#some of us hate certain things and some of us love it

[lymericslimerick]

𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 | LADS + their Instagram profiles and music tastes

warnings: none, just headcanons. I wrote this to get my caleb big brother rock agenda going can you tell, I do not own any of the pictures used for the instagram part

ৎ──── xavier

Xavier posts like a typical young adult, its either his face or the obscene amount of hotpot he consumes within a week (his stories are basically a Haidilao highlight reel) Whenever he posts selfies or his figure, you get the distinct feeling that he’s doing it specifically for one person. Like he’s advertising himself and waiting for one specific person to take a hint. Maybe that’s why whenever you comment he immediately replies and pins it to the top of his posts, but who knows? he’s such a good friend. His music taste: Jay Chou, Mayday, Fool and Idiot Xavier likes it slow. He likes his serenades, songs that he can learn on the piano and put in the background as he reads a book series he can only talk to with grandmas and grandpas at his local park. Speaking of old, chances are if an artist was famous among the general Linkon public in the early turn of the century, Xavier likes them. He’s always posting lyrics on his stories of lines he feels are especially succinct, that put into words what he can only dream of telling to a certain miss hunter that continues liking his posts with the obliviousness of a newborn baby. Oddly enough, he hates classical music arrangements. Anything that sounds regal really, it makes him stiffen up and his eyes grow cold and hard. The phantom weight of a crown on his head is especially heavy during these times.

ৎ──── zayne

Work. Most of Zayne’s whole life can be summarised in that one phrase (of course, his life doesn’t include his soul, which is firmly in the hands of his favourite patient). His instagram exists out of necessity, a plea by people for a way to keep up with what their lecturer and head of department was doing and a way for him to announce his participation in certain seminars. However, once in a while he posts a picture of a cafe with a cheeky peace sign peeking out from the top, or that one time he posted 37 stories, all of which were reposting various different news articles talking about a certain miss hunter’s award. His music taste: The Cure, whatever you like Zayne’s been through a character arc recently, moving away from the almost nonexistent quiet instrumental music that used to fill his silence to leaping into new genres with the confidence of a hesitant cat, if only to have one thing to bond with you about. Recently, he’s taken to The Cure. Something about how direct and flowery the words crooned by Robert Smith speak to him, lyrics that best capture how absolutely enamoured he is with you without having to say it out loud.

ৎ──── rafayel

Shameless. with a capital S. Anyone who has found is instagram account walks away with the unanimous conclusion that ‘Oh yeah, he’s madly in love with this m1sshunter lady’. He doesn’t post his paintings or his selfies, why would he? especially not to the public, those are Y.E.O (your eyes only) status. Instead he takes it upon himself to bless everyone else’s instagram feeds with pictures of you at the beach, always captioning it some form of heart emoji just to hammer home that yes, he is in fact madly in love with used m1sshunter. Only people he even bats an eye at replying to (other than you) are Thomas, either with a single word or a single emoji, or Thalia, because she’s famous and his auntie and will blackmail him if he doesn’t reply. His music taste: Orchestras, Classical music, his own singing Rafayel is the pinnacle of art, an amalgam of all of the old world greats of art into one purple haired lemurian man. He regards any other genre with a distinct air of condescension, his nature as an opera singer making him wince at every off note and groan at every conventional musical arrangement. He prefers a classic touch, if it isn’t him serenading you both in his room as you both look out at the sea. He nods like an approving dad at some orchestras, and even claps at some operas. But you know, when you hear him sing a lonely duet in the dark of night while he paints a memory of his fallen kingdom, he’s heard way better.

ৎ──── sylus

Why would the leader of Onychinus, the biggest big shot in the N109 zone, have a public instagram account? Do you think he was born yesterday? He would say to you with a scoff, before immediately turning around and making a private account just so he can try and post like you do. His posts feel like imitations of yours, showing Sylus’s absolute lack of any ‘normal’ friends outside of people who have tried to kill him and the love of his life. His captions, though? Other couples would blush at how blatant and romantic they are. Every post of himself has him wondering if you like how he looks, and every post of you tells you how much he likes how you look. The comments? a glorified group chat of you, him, Luke and Kieran. Whole plans get made in them. His music taste: The Beatles, Mariah Carey, anything with an organ Sylus has his work cut out for him. Here he is, a dragon that can appreciate the arts, loving the organ and anything sung by you. But, he loves to sing. Loves it so much he completely forgets he’s the only person that loves his singing as much as he does. He picks any moody and hard song he can sing to, just so he can get on the couch and sing it straight into your endeared eyes. That’s why Sylus has a large collection of 70’s rock vinyls and also Mariah Carey. And why there's a very well loved karaoke set right next to it.

ৎ──── caleb

Caleb’s original instagram account was memorialised. He laughed at it for a good minute before looking at your face and shutting up instantly. He never really cared about that account anyway, not even wanting to create one but doing so as soon as you did back in high school. He tells you as much, and also adds that if he made one now he’d make people think reincarnation was real. So you dropped it. Caleb doesn’t have social media, he’s an off the grid guy whose arms will occasionally make appearances on your feed. But Caleb is also a liar. He does have an account, dedicated solely to documenting his thoughts on his life, his body, and you. You, you, you. Every other post is about you, talking about how much he misses you, how much he wants to see you, how much he needs you. You’ll never see it though, he’s Caleb, chronically offline. His music taste: Flyleaf, Simple Plan, Dance Gavin Dance Caleb was one of those kids. The kids who’d have a Simple Plan poster in their room and wore double layered t-shirts because he’d be more street if he did. Of course, it’s Caleb. He makes anything look cool, and his peers knew it. Caleb started listening to Three Days Grace, suddenly everyone was their biggest fan. He feels a deep kinship with the more out there and.. concerning lyrics in the songs. He tells people he thinks A Love Like War is a really romantic song, and everyone looks at the lyrics and realises ‘Oh, he’s not right in the head.’ No matter, the only person whose opinions matter is you, after all. And you think he’s cool.

[the-shedevil-writes]

Build-A-Bear (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Ever since you started dating Bob, his wardrobe’s had a serious glow-up, thanks to your love of dressing him up like your own personal Build-A-Bear. But on a lazy mall day, you challenge him to return the favor, asking him to pick out an outfit for you. WORD COUNT: 2.8k WARNINGS: Fluff/Domestic fluff, Reader loves gift giving, jokes/implications of smut. NOTES: Happy 4th! Here's me manifesting a boyfriend to dress up. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Dressing up Bob was Y/n’s favorite thing to do. And the man never protested. How could he when he’d show up to The Hard Deck in an outfit she had picked to impress the Dagger Squad? His style had improved drastically since starting to date her. 

It began with her giving him simple shirts that were a little nicer than his old ones. Some of his old shirts were still from high school, so it was nice to have some options that didn’t look like rags. She was a gift-giver, and Bob had to quickly get used to that. Then it slowly devolved to him asking her for fashion advice just to see her face light up with excitement. 

What Bob enjoyed about it, was that she never put him in clothes that didn’t match his vibe. She never tried to make him into someone he’s not- with leather jackets or sports jerseys. The outfits were usually simple and practical. A more simplistic T-shirt that fit him a little more snugly than his old ones, tucked into a nice pair of jeans or slacks. She’d find a matching baseball cap or dad hat. It had gotten to the point where they shared a collection of hats. They loved gifting each other caps, just to add to the pile they could dig through before leaving. 

And she never made him take off his glasses. She never asked him to get contacts. And when he asked her why she never suggested it, she smiled.

“I think they’re cute.” 

No one had ever said that before. The military-grade wireframes were just a little too big for his face, and they looked like they were plucked straight from an 80s movie. But they were the only ones he was allowed to wear that didn’t look like swim goggles. 

So when his girl said that, he couldn’t help the smile and red blush that spread across his apple cheeks. The compliment was so simple, yet every time he wore his glasses, he thought of it and felt his heart melt into a puddle.

It was a warm Saturday morning, and Bob walked into the bedroom to find his girlfriend combing through her closet. She popped her hip out and put her hand to her chin in thought. Bob leaned against the door frame.

“Where you headed?” He asked curiously

She turned, “I think it’s a good day to go to the mall. Wanna come with?” 

Bob nodded. A day at the mall with his girl sounded perfect, and it’s not like he had anything else to do. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He rested his chin on her shoulder, and she reached up to pat his cheek. As she scratched the back of his scalp, he closed his eyes relaxed. 

“Wanna dress me?” He asked

And he got the reaction he always did. A beaming smile from her and a very eager nod. 

“I was thinking about getting some new shirts for you today, too.” She said, smiling.

He chuckled, “Baby, you do too much.” 

She shrugged and looked at their reflection in the closet mirror. After a moment, a mischievous grin appeared on her face. 

“I have an idea.” 

Bob raised a brow. “Should I be scared?”

“I need some new clothes myself. How about… I dress you and you dress me? Maybe then you’ll understand why I love dressing you up so much.” 

He smiled shyly and shook his head. “Oh, I know nothing about fashion, though.”

“There’s gotta be things you wanna see me in.” She smirked a little, and that made Bob blush and huff again, “I mean- you like it when I wear certain things too.” He hated that his mind went immediately to her bathing suits. But then he also remembered some of the dresses she’d wear to The Hard Deck. He loved seeing her legs and anything that accentuated her hips. But he’d never specifically ask her to wear anything like that. He didn’t want her to be uncomfortable for his sake. 

“Okay, but we don’t have to buy anything I pick out.” He said softly

“It’ll be great. Here- why don’t we start at home first? Test run. I’ll dress you, then you dress me.” She said, turning around to be face to face him now.

He nodded.

Thirty minutes later, he stood in a typical Y/n fit for him. A white T-shirt, this one a little baggier, tucked into brow corduroy trousers and a belt. She put a navy blue hat on him that they had gotten from the Top Gun store. Well, he had bought it for her, and she loved making him wear it. Her tongue stuck out of her lip as she focused on adjusting his hair under the hat. A watch laid on his wrist, and he stood in a pair of brown Doc-like shoes.

“There.” She stood back, looking over his outfit, pleased with herself. “You look very handsome, Lieutenant Floyd.” 

He blushed at the title, “Only because of you.”

Her eyes lit up. “My turn.” She led him to the closet and opened it. “Go ahead. Have at it.” His eyes widened, and he walked up to her side of the closet. “I-I don’t even know where to start.”

She laughed, and he started combing through the racks. He tried to think of some outfits that she had worn before. What were some things that she liked to wear? It was a warmer day, but he also knew she got cold easily, so he needed to find something lightweight that covered her arms for when they were indoors. 

He brought out a soft green button-up top that he liked the material of. He showed it to her with a hesitant eyebrow raise, and she laughed.

“Yes, I can wear that.”

He looked back at the closet and went to the section of the bottoms. He found a pair of tan linen shorts and put the two hangers together. His brows scrunched up, trying to figure out if it was a good match before nodding to himself. The whole time, he could hear her giggle as she watched him through his thought process. He picked out a dark brown belt and a khaki Ralph Lauren jacket that he knew fit a little oversized on her. 

“Would this work?” He asked, showing her the hangers.

She smiled and looked over his choices. “Yes. I think this would be great.” 

After she got dressed, she spun for Bob. He did a pretty good job. No clashing colors and the fit of everything was nice. 

“Look at you. You’re a natural.” She commented, “I’m gonna wear this combination more.”

He was too busy staring in awe to respond. Yeah, he was starting to understand why she loved dressing him so much. She looked so pretty, and even though she always did in his eyes, he took this new sense of pride in picking that outfit. His hand was to his mouth as he admired her. She let the jacket hang over her shoulders, showing the outline of her body in the shirt and shorts. 

She noticed his silence and giggled, “You get it now?”

He nodded with a blushing smile. “Yes. Yes, I get it now.”

“It’s like having a human Build-A-Bear.” She nodded enthusiastically, making him suddenly laugh loudly.

“Yeah-yeah, I guess it’s a little like that.” He smiled. 

She put her hand out, and when he took it, she pulled him off the bed. She looked up at him, and his heart pounded in his chest. They’d been dating for close to two years at this point and he still got butterflies looking at her. And the fact that she was wearing the outfit he put together just intensified it. 

He gently brushed her hair out of her face.

“Ready to go, pretty girl?” He asked

She nodded, “Yup! Wanna hit Hard Deck after the mall? I think Bradley said something about wanting to get a group to go tonight.”

“Would love to.” He kissed her forehead.

Usually at H&M, it was Y/n scouring the sales racks while Bob followed her around like a lost dog. He’d sometimes hold onto a bag of greasy mall food so they could share. She’d look through both the men's and women's sections because she knew there’d be stuff for either one of them. And he’d talk and joke with her. If she pulled out a shirt for him, he’d say whether he liked it or not, which was usually a passive yes. 

But now he was trying to participate with her. She looked up at him with a smile as he looked through the racks… Still lost. He picked out what seemingly looked like a strip of fabric. 

“Is this a… skirt? Or a bandana?” He asked 

She laughed, “Tube top. I don’t really wear those much.”

He put it back. “Alrighty.” He timidly looked around. 

She gasped and grabbed a sage green Carhartt sweater. “This would be very cute on you. What do you think?” 

He rubbed his neck with a smile, “Baby, you know I’ll wear quite literally anything. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She laughed and draped the sweater on her arm. “Here, I’ll give you some pointers for me. I don’t wear many tube tops. Any tight clubbing dresses won’t really be of use to me because I have some already. So I’m looking for just nicer casual clothes.”

He nodded, understanding. Okay, that narrows it down. Combing through the racks, he still wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Yeah, sure, there were graphic T-shirts that said Harvard and New York on them, but he was a little confused, considering neither of them had a connection there. Why would they wear something with a random city or college on it?

Then he paused once he hit the dresses. His eyes immediately froze on a short white halter dress, and when he looked closer, he found little embroidered cherries all over it. He pictured her wearing it, and a small smile appeared on his face. But he also didn’t know if this was casual enough. He also couldn’t tell if she’d find it tacky, which he knew she tended to do with prints. 

He looked up and saw her looking down another aisle. She heard him pause and looked over her shoulder. “Find something?”

“I don’t know.” He said conflicted, “I don’t know if you’ll like it.” She walked over to the opposite side of his rack. “Show me.”

He pulled out the dress and held it up delicately- as if it were a bomb.

“That’s so cute! I’ll try it on.” She smiled, “Pick some more out.”

Bob sighed with relief and nodded. 

Somehow, in thirty minutes, Bob ended up finding more things for her to try on than vice versa. Her face lit up at that fact, and she was practically skipping to the dressing rooms. They swapped hangers, and she went first. Now this was something Bob was a little more used to. He’d sit on the designated boyfriend couch or chair that most dressing rooms had, and wait for her to come out to show him the options.

But now it felt a little different. Now he was actively involved instead of a passive spectator. There felt like stakes- like if he didn’t pick out anything good, he’d be walking out a little embarrassed.

“BOB!” She squealed from inside the dressing room, and he perked up nervously. Oh god. Did he get the wrong size? Did she hate it? “You’re good at this!” She giggled.

He sighed in relief again. 

She came out a few seconds after in a simple white V-neck sweater with a navy blue stripe across it. A fitted denim skirt showed underneath, and Bob felt like he was going to die. It showed off her legs, and she looked simply beautiful in the outfit. The grin on his face couldn’t be replicated.

She posed and gave a little spin, and his whole face went completely red. And this was just outfit one. “I like it! This is definitely a keeper.” 

“I-I really like it. You look comfy.” 

“The material is so nice.” She said, feeling the soft fabric of the sweater.

He nodded. He couldn’t lie that the feel of the fabric was really a driving factor. It was already a reason why he picked out the shirt she was wearing that day. He liked being able to hold her and feel something soft rather than something hard and tight.

She went back into the dressing room, and Bob was unsure if he was gonna survive this. 

There were a few more outfits. A sleeveless polo top with some nice jeans. A few retro-looking oversized shirts, he knew she’d probably pair with some bike shorts. And then a few nicer blouses that were more of a gamble for him to decide. 

