#there are times where I hear someone say fallout and I have to desperately try not to quote this

[menlove]

i saw on some of your posts that you say you aren’t an india truther, out of curiosity what do you think caused john and paul to have a fallout? do you think the resentment was more gradual and happened over 68-69? im sorry if you’ve answered this before but i love hearing about people’s theories of what happened in india and the aftermath.

sorry I totally forgot to answer this but for me.... hm. tossing under a readmore bc it got long oops

I think it was more gradual. like the way they act w each other in the get back sessions & just in general speaks more to something more unspoken happening than some big dramatic break up or rejection, at least to me. esp given how john & yoko lived with paul for a while in the summer of 68 (and talk about the world's worst throuple)

I wouldn't say I don't think Anything happened in india, but imo it seems more like.... I saw someone talking about how up until that point they were all on a lot of drugs & india was them getting off them for a minute & they sort of looked around and went "what the fuck are we doing? do I even know these people?" and that rings the most true to me I think.

some of the bigger reasons I have my doubts abt india being some huge thing where they fucked for the first time and paul rejected john are a) they still got along after that. things were weird but not much weirder than they'd been after brian's death b) paul wrote "i will" in india and I've talked before about how I'm 100% convinced that's about john and to me "will I wait a lonely lifetime, if you want me to I will" doesn't sound like the words of someone about to do any rejecting c) the infamous blowing the mic scene in get back is way too lighthearted and makes paul blush and giggle like they're just referencing fucking as a part of their relationship that happened enough to not be disarming. doesn't seem like john is being bitter or trying to egg him on and paul isn't reacting like someone that got called out for fucking john and then rejecting him. it reads more, to me, like just two lovers slyly joking around about a time they fucked that no one else can know about

which brings me to d) I'm also a "they had a sexual relationship" truther (which would be a whole other essay tbh) and so For Me Personally that just doesn't jive w smth big and dramatic happening in india. I just don't think they ever talked about what the fuck was going on between them, whatever it was, and then the typical band breakdown reasons coincided w a breakdown of their personal relationship as well. like just sort of dying out without much fanfare which can honestly be worse than some big rejection or breakup. and then ofc john goes full in with yoko and paul flounders around trying to settle down with a woman and marry her in such a weirdly frantic way. like that quote where he asks if he was supposed to be a 26 year old queer that never got married....... I would wager, imo, that things breaking down w john & then jane would've lead him to a bit of a Crisis about all that. but he found linda and went all in w her and she wound up pregnant so there you go.

which would lead them to a really weird place by the get back sessions, which I at least feel like is reflected pretty well- this awkward tension, paul's nervous desperation, nostalgia for the old times, lingering sexual tension. but not the attitude like they hated each other yet or had some big breakup or rejection. they're still joking and flirting, it's just awkward. the Big Moment would've been something else after that imo, probably john announcing he wanted a divorce but could've also been something more private that would go a long way to explaining why they were basically not on speaking terms at all by the abbey road sessions

again this is all Purely Speculation. mostly based on my more conflicting view from the fandom at large that they did have a sexual relationship and paul isn't as repressed/clueless as he puts on. so w those Two Beliefs in mind, this is sort of the trajectory that would make the most sense to me!

of course, without those two Core McLennon beliefs of mine I can see why people would point to india as the game changer if they think paul is a repressed bisexual who thinks he's straight while john pined over him. like it would make sense in that scenario if that's where the tension snapped & it was just a mess after that. but I very firmly and adamantly don't believe that so it's just hard for me to see the india theory as anything solid when there's a lot of other explanations for why india was such a shitshow

but all that is just me personally! don't have shit to back it up beyond what I can bring up about the evidence of a sexual relationship and paul being closeted that then lead me to these speculations based on that but yeah lmao

(and fun fact lmao whenever we publish it this is gonna be like half of the story of "i need you" so yall will get to see my fully baked opinion there mixed w just what I think would be fun or angsty dbshsjss)

[theamityelf]

I’ve had this au idea regarding Makoto for a while and I wanted to share it with you since you post a lot of stuff regarding Yandere and/or obsessive lovers for Makoto. Hope you don’t mind.

What if Makoto, instead of trying to dissuade the obsessive tendencies of Nagito, he indulged in it.

