#then again he's also approaching the age where i find i can actually talk to kids bc they're more likely to start turning brains on

[rubberbandballqueen]

now that i've been working w/kids on a much smaller scale, i'm starting to understand how uncommon it is to meet kids you can easily connect with

[dadsbongos]

giving minimum wage clerk laios sloppy

3.1 k words / warnings - oral sex, hand jobs, public but it isn't focused on, you call laios 'good boy', not proofread

summary - you flirt with your coworker laios and suck him off in an alley outside

~~~

Laios slumps against the bag racks after returning the pharmacy key up front, prompting you to be nosey and ask,

“What’d he need?”

“Condoms.”

“Oh.”

“Right? I don’t get why they’re so shy about it,” Laios yawns, squeezing his eyes shut to revel in the sweet resulting burn, “It's worse to go in unprotected.”

“For sure,” you hadn’t meant oh as in oh, you’d meant oh as in oh because you don’t want Laios to talk about condoms. Him talking about condoms will make you think of him using one, which is only going to fluster you.

“He also wanted Plan B.”

“Crazy.”

He yawns again, then letting his head droop while bracing himself against the end of your lane. Arms pin straight and (mostly) visible, since all he’s wearing is a black Tee. Past the edges of his store apron is red vinyl, crackled from no doubt years of wear and wash. He’d shown up with a hoodie, which is strange because it’s the middle of summer, and no matter how hard you pray: the nighttime provides little relief. Either way, you’re glad to see he hasn’t snuck it on -- his arms look so much better bare.

“You tired?” a stupid question on your part.

Thankfully, Laios is your favorite coworker for a reason. He earnestly answers with a weary nod and quiet, “Yeah.”

“Poor thing,” you sit against the divot to your left, where your own set of bags rests and perch your chin in your hand, “How come? Usually you don’t get the sleepies until ten.”

And again, if it were anyone but Laios, you’d be mortified to have let that tidbit slip.

Laios perks up, scrambling for his phone as he speaks, “I was finishing that red dragon set.”

“Jeez,” you lean forward as he holds up a picture of the completed plastic array of knock off Legos; more affordable and just as dependable, “You did that all last night?”

“Took four hours, but it was worth it.”

“I thought you were gonna complete it on your weekend.”

“I was, but then, look!” he swipes over the screen before shoving it back into your face, “A winged lion!”

“Oh, cool,” when you feel that’s too bland, you add, “Isn’t that the final piece in your Griffin set?”

“Technically,” he grumbles, “I hate how they called it the Griffin set. Only one of them is a Griffin. This is just a hybrid, and the other one’s a Hippogriff. But it still looks super cool, and the instructions are way longer than any of the other ones.”

Laios looks up from where you were supposed to be staring at his screen, finding that you’re instead watching him with a stupid smile on your face. Your cheeks heat up at being caught. Just before you can stutter out an excuse, though, Laios is speaking again,

“Awesome, right?”

“Very,” you confirm with a nod.

“I’ll have to move some stuff so I can display it on my desk properly. I just have no idea where,” he pockets his phone, rolling his head onto his shoulder, “I’d have Marcille or Chil’ help but they’ll probably just tell me to trash it all.”

“Aw, I’m sure they wouldn’t! They're your friends.”

“Right. They just…”

“They tease a little too hard.”

“Exactly.”

“You can say something, you know?”

“It’s easier to just ignore,” he shrugs.

You open your mouth to retort, to encourage him to tell his friends off, but a demon beats you to it.

“Well, don’t you two look bored!” all warm fondness freezes in your chest the minute an approaching middle-aged man says that, “Break time’s over!”

Another reason Laios is your favorite is that he doesn’t find those jabs funny. You even heard that back when he first started, he’d reply to those remarks with stern sincerity. Now in his ancient wisdom, he just lets you blankly stare the man down. With clerks like Doni, you feel a pressure to at least feign a smile lest he overcompensate by actually fake-laughing.

You suffer down the interaction with as few words as you can get away with before bidding the man a goodnight.

“I hope he crashes,” you sneer, flipping open the silver cap of your change dispenser and confirming your coins can go a little longer before being filled.

Laios hums halfheartedly -- long now used to your aggro behavior towards customers you don’t like, and no longer prone to bouts of wide-eyed horror. His head is turned towards the doors, gaze lazily flicking over self-checkout to assess if anyone that way needs assistance.

You take the moment to assess him. Neck stretched and lashes beating his cheeks with every heavy blink. His lips are pressed firm, likely subconscious, and from the quirk in his hip you can tell he’s got a leg crossed over the other.

Breaking you from the study, Laios bellows another exhausted huff.

Before you can cast a cursory glance towards the clock on your screen, your supervisor is chirping from beside you, “Last break!”

So it must be nine.

God, two more hours of this? Laios sounds ready to collapse.

After signing off in order for Kabru to hop onto the register, you slip between the little gap where checkout lanes end and SCO begins. Opening one of the grab-n-go fridges with trepidation.

Does he even like energy drinks?

You’re almost certain you’ve seen him mull over them at least once… before ultimately deciding to not buy one…

He definitely doesn’t like coffee. You recall him telling Kabru the bitter taste was off-putting enough, never mind how it devastated his gut (which was entirely too much information, but it made you laugh).

Gatorade makes him think of his high school gym class, and you take that as a negative considering he nearly shivered upon just remembering the period.

Ugh. He needs the energy and there’s a three for five deal on the Monster anyway. You snatch three of the flavors that look most appealing from a Laios-point-of-view and rush to self-checkout.

“Plan on being up all night?” one of the attendants, Toshiro, warily approaches.

“No, uhm, it’s… It’s three for five! That’s like, 1.50 each!”

Mithrun, the other SCO cashier, is staring down a woman that frequently attempts walking out without paying, “I thought you didn’t like Monster.”

“The fruit punches are okay.”

“You didn’t buy fruit punch.”

“Go fuck yourself, Mithrun.”

He blinks at you slowly, “Okay.”

With an agitated scoff, you strut back to register six and saddle up by Laios, loudly clinking sweaty drinks against the faux wood surface. Kabru hurriedly checks the time, to which you interrupt,

“I’m not going to the break room, I’ll just sit here for ten minutes.”

Visibly restraining himself from pointing out you’re not supposed to do that, Kabru nods and clears his throat to greet a couple pulling in. His eye twitches with the urge to remind them loads of less than five items should go to self-checkout rather than a register. One day, you’re sure, he’ll crack -- and you desperately want to be there when he does.

“So,” you case your hands around the drinks so Laios doesn’t accidentally bag one for the couple, “Do you like Monsters?”

He frowns at you, lips flapping vapidly. Internally struggling between asking if you’re serious or if you’re being mean on purpose.

Picking up his turmoil, you blurt, “The drink! I know you like monsters. Do you like Monsters?”

“The fruit punch ones are good.”

You shouldn’t like his answer as much as you do, “I like them, too. But, uh, I didn’t get it…”

Kabru sighs as both of you go without greeting or thanking the customers before they leave.

“Oh, trying new ones?”

“No, not really. I got them for you? Kind of…”

Kabru’s icy stare pierces you, annoyance replaced with interest. You’re reminded of why he stays at this job despite hating it: drama.

“I thought, maybe, you’d want one since you’re super tired. And they were three for five, so I basically had to buy them.”

Laios silently looks at where your hands cage the cans, when you realize he’s waiting to see the flavors you pull away like you’ve been pinched. He leans on his elbows to better read each can, sleeves on his shirt riding up to expose more skin.

Laios likes orange juice so you got Ultra Sunrise. Laios likes cheesecake so you got Orange Creamsicle because they’re both sweets. And Laios supports his sister’s lesbian relationship, so you got Ultra Violet because that’s basically lavender.

His brows furrow down at the lineup before he reaches out and tips the middle one into his palm: Orange Creamsicle.

“You should have the other ones, I’d feel bad taking them too,” Laios admits, cracking open the drink, “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” when you notice Kabru hasn’t blinked since the interaction started, you jerk your head towards him, “Want one, mister manager?”

“Assistant front end manager,” Kabru sours, judging how your eyes repeatedly fall to Ultra Sunrise before taking Violet, “I don’t even have real power.”

“You’re basically a real manager, I don’t see Yaad or Thistle out here. Like ever. Even Delgal doesn’t come out of the office!”

To avoid accepting flattery, he scrounges around the cabinet beneath your receipt printer for ‘PAID’ stickers to slap on each drink.

Laios, meanwhile, sinks into his own head. The distress he felt when you asked if he liked monsters was downright alarming. He wonders if he would’ve felt that level of despair if it were anyone else asking.

Logically, he knows it’d be more hurtful because you and him are friend-ish and talk often, naturally meaning you hear about his interests quite a bit. Deeper down, past a thudding chest and into his churning gut he can tell it's more than that.

And from how hypnotizing he finds the sight of your throat bobbing around swigs of carbonated caffeine, he’s certain there’s more to his feelings than that.

But in all his years as a trusted courtesy clerk at his local branch of a large corporation grocery store, he’s seen many people fall victim to the allure of workplace incest. Subsequently, he’s seen many people quit over those fallouts.

Laios sips from his drink, trying to distract from such thoughts by taming a cringe at its bubbly stabbing on his tongue.

How could he even assume you felt that way about him? He can’t be sure you’re available for mingling.

“Are you single?” he asks, without much thought. That’s a casual topic, right? Lots of people are concerned with dating at your shared age.

Kabru signs out of the register as your break comes to a close, stubbornly lingering right behind to hear your response.

“Why?” a nervous chuckle bubbles out, you beat yourself for it, “You interested?”

Laios drinks again, shooting Kabru a pointed look.

Kabru can read it perfectly well, it’s a glare that reads: GO AWAY, GO AWAY, GO AWAY. Instead of listening, he cheerfully asks, “Ready for your last break too, Laios?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it right here. You should go away.”

“Oh!”

You snort, fastening a hand over your entire jaw as if to physically repress the sound.

“Oh,” Kabru repeats, quieter, “Someone has to bag, though…”

Laios steps back with a solemn nod, wiping his clammy hands against his uniform apron. Despite picking up on the dejected tone of Kabru’s voice, Laios’ only curiosity is if you thought he looked cool being so blunt, or did he come off as some dickhead tool?

(much less some dickhead tool that speaks harshly with a very polite, very friendly supervisor)

Both you and Kabru watch as Laios snakes through the seasonal aisles toward the break room. Once he’s out of sight, Kabru’s eyes stab into you, lip twitching, “So?”

“So, what?”

Kabru’s beams at you silently.

“Ew, do not look at me like that.”

“How long?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

“I'm a supervisor! I’m supposed to know what’s going on with my fleet.”

Before you can properly lecture him on referring to his coworkers as a ‘fleet’, a pair of potential teenagers slam thirty packs of sour beer onto your conveyor belt. Excitement to card them floods you.

Thankfully, Laios’ break seems to blow by -- he’s soon muttering an apology to Kabru and replacing him at the head of your lane.

“Back already?”

Laios hums, starkly avoiding your eyes. His sudden, almost uncharacteristic, shyness compels you to take forward charge,

“I’m single, by the way.”

“Me too,” he keep looking at you, then away, then at you, then away. Over and over again until eventually you’re craning to be forced in his sight.

“You asked for a reason, right?” you click your tongue and wink in good humor, “You want me to clean your belt, huh?”

Really, you should’ve known better than to try playing coy because all Laios does is shrug with a polite yeah, sure before backing away for you to spray down his smaller conveyor.

Oh. Oh, you can’t just not suck his dick.

“No, Laios, I have a proposition.”

…

Despite no promise of getting the favor returned, you don’t know if you’ve ever been so excited to clock out before. Scurrying out as soon as your legs could carry, barely managing to bid Kabru farewell before rounding the side of the building.

Laios is leaning against the bumpy wall, hands laced at his hips and thumbs circling.

“Hey, pervert,” you coo.

His face flushes, eyes widening, “You’re a pervert, too.”

When it comes to him, you don’t mind being labeled crass. Or even nasty. It’s why you’re so pliant to crash onto your knees while yanking his jeans apart and down his thighs. He hisses, honey gaze sweeping up towards the empty road through the thin line of trees.

Noticing his distraction, you intentionally scrape nails against his flesh when wrangling his boxers.

A soft, warm palm hesitantly cups the side of your head -- his concern somewhere between pulling you to stand and keeping your attention where it is. Though, he remains conflicted on how embarrassed he should be, especially given the way you’re biting your lip.

“Already?” you coo, teasing a finger along the hot underside of his cock, “I haven’t done anything to you yet.”

“You’re just… so pretty,” Laios huffs, praying you can’t make out the glisten of sweat across his forehead.

“Aw, thanks, big guy,” you chastely kiss his flushed tip, giggling quietly when it twitches into your welcoming pucker, “Not so bad yourself.”

He whines, raising a brow at you almost expectantly, though respectfully restraining his hips from jumping towards you. Deciding to put the man out of his suspended misery, you lave him with your tongue in a broad stroke before sucking him in.

Velveteen cheeks clamping around him as you squeeze around him, tongue pressing against smooth skin. He has no particular taste beyond ‘man’, but you hum and slide him deeper as if he’s sugary sweet. Laios lets out a muted moan, biting the hand not leisurely splayed along the side of your face.

Curling fingers beneath the bone of your jaw, he feels out the bulge plumping your cheek -- heart throbbing between his ribs at the recurring thought its his fault.

Obsessively, he mulls that point over and over until he’s unthinkingly bucking into your sodden mouth. A lewd slurp from you makes his head swivel sharply, as if someone would await this point before calling the cops.

Wiry, trimmed though not kempt, flaxen pubes tickle your nose. Laios coaxes you to bury him deeper in the cinch of your throat, and you’re content to comply. Gags and sputters are lulled from you, saliva gushing through the seam on your lips and wetting his pelvis. Drool rolling down your chin and ruining the black shirt and apron you’d thrown on before leaving.

“Aw,” he pants above you, swiping away the slick with his thumb pad, “you’re gonna ruin your shirt. It’s my favorite one, too.”

Liking the way he babbles, you pull back to hawk twah into your hand and playing his balls before slipping off his cock completely,

“Yeah, baby? You like it?”

Rolling your tongue around his tip and teasing him against your cheek, fluttering wet lashes up at him.

“Uhhh…” he whimpers, “Your arms look good in it, and I can see your collar bones…” his breath hitches, adam’s apple springing with desire, “I love when you wear that shirt.”

Laios plops free, smearing spit and pre against your hot skin. Before you can obsess over the admission too long, you’re moving to bite his hips. Fully intent on bruising him. Your hand sweeps up from his nuts to stroke him, fist blurring along his cock with soaking click, click, clicks.

With a hiss, his hand flies to the crown of your head -- not pushing either way, only grasping firm and needy. You bite harder, latching to suck the flesh swollen as you flick your wrist while jerking him off. His hips thrust against your hand, absolutely mewling.

“Good boy,” you grin into his burning pelvis, “Fuck my fist, Laios. You wanna cum for me?” he nods, mouth only capable of leaking choked versions of your name, “Wanna cum in my mouth?”

He cannot hide his gasp, jerking in your grasp.

Your hand slows, much to his pathetic displeasure, “Speak then, Laios. Good boys speak.”

“Please!” he barks, entirely uncaring if anyone around the corner could hear, “I want to cum in your mouth, can I cum in your mouth? I want to bad.”

Resuming your previous speed, you nod (though not without a “Good boy, Laios, very good.”) before flattening your tongue beneath his weeping tip. Laios digs his shoulders against the wall, fervently pistoning his cock through the cramped hole of your first and toward your mouth. Sliding along the buds of your tongue. Pitchy moans and huffs overpower the drone of faraway cars.

With a hushed grunt and “fuck” from overhead, Laios is splattering -- drowning your palette. Warm and thick, you barely scrape the salty taste before shucking it down with an instinctual gulp.

“Ah!” Laios makes a quiet hack of protest, then sighs, “You didn’t have to,” breathlessly adding, “I know some people hate the taste.”

Weirdly, you didn’t. You’re unsure if that’s something you should share, however.

Rather, you stumble onto your feet, wiping the back of your hand over your mouth in case of any… spillage. Then follows the sudden wave of shame -- regardless of Laios being a full consenting adult, and your previously steadfast attitude, you do feel like a pervert. You feel like he’s going to look down on you. You feel like-

You’re nearly startled into the bushes when you look up, Laios’ eyes split open and gleaming in the moonlight with unsettling brightness. Fists clenched at his sides after what you’re sure is the world-record for pulling one’s pants back up.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks simply.

Or maybe he’s just as into you as you are him.

[alwayscorvus]

Waking up from nightmares - Wuthering Waves Characters

Waking up from nightmares - WuWa Characters

malereader x Jiyan/Calcharo/Mortefi/Yuanwu/YangYang/Baizhi (separated), fluff, scenarios;

mxm or mxg; they can be a little out of character;

Yuanwu

You saw it again. Your partner slipping away, on the ground, in your arms. Just because you arrived too late to rescue him.

You couldn't get over it. Your heart started beating like crazy. Tears came to your eyes. And seconds later you woke up. With a headache that was killing you.

You growled angrily at yourself. Again you let yourself be swept away by those awful illusions.

You looked around, but in the darkness you couldn't see what you were looking for. Nor could you sense it. Unsatisfied, you moved closer to other side of a bed. Fortunately, this helped you reach your partner.

You hugged him gently around his waist and he instinctively woke up by that.

When it came to him that you were not an assassin, only his fiancé, he just murmured questioningly.

-I'm sorry - you replied with slight guilt - Bad dream

-I didn't know that boys your age still have nightmares - he said teasingly.

At which you pinched him with a scowling face.

-Oi oi I was just joking - he assured while snorting lightly, really amused by your behavior.

-This old jokes are not really funny

-Maybe for you - he replied trying to light the mood.

After a while, however, he turned towards you and returned the hug.

-Are you all right? - he asked this time with clear concern in his voice.

-Yes, because I am here with you now

Jiyan

At first second you were running through the middle of a battle, escaping from monsters.

And at the next one you were snatching your upper body from a bedsheets scattered all over your tent.

Your eyes were wide open and your mouth gaped.

You don't know how long it took. Seconds, minutes or maybe more.

Eventually, however, you came back to reality. You calmed your breathing and looked around, recalling where you actually were. Still at least a couple of kilometers away from a battlefield.

You threw something over your uncovered shoulders and blindly walked out of a tent.