“I’d say yes to all of these if we had the money.” She chuckled in a blouse and the shorts she came in wearing. “I think I’m gonna go with that sweater, the jeans, and a few of the shirts. But I’ve still got that dress to try on.” 

He nodded. Hell, he’d buy the rest of the clothes for her. His love language was much more acts of service and physical touch. But this whole trip was making him understand why she’d come home with a new shirt or cap for him after a day out. 

She walked back in and, after a few moments, peeked her head out the door. 

“Oh. I’m getting this.” She said with an excited smirk before walking out.

Bob’s eyes popped out of his skull as she came out in the little white dress that he had picked out. It fit her perfectly and wrapped snugly around her waist before flaring out. The deep cut of the halter was well… pleasing to Bob for a multitude of reasons. 

“I’m gonna wear this tonight.” She declared, giving him a spin.

“Jesus C-hrist-” He stammered, his heart hammering and all the blood rushing to his cheeks and ears. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She said, laughing. “I love it. Jeez, I’m taking you with me shopping more often. You find good stuff.”

He nodded eagerly. “Please.” His voice was small.

That night at The Hard Deck, the couple walked in dressed in their new clothes. Y/n strutted in her new dress and a pair of sandals. She had decorated herself with jewelry and put her hair up. Bob held her hand in a maroon Henley with a white tee underneath. A pair of dark wash jeans down his legs and the same navy blue hat from earlier. They slightly matched, but it wasn’t in a cheesy way. His layered shirts matched the print on her dress.

As they walked up to the usual pool table, Hangman whistled at their arrival.

“Look at you two! All dolled up for little old us.” He teased

Phoenix looked up as she was leaning on the pool table, aiming. Rooster, Payback, and Fanboy all turned and smiled.

“We went to the mall today!” Y/n reported excitedly.

Bob nodded in confirmation.

“God bless you, Y/n. Bob actually looks presentable now.” Phoenix said before shooting her ball and sending a solid into a pocket.

Rooster snorted, “Yeah, he’s not wearing anything to do with the Navy or video games. He didn’t know a damn thing about dressing himself.” 

The group laughed, and Bob smiled, shrugging.

“Well, actually, Bob picked out this dress for me, too,” She explained.

“No shot.” Payback laughed.

“It’s true!” She said, “I found out today he’s way too good at picking out clothes for me. Almost bought a whole new wardrobe.”

Phoenix eyed the dress, “Good job, Bob.”

Bob smiled shyly. “She’s always picking out my clothes, so she asked me to do the same for her. It’s-it’s fun.”

Hangman lined his shot up, clearly his turn. “Take the man to Victoria’s Secret next.” Rooster smacked him upright the head. “WHAT? I’m just saying. Every guy loves that.”

Y/n gasped with a smile, “Wait! That’s genius.”

Bob choked and coughed in shock, making the group laugh again. 

“You’re welcome,” Hangman smirked, shooting the ball.

She looked over at Bob with a mischievous smile. Leaning in, she whispered, “You’re off tomorrow, right?”

He nodded, and she simply flashed him a knowing look and then went over to properly greet Fanboy and Payback. Bob stood frozen and blinking, admiring how gorgeous she looked. Especially as she laughed, her glossed lips curving up. Her golden necklace flashed under the warm lights of the bar, and it rested right on the skin revealed in her halter. It made his breath hitch. 

A new sense of excitement built up in him. Considering she loved to dress herself, he knew it wouldn’t be an everyday thing. But he looked forward to the next time she’d ask him what to wear- now that he knew what it felt like to see her proudly show off his handiwork. That had to be another reason why she loved to dress him. He had her name written all over him. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[lucysarah1875]

Masterlist!

All my Levi x reader fanfics and Levi fanart. Re posted. Sadly, many of you know but my old account got deleted for some reason so I decided to re-post all my content.

Art Commission: CLOSED!

Writing Requests: CLOSED!

Headcanons and asks:

-> Little "toxic" things Levi does as a boyfriend

-> Levi dating a Swifty

-> Levi's s/o telling him she's pregnant

-> Virgin! Levi

-> Sexism in AoT

-> Homosexuality in AoT

-> Levi showing affection to his S/O in front of his kids

-> Levi having competition to wins your heart!

-> Canon! Levi (Scouts time) views on kids, marriage and romantic relationships

-> Alpha! Levi believes you would be a good mommy of his spawns

-> Wishing to be breed by Levi.

-> Levi accusing his partner of cheating?

-> Is Levi a virgin?

-> Is Levi conservative?

-> Levi's S/O with a contagious weird laugh

-> Levi in love

-> Connie having a crush on Levi's girlfriend

-> Levi reacting to his girlfriend giving birth

-> Petnames that Levi would use

-> Levi's reaction to his S/O getting assaulted NSFW

-> Levi's kinks

HEADCANONS MASTERLIST PART 2

I've reached the limit of this a single post by tumblr for links so. . . here's another masterlist lol.

One-Shots:

-> Ackerman’s blood

Levi fears for the first time that perhaps his Ackerman's powers aren't a bleassing when his son suffers the consequences of them. Dad! Levi x Reader

-> Stoppers (NSFW!!)

Levi feels overwhelming jealous and decides that there's nothing better to set things clear of who owns who than a good old fucking. Levi x Reader.

-> Criminal Record Part 1 - Part 2

Levi insist he has done worse things in his life than, perhaps, sleeping with a subordinate.

-> Traidor

2020 what a time to be alive. The snk character are doing the same as old of us trying to survive the lockdown... playing among us! Levi x reader.

-> Father’s day

Having a soldier as a father is never easy, way less when your father is Humanity's strongest soldier. Levi's kid has the perfect gift but perhaps it's not the perfect scenario. Dad! Levi x Mom! reader

-> Couple goals

Levi hates military's formal events and you know it. Both of you still make the perfect team.

-> Baby boy

Hang out with your higher-ups as you just become Levi's girlfriend. What's the worse thing that could happen? Spoiler alert: Eren is not going to forget about this... neither Erwin.

-> Scratches down his back NSFW-ish

Repeat after me, nothing good happens in the common showers unless it’s Levi sandwiching you with the wet wall. Sadly, this is not the case. So, nothing good will happen.

-> Blackfire

Erwin insists that Levi should educate his squad on certain topics proper of their age. Levi isn't really convinced but Commander's orders are Commander's orders… However, Erwin didn't specify on what he should educate his bratty cadets about. Levi x reader!

-> ANGEL

You met Captain Levi while working as a teacher at one of the new orphanages that Queen Historia created. He seems so willying to help. (YANDERE! Levi x reader NSFW!!)

-> Tea time

Levi is deep down a huge gossip old lady. Levi x reader

-> An Old-fashioned Girl

You're a teen living her normal life until she travelled back on time to aot period.

-> Self-sabotage

Erwin begs Levi to buy him a coffee on his way to university. Having a crush in a barista is so hard when you don't like coffee. (Modern au! University student Levi having a crush on a barista)

-> Not in season? NSFW! Part 1 - Part 2

Winter had settled in, and the scouts were busy training and preparing for the prospects of spring, still far away, to retake Wall Maria. Despite the snow accumulating outside, the building was freezing cold, and the world had secluded itself until the temperature rose. So, why was Captain Levi boiling in his own body? Something felt off, but his mind was quickly slipping into insanity as he tried to find a rational explanation. OMEGAVERSE ALPHA LEVI X OMEGA READER.

-> Levi and the first encounter! Underground! Levi

Tales of Levi's life in the underground.

-> EXPLANATION OMEGAVERSE AU

-> Fifteen, what an age to be alive!

Steal your father's car! What could go wrong? Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader

-> Laundry Problems

Levi's a very stoic calm man. He always does laundry but as a unknown piece of clothe appear, Levi's life flash before his eyes. Levi x reader

-> Bed-head Levi

How are Captain Levi's mornings?

-> Boop! You've been chosen!

Levi and you decide to adopt a kitty.

-> Switch! (Teen! Levi)

Levi develops what almost every teen does in high school: his first crush. With the (questionable) help of his not-so-helpful uncle and a growing sense of self-confidence, he manages to ask his crush out. First dates are always full of nerves, but they’re also the beginning of something special.

-> EUPHEMISMS (NSFW-ish)

Levi may not have attended school, but he knows a thing or two about pregnancy… and also periods. (Levi takes care of you during your period)

-> Transactional (PURE NSFW!!!)

When you go to ask Captain Levi for a promotion, it's important to remain humble.

-> Mother's smile (Dad! Levi angst)

Levi's son feels the pressure of being an Ackerman.

Little Pieces I Wrote (Self-Explanatory Titles).

-> Levi isn't romantic

-> Levi as a father part 1 part2

-> Unpopular aot opinions

-> Levi growing up in the underground 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8,

-> Levi's morning with happy ending NSFW

-> Sick clingy Levi NSFWish

-> Soft Levi NSFWish

-> Horny Levi x nurse! reader NSFW

-> Levi x Passenger princess reader

-> Travelling with Levi

-> Girlfriend effect on Levi!

-> Levi loving calling his girlfriend "wife"

-> Levi and farlan as roomies

-> Levi as the father of a baby boy

-> Being humanity's strongest baby girl

-> SnK boys and pilates.

-> Levi's baby thinks Levi's tight chess works as mommy's chest lol

-> Erwin finds out that now Levi is busy at night 👀

-> Levi's only weakness... You, you and a sundress

-> Sexually frustrated Levi

-> Levi = female gaze

-> Levi using you as an excuse for anything

-> Modern au! Levi was a very attentive fuck buddy, even more attentive as a boyfriend.

-> Your horse doesn't want to share you with Levi.

-> Levi's daughter

-> Erwin introduce you to Levi

-> Rambling about gossip to your boyfriend while stealing his food >>> anything else

-> Deadly Occasion (Levi is forced to marry someone else) NSFW

-> Drunk Levi? Better say needy Levi! NSFW

-> Walking down the streets with Levi

-> Princess treatment + Levi

Mounting Spring (Alpha! Levi x Omega! Reader)

Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults.

Levi's horrible flirting skills!

Short multichapter where we follow Levi's awkward attempts to win the reader over.

Holy Ground (longfic! Levi x reader)

"Alright, get comfortable because this is going to be a long, crappy tale. Join me as we travel down memory lane, back when Erwin wasn't yet a commander, when Mike and Nanaba couldn't keep their hands off each other, when Hange was... well, Hange. And Levi? Well, Levi was a twenty-four-year-old man who didn't give a damn about the rules. Are you ready?"

600! Followers event!

Have you ever wished you could ask Captain Levi a few questions and see his reaction? Well! say no more! I left Levi incharge of my blog for a few days. Enjoy the comic with hisreactions!

2k! Followers event!

Have you ever wished you could ask Captain Levi a few questions and see his reaction? Well! say no more! I left Levi incharge of my blog for a few days. Enjoy the comic with hisreactions! Part 2! Levi's revenge.

SnK Incorrect Quotes:

63 and COUNTING silly posts of quotes that I think snk characters would say.

You think that art looks cute? I draw it! Here's a link to a few of my other pieces!

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[athzhowakar]

Hands As Cold As Ice ❄️

⚜️ Pairing : Cregan Stark × Female!Reader

⚜️ Period : Post Dance AU where Jacaerys and Daemon are alive. Rhaenyra is the Queen.

⚜️ Synopsis : The widow of Prince Aemond and the daughter of Queen Rhaenyra is to marry Lord Cregan Stark as a means to secure a political alliance. The princess marries Cregan despite not wanting to do so.

⚜️ Trigger warnings : Intimate scenes ahead, mention of death, kind of non-consent, depression, incompatible relationships.

It had been a month since Queen Rhaenyra had taken the throne. Princess Y/N was strolling in the garden and gazing at the walls of the Red Keep. It had only been four months since she became a widow with an empty belly. She loved her mother, she loved her mother's husband who had raised her, she loved her brothers and she loved her cousins. That was the sole reason behind escaping the Red Keep after her poor dear brother, Lucerys was killed by her very own husband. She had disliked Aemond, loved him and hated him. After all this time, she missed him. She did not understand by which sorcery, Daemon and his dragon survived something which Aemond and Vhagar could not. Caraxes was wounded. But wounds heal, lives do not come back.

Y/N had been wearing black for quite some time. They thought it was to show loyalty to the 'Blacks'. But she herself knew and so did a few others, that she was mourning her husband. Because despite everything, he loved her. He used to look at her with the one eye the Gods had spared him and smile. She used to play with his long silken silver hair and kiss him. Now that he was gone, there was no one to hold her.

She had moved into her dead husband's chamber after Queen Rhaenyra had taken the Red Keep. For she feared that anyone else would throw away Aemond's things and she would have nothing to remember him with. The war was a tragedy for everyone. It broke several families. One of them was her own.

Y/N had many responsibilities during the war. She could not spare time to cry for her husband whom she had left in the Red Keep or cry for her husband who had died fighting her step father. She did not get the time to grieve for the child which she had lost during the war either. Sometimes she wondered, "Did my mother know about my child? Were she and Daemon responsible for me losing my child?" Difficult times do not grant the luxury of such leisurely thinking. She called it the will of the Gods and carried on.

While she was walking, she saw a man approaching her. She had not seen him before but still, she recognised him. People had described him enough.

"Princess Y/N"

"Lord Stark"

"It is good to see you."

"I am glad to see you too, My Lord. I hope that your stay in the capital is comfortable."

"I am sure it will be, My Princess."

"Why are you so sure?"

"I was... being polite."

"That's nice of you to do so."

"Your mother suggested we spend some time together and get to know each other. After all, we have to be ready for what is to come."

"I... don't understand, My Lord. What is to come?"

"Why? Our wedding. Prince Jacaerys wanted it to happen as soon as possible. He insisted on getting us married next week."

Lord Cregan Stark said, giggling. Y/N's eyes widened in shock. Her eyes filled with tears of pain and anger. Before she could say anything, Jacaerys appeared. He said to Cregan, "My Lord, I would like to borrow my sister for a moment." He held her hand and took her inside the Keep.

While in the hallway, Y/N freed her hand from Jacaerys' grip. Jacaerys looked at her. He knew that his sister wanted answers.

"Y/N... Sister...listen to me"

"LISTEN TO WHAT?"

"It was an alliance. We needed the support of the North."

"So you promised my hand to him?"

"It is your duty. All of us need to perform our duties."

"Do not dare to talk to me about duties. I know what duties are."

"Then why are you fretting?"

"WHY SHOULD I NOT? You didn't think that it was necessary to consult me before making a decision on my life?"

"I had to make certain decisions on my own, Y/N. You are not the only one whose matches were arranged by me. I arranged the matches for Joffrey and Aegon too."

"They are babes! They can't give an opinion about matches. But I am not a babe!"

"This was a diplomatic decision. Lord Stark gains an advantageous match and we get his men."

"And was insisting on getting me married next week also a part of your great diplomacy?"

"Sister....listen..."

Jacaerys had not even finished speaking when he felt a blow on his face. He looked up to see his sister's tear stricken face and eyes filled with rage. She started slapping and punching him. When he fell down, she started kicking him.

The guards separated them with some difficulty. In this commotion, Y/N fell on the ground. Facing the cold hard floor, she started sobbing. Lord Corlys and Queen Rhaenyra were informed about the argument and they rushed to the site. Rhaenyra was horrified to see her daughter sobbing in that way and then her eyes fell on her son, who was bleeding from his broken nose. Lord Corlys helped Y/N get up. She hugged him and started sobbing even louder. The old Lord only caressed her head to comfort her.

Y/N did not want to cry. She had not cried openly after Aemond's death. But now, she could not stop crying.

Coincidentally, everything happened outside the chamber in which Dowager Queen Alicent was confined. She had heared and understood everything. She felt strange. She did not know that there was someone else who mourned her poor child. She had not expected the mourner to be the very same wife who had abandoned her son to join his enemies.

