him whenever he’s awake,” you mutter to yourself, “How am I supposed to do that? Oh, good morning Minho, breakfast is over there, and by the way, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the winter formal with me?” 

The words sound stupid no matter how you say them, and you can’t stop yourself from the feeling of hopelessness that strikes you as you trudge back to the bed where you find Minho laying peacefully on his side. You smile, tilting your head as you watch him for a moment until he suddenly turns over so he’s lying on his back, blinking repeatedly until his eyes focus on you.

“You’re back?” His words are hoarse and followed by a yawn, which you laugh at softly. 

“Sorry, Minho, did I keep you up?” 

Minho says nothing and instead pats the space beside him on the bed, to which you oblige, instantly climbing in to lay next to him. He inches closer to you, resting his head next to your shoulder and quietly snuggling into your side. Trying to ignore the way your heart has sped up in response to his figure latching onto yours, you recall Juyeon’s words from before, realizing that he’s awake right now, and perhaps you have a chance. 

“Minho?” Your voice comes out in a whisper, and you don’t dare to look at him out of fear for your heart. 

“Hmm?” Minho’s response is sleepy, slightly muffled from your shoulder but unbelievably soft. 

“Are you by any chance going with someone to the winter formal?” You ask hesitantly, squeezing your eyes shut out of embarrassment. Minho makes a small noise of disagreement, and you can feel his head shaking against your side as if in extra confirmation.

A relieved sigh falls from your lips, but your next words get stuck in your throat when you come to the realization of just how scary it is to confess. You can’t stop the swarm of worries that hit you, overcome by the question of whether he doesn���t see you as anything more than a friend, and if asking him to the dance will jeopardize your relationship with him. You know that you can’t hold your feelings in forever, though, and you think of Juyeon’s kind motivation when you say your next words.

“D’you maybe wanna go to the formal together?”

There’s a heavy silence, your question lingering in the air unanswered, and your heart sinks in your chest at the lack of response. 

“Minho?” You try again quietly. Dread overtakes you as you guess that perhaps his silence is a form of his rejection, and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to get yourself out of this one. When you turn on your side to face him, however, you find that he’s already fallen back asleep, light snores emitting from his parted mouth. A small smile creeps up your face as you unconsciously lift your hand to stroke his hair, mindlessly dragging your fingers through the silky strands. He leans into your touch, eyes still closed as he mumbles meaningless words out of fatigue and shifts so he’s closer to you.

Maybe tomorrow, you think to yourself, resting your head on the top of his and letting your eyes fall shut as sleep overtakes you.

TRY TWO: MAKE IT SPECIAL.

Your heart pounds as you tug the door open to the café, peeking inside to find the area mostly empty save for a handful of students at the far end. You thank the heavens for appearing just on time, the familiar sight instantly soothing your nerves. You set the large plastic bag you’d brought along with you on one of the tables, laughing a little as you begin to empty it of its contents one by one. 

“Look at you, Y/N,” you mumble to yourself, “bringing this food and getting all dressed up for a man.” 

The last item in the bag makes you smile, despite yourself, and you pull out the small box of chocolates that you had bought in the morning, setting it down to complete the collection. You marvel at the assortment of treats you’d gotten for him, shaking your head as you sit down to try and calm yourself from the slight tension of it all. Glancing up to check the time in one of the clocks hung up on the wall, you realize with jittery anticipation that he’ll be arriving soon. 

Five minutes pass, and he’s nowhere to be seen. 

You think nothing of it until another ten minutes pass, and you begin to wonder what’s holding him up, trying not to let the feeling of unease get to you as you assure yourself that he might just be running a bit late. Your foot begins to tap quietly against the tiled floor, an anxious habit of yours you’d never managed to quite get rid of. 

Thirty minutes pass, and you pull your phone out from your side pocket, unlocking it to stare at his contact in part hesitation and part concern.

Should I call him?

You weigh out your options, wondering if you’ll sound too demanding if you call to ask if something’s wrong. However, your phone appears to solve the problem for you, the shrill sound of its ringing interrupting you from your thoughts. You jump at the sudden noise, but accept the call instantly upon seeing the caller ID. 

“I was just about to call. Is everything okay?” You ask, and your eyes widen in worry at the sound of Minho panting on the other end.

“Y/N,” he breathes, “I—I’m sorry. Coach is keeping us in an extra hour, and—”

“Slow down, Minho,” you urge, “first catch your breath.”

He hums in agreement, and your face falls when you process his words, realizing the true reason he called. Although you know he’s not the one to blame, you can’t help the feeling of disappointment that creeps up inside of you as you glance down at the chocolates and favorite foods of his sitting on the table. 

“You’re saying you can’t make it today, right?” The words come out softer than you mean for them to, and Minho sighs regretfully. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. You know we have that big game coming up tomorrow, and—look, if you want, I can leave practice.” His voice is gentle, apologetic, and tears sting your eyes upon hearing how willing he is to risk getting kicked from the team for you. 

“No, you can’t,” you shake your head frantically. “I’m not letting you suffer the consequences of that for something this small. Go have fun, okay? We do this regularly anyways, we can just meet up next time.”

You hear a rustle on his end, followed by the voices of his teammates calling out for him. “Are you sure?” Minho asks, a twinge of concern in his tone. 

“I’m sure! Now go, they’re calling you,” you encourage, trying to sound as cheerful as you can to convince him. 

It works, to your relief, for Minho’s next words are bright. “You’re a lifesaver, Y/N,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice before he ends the call. 

There’s a moment of silence as you look at the goodies once more, before your eyes land upon the box of chocolates, and you pry the lid open to find them already beginning to melt. Reminding yourself that you won’t be seeing him today anyways, and that there’s no use wasting a perfectly good box of chocolates, you pop one of them in your mouth. The corners of your lips tug upwards at the savory taste, and you let out a deep exhale as you remember that you’re not out of ideas just yet. 

“More for me, I guess,” you mutter, trying not to lose hope. “On to try three!”

TRY THREE: GO ALL OUT. 

The sign leaning against your legs serves as a constant reminder of just how whipped you are for Minho, and at times it amazes even you just how far you’re willing to go for him. Making sure no one else can see it, you take yet another glimpse at the cardboard sign you spent the entirety of last night making, lifting it enough for it to rest in your lap. You stare at the bolded words drawn on the surface in capital letters, surrounded by small designs and stickers in a variety of colors. 

I might strike out asking, but will you go to the winter formal with me?

An embarrassed laugh bubbles out of your throat and you find yourself yet again bewildered by the sheer cheesiness of it all. You can’t bring yourself to raise it, however, telling yourself that tensions are too high right now and that you’ll show him later when there’s no potential of the sign distracting him. You set it back down at your feet, and you look past the sea of people to search for Minho in the group of players on the baseball field. 

Murmurs of “the score is so close,” “we need a home run to win,” and “we’re gonna lose, aren’t we?” echo around you in the stadium, and your mind immediately flashes back to Minho’s words from before the game. 

“If I win, you have to do any one thing that I want for me.” 

You had teased him and asked him what he’d do if he lost, but Minho had only shrugged nonchalantly, telling you that he’d do anything you wanted if that was the case. 

Looking down at him on the field now, you watch as he readies himself at the batter’s box, and despite the near-impossible chance of him securing the team a win, something about the blaze in his eyes tells you that he won’t be losing today. Just before the pitcher can pitch the ball, he looks up towards the stands, his eyes scanning the crowd to find you. When he does, he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t mouth anything, but somehow through his gaze, you already know exactly what he wants to tell you: he’s going to win. 