I'm picturing a timeline where Makoto met Junko when the two were young and and started dating in high school, but Junko was very emotionally manipulative and abusive, but always knew when to be gentler to give Makoto the idea that “old Junko” had returned before continuing to toy with him. Makoto’s hopeful nature being used against him repeatedly. Until one day the relationship ends. Maybe Junko got bored, or died, or maybe Makoto finally realised that Junko will not change because she doesn’t want to.

All that leading to a young adult Makoto who, while still similar to his nice canon self, is desperately hurt, lonely and with low self-esteem.

Then Nagito comes into his life. Perhaps the two meet in the waiting room of a psychiatrist’s office. Makoto tries to make conversation to feel the silence, and it’s awkward at first but gets better with time. Nagito learns more about Makoto and slowly becomes fascinated by the other’s quiet charisma and genuine care for complete strangers. And then he’s a bit too fascinated.

Makoto can be a bit dense as he is observant so it takes a while to notice, but eventually sees that Nagito is crushing on him. Nagito keeps praising Makoto and putting him on a pedestal. And the weirdest thing of all is… Makoto likes it.

Makoto’s spent years thinking that he was the problem and now here comes this tall handsome man who loves him and praises him to all extremes and sure it probably isn’t healthy, but it’s nice. Really really nice. So Makoto doesn’t saying anything, just happily takes it all in.

Oh, this is perfect! Thank you for bringing this to me; I love it! (I hope it's okay if I take Nagito a couple of notches farther in this, but if not, just ignore those parts, lol.)

First of all, I want it to be Makoto breaking up with Junko. I like the idea of her kind of seeing it coming. Like, she sees something new in him that starts to grow in the days prior, and she's fascinated by it. He breaks up with her. And he means it. He is serious about enforcing that boundary.

Junko indulges in the whole suite of breakup emotions, but when she gets tired of making a whole production of crying and eating ice cream, she eventually starts messing with Makoto again. First, I'm thinking she tries a guilt approach similar to the song "Someone Gets Hurt" from the Mean Girls Musical. When that doesn't work, she texts him saying, "Hey, this is Mukuro. Junko got in a really bad car accident, and she wants to see you before she dies," or something like that. Eventually he blocks her number. She indulges in heartbreak again.

She fully intends to get Makoto back, once she's exhausted the novelty of being dumped.

Makoto is reeling from the emotional fallout of that long-term relationship. Junko was as fun and loving as she was ruinous, and it's weird to have to bounce back from losing both things.

So yeah, he goes to therapy.

He meets Nagito in the reception area, because they're both early for their appointments a lot. They make conversation, and laugh a little. They've never introduced themselves to each other, but Makoto knows Nagito's name from hearing the receptionist call him in for his appointment. They're acquaintances.

Nagito likes Makoto a lot, and looks forward to seeing him before his appointments, but he just kind of assumes Makoto doesn't want or need his friendship.

Then one day, Makoto comes in and gives Nagito a book of puzzles, saying, "Hey, Nagito, I have this puzzle book I've never used, and I noticed you like doing puzzles while you wait, so..."

Nagito accepts the gift, and it totally reframes his understanding of what's happening here. The kind, brown-haired guy from the waiting room knows his name? And thought about him enough to bring him a gift?

I'm going to say Makoto also brought something for the receptionist, and Nagito smiles at seeing such genuine kindness.

He goes full sleuth/stalker mode. He learns Makoto's name from the sign-in sheet, finds out which psychiatrist he sees, even finds the psychiatrist's file on him. Ah, messy breakup. Manipulative ex. Low self-esteem? How could someone so wonderful not know how wonderful he is? There's a note made of the fact that Makoto refuses to say the name of his ex.

(I'm going to say Junko is still a famous model in this AU, just because it adds drama and spice, and I love the potential for public attention in these things, lol. Maybe she's making monochrome Instagram posts with captions about her ex who broke her heart, and no one knows who it is, but there's a growing attitude of "F this guy! Whoever he is!" that means at any time she can "accidentally" leak his name and expose him to her rabid fanbase. Makoto is doing his best to ignore her. He's blocked her on social media.)

When Nagito eventually makes an effort to get closer to Makoto, Makoto is excited to have a new friend. His new friend casually says things about him that are weirdly accurate, casually meets him in places he frequents, and texts him compliments and affirmations despite them never having exchanged numbers.