Later that night, Lord Corlys, Prince Jacaerys and Prince Daemon were discussing the situation with Queen Rhaenyra in her chamber.

"My granddaughter has done nothing to deserve this," Lord Corlys said, angrily.

"We are not punishing her. It is an advantageous marriage. She will be wed to the Warden of the North. She will be the Lady of Winterfell," Jacaerys replied.

Corlys approached him and said, "Are you blind? Can you not see that your sister is in pain? She is grieving!"

"Grieving for a traitor!" Jacaerys almost shouted.

"Do not talk of treachery, My Prince. We all know who the traitors, liars and usurpers are," Corlys said with a low tone hinting at something. "What I am trying to say is, my granddaughter is entitled to her feelings. She did what was right. She fought for the rightful queen. Now, if she wants to grieve her husband, she should be allowed to. It doesn't matter which side her husband fought for. What I know is, he loved my granddaughter."

"My Lord," Rhaenyra said. "I have seen my daughter. She is lonely. If she doesn't get married, she will only continue to grieve. I want her to start a new family."

"War has left scars on our chests, Your Grace. I lost my wife. I know about the pain," Corlys replied.

Daemon had been silently listening to everyone till now. He spoke up, "My Lord, the date for the wedding has already been fixed. Changing it will not be a good idea. Lord Stark might think that we do not intend to wed our daughter to him at all and he might take this as an insult."

"So will my granddaughter not even get a year to grieve?" Corlys asked, with tears in his eyes.

Daemon replied, "I am afraid not, My Lord."

Corlys did not say anything further. He bowed to Rhaenyra and left the chamber.

Corlys searched for his granddaughter everywhere in the Red Keep but could not find her. The search continued for some time before he found Y/N in one of the least frequented part of the Godswood. She was sitting by the fire which she lit herself. In that fire, she was throwing one thing after the other. He approached her.

Y/N was throwing several things into the fire. Books, papers, letters, clothes made of wool, clothes made of the finest silk, leather and many other things.

"What are you doing, my dear?"

"I am burning his things."

"Why are you doing that?"

"It is better to burn them myself than to see them being thrown away by someone who doesn't care about them."

"Granddaughter....."

"I should have burned his body. He should have gotten a funeral. I could give him nothing. I couldn't even save him. I am such a failure as a wife."

Corlys wished he could say something to calm her. But the deeper he thought, the sadder he became. It was indeed true. Y/N had been an ideal daughter, an ideal sister and even an ideal granddaughter. But she could not exactly fulfil her duties as a wife.

"No man is flawless, my dear. Besides, it is not your fault. You only did what you thought was the right thing to do."

"I loved him so much....Why did he have to be on the Usurper's side?"

Corlys could not answer her. He sat beside her and watched her cry as she burned all of her dead husband's possessions one by one.

Once everything was burned, Y/N was exhausted from crying. She kept her head on Corlys' lap and closed her eyes.

"Grandsire..."

"Say it, Granddaughter."

"Can you take me to Driftmark for a few days? This place suffocates me."

"Sure. I shall talk to your mother."

Even though Rhaenyra had denied to postpone the wedding, she could not deny Lord Corlys when he expressed his desire to take his granddaughter with him to Driftmark for a few days. However, she did that on the condition that he would bring her back for the wedding on time.

The wedding was a grand affair. Many Lords attended the wedding with their wives, sons and daughters. Prince Jacaerys and Prince Daemon were talking to the Lords in the feast.

Y/N was getting dressed for the wedding. She had worn a cloth-of-gold gown. Her necklace had rubies and her earrings had them too. Her hair was braided and arranged around her temples like ram's horns and then covered by a hairnet.

Rhaenyra entered the chamber to see her daughter already dressed.

"You look very beautiful, Y/N," Rhaenyra said, smiling at her daughter.

Getting no response from her, she asked the ladies-in-waiting to leave them alone. She then made her daughter sit beside her on the bed and said, "Y/N, I know that this is hard for you. I do not blame you for loving my half-brother. He was a good husband to you. Besides, we do not choose whom we love."

Y/N only stared at her mother and said no word. Rhaenyra held her hands and said, "Lord Stark is a good man. He will keep you happy. I want you to accept him and start a new life. Be a good wife to him, give him children. Do your duty to him. You cannot hold on to the past forever. You have to let go."

Y/N wanted to say, "If you had let go of your foolish feelings for Harwin Strong, then our lives would have been much easier." But she remained silent.

Rhaenyra made her stand and put the cloak containing the colours of House Targaryen and House Velaryon around her shoulders.

Rhaenyra had tears in her eyes. "Will you not speak to your mother at all?" she said.

"Did you kill my child?" Y/N said, with a voice which was barely louder than a whisper.

"Child?" Rhaenyra asked, bewildered.

"Yes, the child in my belly...Aemond's child...which I lost only a few days after fleeing to Dragonstone," Y/N replied. She asked again, "Did you kill that child?"

"Oh my poor child!" Rhaenyra burst into tears. "I would never. I did not even know that you were with child. Trust me, I have done no such thing."

"If you say so," Y/N replied with a cracked voice.

Rhaenyra was crying. But Y/N did not want to look at her. She was not fully convinced. She walked out of her chamber and saw her brother Jacaerys standing outside her chamber.

"It is time, Sister. I will be the one to give you away. Come with me," he said to her.

Y/N spoke no word to Jacaerys. She did not even look into his eyes. She walked with him through the hallways into the Castle Sept. He took her to the wedding altar with a smile on his face. Lord Cregan Stark was standing there with the most charming smile he could have. In front of him was someone who looked almost like a Goddess. However, like many men, he too failed to read her mind. But the other women present there didn't.

Dowager Queen Alicent saw her son's widow getting on the altar with a face as pale as snow. There was no joy in that face. It looked like someone has drained all the happiness out of her and she could burst into tears at any moment. Y/N's lips were dry and shaking. The area around her eyes had turned pink from frequent wiping of her tears.

"Poor child! Look what that whore has done to her own daughter!" Alicent said to herself.

The vows were exchanged. The septon blessed Y/N and Lord Stark and declared them man and wife. Now, it  was time for the bedding ceremony. Jacaerys was about to declare the starting of the ceremony when Rhaenyra glared at him, as if daring him to speak.

Daemon approached him and said, "My Prince, you do not want to make matters worse. Arranging this wedding already gave you a broken nose."

Jacaerys nodded.

Y/N was escorted to her chamber by her ladies-in-waiting. She sat on her bed reflecting on what her life had become. She saw the decorated bed. There was a knock on the door and it opened. Cregan entered through the door and shut it close from inside.

He approached her with a smile on his face. Y/N would have traded all the gold in the world for the ability to evaporate from that place at that moment. She tried not to show any signs of discomfort. "Stay calm," she kept telling herself repeatedly. She had married him and she needed to perform her duty.

Her gently kissed her cheek and said, "You look very beautiful, Princess. Just like the moon."

He took her right hand in his and said, "I am aware of everything. I will not force you to do anything that you don't want to. If you don't wish to lie with me, then it will be that way."

"That won't be necessary, My Lord," Y/N replied. "The marriage has to be consummated anyways."

"I am glad you think so," Cregan said. "And I want you to address me by my name, at least when we are on the bed."

It did not take much time for Cregan to undo the laces of her gown, nor did it take him much time to unbutton whatever buttons came in his way. Soon, Y/N was out of her gown and as naked as her nameday. She lied on the bed and tried not to look at Cregan getting undressed. He climbed on her and claimed her with quite a great passion. His touches however, contributed more towards triggering the memories of Aemond than it contributed towards pleasuring Y/N. She certainly did not like the way her body was betraying her mind.

Cregan claimed her several times that night. And fell asleep after rolling off her.

Y/N curled up on the other side of the bed and sobbed.

Cregan was very pleased with his wife. He had been a widower for a few years. He was glad to have a beautiful wife like Y/N by his side.

However, things were not so easy for Y/N. Pretending to be a wife was harder than she had imagined. After returning to Winterfell, Cregan visited her almost every night. "Filling your belly is one of my favourite things to do, you know," he used to say.

Cregan used to think that his wife likes to bed him but was shy. He used to think that the war had made her quiet and reserved. So, he used to try to cheer her up by saying those things. Little did he know that bedding him was the most traumatizing part of their marriage. Men can be so clueless sometimes.

Y/N's nights were sleepless. The first half of each night was taken by Cregan and the second half was spent crying. She preferred bathing alone. She used to rub her body vigorously to forget the feeling of Cregan's hands on her and to remove his scent from her body. The scent seemed to never go away, no matter how many perfumes she used on herself.

She started keeping to herself most of the time. She craved loneliness. She spoke very less and only if it was very important.

It was one of those nights. Cregan entered Y/N's chamber. She had worn only a thin gown for sleeping. Y/N's fingers started shaking when she saw him. She tried to calm herself by holding on to nearby objects. Cregan took off his robe and held her waist.

"Was I disturbing your sleep, my love?" Cregan asked.

"As you can see, I haven't slept yet, My Lord," Y/N replied.

Cregan turned her to face him. He caressed her face and touched her lips with his index finger. He said, "Do you know how beautiful a smile will look on these lips? I think you don't. Because if you did, you would smile more often."

Seeing no response, Cregan whispered into her ears, "Let us bet. If I make you scream in pleasure tonight, you will smile for me. What do you say?"

"Sure," Y/N replied.

Cregan bit her neck as he grabbed her waist. She had a weak spot somewhere near the waist and below the navel. He discovered it a few days ago. He pressed that area and saw his wife biting her lips.

Y/N clenched her fist so hard that her nails almost pierced her skin. "Just a few hours," she kept telling herself. On the other nights, Y/N did not only cry after the deed was done, but also in between. She made sure he didn't notice it. But that night, as Cregan turned her around to undress her, she could not control herself. He had finished undressing her when he moved the hair from her face and saw her face. The suppressed tears had finally fallen. She was crying.

"What happened?" Cregan asked.

"I can't do this...I can't anymore...I am sorry...I am sorry...I can't..." she kept saying.

She was hiding her bare breasts with her hands and had closed her legs. Cregan had never seen her like that. He panicked.

"I do not understand. What is the matter?" He asked.

"I can't do this... I don't want to do this... I did... I tried... I can't anymore..." Y/N kept saying tearfully.

Cregan covered her with the sheets. He sat at the edge of the bed. An hour later, Y/N had calmed down.

Cregan looked at her. His eyes were red.

He said, "On our wedding night, I asked you whether you wanted me to bed you or not. You said that you wanted to go for it. All this time, I had been trying to win your smile and happiness with my love, while you had been grieving for a dead man. You brought the load of your past marriage into ours. That dead man was and is everything to you. While I am nothing. You find my touch disgusting. Yet you lie with me every night and pretend to be the perfect wife. Tell me, Princess, was there anything that was real between us?"

"I am sorry... I can't..." Y/N said, when she was interrupted by Cregan.

"Stop that. I don't want to hear that. I don't want an apology. What I wanted...was honestly and that is clearly not your virtue," Cregan said.

He got up from the bed and wore his robe. He then walked out of the chamber.

A month had passed since that night. Cregan stopped coming to Y/N's chamber altogether. Now that he had realised that his wife actually loathed his presence, he avoided her completely. This sudden change in behaviour did not go unnoticed. It was a topic of gossip among the servants but he paid no heed to them. But the seed that Cregan had left in Y/N's belly did not seem to ignore her.

Y/N noticed that her moon blood was late. But she brushed it off thinking that it might have been caused because of stress.

She was sitting at a table in her chamber and waiting for the maid to bring her food. Cregan no longer dined with her. The maid brought chicken and mushroom pie. Y/N remembered that it was one of the things which she liked a lot. But as she took a bite out of it, she spat it out.

"Gods be damned! What is this?" She shouted at the maid.

"It's....the pie, Princess," the maid said, tearfully. The little girl got scared of the sudden outburst.

"You call this a pie?" Y/N asked. "Horse shit must taste better than this. Take this away from my eyes."

An older maid who was standing nearby signalled the maid to take away the remaining pie. The old woman brought some boiled potatoes and sprinkled some salt, poured a little vinegar and added some herbs to them, and then smashed them a little. She gave them to Y/N and said, "Try these, Princess."

"Boiled potatoes?" Y/N was confused.

"Just try it once, Princess," the old woman sighed.

Y/N took a bite of a potato and surprisingly, found it very savoury. She quickly finished all the potatoes. The maid then brought some pieces of lemons and asked her to eat them. Y/N ate them too.

When she was done, the maid said to her, "These are the early signs of being with child, Princess."

"Child? How do you know that?" Y/N inquired.

The maid smiled and said, "I am nine and eighty, Princess. I know a woman carrying a child when I see one. However, for your satisfaction, you should get yourself checked by the Maester. That old man is believed by everyone after all."

A chill ran down Y/N's spine. A child would change a lot of things. Besides, her relationship with Cregan was not good anymore. Truth to be told, she hoped for a daughter because a son had no future there. Cregan already had an heir. Her son would only be a second son who would stand to inherit nothing. A daughter, however, could be married off to a Lord.

She sent for the Maester. The maester arrived with haste. She shared her worries with him and he listened to all of them very attentively. He said to her, "Princess, it is very much possible that you are with child. Please lie down so that I can examine you."

After examining her, the Maester said to her with a smile, "You are to be a mother, Princess. Your doubts were indeed correct."

"How long have I been with child, Maester?" Y/N asked.

"One and a half months, Princess" he replied.

Just then, Cregan arrived at her chamber. They exchanged a brief glance. The maid had informed Cregan that Y/N might be with child and that's why, he had come to talk to her. On seeing the Maester, he asked him, "What did you find out, Maester?"

"The princess is indeed with child, My Lord. You are to be a father again," he replied. He then glanced at both Cregan and Y/N and said, "I shall take my leave now."

Cregan approached Y/N with slow steps and sat on the bed beside her.

"We are to have a child, Princess."

"Aye"

"Do you know what that means?"

"I do."

"Our child deserves parents who love each other."

"I know."

"What I am asking from you is, a chance. I want a chance to make you happy. We cannot play pretend husband and pretend wife in front of our child."

"I will try."

"Will you...truly? Or will you say that to my face and cry when I turn my back?"

Y/N burst into tears on hearing that. Cregan hugged her and kissed her forehead. He cupped her face and said, "Look, I know that you loved Prince Aemond a lot. I am not asking you to forget him. I have not forgotten my Arra. But you see, Arra and Aemond are our past. But the child in your belly is our present and future. I am not asking you to bed me. I am asking you to let me into your life and to let me take care of you. Because I married you to start a family with you. I want to love you."

Y/N was still silent. Cregan had gotten his answer. He said, "If that is your wish, I will stay away from you. But once the child is born, you will not try to keep it away from me. If you do so, I will not tolerate it. Because the child is mine and I will never ever give up on my child."

..

..

..

To be continued

Taglist : @anime-lover-forever-1127

[kusekhoo--th--dragon]

i want to know how judging people by race is even supposed to work?

are the people of the race you don't like somehow supposed to magically change race?

because i'll tell you one thing, there's a whole lot of black people, that would have paid anything to be white growing up.

yes, i know that's not the right path, but when being black puts you in a short lifespan situation, you kinda get desperate.

hating people for something they physically can't change, has to be some sort of mental disorder if you ask me, a complete inability to cope in the real world, to the point where you have to construct a fantasy, just to cope with a world that's indifferent towards your weirdly specific and unrealistic requirements.

now saying that, attraction and identity are both chemical processes, no matter how us thinking creatures like to believe we're somehow above our natural instincts, while ironically giving in to our instincts by responding to a perceived attack with another attack like the big dumb primate you are, instead of rationalizing a practical method of moving forward, you know, like a logical non-emotionally-unstable thinking creature should.

i don't know how the haters expect a person with the blood of a certain sex running through their body to exhibit the exact opposite behavior simply because they look different on the outside.

that's not even a metaphor, that's just literally how hormones work.

that's science, you moron.

if it's a choice, then if i present a maid outfit to a straight man, they should be perfectly capable of wearing it, confident in their masculinity.

if they pose any resistance saying that "it's not them" or words to that effect i would love for them to explain why being straight is a choice, when at the same time they seem to be compelled to not even entertain the idea of not being straight, almost like their identity is something they have no choice over.

so let me get this straight, being gay is only a choice, when the choice is what you have already chosen what's right.

so it's only a choice, when it's not actually a choice.

can you straight people see how this logic makes literally no sense?

i mean you literally did this.

you haters are a literal joke from 1981.

how can you not see the irony in that?