A small campfire and glow of stars allowed you to see more than just a tip of your own nose. You were deeply grateful for that.

A few steps away, just under a large tree, Jiyan seated himself. As you thought, he had taken over the watch over this part of a camp.

Even though it should be done by someone lower in rank, Jiyan still felt this strange sense of responsibility inside him. A need to be sure that all his comrades were safe.

You used to try to talk him out of it, but over time you got used to it. And at this exact moment you needed something other than an argument.

With a sleepy steps you walked through the separating distance and took place right next to him.

Beaten, you rested your head on his shoulder and closed your tired eyes.

-Bad dream? -he asked just for affirmation.

And you murmured with a nod, snuggling your head more into his body. Trying to find a perfect position and insisting on getting those few more precious minutes of sleep.

Jiyan understood well what you were facing. He himself had experienced it many times. Nightmares only escalated the more you approached your next battle. Memories kept coming back and phantoms of your lost comrades haunted you after nights.

Yet he also knew that there was no way to deal with it.

So he took your hand in his and began to knead it gently. He didn't want to express his feelings too much in public, but at the same time he wanted to reassure you about his presence. Hoping that his support would allow you to relax and drift off. While he kept protecting you both.

Mortefi

-[M/N]! [M/N]! -irritated Mortefi slapped your arm several times. Stubbornly trying to get out of your embrace. He didn't know about what terrible thing you were dreaming, but whatever it was, it made you squeeze him with an unhuman strength. Almost crushing his fragile body.

-[M/N]!

Your heart beat faster.

Suddenly you opened your eyes. Your grip only tightening.

-Mortefi? -you asked hesitantly. Wanting to make sure of his nearness.

-It won't be for long, if some fool doesn't stop suffocating me! - Mortefi hissed with a fake anger in his voice.

And without warning, he flashed with colors of his scales. Thanks for that, even in the darkness, you could see his sulky face for a split second.

-Oh… sorry.

Still not fully awake, though rather sad, you loosened your grip. Mortefi immediately crawled out of your arms and moved to a sitting position.

However, hearing your voice, his heart melted. Real Mortefi instantly returned.

-Can- can I do something for you? -he asked unsurely, angry at himself over how he had jumped on you.

For a moment, he just really felt close to getting broken ribs.

-Oh, no baby no -you assured- Nothing really, don't worry -you suddenly raised yourself on your elbows- Are you alright? Did I hurt you?

Mortefi rapidly shook his head. However, he quickly remembered that with the light off you couldn't see it.

Not wanting to bring up the subject again, he reached out his hands in your direction.

At first contact, his fingers gently brushed your neck. Slowly he moved his hands higher. Stopping on your cheeks. He squeezed them tighter, pulling your head in his direction and laying it on his stomach.

-Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you - you asked slightly heartbroken. At that, Mortefi could almost picture you with imaginary flopped ears.

-Then I'll wake you up again- he assured, quite embarrassed.

-What did you dream about? - he changed the topic.

You just frowned and mumbled, not really wanting to return to that.

-Do you want me to sing for you? - he bit his lip unsurely, recalling situations from the past.

You rapidly nodded your head, and Mortefi laughed lightly at the sensation of your tickling hair.

He grabbed your strands and began to gently play with them. Massaging your head in the process. After a long moment, he began humming a lullaby from his childhood.

Calcharo

You jumped off the bed with a silent scream. Looking straight ahead, you were inhaling air with a greedy gasps. While thick drops of sweat ran down your face, chest was dropping and rising like crazy.

You involuntarily slid your hand out to your right side, in search of help. Instead of the expected warmth of your partner's body, you appeared to come into a contact with the cooling bedsheets.

You rushed with your eyes to the other half of a bed.

Calcharo was nowhere to be seen.

Though still in shock, you made your way to the hallway.

A dim light came from a small kitchen, so you followed its path.

When you crossed a doorway of room, your partner came into a view.

Calcharo was standing backwards. In his hand he was holding a cup with an unidentified drink.

-Care to join me?

He turned towards you. As if completely unfazed by your presence. Even though it happened to you for the first time.

Still hot and overwhelmed with emotion, you looked at him more closely. Despite your distraction, you couldn't help but notice a slightly torn white T-shirt. Signs of overclocking.

-What-… what's that? - you asked hesitantly while slowly stabilizing your breathing.

Man spun around once again. Though this time sideways, to the close stove. He pulled a new cup from a cabinet and turned his attention to a pot from which steam was still floating.

He moved as smoothly as if things that he had just experienced were completely normal for him.

-One of my clients said that hot milk helps. Not that I believe him. But we are wasted anyway.

Baizhi

You were awakened from your nightmare by a gentle shaking. You gritted your teeth and squeezed your eyelids tighter. Trying to banish a sight of fallen comrades from your mind.

-[M/N]? -someone squeezed your shoulder harder.

You pulled yourself up on a bed. Sliding your hand out of a pair of delicate palms. You opened your eyes blinking several times. You could feel something wet slide off your forehead. A cold compress.

-You started to sweat a lot and tremble as well - someone explained monotonously and quietly.

You turned towards direction of that voice. Sight of your girlfriend came into a view. Light of a candle placed on your bedside table was falling on her body dressed-up in your white shirt.

Baizhi looked like she hadn't slept for a fairly long time.

-At first I wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or an illness. But after a long analysis, I came to the conclusion that it was just a bad dream.

You looked at her confused and at the same time slightly offended.

-Just?

Baizhi looked down at her hands, avoiding eye contact. She bit her cheek gently.

You were already about to say something when she got up from her knees and, almost jumping off the bed, ran to the cabinet.

-Herbal tea made with flowers from Taoyuan Vale. It is supposed to help with sleep - she straightened her hands, moving cup closer to you. By doing so, she bowed in traditional way, with expectation of you accepting her gift.

Drink definitely left a bitter aftertaste, but at the same time it strangely calmed you down.

-Thank you, Baizhi - you replied with genuine gratitude. Corners of her mouth gently lifted upward. Not to mention a slight blush on her cheeks.

Yangyang

Frightened, you rose quickly from a bed. Panting heavily. In your head you still saw that chase. Or rather, an escape. In this dream, you were the prey.

You quickly pulled yourself together. You wanted to go right back to sleep, just to avoid waking up your girlfriend.

However, when you were about to rest your back against the mattress once again, something prevented you from doing so. And it wasn't that suspiciously lit bedside lamp. Something was stubbornly squeezing your hand.

You looked to the side. Your girlfriend was kneeling by your bed. Waves of her black hair splashed across your duvet, right next to your body.

-Yangyang? -you asked softly. Girl, however, didn't respond.

You dipped your free hand into her hair and gently stroked her strands. Trying not to get tangled in them, and in the same time awaken your partner. Slowly you repeated her name louder and louder until she finally woke up.

-[M/N]!

She immediately got off the floor and threw herself around your neck, squeezing as hard as she could.

-I was so scared! -she spoke in a shaky voice- I tried so hard to wake you up, but- but I couldn't! And you-. you just…-

Words caught in her throat, she couldn't finish. She began to swallow air and tears greedily.

Worried, you squeezed her torso, pushing her back by a short distance.

-Hey, babe. I'm completely fine, you have nothing to worry about -you assured, stroking her cheek in a calming manner.

You quickly forgot about your nightmare when all your attention got preoccupied with taking care of one tiny soul.

[toast-on-dandelioms]

completely fine if you can’t do this but I’m curious if you could do something with platonic yan batfam finding out teen reader smokes. Not hard core drugs or anything, just cigarettes (still bad I know), and maybe even drinks alcohol.

in their own words it “makes it so they can stop thinking”

Again completely fine if you can’t!! Also love your work ♥️

The ask is based before the events of part 4

beta reader: @duck-you

WC: 4.4k

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics @cafekitsune

Age of reader: 16-17 (the age of reader in the main serie is your choice, I don't think I ever made the age clear but for this ask reader is almost 18)

Tw: mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, underage drinking and reckless behaviour from intoxication, Joker, fighting under the influence, wrongful imprisonment, Black Mask and his uglyness

You first started smoking when you were at the end of middle school and started high school, your friends kept pressuring you into it since all the cool kids were smoking and you didn't want to lose them.

You did stop a few times but they kept gas lighting you into starting smoking once again and after you started to roam Gotham as Spider it became an habit that helped you do something whenever the night was dead or you were just bored.

You also made sure to not smoke before going back to the Manor since you knew Alfred would know and you didn't want to let him know and disappoint the older man, seeing him as a father figure instead of Bruce since he was the one who actually took time out of his day to pay attention to you whenever you told him in advance.

The drinking didn't start until you turned 17 and your friends managed to drag you to a party after a lot of begging and accusing you of not caring about them.

You still remember the night where you got drunk for the first time, the beat of the music making you unable to talk to anyone without yelling and how everyone kept pushing drinks in your hand and cheer whenever you drank it all.

The taste of whatever drink you just drank always made you make a disgusted face before smiling happily as you started to relax and have fun with your friends, even singing karaoke after someone pushed a microphone in your hands and told you to follow the words that were being displayed on a TV.

Honestly that night was one of the best you ever had because you weren't Spider, you weren't the forgotten child of Bruce Wayne and you weren't the straight A's student that people looked down upon because of how silent and antisocial you were. You were [Y/N], the one who beat 5 guys at arm wrestling, the friend who was dancing like crazy and how you just lost your virginity (the alcohol one, not the actual virginity).

You didn't really enjoy drinking, especially whenever you drank too much after a party and ended up with the worst hangover ever thanks to your powers, but it was a nice thing to do to de-stress after a long night or to just become free for a night with your friends.

One night you were still on patrol but had a long night because you had to stop many gang fights and even got shot on the leg, which you bandaged up but it was hurting and annoying you so you ended up drinking the entire bottle of vodka you had in your schoolbag, where you forgot to take out the bottle a friend put inside after you told them that you never drank it since you never had the opportunity to do so.

And you were a bit of a lightweight since you didn't start for too long and somehow you found yourself wandering around Gotham, drunk out of your mind and unaware of your surroundings. Yes people were taking videos of a drunk vigilante walking on the walls and street but didn't do much, especially when they saw a familiar clown approaching.

When Joker finally walked up to you with his usual smile, happy that he saw you since he could just use you after he noticed how Batman was attached to you, plus you looked incredibly drunk and you were stumbling around the empty street, still wearing your mask that was just rolled up enough that he could see your mouth, slightly open so he thought it would be easy to kidnap you by just using a crowbar.

Immediately, when you felt his hand touch your shoulder and his annoying laugh, you grabbed his hand and just slammed him into the ground with a judo flip, that you saw Damian do when you were watching him train alongside the others.

Your drunken mind didn't clock in that the person who touched you was the feared clown of Gotham, you just kept hitting his body with the crowbar that he had in hand after you took it off his hands after he tried to hit you with it when he had the chance to attack.

But you didn't let him, somehow your mind and body when under the influence were a better fighter than you actually thought, you weren't using your superstrenght most of the time and only if he actually posed as a threat when he tried to attack you once again.

During the fight your mask was taken by that clown, who probably got even angrier when he saw that you were just a kid and that looked like you were gonna fall asleep in any moment, which was why he even managed to hit you on the face. Unfortunately for him, his hit made you remember when Jason hit you and somehow awakened an anger and you just started to hit that man like there was no tomorrow.

Somehow, during the drunken fight between you and Joker that people were recording, you didn't notice three masked figures on a rooftop who were watching you fight that clown and were discussing when to butt in.

Dick was watching with glee as you hit the clown while also waiting for Oracle to tell him who Spider was once Joker took off your mask, amazed as he watched your fight.

He did feel anger whenever Joker managed to get a hit on you with his fists and had to be held back by Jason and Damian, since they both wanted to see you win and see you fight in real life instead of watching from the cameras, which didn't show all of the fights most of the time.

As he watched he did that you moved a bit weird, like you were under the influence and that made him panic because what if Joker actually tried to drug you? What if someone tried to kidnap you and he wasn't there to save you?!

Jason was also watching in glee when he saw you hit the Walmart clown with a crowbar, cheering whenever you hit him in the face with that crowbar. He would also yell out scores when you did that, not caring that people were filming him.

He did notice how sluggish you were when you moved and was also ready to jump down to help you, not wanting you to get badly hurt by that clown even though he knew that you could defend yourself.

Damian was watching and making small comments about your posture as you fought before noticing how many moves were incredibly similar to downright the same moves he did as he fought with random criminals, making his heart soar with respect and felt incredibly honoured that you were copying him. He knew that he was gonna show the footage to the others to show how much Spider was like him and how he's obviously the favourite since they're copying him.

He did found your face very familiar, like he met you once but he couldn't find any memory of you in his mind, making him frustrated and angry since he's supposed to be the heir of Wayne Enterprises, his memory shouldn't get worse so soon.

When you felt a hand on your shoulder and another grabbing the hand that was hitting the now dead Joker, you turned around and just kicked that person away with all your strength to a nearby dumpster and just prepared yourself for another fight.

You honestly couldn't really see who was close to you thanks to Joker punching you right in the face and making your eyesight a bit blurry that you honestly couldn't see who was approaching and just thought it was another guy or more trying to kidnap you, so you kept fighting by using your spider senses to find them.

It took Dick, a laughing Jason and an annoyed but amazed Damian to manage to stop you, leaving all of them with bruises and many injuries since you didn't hold your strength back. The indented dumpster after you kicked Damian when he tried to grab you and the hole in a wall after you missed punching Jason and got stuck in the wall was proof of it.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep after getting a small injection in your neck was Jason's laugh even though he sounded like someone kicked him in the chest and Damian's exasperated voice as he talked with Dick and how they shouldn't let you near anything alcoholic anymore.

You woke up the next day in your room, the headache from the hangover making you groan in pain, especially after feeling how sore your body was even though you couldn't remember anything from last night, before managing to get up without feeling like puking or falling, cursing yourself and making a mental note to never drink during patrol.

You slowly walked to the door, cursing your hangover since it felt like your door was farther away from you since you though you were in your usual room and not in another that looked exactly the same but you didn't really pay much attention to it since your head was killing you as you tried to think of anything.

You finally reached the door and opened it, immediately facing a surprised Bruce, making you confused and annoyed since you already felt like shit and seeing your father that never stepped up as a father to you made your headache worse.

You and the man stared at each other for a few seconds that felt like hours before you pushed him away and walked to where you thought the bathroom was, knowing that you needed to have a shower and probably puke your mind out.

When you finally walked out of the bathroom with a less painful headache after drinking some water from the sink and while you were showering, knowing it was safe since the Manor filtered the water, but the short-time happiness from the long shower was immediately ruined by Dick's loud voice as he talked about something you weren't paying attention to and him dragging you to the dining room where everyone was waiting for you, your headache coming back strong to even making you try and get away from his arms.

You groaned when he basically dropped you on the carpeted floor of the dining room, to which everyone's eyes were on you as you slowly got up and made your way to a random chair far away from everyone else, a bit weirded out since you actually never sat on a chair on the actual table. Hell, you probably never even stepped foot in the room in all the years you lived there.

You mumbled a thanks to Alfred when he set a bowl of soup in front of you and a few pills on a tissue next to your glass of water, to which you assumed it was for your headache and hangover.

You started to eat the soup without saying anything to anyone else at the table before looking up when you heard Bruce's voice saying your nome, ignoring how hesitant his voice was when he actually said your name, like it was the first time he ever actually pronounced your name out loud.

You stared at the older man who was supposed to be your father, hissing a little when the lights from the chandelier hits your eyes, too used to your poorly lit room and of the gloomy weather of Gotham that never lets any sun in so bright lights hurt your eyes.

"[Y/N], hun, I know you drank last night. And I am sure you know that drinking is bad for you, especially when you are underage. You could've hurt yourself and the people around you, which you did last night!" he said, his voice raising at the end before pointing at Dick, Jason and Damian, who you just noticed all had some bruises and looked uncomfortable while sitting on the chair.

Honestly, you didn't even feel bad. The only thing you felt bad about was not being able to remember anything about it. You hoped that someone took a video of it, god you hoped so hard.

As you thought of finding that video you suddenly noticed that Bruce was still talking, probably going on about the dangers of alcohol and what it could do to someone's liver after prolonged drinking, making you annoyed since he cares now? After years of ignoring your existence?

So you did what he did once when you were little, you just got up and left without a word to your room, not caring about anything he was saying. You didn't even know where you were going in the Mansion,thanks to how big it is and how you stuck to your room instead of exploring and ended up inside a small bedroom that looked like no one entered it for years thanks to the all the dust inside of it.

You opened the windows to let some air inside and found a few diaries as you snooped around before finding the holy grail of things you could find in anyone's room: an unopened bottle of rum in a hidden drawer that you might have broken while trying to open it because you were curious.

You were now loving whoever lived here and put the rum away in a pocket before walking out the room by the window so you could reach a bag you left on the rooftop that held a copy of your costume. Why did you had a bag there on the first place?

That was simple. You once forgot it while you were drinking on the rooftop when you had a horrible day and just forgot it there when you stumbled in your room by walking on the walls. And yes, the conversation you had with Alfred to ask him about having some money to buy all the stuff you needed to re-make the suit and re-create the voice modulator was very uncomfortable, especially when you knew you couldn't afford all of the stuff you needed even though you had a job.

And yes, you didn't have an allowance because Bruce never thought of giving you money and you had to take a job to just survive and not always ask for Alfred for money when you needed something for school or for dance practice.

As you reached the bad tied to an unused chimney, a small frown formed on your face when you saw the old design of your vigilante suit but still changed before putting the web shooters on your wrists, your bag already on your shoulders and the rum safely stashed in it and wrapped around your clothes to make sure it won't accidentally break while you were swinging around Gotham.

Once you got on a random rooftop of an abandoned building, which you made sure wasn't a rogue or a gang hideout before settling on it so you could finally drink the bottle you stole. You were close to one of the mafia's territory in Crime Alley but you didn't care which one it was, you only wanted to drink.

As you finally started to drink, your tongue tasting a hint of nutmeg and weirdly cinnamon with each sip you took, you slowly started to relax as the alcohol did its job, each sip making your head feel less heavy, like it was getting pumped full of helium and slowly making your forget about the pain your body was in.

God, you never wanted to stop, just four sips in and you were already past the tipsy part and you felt so free that anything you saw in the starless, polluted night of Gotham made you laugh like crazy. You finally felt like you belonged when you drank and that all the hatred, anger and the deep resentment you felt towards the Bats was calm, like a warm heavy blanket was put on those emotions.