Makoto asks how he learned his number, and his address, etc., and Nagito is very open about snooping in his file and following him around. Makoto of course knows he's not supposed to do that, but he feels flattered, and...it's kind of funny in a weird way.

And he likes spending time with Nagito. Nagito is really smart and easygoing, and he has a great smile. When his eyes are really intense, it's...exciting. He notices things about Makoto. He goes on rants about how amazing Makoto is, and how he deserves better. Makoto isn't used to it.

Maybe one night, during a thunderstorm, there's a flash outside his bedroom window that isn't accompanied by thunder. Makoto goes and opens his window, and he sees Nagito in a tree, soaked with rain.

"You'll get sick!" Makoto exclaims. "Or...struck by lightning!"

Nagito doesn't say anything, still startled at being caught. His body is hunched to protect the camera in his hand from getting rained on.

"Come on," Makoto says. "Come inside. Here." He offers his hand, and Nagito climbs in through the window. "You need to dry off. You can borrow some dry clothes, if you want."

"Your clothes?"

Their gazes meet. They're both blushing.

Makoto says, "Do you know where they are?"

Nagito walks over to Makoto's dresser, points to each drawer without opening it, and lists out, "Socks, shirts, pants, underwear, pajamas."

Makoto's heart flutters. He got all of them right. "Have you been in here before?"

"I wouldn't dare break into your home uninvited. I've just watched."

"Well..." Makoto nods his head. "Put on some dry clothes. I'll, um...It's storming outside, so, you can sleep on the couch, okay?"

"Thank you. You're so generous!"

Makoto turns away from that face that glows with adoration and sets up a blanket on the couch for Nagito, while Nagito dries off and gets dressed in pajamas that are too small for him. He looks at the pictures on Nagito's camera. They're all of him.

He goes to bed, once Nagito has gotten settled on the couch. He wakes up to Nagito making him breakfast.

They start dating.

Nagito never mistreats him in the ways Junko did; he just disregards his privacy and praises him way too much. They're both happy.

All of this culminates in them running into Junko while they're on a date somewhere. Makoto is polite to her but very closed-off, while she's smiling brightly and needling, and Nagito is hostile. Maybe smiling hostile, maybe not. The interaction ends without much escalation, but shortly after, Nagito shows up at Junko's house.

She's expecting him.

Cue yandere vs. yandere, verbal confrontation.

[shallowseeker]

It’s kind of a gross misstatement to say Cas was simply a bad friend during the season 6 arc. Dean was also a jackass. He refused to even listen that Cas had his own problems to contend with in heaven and just insulted him (Baby in a Trenchcoat) or took him for granted and prayed when he needed some angelic boost like the time travel. It was only after months of this that Dean finally had a half-ass “Hey Cas, if you need any assistance with your heavenly war, let us know”. Dean and Castiel are both equally at fault for the initial breakup.

I'm not sure why I'm getting this particular question, but yup, I agree that the situation was complex.

One of Dean's legendary coping mechanisms/neuroses is to get prickly and mean when the going gets tough, and I love to talk a lot with regards to both the fighting/hunting and the parenting of Jack Kline.

For Dean and Cas, they're both deliciously Going Through It (TM) in season 6 in different ways, Cas dealing with paranoia via the fallout of Heavenly betrayal and Dean with his complicated feelings of displacement into civilian life.

I sort of miss the days of TV when people got to screw up this badly with one another, but not in such a way that it’s bludgeoning, mean-spirited cynicism, hehe. (((For example, I struggle to think of a modern era of SPN where Bobby's frustration and worry over Dean would boil out in this horrifying way: "You sorry--you're not a person," when in actuality, he's desperately begging Dean not to die, and it's coming out all wrong. Or Dean's indirect forgiveness of Cas, that Cas picks up on immediately by tone alone: "Bottom of the ninth...I'd rather have you, cursed or not.")))