Y’all do know that being nice to people is basic human decency right? Y’all do know that being kind is normal right? Y’all do know that accepting people for their identity (queer, neurodivergence, colour/race, culture) is the bare minimum?

Y’all do know that right?

[crystallinecardinal]

Been thinking about Mettatenna ever since I played the new Deltarune chapters and oug. Ohh. Oh my god. I think I’m going to go batshit insane if I don’t talk about them at least ONCE.

Lots and lots of yapping (and ficlets?) beneath the cut………..

So. Mmmmettatenna.

When I first played Deltarune on launch day with my best friend, we got to where you can give Tenna to Mettaton and promptly lost it. They’re going to get along… famously……… and then I thought about it more, and realized some of the reasons I really love Mettatenna (other than their Jessica Rabbit and Roger Rabbit esque dynamic in my head).

It’s a lot to explain, but I find it a bit difficult to express it through normal text, so I decided I’d try the next best option— through fanfic-esque writing, split into sections, as well as some minor normal analysis at certain points. Enjoy.

I want to start with the Before, as I call it. The past, some of the present, things that happen before Mettaton and Tenna are left alone. Maybe that’ll make some of my later points make sense.

1) All you have to do is say “I love TV”

Imagine. You’re Tenna. Once, you were loved. There are two sides of you the people see: the smiling host on stage, and the behind the scenes you. Once, you knew someone who knew both, that little addison with such a spark in him. He had really gotten somewhere, clicks piling in to his advertisements (or so he tells you, you don’t exactly understand what that means until he explains it), and, well, the show could use some upgrades, so to speak. He can run some commercials, you’ll continue to be the host, and the two of you will profit. (He’ll show you his secret to making it big. He’ll show you how to adapt. You’re sure of it.)

But business is business. You’re not quite sure when you forgot that. Maybe it was the rides in the special ‘Dero, feeling the “sweet breeze,” as he called it. Maybe it was the conversations you both had as he played with the lighter in his car. Maybe it was his help, leaned in close to explain to you the securities of the currencies he knows, telling you about his digital world as opposed to your analog one. Maybe it was the specials where he’d shine his showstopper smile, the one that made the crowd erupt into laughter when he’d intentionally answer wrong. Maybe it was when you started the sweet talk, maybe it was when he agreed to finally help you plug in and make it big. Maybe.

But no one stays big forever, and off he went. That’s showbiz for you, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. What were all the collaborations for, then? What about the laughs? You both had so much opportunity in your future together, and he threw it down the drain. You taught him everything you know, and he just— he left! He ripped you off! And because of what, a phone call?? Doesn’t he know what you were going to do for him?

And it’s funny, because as much as you hate him, hate him for leaving, hate him for thinking himself better than you, a part of you still clings on. “Don’t look in the wardrobe,” you tell yourself, stashing it away in some old room despite the soft noise coming from inside. What would they say if they knew what you were keeping? Don’t look too closely at the next physical challenge, pray like your Lightners do that no one recognizes the paper mache effigy of the man you refer to as your “worst hater.” Don’t look too close at the food in the Green Room, just swallow it down and pretend it’s something else. Don’t let that phone ring again, don’t taint yourself with those severed connections. You’re better than him. You’re better, you’re better, you’re better.

All you have to do is keep the audience entertained.

And oh, entertain them you did. It made your whole world when the eight of them would watch you during the holidays. You’d entertain them the best you could with your specials, and they’d smile, and laugh, and they’d have fun. Always eating homemade butterscotch cinnamon pie, the kids playing in your glow… it meant everything. You saw their best moments, you were a part of their best moments.

And then, they slowly stopped coming. One by one, they left. The older Holiday sister first— Dess, and then her mother, Carol, soon after. It didn’t feel great, having two less viewers than usual, but you could manage. You still had the others!

That was when the fights started. Loud things in the house, shouting matches that sent poor little Kris back to you, but… not just for idle entertainment. You’d do whatever you could, playing those old reruns, old show tunes (the music videos had long since been put behind the parental lock after Dess’ little shenanigans), whatever that would keep their mind off the battle, and their eyes on you. You’d do anything— but it wasn’t enough.

Asgore left. And then little Noelle, and then Rudy. The house got quiet. Three left. And while they’d still watch you from time to time, then Asriel left, too. You had finally lost them. Kris’ leaving hurt the most, you thought they just loved TV, but even they stopped watching as time went on. As for Toriel, well… old cooking shows could only keep her entertained for so long.

All stars burn out eventually. You just… didn’t expect it to feel so sudden when your cord was unplugged, and the world became nothing.

So, maybe it’s no surprise that when you finally gained power again, when you saw familiar faces, when Kris and their new friend came to your world… you couldn’t really let go. Finally, after so long, someone was watching you again! And they were going to be the stars of the show! It didn’t matter if the games repeated— it was fun, right? Fun for the whole family! Why would they ever want to leave again? Why would ANYONE ever want to leave you again? (You ignore the way everyone in the studio gets a little more on edge. It means nothing.)

But the unfortunate truth is— this family has outgrown you. No amount of nostalgic games or physical challenges are going to change that. You served your purpose, and now all you have are old reruns. (“They’re going to throw you out,” a part of your mind says. “They’ll replace you, and that little mailman would have always been right. Who wants an old, beaten CRT in the digital age? You’re nothing more than junk.”) But one of them, hope crossed on her heart, manages to convince you. She’ll help you. She’s going to find someone to watch you again. So, once more, you’ll do anything.

You’re just glad she found you in the snow. Hopefully, the people she brings you to won’t abandon you this time. Everyone’s already leaving elsewhere…

Oh.

…You’re going to miss this place.

2) A bit of a nobody

Imagine. You’re… well, who are you? You’re nobody, really. You can’t remember the last time you left the house, and for the few people that do know you, it’s not like there’s been much for you to do with them.

…It’s boring with no internet.

You can’t just sneak over to the computer lab anymore. Not that you particularly like leaving (just how many eyes are on you?), but… it was always nice to visit when you could. And, well, who was going to judge you when you were alone there? Your tabs would always be filled with the most beautiful outfits you can find, outfits you wished you could have.

You would think monster outfitters would have figured out ghost fashion by now. Apparently not, but that’s not your point. You don’t really necessarily want ghost fashion, what you want is something that fits another body.

You’ve… never quite felt yourself, have you? Maybe that’s the norm for monsters like you, but, well, nobody exactly feels the way you do about it. Corporeality isn’t really a thing that comes easy. Blooky’s fine being a spectre forever, you don’t really have a problem with that, and Maddie’s always trying to search for some new form, that much you don’t have a problem with either. It’s just… they don’t get it. They don’t understand how you feel about it.

It would be easy to just inhabit anything. Household objects, long forgotten childhood toys, whatever you wanted, really. That happens all the time with ghosts. It’s just… you have a specific taste. You don’t want to inhabit a form you know you’re going to hate. What’s the point of it? So, you just don't. No matter how miserable you are, because, well-- wouldn't inhabiting a body that you know isn't yours just make you feel worse?

You've had dreams, of course. Forms you sketch out in diaries, on other papers, and briefly, once on one of the library's computers (you sent that one to the trash after. You never would be able to have that body.), but none of them have ever been quite what you want, or quite... you know... feasible. There's only so much you have to work with in this town, and you're not exactly an engineer. So if you have to resign yourself to dreams, then that's how it is.

You're a nobody, after all. Even if you could get a body you wanted, achieve the dreams you adore... who would even help?

And then... there's someone knocking on your door. You’re not quite sure why, but one of the neighbors visits. They listen to you talk through the door, act like a “fan” of yours (you’ve never had a “fan” before. It feels nice to imagine it that way, though), and, well…. Look, you’re getting a little desperate. There’s only so much you can do in this place without internet, it’s not like Blooky’s home all day, and Maddie’s— well. Sometimes you like your alone time, as much as you love them both. So, you ask a question to the presence behind the door, as much as it embarrasses you to do so. “If you have anything entertaining, darling… Could you bring it by tomorrow? It would mean the world to me.”

You’re not expecting much. Honestly, you’re not even sure the neighbor will even accept your favor (what are they even going to bring you?), but despite it all, there’s a knock on your door anyway the next day. They tell you they want to give you their TV, and— wow. Okay. Uhm. Can you really accept that? There’s a catch, right?

“Uhh, it’s scuffed, old, and the colors are kinda messed up…” the neighbor girl says (there’s two distinct voices now, have you always been talking to two people?), “But, it’s, uhh… really good. It’s a really good TV.”

You decide you’ll take a look. It beats rotting away in the house all day. The neighbor kids bring by the Really Good TV, and you get your first look at it, peering out a crack in the door. It’s a handsome little thing, an old CRT worn with time, an antenna wrapped up in duct tape, but… you like it. It shows how much it’s been loved over the years. Curious, you ask the brand. The neighbor girl says she doesn’t know, but… the answer she gives you intrigues you.

His name is Tenna.

You can’t help but ask. “…your TV has a name?”

You see the neighbor girl avert her gaze for a moment, eyes darting elsewhere, looking for a way to answer you. Odd. Maybe she’s just nervous?

“No. I mean, uhh, yeah. But just like, a nickname,” she finally settles on. Ah. Okay. That explains it. You’ve heard of others naming their cars, or their plushes, never a TV, but it’s… it’s really cute, actually.

Tenna.

Like “antenna.”

You’ll take it.

The neighbor girl says something to their friend (Kris, that’s their name), something about “finding him a home.” You can’t help it. A smile spreads across your form, and a gentle laugh escapes you. They must really love this TV, don’t they? They speak of it as if it were their favorite dog at the animal shelter, finally finding a new home. You suppose… it’s not entirely wrong. It— He— has a name, has been loved by someone before you, and is looking for someone new to take care of him. So, you tell them not to worry. You have a feeling, a strange, inkling of a thought that makes you grin, that you and “Mr. Tenna” are going to get along… famously.

Maybe with a bit of entertainment, your thoughts will stop eating you alive.

3) Intermission

Of course, everything I’ve just written for you is the Before. Tenna’s history, Mettaton’s plight… briefly, I want to explain why I even told you any of it at all. Consider it an intermission, of sorts. We’ll get back to your regularly scheduled programming in no time.

Starting with Tenna: I think there are two things that are crucial to his character for you to understand (and we’ll go into depth on those): Tenna fears becoming obsolete, and Tenna fears abandonment. These are fairly straightforward points made clear in Deltarune, but I’ve seen a lot of debate regarding them. I’m not here to debate you, though— I’m here to discuss why I love the concept of this TV and a ghost kissing.

I think understanding just where those fears come from are also essential (and trust me, they’ll be important for my discussion of Mettatenna). That’s why I explained Tenna’s history. He’s an old family CRT, running (for the most part) family friendly programming, loving his Lightners like they’re his whole world. And really, why wouldn’t he? He’s a TV, and it feels good to have those eyes on you, to see people laugh, and smile, and cry over the things you show them. You get to see an audience that feels like family grow up, and you get to be part of it.

Tenna wants to do this. He wants to entertain. Depriving him of that ability, the thing that makes him the happiest, the thing that makes him feel loved, is guaranteed to do some damage. And we don’t need to wonder on this point— his history tells us exactly that. It kicks up that fear of abandonment, now that his Lightners watch him less and less. There is one thing other than the Light World’s progression into the future that I think really kicks it up, though…

Okay. I have to talk about the elephant (or big shot) in the room.

Spamton G. Spamton.

I feel I can’t really discuss Tenna without at least mentioning Spamton. That’s kinda the Point, to me. They’re characters that enhance each others’ stories, and boy does Spamton have an impact on Tenna.

I want you to think about it, really. Tenna fears becoming obsolete and being abandoned… both of which can be tied back to Spamton. Which isn’t me saying he was the CAUSE of those problems, but most definitely their little “partnership” (or whatever it was), didn’t make it any better.

He was email, he was modern, he was a big shot, and Tenna had what he wanted, just as he had what Tenna wanted. Money, fame, attention, it’s like a drug when you’re an addison. And when they made their first deals, not the one that pushed Spamton away (we know it couldn’t have been that one, he was bragging about his TV deals and big cars back in the Cyber World before things went off the rails, and even if that was exaggeration, it doesn’t explain the collaboration posters existing), both saw an opportunity. If they worked together, more would know their names, and they’d become big shots— whether both truly benefited or not. Even then, Tenna didn’t want to become obsolete, but his relationship with Spamton didn’t culminate in asking for his secret until long after it had begun, after he had already given him everything.

Even then, Tenna was so lost, and still is to this day when it comes to Spamton’s digital world, the same that could replace him easily. And it wasn’t just Tenna that had goals in mind for their little business partnership, so, really, Spamton could tell him anything he wanted during that time he had Tenna wrapped around his finger…

And would you look at that?

Anyway. Their relationship is vague as all hell, but this and the original section one are the most I can do here without an entire separate analysis post about their mutually assured destruction. The point is: I genuinely believe that to Spamton, the relationship was mostly about the money and the fame, only becoming truly personal when he lost it all, and to Tenna, it started as a way to not have his fears come true, but it became a lot more personal over time. I promise, this will eventually become important later on when discussing Mettaton. Trust me.

Speaking of Mettaton, I think the main point of his section in this is pretty clear: Deltarune Mettaton is not the Mettaton we know from Undertale, but rather a much less confident version of himself. And based on context clues, we can assume he’s still a ghost, not in a body he wants just yet.

Mettaton… isn’t doing great. He’s staying in his house all the time instead of coming outside, feels himself to be a nobody, and doesn’t even believe at first that Kris and Susie are there to talk to him. I can only imagine, knowing everything regarding the NEO body and previous context of Human Fan Club in Undertale that it’s probably worse for Mettaton away from what we see.

The internet is out. How is he supposed to distract himself?

Enter: Tenna being given to Mettaton, and, well. I’d just like to say I think that might change a few things.

Welcome to the After. End intermission.

4) Rebranding

Imagine once more for me, you are Tenna. You’ve seen a lot of things. You’ve witnessed the growth of a family you once considered yourself a part of, and watched it fall apart. You’ve spent time with countless members of your cast and crew, some closer to you than others, and watched them all leave. You’ve held onto the past, in productions, old rooms, through your blabbering mouth that doesn’t know when to hit mute, and now, well.

You are Tenna, and you are alone.

Except…

You’re not, really.

Once more back in the Light World, a lot of who you are is constricted. You aren’t, well, fully you until all the lights go out. However, you still know of the things happening around you. You always have.

You had thought a lot about it, the programs you’d showcase first, before your power switched off again. Who was going to take you in? Another family? Well, you had plenty of educational shows if they had little ones, and plenty of cartoons and movie marathons for the older kids. Maybe someone new in town? You had plenty of shows they might like, and plenty of news stories to broadcast. But when your power was plugged back in, nothing could have prepared you for the reality.

There before you was a little pink ghost, in a dark, quiet room. Among everything, their translucent form shone like a dim light, and… wow. Okay. This really wasn’t what you were expecting, but you’re not complaining. And as soon as you hear their voice, not speaking to someone else, but to you, you know you’re here to stay.

Now, you like to pride yourself a little on the fact that you know how to read an audience. Maybe that’s where being a host for so long gets you. So, when you hear his voice, hear him call you “darling,” and take a metaphorical glance around the room at the decor, you think you know exactly what might entertain him.