As the night progressed, the bottle now half empty and your mind completely fuzzy, you started to hear noises and grunts of pain from one of the alleys near your spot, making you curious to see who it was and especially what was happening that would ruin your drinking night.

You slowly got up, your limbs feeling like jelly as you moved to walk on the side of the building, slipping a little as you stumbled around. After a bit you finally managed to get to the right alley when you realised you were on the wrong side of the building, and as you walked over you luckily avoided a frantic Nightwing grappling to a building.

You watched in silence when you finally got to the right alley and saw Black Mask, one of the criminals you knew his own goons feared because he could kill them if they did anything wrong in his eyes. You couldn't count the times you saw bodies in alleys when you were patrolling, their bodies covered in bruises and most of the time they were beat up beyond recognition that always made you sick.

But, unfortunately for you, your drunken mind decided to say something since you found his mask boring and weird. Like, compared to Jason's mask, his just looked boring and not really original. And you knew he was dangerous but noo, let's anger the mafia boss who kills with no mercy.

"He-Hey! You look ri"- you took a few sips of the rum - "uhh, oh yea! Ridiculous! Why that? No red, thought of being compared to Red Skull?" you started before your drunken mind just decided to go on a whole rant about his choices of brand and what he does with his goons.

As you were ranting about his ugliness and name choice, your spider senses made you dodge an incoming bullet shot at you but unfortunately Black Mask managed to hit your sacred bottle that still had most of its contents in it and you just watched with tears in your eyes as the alcohol ran out of your bottle to the ground.

The anger that surged in you after your drunken mind realised that he wasted your precious rum made you so angry that you didn't care who Black Mask is and threw the broken glass bottle at him and used his small distraction to web his chest and launch yourself at him, using all your strenght to punch his ugly masked face.

Using the moment and how distracted the man was, thanks to your punch, you kept hitting the man with all your strenght. Sadly, this moment of you overpowering the insult for eyes as a man as the man manages to catch one of your punches that was aiming for his stomach and pulled you forward to knee you on the chest, making you gasp for air and cough and almost made you puke but you anaged to keep it down.

Sadly, the bastard with no imagination for names started to hit you on the back of the head, making your vision blurred for a few seconds before your vision went back to normal thanks to your fast healing. You managed to avoid another one of his hits and quickly jumped on the wall and webbed him on the chest, pulling him forward and jumping on him, kicking him on the jaw.

You stared at the sad excuse of a original rogue as it stayed on the ground and slowly raised your hands like you won before grabbing the broken bottle of rum and walked on a wall, waiting as you watched the thing who you refused to acknowledge as a man get up and wobble around while the two goons he was hitting before already ran away.

Once it got up, obviously confused when you watched him look around and you waited until he got closer and hit him on the head with the bottle as a revenge for the wasted precious alcohol and then you quickly kicked him on the back to keep him down since you knew he was good at hand and hand combat and you knew that you couldn't win if he was lucid so you were lucky that you gave him a concussion with a lucky move.

You kept hitting the man-thing with the bottle with no care in the world, the blood splattering on the walls and the dumpster near you two, your smile the only thing he could see as you just kept hitting him, the bottle getting thrown away when it was completely broken from hitting his mask so you went back to using your hands, smashing his mask onto his scarred face, the alcohol in your body making you ignore how the shards of the mask were also getting embedded in your hands as you kept punching his face.

You stopped when your spider senses alerted you of danger and got ready to fight whoever it was that before getting hit with something and falling asleep, the last thing you managed to say before falling asleep was "fuck yall".

You woke up once again with weird cuffs on your wrists, but fortunately you weren't chained to the bed. You slowly got up from the bed and noiced two things: your hands were bandaged, making you confused as to what happened last night after you drank and both windows in the room had bars on it.

You managed to get up from the bed and walked to the door, your vision being a bit blurred as you looked around the room. You first walked to the window to see the bars and noticed how the bars were so close together and had such a small space between that even your finger couldn't pass through.

You then walked to the door and went to grab the doorknob but almost fell to the ground as you noticed too late that the doorknob was missing from the door. You quickly recovered and looked angrily at the door, punching it with all your strenght before realising that the cuffs were blocking your super-strenght when you felt an immense pain in your hand after you punched it and the door didn't fall down like you planned to.

You slowly retracted your hand from the door and started to pound the door with the other hand, yelling for Bruce and whoever lived in the fucking Manor, too angry and scared to care about the pain as your hand kept touching the door.

As you pounded on the door, you hoped that Alfred would come to save you from this room and explain why the hell you were stuck in a room with no way out, feeling trapped as minutes went by and no one came to explain what was happening and why you were trapped in that room.

You let out a huge sigh of relief when you heard footsteps coming your way and finally stopped pounding on the door, only now noticing the prints of blood on the door from your hand that was now bleeding profusely, making you almost cry as even slightly moving a finger brought you immense pain.

You looked up when you heard the door open and stared at Bruce and Alfred, who was holding a first aid kit, and moved to the side to let them enter, not wanting to fight until you knew why you were here.

You sat on a chair, who you now noticed was plastic, and let Alfred change the bandages on your hands while you stared at Bruce, waiting for an explanation before getting frustrated when he didn't say anything and just stared at you.

"What happened to me? Why are my hands bandaged?" you asked, staring directly at Bruce to hear his explanation, not remembering anything after you drank.

The man who you were told to call father just stared at you with a grim expression on his face "two days ago, after you snuck ou-" to which you interrupted him "I didn't sneak out, using those words would mean that you cared that I actually lived here and what these last 17 years showed me was that you don't care. Don't act like you do now".

You watched as the man acted like it didn't affect him but you knew that it did. You knew Bruce Wayne and he loves kids, you saw how he acted with Damian when he got hurt during patrol and how Jason once came home bleeding. You saw the man who you thought was heartless and didn't care about anyone cradle Jason's body as he carried him to the batcave, his face showing so many emotions that you never saw before.

You stayed silent as you watched him, giving an ok to Alfred when he asked if the bandages were too tight, still waiting for him to explain before sighing loudly when he just stared back at you.

"I went out to drink so what? Did I fight a gang member and somehow got so hurt that my hands need help healing?" you joked, wiggling your fingers to show your bandaged hands like it was something to be proud of.

To which Bruce seemed to get extremely mad about it "no, you decided to fight Black Mask after insulting him and ended up killing him. Damian and Cass had to sedate you as they thought you were a danger to yourself and to the civilians.".

After that you just stared at him before looking down at your own hands and looked at your knuckles who were staining your bandages since they were still bleeding. "So what? I didn't hurt someone innocent so why am I in a room with bars and no way out?" you asked angrily, not caring that you killed someone since you never viewed Black Mask as a person after everything you've seen him and his men do.

The man stared back at you "and this is exactly why you won't be let out until I know that you aren't a danger to the public" he said coldly and walked out with Alfred while you just stood there in shock.

You quickly ran to the door and started banging on it "NO NO NO! YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME HERE! I AM AN ADULT! YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME" you yelled as you banged to it, ignoring how their footsteps started to sound so far away while you cried and yelled in the room.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

meeting him at the pub

(cw: age gap)

I don’t know how it happened, how I ended up chatting to the tall metalhead at the pub. But I was meeting my friends there like every other Wednesday and when I got drinks from the bar, a dark, friendly voice piped up. “Hey, nice shirt.” My head whips to the side, looking for the person who gave me the compliment.

Right there at the table, sitting alone, a huge, tall guy with long dark hair. Tattoos adorned the big strong arms distracting from his bandshirt, I think it’s from Dark Tranquility. The drawings span to his hands ending at the knuckles, that moved as he grabbed the bottle of beer standing right in front of him.

My eyes close in on his face, a ruggedly handsome one. A nose that seems to have been broken at least twice. Lips formed into a friendly smile. Serious eyes looking straight at me, eyes that had seen some shit, but the laugh lines around them speak of a man who rather likes to laugh. He also looks a bit older than me.

I almost stumble over my own feet, halting for a moment to look which shirt I’m wearing today. It’s my Death shirt, the one with the Symbolic Album art. I look back up at him, smiling. “Thanks!” I continue my trip to the bar, a pep in my step.

When I walk back with the drinks in my hand, I shoot another friendly look in his direction. One that he answers with a nod and tipping his beer in my direction. And I totally blush at the little friendly gesture. I sit down with my friends handing them their beers, but I can’t help my eyes finding their way back to him every so often, to see what he’s doing.

He’s just chilling alone, at his table, drinking his beer, looking at the TV where some kind of soccer game was being shown, playing with his phone from time to time. It is so fucking tiny in his huge ass hands. And half the time I look in his direction, his gaze is already on me. Which is making me nervous. Not because it’s creepy or anything in that sense, but because he’s attractive. Oh my, ruggedly handsome, seeming like a gentle giant, while the way he’s sitting and observing everything around him is telling a different story.

“Just go fucking talk to him.” My friend sitting to my right grins at me. I shrug. “I don’t know.” They roll their eyes. “Just do it, you little chickenshit.” I throw up my hands. “Fine, fine, okay.” I snatch up my beer and hesitatingly make my way to his table.

He’s already looking at me, sitting up straight, as I approach him and ask with a shy smile on my face: “Can I sit here?” I point at the stool across from him. He seems a bit surprised, but he nods. “Sure, take a seat.”

I sit down and then a moment of silence falls over us where we just look at each other. The corner of his mouth is tilted up, a half-smirk making his face even more handsome, a few strands of hair falling over his left eye and cheek. He seems a little bit tense and I suddenly feel a little bit self-conscious. We just look at each other. And I can’t stop looking at him.

“So, you like Death too, huh?”, I ask him, and then I hear how that sounded. “The band, I mean.”, I clarify laughing. He joins in, a dark manly chuckle falling from his lips, and I can see his shoulders drop down a bit. Seeming a little more relaxed.

“I do.”, he answers. “Actually, one of my favourite bands.” His voice is a bit higher than I would have anticipated from such a big guy, he has a nice timbre and some kind of accent when speaking English, that he’s trying to mask.

“Understandably so.”, I say, going on a rant about my favourite bands. He just looks at me, stunlocked. His mouth slightly open. His eyes scanning my face, dropping down every so often. I don’t stop talking and he listens, nodding along.

“I also like Lorna Shore a lot, do you know them?”, I want to know. He shakes his head, still intently listening while only speaking every so often. “They’re a symphonic deathcore band, and my god, their music just blows you away.” He chuckles again. “And they’re in town next week, but I don’t have anybody to go to the concert with me.”, I say, turning down the corners of my mouth.

“I could accompany you.”, he chimes in which shuts me up. A friendly offer. But the way he’s looking at me is making it feel like so much more.

“Really? You would do that?”, I ask surprised.

He shrugs one of his shoulders, looking to his fingers that fiddle with the label on the beer bottle. “Yeah sure, I can be your company for that evening.”

I close my mouth and think about it for a moment. “Of course, that would be… very nice of you.” Great, I’m so eloquent when it comes to flirting with men. Especially older, tall metalheads. But the way he’s still fidgeting with the beer bottle, I think he’s having a hard time as well. Which makes his offer so much more surprising. But I’m not mad at it. Not at fucking all.

I clear my throat. “Maybe I can get the tickets and you can get the drinks?”, I suggest. I wouldn’t want this to seem like I wanted to mooch off him.

He hesitates for a bit, but then nods. “Sure.” I nod as well and drink some of my beer. So that’s that, huh?

“So, what do you do? For a living?”, I ask him. He halts for a second, and I add: “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, of course.” I tilt my head and push my cheek into my propped-up hand.

A smile forms on his lips, as he looks to the side for just a moment, but his eyes find their way back to me. “You’re a nosy one, huh?” which makes me hide my face in my hands looking at him through my splayed fingers, but he only laughs at my gesture.

“I’m actually a soldier, a mercenary. I’m currently on leave.”, he explains. My eyes widen at his words.

“Really? Damn okay.” That explains the aura around him that I couldn't pinpoint before. “So like, what’s your specialty or however this is called in the military?”, I ask, still being nosy.

His lips curl into a confident smile, his whole demeanor changing a bit. “I’m an insertion specialist.” And the way he says that makes my skin tingle, my jaw dropping down a bit. Because the tone in his voice makes me think about a certain kind of insertion. The ‘drop your clothes, get naked together’-kind.

He laughs again as he sees the expression on my face. “Get your mind out the gutter.”, he jokes.

“Huh, I didn’t say anything.”, I defend myself, weakly, holding up my hands in defense. He pulls up his eyebrows, donning a knowing smile and leaning back.

“M-hm.”, he says and his fingers wander to his lips, stroking over them absent-mindedly. “I specialize in breaking down doors and getting people out of whatever situation they’re caught in.” How he says it makes me smile, because he says it so non-chalantly, but I can see the pride behind his words.

A little silence falls over us again, but instead of being uncomfortable we just sit in it and look at each other. He drags his hand through his hair, his fingers threading through the brown strands. And I’m so normal about this. My god, why does he have to be so attractive?

“How old are you?”, he asks me, his eyes searching my face like I’d have it written on there. The first question he asked me this evening.

“I’m 25. And you?”, I return the question. He winces a bit, but he answers: “I’m 41.” I nod and sip on my beer. Well, I already assumed that he’s older than me, so I’m not really surprised by the age gap.

“I’m old enough to be your dad.”, he says and takes a sip from his beer. My eyes are glued to his lips, the way the bottle rests against them. Then he swallows and I follow the motion as the liquid flows down his throat.

I arch a brow. “No, you’re not.”

He tilts his head to his side, a little smile forming on his lips. “Well, maybe if I started early, I could be.” His eyes dart to me, for just a moment.

The other brow joins the one already sitting at my hairline. “Did you start early?”, I ask him.

His smile gets wider while he slowly shakes his head. “No.” He takes another sip and leans back a bit.

“So, not actually old enough to be my dad.”, I conclude the conversation, a grin turning up the corners of my mouth. “I’m gonna get another drink, you want one as well?”

He looks at me, his eyes boring into me. I see the little twinkle in them, but he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I got to get home.”, he finally says, the expression on his face turning apologetic.

I hide my disappointment behind a charming smile. “Okay, no worries.”, I tell him.

He leans forward, coming a little bit closer, and I stand my ground, even as his scent hits my nostrils, and I have to damp down the excitement flooding my veins. He’s smirking at me now and raises his hand until his finger makes contact with my nose. He just booped my nose. “Tell you what though. Let’s exchange numbers and then we’ll see if you’re still up to going to a concert with me when you’re sober.”

I laugh a bit and pull out my phone from my pocket. “Okay, deal.” But his words also make me think. “Don’t you trust my judgement?”, I ask him as I hand him the device which looks ridiculously small in his hands.

He grins while tapping on the screen. “I do, but I don’t trust myself when I stare into the face of a beautiful woman.” He looks at me again and hands me back the phone, getting up. And he gets taller and taller and taller. I mean, I saw that he’s freaking huge when he was sitting down. But my god, he’s more than a foot taller than me. I have to put my head back to be able to look up at him.

“A beautiful woman, huh?”, I repeat his words back to him, ignoring the way this sentiment makes me feel.

“Aye.”, he says leaning down a bit. “Good night then.” He presses a small, almost chaste kiss onto the top of my head, while at the same time grabbing his leatherjacket. He puts the worn piece of clothing on and heads in the direction of the door.

I look down and see the new contact in my phone. His number, but instead of his name the little crown emoji sits on the top of the page. “Wait, what’s your name?”, I yell after him.

He turns around again, the long hair whipping over his shoulder, grazing over the worn leather. A grin lights up his face. “König, you know, like ‘king’ in German.”, he explains. He raises his hand again and waves goodbye, then he’s out the door.

He’s gone, but he’s still on my mind the rest of the evening while spending time at the pub, on my way home, as I’m getting ready to finally sleep. Especially the little forehead kiss lives in my mind rent-free.

When I wake up again in the morning, I contemplate what to do while I get myself a coffee. Finally, I gather my courage and shoot him a text.

metalhead!König has me in a chokehold, so this was veeeery self-indulgent. i hope you still like it <3more to come soon, because i can't wait to go to a concert with him :')

part 2 or more stuff in the Masterlist

[genericpuff]

Ive read a few of your LO esaays (all of which are really well written!) But I was wondering something.

Many people talk about how Rachel loves the story Lolita, and has talked about it before, but nobody has ever shown screenshots. I was wondering if you had any or knew where to find any. This is just being curious, not doubting your statements

Ah so I actually responded to a comment just like this a while back on reddit with all the receipts (it was particularly someone who was claiming it was all "made up" because like you, they couldn't seem to get any proof of it, which is totally valid) so I just had to go and dig those back up haha

DISCLAIMER: I want to make it clear that a lot of people tend to run amok with these suspicious pieces of evidence towards Rachel either "thinking Lolita was a romance" or being a pedophile. I want to make it clear that I do not think any of this is proof towards either of these claims. I do not think that she blatantly thinks Lolita is a romance, or that she was trying to perpetuate pedophilia in any sort of way, just that she may have wanted to have her cake and eat it too by acknowledging the age gap but embracing it anyways as she does throughout LO. I think, at best, she's a terrible writer who's still using the things she liked when she was a teenager / young adult as inspiration without actually going back and re-analyzing those things with an updated 38-year-old viewpoint (as she does this with a lot of things, not just Lolita). Claiming that the following receipts is 'proof' of Rachel being some kind of sex pest / pedophile is at best not constructive at all for the real discussions to be had concerning LO's subtext, and at worst, a serious claim that can ruin someone's life if thrown around without cause. Let's please be responsible and level-headed in how we approach this topic.

Old MySpace + DeviantArt bios with her interests listed:

Her old art site where she labels herself as a "lolita vamp" artist:

Her intro post from a lolita-themed forum she ran:

She does express that it's not THAT kind of lolita, which I'd like to think she never intended in the first place, but it's really telling that LO still manages to be that kind of lolita in a lot of ways, to the point that there are many scenes in LO that feel a little too similar to scenes from the 1990's Jeremy Irons adaptation, such as seen here.

(the above image are song lyrics written about the book, Lolita)

Also despite Rachel saying it wasn't "that kind" of lolita, she still made it clear back in the 2017/2018 run of the comic on Tumblr that Hades is, indeed, a "grown ass man", and that Persephone is a teenager.

And of course the proof is in the pudding, the comic itself is well aware of Persephone's age:

(either Rachel has been using Apollo as a mouthpiece for criticism for years, or she seriously thought this was supposed to make Hades look like the better partner for Persephone because "look at how mean Apollo is" when... he's deadass spitting facts LOL)

As I mentioned in my disclaimer, I don't think Rachel herself is in any way a sex pest or a pedo or whatever you might jump to assuming. Rachel has a history of being inspired by things she watched when she was a child without ever actually going back to re-analyze it or ask herself if what she read was credible or real-

(this isn't the only proof there is of her behaving this way, there's also the fact that she was clearly a huge Disney fan as a child but never asked herself why those movies worked as a piece of written media).