The pitcher steps forward, raising his leg and leaning back with the ball before he throws it with a single fluid motion. The ball spirals forward towards Minho with immense speed, and you watch breathlessly as he positions himself to hit it. He swings the bat, and a gasp leaves your mouth.

What happens next is a blur, and by the time you can process what’s happening, Minho has already tossed the bat and reached base one. You squint your eyes as you search for the ball, managing to glimpse it right before it falls outside the gates of the field. You cover your mouth with your hands in shock as you look back down to Minho just in time to watch his foot touch the second base. 

“He hit it all the way out!” Shouts and exclamations of surprise reverberate around you as the audience rises to its feet eagerly. 

Base three. 

All attempts to stop him are useless at this point, you realize, for Minho’s already making his way to the final base, his features hardened by determination. Just before he reaches the end, Minho finds you in the crowd once more. His gaze remains locked on yours as he flashes you a small grin, his foot touching the home plate at the exact same moment. 

Home run. 

For an instant, there’s nothing but dead silence, and then the entire audience erupts into applause, the noise turning almost unbearable as it rings in your ears. The edge of the sign scratches against your leg as you stand up, and you’re reminded of the dance as you impulsively grab hold of the cardboard, getting on top of your seat as you prepare to raise it. When you inspect the field one last time to ensure Minho is still there, you find that he’s lost in the arms of his teammates, all shouting excitedly and clapping him on the back among cheers.

Your shoulders slump as you realize that there’s no way he’ll be able to see your sign with all the ruckus, and you dejectedly get down from your seat, making your way off the stands and exiting the stadium. 

As you trudge home, you wonder if you’ll even be able to face him without blushing, let alone ask him to the formal. 

TRY FOUR: NO INTERRUPTIONS. 

The next time you see Minho, you’re stepping through the open door of Chan’s house, and you’re met with the sight of the entire team laughing recklessly, joking around and shoving each other playfully over a set of pizza boxes. Small decorations and streamers are hung up in colors of red and green to highlight the approach of Christmas, and something about the setting makes you feel delightfully warm. It’s somehow exactly the kind of celebration you imagined, and when you look towards the team once again, you find Minho in the center of all the chatter, just as you always do. 

When he catches you standing before them, he freezes, and his gaze morphs into something different, almost hungry, as his eyes slowly trail over your figure from top to bottom. The intensity of his stare seems to burn into you, and you watch in quiet anticipation as he separates himself from the group to walk up to you. 

There are no excuses now, you think. No interruptions, no distractions, no reasons to prevent you from asking him. 

“‘Come to the celebration party at Chan’s place, and I’ll tell you there,’” you greet, quoting his text from hours before, and Minho smiles sheepishly. “Well, I’m here now. What is it that you want?”

“You look beautiful,” is his response, and your next words are forgotten as your face goes up in flames. 

“I’m glad you think so. It took me a long time to find this dress,” you mumble, staring down at your feet to hide your blush. 

“I’m not talking about the dress,” Minho says, and your eyes widen as you look back up to search his face. He turns away before you can look too hard, rubbing the back of his neck as his cheeks turn red. “Anyways,” he mumbles, avoiding your eyes, “you told me you wanted to ask me something too, right?”

“You first,” you blurt, still too flustered from his compliment to think straight. Your words, however, are drowned out by a particularly loud screech emitting from the other end of the room, followed by the booming laughter of the rest of the team. Furrowing his brows, Minho cups his ear and leans closer to you, prompting you to repeat the words in his ear. Another series of laughs sounds from the room, and Minho takes your hands in his to bring you to a more empty section of the house. 

“Finally,” he breathes when the two of you are safe from disturbances. “I swear, they can get so loud sometimes.”

You giggle at his words. “Tell me what you want for winning,” you urge him, trying to do whatever you can to delay your turn. Minho’s face darkens, and something about the way his gaze turns intense makes your heart race.

“Look up,” he whispers, his hands tightening around yours. You obey, your eyes drifting up as you find yourself staring at what you think could be one of the most beautiful bunches of mistletoe you’ve ever seen, hanging from the ceiling and twinkling under the soft light. You gulp upon realizing its implications, your tongue swiping over your lips out of nervous habit. You look back down to face him, and you find that his expression reflects the same desire he displayed before, his eyes sparkling as the corners of his lips turn up. 

“We can’t break tradition, now can we?” He teases, leaning forward just enough for your noses to touch, his lips barely ghosting over yours so you can feel the warmth of his breath upon your face. When you close your eyes, your own lips parting, he closes the distance. 

Time seems to freeze in place as his soft lips meet yours, his hands dropping to your waist as his lips move slowly against yours. There’s a passion in his kiss that you’re reciprocating before you even know it, and a slight smile shapes his lips that you can’t help but mirror. He’s the first to pull away, resting his forehead on yours for a moment as he catches his breath. 

“You have to do any one thing that I want right?” He breathes. “Go to the winter formal with me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, your eyes flying open in shock and immediately finding his as you soften at the sincerity in his face. 

“You mean that?” You murmur, and a smirk graces Minho’s features, one you’ve become so familiar with after countless years of him teasing you. 

“’Course I do. That’s what you were gonna ask me too, right?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly. You blink for a moment, tilting your head slightly as you process his words. Then it hits you. 

"Juyeon told me I wasn’t being obvious!” You grumble, pouting in dismay. 

“Well,” Minho laughs, “I only had a small idea that you liked me. What confirmed it was that sign you made—I might strike out asking, right? I may have gotten a peek at it when you left to get water before the game.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t look! That’s not fair,” you whine, hitting his shoulder playfully. 

“It’s the reason I’m asking you now though, isn’t it? So tell me, Y/N. Will you go to the dance with me?” Minho smiles softly, the light in his eyes is akin to that of the mistletoe berries gleaming above you. You can’t stop your mouth from pulling into a wide grin, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pull him closer to you, letting your lips answer his question as they meet his once more. 

LEE MINHO; TRY ONE: SUCCESS!

[erisdiamas]

The woman rolled her eyes and let out of dry scoff.

“At this point- you’re really obsessed with my friend but regardless- I’ll bite, you dont know Lazuli the way I do… just like how I have no clue why you’d see yourself in a mutt.. I digress though.. we’re clearly gonna have this problem until we reintroduce each other so kindly save the pettiness for a hybrid that can’t handle it.”The fact the man had the gall to even hint that she had no clue of who and what she was dealing with was downright laughable- she withdrew her hold as if the smaller man sieged her palm.. and then, well- he revealed more about his time on Homeworld- his experience with the tower.

“…I get that, Homeworld was bright. That wasn’t a punishment for you, it wasn’t like you could’ve starved.. or being left with a slew of constant terrible thoughts in the darkness. Different experiences and all that.. I’m glad it wasn’t awful for you.” Eris’s own words echoed through her mind- they were different, I mean other than the obvious similarities.. they weren’t that much alike- here’s the thing- she could understand the fears of not truly being loved if she shown her true colours..and while Rose wasn’t justified- it pains her to admit even subconsciously that she had a semi good reason to wage war against the others.. still, she found it hard to breathe thinking about her time as Pink in that tower..she could almost feel those gloves wrap around her fists.

In a blink, she was sitting on the windowsill of that dreaded tower, on the only source of light- and that obnoxious stature of White was only the icing on the cake- the only regret the hybrid had now? Wasn’t leaving her timeline- no, it was the fact she never got to give Homeworld a real spiked head to look to.

“Dude, I couldn’t imagine just- abandoning an entire being- maybe she was too occupied with ya know, war, gem monsterd n stuff? I dont know. Couldn’t be me.” She snorted to herself a bit, it might’ve been cruel for the ‘S’ word and insanely screwed up (judging by the damage done resulting in them both standing in this field today) but honestly? Eris would’ve at least opted to bubble her away.. maybe then..