And, well. Okay, look. Maybe it’s a bit of self-indulgence. It’s been a while since you haven’t had a parental lock on you, and, well… there’s no young kids here that necessitate reaffirming those locks, so… When he flicks the power on, there’s only a bit of static— a bit of hesitation, you know this is pushing a bit of a limit for what you’re used to— before you manage to make the first channel that greets him a music video channel.

He watches you after, eyes wide, before a soft laugh escapes him. He speaks to you more, asking what this salacious music video is that you’ve shown him, and murmuring something about an awakening of sorts. Bullseye. You grin in some far off place, knowing you’ve done well.

Life goes on. No longer are you alone, now you have someone new to watch you, along with his cousins from time to time. He speaks to you in the days, during the long nights, and you learn more and more about him, switching your channels to the programs you find he adores. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and more.

If only, a part of you thinks, you could tell him everything you want to say to him. How much you appreciate him for watching you again, how much you want to see him achieve his dreams…

But you both live in different worlds, so you’ll resign yourself to this for now. You’re just glad to be in a place that feels like home.

5) TV taught me how to feel, now real life has no appeal

Imagine, for the last time: you are Mettaton. You’re sure by now that your tv has a mind of its own. Not that that’s bad, it’s just that everything feels… so much more personal. No one knows you like Mr. Tenna knows you. You’ve told him things you’d never say to anyone else, shown him things you’d never show to anyone else… because, well, how was he going to judge? He’s a TV. Tenna doesn’t have opinions on your laments for a new form, he just listens, and that’s all you need.

A part of you, though, wishes he could speak and act. Not that you don’t appreciate what he already does, the way he switches channels on his own at times, always knowing exactly what you want to watch, or what you need, but you… well. You don’t really have anyone that knows you and understands you like Tenna does. You wonder… if he could speak, would he be someone you’ve always wanted to know?

And, imagine, in this case: there’s a reality where you finally meet him. You enter the dark, all the lights go out, and you become someone else. This world, not your own, seems to adapt to your hopes and dreams. Inspecting your body in the new world, you find it is no longer the spectral form you’re used to, but instead humanoid, robotic. And so you stand, shaking like a newborn fawn, and maybe it’s not such a surprise stage lights flicker on to illuminate you.

The adventure could go many ways, but what matters is: you’ve met him. You finally know the mind behind that screen, finally understand why the channels have been flipping without your input. Turns out, there was always someone there, a star, fallen from grace, but not giving up just yet. And by the Angel, does he adore you.

He’s made you his star in the new studio, putting you front and center with him on his show. It’s terrifying, being under such bright lights, knowing everyone is looking at you. You’ve— you’ve only had this body for a moment! How are you supposed to just— perform? It’s everything you’ve wished for, but— you’re a nobody, right?

And yet, the crowd cheers anyway.

And yet, Mr. Tenna smiles anyway.

So, you get talking, backstage after a particularly troubling quiz. (You forgot. Just how much does he know about you from those late night marathons?) You watch carefully as he peers around the room from time to time, or readjusts his suit and tie, or alternates between the showman’s grin and a genuine one. Is he nervous..?

Well, then you remember. Tenna is… new here, right? He’s told you as much— this is his “new studio.” And by the way during the quiz segment you caught him cut off a call of someone’s name, you can only imagine he’s doing what any star might do— try to save face, and retain the reputation that precedes them.

So, maybe it’s not just you that’s new to this arrangement. It’s different, of course— the unfamiliarity of a body and the unfamiliarity of a place, but some of the effects are similar. You’ve felt alone for so long… and you can only imagine how he feels. You’re both alone. Neither of you have someone to turn to.

Except…

Well, maybe those marathons were good for one thing: he knows you like no one else. You finally have everything you’ve ever wanted, a body fit to your wants, an audience ready to cheer your name, and the company of your favorite TV. Despite all of your stumbling, your concerns, he’s continued to try to hold you up. And surprisingly, it’s starting to work.

So when you both go on stage for the main event of the show, when the anxiety hits, you look up to him instead, watch him grin back at you, and decide for once to lean into the situation. What’s the harm in a little bit of fun? You sing along with the music, (an act just for you, you notice— he really does know you,) and let your new body do the work. You dance around the set, alive with the beat and the melody. And for one of the few times in your life, you feel truly alive.

Maybe it’s a bit of self-indulgence, (although who could blame you?) but you even manage to drag him back onstage with you at some point during the song. You revel in the way it draws surprise out of him, knocking him out of that stiff and reserved state, leaving him completely starstruck as you make him part of the performance.

The audience cheers. Your fans kick up under the warm lights. It’s new, all of it is, for the both of you. You can’t help but love it, though, and looking back at him, you think he’s starting to enjoy it too.

Maybe a bit of experimentation is good for the both of you.

6) Finale

OKAY. So. I’ve finally explained it all. Or, at least, most of it.

I’d like to go back to some things I pointed out earlier, starting with why I’ve been mentioning Spamton so much in a Mettatenna post. Now that I’ve shown you what I think Tenna and Mettaton might be like together, I’d like to provide a comparison.

Tenna fears more than anything becoming obsolete, outdated, and abandoned. When he makes his deal with Spamton, it directly stands to remedy that. Tenna sees in Spamton someone with clout and modernity, someone who can provide him what he wants. But of course their mutually assured destruction comes to pass (nothing good comes from a relationship originally built on pure business), and it crashes and burns. Tenna is never the same afterward.

When Tenna is given to Mettaton, it’s another chance at life. He’s experienced his worst fears by this point, abandoned by his Lightners, abandoned by his old business partner. He’s old and outdated, but somehow, someone takes him in. Someone starts watching again, and Tenna has all he’s ever wanted. Once more, he gets to see a Lightner enjoy his shows, his games. This life, of course— is the one Tenna will likely live for a while longer in canon. Even if Mettaton eventually leaves, the ghost cousins still love TV, so Tenna won’t be completely alone.

However, if you consider the possibility of Tenna and Mettaton being able to meet, a unique opportunity is given. Now, Tenna has a new star, just like he had all those years before. This time, though, it’s different. The relationship isn’t built on transactions, it’s built on a sort of mutual understanding. Tenna can help Mettaton by providing him entertainment, and the Dark World assists in escapism that allows him to find himself, and Mettaton is able to help Tenna still feel loved after everything. That’s the difference.

On top of that though, exploring them a little further, I’d also like to mention that they’re about exploration, to me. Mettaton, of course, gets to explore his identity, but Tenna also gets to play a little! Now that he’s with Mettaton, he has a very different audience, and his parental locks have been turned off, so it allows him a bit more wiggle room than normal. I just think it’s interesting— both of them being able to be a bit more exploratory than they would given their previous situations.

Anyway. My tldr here: I REALLY like Mettatenna. I think them being together gives Mettaton the opportunity to be at his best, finally able to be happy with who he is (or gain a pathway towards that), and gives Tenna a new beginning with someone that cares for him and watches him despite everything. Neither of them are particularly alone anymore.

That’s why I love them, and that’s what I wanted to talk about!

[leyavo]

Artist!Johnny x Artist!Reader

You walk past Johnny every morning in the courtyard, a cigarette burning ash between his fingers and a black coffee set beside him on the brick wall. He offers you a good morning, but you haven’t spoke to him anymore than that.

His denim clad thighs are marked with brush strokes. Art within itself, he cleans the paint off his brushes and wipes them on his jeans to make sure they don’t mix with other colours. Doesn’t like his art getting muddy and flat.

Johnny’s art studio is directly opposite yours, the small square courtyard between you and him. You can see his dark paintings through the large windows, if the star shaped scar on the side of his head doesn’t scream horror then his art does. It’s one of the reasons you’re reluctant to approach him. He’s nice enough, but you don’t know if you can handle that type of depth. That darkness.

You don’t realise that sometimes he’s watching you too. The sun turning your studio golden in the afternoon, his favourite time of the day. He likes how you’re always stepping back from your canvas and tilting your head, end of your paintbrush tracing your jaw deep in thought. Sometimes he’s notices the tiny specs of paint on your chin or your neck as you lock up to go home. He’s still there till it gets dark.

It’s not till you’re dragging a second easel through the cobbled courtyard does he make his move. You don’t even hear him approach, his hands grasping the wooden easel and lifting it like it’s nothing. The same jeans with strokes of colour curving over his thighs and a black T-shirt hugging his biceps. You can’t miss the mound of muscle as it bulges, but he’s too focussed on climbing the concrete stairs to your art studio to notice.

You offer him a coffee in thanks, nearly spilling it over yourself as you watch him study your latest art piece. It’s in that ugly phase, the stage you hate as you’re no where near detailed enough for a critique. He compliments the chosen colour palette, asking what type of brush you used for a certain technique. One coffee becomes lunch, your knee brushing against his leg in the courtyard as you both eat on the steps.

When he does offer you a tour of his studio, the work tables are caked in dried paint. The paint tubes contorted, moulded by his hands like a sculpture as they pile up on top of each other. His brushstrokes are hard, medium thick on the linen canvas, but there’s a depth that centres you. Holds you in and you can’t tear your eyes away. You know that pain, the one that doesn’t go away. It lingers in the corner of your mind, creeping back in when you least expect it.

Then he tells you about the scar, his honesty refreshing although you know he can’t tell you everything. Telling you how he doesn’t like using red paint, the way it stains his fingers. Thick like blood, it sends him spiralling on bad days. He still forgets certain things, like meeting you for coffee one morning and he beats himself up for it, for a week straight.

You start to meet once a week for sketching studies. Drawing each other, fingers covered in charcoal, your touch left on his jaw and back of his neck as you kiss him. Mapping out every curve of each other. You even find a whole sketchbook dedicated to studies of you, little things around your studio that remind him of you.

Johnny sits in the back of the life drawing classes you teach on Mondays, likes the sound of your voice and the way you flit between the canvases. He also helps you set up for your first solo art show, bringing some of his friends to help carry stuff and display them. You inspire him to share his own art too, he bursts into your studio with a magazine, his art on one of the pages. You buy one yourself and frame the article for him.

You love going on gallery dates with Johnny, hands entwined as you both take in the art. Stolen kisses as you walk between each room and into the next artists work. All for research purposes obviously, but you find yourself doing it more together as you grow closer.

[Masterlist]

[scary-grace]

Savior (Chapter 2) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

When you broke up with Shigaraki Tomura at the end of high school, you never expected him to stalk you for years, and when you and Chisaki Kai got married, you thought you'd finally broken free. But life with Kai turns quickly from a dream into a waking nightmare, and with every month that passes, you can feel your chances to escape dwindling. Almost out of time, with no good choices left, you turn to the one person who swore he'd never give up on you -- and hope he's less interested in stalking you than he is in saving your life.

AU - no quirks. Past (and future) Tomura x reader, present Overhaul x reader. Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Depictions of dubcon, domestic violence, and reproductive coercion (Overhaul). References to past stalking behavior (Tomura). Angst. Hurt/no comfort for the majority of the fic. If you find any of the above too triggering to read about, please go check out some of the other fics in the fandom! there are lots of them waiting to be discovered and loved. beta-read by @threadbearsweater, dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

When you and Kai get home at three in the morning, dragging your suitcases through the door, you know instantly that something’s off. Maybe it’s the temperature of the air. Maybe there’s a different scent, something subtle but out of place. Maybe a shadow just inside your doorway that shouldn’t be there. You can’t put your finger on what it is, but you’re dead certain: Something’s happened. Someone was here.

Or maybe you’re just insane. Kai hasn’t noticed anything at all. He’s in a bad mood, shoulders hunched, jet-lagged or something worse. He drops his suitcase in the hall. “I hate this part.”

He doesn’t say things like that very often. “Go shower off,” you tell him. You help him out of his coat, surprised when he lets you. “I’ll unpack and get the laundry started.”

Kai glances your way, the motion unusually slow and heavy. “Why?”

“You did such a good job planning our trip,” you say. “We saw everything I wanted to see, and I didn’t have to worry about a thing. I can take care of this. Go shower. You’ll feel better afterward.”

Kai must be feeling bad. He doesn’t argue. He goes upstairs to shower, and as soon as you hear the water switch on, you leap into action. You don’t have much time. You have to figure out what happened here before Kai comes out.

The first thing you do is check the doors and windows. Sure enough, the one in the downstairs bathroom is slightly cracked. Like that, it’s too small for a person to fit through, but if it was entirely open, someone with a slim build could easily slither in and back out. You shut it, your heart racing like it used to in college, back when you’d discover some clue that Tomura had broken in. He always left something for you to find.

He always took something, too. If Tomura really was here, he’ll have taken something that isn’t for everyday, something valuable only to you. At first you’d thought he was doing it to hurt you, to punish you for leaving him, but something about that explanation didn’t track. It took almost a year of him stalking you for you to understand what he was really doing – taking things that mattered but didn’t, hoping you’d reach out to ask for them back. What would he have taken this time? You try to keep quiet as you move through the house, but your heart is hammering so loudly the neighbors can probably hear it. What would you notice missing that Kai wouldn’t? Nothing. Kai notices everything.

You’re still holding Kai’s coat. You stifle the urge to ball it up and leave it on the floor and hang it neatly instead. You unpack the suitcases, separate the dirty clothes, load the washing machine but hold off on starting it. You turn down the sheets on Kai’s side of the bed, and as you straighten up, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror at the back of the walk-in closet. You look frantic, just as struck by anxiety as you feel, and the earrings Kai bought you are still in your ears.

All at once they’re too heavy. You take them out, pulling almost hard enough to hurt, and turn to your jewelry box – and that’s when you see it. The lid of your jewelry box is ever so slightly askew.

You make your way carefully towards it, like you’re trying to catch it by surprise or something. Paranoia’s made you do weirder things. You’re meticulous as you sift through it, checking in on every piece of jewelry Kai bought you first, then onto everything you bought for yourself or inherited from somebody else. Then the things that are sentimental and nothing more, and at first you think nothing’s been taken. Maybe you left it like this the last time you looked in it. But then you look a little harder, and you realize with a jolt that something has been taken – and replaced, with something that looks almost identical.

You and Tomura had been dating for two months on Valentine’s Day, and Tomura’s friends and yours had been razzing him about getting you a gift. Tomura didn’t have any money, not since his dad went to prison, and you told him over and over again that he didn’t need to get you anything. He really didn’t. You hadn’t gotten a boyfriend because you wanted presents. If he wanted to get you something for your birthday, he could, but you weren’t worried about it. You were consistent. Sometimes you thought he believed you.

But your friends’ boyfriends went all out for the week leading up to Valentine’s Day, showering them in chocolate and presents, and you knew it bothered Tomura that he couldn’t do the same thing. On Valentine’s Day, you presented him with a box of chocolates you’d made yourself. I wanted to get you a fancy one, but they always have weird stuff in them, you remember saying. This way it only has the stuff you like.

Tomura didn’t thank you, but the way he held onto the box white-knuckled for a moment before setting it aside told you what you needed to know. Then he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out something small enough to fit completely in his closed fist. I got you something, too.

Tomura –

Just take it. He was averting his eyes, embarrassed already. You held out your hand and he dropped two necklaces into it. The charm on one of them said Best. The other said Friends. You were speechless, and in your silence, Tomura started talking. They said to get jewelry or something. I can’t afford that stuff – not the nice stuff. We’re not best friends. We’re dating. This was stupid. I just –

You kissed him. I think it’s really nice, you said. He gave you a skeptical look. I couldn’t date somebody who wasn’t my friend, too.

And maybe he was your best friend by that point. You two spent a lot of time together, about the same as all your other friends added up, and you liked spending time with him a lot. More than your friends liked spending time with their boyfriends. You remember thinking that meant something good. I really like it, you told Tomura. Which one do you want?

Tomura picked Friends. You got Best, and even when the two of you broke up, you kept it at the bottom of your jewelry box, never wearing it again but always knowing it was there. But your half of the friendship necklace isn’t there anymore. The charm on the tarnished chain says Friends.