So again, I think at best she's just sort of dated herself by not going to the effort of researching the things she was into when she was a child, she tends to just throw things in that she likes haphazardly without a single thought as to why they worked in the first place or whether or not they would work in LO. Though this is a bit of a saltier opinion, I think when it comes to the Lolita thing specifically, I have a feeling she never actually read the book, just sorta did that thing where she watched the movie adaptation from the 90's and assumed that counted as reading the book and so she put it down as her favorite book / Nabokov as her favorite writer.

But none of that speculation really makes much difference because the evidence is 20+ years old. What does matter is that despite her tastes being what they were 20+ years ago, they're still present in LO and it's not even subtle, there are so many times Rachel has outright said both within the comic and outside of it that Hades is a "grown ass man" and Persephone is a literal teenager. Her fans, of course, will still go to the effort of explaining it on her behalf ("they're gods! ageing isn't a thing for them!" "how old you are doesn't matter when you can be immortal!" "well she probably doesn't mean LITERALLY 19, just like, the god version of it..."), but you can't deny what's coming from the horse's mouth - Hades and Persephone are in a relationship based on an intentionally massive age gap. Regardless of what completely speculative parallels we can draw between H x P and that of Lolita's Humbert Humbert and Dolores using 20 year old MySpace bios as evidence, Hades and Persephone having a massive and intentional age gap is undeniable fact made canon by the creator herself, no matter how you try and slice it.

[wangmiao]

From being stuck in the snow together in 2016 to filming Tibetan Sea Flower - Nan Pai San Shu's "Obsession" over Zhang Luyi.

Thank you for noticing my tag in the other post about the friendship between ZLY and CMH, and showing some interest. So here we go! I guess besides why Zhang Luyi (ZLY) was picked, there's also the story about how everything started. I find it rather fascinating. DMBJ's author Nan Pai San Shu, aka Xu Lei (XL) told the story a few years ago, but he mentioned it again during a livestream when Tibetan Sea flower (TSF) just started airing. The next three paragraphs are based on XL's livestream and ZLY's interviews.

Back in 2016, on a very snowy day, XL was on his way to The Mystic Nine's filming location, and was stuck on a mountain road. After waiting for a while, he thought he should go and help direct the traffic. When he got out to do it, he surprisingly found another Good Samaritan already doing what he intended to do, and yes, that Good Samaritan was ZLY.

ZLY was on his way to The Mystic Nine's filming location too. It was actually not XL who picked him for the role of Wu Laogou then. He went to guest star in that show because his university classmate Bai Yicong, the producer of the show, asked ZLY to do him a favor and just stop by to have a meeting with everyone.

So that's how XL and ZLY first met in person. Because they got stuck in the snow for a LONG time, they talked a lot about DMBJ, from Wu Laogou to Wu Xie, and even TSF (ZLY already read some of the DMBJ novels at the time, and he finished all of them before shooting TSF). At some point, XL told ZLY that ZLY's vibe reminded him of a very important character of his, which was Wu Xie. ZLY was very moved and thankful. Since they had such a good long talk, they kind of made a promise to each other that they'd work together on a DMBJ project at some point. They also each made a weibo post about meeting each other as the traffic director in the snow.

In 2017, there was actually quite some rumors about ZLY being approached to play Wu Xie in Sha Hai/Tomb of the Sea (this is not to discredit other Wu Xie actors, because it's normal for a production team to approach multiple actors for a role in the casting stage), but since ZLY had several health issues due to being injured during the filming of another show, he really couldn't be a candidate for the role.

But XL never forgot about ZLY. In 2021, rumors came around again about ZLY being approached to play Wu Xie in TSF, and this time, he agreed.

During the airing of TSF, XL did a lot of livestreams and Q&A sections on weibo. There's one post where he said: "From the state in the beginning, the state of being lost, to the Sha Hai!Xie state in the end, the entire progress is shown in TSF. I needed an actor with extremely good acting skills. From TSF!Xie to Sha Hai!Xie, there're many occasions where Wu Xie's soul is in a dark place and he might fall for his obsession. Besides Pangzi being there to pull him back, it also needs Wu Xie's strong faith and goodness, and I think it needed acting skills to show it."

In another comment to a fan's question about the choice of Wu Xie's actor, XL answered: "Maybe it represents a kind of inner demons", which I think the inner demons part can be translated to obsession.

So you can tell, it does seem that XL had this obsession to have ZLY play Wu Xie no matter what. And he never gave up the idea ever since they first met, even though by the time they could finally work together in 2022, ZLY was no longer in the best age range to play TSF!Xie (hence, sometimes you'd notice those annoying filters used to mask wrinkles on his face).

I really haven't watched all of XL's livestreams and interviews, and from the very few ones I've watched, he mentioned where ZLY impressed him. Before the shooting started, ZLY double checked with XL to see if XL wanted him to play Wu Xie as a more straightforward northerner or gentler southerner (this is not to stereotype, but to reflect the cultural and language difference), and XL reassured him to be a southerner since Wu Xie is a from the south of China. ZLY was no stranger to playing a southerner even though he's a northerner himself, as some of his best characters were from south China. This was why he dropped all his natural Beijing accent, and showed a gentler demeanor (eg. Pangzi is a typical northerner, and CMH kept his Beijing accent).

Another thing is when they were shooting the real and fake Wu Xie scene, it was filmed without any special effects or even an extra actor. ZLY played both characters each time with thin air. It impressed XL a lot because it required so much more finesse and precision on the memory, timing, and movement.

Lastly I want to show you ZLY's goodbye message to TSF that was posted on Sep 24th. He's a very dedicated, sincere, and cultured actor that often uses handwritten stuff to say goodbye to shows nowadays. And he wrote what Wu Xie and Pangzi always say to each other, the good luck and good fortune thing: "Da Ji Da Li, Gong Xi Fa Cai"

Another fun fact is that ZLY is very good at calligraphy. He used to assign different fonts to the characters he played based on their characteristics. Because Wu Xie writes in 瘦金体/Shoujin font, ZLY wrote the message also in Shoujin font. I guess you can say that's another similarity between him and Wu Xie, that they can both write in this font (I'm no expert in calligraphy, so I found an article teaching people how to write in Shoujin font. It was definitely not an easy thing to do because it advised people to learn and practice certain fonts in traditional calligraphy for a few years before even going for the Shoujin font).

Thanks for reading! If you like ZLY's Wu Xie, that's awesome. If not, that's OK. It's totally understandable. Please also know that I have zero intention to compare his version of Wu Xie to other Wu Xies. I'm sure each Wu Xie is awesome, unique, and lovable in his own way.

[cceanvvaves]

dress; m.sn

(moved to isanggayfrog) warning: swearing

"god, i'm so bored," you groan into sana's shoulder, holding your arm out a little to prevent your drink from spilling. the brunette only laughs at your misery, taking a sip from her own glass.

"you were the one who came."

you huff and roll your eyes. "you were the one who begged me to come."

"i did not beg!" she protests.

"oh, please," you raise an eyebrow, "with the endless 'please please please' and puppy eyes?"

"well..."

her retort dies down in her throat, having no argument. she simply scoffs. you smirk in triumph, leaning into the nearest table and downing your drink in one gulp. "your mom is so bad at parties," you start. "like, where is the music? where are the dancers and the hot people?"

sana laughs again. "you expect that in a business party? this thing's hosted so that i can greet old men and talk about business and shit."

"no wonder i'm bored."

"you're lucky you're not the ceo's daughter," sana complains. "you don't get the 'oh, you're the little minatozaki girl!' and the 'you've grown up to be a gorgeous young lady!'. you just have to stand there and look pretty for me."

"i'm gonna ignore that last part." you snicker at the irritated look on her face.

"ah, sana, am i right? minatozaki's little girl?" a balding man says, approaching the two of you. sana plasters on a fake smile and you avert your eyes, taking interest in the brownies.

they talk for a bit, you eventually losing your interest in seeing sana shifting uncomfortably. you excuse yourself and head to the snack table, helping yourself to majority of the desserts - after all, you came for the free food.

you'd just taken a bite out of a cupcake when a voice comes from behind you. you spin around and come face to face with a man - your age, maybe, or a little older.

he's fairly attractive, you can't deny, with an almost angelic smile. sadly, nothing can compare to a certain minatozaki girl's smile-

your thoughts are interrupted when he glances at your lips. "um, you've got something there-" he extends a hand and wipes off the frosting from the corner of your mouth.

eyes widening, you grab a tissue and wipe your mouth. "oh, thank you! i didn't notice."

"i'm taehyung," he continues. "i saw you from across the room and.. well, i really couldn't guess who had brought you. also, i wanted to introduce myself, so.."

"nice to meet you, taehyung." he seems nice and polite, so you decide to entertain him. "i'm y/n."

"that's.. a really pretty name."

you and taehyung stay together and talk, laughing when he tells you a story about his childhood and groaning when you tell him about an accident you'd had as a kid. you realize that he's actually fun to talk to, and a great listener, and you don't notice the time passing by until a hand slithers around your waist.

a surprised squeak leaves your lips as you glance at the newcomer, sighing in relief when you see that it's sana. "hi," you breathe out.

she has yet another fake smile on her face - but unlike those from earlier that night. it's a little stiff, a little... colder. "hi," she replies through gritted teeth. "i see you've made a new friend."

"oh, yeah!" you beam at taehyung. "sana, this is taehyung. taehyung, sana."

"oh, minatozaki sana? finally, nice to-"

"a pleasure to meet you, taehyung, but may i talk to y/n? alone?"

taehyung blinks, looking genuinely confused. he glances at you and then at sana, at you and back to sana again. "yes, sure, of course. you look really good in that dress, by the way, y/n."

you watch him walk away before turning to sana. "oh, come on, he was really sweet."

"i bet he thought you were really sweet, too," she grumbles, scowling.

"what, jealous?" you tease, but you can't tear your eyes away from the way her jaw tenses.

"no."

"okay, well, i'm gonna find tae-"

before your sentence even finishes she grabs you by the wrist. "stay."

you smirk and cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. "what, scared you'll be the the single one between us?"

"please don't joke about that."

"why not?"

sana sighs. "look, i don't really like him, but..."

"yes?"

"he's right about one thing." she carefully scans your figure. "you look good in that dress."

in a sudden burst of confidence you lean closer to her. "only bought this dress so you could take it off."

her 'tough' exterior crumbles and she's reduced to a confused puppy expression. "w-what?"

you pull her closer by her tie, close enough that your breaths ghost over each others' faces. "i want you. but i don't want you like a best friend."

you pull away and stare at her face for a reaction. "so? ditch this party with me?"

sana's face lights up in a grin.

[rivalsforlife]

pardon me if you’re tired of discussing this but. we know aa7 is on capcom’s radar on some level. and now they’ve rereleased every game right?? they’ve finally run out of backlog material after almost yearly releases since 2019…. Not to put the clown wig and nose back on too early but do you think we’ll actually get news about, or get to see, aa7 next year?

Never tired of discussing this!! This is right around the time of year where I'd be preparing to make my yearly AA7 Speculation Post anyway so this is great timing. (TGS, my enemy, is approaching.)

So just to make sure everyone's on the same page, here's a quick recap of where we're currently at:

In November 2020 we got internal Capcom leaks which included a calendar from 2019 with the roadmap for the AA series the next couple of years. This included:

DGS1&2 collection, which I did not think was going to happen ever, releasing April-June 2021

AA7, releasing around October-December 2021, right around the 20th anniversary.

Through late 2019-mid 2022, reconsider porting 456

We got DGS1&2 (a bit later than in the plan, but by like a month), we got the 456 ports, we got bonus AAI ports, we have nothing for AA7 nearly three years after it was supposed to come out. The pandemic is an obvious feature that could contribute to its delay, but at this point with 456 ports out I think we can safely say that this was not the only cause.

Some other things that may or may not be contributing to AA7's delay include:

Yamazaki, the previous main writer for 5&6 and the AAIs, left Capcom in 2020. If he was involved in AA7 at all, that could throw a wrench into things, but I recall hearing he intended AA6 to be his last AA game (I AM STRUGGLING TO FIND THE SOURCE THOUGH SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME), so I don't think this contributed very much. It does, however, mean that we're unsure about who the next main writer is - depending on what Takumi's up to or if they had to bring someone new on, there could be complications related to that.

I think TGAA did way better than anyone expected, which I covered in this post. It's possible that this could have shifted Capcom's priorities to porting more old games / porting to all modern consoles. It may have made people at Capcom think "damn everyone loves Takumi" so they tried to lure him back to AA7, and I have no idea how well that would have gone or if Takumi is even interested in continuing mainline AA right now. (I do think this at least contributed to the Ghost Trick ports.)

In my first ever AA7 speculation post I talked about how the ending of AA6 kind of wrote them into a corner re: how to continue with the series and which protagonist to use. I still stand by that argument even if a lot of that post aged badly.

Console ports! Previously new AA games were for whichever Nintendo handheld is out now (GBA, Nintendo DS, Nintendo 3DS). But now that the series is doing really well on all consoles, they may have decided to try to make their next mainline entry on all consoles, which would take more development time. Adding to this is that the Switch is near the end of its lifecycle with the Switch 2 (or whatever the successor will be) being announced soon - meaning that, if AA7 is coming out soon, Capcom is in the position of "do we try to squeeze this into the end of the Switch's lifecycle" (which, I'll need to find sources for this, is speculated to be some of the reasons behind why AAI2 and DGS2 sold badly when they were first released, and they can't make the same mistake thrice... right...?) or "do we try to time it with the release of the Switch 2"?

Also, a lot of this depends on how far AA7 was into development whenever it was derailed. If it was derailed from the pandemic, then according to the calendar, it would likely have still been in the prototype stage. It may be early enough that they would have had to start from scratch whenever they picked it up again. I don't work in the gaming industry so I have no idea how long it takes them to make a game or how easy it would be from what stage they're in.

One thing we can compare to is some of the comments about the recent AAI ports: in this interview, Shunsuke Nishida, the producer of the AAI collection, says that development on the collection began in 2022. He also mentions that this began once development on 456 was concluded. This leads me to believe that (contrary to my previous assumptions) 456 and AAIC were not developed concurrently (or if so, had very minimal overlap), and that the process of upscaling graphics, porting, and localization took them... about a year, maybe? So that takes time, even without taking into consideration how long it would take to come up with a new idea + write the script + the bulk of the programming that would have to be done that isn't considered with porting + probably way more than I can think of because again I do not work in the gaming industry.

There's also the question of why 456 and AAIC weren't developed concurrently. The calendar from 2020 shows that TGAA and AA7 were meant to be developed at least somewhat concurrently, and the staff from TGAA would eventually merge into working on AA7. Once again, we don't know what happened to the staff that were supposed to be working on AA7. It's possible pandemic complications meant they got shuffled onto other projects. It's possible the AA-related team is smaller now than it was in 2020, so they only have enough people to work on one project at a time. It's also possible that there's a team that was working on ports, and a team that was working on a new game, and now the "port team" is freed up to work on the "new game team".

Either way though, pretty much every interview with the staff for the 456 or AAI ports are all saying "look forward to the future of the series", which is definitely Corporate Speak, but unless they're bringing the ports of the Layton crossover (fingers crossed) that can only mean one thing. (AAI anime?) Plus, like I've discussed in this post, AA is having fantastic sales in general. They've seemingly either hired a new social media manager or changed the strategy so there is much more engagement on twitter. And AA is getting on bigger and bigger announcements - though AA trilogy ports were announced at TGS (at an AA-specific panel), TGAA duology ports were announced unceremoniously on twitter. Afterwards, 456 ports got announced at the Capcom Showcase during Summer Game Fest. And now AAI collection got announced at a Nintendo Direct, which I imagine is even more expensive, so the series must be going in a good direction for them to think that's worth it!

That's a lot of rambling for me to say I definitely think it's coming.

When are we going to see it though!!

Coming up in September is my eternal enemy Tokyo Game Show. Since AAI collection is being released at the beginning of September... it might be a bit too soon to announce a new game, but who knows. They might think it's profitable to ride the hype they're building now for AAI collection to announce a new game. Or they might let it sit for a while.

With AAIC getting announced at a Direct, I'm thinking they'll want to make AA7's announcement a) big and b) global. AA6 was announced in Famitsu, but the problem with that is that it's a mostly Japanese audience, and some interviews have been talking about how AA's global audience is particularly contributing to how big it is right now. So I'm expecting AA's next announcement to be at something major and something that will get attention from overseas audiences.

If they have been working on AA7 concurrently -- and honestly I do think there has at least been some progress on it since 2019 -- we could definitely see an announcement within the next year. I was also saying this in 2020, though, so don't take my word for it. There's been two year gaps between ports up until the AAI collection, and they seemed pretty proud about releasing 456 and AAI in the same year, so... maybe they'll want to keep it going and announce AA7 within the next year, especially if they'll have a longer announcement -> release period than they normally would for ports.

Potential candidates include:

Tokyo Game Show: As previously stated, it's very close to the AAIC release, so I don't think it's the best timing for it. I would not want my favorite AA game overshadowed by whatever the hell they're going to do with AA7. Likelihood: depends on how fast they want to follow up on the hype.

The Game Awards: is the next major gaming event, but that's already massive in terms of the type of games that get announced there, and it's expensive! Nintendo Direct is one thing since AA has always been a Nintendo-first series, but I don't think it's big enough to justify putting in a Game Awards ad. and I already have my clown wig on for persona 6 there. Likelihood: pretty low tbh

Next Year's Summer Game Fest-related Shows: I think this is the most likely, considering both the 456 collection and the AAI collection were announced around this time. For AA7 I'd say a Nintendo Direct to get lots of eyes on it, especially if AAIC sales pay off. Likelihood: pretty high!

Which leads me into my wildcard answer:

Switch 2 Announcement Stream: If Capcom decides to go in and make AA7 one of the first games for whatever the switch successor would be, it could be announced here. I regret to admit that I am a very bad gamer and only like two things, and therefore have not ever been present for one of these things to know how many games get announced as launch games for a new console, but, like, it's possible.

In the above scenario, I'm not necessarily saying that AA7 would be a Switch 2 exclusive - because I think that would be stupid after so much of the support they've gotten from the ports has been from playstation and steam - but I am definitely the kind of person who would buy a console for one video game. Shoutout to me buying a switch in part anticipating that aa7 would come out on it and that is not looking likely

Anyways, that's my speculation!! Reminder that this is mostly uninformed and that I have no knowledge of anything related to sales or marketing or video game development, and as a result of that, I have been wrong (aside from the one time I accurately predicted AAI ports as a joke) for four consecutive years.