“You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of her shit- that goes terribly understated. Or her pets- or clean her messes.. which you hear constantly at this point but it sucks to reiterate.” They were now back in the forest, the humming of the cicadas descended into a serene song, adding to the rushing of the lake they stopped at.

“Fair share of tender fucking nights??? You’re just 13???? What do they give you? Warm glasses of milk?” The beast that was previously tossed around poked it’s head… out the lake (?!) her choppy buzzcut was drenched in pus and… leaves?? Was Pepper showering?? While her form was destabilizing??

….It made Eris snort, in that moment she remembered why exactly she fell for the fear mongering faux vigilante to begin with- completely forgetting the entire dismembering her lover and causing her stress to the point of miscarriage.

“Oh yea, Peps- they probably set cookies up next to it with a note and heart waiting for him to come down the chimney like some new ancient holiday. I bet they even call you Gem Stevie Clause” Her laughter quickly ceased as she made contact with the beast that actually lightened up her mood- it was quite disgusting actually.

“Dont mind her- she’s not used to being rejected like us folk do, she just picks and chooses whoever.” Pepper’s little joke had a snide bite to it, sounding almost spitefully.

Eris readied her fists to attack before completely losing momentum, looking back to Gem- “Disregarding that mess.. I never really saw you interact with other people- and you’re already so dodgy with this topic, I just thought you weren’t interested.. so you getting laid boggles me.” She ignored the ‘yea it boggles us!’ from the abomination twisting her fingers back in place- chiming in as if this was a group project.

Continued | @erisdiamas

"Oh?? If it was that specific gem only, then why did your feelings for your own Jasper bleed into your opinion of my own? I mean, yes, she's dedicated, she was made to be, she's still kinda unlearning the homeworld propaganda that she's had ever since she popped out of her exit hole." He explained. "She still carries those feelings so failure from failing to protect her Diamond from being shattered, despite how it was faked... then despite how she fought during the war, fought on the side of Homeworld in Pink Diamond's name, despite being in Yellow Diamonds court now." Gem Steven replied. "She still carried those feelings of grief... she still does... so does Iris. Old habits die hard and all that..."

"I enjoy Jasper's company not, because she's dedicated to me, but because we share those feelings of failure to protect the people we swore to protect... I see myself in her... every flaw I have she also has... and I know you probably don't like hearing me compare myself to someone you deem a mutt, but that wouldn't be the first time I've compared myself to something akin to an attack dog."

He let out a low sigh. "I know that you don't need me... and I think that's why it hurts so much when you left the first time... because I know everyone's going to out grow me one way or another... hell Steven planned for his own cross country trip and all I could think of was... "of course he's leaving me... he doesn't need me any more no one does, I've become obsolete. I'm off color, overcooked, a mistake that no one wanted to deal with because everyone wanted Rose back and they got stuck with me." His tears started flowing over his cheeks, notably these tears didn't sparkly or fizzle away, but flowed down over his chubby cheek and onto the ground surprisingly no ill effects followed after.

"So when you came back I was so relieved to see you were ok, but then wracked with guilt that I didn't try harder to find you... that I when I was told she was going to be fine, I just believed you would instead of hunting you down like a bloodhound and making sure that you would never had to deal with any of this shit you had to deal with." He huffed a bit, as he pushed away the finished charcoal drawing, and wiped the dust on his pants before sniffling like a miserable kid huffing and puffing about a bad dream he had.

"By the time you left the second time I had figured... yea she can handle herself, she's proven to me she's been through hell and she can handle it, but I don't like it, I don't like leaving that up to chance... but I know the more I push you to stay home the more you're gonna feel like a fish inside a bird cage... longing for the open waters to explore the world, yet in an environment that's suffocating the longer that you're away from it." He huffed, and sniffled.

"I don't wanna make you feel like I'm suffocating you... I don't like feeling like I'm this massive problem that everyone has to deal... I don't like being constantly reminded of my past failures and mistakes...you're asking what I want... what I want is to forget about the past and have this fresh clean slate where I only remember being here on this Earth and not having to remember all the bad things that happened that caused me to be here in the first place." He shield himself. "I know everything that mom did albeit very fuzzy now, what she was thinking, why she thought it was the only way or a good idea... how she tried her damnedest to make things right... she never wanted to hurt anyone and she only ended up hurting everyone with her good intentions." He huffed as he made another few smores for the both of them passing her a few while eating one of them.

"I can't speak if your version of Rose was the same way, or even if Classic's version of Rose was that way, but I'd like to think that all these Roses are all cut from this same cloth of being underappreciated, rebelling against the idea that she's lesser than to everyone's failure to realize that she was unhappy, worked to make it so she could be happy, and only found happiness when she met someone like dad... who pushed back these feelings of superiority, who made her realize that what the diamonds did to her was wrong, but also that she was doing the same god damn thing and not realizing it until finally realizing that she was the problem and solving it by getting rid of herself..." He huffed, flopping down on the ground with his arms under his head looking up at the eerily green sky, with the shimmering starts peaking through, he was getting better but he wasn't quite there yet.

"To think all of this still stems from that movie is downright laughable if it weren't so emotionally draining." Gem Steven replied with a soft mumble due to his mouth being full.

[obae-me]

LMAO, okay so what if they discovered that Diavolo (or his dad) was MC's dad? Like they get scared and then boom, wings and horns.

This idea is *chefs kiss*. I’m assuming since this was sent in when my requests were open ages ago that this is a headcanon idea so here we go! Thank you for your patience, finally you can have some Demon!Mc content!

These are Headcanons for the Brothers, but I like the idea so much I might come back later and write some for the Undateables.

The Prince of Hell is My Half Brother?

Everything had been normal at first. Well, as normal as living in a modern version of hell with some of the deadliest demons can be. Something about it all...felt...comforting. Although MC knew that couldn’t be the case, they were unaware of what it was that alluded to the feeling of home. MC’s roommates and protectors were a little grateful when the human settled in with relative ease in their otherworldly situation, but even they questioned how the mortal could accept it all so simply. 

Diavolo himself had an idea of why. From the moment he first saw MC, something in his soul bound to them. He needed to test out this theory of his, but not by being direct, no, he would never get an authentic answer that way. Plus, it was no fun, and with his endless royal responsibilities, he felt he was due a little entertainment. 

So, he conjured up another one of his toyful ploys. With the help of Barbatos, the residents of Purgatory Hall and the House of Lamentation were trapped in the coliseum. Slowly, one of the chambers raised its protective gates, unleashing a demonic monster. It wasn’t till MC felt their life threatened when the change happened, something about their prolonged exposure to magic and the Devildom’s atmosphere managed to finally bring out the secrets in them. Their skin burned and the air around them seemed to spark...and then...they had been changed. New wings, a set of horns? 

A magical chain shot out from the empty room and dragged the creature back in, the metal gates slamming back down and locking itself into place. Diavolo and Barbatos seemed to show up out of thin air. The prince was booming in laughter while the butler tilted his head in amusement. 

“So I was right! I had a feeling,” The Demon Lord started. “Right before he went into slumber, my father had this grand plan to try to create half demon hybrids, although...I thought it had been declared unsuccessful...but you…” Something shone in his eyes, something like he’d just found something he thought had been long lost. “You are my kin! My family! Human and Demon! Exactly the sort of thing to help bring all our worlds together!”

Lucifer

This man has not been surprised by anything in centuries, whether it be due to his wits or drastically low expectations. But this...he wasn’t even sure he was seeing correctly. The human he had thought was weak and fragile suddenly had one pair of leathery bat wings and a set of horns curling around the back of their head. And...what had Diavolo just said?...Family?...Half demon?