But if we're talking about season 6, Cas is controlling most of the means of communication from the get-go, and the power is definitely weighted in his favor. He sets the tone for it as soon as his big heart leads him to abruptly flit from the car to go and rescue Sam. BUT it's also no accident that Dean's narrative nickname for Cas is SUPERMAN. A perfect, invincible superhero. Dean took him for granted, hero-worshipped him, and conceptualized him as perfect... something Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets reflects back in an off-key manner: "I thought he was perfect...he was a monster (and hurt my child)." The truth with Dean and Cas is not either extreme, however. ("That nifty metaphor has holes:" Cas was trying to save Sam from the get-go, on multiple occasions.) It's the humanity that's in the middle.

It's lovely! And to me, it feels so real, too. Maybe someone else can chime in, but I don't have any huge, complicated feelings about this except that I really, really like the disillusionment period on both sides!

“We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.” - Pema Chödrön

Love isn't baggageless perfection. It's understanding, forgiveness, resilience.

DEAN (in the dream state, to MARY): I hate you. (Deans voice breaks as tears run down his face) I hate you. And I love you. 'Cause I can't – I can't help it. You're my Mom. And I understand...'cause I have made deals to save the ones I love more than once. (Mary continues to look away but seems to hear him) I forgive you. I forgive you. For all of it. Everything.

[lumosandnoxwriting]

tale as old as time || Fred Weasley

Title: tale as old as time Pairing: Fred x Reader Summary: Y/N knows she’s the problem, and she’s afraid of the day Fred realizes it too Warnings: probably a very bad representation of what therapy is like but whatever im a writer not a clinical psychologist. A/N: im back baby!!!! im going to be totally honest, this is the only fic in the anthology where i really struggled to come up with a basic concept for the storyline when I was brainstorming. The lyrics in this song are less direct in what their meaning is in a lot of ways. Obviously the overarching message is this fear of being alone, this fear that your insecurities and anxieties will drive away the person you love the most, so that’s really what i tried to focus on here. 

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

“It’s alright, sweetheart. It’s just a dream,” Fred soothes as he strokes Y/N’s hair, letting her burrow her face in his chest. 

She takes a shuddering breath in, tears leaking down the sides of her face as her heart pounds in her chest. Y/N racks her brain, trying desperately to remember what exactly scared her so much. What happened in her dream that had her waking up in screams once again.

The dream is never the same. Sometimes she’s at Hogwarts, the final battle of the war raging on around her as she runs. Running, running, running - but she never stops, and Y/N is never quite sure what she’s running from. Other times she’s in the living room of her and Fred's flat, heart pounding in her chest as she tears the place apart searching for something. Though it’s never really clear what exactly she’s looking for. 

Then at some point they shift, and she’s in a dark room where the only sound is her heavy breathing. But she can feel something looking at her, looming somewhere in the shadows. And as she turns in circles trying to find it the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, the feeling getting closer and closer and closer. 

And that’s usually when she wakes. A scream caught in her throat as she shoots up in bed, frantically thrashing to try and fight off the unknown creature. That’s usually when Fred wakes up, strong arms wrapping around Y/N as he murmurs soft words into her ears. He holds her as she comes to, letting her cry in his embrace for as long as she needs. 

Fred always makes sure to reassure Y/N, reminding her that it’s just a dream, and that he’s got her. He holds her tight once she’s calm enough to try and fall back asleep, not daring to shut his eyes until she’s back in a deep slumber. 

Though what Fred doesn’t know is that sometimes Y/N isn’t asleep at all. She knows he worries, so she shuts her eyes and slows down her breathing, pretending to sleep as her mind races. Because she knows Fred can only put up with so much, that eventually he’ll be tired of her and all of her problems. That one day she’ll wake up and he won’t be there. 

Fred doesn’t know that those are the dreams that scare Y/N the most. 

-

“And what do you think those dreams mean, hm?”

Y/N rolls her eyes as her therapist asks the same question he does at every session. Therapy was something a lot of Wizards and Witches enrolled in after the war. Even those that didn’t actively fight sought treatment, finding it helpful to talk to someone about what happened and how to deal with the fallout. But now, almost two years out from the final battle at Hogwarts, Y/N feels like she’s getting nowhere.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me?” she responds, annoyance apparent in her tone. “That’s why I’m here, right? So you can tell me what’s wrong with me and how to fix it.”

Her therapist gives her an amused look. “Sure, I can tell you what’s wrong with you. But if you’re not ready to hear what I have to say, nothing is going to change. It has to come from you, not me.”