[vroomvroomcircuit]

The World did not end

(A/N): 'ello and welcome to my first F1 fic. I'm quite new here (not to fanfic or tumblr, I mean F1), but I want to give back to the F1 community, since you all helped me out tons during a really rough period these last couple of months.

Pairing: Lando Norris x platonic!reader

Warnings: mentions eating food, death of a loved family member, grief, it sounds sad, but it's actually pretty sweet and hopeful (it's based on a tiktok trend), English is not my first language btw

Wordcount: .7k (she is a shorty)

Masterlist ______________

Finding Mclaren’s reserve driver crying in the cafeteria wasn’t what Lando expected to stumble upon, when I went to check out where the repeating music came from. It sounded like a sad song that could land a high spot on his next Spotify wrapped.

“Uhm, (Y/N), what’s wrong?” he asks gently as he approaches the table. After a startle she turns off her phone, which has been playing the music. Frantically, she wipes her tears. It still does nothing against the fact that she has been crying and that her blood shot eyes are very visible.

Lando shakes his head. When people think Oscar is an introverted person, she is the masterclass of introvertedness. Like, the last stage of a pokémon evolution. That’s why seeing (Y/N) cry in a semi public place like the cafeteria calls for concern.

“There has to be something. The food here is not that bad. I mean, I have the same reaction when I see fish being served, too. But today I felt like the meals were rather good. So do tell. What’s bothering you?”

First she shrugs, the twenty year old not being able to find her voice immediately. “The- the world didn’t end when I was 13.” The tears are coming back again, restricting her voice once again.

Lando gathers her into his arms. even though he doesn’t understand what is happening at all. Does that matter right now, though?

The girl needs another minute or two until she is composed enough to explain the reason behind her crying. “There is this Tiktok trend going viral right now. It’s about people saying what mundane things they are able to do, or-or which things they have achieved, and all that because the world did not end when they were a certain age. They mean they got through some heavy event in their life. And because they got through this, they are able to do said things or achieve this.”

He nods, understanding the bittersweet and hopeful outlook this kind of videos can bring. “And something heavy happened to you at 13?” He probes while trying to keep a cautious tone, not wanting to overstep any boundary he doesn’t see.

“My, you see, when I was 13, my grandmother died. This was the first time I felt real grief. I wished for the world to end, because nothingness would have felt better than this immense amount of grief. And this led me to thinking of how many times I wished for the world to end. Because there were important and life changing events approaching me so quickly. When the world ends, I wouldn’t have to go through them, right?

And suddenly I’m 18, writing my final exams in school and it felt like the biggest task in my life. it felt like make or break. But the world did not end. I was able to graduate.

Then I got into the drivers academy, I am training, studying, and meeting people. I’m doing everything and anything. Because the world did not end when I was 13.

And it didn’t end when I was 16, overwhelmed with studying for school. It also did not happen when I was 19 and put under contract to be a reserve driver for Mclaren.

The world never ended. I begged and cried for all of this to stop. To have peace. Because I thought that I would only feel at peace, when nothing happens anymore. And the world didn’t end and now I sit here with you, talking about a tiktok trend.”

Lando understands her train of thought and sentiment immediately. “You know, I’m happy it didn’t end. These past couple of months with you here were pretty fun. Even Oscar admits it! With that true little smile, not in that monotone tone of his. These interviews and the media stuff is much more fun with these silly remarks of yours. And you are an amazing human being. I’m really glad that your world did not end, because meeting you made mine better.”

(Y/N) laughs, the tears being gone and cheeks heating up at that confession. “I’m glad too. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to ravish my way through the mountain of pasta minutes before you came in.” They giggle, knowing they share similar food preferences and have the culinary plate of a four year old toddler.

And all that, because the world did not end.

[bluekidchaos]

toxic!mark hoffman x reader

this is ass btw

Pairings: Mark Hoffman x reader (no pronouns i think but envisioned as fem)

Warnings: 18+, manipulation, panic attacks, trauma, reader was in a saw game but no actual details are there, age gap (not actually mentioned but i envisioned it so in my head and i think it adds another spicy layer to the toxicness hihi), i guess kinda dub-con bc she’s only attracted to him bc trauma and manipulation so idk

Words: 1.5k

Can also be read on AO3!

Back to masterlist.

mark isn’t handling your case directly but he sees you at the station after you had won your game and he’s mesmerized as he sees you again

he approaches you and makes sure you are ok and don't need anything

when you’re at the hospital he visits you as much as possible, offering a shoulder to cry on and to listen when you talk about what happened (or anything really) 

he sneaks you non-hospital food and drinks and keeps you comfortable

when you get released he gives you his personal phone number and tells you to call or text whenever and he’ll respond as soon as you can

you’re a bit hesitant at first, i mean he’s already done so much for you and now he’s letting you bother him off the clock?

but he insists that it’s ok, the first text comes late that night, just a small thank you for everything

the next few calls and texts are few and far between but as he keeps reassuring you it's okay you feel comfortable calling him more, sometimes just to chat about random stuff

you’d consider him a friend at this point and you meet up a month later for coffee, you mention feeling paranoid in your apartment, it’s where you were taken after all and he tells you there's nothing to worry about but to call if anything happens

a night or so after the meet you call him in the middle of the night, he can tell you’ve been crying by your hoarse voice and the sniffles coming through the phone

“what’s wrong?” he fakes a tired voice. “i’m s-sorry, did i- did i wake you?” you almost sob out. “no, not at all, are you okay?” worry clear in his tone, “i can’t stay here, i keep seeing shadows move in every corner and i constantly feel like someones watching me.” you blurt it all out in one breath. 

mark tries his best not to let the smirk betray his voice, “alright, you’re alright. i..” he pauses “i might have a suggestion but please tell me if i'm crossing a boundary here.” he knows you won’t say no but he’s gotta keep up the act a bit longer

“please, anything, i don't know what to do anymore, i haven’t slept in days.” you sound so desperate for his help and he has to stop himself from groaning into the phone, “you can sleep at mine tonight, i’ll take the couch and then i’ll help you find a new place okay?” 

your heart misses a beat, and you wanna take the offer the second it leaves his lips but the thought of putting him on the couch in his own home stops you, “i can’t do that, i mean you shouldn’t have to do that”

“it’s fine, it won't be forever” he gives a little laugh that reassures you, “just until we find you a new place ok?”

you resing your hesitation, you’re too exhausted to argue “okay..thank you” mark smiles again, this time not caring as much if it's noticeable “alright, text me your address and i’ll come and pick you up right away, and pack a bag.” 

you hang up and text him the address and start packing as he said

mark already knows where you live of course but you don't need to know that, he waits in his car for the time it would have taken him to drive from his to you before stepping out of the car and going up to your door and pressing the buzzer, “i’ll be right down!” he hears you say through the door phone before it flashes green and he steps inside and waits for you

you come down the stairs fast, he can tell you haven’t slept in a while, the bags under your eyes the biggest indicator

he grabs the bag from you and escorts you to his car before driving the two of you to his place

it’s the first night you sleep through all the way, feeling safe as mark is just outside on the couch and you're surrounded by the smell of him and his things

the next morning you wake up by mark shuffling around in the room clearly trying to be quiet but he notices you stirring and goes still “shit, sorry i was trying not to wake you” you sit up and groggily rub your eyes, “what time is it?” he walks over to his dresser and grabs some sock out of it, you notice now he isn’t wearing a shirt, only some sleep short and you turn your gaze away, a bit flustered, “5.30 am, sorry i’m just getting ready for work. you should go back to sleep.” 

oh, work, right he has a life to live, now you feel extra stupid for taking his offer, depriving him of sleep when he has to get up and work, stupid. but it’s like he can tell what you’re thinking, “hey, you go back to sleep and stay here today alright? you can use my computer to look at apartments if you want.” you nod and lay down again, and you fall asleep before he’s out the door.

that evening when he walked through the door he was met with the most delicious smell as you greeted him from the kitchen, “i thought i’d at least make myself useful while im here so i made dinner” he walked over to the stove and to a deep breath, he probably hadn’t smelt anything this good in years. “wow, it smells really amazing, thank you, darling.”

the name made your stomach flutter, and you blushed at his praise, “oh it’s nothing"

the next 2 months consisted of you and mark living together, you cooked and cleaned while he was at work, making sure he always came home to a warm meal, he would go with you to look at apartments and give his advice and opinion when asked. you really appreciated it, he always knew when an area was unsafe or not and you seemed to be quite unlucky in your search as all the places you found were either in unsafe areas or unsafe apartments, you didn’t really understand that but you trusted marks opinion on your safety and if he didn’t deem it safe for you you didn’t take it. 

you and mark had also gotten closer during this time, he’d care for you through your nightmares and panic attacks, and he’d hold you while you cried yourself to sleep and stay all night in bed with you. you were so lucky to have mark, he really cared for you, he'd seen you at your worst but still cared. he’d kissed you one night while comforting you, it caught you off guard a bit but you craved his affection and touch. it was the first time you had sex. 

you tried your best to go out and be a part of society but it always felt like someone lurked in the shadows, ready to get you at any moment. sometimes you called mark in a panic bc it felt like someone was following you, 

he gladly came to get you every time, lamenting on about how you had to be careful and there were dangerous people out there, he would always bring up some case he was working on as examples, eventually you stopped trying to go out on your own

you had realised one night while looking at places together that you didn’t want to live without mark, couldn’t live without him, the thought alone made your chest squeeze and your breath heavy. he could tell you were having another panic attack and pulled you into his arms immediately soothing you, “hey, hey what’s wrong?” he pushed some hair behind your ear to get a better look at you.

your glazed and teary eyes find his and the look you give him makes him have to bite back a moan, he always loved seeing you like this, panicked, desperate for his comfort, only he could calm you down, “i can’t live without you, i don’t feel safe if you're not around, how am i supposed to be on my own, i need you there!” you practically wail at him in your hysteria, clinging to him like your life depended on it and to you it felt that way

mark only held you closer and ran his hands soothingly up and down your back, “shh, shh, it’ll be alright. you don’t have to move out if you don’t want to, i don’t mind having you here. i’d feel better with you near me too.”

“really?” you barely get the word out between sobs, “yeah, i mean we’re together anyways so moving together officially maybe isn’t that dumb. and it’s a dangerous world out there, how am i supposed to protect you if i'm not with you?”

you nodded in a haze, “thank you, thank you, i’m safe with you” you cried as you buried your face in his chest again and he continued stroking your back

you couldn’t see the smile on his face as he finally had you exactly where he wanted you

paranoid and afraid of the world around you, only trusting of him, your love

[roachymochi]

Shadow of the Erdtree has been out for a month now, and the discussion around it's main character has been quite heated to say the least. Here is an attempt to sort things out after a few more playthrough and a cool headed approach.

About Miquella's power : At least two of the NPC's in the DLC talk about the effect of Miquella's charm (I think it's Leda and Ansbach). It seems the extent of it's power is to make people coexist peacefully, who would have fought each other otherwise. It is important to note that everyone present seems to have their own reasons to follow Miquella, even after the charm has faded. They are not there against their will.

About Miquella's curse : Miquella's curse is eternal childhood. There has been complicated arguments about what this means exactly. Is he an adult stuck in a child's body? How smart or mature is he? What kind of politician was he? IMO all of these are missing the point by trying to give him an agenda he did not have. For all we know, Miquella was entirely and completely a child. With a child's worldview, and a child's motivation. Also like a child, he was unable to accomplish most of his lofty goals, since they all came apart as soon as they were confronted with the reality of the adult world.

About Mogh and Miquella : Miquella's power allowed him to make Tarnished be peaceful with each other. It probably wouldn't be has powerful on a demi-god wielding their own great rune. So Mogh definitely wasn't fully committed to the idea of being killed and seeing his corpse reused, and Miquella definitely did not approach him with a convoluted plan like a manipulative mastermind (since he is like 10 years old max). Also Mogh wants to kick-start a blood dynasty. One way or another he learn that Miquella's blood is so potent he can grow an Erdtree all by himself. Mogh comes to the conclusion that Miquella would make a greater sacrifice to the Formless Mother than any amount of Tarnished ever could. So he kidnap him. Miquella probably used all the extent of his power to be saved from Mogh. In a "why would you kill me i just want to be friend with everyone" kinda way. This somewhat works, But Mogh is to far gone to give up on his murder cult. So he does the whole consort thing to Miquella, wanting him to be his consort, sharing his bed, living in his blood (wtf?). Please remember again, that Miquella is litterally a child. Maybe he is smart for his age but Mogh is still a child groomer in this situation. After is encounter with Mogh and going to the Shadow Realm Miquella displays a lot of self hate and suicidal thoughts, more than ever before.

About Radahn and Miquella : I still struggle with this part but one thing is certain. Miquella's power pre-godhood where strong but not mind control. Shattering is great rune also broke the charm, and their is quite a lot how distance between where Miquella broke his rune and the divine gate. That can only mean that Radahn became Miquella's consort willingly on some level. Not only that, but he probably was Miquella's escort through a big part of his journey through the Shadow Realm. How else could Miquella go through Belurat and Enir-Ilim without any Hornsent attempting to stop him ?

About the battle of Aeonia : If Radahn was willing to become Miquella's consort, why did the battle of Aeonia happen ? This part is pretty confusing. However, we have some insight on the Shattering in the intro. The narrator say the demigods grew mad from the taint of their great rune or something like that. We know Radahn was beloved by his men, and showed care for his animals, but he always was a aspiring warlord. It is quite possible that the state we find him in, bloodthirsty and beastlike, is actually due to the corruption of his great rune, before the scarlet rot. In the art of his fight with Malenia, he is already grown to monstrous size and has a face that look corrupted.

Not the face of a healthy man.

In such circumstances, maybe Malenia was sent to bring him back to his senses, or maybe she was sent to make him "die a true death" so his spirit could be freed and brought back in a new body.

[starry-nights-garden]

✧ Ateez San x gn!reader ✧ words: ~800 ✧ genre: angst, comfort ✧ warnings: mentions of reader overworking themselves ✧ prompt: angry kisses

You stumble through the front door of your apartment on a late Friday evening, slipping out of your shoes in one swift motion, and then walking inside on quick feet. You barely notice San standing in the small kitchen space, awaiting you with a friendly smile. 

“Welcome home! I made us dinner,” he announces, about to carry some plates over to the small dining table, but you walk right past him, driven by the force that’s been tugging at your shoulders for weeks and that seems like it will crush them if you even so much as dare to stand still for a moment.

“I already ate, sorry,” you tell him over your shoulder, before disappearing in the next room, that you use as your office. The mental image of the sandwich you had earlier pops up in your mind, and you have to realize you can’t even remember what was in it. However, you shove that useless thought aside and sit down at the desk, starting up your laptop to continue working where you left off a few hours ago. 

You don’t notice San walking into the room with a concerned look on his face, until you hear him sigh right above your ear and he puts one of his hands onto the desk next to you.

“Don’t you want to take a little break?” He’s aware of how risky that question currently is, and you already feel anger starting to boil in the pits of your stomach just from hearing those words. Overwhelming emotions are certainly the last thing you need right now, as they keep you from concentrating on the more important matters at hand. Like this report you need to have finished by Monday, or the projects you still have to organize until the end of the month, or the important appointment next week that you mustn’t forget about. But you try to brush it off and shake your head, hoping he would just leave you alone and let you get some of your work done.

“I think you should,” San keeps insisting though.

“No,” you answer simply. “I should finish this report so I can start with my projects.” Another sigh escapes the guy next to you. 

“You’ve just been running from one schedule to the next, I’ve never seen you so stressed in my life,” your boyfriend argues. “I think you’d be able to work a lot better if you-”

“I’d be able to work a lot better if you stopped distracting me,” you state, your voice cold, and from the way he hesitates to keep talking you realize you must’ve hurt him with that statement. 

“Fine.” Eventually, he gives in, turns around, and then once he reaches the door he stops in his tracks. “No actually…” This time it’s you sighing in annoyance. You get up, and with the intention of throwing him out of the room, you approach him.

“Please lea-” Just when you’re about to ask him to leave you alone, he reaches out to grab your shoulders and he spins you around so your back meets the wall behind you somewhat ungently, and before you can realize what’s happening, his lips are already connected to yours. You too reach for him, tugging at his shirt once your fingers have grabbed the fabric, unsure if you want to tear him away from you or pull him closer. Your head for sure is still urging you to keep working, but your heart soars upon feeling him kiss you properly for the first time in ages. And so, eventually your hand finds its way up into his hair, pulling him as close as you can, and you deepen the burning kiss. Feelings rush through your body like flames. The blood in your veins is burning up, and among all emotions coursing through you, you can also feel pain and exhaustion, which you have kept locked away so well somewhere deep within for the past weeks.

Finally, you break apart, both breathless and still holding onto each other, panting as you’re trying to fill your lungs with air. San bumps his forehead against yours, and you shut your eyes for a second to just feel him close to you, when he starts talking again.

“Let’s spend tomorrow together,” he suggests, almost sounding desperate in his plea. “No work. Just the two of us.”

“But-” you hesitate. Your anger has faded, instead you feel helpless now, but he shushes you and puts his index finger over your lips.

“You need a break. And you know that too. So let’s rest for tomorrow, and then we take care of everything else, okay?”

[offorestsongs]

OC INTRODUCTION ❣ LYSANDER (ver. 2.0)

"Ah, good seeing you! I was just making soup. Do you want some? It's alright, I can share."

The infamous Ramshackle Prefect. Despite having a reputation of always being where the trouble is, he's actually a pretty calm, quiet person who usually stays out of action until he's pushed directly into it. Suffers from amnesia; his main drive is his intense desire to find new friends and family.

BASIC INFORMATION

full name 🌼 Lysander [last name redacted] nicknames 🌼 Prefect, Lys, Shrimpy/Krill, Monsieur Trickster -> Monsieur Fleur species 🌼 just the most normal human guy imaginable height 🌼 162 cm age 🌼 19 y/o birthday 🌼 [redacted] gender 🌼 trans male (he/him) sexuality 🌼 gay man hometown 🌼 normal human world (the UK specifically) dorm 🌼 Ramshackle class 🌼 1-A club 🌼 none (honorary Pop Music Club member; he doesn't have any musical talents, he's just here for the gossip) favorite subject 🌼 animal linguistics dominant hand 🌼 left talent 🌼cooking hobby 🌼 gardening, embroidery favorite food 🌼 mushroom soup least favorite food 🌼black coffee pet peeve 🌼people being in the kitchen when he's cooking

PERSONALITY

Usually standing on the sidelines and not speaking much unless spoken to, Lysander tends to get overlooked by others. If not, others may think him to be anti-social and unapproachable; his usual grave expression certainly doesn't help his case. However, it cannot be further from the truth.