First off, he has to drag the young prince away for a disappointed and thorough review of this ridiculously dangerous plan of his. What if he had been wrong? What if the human--or...half human--had died?! Secondly, what did this mean for the exchange program now that it’d turned out the human wasn’t quite so human after all? 

For the first time in a long while...he was unprepared how to handle this. Of course, Diavolo was elated and too caught up in the excitement of things to pay any mind to Lucifer’s woes. 

This would be...an adventure…

He’ll admit, he tried ignoring it at first, hoping that if he simply kept MC under wraps and out of dangerous situations, they’d keep the demon half under control. However, those plans were quickly dashed when one evening they’d sneezed at dinner, their wings manifesting out of thin air and smacking Lucifer square in the face. With their awakened demon powers unchecked, their own worst danger was themselves. So there was only one thing left he could do. 

He’d have to train them. 

The thought of having to devote even more time to work nearly drove him mad, but he quickly discovered that the time teaching MC was...heartwarming. Satan had been so hell-bent on teaching himself when he grew into his own form that Lucifer hadn’t taken someone under his wings like this since the Celestial Realm. It rapidly got to the point where he’d look forward to his sessions with MC. 

“You’re going to want to spread your wings wide and catch as much air under them as you can in one swoop. Flailing won’t get you anywhere,” Lucifer explained, feeling the half-human grip his hand tightly as they stood at the edge of the roof. 

They squeezed their eyes shut with fear, but he could feel their heart pumping with adrenaline at the excitement. “What if I fall?” 

“You won’t. But, on the chance you do, I’ll catch you.” He released their fingers and stepped off the ledge, falling down for the briefest of moments before his wings outstretched and he fluttered up, remaining stagnant in the same spot in the sky a few feet away from the precipice. “Alright, come on. Those wings aren’t just for decoration you know.” MC was wary, nearly petrified with fear. He sighed, reaching out his hand towards them despite being so far from them. “Trust me.” With a breath, they closed their eyes and pushed their body off the ground with a single flap. It was choppy, and the more they panicked, the more distressed their wings became. But they moved forward, eyes glued to the ground far below them. Once they were in reach of Lucifer’s hand, they pulled him close, face planted in his chest while clinging onto him for dear life. “See, you did it,” he beamed, chest swelling with pride. 

The longer he held them against him, the more they were able to get used to how hovering felt, the more the fear melted away. They pulled apart from him, managing to stay level with him. “I...did...I’m-I’m flying.” 

Their pure awe and obvious statement elicited a chuckle from him. “You are. Quite an experience isn’t it? Come along now, you still have those new extensions to break in, and let me tell you, there’s nothing quite like a peaceful soar under the stars.”

Under his tutelage, MC would have themselves under control in no time. 

Mammon 

Of course he was shocked, why wouldn’t he be?! His little human was...half demon? What was the point?! How was he supposed to protect them, to be the world to them, to...He felt a little betrayed. But then again...he took a moment to ponder this new discovery. Diavolo’s family? Royalty? The potential access to the Demon King’s funds?! He and his pact-mate were one small step away from the most Grimm he’s ever seen! He sulked for a little bit but then was perhaps the most excited of the bunch. Well, save for Diavolo. 

The profits! The benefits! The schemes! Glorious treasures and buckets of money were all he could think about for a while. That was, until he noticed them nearly tripping on their own wings and getting things snagged in their horns. At the end of the day...this was still MC, still his...friend, and now it seemed he had more reason to protect them than ever. 

But money was still on the table...if MC wanted it to be anyway. 

As shocking as it was, he’d been taking a lot of the blame and brunt of MC’s mistakes. Wings accidentally popped out and broke a vase? He’d comforted them as they panicked and tried to convince Lucifer it was his doing. Horns manifesting themselves in the middle of the night and shredding their bedding? He’d pay for a replacement. After all, what kind of lousy ‘first’ demon could he be if he couldn’t even look after MC despite appearances? He was still pleased there were things he could do for them, that there was a reason to keep him around. 

Half-demon or no, MC was still his “stupid human”. 

Shaking his head, he allowed himself a heavy sigh and a shrug of his shoulders as he looked down at MC, struggling to free themselves from a tangle of curtains. However they got themselves in this position, only his father knew. Their wing was wrapped in the fabric and one of their horns snagged, unable to let them escape. “I thought I told ya to avoid dangly things till you can control this form of yours.” Despite his best attempts at looking disappointed, he couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer, his bubbly chuckles bringing a blush to MC’s embarrassed face. 

“Don’t laugh, just help me out!” 

“That’s notta very nice tone to have for the only person around to help, ya know,” he teased, smirking down at them with a glint in his eyes. 

They groaned, tugging once again at the curtain that seemed to have a death grip on the rod despite their struggle. Their wing got bound tighter in the shift, causing them to wince and Mammon to drop his smile. “Mammon, please…” 

He dropped to his knees and grabbed their face with his hand as he kept them steady. Tearing a bit at the hole they’d already made with their horn, he helped get their head free. MC wrapped their arms around his neck and pressed their face against his chest while he busied himself observing the mess they’d gotten themselves in. “Man, how’d you even manage this…? It’s gonna have to go.” 

“The wing?!” MC shouted, eyes wide with fear. 

“Nah, you silly human, the curtain.” Gripping the tear, he pulled his hands apart, the sharp sound of breaking seams cracking through the room. The bottom half of the drapes had successfully been separated. With it, MC already felt the pressure lessen. “There we are,” he announced, unwrapping them till they were finally free. MC stretched their wings and grinned with relief. “What would you do without the Great Mammon, huh?” 

There would be plenty of mistakes to come, but Mammon would always be by their side to help them out of it...if he hadn’t helped get them there in the first place. 

Levi 

OMG are you kidding?! This is exactly like the plot in ‘I Had No Idea Who I Was Till I Awoke In A Strange Land And Now I Have Secret Powers! And Oh, Turns Out The Prince Is My Half Brother!’, it couldn’t get any closer than that! The twist! The shock! It was like he was living in a real life fantasy! (Apparently being a demon and constantly surrounded by magic and spells doesn’t quite fulfill his expectations)

Honestly, he’s having a little meltdown in his head, which is obvious to the others due to his fervent muttering and the eyes that never seem to focus. He thinks they’re cool already, so cool, but now they’re even better! Better than him! A cute human with now the powers and features of a demon, and technically a royal?! He can’t compete with that! How are they ever going to look at him the same again? They even have wings! He doesn’t have those! Envy hardly even begins to describe his feelings.

He needs to go have some time to cool down and clear his head, but when he comes back, he’ll be ready to call them a normie again. 

His...fickle and crippling emotions drives him to avoid MC for a while. He doesn’t know how to approach them anymore. What if they’d suddenly changed? What if they didn’t need him or want him around? Endless what-if scenarios ran through his head, not even TSL seemed to help. But, he had to come out of his room eventually. If not out of sheer loneliness, because he’d finally ran out of health-items (aka food and water). 

Besides...while he does his best to convince others that 2D is supreme, he can’t deny that he’s missed his friend, his Henry, immensely. 

During one of his supposed “supply raids”, Levi passed MC’s room, peering in through the open door. It was mid-day, well into school hours, meaning everyone but him should be gone, but...MC was there, sitting on their bed. They scrolled through apps on their phone, refreshing, closing and opening the same apps over and over again before finally setting their D.D.D. aside. He noticed they looked...bored...and lonely. A moment like this would’ve been the perfect time to throw the door open wide and go comfort them...that’s what anime characters usually did...it’s something his brothers had no issue with. But his anxiety overwhelmed him, and he instead tried to speed past the door. 