He was here. You can’t tell if the feeling that cuts the tendons in your legs and drops you to the floor is relief or fear, but you know you got your wish. Tomura’s here, somehow. He’s watching, again. That was the first step. Now what?

Even as you’re weighing the question, you’re aware that you have to figure out what’s wrong with Kai. It’s clear to you that he picked something up on the plane home, but he won’t go to the doctor or even admit he’s not feeling well, meaning that he’s short-tempered and sharper than usual with you. You’ve seen Kai like this a few times in the past. You know it’ll fade at some point, but for now, the tension in the house is palpable.

The two of you took an extra day off after the trip to recover from jet lag – Kai’s idea, so you can both go back to work at your best. You suggest to Kai that he should actually rest instead of just working from home. The curtness with which he responds to you tells you not to open your mouth on the subject again.

But when the two of you are making dinner, sharing the kitchen as usual, you realize that you can’t let it go any longer. Kai’s hands are shaking where he grasps the knife he’s using to cut up the ingredients, and he’s this close to amputating a finger. When you brush against him, you find that he’s drenched in cold sweat, and his face has taken on a pale, clammy cast. “Kai, are you okay?”

He mumbles something through clenched teeth. You don’t dare ask him to repeat himself, and he says it again without prompting. “I’m fine,” he says. “I –”

His expression contorts, and he whirls away from you, throwing up in the sink – mostly. The mess is bad enough. You know how much Kai hates a mess. The imperative to clean it up as much as possible, as quickly as possible, clashes with your need to get out of here before something worse happens, and somewhere in the middle of it is a vestigial urge to reach out to someone who needs help. The latter urge wins out. “Kai –”

“Stay away.”

He sounds awful. He needs help. You have a strong immune system, and you can wash your hands. You take a step forward. “Kai, I’m worried –”

“Stay away!” He doesn’t turn on you, but he lashes out with one hand. The hand that’s still holding the knife.

The blade catches you in the shoulder, pierces through your shirt, drawing a jagged line across your chest. The pain is sharp and agonizing, and it comes as such a shock that you don’t even scream. The sharp gasp you let out is more of surprise than anything else. Kai drops the knife, straightens up. His eyes are wide as he stares at you. You’ve seen that expression maybe once before, when you regained consciousness after he knocked you out. Surprise at seeing what he’s done, shock that he went this far. If Kai told you right now that he didn’t mean to hurt you, you’d believe him.

There’s blood staining your shirt, vomit in the sink and on the counter and the floor, and your sick husband is staring at you, stunned like he’s the one who was just attacked with a knife. Kai’s not functioning right now. You are, mainly because Kai’s hurt you so many times that you know the world can’t stop because of it. You pull an empty mixing bowl off the counter, hand it to Kai, and shoo him out of the kitchen. “I’ll clean up and come check on you. Don’t drink or eat anything. I’ll bring you some water once I’m done.”

Kai doesn’t argue with you. You leave him on the floor of the living room – he won’t sit on the couch – and go back to the kitchen. The food’s a loss, and everything needs disinfecting. You know Kai’s exacting standards, know how unlikely it is that you’ll meet them, and at the same time, you think you might be safe for a little while. He won’t be back in the kitchen any time soon. If he had just admitted he was sick – if he had just listened to you –

You crumple the thought into a ball and throw it away. Kai hurt you again. He did it with a weapon this time. You can’t make any mistakes.

It takes you half an hour to disinfect the kitchen, time enough that it should be safe to give Kai some water. You bring it in a clean glass, filled with water from the filter in the refrigerator, and set it down on the coffee table – on a coaster, so you don’t ruin the wood. He’s punished you for that before. There was a while where his preferred method was pinching you so hard you’d get bruises.

Kai doesn’t look like he’s in pinching shape right now, but you never know. “Do you feel any better?” you ask him from well out of reach. “Please don’t lie. I can’t take care of you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Fever. Nausea.” Kai shivers. “Chills. It’s viral. I don’t need a doctor.”

Good. Kai hates going to the doctor. He looks at you through hazy eyes, and to your horror, his gaze sharpens. “You should.”

“I’m not sick,” you say, bewildered, and Kai lifts one shaky hand and points. You look down to find the front of your shirt stained and shiny with blood. In your race to clean everything up, you completely forgot. “Oh. Um –”

“Urgent care. Now.”

He must really be sick. As much as he hates the doctor for himself, he hates sending you there even more, because any trip to the doctor creates a record of suspicious injuries. “I don’t think it’s that –”

“I was cutting meat with that knife. It was in my hand when I vomited. That wound won’t close on its own.” Kai shuts his eyes and leans back against the couch. “Call a rideshare. If you get lightheaded, you won’t be able to drive.”

All at once, you see the upside of a visit to the urgent care. Kai can’t drive you. Kai’s too sick to stand up straight. If you go to the urgent care, the likelihood that you’ll be prescribed something is high, and you’ll have to go to the pharmacy to pick it up – and you can buy more Plan B while you’re there. But you can’t sound too excited. “I’m worried about you –”

“I’ll contact you regularly. Go.” Kai sounds like he’s done with everything, you included. “And change your shirt.”

You do, while you’re waiting for the rideshare, but peeling off the stained shirt rips off the scab that’s formed when you pull it away from the wound. By the time you get in the rideshare you’re right back where you started, and the driver spends half the trip staring at you in the rearview mirror. The nurse who checks you in at the urgent care stares, too, and sticks you in an exam room before she’s even asked you to confirm your address. While you’re waiting for someone to examine you, your phone buzzes with a text from Kai: Tell them it was self-inflicted. With your history they’ll believe it.

Is anybody who looks at this going to believe you did it to yourself? In your opinion, claiming it was you is like claiming you fell and hit your face on the doorknob. It looks weirder than telling some version of the truth. When the doctor asks how you were hurt, you tell him it was a kitchen accident, and you’re so practiced, so composed at lying about what Kai’s done to you that the doctor buys it without a second thought. You get seventeen stitches and a prescription for three days of antibiotics, which gets sent to a pharmacy across the street. To keep up appearances, you text Kai where you’re going and ask him if he needs anything. He responds with a list.

That complicates things. You were going to pay for the antibiotics and the Plan B with your card. With all of this stuff, you’ll have to pay for it and the antibiotic on the shared card, then run a separate transaction for the Plan B. You take a deep breath. It’s not a complication, it’s just an extra step. It’s fine. Everything will be fine.

Your prescription’s not quite ready when you’re done collecting everything on Kai’s list, so you sit down in the waiting area. There’s only one other person there, an auburn-haired woman who’s wearing sunglasses inside and reading a gossip magazine. She looks up after a few seconds of you rustling around with your shopping basket, and her eyebrows lift sharply. “What happened to you, honey? You’re looking a little too much like a final girl for comfort.”

A final girl. You’ve heard that phrase before, but you can’t think where. “Kitchen accident. I’m just waiting on my antibiotics.”

“What kind of kitchen accident leaves that kind of mark?” She’s counting your stitches through your shirt. “You could run into his knife ten times and that would still look more accidental than this does.”

You catch the Cell Block Tango reference and feel a slight smile come to your face. “If that’s the scenario, shouldn’t I be the one with the knife?”

“If you had the knife, it wouldn’t be an accident,” the woman says. Her expression is serious as she gestures at you. “Just like this isn’t.”

You should have asked the doctor if you could have a scrub shirt to wear over this one. “Maybe I’m into that.”

“If you were into that, you wouldn’t have done something that needed stitches. And nobody who’s into that would do it right there.” She gestures again. You don’t know enough about people who are into knifeplay to argue. “You’re in trouble. You’re crazy if you think nobody sees it.”

You know nobody sees it. Kai’s too careful, and you’re too afraid of what Kai will do if anyone finds out. This is his biggest slip-up since your suicide attempt, and you know already that it’ll be a one-off – or if it’s not, Kai will stitch you up at home rather than letting a doctor have a look. Your life looks perfect from the outside. And even if somebody could see what was happening underneath – “It doesn’t matter who sees it if nobody does anything.”

The bitterness in your own voice shocks you. The woman sits forward, setting her magazine aside. “If somebody wanted to do something, would you let him?”

Before you can answer, or figure out why that question feels like being hit by lightning, the pharmacist calls you up to the counter. You stumble through your separate transactions, spend a while at the cash register trying to store everything in two separate bags, call your rideshare, and stumble out past the waiting area. The woman who called you a pathetic battered wife is nowhere to be found. Of course. And she left before you could give her the real answer to her stupid question: Nobody’s coming to save you. And of course she assumed the person saving you would be a man, or else she wouldn’t have said –

You stop in your tracks just inside the door. She called you a final girl. You’ve heard that before, all the way back in high school, watching horror movies with Tomura. For some reason he liked the old movies with the hokey special effects, and you remember him dissecting the movies while you listened and tried to ignore the fountains of fake blood onscreen. Sure, it’s probably a widely used term among horror fans, and sure, a person with blood all over their shirt draws attention no matter what – but that woman talked to you. She wouldn’t let it go. And when she asked if you’d let someone save you, you don’t think she was asking about just any someone. She asked about him. Like she meant one person in particular. Like she was asking for somebody else.

Tomura’s never sent someone to spy on you directly before, or if he has, you’ve never caught them at it. Why would he change his MO now? What if it wasn’t Tomura who sent that woman at all? What if it was Kai, testing you, testing your loyalty? You tried, but you must not have tried hard enough, or you wouldn’t feel sick to your stomach. When your rideshare arrives, the driver has to lean on the horn to get your attention. You’re too busy throwing up in the gutter to keep an eye out for the car.

When you get home, Kai doesn’t give any indication that he sent someone to keep an eye on you. He’s sleeping facedown on the couch, snoring slightly, the bucket and water glass empty on the floor beside it. You used to think Kai was cute like this, cute when he looked rumpled and awkward and human, and maybe it’s still true – but only when he’s asleep. When Kai looks like this wide awake, he’s so terrifying that it’s hard to believe you ever thought you loved him.

He was terrifying like that today, and you didn’t realize until it was too late. He’s never used a weapon on you before, and even if it was accidental, that line’s been crossed now. Crossing it will get easier for him every time he does it, just like it did the first time he struck you with a closed fist instead of an open hand, just like it did the first time he kicked you after he threw you to the ground. Maybe it’ll be like it was after he knocked you out, but maybe not. Brain trauma can’t be fixed, but you can always get a blood transfusion.

As you conceal the Plan B in your workbag, your mind wanders, back to the waiting area, to the woman telling you how much trouble you’re in. As if you didn’t know. As if you weren’t sitting there with seventeen stitches after your husband slashed you with a knife, already scared of what you’d be walking into at home. Maybe you imagined her. She was gone before you got back, and you didn’t hear anyone else get called up to the counter. And like any good daydream, she told you what you wanted to hear – that Tomura wants to save you, if you’ll let him. But as much as you want to believe that, you don’t have the heart. Nobody would want to save you. You’re on your own.  

Kai’s sick all week long, so sick that his boss sends a doctor to the house to check on him, since his boss is apparently well aware of how much Kai hates the urgent care. Kai’s own diagnosis turns out to be right – a virus, specifically a norovirus – and as soon as the doctor realizes what it is, he bans you and Kai from interacting at all until Kai’s been symptom-free for twenty-four hours. Kai was unhappy about that, and so were you – he’s pissed when you aren’t available when he wants you to be, and you don’t like what happens when he’s pissed at you. Everything would be easier if you could take care of him.

The doctor was firm. “I believe you and your wife are looking to start a family. Undue stress on her body – such as the stress provided by an illness like this one – will make that more difficult, not less.”

That’s enough to keep Kai quiet. The doctor’s instruction to rest is enough to keep him still. And the quarantine is enough to keep you driving to work, going for a walk, having dinner out rather than cooking in the contaminated kitchen – and doing all of it by yourself. Or sometimes by yourself. When Emi figures out that you’ve got a night to yourself for once, she drags you out with her crew for dinner and drinks.

You protest that Kai’s expecting you home, and they’ve got a whole set of excuses for you to give him. Big project, staying late at work, deadline moved up, boss unhappy. They’ll back you up if anyone asks. It strikes you as a little weird that they thought far enough ahead to give you what you’d need to lie, but then again, maybe Kai’s not unusual in wanting to know exactly where his wife is when she isn’t at home. Maybe that’s just a guy thing. The fact that no one comments on you leaving your phone in your car at work and hitching a ride to dinner with Emi just proves it.

You’ve never been to the bar they take you to, but you know it’s the kind of place you’d have loved – a little dingy, a little eccentric, full of character and characters. Somewhere that’s trying to be so many different things that it’s not sure what it really is. Kai hates places like this. You know exactly what he’d say after a good look around: This is beneath you. He’d say that, but he’d be wrong. You’re a stereotypical battered wife married to a sociopath, shotgunning Plan B so you won’t get pregnant with his baby, and you’re so twisted up inside that you’re hallucinating about your ex-boyfriend who you dumped ten years ago coming to save you. A place that doesn’t know what it’s doing is exactly where you belong.

Going out is kind of fun. You forgot about that. You get one drink, drink it early, and eat, knowing you’ll need to sober up completely before you risk going home. Emi has way more friends at work than you do, but she folds you in among them effortlessly, and whenever the topic of your husband – you’re the only one who’s married – comes up, she steers the ship away. “Hey, she’s a lot more than her husband! And she just went on a big trip. I want to hear about Cairo.”

“It was amazing,” you say, and as the words leave your mouth, you feel a smile come with them.

You tell the stories like you wish they’d happened, like you’d done this alone or with a friend, instead of trying to enjoy somewhere ancient and fascinating with your husband hovering over your shoulder. Kai looms large over every aspect of your life, but sometimes you can edit him out, and this time you do. Visiting the pyramids and the sphinx at Giza, wandering through museums, checking out the open-air market –things you could imagine doing, on a trip you planned yourself, one where you could spend as much time as you wanted before moving on.

But even as you paint your trip in broad brushstrokes, Kai haunts the details, and he makes it back into the conversation eventually, when a girl named Kaoruko who’s had three to your one asks if you flew first class or economy. “First class,” you say. “Kai insists.”

That’s not all Kai insisted on. There was what happened in the first-class bathroom, and the memory of Tomura you had to feed through a mental paper shredder to stay even marginally sane. Across the table, Kaoruko sighs enviously. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and land somebody like him.”

Yue from Marketing laughs. “Somebody rich?”

“No. Somebody who pays that much attention,” Kaoruko says. “All the little things that go into a trip like that. Don’t you want somebody who knows you so well? Somebody who can make everything perfect?”

“No,” you say before you can stop yourself. Everyone looks at you, and you struggle to scrape together a follow-up that doesn’t make you sound as crazy as you feel. “He’s not perfect. You should hear how he snores.”

That gets a laugh, just like you were hoping it would, but you know how Kai feels about even gentle teasing. You know what will happen to you if Emi ever brings up what you just said in front of him, just like you know you can’t ask everyone at the table to forget what they heard. Maybe Kai already knows. Maybe he has somebody following you, listening to you. Maybe he’ll be waiting when you get home, fist closed to strike you, foot drawn back to kick. Or maybe this time he’ll have a knife.

The panic closes its jaws around your heart tight enough to crush it, but you’ve been through this before. You know better than to show it. You excuse yourself to the bathroom, walking with slow, measured steps, praying that at least one bathroom is single-occupancy. You get lucky – they’re all single-occupancy – but at first they all look busy. Then you take a second look, realize that the one on the end is open, and lock yourself in. By the time the motion-activated lights come on, you’re already crying silently, your face buried in your hands.

You can’t escape Kai. No matter what you do, he’s everywhere – his name, his voice, his hands, his will. Even if you could get away from him, even if you could make it stick, you’d always be looking over your shoulder. You’ll never be safe, never be free, and those two thoughts play on repeat in your head until your head hurts too much to cry.