Lysander is a kind-hearted person who deeply cares for others and is always willing to put their well-being above his own, often to a unhealthy degree. He hates being lonely and desperately wants to have friends, but his quite isolated upbringing didn't give him much of a chance to learn how to properly socialize with others. While he's not exactly shy, it's hard for him to make the first step. He's never quite sure how to approach other people or maintain relationships with them. The fact that he's not exactly a great conversationalist doesn't help him - he feels like he's never learned how to properly talk to people and so he second guesses his every word, worried that he had once again missed an important social cue, which he's prone to doing. In turn, he considers talking quite tiring and definitely prefers listening to others.

Famously bad at saying "no" to people, even when he knows he will regret the decision later; he's just too afraid that refusing to help others will make people hate him and he can't stand seeing his friends inconvenienced. Feels responsible for other people's problems, which probably stems from the fact that he was forced to care for his entire house ever since he was very young. Not that suddenly having to deal with a bunch of traumatised teenagers helps with that.

Really sensitive and emotional, a hopeless romantic at heart, and also, unfortunately, really prone to stress. In crisis situations, his usual response is freeze.

Not used to having much free time, he's always busing himself with something. If it's not cleaning Ramshackle then it's tending to his garden or helping his classmates with their homework or working shifts at the Mostro Lounge. No matter what it is, he simply cannot sit still. He's highly independent and while he does everything to help others, he hates getting help from anyone and tries to do everything by himself. Refusing help is about the only time he will firmly stand his ground and say no.

BACKSTORY

He would love to know as well! The past comes to him in flashes, often triggered by sensations related to the memory. What he had remembered so far doesn't particuraly make him want to go back.

He remembers living in a big, old house, not that different from Ramshackle. He remembers his bedroom, spending long, empty days there, looking out the window. He doesn't remember anything about his parents, just his grandma. She's a looming, dreaded presence in all of Lysander's memories. Any potential siblings or relatives - he doesn't remember anything about them either. Maybe he never had any.

But most imporatntly - he remembers the deep, overwhelming sense of loneliness that seemed to follow his every step.

RELATIONSHIPS

Grim: “He's a bit horrible sometimes, but he's my kitty! Ace says I enable him too much and maybe that's true, but honestly I don't know what I would do without him.”

Riddle: “Poor boy. He was quite horrible to me in the beginning, but…I don't really blame him. There's something about him that makes me almost relate to him, you know? I try to meet up with him for tea when I can. He's a quite good companion once you get to know him.”

Ace: “Honestly, I never thought I'd be friends with somebody like him. Not in a bad way! But he's just so bold and brazen, I wish I could be more like him… He won't stop calling me an old man though…”

Deuce: “He's just such a darling! I can see he's always trying his best, so I try to help him out with his studying when I can.”

Trey: “He’s a sweetheart! And he knows so much about baking! I didn’t have much time to indulge in making sweets before but he’s always willing to share some advice as long as I help him out in the kitchen, which is so nice.”

Cater: “Cater was actually one of the first friends I’ve made here. Don’t get me wrong, I love Ace and Deuce, but it’s nice to have somebody closer in age to converse with. And it can be confusing when I’m new at school while everyone seems to already know everyone, but he always knows all the rumors so I don’t feel lost with him.”

Leona: “He’s a bit scary but I know he has a good heart deep down. Not good enough to let me pet his ears though…”

Ruggie: “Sometimes I feel bad for him. It seems that life hasn’t been kind to him, and he’s always working so hard! Sometimes I cook too much so I can give the leftovers to him - it’s the best I can do.”

Jack: “He’s always so serious but he’s such a sweet boy. Sometimes I go to Spelldrive matches just to cheer him on, though I’m still not quite sure if I even understand how the sport works.”

Azul: “I know some people don’t trust him but he was always nice to me! When he saw that I’m struggling with money, he offered me a job, which I think is awfully nice of him. He pays me fairly and I think that’s all that matters.”

Jade: “He’s actually quite nice! He knows a lot about different flora and he’s always willing to talk about it, too. We don’t really spend much time together but I love listening to him when I can.”

Floyd: “I- I don’t want to be mean, but there’s just something about him that makes a shiver run down my spine. I prefer to not be alone with him if I can.”

Kalim: “What a darling! He’s always so sweet and nice to me, it’s a delight to be around him. I just wish he’d stop offering he’d share some of his family riches with me… I’m running out of ways to refuse, which is quite awkward.”

Jamil: “We’re not really close but I do respect him a great deal. I wish I could help him and Kalim somehow, but I guess some things are outside even my capabilities.”

Vil: “He’s really intimidating, I used to be a bit afraid of him. But he’s actually really sweet once you get to know him! He has helped me a lot with many things and I’ll forever be grateful to him. I think he’s one of my best friends, though I’m not sure if he thinks the same about me…”

Rook: “Oh- I- Well- Um. Yes. He’s quite nice, isn’t he? And he’s pretty… uh, a pretty good friend! Yes! We’ve been spending a lot of time together recently and- I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way I feel around him. Quite mortifying.”

Epel: “Ah, I do understand him a lot. I too often struggle with not feeling like I’m a man enough, as stupid as it is. I wish I could offer him some guidance, but I’m not really qualified for that.”

Idia: “I’m not really sure how I feel about him. We don’t really spend much time together and truth be told, I usually have no idea what he’s talking about. Cater said that’s because I touch too much grass, whatever that means.”

Ortho: “The sweetest boy! He’s always such a joy to be around, sometimes I wish I could steal him from Idia… Don’t tell him that!”

Malleus: “I know well how it is to not have any friends, so I’m always happy to offer him company. We seem to understand each other and he never expects me to talk a lot which is awfully sweet of him.”

Lilia: “He’s a bit eccentric and a bit intimidating, but I don’t mind him. In fact, I’ve often come to him for advice. He seems to know a lot about life for a student.”

Silver: “Like Malleus, he simply lets me sit in comfortable silence with him, which I really appreciate. I really hope we can be closer friends someday.” Sebek: “His dedication to Malleus is really admirable, but I do think this boy needs more friends. Not me, apparently. I don’t think he likes me much, even though I never get in his way.”

TRIVIA

the only other time he will say no to people is when they try to help him with cooking; he has a very particular way of doing things in the kitchen and hates when other mess up what he considers his most sacred space

a big animal lover, especially when it comes to cats - he'll try to pet every stray cat he sees on his way

he's very afraid of losing his memories again - because of that, he started keeping a journal where he writes down the important details of his new life. he carries it with him everywhere

he's autistic, though he was never officially diagnosed. his grandma was more the "vaccines cause autism" type than "take the child in your care to see a specialist"

almost always feels cold, which is why he's usually bundled in thick sweaters

doesn't like throwing things away, which means that Ramshackle is always full of usueless but sentimental trinkets

he's nearsighted. his eyesight is actually pretty bad - anything past the distance of his outstreched hand is a blurr to him

feels very insecure about his height and so he always wears shoes with heels

his hair magically magically turned pink after getting isekaied

tends to call people "darling" and "sweetheart" a lot

WRITING

headcanons; lysander fun facts! lilyarrow ship intro lilyarrow headcanons lilyarrow headcanons: phones orange peel theory

fics; stolen affections flirting tactics cat and mouse romantic secrets heart-shaped locket flirty prompts ask game 1 flirty prompts ask game 2

CARDS

SR Tsumsitter SR Tropical Wear SR Sleepwear [fan event] SR Music Weeks [fan event]

dividers.

[romione-trope-fest]

Something to Believe In

Fic Title: Something to Believe In

Author Name: voldemorts-tap-shoes/smjl

Selected Trope: Soulmates

Brief Summary: An unusual witness sparks a disagreement between Ron and Hermione about the existence of soulmates.

Word Count: 5286

Rating: M

Any Trigger Warnings: non graphic discussions of death and murder, mentions of suicide

***

Hermione hunches over the desk, her eyes skimming the familiar words for what feels like the thousandth time. Victim: Brendan Hughes. Found alone in his flat. Avada Kedavra. Nothing peculiar about the scene. No witnesses.

She can’t remember the last time she was this frustrated by a case. They’ve been working on this one for over a week with absolutely no forward progress. Any leads they had were exhausted as dead ends within forty-eight hours, so she’s sent Dean and Seamus out to do yet another canvas of the victim’s neighborhood, hoping to find something, anything they might have missed. Meanwhile, she’s back at the DMLE poring over the paltry case file, looking for any insignificant detail that may offer a clue as to what happened.

Ron returns from his coffee run and flops into his usual chair beside her. He sets two paper coffee cups on her desk, the smell of the hot beverages warring with his woodsy cologne over which is the more intoxicating scent. “Anything?”

Forgoing her usual no-caffeine-after-four-pm rule, Hermione takes a large sip of the coffee. If nothing else, letting the nutty aroma hit her nostrils might help distract her from her partner-in-crime-fighting.

“No, nothing,” Hermione replies with a sigh. She flips the case file shut and hands it to him. “Maybe you can work your magic on it. See if there’s a story in there somewhere.”

The pages flutter as Ron gives a perfunctory rifle through them. “I’ve tried. But this is seriously the most boring case ever. Even the bloke’s life was boring. Maybe he Avada’d himself just for something to do.” His blue eyes flicker up at Hermione, pursing her lips in thought, and he laughs. “You’re not really going to check his own wand, are you?”

“Well, it’s about the only thing we haven’t checked,” Hermione says defensively. “You never know.”

“Hopefully Dean and Seamus will turn something up.” Ron sets the file down and Hermione reaches for it again immediately, even though it won’t tell her anything she doesn’t already know. She scans the words again, willing them to make sense in her head. Ron, now idly twirling a quill around his fingers, seems to have abandoned all effort to do any work on the case—not that he actually works here in the first place. He’s generally more helpful than this, but they also generally have more to go on.

Hermione is about to surrender for the day as well, when the sound of heavy, booted footsteps alerts her to someone approaching her desk. “Detective Granger?”

She looks up to find one of the junior Aurors approaching her desk and does a quick glance at the shiny badge pinned to the younger man’s uniform. “Yes, Auror Casey? How can I help you?”

Casey motions to the far side of the room, where a witch about her age is waiting. She’s bundled up in a heavy coat and several scarves, though the weather is mild today, and dabbing at her red-rimmed eyes with a handkerchief. “I think you’ll need to talk to this woman.”

“Auror Casey,” Hermione starts, trying to temper the irritation in her tone. It’s not his fault that she isn’t making any progress on her case, but the interruption isn’t going to help. “They’re still teaching you how to take witness statements in the Academy, I presume?”

“Of course.” The young Auror straightens his spine as if to prove his merit. “But she, uh…she says she witnessed that murder you’re working on.”

Ron, who had been tipped back in his chair staring at the ceiling, sits up abruptly, and the legs of the desk chair make a resounding clatter against the tile floor. “That’s great news!” he exclaims. “I mean, not for her, of course, but you know.”

Hermione shoots him a brief but withering look before she turns back to Casey and lowers her voice. “None of our evidence suggests that there were any witnesses to the crime. Are you sure she’s credible?”

She’s never one to turn up her nose at a lead, but Hermione also has no patience for wasting DMLE resources on false claims. For a witness to suddenly come out of the woodwork, she can’t help but be suspicious.

“We haven’t released any details to the press,” Casey replies. “So if nothing else, she knew our victim.”

Hermione sighs but shifts her gaze back to the woman and offers a reassuring smile. It’s not like she has any other work to do on this case, anyway. “Could you set up Ms…?”

“Davis,” Casey supplies. “Lizzie Davis.”

“Set her up in interrogation, please. We’ll be there in a minute.”

While Auror Casey escorts their new witness into one of the interrogation rooms, Hermione gathers up her notes and some fresh parchment to prepare for questioning. When she turns to Ron to ask if he’s ready to go, the amused look on his face stops her short. “What?”

“This is the least excited I’ve ever seen you about a lead,” he teases. “What’s wrong?”

Ron knows her entirely too well. It’s a wonder she’s able to hide anything from him anymore. “I suppose this case has just brought out my inner pessimist.”

“Inner?” he snorts, and Hermione narrows her eyes at him..

“The whole thing has been one giant dead-end,” she huffs. “My gut is just telling me this will be more of the same.” Hermione shrugs and gets to her feet. “But let’s go find out.”

***

The conversation begins the same way Hermione always starts her witness interviews, with basic information about the person in front of her. But she only gets one question further—how do you know the victim, still an easy one—before she’s completely thrown. Her pen hovers over the parchment, halted from writing the answer as she stares back at the woman across the table. “I beg your pardon?”

“He’s my soulmate,” Lizzie repeats, but the words don’t make any more sense the second time.

“You mean you were involved with Mr. Hughes?” Hermione clarifies. “Romantically?”

Lizzie shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, we never met.”

Never met? How in Merlin’s name would this woman have any idea that their victim is her soulmate if they never even met? More importantly, how is she supposed to have witnessed his murder? Hermione sighs heavily. This is a waste of her time, just like she was afraid of. “Ms. Davis—”

Before she can get the words out to conclude the interview and offer her opinion on wasting law enforcement resources, Ron’s hand darts out under the table and squeezes her leg just above the knee, dumbfounding her into silence. The witness momentarily forgotten, Hermione turns her head to gape at Ron, but his attention is elsewhere.

“That’s terrible,” he says sympathetically to Lizzie, leaning forward to offer the woman a fresh handkerchief with his other hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“It is,” she agrees, taking the kerchief as a fresh round of sniffles surfaces. “Thank you.”

While Lizzie swipes at her teary eyes again, Ron looks pointedly at Hermione. Her shock at his unexpected touch has given way to indignation, and she merely quirks an eyebrow back at him. He’s on his own if he wants to play good cop to her bad cop.

Taking the hint—and finally removing his hand from her leg, leaving it cold—Ron turns back to their witness. “Had you been aware of your connection to Brendan for very long?”

“Brendan,” Lizzie sighs with longing, and Hermione forces herself to hold back an eye roll. “No, I don’t think I realized it until he was gone. But then I just knew.”

“You felt his absence?”

Lizzie nods, clutching a hand to her heart. Ron slides the parchment and pen out from underneath Hermione’s clenched fingers to jot down a note before continuing his questioning. He’s been with her—working with her, she corrects herself—long enough now to conduct a decent interrogation without her guidance, but it’s hard to consider it a worthwhile contribution to the case when the person they’re interviewing is clearly delusional.

“You told Auror Casey that you witnessed the murder,” Ron prods, bringing them back on topic. “Did you have plans to meet Brendan?”

“Meet?” Lizzie asks, puzzled, then repeats, “No, like I said, we never met.”

Ron shoots a questioning look at Hermione as he touches the corner of the case file. She gives him a brief nod in answer, prompting him to reveal, “He was killed in his flat.”

“Yes.” She seems neither surprised nor confused by this fact.

“So…you were there?”

“No. But I saw it.” Lizzie taps her temple with a slender finger.

It’s clear that despite Ron’s silent request to continue the interview, he’s struggling to make sense of what they’re being told. Hermione can practically hear him in her head as he turns to her again with a pleading look. A little help here?

Hermione smirks back at him. She’s your witness now.

Ron takes a deep breath and slides the parchment back to Hermione, who picks up the pen again, ready to take notes on the off chance that Lizzie says anything worth retaining. Ron folds his arms against the table, the muscles in his forearms belying a tension that isn’t evident in the patience of his tone. “Let’s start at the beginning,” he suggests softly to Lizzie. “Why don’t you take me through the last two weeks?”

They spend another half hour with Lizzie Davis despite the interview being filled with increasingly ridiculous claims, and Hermione is not at all sorry to see the lift doors close behind her. She finally lets her eyes roll skyward as she turns to head back to the office. “What an absurd waste of time,” she grumbles as they walk. “Hopefully Dean and Seamus had better luck.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron counters. “She told us who the killer is!”

Hermione stops and glares up at Ron. And here she was, thinking what a good job he had done with a very difficult witness. “You’re not serious.” Ron just blinks at her, and she folds her arms tight across her chest. “Mark Richards—whoever he is—is not a killer. And do you know how I know that? Because Lizzie Davis did not witness Brendan Hughes’s murder.”

Ron puts his hands on his hips, readying his stance for an argument. “Even if she just made up a name to give us, she knew how the victim was killed.”

“He was killed with a killing curse,” Hermione reminds him. “It’s not exactly an earth-shattering guess. And you said it yourself, this case is boring. The crime scene was boring. The details are boring. We could drag any person in here off the street, and they could tell us what happened with as much accuracy as Lizzie did.”

“But it’s not a story for her,” Ron insists. “She knew because they’re soulmates. She felt it.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, of all the ridiculous—there’s no such thing as soulmates.” Hermione starts walking again, in the opposite direction of the DMLE this time with her new target being the coffee cart in the Atrium. She’s going to be awake half the night at this rate, but she needs something stronger than tea to deal with Ron’s outlandish theories.

“No such—” Ron cuts himself off, looking flabbergasted as he follows her. “How can you say that?”

“Honestly, you’ve known me for how long now?” Hermione pauses to order her usual hazelnut coffee from the witch at the cart. “You can’t be shocked by this.”

“I can and I will be,” Ron replies indignantly. He orders a triple espresso, and Hermione shudders at the thought of all that caffeine. “You really don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Oh, come on, you know I don’t believe in Divination and all that rubbish,” she says. “And soulmates? The idea that there’s just one single person out there for everyone—that your match, the person you’re meant to spend your life with, has been predetermined for you—that doesn’t sound crazy?”

“I’m just saying, we’re surrounded by magic.” Ron gestures around them—at the fountain that flows without plumbing, at the interdepartmental memos fluttering past every which way, at the coffee pot that pours itself. “Soulmates is just as crazy an idea as anything else, isn’t it?”

“This from the man who I have seen roll his eyes on multiple occasions about Rose’s mum’s research,” Hermione points out. “So, sure, I’ll give you that one. Soulmates are at least as crazy an idea as the crumple-horned—what is it?”

“Snorkack.”

“Yes, that. And just as likely to exist.”

“So, not at all, you’re saying?”

“Correct.”

They take their drinks from the cart and start back toward the DMLE. “I’ll be the first to admit that Luna has some…interesting pursuits,” Ron concedes, and Hermione snickers. “But soulmates! It’s the magic of love! How can you not believe in that?”