Y/N scoffs, shaking her head. “So then what am I paying you for then? If my breakthrough depends on me, it seems like you’re not really needed in all of this.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” her therapist starts, scribbling something down in his notebook. “But I’m here to listen, offer guidance when you need it. And when you finally hit that big breakthrough I’ll be here to help you through it.”

 When Y/N seems to settle back down her therapist continues. “So those dreams, what do you think they mean?”

Y/N shrugs, picking at her cuticles. “I don’t know - that I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” He prompts, giving her an encouraging nod. “Afraid of Voldemort?” When she doesn’t respond he continues. “Afraid of dying?” When Y/N shakes her head he scribbles something down. “Afraid of what, then?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N answers honestly. “There’s never anything in the dreams. Just a feeling. Like something is watching me, I don’t know it’s hard to explain. It’s not a real threat, it’s like the idea of a threat.”

“So what might that mean?” Her therapist prompts when she stops, leaning forward in his seat. “You’re by yourself, facing an invisible threat - what is it that you’re really afraid of? It’s not the thing lurking in the dark - so what is it?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N repeats again, voice firm.

“Yes you do,” he insists. “You do know what it is, Y/N, you just don’t want to admit it.”

“No, I really don’t,” she pushes back. 

“Yes, you do. You’re standing, in a room, all by yourself. No one but you and some invisible threat. It’s not the threat you’re afraid of - so what is it?”

“Being alone!” Y/N finally admits, anger coating her words. “I’m afraid of being alone, are you happy?”

Her therapist settles back in his seat, a grin etched on his features. “Now that’s what I call a breakthrough.” 

-

The revelation in therapy leaves Y/N feeling quite raw and exposed for the rest of the day, making her quiet and reserved. Fred of course doesn’t push or pry, letting her have the space she needs. Which in turn only makes Y/N feel even worse, her mind working overtime as she worries that her quiet and aloof behavior is only going to push Fred even further away than her nightmares. 

She’s terrified of falling asleep that night, so she simply lays in bed until Fred falls asleep - waiting for his soft snores to fill the room so she knows it’s safe. Y/N ends up creeping out into the living room, letting her exhausted body sink into the sofa. She doesn’t bother with the big light, instead snapping her fingers so a few of the lamps in the room come to life, giving everything a soft glow. 

But the lack of light also creates shadows, and she can feel her paranoia start to creep up the back of her neck. So Y/N does what her therapist had suggested towards the end of their session. She closes her eyes and takes some deep breaths, trying to remind herself that nothing is there and Fred is only a room away. Her sweet, sweet Fred that would do anything to make sure she’s okay. 

In fact, it had been Fred who suggested therapy all those months ago. When Y/N’s assurances that the dreams would go away on their own started to sound less and less believable and the bags under her eyes were deeper and darker than the night sky. It only made her love him more, knowing that Fred was looking out for her wellbeing and that he worried for her. 

Now it only seems to fuel her fears, that the therapy not working is just another thing that is going to have Fred walking out on her. 

“Stop, stop,” Y/N grumbles, palm smacking her forehead in frustration. “If only I could get my brain to shut the fuck up.”

“Baby?” 

Fred’s sleepy grumble startles Y/N, and she looks over her shoulder to find Fred standing at the entrance to the living room, rubbing sleep from his eyes. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Y/N apologizes, stomach sinking. She swallows thickly, her throat suddenly dry as shame washes over her. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Fred shuffles towards the couch, mouth opening in a yawn. “No baby, you’re okay. I rolled over and couldn’t find you is all. I tried to fall back asleep but the bed was too lonely without you.” He joins her on the couch then, grabbing a blanket from their basket so he can drape it over them. 

Y/N lets Fred pull her into his side, resting her head in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes again, though she’s not really sure what for. Maybe for leaving him alone in bed, or for making him come out here, maybe even for being a shitty girlfriend who constantly needs the reassurance that he’s going to be there for her. 

Mainly for that last one. 

“Nothing to apologize for,” Fred promises, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s okay to need time for you, love. I know therapy days aren’t always your best days and you find it hard to fall asleep after. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Her chest feels as if it’s been cracked wide open, all of her worries and fears and anxieties on display for Fred. She knows it must be exhausting for him, always having to deal with her and her constant reassurance that everything is okay. And yet at the same time Y/N needs that validation, almost needs it more than her lungs need air. 