It’s time to start damage control. You can’t look like you’ve been crying in a restaurant bathroom when you head back out there. You blow your nose with a paper towel, then wet another one with cold water to press down over your eyes. Once it turns lukewarm, you lift it off and turn to the mirror to check what progress, if any, has been made. The first thing you register is that you still look like shit. The second thing is that you aren’t alone.

For one heartstopping moment you’re sure it’s Kai. But Kai’s taller. Kai’s sick at home. Kai wouldn’t be caught dead in a hoodie. Pale hands rise to grasp the edges of the hood and pull it back, and you watch through the mirror as Tomura reveals himself for the first time since the night you broke up.

In the seven years he spent stalking you, you never saw him even once. He stayed frozen in time when you thought about him, with messy blue hair and dry skin around his eyes and a mouth that was always one wrong move from turning down into a pout. Ten years out from the breakup, he’s changed. He’s gained at least ten centimeters in height, and his shoulders have broadened enough to change the way he holds himself, even as he leans back against the wall in a pose you could describe with your eyes closed. The biggest difference of all is his hair. It’s longer than you’ve ever seen it, falling loose and wild past his shoulders. And it’s white.

Still, his eyes are the same. The languid, almost careless way he moves is the same. Even the hand that rises to scratch his neck is familiar. All the awkward, endearing traits you remember are right where they belong – but when you look at Tomura, not a kid any longer, everything you recognize only serves to make you more uncertain. He’s not who you knew before. He’s something more.

All you can do is look at him as he takes one step forward, then another. His voice has barely changed from the last time you heard it. “Maybe you should turn around.”

You do. He’s close enough to touch, but he’d have to reach, and he’s not grabbing for you. You’d almost trust him more if he did – thanks to Kai, you read stillness to be just as threatening as motion. Tomura doesn’t prompt you, doesn’t ask a question you’re doomed to answer wrong. He just stands there, waiting for you to find your voice.

When you do, it’s awful. “I thought I imagined it,” you say. “You came back.”

“I kept my distance. I never left,” Tomura says. “I thought maybe he was right. You were better off with him.”

Your vision zooms in and out. “You talked to Kai?”

“He talked to me,” Tomura says. You didn’t know. You didn’t have a clue. “Said if I really loved you so much, I should fuck off – no, he said make myself scarce – and let him make you happy. I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t looked it. Even after you had that accident.”

An accident. He doesn’t sound like he’s mocking you, which means he bought the story Kai fed everyone, that you were in a hit-and-run accident instead of that you stepped into the road. Kai is that good. “I left you that picture, and I kept an eye on things,” Tomura says. “There wasn’t anything to see until a week ago.”

Your mouth’s gone dry. You swallow a few times. “A week ago?”

“A week ago. When you made that post.” Tomura doesn’t wait for you to respond. “With that fucking bite mark. I know damn well you’re not into that.”

“Maybe I am. It’s been a long time,” you say. You can’t raise your voice louder than a whisper. “We were just kids.”

“We were watching Hellraiser. The one with the Cenobites. You said you couldn’t figure out why anyone would try to solve the Lament Configuration, and I said there are people who are into that.” Tomura has a better memory than you thought he did, at least when it comes to you. “And you said you wouldn’t like being hurt by somebody who loves you. And then you got all embarrassed and looked at me and said –”

“Sorry,” you murmur. You remember Tomura giving you the weirdest look after you apologized. Don’t be stupid, he said, and spent so long kissing you that the two of you missed all but the last ten minutes of the movie. I wouldn’t solve it, either.

“You do remember.” A smile lights Tomura’s face, and something twists inside you. The smile fades fast. “I know you. I know you didn’t want that. And there’s no fucking way you wanted this.”

Kai would touch it. He’d run his finger over the line of stitches, and you’d hold still, knowing what would happen if you flinched. Tomura draws the line across his own chest with a hand that shakes, and when he speaks, it’s through clenched teeth. “This has been going on for a while, right? If he’d slashed you with a knife out of nowhere, you’d leave. Don’t answer that. I know. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I told you that you couldn’t run from me forever. Why did you keep trying?”

He’s not asking why you didn’t leave. The fear of that question, of the shame and judgment that would follow it, has kept you silent so many times, kept you from reaching for help when it was tantalizingly close. Sometimes you wonder if Kai knows that. But Tomura’s not blaming you for staying. He wants to know why you didn’t let him know. Because if you had let him know –

“Don’t say you’ll keep me safe,” you say. Tomura opens his mouth, and you cut him off. “Kai said the same thing about you.”

Tomura’s expression twists. “Don’t compare me to him. I didn’t hurt you. I would never hurt you.”

“No, you just followed me. For years! I was –” Not scared. Never scared. Frustrated, on edge, anxious, uncertain – but not scared. “I never got to be alone. I never had to time to think, because I knew you could be watching – because you were always there –”

“I didn’t come here to talk about that,” Tomura says. You feel an odd twinge of relief when you realize that he isn’t denying it. “And that’s not why you called for me. Tell me why you posted that picture.”

The words of the woman from the pharmacy ring through your head: If someone wanted to help you, would you let him? “Kai – he hurts me,” you say. You’ve never said it out loud before, and you thought it would be a relief, but it isn’t. “He has for years. And now he wants a baby, and I can’t – I won’t. I don’t know what to do.”

That’s wrong. You do know what to do. “I need to leave,” you say. “I need to leave and I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

“If you could, you’d have done it by now,” Tomura says. “I’ll get you out of there.”

He’s confident. That’s a similarity between Tomura and Kai, maybe the only similarity – once they’ve decided how something’s going to be, they’re unshakeable. “How?”

“Let me worry about that,” Tomura says. “The less you know, the less you’ll have to lie.”

Is Tomura going to kill him? You don’t want that – or do you? One of your half-formed escape plans ends with Kai dead, but it always struck you as the most implausible, eclipsed only by the idea that he’d ever let you go in peace. What you want, more than anything, is to be free, to know you’ll never have to see Kai again. But if you can’t have that, you’ll settle for a clean break. Or any break at all.

But even that feels fantastical, hallucinatory. Too easy. “Tomura –”

He smiles, softer than before. “I missed hearing you say that.”

The twist inside you hurts more this time. “I don’t understand,” you say. “It’s been so long. I broke up with you. I married him. Why would you still –”

“I don’t care about that.” Tomura reaches across the space between you, slowly enough that you don’t flinch. His hand lands carefully on your shoulder, well clear of your stitches. “I care that you called for me.”

Your eyes prickle, then start to burn. You glance down and away, and Tomura lets you, where Kai would grab your chin and make you look. Tomura’s hand shifts, sliding down along your arm until he’s got a clumsy grasp on your hand. Tomura’s always had a strange way of holding hands. No matter what else he does, he holds on tight, like he’s trying to fuse your fingers with his. Kai’s hated holding hands since you met him. Tomura never wanted to let go.

And he doesn’t – not until someone knocks on the bathroom door, startling him and scaring you. “Hey, are you okay in there?” Emi asks. “It’s been kind of a while, and you didn’t look so good when you stood up.”

Tomura glances at the door, then back to you. “She’s good,” you say as quietly as possible. “A friend.”

“Good.” Tomura raises your hand to his mouth for a long moment that’s not so much a kiss as a puff of breath against your skin, then lets it fall. “Go. I’m here. I’ll find you again soon.”

“Okay,” you say, and he lets you go, melting back into the shadows behind the door. You open it and face Emi, seeing the worried look on her face. “Hi. Sorry. I just got nauseous for a second.”

Emi’s worry doesn’t fade the way you wanted it to. But since it’s Emi, she covers up by cracking a joke. “You’d better not be getting morning sickness on me. Who’s going to listen to me talk about Aizawa if you’re on maternity leave?”

“No morning sickness,” you say, forcing a smile. “Maybe it was the alcohol.”

“You had one drink. Who knew you were such a lightweight?” Emi teases. She links her arm with yours as you step out of the bathroom. “Come on. I want to hear about Istanbul.”

Back at the table, you talk about Istanbul – and Kai, when the story can’t avoid him. It feels ever so slightly easier than it did half an hour ago, and it’s because of Tomura, because of the weight of his hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his fingers folded around yours. His promise to help you isn’t one you can believe, but you never hoped for that. All you wanted was someone to see, someone to know. Now he knows. And you feel a little less alone than you did before.

<- Chapter 1

[goodlucktai]

isn’t this silly and aren’t you beautiful

kpop demon hunters word count: 2k pairing: rumi & mira & zoey title borrowed from tsunami by told slant

read on ao3

x

When the song is over, Mira and Zoey are still holding Rumi’s hands. 

When they climb into their company car, a luxury sprinter with rear seats converted into sofas and enough room for a group triple the size of HUNTR/X to lounge comfortably, they’re still holding her hands. 

It shouldn’t feel like anything out of the ordinary. Any other night after any other show, the three of them giddy and giggly with something like runner’s high and dreaming out loud about hot showers and sleeping in until ten, Mira would swing her legs over Rumi’s lap, and Zoey would go boneless and flop her weight against Rumi’s side. 

They’d be talking over each other, Mira complaining about her heels as she kicked them off right there in the car, Zoey whining that Rumi ought to carry her to the elevator when they got home.  

And it never mattered how exhausted Rumi was—how sore her muscles were post-workout, how sweaty and frizzy and sticking to the back of her neck her hair was—she adored those crowded car rides. They made her feel normal, like any other stubborn woman who used to be a stubborn little girl, who knew intimately what it felt like to stay up late on school nights with friends that kept all your secrets like they were their own. 

In those moments, crushed under the weight of her favorite people in the world, Rumi’s secrets always felt small. 

So it shouldn’t be a surprise that Mira and Zoey are sticking close to her but it is. She keeps bracing for them to let go of her and they keep not letting go. 

“Everyone accounted for?” the driver asks from up front. “I stocked some juice in the mini fridge. Yes, it’s the gross salty kind. Electrolytes are important. You girls did a good job tonight.”

Do-Yoon has been their regular chauffeur since Bobby hired him five years ago. Like most of their team, he’s familiar enough with the singers that he doesn’t walk on eggshells around them the way starstruck new hires tend to, and they tease him by being overly-formal toward him instead.  

An hour ago, Rumi had convinced herself that she would never be loved again, let alone spoken to kindly. And now here Do-Yoon is, saying the same thing he always says, whether he’s bringing them home from a concert or a variety show or a meet-and-greet. No matter how big or small the stakes, he tells them they did well. 

His friendly, familiar tone is a comfort that completely sideswipes Rumi’s composure. Something in her chest wobbles a little. She prods it in the back and tells it to stand up straight. 

“Thank you, Mr. Do-Yoon,” Rumi says when she’s certain her voice won’t break. 

They pull away from the venue, the thunder of thousands of voices calling after the van resolving into a dull roar. The soft wash of lights that make it through the tinted windows darts over their joined hands as they turn onto the highway and pick up speed. 

Rumi’s right hand is lifted and turned over, palm-up. At this angle the patterns crawling down her arm are more obvious.

They aren’t the bruise-purple ones Rumi spent her whole life hiding, but every glimpse of them from the corner of her eye makes her stomach burn with learned shame in exactly the same way the old ones did. 

She’s trying not to hate them—she wants these patterns to mean something different. So far she isn’t doing a very good job.

Mira adjusts her grip so she’s able to brush her thumb over the inside of Rumi’s wrist, where an iridescent mark gleams like so many pearls. She does it over and over, an unthinking tenderness. 

It would surprise people to know how capable she is of being gentle. The polearm of their group, distant and proud, with sharp edges that put even her beautiful woldo to shame. Her father’s unwanted daughter and her mother’s disappointment and the sibling her older brother never told his friends about. At a glance, she looks about as sweet as a coiled snake. 

But Mira isn’t what her family made her to be—she’s what grew around them, stubbornly and spitefully reaching past their shadows for the light, the way trees grow around obstacles and flowers grow through concrete. 

She isn’t a soft person, but she’s good. No one ever managed to starve the goodness out of her. 

“Sorry,” Mira says abruptly. She says it again without lifting her eyes, “Sorry.” It’s no less surprising the second time.

“Sorry for what?” Rumi says, not following. 

“Oh?” Zoey pipes up. She’s been uncharacteristically quiet since they climbed into the car, and with a swoop of alarm, Rumi realizes why. Her voice is thick and wet and instantly gives away that she’s been crying. “It’s time? We’re saying it now? ‘Cause I’m sorry, too, Ru, I’m so sorry.”

“What do you—” Rumi tries to look at her, but Zoey has her cheek pressed to Rumi’s bare shoulder and she’s not budging. It’s impossible to see her face through her fringe so Rumi turns to Mira instead, uncomprehending. “What are you talking about? You don’t have anything to apologize for. I should apologize to you.”

“No,” Mira says shortly. Her mouth is a firm line, turned down at the edges, distinctly unhappy. 

Okay, well, Rumi thinks hysterically, get in line!

“Yes,” she argues. “I lied to you. I lied to you for years. I let you think—”

The shame grows and multiplies, that bone-deep certainty from earlier in the evening that she had lost everything she had ever loved making an unwanted reappearance. Her hands tighten involuntarily around Zoey’s and Mira’s, and the only thing stopping her heart from racing away without her is the way their hands squeeze back immediately. 

They are still, impossibly, remarkably, holding onto her. 

Rumi’s voice loses all strength, going out at the knees. 

“I let you think I was someone else,” she says, sounding pathetic to her own ears. “Someone good. I let you love a fake.”

Guilt shudders through her, echoed in the rainbow sheen that ripples like displaced water along the marks on her body. Reactive, uncontainable, ugly. 

Now Zoey is crying in earnest, and Mira’s grip on Rumi’s wrist tightens enough that the patterns there blanch until they almost disappear completely. 

“I keep thinking of the way you looked at us backstage after Takedown,” Zoey sobs, “how scared you looked, and we—and I—oh, Rumi. I wish I could go back, I’d throw my knives away and hug you and tell you I was on your side, like I should have done the first time. I’d protect you from every single bad thing that was going to happen. I’d never hurt you, never. I love you so much, I love you.”

Zoey’s pain has always wrenched it out of Rumi as easy as breathing, leaving her feeling every second of it as keenly as if it was her own. Zoey makes an upset sound when Rumi works her left arm free, but it’s only so she can wrap it around the younger woman and haul her even closer than she’s been this whole time. Zoey, historically, has never needed to be invited into her best friends’ personal space and climbs right into Rumi’s lap to put her arms around Rumi’s neck and cry noisily in her ear.

“I love you, too. Both of you. Don’t be sorry,” Rumi says, fiercely wishing that she could absorb all of Zoey’s misery like a sponge and free her from it forever. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“How can you say that?” Mira bites out. “I pointed a weapon at you. Like you were suddenly a stranger just because you had some marks.” She finally looks up, her eyes sharper than any moon blade, and says, “You’ve never been a stranger to me. Since the day we met, you’ve been—perfect.”

Rumi feels the word pierce her like an arrow. “I’m not.”

“You are,” Zoey mumbles, “‘cause you’re our Rumi.”

“Patterns and all,” Mira goes on loudly. “Bossy, stubborn, impatient, perfectionist and all. Even at your worst, I’d go to war for you any day of the week. Are you hearing me yet?” 

Unfortunately, Rumi hears every word. And it makes her want to shrivel up like some manner of creature small enough to live inside a shell, and at the same time, she wants to bask in it for hours like in one of the countless videos Zoey has saved on her phone of turtles floating in sunny ponds and napping under heat lamps. Since neither is an immediate option, she settles for sitting very still and breathing through it. 

They’re still holding her. Zoey has her tear-tacky face shoved into Rumi’s neck, and Mira is back to tracing a faint blue-green-pink line on Rumi’s wrist with the pad of her thumb. They’re still not letting go. 