Apparently alongside their new features, MC had gained a keener sense of awareness. They quickly turned their head, watching the blur of him speed past their door. “Levi! Wait!” Dashing out into the hallway, their wing jammed against the doorframe, causing them to tumble to the floor. A sharp intake of air was sucked through their teeth, and Levi’s panic triumphed over his unease. 

“MC! Hey, are-are you alright?” He got to his knees beside them, his hands hovering over them but not having the courage to follow-through. 

“Y-yeah, I’m still not quite used to these yet,” MC frowned, curving their own wing around their body to rub at the sore spot. 

Lip twitching, he focused on an interesting spot in the carpet before speaking. “S-so, why...why are you home and not at RAD?” 

“Diavolo and Lucifer...thought it would be best that I stay at home until I get...adjusted,” They explained, their voice sounding low and distant. 

There were so many things he wished he would’ve said. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘well, at least you aren’t alone’, ‘you’ll get the hang of things in no time’. But what he really said was, “O-oh.” And now here they were in some awkward silence. Somehow, Levi had come up with the idea that MC would now be one of the most popular people in the realm. Demons fawning over them, their life instantly changed, a life they didn’t need him in. But here they were, lonely like he was, stuck inside like he was. “D-do-do you,” he stuttered. “Do you want to hang out in-hang out in my room?” 

A familiar smile painted onto their face, and it made his chest tighten. “If you’re okay with it, then sure!” 

He’d missed them. “Okay! You remember that show we watched last week? They came out with a new episode! Oh, and-and some new figures I ordered arrived, you can help unbox them with me if you want!” He helped them rise to their feet. “But uh...I can’t have you knocking over things in my room…” He released his tail, blushing as he carefully wrapped it a few times around MC’s torso, keeping their twitching wings carefully pinned against their back. 

Even though they’d transformed and been announced as Diavolo’s half-sibling...some things just didn’t change. 

Satan 

Very intrigued, so much so he began sputtering off questions immediately. How did this come about? How long is their lifespan? How powerful are they? What’s their soul like? How does the pact work? Are they resistant to demon and human weaknesses? Will they have some inheritance of the kingdom? He’s throwing out so many inquiries, even Diavolo has a hard time keeping up. 

The only thing the prince could tell Satan was that he didn’t know. The prince had never come into contact with a demon/human offspring before, he wasn’t even sure if there were others out there. Even if there were, the hybrids themselves probably wouldn’t even know. After all, it wasn’t until their arrival to the Devildom till MC’s powers had been ignited. Satan, unsatisfied with the lack of information, decided that he’d have to record, document, and discover everything himself. 

Which meant MC would hardly be out of his sight. 

Someone has to almost restrain him from experimenting too much on them, but he’s practically vibrating with excitement. Unexplored knowledge, something new for him to pursue. He decides to start off easy and safe, and by that he means taking MC into his room to have a deep interview session with them, not letting them go till they’ve told him every aspect of their lives up till now. Not only did he learn a lot about them that day, but he remembered that despite his vast knowledge...there was too much he didn’t know. 

Their updated appearance didn’t change his feelings about them, and he’d control his curiosity for the most part on behalf of their sake...and health. Although, not even Diavolo himself could get rid of the temptation completely. 

“MC!” Satan exclaimed, bringing in an armful of items into their room with a genuine gleeful curl to his lips. He set things down on their bed, items that...MC was wary about, but it was so difficult to deny him this when he was so elated about the whole thing. Plus, he’d given them endless hours of attention, and MC would be lying to themselves if they said they didn’t enjoy it. “Now, before we continue...what are your thoughts on poison?” Singling out a vial, he presented it to the exchange student. “Or rather, I suppose the proper term would be ‘being poisoned’.” 

MC let out a loud exhale, shifting their shoulders as their wings twitched against them. “Satan, you know I’m very happy to help you with your research, but I’m not guzzling poison on the off chance that I have a resistance for it.” 

He swiftly pulled out another tiny glass bottle. “Even if I have the antidote right here?” MC’s eyebrows lowered. “No? Alright,” Satan conceded, “We can come back to this later.” Next he put on a thick pair of oven mitts, pulling out a set of tongs as he tilted his head back and reached into the box. MC’s thoughts raced with ideas of what this dangerous item could be. And then...Satan pulled out a Holy Book. 

“Wait, really? Just a book?” MC couldn’t help but huff over the irony of Satan being afraid of a book. “I’m pretty sure I’ve touched one before.” 

His face scrunched up in annoyance at being teased. “It’s not just any old book, MC, it’s not like demons reel back at any mention of our father. This one has been blessed by Simeon.” The demon of wrath brought it over, holding it within reach. With that...MC hesitated a bit. They wouldn’t get burned right? They at one point had been blessed directly by the angel! Taking a deep breath, they held out a single finger, letting it drift slowly toward the cover. Breath held, teeth clenched, they touched the holy book with their fingertip. Nothing, not even a tingling sensation, however, in a bit of revenge, they reeled back, exclaiming as they cradled their hand near their chest. 

Satan got so startled, he flung the book to the side, rushing over to grab MC’s wrist. “Hold on, hold on, let me see, let me-” He observed their skin, noticing no irritation, and then picked up on the mocking smirk on their face. Lowering his eyes and head, he took the hint. After all, even them just acting as if they were in pain reminded him that there was no way he could put them in danger. “You’ve bested me, no more tests…” 

“No more dangerous tests,” MC corrected, watching him splutter as they booped the end of his nose with the finger they’d ‘burnt’. 

Together, with his wits and MC’s patience, they’d discover what new surprises half-demon had to offer. 

Asmo

Shrieking with surprise, Asmo nearly fainted. The sleek horns, the velvety wings! He’d already adored MC from the get-go but now he was obsessed. He ran over and jumped up and down in excitement, begging to touch their new features. With permission, he ran his hands all over them. The horns were smooth, sharp, but he could tell they weren’t as strong as they should be, like newborn demon horns. The wings were powerful, beautiful. He ran his hand over the sheer skin and heard MC gasp. Extremely sensitive, as they should be. 

Did someone say shopping spree? Because he did! They’re going to need new clothes for their form. He can’t stand to see them try to tuck their wings under their usual shirts, and of course they’d have to replace a few outfit casualties as they’d been either rendered to shreds or riddled with holes. Getting stuff done with their new demon features is a whole new ballgame than they’re used to! 

But they had nothing to worry about, Asmo is there to teach them all about their new body. 

MC, of course, is a bit embarrassed at first, but without having anyone else to really depend on, and having zero knowledge on this type of stuff, they look to him for help with the delicate things. He helps them get dressed till they’re used to it. He helps wash and clean them, teaching them proper methods for horn and wing care/hygiene. Most of all, he really assures them that what they’re feeling is natural. Ever since the transformation, their wings have been twitchy and their horns have been infuriatingly irritated. 

He sympathizes, he remembers what it was like, he remembers the shock of it all. If only he had someone there to help him and his brothers through it when they’d changed. He won’t let that stress happen to MC, it’s not healthy!

The scraping and scratching could be heard from outside their room. Asmo’s chest filled with pity. As he opened the door, he observed them rub their horns against the bed frame. Gashes and missing chunks ruined the carved wood. As much as it pained him, he found himself scolding the exchange student anyway. “MC!” He’d left for just a few minutes, a few! And already they’d begun to do exactly what he warned them not to do. 

Eyes watery, they looked up to him with a painful expression on their face. “It won't stop, Asmo!” 