“Okay, let’s say they are real,” Hermione ventures. She’s not sure why she’s even entertaining this argument other than to pass the time back to the Auror offices, though she always enjoys sparring with Ron. “Do you believe everybody has one?”

Ron shrugs. “Nah.”

“Really?” That surprises her. She’s not well-versed in the finer details of Soulmate theory, but the general concept seems to lend itself to a sort of universality. Why wouldn’t everyone have a soulmate if anyone had one? “Then what’s the point?”

“Okay, it’s like Seers. Our Divination professor at Hogwarts—fuck, you would’ve hated her—she made, like, three real prophecies in her life. Real ones—they’re downstairs if you want to go check.” Hermione rolls her eyes again but motions for him to continue. “But then, she was always predicting that Harry was going to die and shit, and obviously none of those ever came true.”

Hermione laughs at the absurdity of his explanation. “I’m sorry, are you trying to explain why soulmates are real by telling me what absolute nonsense Divination is?”

“Divination is only ninety percent nonsense. That’s the point.”

“It’s a terrible point.”

“Okay.” Ron stops and snags Hermione’s elbow, pulling her around to face him. “Where do you draw the line, then? Soulmates can’t be real, but your gut has magical properties?”

“My gut was right about that interview,” Hermione argues as she shakes out of Ron’s grasp and starts walking again. “It was absolutely a waste of time.”

“We don’t know that yet. You haven’t even looked up this Mark Richards character.”

“We don’t even know he exists. Honestly, it’s more likely that Ms. Davis is our killer and she told that story to throw us off.”

“So, killer comes out of hiding and waltzes into the DMLE without a care in the world to lie to the Aurors about a crime she committed?” Ron rolls his eyes as he holds open the department door for her. “And you say my theories are ridiculous.”

“They are, and I’ll stand by that assessment forever.”

Dean and Seamus are waiting back at the office, and they both look up as Ron and Hermione enter. “What are you two arguing about now?” Dean quips.

“Do you think soulmates are real?” Ron fires back in answer.

“No,” Seamus says immediately. “But if Romilda asks, I never said that. She’s into all that Witch Weekly mumbo-jumbo.”

“‘Witch Weekly mumbo-jumbo’,” Hermione echoes, her tone gloating as she looks at Ron. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Ron glares back at her but sits down at Hermione’s desk to face her two partners. “Did you two find anything on the canvas?”

“Yeah, actually.” Dean opens his notebook and Hermione is immediately at attention. “We met one of our victim’s neighbors—he wasn’t home the last time we went door-knocking, so we must have missed him. Anyway, Mr. Richards said that—”

“Wait,” Hermione interrupts. Ron looks positively delighted, and it makes her insides squirm. “What is the neighbor’s name?”

“Richards,” Dean repeats. “Mark Richards.”

Hermione’s head spins. What are the chances?

“Go ahead.” Ron pokes her in the ribs, grinning annoyingly at her. “Say it’s just a coincidence.”

“It’s a common name,” she retorts instead, and Ron snorts indignantly.

“And Lizzie Davis is just a lucky guesser, I suppose.”

Seamus raises his hand as if they’re in school, and the confusion on his face matches Dean’s. “Who’s Lizzie Davis?”

“Nobody,” Hermione says firmly as Ron answers, “Our victim’s soulmate.”

Dean’s eyebrows knit together as he slowly closes his notebook again. “Maybe you two should fill us in on your afternoon first,” he suggests.

Ron, still smirking triumphantly, motions for Hermione to answer. She heaves a sigh and explains, “A woman came into the office claiming to have witnessed the murder. She told us this whole silly story about how she and Brendan were soulmates but they never met, and she saw his murder in her mind because of their ‘ethereal reciprocity’.”

Dean and Seamus both erupt in laughter, and Ron’s face falls. “You, too?” he questions, then sighs dramatically. “I’m surrounded by skeptics.”

“Okay, wait, but how does Mark Richards fit in?” Dean asks once they calm down. “Does this woman know him or something?”

“She, um—” Hermione can hardly bring herself to admit it, but it is awfully odd that their supposed witness could have pulled the name out of thin air, common or not. “She seems to think he’s our killer.”

Despite the disbelief  among them, Dean and Seamus both adopt a more serious expression. “We’ll see what else we can find on him,” Dean says. “Just in case.”

“You said you talked to him today, though?” Hermione prompts. “What did you find out?”

“Apparently our victim had gotten himself into a bit of gambling trouble with our old friend Ludo,” Seamus explains. “He borrowed some Galleons from Mark to pay off his debt.”

“Let’s see if Harry will put in a word with Mr. Bagman. Maybe Ludo wasn’t the only person Brendan owed money to.” The detectives scatter at Hermione’s instructions, and Ron props his hand on his chin to look expectantly at her. “Oh, stop,” she scolds. “I’m sure the neighbor is just a coincidence.”

Ron chuckles. “Mm-hmm. Just because you can’t explain something—”

“Yet,” Hermione interrupts. “I can’t explain it yet. But there has to be a connection with Lizzie Davis.” Ron opens his mouth to speak again, but Hermione jumps ahead of him. “A real connection. One we can prove.”

“Who needs proof when it’s such a great story?”

“Well, that’s why you’re the novelist and I’m the detective.”

Hermione walks over to Dean’s desk and picks up his notebook to flip through his notes from the afternoon. Ron’s brow furrows as he thinks, turning more serious as he watches her read. “Money is always an odd motive to me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, how does our killer expect to recover the debt from a dead person?”

“Fair point. I’m sure I’ll regret asking, but do you have a different theory?”

“Mark Richards is not the killer, but he’s involved with Lizzie Davis. Or was. Things ended badly, and so she decides to frame him for her true love’s murder.”

Hermione frowns. “And the actual killer is…?”

Ron shrugs, unbothered by the absence of this detail. “I dunno.”

“Why is Lizzie still mad at Mark about their breakup if her soulmate is someone else?”

“I dunno.”

“A brilliant theory, as always,” Hermione quips, and Ron sticks his tongue out at her.

“Have you got a better idea?” he retorts, his tone teasing.

“Sadly, no.” She replaces Dean’s notebook and grabs her coat off the back of her chair. “And on that absurd note, I think it’s time to call it a day. See you tomorrow?”

“C’mon, a magical love triangle? Now that is a classic motive.” Ron grins at her. “Just think about it.”

Hermione rolls her eyes as she heads for the Floo. “Goodnight, Ron.”

***

Rather than go straight home, Hermione decides to stop at Flourish and Blott’s before picking up dinner. The bookstore has an extensive section on Divination but relatively few books about soulmates. It seems like even within one of the most speculative branches of magic, the concept isn’t widely accepted. The lack of available reading material on the subject puts Hermione’s mind at ease a little. She doesn’t deal well with the unknown. She’s good with facts and evidence. And if there isn’t any evidence to prove the existence of soulmates, then she’s bolstered in her distrust of Lizzie Davis.

But as much as she doesn’t want to believe the how, there’s no denying that Lizzie knows something about their victim and the murder. It’s impossible that she was there—by her own account, she was vacationing in Tuscany during the entire week of the murder, and the Portkey logs corroborated her whereabouts—so she must have learned of Brendan Hughes’s death by some other means. Possibly even from the killer.

She’ll have to see what else they can find out about their apparently lovestruck witness. Like she said to Ron earlier, there has to be a connection. And an explanation. One that doesn’t involve ridiculous notions of the farthest-flung outlying beliefs of magic.

Until she finds it, though, Hermione is stuck with the inexplicable. She’s never believed in any of this stuff, even before her mother’s death turned her into the frosty cynic that all her friends and coworkers know. It always sounded so ridiculous, like something out of a child’s fairytale or a terrible romantic comedy on the movie channel. Then again, she never would have believed that magic was real either, if she weren’t living it. Maybe Ron is right.

Hermione scoffs at herself. Her thoughts always seem to drift back to him; maybe there’s something to that. Hand-in-hand with the idea of soulmates is the concept of fate, destiny. She had been working in the Auror department with Harry, Ron’s best friend in the world, for nearly two years before the copycat murders forced their paths to cross. Harry could have introduced them any time, but they only met by chance. What was that if not fate?

Not that she and Ron are soulmates—or even some less fantastical version of it. They haven’t even—she can’t bring herself to admit that she has anything but friendly feelings for him, and even those were a very slow thaw from the frozen facade she gave him at first. Every once in a while, she thinks that maybe he’s grappling with the same internal conflict. But if he is, he’s never acted on it. And if he had feelings for her, why wouldn’t he? Act on it, that is.

He could have—and has had, according to Witch Weekly—any woman he wants, though his appearance in the gossip pages has decreased significantly since they started working together. If he wanted more than their current partnership, Hermione would know.

Maybe that’s the problem with her lackluster love life. Soulmates are real, and she just hasn’t met hers yet. The thought releases an audible chuckle, and Hermione slides the book back into place on the shelf. How ridiculous.

Filled with a renewed sense of determination after a good night’s sleep, Hermione arrives early to the DMLE the next morning, surprised to find the office quiet. It’s not unusual for her to be in before Dean and Seamus—and definitely before Ron—but she would have thought given everything that happened yesterday, they might have wanted to get a jump on things.

Maybe they’re already out in the field. The light is on in the Head Auror’s office, so Hermione makes her way across the room to say hello and check in. Harry has his head bent over a case file—hers, it appears—but he looks up as she enters. “Morning, Hermione,” Harry greets her. “I was just about to owl you.”

“Have we had news about the Hughes case?” she asks excitedly as she sits across from him. “Did you speak to Ludo?”

“I did, but the case is closed. So you can take the day off, if you want.”

“Closed?” Hermione blinks in surprise. “How?”

“Well, Mr. Hughes’s gambling debt was a problem, but only for him. Padma’s ruling it a suicide.”

“You’re kidding.” She almost forgot about Ron’s quip yesterday afternoon suggesting just that before they met Lizzie Davis. “But it wasn’t his wand that we found at the scene.”

“Not his Ministry-registered wand,” Harry concedes. “But Padma checked the spell signature against his wand. He’s definitely the one who cast the AK.”

Harry hands her the case file, with Padma’s forensic report on top. Hermione reads over the test results as Ron’s voice sounds from down the hall, carrying easily across the empty office.

“Okay, I thought about it all night, and I’ve got a new theory. There’s not a huge dragon population in Italy, but they could definitely be using Tuscany as a stopping point along a more prolific smuggling route. Lizzie Davis doesn’t necessarily strike me as the courier type, but I can owl Charlie if you want, and—what?” Ron appears in the doorway halfway through his diatribe but stops short as he takes in Harry’s raised eyebrows.

“Looks like your first theory was spot-on,” Hermione tells him as she hands the file back to Harry to finish. “It was a suicide, after all.”

“Oh.” Ron frowns. “But what about Lizzie? And Mark Richards?”

Hermione shrugs. “I guess their illicit love triangle will have to remain a mystery.”

“But—well, can’t you get her on making false statements or something? It’s so unsatisfying when a case ends without an arrest.”

“So you admit that she was lying about being Brendan’s soulmate?” Hermione teases.

“Not about that, but she obviously didn’t witness his murder if he wasn’t murdered.”

Harry smirks. “We could, yeah. Hermione, you’re the lead on this case. Do you want to press charges on Lizzie Davis?”

“If I never see that woman again, it will be too soon.” Hermione rolls her eyes and brushes past Ron to leave the office. “Come on,” she says, tugging at his sleeve. “We can drown your disappointment in a plate of bacon and eggs.”

“Oh, now that’s not fair,” Ron complains, though he follows her without hesitation. “You know I can’t turn down breakfast.”

Once they’re settled in the Muggle diner across the street and Ron has ordered half the menu, the conversation naturally turns back to their now-closed case. “This one is going to haunt me, I just know it,” Ron says dramatically. “Lizzie Davis accused someone of murder. I feel like that deserves a little more digging. Even if there wasn’t actually a murder.”

“Do you really want me to press charges on her?” Hermione asks as she sips at her tea. “With everything she said, I’m inclined to believe she’s less a criminal mastermind and more so just mentally unstable.”

“Because you’d have to be mentally unstable to believe in soulmates?” Ron challenges.

“To be fair, I’ve known you were crazy since the day I met you, so your belief in soulmates doesn’t really move the needle.”

Ron smirks at her, and Hermione is hit with a feeling of deja vu. She likes to think she’s gotten to know Ron fairly well over the past two years, but the look he’s giving her reminds her of the early days of their partnership when he was always three steps ahead of her, and his next words confirm it. “I never said I believe in soulmates.”

“You—yes, you did.” As Hermione plays back their conversation from yesterday, though, she can’t pinpoint where he actually said it. He challenged her beliefs, and argued on behalf of Lizzie Davis’s, but not once did he admit to his own. Ron doesn’t even bother to contradict her now, just waits while she comes to the conclusion on her own. “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“No.” Ron shrugs and reaches for the little bin of sugar packets, pulling out a handful and dumping them all into his coffee without even tasting it first.

“Then why were you arguing with me so much yesterday?” She knows the answer, of course: it’s just what they do. Finding out that they share this non-belief, though, has her more confused than ever.

“You’ve known me for how long now?” Ron shoots back, echoing Hermione’s question from yesterday. The rhythmic clinking of the spoon against the ceramic coffee mug as Ron stirs in his sugar makes Hermione grit her teeth in annoyance, but he misunderstands the gesture. “You’re not seriously mad at me, are you?” Hermione reaches across the table to still his hand, and he flashes her a sheepish grin as he sets the spoon aside. “Sorry.”

“So all the things you said yesterday—about Divination, and the ‘magic of love’, and crumple-horned snorkacks—you were just messing with me?”

“Not all of it. I believe in love.”

A snort escapes Hermione’s lips. “Has that line ever actually worked?”

“It’s not a line.”

As Ron lifts the coffee mug to his lips, Hermione searches his face for any sign that he’s once again taking the mickey, but finds none. Two years ago, when she met the presumed playboy seated across from her, she might not have believed that statement. But despite the—relatively few, compared to his reputation—women that have flitted briefly in and out of his life in that timeframe, Hermione doesn’t think she’s ever seen Ron Weasley in love.

Taking advantage of Hermione’s silence, he continues, “It’s all around you if you know where to look.” Ron tilts his head toward the counter, and Hermione turns just in time to see the waitress tuck an engagement ring back into the pocket of her apron with a fond expression before ducking back into the kitchen. At the end of the counter, an elderly couple are sharing a plate of pancakes, and Hermione smiles at them before turning back to Ron.

“There’s nothing magical about that, though.”

Ron chuckles. “If you don’t think so, you’ve never been in love.”

She hasn’t, but she’s not going to tell him that. She’s definitely not going to tell him how close she’s coming to falling in love now. “Have you?” she deflects, then immediately regrets it. She’s never given much scrutiny to Ron’s romantic pursuits, and she’s not sure how close she can get without getting burned. This current conversation feels dangerously close to the flames.

He lifts his coffee mug to his lips again, obscuring his expression so that all she can see are his intense blue irises over the rim. “Once.” He doesn’t offer any further details, and she doesn’t press. When he lowers the mug back to the table, he rotates it slowly between his hands, and Hermione finds herself entranced by the motion. “You have to at least believe in it, though, don’t you?” Ron asks, both of them staring at the dark brown liquid.

Her internal monologue from the bookstore last night floats back through her mind, mixing in with the present discussion. “In theory, I suppose.”

Ron laughs, breaking the tension of the moment. “‘In theory’,” he repeats teasingly, “listen to you.” The waitress reappears then and sets several steaming plates between them, but other than sliding a plate of toast to sit in front of Hermione, Ron ignores the food for a moment. “You know you can’t prove everything, Hermione,” he says, more serious than perhaps she’s ever seen him. “Soulmates aside, don’t you ever just feel like something is right?”

This. Us. You.

“Sometimes,” she says instead. “But I don’t always trust it.”

“You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Trust yourself.” Ron tucks into his breakfast and then shoots her a wink across the table. “And believe in a little bit of magic.”

[trensu]

okay, so it turns out that the hawkins halfway house fic is going to have six chapters, actually. i'm not gonna post anything on ao3 until i have the final chapter done. i'm currently working on that sixth chapter, but here's the rest of chapter five in the meantime.

Continued from here

-

The man chuckled goodnaturedly. “Didn’t say you were. What’s your name, son?”

“Steve,” he replied. The man chuckled again.

“Thought so,” the man said. At Steve’s questioning gaze, he shrugged nonchalantly. “You look like a Steve. I’m Wayne. Why don’t you come inside? The kids made a batch of lemonade earlier today and there’s a phone you can use to call a tow.”

Which was how Steve found himself seated at a dining table that seemed too large to fit in the room even though he and Wayne were clearly able to move around the place without crowding one another. Maybe the table looked bigger than it was because of the multiple frosty pitchers of various sizes haphazardly lined up on it. Each one seemed almost dangerously full. Steve was sure one unexpected bump would turn them into a river of lemonade.

“That’s…a lot of lemonade,” Steve commented.

“A couple of the kids’ friends are visiting,” Wayne said. “We don’t see them very often. One of them learned a new trick to keep things cold. He was only going to do one pitcher, of course, but you know how kids are. Everyone wanted to make their own lemonade and told Will he had to do it again for each one.”

Wayne used a potholder to grab the handle of the nearest pitcher of lemonade. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d say the pitcher was coated by ice half an inch thick. Obviously the pitcher had to be made of fancy decorative glass like the kind his mother would’ve bought. Wayne poured two glasses of lemonade, handing one to Steve which he took gratefully. Wayne eased himself into one of the chairs. Steve joined him. He drank half the glass before asking.

“So where are the grandkids you’ve been chasing? The house seems pretty quiet for that many children,” Steve nodded at the series of pitchers.

“They’re not my grandkids. I’m not as lucky as all that,” Wayne said. “I’m just here to lend a hand where I can.”

“A volunteer? Is this like a daycare?” Steve asked, trying not to seem too eager. This could be something. It wouldn’t be parenthood, but maybe he could volunteer to help kids in some small way. He’ll have to look into that later. Robin would help him find something, he’s positive.

“...you could say that, I suppose. As for your other question, they’re all out back, probably in the woods burning off energy with some of the grown-ups supervising.”

“Well, I’ll try to be out of your hair before they come back,” Steve stood, taking both of their glasses to the sink and rinsing them out. He waved Wayne away when he protested about guests doing chores. “If you could tell me where your phone is to call a tow truck, you don’t have to get up.” 

“Son, I don’t need no mollycoddling,” Wayne said gruffly. Steve flushed.