Hence the trouble sleeping. 

It’s that need that prompts her to keep her eyes downcast, voice only above a whisper as she asks, “Promise?” She needs to know that he really means what he says. That he’ll always be there for her, no matter how weird or crazy or anxious she may be. 

“Promise,” Fred confirms. “You’re stuck with me forever, I’m afraid.”

“Forever,” Y/N whispers to herself, needing that extra reassurance. Forever.

-

“Godric, what the hell is wrong with me?” 

It’s a question Y/N has asked herself a lot over the past few weeks, but this is the first time she’s said it out loud in front of someone else. This is the fifth night in a row she’s woken up screaming, thrashing against the bed sheets as she tries to fight off her invisible attacker. 

Fred had tried to comfort her as usual, but this dream was a particularly vivid one, and Y/N had a hard time deciphering between what was real and what was her dream as she balanced in the no man’s land between being unconscious and awake - causing her to punch Fred right in the face as he tried to wrap her up in his arms. 

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Fred assures, the sound of his voice distorted from the bag of peas he’s holding on his face. “You thought you were still asleep, it happens, love.”

His chest is covered in blood from how his nose gushed after Y/N’s strike, and her stomach is a pit of self loathing. She’d been the one to hit him, and yet as per usual Fred was the one doing all of the comforting. It’s pathetic. 

“I made you bleed, Fred. There certainly is something wrong with me,” Y/N insists, nervous energy making her start to pace back and forth. “I’m 23 years old and I wake up screaming more nights than I don’t, and instead of being a normal person and thanking my boyfriend for being a lovely person and comforting me, I sock him in the face and break his nose.”

“Bruised maybe, love, don’t give yourself too much credit,” Fred jokes with a chuckle, desperately trying to cut the tension in the room. When Y/N just continues to pace he lets out a sigh. “Baby, stop, please. I’m fine, it was an accident. It’s not something to get worked up over.”

“But it’s not just this one incident,” Y/N starts, finally stopping her  pacing so she can face her boyfriend. “I’ve been having nightmares almost every night for two years now and therapy seems to be doing fuck all to help stop them. And despite the fact that you have been the most supportive, lovely boyfriend anyone can ask for, I'm just getting worse and worse.”

She pauses to run a ragged hand through her hair, exhaling sharply in frustration. “And I know deep down that someday you’re going to get sick of me and just leave and I don’t blame you, I really don’t. But the thought of not having you around scares the shit out of me and no matter how hard I try to be a better, more normal person for you I just can’t get my fucking shit together which just makes me even more panicked and worried and anxious, which just makes the nightmares worse and it’s a neverending cycle and I’m exhausted.”

Fred is silent for a minute, letting everything Y/N has just word-vomited all over their kitchen floor sink in. He tosses the peas onto the table, standing up so he can start to slowly approach her. “Baby, why didn’t you tell me? I thought your nightmares were about the war, love, I had no idea.”

“They were, at first,” Y/N admits. “Mostly about when the wall fell and it almost crushed you. They were all about you dying and me being alone. But then as time went on and the anxiety got worse they sort of just changed. Instead of me watching you die and leave me, I was just there, alone and fighting some kind of invisible threat. And I’d try to run, try to find you and I would just be running endlessly and whatever it was that was there would catch me - that’s usually when I’d wake up screaming.”

She swallows around the lump in her throat as Fred comes closer, putting a hand out to stop him from gathering her in his arms. This is something she needs to say, and the moment Fred puts his hands on her all of her courage will melt away. 

“And I know that it’s not easy for you to deal with all of this,” she continues once his hands are at his sides. “I can see how exhausted you are in the mornings after I have a nightmare. And I can see the worry on your face when I come home from therapy when I’ve had a bad day. It’s hard for me to deal with all of this, so I know it’s hard for you too. It would be so easy for you to just walk away from all of it, from me. You don’t deserve to be burdened with all of my problems, but the thought of losing you makes me sick to my stomach.”

“Baby,” Fred coos, fists clenched to resist his urge to reach out and comfort the woman he loves. “Burden me, please. I mean it when I tell you that I’m here for you no matter what. Woman there’s nothing in this world you could ask for that I wouldn’t find a way to make happen. That’s what people who love each other do, yeah? They support each other no matter what.”