He pursed his lips, unable to be too harsh when he knew how irritating growing horns could be. “I know, darling, but your poor bed!” Placing down the things he’d brought over, he squatted down in front of them and cupped their cheek as he turned their head from side to side. “And your poor horns!” The top thin layer coating the new pesky things sticking out of their head now had small splinters of wood stuck in them. He tutted at MC, glad he’d had the foresight to bring along tweezers. Gently, he guided them up to their bed, sitting behind them as he began to pluck the splinters out. Anytime his hands got close, MC instinctively moved to bump their horns against him. “Try not to move, darling, the faster I get these out the faster you’ll feel better.”

“I’m sorry, Asmo,” MC groaned, tightening their neck and shoulders as they focused on remaining still. 

“Nothing to worry about, dear. You’re taking this new beautiful form of yours extremely well, all things considered.” Once the last sliver of wood had been removed, he brushed his hands over their smooth horns, rubbing the base of them between his fingers. They jutted their head against his hands, taking a deep breath at the sensation. But he wasn’t done yet, he’d brought over some special solution to encourage horn growth. Smearing the mixture in his hands, he then began to massage it into the new protrusions. They melted into his touch, grateful for some relief, but eventually gasping when the touch of his soft skin was exchanged with an odd firmness. Nearly purring, Asmo had changed into his own demon form to rub his horns against MC’s. It was like finally being able to scratch that one itch just out of their reach. “Better?” He cooed, giggling when all MC could do was hum in response, shifting their head up and down, faces side to side as they worked to rub their horns together at every angle. 

Demon form? Human form? He loved MC either way with everything in between, and he hoped he could help them feel that way too.

Beel

He started off more concerned than anything. Was he one of the only ones upset that they had been locked away and almost attacked in order to get this result? In fact, while everyone was taking their time with their own reactions and revelations, he went over to MC and made sure they felt safe. They’d been frightened enough to change without meaning to, and the added swarm of information and the shock of the sudden change drove them into a fit. Making sure they were okay was more important than discussing their new looks. 

Once everyone had settled and Beel made sure MC was home and comfortable, then he started thinking more about it. Does that mean they were stronger than normal humans? Could they start to do more things demons could do? He started thinking about all the foods he adored but were deemed poisonous to humans. Maybe they could eat those! He could share some of his favorites! But...he didn’t want to risk it. 

Without knowing for sure what they could and could not handle, he’d continue to treat MC as if they were a normal human anyway, which MC greatly appreciated sometimes. 

Although, Beel quickly discovered that continuing to act like MC was still a typical human...wouldn’t quite work out in his favor either. MC had quickly started to figure out what they were capable of, spiraling more and more out of control the more invincible they felt they’d become, which almost gave this boy a heart attack. Once, they’d figured out they could climb walls, but ended up getting their claws stuck in the ceiling and had to wait for Beel to tug them free. Another time, he’d walked in just in time, pulling MC away just before they could grab onto one of Satan’s cursed books. 

He’d have to watch them like a hawk to make sure they didn’t accidentally dive headfirst into danger. 

“Where’s MC?” Beel asked his twin, returning from a trip to the kitchen, the remnants of his snack still remaining on his chin. 

Belphie looked up from his pillow, eyes still glazed over with sleep. “Hmm? Oh...they must’ve left.” As he yawned and blinked away tired tears, the demon of sloth shrugged. “Last I remember, they said something about wanting to pet a puppy.” Nestling back into his pillow, he grumbled. “But they know...Lucifer won’t let us have any...ani...” And then he was back asleep.

Beel wiped away the last few crumbs off his face, licking them off of his fingers before feeling a jolt of panic. No! Certainly MC hadn’t meant…! Bolting, he rushed past some of his brothers with the intensity and muscle of a charging bull. Luckily, he caught up to them just as they attempted to go inside the crypt that was home to big grumpy Cerberus. He didn’t even give MC a chance to notice him before he grabbed them by the back of their shirt and slung them over his shoulder, one arm pinning their wings to their back so they couldn’t struggle. 

“B-Beel, wait! I just wanted to play with him! Hey! Hold on!” Their pleas were falling on deaf ears, but they were stronger than he remembered, allowing them to break free and leave him staggering for just a moment. That moment was long enough for them to fly up to the rafters, a frisky shimmer reflecting off their eyes. 

Beel folded his arms, starting off with a stern stare. “MC, it’s too dangerous.” 

“I can handle it! I know it! Please, Beel?” He watched them leap from beam to beam, his heart thumping wildly with every movement. “I just have this energy! This urge to do something crazy!” He blinked, taking in the words for a moment before realizing that all his hand-holding and protectiveness had stifled them and bottled up all their demonic urges till they finally boiled over. Everyone had been so focused on all the other aspects that he forgot how badly demons loved to just play. 

His face fell as he felt disappointment in himself for not noticing soon enough. He needed to stop constantly fearing for them. Then, he raised his head, nodding to them as he spoke. “Tackle me,” he stated. 

MC tilted their head. “What?” 

“Tackle me. Come at me as hard as you can. You won’t hurt me, I promise.” MC took some time to think, before a lively smile formed on their face. They dived from the rafters towards him, skidding against the floor as Beel avoided them with a single side-step. Beel gave MC a moment to figure out that he’d dodged before running away. Of course, he wasn’t at his full speed, giving MC a chance to catch up easily. He’d almost made it all the way up to his own room before a heavy weight threw itself on his shoulders. It wasn’t enough to send him to the floor, but he had to catch himself from falling over. MC crawled over him, playful growls rumbling in their chest as they continued to try to force him to the floor. “Not quite,” Beel laughed, pulling them off of his body and placing them aside. “Let’s try again.” 

Until it got out of they’re system, Beel hoped he could be a suitable replacement for all the chaotic things they wished to do. 

Belphie 

The first thing he did when he caught eyes on MC was blink and then sigh. What a crazy dream he was having. Getting trapped in the colosseum, almost getting mauled on by a fierce monster? And now MC was before him with wings and horns and Diavolo had just announced that he was essentially MC’s half brother? Yeah right. Someone needed to wake him up already, this dream was getting too weird. 

It wasn’t till they all got home and got a good night’s sleep till he realized it was real. Waking up to go to breakfast and see that they still were having a hard time with their form? It wasn’t a dream...they were...half demon? 

These crazy feelings and questions had already left him exhausted, and he just had gotten up from a solid 14 hours of sleep.

It takes him a while to adjust, after all, he’s got some baggage from events best-not-mentioned, and this new predicament has left him feeling pretty guilty. Although, something about it gives him hope. At one point, he’d adored the human world, and seeing that the human he’d begun to adore was also half demon? Maybe it was a sign that humanity wasn’t so terrible after all. Maybe Diavolo was right about the whole...peace between worlds thing, as tiring as it sounded. As long as he didn’t have to do much about it, he didn’t mind. It didn’t affect him much, right? He could still sleep. However...cuddling with MC now proved to be more of a hassle than usual. Whether their wings would pop out at random times and push him away, or their horns ending up almost poking an eye out, he wanted to find a solution quickly. 

The one thing he refused to give up was comfortable naps with MC. 

“Beeelllphiiie,” they whined. “I want to go to bed, this isn’t necessary.” 

He ignored them, trying to push past the fact that he found them especially adorable when they were tired. But he felt it was absolutely necessary, after all, this was the third time those pesky horns of theirs nearly left a scratch mark on his cheek. He couldn’t believe how inconvenient this was for him. (He’s kinda a brat like that, but he does his best) He continued to work, pulling multiple fluffy socks over their horns, stuffed with layers of the filling from the pillow they’d accidently torn open. “I’m almost done.” 

“Belphie!” MC shook their head, reaching up in an attempt to remove his work. “It feels weird.”