“You just did what you thought was right,” Rumi says firmly. She draws strength from the truth of it, the core belief that Zoey and Mira are the best things in her life and have never done wrong by her. Even when they hurt her, it was only because they had all managed to hurt each other. “What you were taught was right. And I can imagine what it must have looked like—I was spiraling and putting distance between us, I was talking about working with demons, I was scaring you—I understand. I don’t want you to think I don’t understand. And you didn’t attack me, you weren’t cruel. You let me go.”

“Never gonna happen ever again,” Zoey says. She winds her limbs tighter around Rumi, to make it very clear that it is going to be a task and a half getting rid of her now. “Next time you have to go through something difficult or scary, we’re gonna be right here with you. Start to finish.”

“Top to bottom,” Mira adds, a hint of a smile finally entering her tone. “Stuck to you like velcro.”

“Oh,” Zoey says wetly, “write that down, text it to me.”

“You’re not writing a song based on a vulnerable conversation happening in the back of a van, I forbid it.”

From the driver’s seat, Do-Yoon politely chimes in to remind them of the electrolyte drinks in the mini fridge and makes a pointed comment about the importance of replenishing fluids after both exercise and crying. 

Zoey shrieks in surprise because she managed to forget that there was an entire fourth person in the car, and Mira dissolves into the raucous barking laughter that is beautiful to hear entirely because it’s hers. 

“We were all just doing what we were taught,” Mira says. She threads her fingers through Rumi’s and lets their joined hands rest together on her own thigh, since Rumi’s lap is occupied indefinitely. “Let’s learn something else together. Figure out a new way to live.” 

“But first carry me upstairs when we get home,” Zoey adds, entirely predictably. 

“You are such a brat,” Mira says, also predictably, her tone one of pure affection that hides behind a scoff. 

Rumi closes her eyes and listens to their voices rising and filling the car and sealing all the little cracks in her heart the way artisans repair broken pottery with gold. 

Beneath their hands, her worries feel small. She should have trusted their hands from the very beginning. 

She doesn’t say it out loud, because it would only enable their clingy youngest, but Rumi knows she would carry both of them anywhere. She rests her cheek against the top of Zoey’s head and squeezes Mira’s fingers and imagines her arms never getting tired. She dreams of never having a reason to let them go.  

[brutaliashipper1]

You guys ever see a post, fanfic, fan art, or video about Bruce Wayne being a bad father/parent. And then the rest of your day is just ruined. No just me ok well I’m bored so I’m gonna rant.

Why does everyone take certain comic book panels out of context to specifically make Bruce look bad. And then They show a panel of like Nightwing or Catwoman and is like “LoOk HoW BeTtEr Of a PaReNt ThEy ArE” And I’m like oki I can take out of context things and make Nightwing have a flat ass, oh sorry I meant make him a bad person. Leave bruce alone.

Also I accidentally read a bad parent Bruce Wayne tag on Ao3 once and I was like that was the most out of character thing I have ever seen Bruce do. Like one made Bruce make fun of Damian’s cape. And I’m like I truly think Bruce could care less about Damian’s fashion choices. Also dick ain’t Damian’s parent they were partners for like less than a year in most comics.

And they push this. Like why can’t dick be the older brother who is cheerful with trauma. But noooo they have to make him this person who’s untouchable and perfect. And now I can’t read any comics or fanfics because the Nightwing colt (yes we all know that a lot of the fans are a colt and not a fan base because it’s so big and all the fans are scary, they scare me truly) and no hate towards Nightwing I like him as a character it feels though that a lot of people are shoving down my throat on how he’s so great with no mistakes and is such a great parent.

Not to mention how much hate this guy gets when someone dies! Like he did try to kill the joker mf where are you getting your info from! Bruce told Jason don’t do that it’s a bad idea stay here you might get hurt and die. And then Jason does it and he dies! Same with Damian. They specifically disobeyed Bruce and died. And he mourned both so deeply and I hate how that gets over looked.

They also leave out Bruce’s other kids so much (Cass Steph and duke) I miss the characters.

@brucedefender4eva

go read this account. They give such good points on the character and how he’s meant to be portrayed and how he’s incorrectly characterised at times. I truly love the character and he helped me get out of a really bad place. And the fact that you butcher his character to make yours seem better is really annoying.

Adding more (sorry for the rang I’ve had A very shit week) I think it’s soooo annoying when people use old comics that just don’t match up anymore. Here let me explain. Context Batman was made in 1939. And got Robin in 1941. So back then remember spanking kids hitting them all that was legal and quite common. I’m not at all saying it was a good thing, but Bruce only did it out of love (also don’t you dare bring up the comic where Bruce slaps dick after Jason died. Bruce was practically yelled at for NOT telling his son over the phone on a pace station that his brother was dead and blah blah blah stfu). And why are people acting like Bruce wasn’t the best partner for the job with dick, he knew almost the exact thing the kid had been through, knew the pain and the guilt. And just saying he’s wasn’t nearly as distructive as Bruce was.

No Bruce is not the No.1 parent. But the dude lost his at 8 and the only person he had around wasn’t the best. And in a few original comics his dad was abusive! Bruce never had a role model that could help him so he spiraled and built his way up and his emotion through Batman. But just think if his kids falling who’s gonna catch them. If there sad scared who’s there. Who’s helped them through tragedy, heartbreak, injuries, loses and more. It’s always been Bruce. And even in certain comic where he’s done some pretty fucked up things. If another character did it, it would be seen as something sweet or last resort. Bruce is a complexed character but I truly believe he will always do the best option for his kids (whether us or they hate it).

(oki sorry for ranting so much im sleep deprived and have had a very bad week, (dog almost died) anyway ill be taking a break from my fan fic writing for like a week while my dogs in recovery and other stuff also wont be posting as much on here for a bit thanks you all. Have a blessed day besties. Also feel free to reblog and share your opinion (just not so much Bruce hate, leave my man alone) oki thanks again)

[svt-mizuki]

RELATIONSHIP WITH VOCAL UNIT ∘* ೃ ⋆｡˚.

⋆°࿔ jeonghan \ mizuki ... mizuhan 𝜗𝜚°⋆

you could say that they are close.

contrasting from mizuki's love-hate relationship with seungcheol, she only had love-love relationship with jeonghan. he was relentless when it comes to pranking and being a menace to the rest of the members but mizuki knew that he had her under his wings.

whenever someone would come to annoy her, she would go to jeonghan and stick her tongue out.

they love to go hand-in-hand whenever wherever. that's their love language.

jeonghan wouldnt call it 'overprotective' or 'obsessive', but he always had his eyes on her at all times. always watching and observing.

⋆°࿔ joshua \ mizuki ... misoo 𝜗𝜚°⋆

"jisoo-yah!" "WHO IS JISOO?"

joshua would always cry on the inside whenever she calls him 'jisoo' out of nowhere. he was so used to being called joshua that sometimes he would hear her say 'jisoo' and he wouldnt know that it was him.

mizuki is an avid fan of his 'sunday morning' cover. when it first started, she would always ask him to sing it for her so she could fall asleep. but as time goes by, it turned into a funny thing for them both.

close but not that close. thats it.

"sunday morning rain is falling.." "another one please" "ive been singing the same line for about 40 times now"

⋆°࿔ woozi \ mizuki ... hoonmi 𝜗𝜚°⋆

they are both interesting. a rare funny duo. the two people who would highfive and bump into each other while laughing uncontrollably.

the two people that the members would consider as one of the most scary people with seungcheol and hoshi. but deep inside, these two are the cutest and softest.

in the recording studio, they always had an intense relationship that radiated beyond talent and passion. but whenever something humoric happens, mizuki would burst into laughing first and he would follow afterwards.

woozi respected and admired her musical abilities while she admired him for his creativity and determination.

would take lots of pictures of each other in the recording studio and keep it to themselves to post 'someday'

"jihoon hyung, do you think this beat is nice?" "i think it could be better" "are you deaf or something?"

⋆°࿔ dk \ mizuki ... zukimin 𝜗𝜚°⋆

first love vibes. if chan had a crush on her but didnt have the chance, dk has a crush on her and has a 50% chance.

starting as her first ever friend that spoke broke japanese to her on her first day, dk was the first one to make her laugh despite how anxious and terrified she was.

if mizuki was having a hard time, she knew she could always count on him to be there always. if dk was having a tough time himself, making mizuki laugh could cure him from the blues.

he admitted to having a crush on her but mizuki turned him down because she thought it was a 'joke'

definitely have a compilation of dokyeom staring at her lovingly every chance he gets. from vlives, concerts, filmings, and even just recording— dk would always stare at her. (sometimes even singing some of his lines and pointing at her; mizuki would respond by rolling her eyes with a smile)

⋆°࿔ seungkwan \ mizuki ... mikwan 𝜗𝜚°⋆

enemies. always in their enemies' territory.

seungkwan is sassy while mizuki just has attitude.

he would always flaunt to her, flex on her, push her around, and annoy her every chance he gets. in return, mizuki would post embarassing photos of him on social media, share her anger about him, laugh at him whenever he gets scolded, and torment him whenever she gets the upperhand in certain situations.

but they are bestfriends. soulmates even.

even if they joke around and act like they cant stand each other, they know that they cant live without seeing each other.

they are two things: brawl fights and meaningful connection. they are open about their emotions to one another, not afraid to shed a few tears here and there. seungkwan is open to her about his problems without having to worry that mizuki will use it against him.

despite their chaotic energy, they can always be there for each other. (may or may not the first people to see each other cry).

"are you okay? was i too far?" "no, its okay" "okay. you're ugly by the way"

[isolatednights]

she likes that he's supplying her a tidbit of information she'd not have known otherwise - it wasn't something the matching system took into account. those small details that people truly connected over. "aslan loves hide and seek," she murmurs quietly, "he'd probably take that as quite the challenge." aiyla can almost picture it - her little boy dragging her along through the ship, fleeing from a loudly counting cade - and it's an image that brings a soft giggle from her lips. "maybe i was just blind to it? waiting for the right guy, you know?"

there's undeniable logic in his reasoning, yet it still takes her intoxicated brain time to process and make sense of it. "so love at first sight," she settles on after some time, looking up at him with a slightly furrowed brow. "was that how it was like with your wife? and then with me? what - what makes it so that doesn't happen again with someone else?"

"seeing as i no longer have a sun to rotate around, i am in the market for a new center of gravity," he quips back with a cheeky grin. walks in the rain? god, he'd always hated being out during the rain - usually rushing between his car and the entrance to one building or another, but he enjoyed it on vacation. under metal roofs when he could just enjoy the noise. "i honestly don't know much about the room. was something left to experts to perfect, but i know its around and from the overview i received, i know it can simulate certain weather, rain included. i'm sure we could tweak it for heavy rain, if you wanted."

this is more than he's heard her talk in the entire time they'd been awake, and now that silas had gotten her to open up, he didn't want her to stop. he'd read everything about her the little tablet could reveal, but this? first hand experience and deep details were... everything. it's why he so quietly catalog's it. "it's not pointless," he murmurs. "she meant something to you - that's important. and i won't ever replace her, i hope no one would. but i will certainly yap at you far too often," flashing a smile, a shoulder raises into a shrug. "i will promise to try my best. but if i really have to pee, i'm going to speak up because i refuse to miss out on anything."

"bubbly pink?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder to look at said walls and attempt to picture it, only to grimace at his distaste for the idea. "intention wasn't for us to be inside for very long from my understanding. gray was probably the safe choice. but if you don't like it, i'm sure we can find something to add a splash of color in your spaces."

"tell me the same thing when you're sober and not creeping toward sleep and we'll see if i believe you," he notes with an amused huff. asher would likely spend the rest of his life believing she deserved better, and as adorable as it was for her to say such things now, he wouldn't believe them. focusing on his task once he's returned to her side, the man shrugged. "didn't have the best life growing up. had to learn to take care of myself and my kid-sister. got lucky, getting on this ship." more like he'd pulled in every favor he'd owed before doing some unsavory things until he had secured a spot for himself and his sister. "huh?" glancing up at her with a furrowed brow, asher can't stop the chuckle that escapes. "you were a very good girl." giving her thigh a pat to accompany the words, the man focused back on swabbing her arm before finishing prep on the bag. "if you're good, stay still and focus on me, you won't feel a thing."

"oh i'd find you, i was always real good at hide and seek. i was one of those kids that you didn't want to be the seeker, made for a borin' game, be over too fast." he laughed a bit. he found that easy with her. "what d'you mean you've never had someone chasin' you that hard?! idiots if you ask me."

he didn't mind when she took his hand, cradled it.. he just wondered if she laid there thinking about how rough his hands were compared to his and god she was gentle, more gentle than he deserved. "i don't think love equals time, if that's what you're scared of. i think you just know, like an instant thing.. i mean if love was equal to time, humans would've died out long long before the world we were livin' on did." his thumb absent mindedly started to stroke across the back of her palm, a slow back and forth. "i think somewhere deep down when it's right, when you connect you just get it, it clicks or some shit. i mean a kid doesn't take eighteen years to love their parent or anythin', that's instant 'aint it, so why would it be any different elsewhere? n' for the record, if you already did, even a lil' bit, well sweetheart that is a-okay with me, you won't catch me complainin'... or running away, wouldn't even try n' hide."

"ah is that what i am, someone to keep people grounded? do i keep you grounded on artificial ground silas?" she was joking, actually showing her sarcastic humour. maybe it was the hot chocolate. maybe it was because she finally felt more... normal. a rain storm room? well that to her sounded just as perfect as sunshine. "i used to like to take walks when the rain poured, not drizzled.. those times it'd downpour and bounce off the pavement, i loved it. nobody else went out in that, so it felt like i got everything all to myself with nobody else to add the pressure of people."

she watched him flop back into the grass, one of her hands still ran through the glades slowly, the other adoring her hot chocolate mug quietly. "you know, you being a yapper is fine with me. i don't talk enough sometimes, i uh... so in school, i had a friend, like the only friend i ever really adored, she was great... i used to sit there silent as ever and god the girl could yap and yap. i had to move away but i think she was the best friend i'd ever had." why was she sharing that? "not that it matters or anything.. i mean pointless story, just had a pal that yapped a lot but i liked them for it." her shoulders shrug lightly. "just no movie yapping, that's the rule."

"you know grey is actually my least favourite colour it's so.." she groaned, eyeballing the walls, many shades of grey. "dull. they could've at least gone for some variety, maybe a nice green or a bubbly pink, right?! i'm sure you can get pink metal if you try hard enough." the last part was a half mumbled thought.

"mm, nope, nope you'd have been my one fhat got away, my long lost handsome guy." as much as she hated to admit it, this bed was comfortable.. not as much as being carried by him, and she wouldn't forget about him getting in with her. she was being so adamant about the thought and then he said that, be a good girl.. and every thought went out of her head. every last one because her cheeks started to tint the most rosy red shade. so be a good girl. of all the things he could've said, did it have to be something that made her melt so easily? "i- i- yep. i can do.. yep. alright." she was flustered, flustered over some silly little sentence. either way, she did. that was one way to get her to do exactly that, to stay put. even when he came back she was a little pink in the face. "how'd you know how to do this?" she asked, shifting to be more comfortable, head nuzzling down into the pillow. "...was i?" she couldn't help it, her drunk mind wanted to hear it again, that's why she was biting her lip. "..was i a good girl? oh, and i haven't forgotten, that you said we'd talk about you getting in the bed too." then it dawned on her. "wait wait- wait a second, isn't this going to hurt?" her brows pulled with the most adorable pout going.

[descendantofthesparrow]

at the very least-i hope its fun

[unproduciblesmackdown]

come get your levitous sidekick / vicious bastard / funny little guys

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Me wondering why my cat and i have spent pretty much all day in my winter bed blanket and pillow nest and kinda shivering when I’m outside of it, checks my weather app

Oh. That would do it

[calugaritsa]

stop putting that stupid ass vladimir nabokov rereading lecture on my dash 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

"one cannot read a book, one can only reread it" SKILL ISSUE!!!!!! I READ THEM ALL THE TIME!!!!