“No, that’s not–I didn’t mean–” Except he did. Wayne had been out in the heat and sun with him for who knows how long, risking heat exhaustion for a total stranger. It was also evident in the way he moved that he had some joint pain, particularly in the knees. Steve sighed. “Heat exhaustion is no joke. I used to be a lifeguard, it can get pretty bad for, uh, people of your age group.”

“You’re as bad as my boy, I can already tell,” Wayne said. “Thank god Eddie’s out there with the kids or he’d give me a talking to, as if he had a leg to stand on. I’m able to get around just fine without anyone’s hovering.”

“Uncle Wayne,” a soft solemn voice interrupted. Steve jumped when he saw a kid at the dining room entrance. He hadn’t heard anyone approaching.

“Jesus,” Steve muttered to himself. “Pay attention, Steve.”

The kid had shorn dark hair and big eyes. They wore a dress that looked like it’d been owned by at least two kids previously, and a pair of old light-up sneakers. They held a cane in their hands.

“Well, hey there, little miss,” Wayne greeted jovially. “Do you need anything, El?”

“You forgot your cane,” El said each word carefully. She walked up to Wayne, leaned the cane against the dining table, and held his large hand in her two small ones, as if to reassure him. “Let Steve help. He is nice. Dustin said so.”

El must have him confused with some other Steve she knew, but damn if that wasn’t the cutest thing he’d ever seen. By the way Wayne smiled at her, he seemed to agree. He heaved a big sigh, as if relenting was a big favor he was granting her, and accepted the cane.

“Fine, fine, but only because a sweet young lady asked me, too,” he said. El grinned which lit up her previously somber face. “Why aren’t you outside with the others?”

“Too much sun,” she said. “Hurts.”

Steve could sympathize. Too much sunlight sometimes triggered migraines that would knock him down for an entire day, or more if he was unlucky. El looked a bit putout she wasn’t outside with the others.

"Sometimes, it’s better to stay inside when it’s like this. There’s always something fun to do indoors, too," Steve said.

“There sure is,” Wayne agreed. “Weren’t you practicing your braiding? Why don’t you bring your doll over, and you can show us how to do it.”

While El went to find her toy, Wayne showed Steve where they kept the phone. However, they were having some difficulty getting a call to actually connect. Steve tried the number for the towing company, the bookstore he and Robin worked at, and his own home phone to no avail. After the third attempted call ended with Steve nearly slamming the phone into its base, Wayne picked up the phone and listened to it for a moment before dialing a number. After a bit, he hung up the phone much more gently than Steve had.

“House is acting strange. I’ll ask Eddie to look into that. Or maybe Jeff. I think it likes him better, but don’t tell Eddie that,” Wayne said. “I can give you a ride home if you need it, once everyone’s back.”

“Thanks, Wayne,” Steve said with a rundown sigh. “I might have to take you up on that.”

By then, El had returned with a couple of long haired dolls. Once the three of them had settled in the spacious living room, El handed Steve one of the dolls.

“Uncle Wayne knows how, but it hurts his hands,” El explained why she only brought two instead of three dolls. Wayne grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘didn’t raise no narc.’ Steve suppressed a smile and tried to match El’s seriousness. “It is important to know how. I can show you.”

When Steve Harrington was in high school, he not only had the title of king, but had also gotten dubbed ‘The Hair.’ Steve earned that nickname for a reason. He had hair care down to an art. One of his favorite things to do with his various ex-girlfriends was helping them with their hair. All that to say, Steve knew how to braid hair. Steve knew how to braid hair in multiple different ways. 

There was not enough money in the world to get him to tell that to the little girl very patiently instructing him at that very moment. In fact, he made sure to fumble a couple of times so that El had the opportunity to correct him. She patiently did, each time, until Steve finished a braid to her satisfaction.

“You did it,” she beamed at him when they had accomplished a single braid.

“I had a fantastic teacher,” Steve nudged her, making her giggle. “Are you going to grow out your hair so you can have braids, too?”

“I do not know. Can hair do other things?” El asked. 

Steve reminded himself he was speaking to a child and should not go on with his detailed hair care lecture that Robin constantly made fun of him for; though, Steve liked to point out, it never stopped Robin from following his instructions. Steve claimed all the credit for her excellent hair, regardless of Robin’s indignant protests.

“Well, it depends on what kind of hair you have. Do you have straight hair or curly hair?” Steve asked.

“I have not decided yet.”

“I’m not sure that’s something you can decide, honey,” Steve said gently. 

“I can,” El replied simply. “Which is better?”

“Both kinds are good in their own way,” Steve said. “But I like curly hair. Curls are cool.”

“Curls are…cool?” El paused in thought and nodded to herself. “Yes. Dustin and Eddie have curly hair. I think they are cool.”

“I don’t think I’ve met them, but yeah, their curls are probably very cool.” 

El’s brows furrowed in concentration for a moment. Her short hair started to grow, as quick as a videotape on fast-foward, into dark ringlets. They continued to grow until they reached past her chin. She pulled one of them in front of her face, studying it, and letting it spring back in place. She looked up at Steve with a shy but proud smile.

“Curls are cool,” she said.

“Um.” Steve’s brain stuttered. He looked over to Wayne, who sat there watching them placidly as if nothing had happened. “Y-Yeah. Like that. Cool, very cool.”

“Did I do it wrong?” El said, curling in on herself as she took in Steve’s no doubt panicked expression. “Human hair is supposed to grow. Jeff told me.”

“That’s right,” Wayne said gently. “It grows like that but a lot slower. I’m sure Steve can explain. How often do you get your hair cut?”

“Uh,” Steve swallowed, trying to ignore his jangling nerves in the face of Wayne’s calm demeanor. “Um. Every–every few weeks. But, uh, R-Robin, my friend, likes hers longer and goes once a year, I-I think.”

“A year is a very long time,” El said quietly. She had shrunken her posture even smaller, eyeing Steve apologetically. “I am sorry I scared you. I did not mean to.”

She sounded so guilty and nervous, it sent a pang through Steve’s heart. She was a little girl who had been nothing but sweet the entire visit and Steve was freaking out over…what? Fast growing hair? Ridiculous.

“It’s alright,” Steve said, forcing more confidence into his voice than he felt. “I’m the one that reacted badly, so I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better.”

Out of the corner of his eye, a tension he hadn’t even noticed loosened from Wayne’s shoulders. Wayne’s grip on his cane relaxed, too. It struck Steve that if he had reacted aggressively, he had no doubt that Wayne would’ve put a stop to it one way or another.

“It’s okay. I understand,” El said, patting his arm as if she’d seen someone do it once but hadn’t had the chance to try it herself. Delicately but with intent. “Mike says humans are…scaredy-cats. That means you get scared easy.” She paused and her brow furrowed. “I do not know why there are cats. You do not look like a cat.”

At El’s earnest confusion, all of Steve’s pent up nerves and fear popped like a balloon into a fit of giggles that were only slightly off kilter. El let out a few shy giggles, too, and the last of the tension left Wayne as he relaxed back into his armchair completely.

“I really don’t,” Steve agreed. “But I like cats a lot.”

El lit up.

“Dustin is sometimes a cat!” she told him excitedly. She cupped her hands as if holding something little. “He is a very small cat.”

Yeah, Steve thought, sure. Why not have a boy turn into a cat with a girl who could fast-forward hair growth? Steve planned to get himself a drink later tonight. He thought he handled this pretty well, all things considered. He deserved a reward.

–

The three of them were playing the tamest game of Uno Steve had ever played in his life when he heard shouting. Wayne sighed a long-suffering sigh that was belied by a fond grin.

"Here comes trouble," Wayne said. El giggled in response. Steve took the opportunity to put down a draw four card for Wayne. Wayne took notice and scowled at Steve. Steve gave him his best innocent look but the effect was ruined by the sound of the front door slamming open.

"HOUSE!" a man shouted. "What the hell? Are you proud of yourself? Are you pleased? You made small children walk for an extra hour out in the blazing sun!"

The shouting was accompanied by stomping footsteps and exaggerated huffing and puffing. Laughter rang all the way through to the living room as children reacted to the dramatics. El brightened at the sound and quickly abandoned the card game to run to the foyer. The loud man seemed to take the kids’ laughter as encouragement. 

"More importantly, you made me walk an extra hour, House! These boots were not made for walking. Hey, El! Do these boots look like they’re for walking?"

“No,” El laughed.

"Maybe you should've worn tennis shoes instead, like I told you," a woman's voice pitched in.

"Don't know what you’re whining about," another man added. "I'm the one who had to carry Erica for, like, ten blocks."

"Hey, this is not my fault! None of this would've happened if House hadn't decided to move somewhere else without bringing us along!" the first man protested.

“I’m telling Nancy you got us lost,” a boy said petulantly.

“Not if you ever want to hang out with us again you won’t,” grumbled the first man in response. Then he called out, “Uncle Wayne, you in here?”

“Living room,” Wayne called back as he drew four cards to continue their game of Uno, despite the disappearance of their third player.

“Uncle Wayne!” a chorus of children’s voices rang. Soon, a horde of kids tumbled into the room.

A white boy with curly hair and a black boy both cried out excitedly when they saw who was in the living room. “Steve!”

Steve blinked in surprise. How did these kids recognize him? Had they seen him working in the bookstore? Steve was pretty sure he hadn’t seen either of them in the store before. 

The two other boys with them didn’t recognize him. They were both frighteningly pale, though in slightly different ways. The kid with the bowl-cut carried a blue tint in the skin around his lips, eyes, and fingertips in a way that made Steve shiver with a sudden chill. The other boy’s skin held a gray pallor that reminded Steve uncomfortably of corpses.

“This is Steve?” the boy with the blue-tinted skin asked curiously.

“This is Steve?” the gray boy echoed in a much more unimpressed tone.

“Steve?” Steve heard coming from the hallway. It sounded like the shouting man.

“Shit,” the curly haired boy said. The other boy shoved him.

“Way to go, doofus,” he said with a scowl.

“Hey! You said his name, too!”

“Yeah, said. Not shouted.”

“We said it at the same volume!”

“No we didn’t!”

“Have we met?” Steve tried to interrupt the bickering. His question went unheard under the boys’ loud voices. 

Before he could ask again, a man entered the living room and Steve’s mouth went dry at the sight of him. He was gorgeous. Rangy but firm, with a headful of dark curls that made Steve think of swirling schools of fish. His eyes were big and dark like seabeds. He wore a black sleeveless shirt with some sort of band logo on it. It was worn thin, and damp with sweat. The man glared at him like he wanted to flay him alive.

“You,” the man hissed. 

“Eddie,” Wayne said. Eddie whipped his gaze to where Wayne sat, unconcerned, in the armchair.

“Is that his car outside?” Eddie asked shortly. “How is he here?”

“Ed, calm down,” Wayne said.

“He shouldn’t be here,” Eddie growled. 

“I think he should,” Wayne said with a calm shrug. 

“Me, too!” the curly haired boy piped up.

“Children’s opinions do not count in this conversation,” Eddie snapped. “All of you, get to your rooms. Chrissy–”

“She took the girls upstairs the second you started your hissy fit,” a handsome man interrupted as he joined them in the living room. Steve vaguely recognized him from the bar he and Robin stumbled across months ago. Jeff, maybe? The word Jeffathan popped up in his mind, which was absurd. 

“Take that back, Jeffiam. I do not throw hissy fits,” Eddie said in a tone that Steve personally thought verged hissy fit territory. He chose not to offer up that particular thought to the conversation happening around him. Also, Jeffiam? What on earth? Jeff rolled his eyes.

“Sure,” Jeff said in a way that clearly stated disagreement. “C’mon, boys. We’ll let Eddy and Uncle Wayne figure things out with Steve.”

A series of loud complaints rose up. It almost distracted Steve from how odd Eddie’s name sounded when Jeff said it.

“You guys can stay up an extra hour past bedtime if you come along without fighting,” Jeff said.

The gray boy whooped and ran off the moment the words left Jeff’s lips, with the blue boy close at his heels. The two boys that recognized Steve shot him apologetic looks but chased after their friends with no other complaints. Jeff gave Eddie a stern look. 

“Think this through before doing anything, Eddy,” Jeff said, before turning on his heel and leaving.

That left only Steve, Eddie, and Wayne in the living room that was almost painfully quiet now that El and the other children were gone. Wayne looked as peaceable as ever, but Eddie more than made up for it with the glare that had not let up since he saw Steve. 

Steve had questions. A lot of questions. He couldn’t even begin to articulate his questions. His car broke down though there wasn’t anything wrong with it; the phone in the house wouldn’t connect his calls; a little girl grew her hair at will; there was possibly a child who could transform into a small cat; an entire building seemingly relocated without anyone noticing; and somehow, despite the impossibility of those things, all of it felt almost familiar.

“What is going on?”

“Why are you here?”

Steve and Eddie spoke simultaneously, though Steve’s words came out incredulous and Eddie’s were angry as hell. Wayne watched them both warily. He didn’t interject.

“I didn't come here on purpose,” Steve said defensively. He didn’t owe this man any explanation, he thought irritably, but Wayne had been so kind to him the whole time. Steve didn’t want to pick a fight with his nephew. “I was going grocery shopping and my car broke down. Your uncle was nice enough to let me use the phone but it didn’t work, otherwise I would’ve been long gone.”

“The phone works fine,” Eddie sniffed. “House just doesn’t like you.”

Wayne snorted.

“The problem is the other way around and you’re being too stubborn to see it, Ed. His car worked fine when I was behind the wheel.”

“You got into the car with him?” Eddie asked, aghast. “Uncle Wayne, stranger danger!”

“I am not a child, Eddie.” Wayne rolled his eyes, which seemed to happen a lot around Eddie. Steve thought about how Wayne had gripped his cane in that tense moment after El’s hair trick, and the way he had eyed him during it.

“I’m pretty sure he can take care of himself,” Steve muttered. Eddie puffed up like an angry cat, indignant at the comment.

“Nobody asked you,” Eddie snapped.

“Alright, what the f–” Steve paused, remembering there were children in the house, and course-corrected. “What the heck is your problem with me, man? You’re acting like I insulted your mother or something, but I’d remember you if we’d met before and we haven’t.”

Even as he said that, Steve couldn’t be sure that was true. A sense of familiarity lingered doggedly at the edges of his mind. Eddie’s beauty was breathtaking but it didn’t feel new. 

“Don’t take it personally, Steve,” Eddie sneered. “I don’t like any humans.”

Wayne coughed.

“You don’t count, Uncle Wayne, you’re a god amongst men,” Eddie said without missing a beat. For a brief moment, Wayne smiled crookedly at his nephew.

“You’re not human?” Steve asked, looking Eddie over more closely. He didn’t look inhuman. Then again, neither did El and she proved she wasn’t human pretty easily.

“Nope!” Eddie said with a mean sort of cheeriness. “But it doesn’t matter because you won’t remember any of this.”

Eddie started to hum a tune that muffled Steve’s mind. It was a beautiful song coming from the beautiful man, and Steve wanted to give him anything, everything, he wanted.

“Steve,” Eddie said his name like a song. “I want you to for–”

“Eddie Munson, that’s enough,” Wayne’s sharp tone cut through the hum in Eddie’s words.

The enchanting tune stopped abruptly. The absence left Steve reeling, like his mind was not fully connected to his body. He didn’t like it. Steve couldn’t tell if he wanted the song back or to never hear it again.

“This man has done nothing but be sweet to the kids,” Wayne said. “How many times has he shown up now?”

“It doesn’t mat–”

“Yes it does and you know it,” Wayne interrupted. “Twice with Jeff’s card and this is the second time House moved to find him.”

“But–”

“Dustin went missing for days looking for him, Eddie. You’re being stubborn and that put Dustin in more danger than Steve has so far.”

Eddie’s mouth audibly snapped shut at that declaration.  Eddie jerked back as if struck. A broken musical sound escaped his throat unthinkingly, and it sent a lance of pain through Steve’s heart. Steve wanted to do something to erase that pain from Eddie’s face, but his mind still hadn’t quite gathered itself. His tongue felt heavy and clumsy in his mouth.

“I understand why, Eddie. You’re not wrong to be cautious,” Wayne said. “But what was the point of getting House if you’re not going to trust it?”

Eddie blinked rapidly, eyes red-rimmed. He didn’t look at Wayne. Eddie’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. Then his shamed expression shifted into one of steely resolution. He stalked towards Steve. It would’ve been frightening if Steve had had his wits about him. Cool hands cupped Steve’s face and all he could see was deep, dark eyes he wanted to drown in.

“I don’t know how long it’ll take House to find you again,” Eddie said, and the music in his words was gentler than before. It kept Steve’s mind calm. “But I need you to leave.”

“Eddie,” Wayne said. 

The song strengthened to override the interruption. Steve wanted to kiss Eddie. He’d do anything Eddie asked for a kiss.

“Steve, will you be a good boy for me?” Eddie asked.

“Yes,” Steve gasped. He wanted to be so good for Eddie.

“Today is going to feel like a dream,” Eddie said.

“Nice dream,” Steve murmured hazily. A flicker of a smile from Eddie made his stomach swoop pleasantly.

“Yeah, a nice dream,” Eddie said. “You have to leave me now, but I’m going to miss you so much, Steve.”

Steve whimpered. He didn’t want to leave if it would hurt Eddie. He tried to lean forward, to press his forehead against Eddie’s and promise him his life if it would make that smile come back. Eddie's cool hands held him firmly in place.

“Listen to me. I’ll be so sad with you gone, so you’ll come back to me, won’t you? Come back to me in two days, Stevie. Promise me?”

“Promise,” Steve mumbled. “Two days. I’ll come back. I will.”

“I know you will. Now, go and I’ll be ready when you come back to me.”

–

The next thing Steve knew, he was in the parking lot of the grocery store and it was much later in the day than Steve had originally planned. As frustrating as the car trouble had been, Steve couldn’t regret the loss of time. Wayne was such a nice guy to have helped him fix his car and his nephew was gorgeous. His good old Harrington charm still worked like a dream because he got an invitation to visit again in a couple of days. He could scope out the nephew and see if there was maybe a chance for some romance in his future. 

He might as well try, since he had no luck in the adoption front yet. Though, he thought they mentioned something about running a daycare? There may have been some kids running around at some point during the car repairs. Maybe he could volunteer to help out Wayne with the kids. It wouldn’t be the same as fatherhood, but it would be something. 

Steve grinned as he got out of his car and headed into the grocery store. He couldn’t wait to tell Robin. Things were starting to look up!

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