Grasping their wrists, he frowned. “So does getting poked with these in the middle of the night,” he quipped. His exasperation quickly turned into smug laughter as he observed his handiwork. With a palm, he squeezed the new protection over MC’s horns, unable to feel the sharpness of them. 

MC vigorously shook their head again, but the padding stayed. “I don’t like it.” 

“Then learn to control your form,” he retorted, dragging them back over to bed, holding in laughter again as they stumbled, the added weight to their head throwing them off balance. 

They didn’t take kindly to all his back talk and cheekiness. Grabbing his pillow from their bed, they decked him over the head with it. “If you can’t be nice, you can leave,” MC huffed, crawling back into bed with their back turned to him, attempting to find a comfortable position. Their lack of decent sleep after this whole thing had happened had left them in a grumpy mood. That, and well, maybe he did push things too far. 

“I’m sorry.” From sour to sweet in seconds. He sat on the bed, pressing his hand against their shoulder blades. “I know you can’t help it. It must be uncomfortable, huh?” He could recall what it was like, his horns and new tail had bothered him for quite some time after the change. He rubbed their back and shoulders, pleased with himself when MC turned over on their other side to face him. 

“I’m so tired,” they whispered. 

“I know.” Belphie pulled the covers back over them, settling in his own spot beside them before giving their fluffy horns one last squeeze. “Let’s get some sleep.” 

If there was anything he could help with, it was the luxury of comfort. Until MC settles back into their own skin, he’ll make the transition as cozy for them as possible.

[immortalbumblebee]

From One Engineer to Another

Something that’s been circling my brain is the thought of “what if someone just like...validated Powder’s talents one time” (other than Vi)? And then I saw someone say that Powder and Viktor are incredibly similar in character motivations and well, here we go! 

It was on one of the middle levels of the Underground that Viktor had heard the curses. He was on his way home, late as it was and he knew he should have simply ignored the sounds. After all, it was not like it was rare to hear people yelling curse words in the Lanes. But for some reason, he decided to follow the noise. Thankfully, this given level was close to The Last Drop, so it was as safe as it could get down in the Undercity.

The closer the young man limped towards the noise, the more he heard. The curses were joined by the sounds of crashing metal and lamentations in a high-pitched, squeaky voice that Viktor wasn’t familiar with. Whoever it was, they clearly weren’t happy, but for some reason, he continued to follow the sound.

He eventually found himself at a sidewalk overlooking an open sewer ravine, one of the dozens in any level of the city. The smell was foul, muddy and sour, which helped to explain the obvious lack of people in the general area. Save for a young girl, pacing up and down the side of the ravine.

“Stupid…they think they know everything! ‘Oh freaking Powder, can’t even throw a punch’. Well, at least I can land a shot, Mylo. And I’m not a freaking kid! Just cause I’m small-” the nasally voice cut itself off with another loud curse as the young girl stuffed her hand into her pocket, pulled out something, and slammed it onto the brick ground. The object made a loud clatter and broke off into several pieces, the largest of which rolling over to lay at Viktor’s feet.

The academy freshman leaned down (quite a hassle given the crutch) to take the broken piece into his hand, the young girl continuing on with her monologue of anger. As Viktor lifted the piece to his face, he took in its metal cup-like shape. Its exterior was decorated with fluorescent drawings of sorts, but inside it lay several mechanisms. Gears and circuits, intricate engineering but with clear imperfections.

Limping forward more, Viktor picked up another broken piece from the contraption. Side-by-side, Viktor studied the artifact-that-was, reverse engineering the parts to try and piece together the object’s original purpose.

“This was supposed to be a bomb?”

Viktor hadn’t even really meant to speak aloud, but his voice caught the little girl by surprise. She gasped loudly, causing Viktor to look up from the pieces in his hands and make proper eye-contact with her. She was young, probably around eight or so, with bright blue hair that looked choppy and uneven. Her pale face was covered in dirt and puffy from angry tears, with anxious eyes that darted from Viktor to the alley he had just emerged from.

“Who-how long have you been standing there?” She asked, trying to hide the little sniffle that escaped her. Suddenly all the anger that she had just been revelling in seemed to dissipate, but what interested Viktor more was the metal he was still looking over.

“Did you make this?” Viktor asked, not seeing the need to actually answer the girl’s question. “What’s a little girl such as yourself doing building bombs?”

“L-listen!” The girl exclaimed. “My family-my sister is just around the corner! If I scream, she’s going to come running and she could kick your scrawny…crutch-using ass so hard-!”

“I can assure you, I have no intention of starting any kind of violence.” Viktor motioned to his crutch, “as you have so elegantly pointed out, I am not much use in a physical fight.”

The girl’s big blue eyes seemed to scan over Viktor and his crutch for a moment, but a little bit of the tension in her shoulders released. Finally coming to the realization that he was right, and most likely didn’t pose a threat to her. Worst comes to worst, she could jump into the ravine and make a break for the bar.

“Yeah, I made it.” She shrugged, glaring at the bomb pieces in Viktor’s hands. “But it’s useless, doesn’t work! None of them work…”

Viktor hummed, looking back up to the girl. “Do you have another one? Perhaps more in-tact?”

Again, the girl’s eyes study Viktor. Before reaching into another pocket and pulling out a different contraption. Carefully and rather skittishly, she hands the item to the man. “I told ya, they don’t work. So don’t try and blow us up, cause nothing’s going to happen.”

“Yes, so you’ve said.” Viktor shrugged, before analyzing the contraption. Round in basic shape, with more colourful scribbles that made out the face of an odd-looking monkey. It was bulky though, with three separate sections that twisted and clicked into place. Taking the top part off revealed the inner-workings, similar but slightly altered mechanisms in comparison to the first bomb, with an otherwise empty hatch. ��Where’s the ammunition?”

“It’s supposed to shoot sewing needles, you’re supposed to load it before starting the timer…it’s a prototype. The same casing didn’t work with nails, too heavy.”

Again, Viktor hummed. “This uses a kitchen timer, correct? Have you considered something more akin to a grenade pin and striker?”

The girl’s nose scrunched up. “Yeah, in an early mockup. But it’s hard to find the right parts, and they always end up exploding too early. Also too hard to customize-wait, why am I telling you all this? Who are you? Why is your accent all weird?”

“My name is Viktor, I am studying robotics at the academy.”

The girl giggled. “Yeah right, like anyone fancy enough to go to the academy would be lurking down here. Mylo says that the academy is just a bunch of fancy-pants pansies with too much money…whatever a pansy means. If you’re looking for Benzo’s shop, it’s about five blocks that way.”

“Your friend isn’t completely wrong.” Viktor chuckled. “Your work is quite impressive, but I believe you are mistaken.”

“I know, I keep telling you they don’t work! Do you not understand English?”

Viktor sighed, this is why he never wanted kids. “No, about your machine not working. Robotics are complicated and intricate, as I’m sure you’re aware. But at the end of the day, the simple truth is that they do as they are instructed to do. I am not completely certain it is the machine that is wrong, but rather you are just not giving it the right resources to follow your commands. You need to work alongside your mock-ups, listen to them, learn from them. Simply getting upset and destroying your mistakes creates little room for you to learn.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “But I don’t have time to learn or…listen to the machines. They need to work! If they don’t, how am I going to be of any good to anyone? I’m just going to keep being a…jinx.”

Viktor was familiar with the look in Powder’s face. It was the same look he’d get as a child when he’d see his friends running around and having fun, while he was stuck on the sidelines, tinkering. The feeling of being useless, a burden who misses out on life.