“And of course I worry about you, because I care about you and I hate to see you hurting. But that doesn’t make me want to leave, it makes me want to stick around. To be there for you in any way you may need. Even if that means letting you punch me in the face every once in a while.”

Fred takes the breathy laugh that Y/N lets out as permission to step closer, and when she doesn’t protest he wraps his arms around her waist. “You have me, Y/N. Anxiety, and nightmares and all. You’re my everything, and I am going to be here with you every step of the way.”

“Even if the nightmares never go away?” she asks timidly. 

“Even if the nightmares never go away,” Fred confirms, leaning in to press a tender kiss to her forehead.  

When they end up back in bed together later that night, Y/N’s tears dry and Fred’s chest free of his blood, she lets herself be wrapped up in Fred’s embrace. And as his breath starts to even out she finds her eyes fluttering shut for real. Y/N lets sleep consume her, no longer feeling the need to pretend to be okay. Because she’s not okay, not really. 

But she will be, someday. With Fred by her side, anything is possible.

[plumawolf]

The Fallout Who Regenerated mod adds so much more to the story of Fallout 4 than I first thought.

For context, I haven’t played much of the game myself. I dabbled in it a bit a few years ago, didn’t progress all that much, but I know the story because of playthrough and general curiosity. But recently I’ve had major Doctor Who brainrot again, and only just found out about Fallout Who Regenerated. I thought “A mod for a game I already have where you can repair and fly your own TARDIS? Sign me the fuck up!”

Yes, flying the TARDIS is cool. The new Doctor Who themed tracks added are just *chef's kiss.* Go look them up on youtube.

But holy shit.

The premise of this game is already so angsty. But here’s a bit of how I imagine my character’s experience from her pov went when I started a new game with the mod installed. Beware: this part is long and will contain spoilers for both Fallout 4 and Fallout Who Regenerated.

My husband has been murdered, my son kidnapped. I’ve been frozen for who knows how long. I get out of the vault, desperate to see my baby again. Right away, I see Codsworth, still trying to clean a house that’s been abandoned for what he tells me has been two centuries, and he gives me a holodisk from my husband. I don’t listen to it immediately. I'm too desperate to find at least one other person in this desolate hellscape. But I pop it into my Pip-Boy anyway, for later.

I find a stray dog, the first friendly face I've seen in this place that isn't made of metal. I find the Minutemen not long after when I follow the sound of gunshots. I help them out with the raiders, defend against the Deathclaw attracted by the gunfire. The old lady with them says she’s psychic and that my son is alive, and I’ve never been much of a believer in that kind of thing, but I’ll take anything at this point. We all head back to Sanctuary, a not-so-merry band of survivors armed only with pistols and a rifle scraped together out of junk.

We arrive back at Sanctuary and set up camp. It's not much, but the little life returning to my old neighborhood gives me some comfort. I am not alone.

I'm cleaning out the root cellar of another wrecked house, searching for anything that could be scrapped and repurposed, because we still need a way to purify water. And that is when I hear it. Whispers, in a language that I don't understand, but I get such a familiar feeling. Something compels me to look down at the shelf I just searched, really look at it. And there, glinting in the dim lamplight, is a golden pocket watch, and a silver key.

Curiosity overwhelms me. The key looks rather unassuming, but the pocket watch is decorated with many circular designs, overlapping and intertwining in intricate patterns. It feels familiar in my hand, and is surprisingly warm to the touch. The whispers grow louder, and it's almost as if they're inside my mind itself...

The moment I open the pocket watch, it's as if I'd been looking through a pinhole my entire life, but someone has just ripped it wide open. And I remember everything.

I am a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterborous. I came to this planet to hide, hide so well that I would forget my true identity. It takes a few moments to recover from the sheer flood of memories and information, but when I am, it's like I've been reborn. And the first thing I must do is find my TARDIS.

It's not hard to hook up the TARDIS key to my Pip-Boy so I can create a homing signal to its location. Anticipation clogs my throat, my hearts beat faster as the signal gets stronger. I rush past the other settlers, ignoring their worry and questions. And I see it. I see it.