“A word of unsolicited advice.” Viktor finally spoke, handing the bomb back to the girl. “Not everyone is created equally in this world. That, my dear, is a cold fact. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t worthy of things like respect and a good life. And just because you don’t act or think the same way that others do, doesn’t make you invaluable. Continue honing your craft, and I can assure you…you will build something that is just as important or powerful as being able to throw a punch. Understood?”

The girl looked down at the metal she held in her hands. “You really think my bombs aren’t just a waste of time?”

“Quite the opposite, in fact, I think you’re intelligence can be used to make some great things someday. But you need to learn. Be patient, and don’t let others’ opinions affect your life in such a prominent way.”

Finally, the girl smiled. “Thank you, Viktor.”

And with that, the man nodded, turned, and limped the way he came, waving as his back turned to the girl. “I hope to see you again, little one.”

[smolla-than-a-bug]

you’re definitely flirting with me

—jason todd x villain!reader

second and final part to are you flirting with me. can be read as a stand-alone tho

navi | bat boys m.list | are you flirting with me

content — language, blood, mentions of harassment, mildly suggestive (use of the word ‘daddy’ but ironically)

notes — i know that its literally been years and that i formerly posted a part two to are you flirting with me, but looking back, i didn't like how it turned out. i did find a fun drabble in my drafts with villain!reader as well, so i decided to rewrite it and use it as a continuation. i actually deleted the old parts personally, i prefer this version of the end!

"I'm in."

"Hot. You should be able to see–"

"Nothing?"

Silence.

"Is this your way of telling me you're visually impaired?"

"I will scoop your eyes out in your sleep."

"Please use an ice cream scooper. My eyeballs would fit so well, it would be so satisfying–"

"Harper."

"Okay, okay. What do you mean nothing?"

"By nothing I mean nothing, ball sack. The warehouse is fucking empty."

Frantic rustling of papers and violent knocking of objects could be heard on Roy's end of the line. Jason sighed, going to pinch the bridge of his nose before realizing he had a helmet on. 

The whole situation was throwing him off his rhythm — that much was evident. The intel they had collected on the gang of criminals seemed too obvious, too predictable. Jason had his suspicions, but Roy was quick to shut him down. 'Dude, trust me,' he said. Famous last words.

A crackle of static sounded in his earpiece. Roy's voice urgent and choppy before completely dying out. Jason could only attempt to call out to his partner in the hopes of a full response, but his efforts brought no avail. That's another thing that went wrong today.

"Hey, sexy."

What in the fuck.

"Your ass looks great from this angle. The party you're looking for is in a bar on the other side of the city, by the way."

You couldn't actually see him, but he doesn't need to know that. It's just your thing to mess with him, and by the sounds of him cussing you out for hacking into his means of communication, it was working. It was amusing. He kept you entertained.

That was all you had to say to him for now though, so you bid him goodbye. The roaring of his motorcycle over his colorful language directed at you was the last thing you heard before you cut off and allowed his partner to get back on the line.

"Jaybird? You there?"

"Ah, you're back. I'm never trusting you with getting intel again."

"Whatever. Anyway, was that...?"

"Yeah. Y/v/n."

"Hm. I don't know what she's on, but you have no ass like–"

"And yet I have more ass than you, so shut the fuck up, paddle board."

“That... That was a bit harsh, bro.”

Soft gushes of wind blew against your masked face. You shut your eyes, feeling the breeze and relishing in your little moment of peace. Lazily pacing, you hummed a random tune.

Your mischief and cunningness is something your alias was known for. Most often, it's a convenient trait to be able to slip around with ease and get the job done in a snap, but sometimes you get bored. It can be such a drag when nobody tries a confrontation with you. That's why you're so fond of the Red Hood. It's a shame that it's been a while since you've seen him around, so imagine your delight when you feel a familiar presence behind you.

You took a seat at the edge of the building. To anyone, you would've looked like you were having your main character moment, peacefully looking over the city if not for the small pile of bodies rotting away not too far from you. The dried blood on your attire and your fingers no longer irked you in the slightest. It's something you've gotten used to, which lead to your habit of picking the blood under your nails. Red gets annoyed when you do this — all the more reason to entertain your habit in front of him.

You let your legs dangle over the edge without a care. You didn't bother to greet the vigilante, who currently had a gun aimed at your back. Sigh.

“Oh, I do hate the sight of blood.”

“Well then, maybe — just maybe — you shouldn’t kill for a living.”

That got you to turn your head to face him. You cock an eyebrow — doesn’t he kill for a living too? Sure, his victims are usually criminals and thugs while yours are people you’re paid to target, usually business owners and the occasional politician, but you digress. Details. The point is, he kills people too.

A few seconds of staring and prolonging the tension passed, and Jason weighed his options before eventually putting down his gun. He then opted to join you on the ledge.

“So,” he started, “what’s your favorite color?”

Funny.

“Sweetheart, if you thought you’d be able to keep me entertained with small talk... I think I’d rather you shot me.”

You stood up from your spot on the ledge and leaned over the rooftop to examine your altitude. You grin to yourself.

“What are you doing?”

You don’t answer. You want to see something. Instead you turn your body to face Jason and mockingly salute him before leaping off the building, though not before you heard him call out your alias’ name and yell a panicked ‘Wait!’

Immediately after you, Jason followed. You chuckled when you saw him get closer. You enjoyed fooling him around almost as much as you enjoyed fooling around with him.

With no time to waste, he pulled out his grappling hook, yanked your body by the waist, and zipped to the rooftop of the nearest building — one different from the last one you were on.

Jason‘s heaving chest radiated distress.

“You’re fucking insane! You could have died!”

You stood in front of him, arms crossed and your stance relaxed. Nobody would’ve suspected that you literally jumped off a building just a few seconds ago. Aw, you pout, he cares about me.

“Would’ve made your job easier. You know, you heroes are supposed to get rid of the bad guys.”There’s humor in your eyes. Jason knows you’re enjoying this. He hates how much you enjoy this. “So, why’d you save me?”

“Why’d you help me with my mission last time?”

He’s deflecting. Cute.

“Hey, I asked you a question first.” You know he won’t budge til you give him an answer. He’s probably been asking himself that question since it happened. You mentally pout, aww he thinks of me. Sigh. Okay, fine.

“The gang you were after just so happened to have given me a job a little while ago.” You recall some of the gang members attempting to grope you. Some unpleasant memories you’d rather live without. “Pissed me off. Now your turn.”

Why’d you save me?

A pause. He shifted to look to the side. Oh, this is interesting.

“You could have died.” Ah, this again.

“Well, you’ve died,” you remind him. “Not that it really stuck.”

He says your name — your real name. You wonder when he discovered your identity, but then again, you’re not all that surprised. It’s him after all.

He can see your growing smile the longer he refuses to answer your question. He knows you’re already thinking of something, and still opts to ignore your question, allowing you to further indulge in your thoughts. He dreads you enlightening him; he knows it’s coming. Jason could not fathom how one woman could frustrate him so much.

“You like me.” There it is, he thinks. There’s your stupid smirk and your dumb air of arrogance.

“Come on, just admit it, hot shot. You can’t live without me.” Okay, maybe that one’s a bit of a stretch (just a bit), but you stand by it nonetheless.

You grin wide as you approach him. Leaning slightly forward to grab Jason by the collar and pull him down to meet your eyes, you repeat yourself.

“You like me.” Stated with more emphasis, like a significant fact that you try to drill into your head when studying for an exam.

“I’ll shoot you.”

“Please, daddy.”

© smolla-than-a-bug, 2021. please do not copy or repost my works. reblogs are appreciated!

tags — @iwriteaboutstuff @comicsgirlimagines @httpfandxms