The Chameleon Circuit is completely busted, judging by the exterior, which has reverted to the generic silver cylinder shape. But when I open the door for the first time in centuries, I can feel her in my mind. She hums, pleased to see me again after so long. As I check on her systems and assess the damage (and there is quite a lot), I find myself smiling again. In fact, as I step into the TARDIS depths to look for the instruction and repair manuals (I always lose the damned things... an infinite ship with infinite possibilities, but I'd never thought to use any filing cabinets...), I feel almost giddy. I trail my hands along the walls, passing by rooms I haven't visited in years.

Finally, I reach the library. It's much more bare than it used to be - the TARDIS had to clear quite a lot of space to preserve her systems while I was away, mostly due to the damage she sustained upon landing. When I approach the writing desk in the middle of the room, I see that the TARDIS has already taken the liberty of presenting the instruction manual, in holodisk form for my convenience. I smile and thank her for it. She hums jovially in return.

However, when I open my Pip-Boy, there is already a holodisk inside. My stomach sinks when I remember that it is the one that Nate, my human self's husband, intended to give to me. Against my better judgement, I play it. When it is over, Nate's "We love you" and the last of Shaun's gurgles leave me feeling hollow. I feel the vastness of the TARDIS. Vast, but so very, very empty.

Even after I repair my TARDIS, I cannot leave. I will not, not yet. Because even though I am my true self again, that human version of me still grieves so deeply for her murdered husband, and cares so fiercely for the son that she lost. Even though I am not his mother anymore, I still feel the love that she felt for him. I cannot run away from this. I must find Shaun again.

[teaberrii]

Chapter 11: Forgive Me (Love Blues)

You're both running from a traumatic past. In a fated mix-up, you end up hosting this man for two weeks at your family-owned villa where sparks start to fly.

Alhaitham/You

Notes: Cross-posted on Ao3.

The chapter index is at the end of chapter one.

Chapter told from your ex's point of view

You look different.

He can't put his finger on it, but the last time he saw you, it was as if you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Your eyes didn't shine like they are now. You also look healthier.

He had heard from his brother that you were in town, which didn't phase him. But seeing you in person is an entirely different feeling. It's not the heart-fluttering giddiness he once felt, however. Instead, it's as if he owed you. Looking at you unlocks a vault of memories he thought he would never open again.

Your ex held the news article in his hands. No names were published, but it was obviously about him and you. You took him to court, and the court ruled in your favour, but he clearly remembered the solemn look on your face at the lenient punishment. He hadn't thought much of it until the same thing happened to his cousin. The stealthing. Except hers was with a friend-with-benefits who wanted to trap her in a relationship.

Being there for her and going through that abortion process with her made him see things in a different light. He had been incredibly selfish and clearly saw the gravity of his actions. If only he could turn back time.

And that was when it all began. The nightmares. The stress. The gradual need for your forgiveness.

He watches you walk toward the cashier without a look back. It's a stretch, but he wants to try. He stops you right after you step outside. You turn around and shrug off his arm.

“I just want to talk.” That sounded a lot less desperate in his head.

“I’d rather not.”

Then, you quickly walk away.

He hears someone come up behind him, so he turns around and sees his pregnant sister-in-law. She's about to walk down the steps before he offers her his hand.

“Do you know her?” she asks on the way back to the hotel.

How much does she know? Of course, his two brothers know about the fallout, but how much have they told their spouses? He had told them not to tell them about the sexual assault. It's something that's still plaguing him to this day, and he could never find a way to cope with this guilt until…

“You want to apologize?” He had gotten back in touch with your best friend, hoping she could get you to talk to him again, as you had blocked every way he could get in touch with you. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Better late than never,” he muttered. “Look, could you help a friend out?”

“Aren’t you getting married?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“You aren’t scared that it might cause some misunderstandings?”

He sighed loudly. “Just, are you going to help me?”

“...Fine. I’ll see what I can do.”

He didn’t expect much from that plan. So, he isn’t too surprised that your best friend got back to him saying that you don’t want anything to do with him anymore. But he’s still going to keep trying…because it’s as if your forgiveness is what will set him free.

“...I thought I did,” he finally says. “She just looked like someone I knew.” He hopes that’s convincing enough because the last thing he wants to talk about is his past.

“Oh? Who?”

“...An old friend.” That, at least, is somewhat the truth.

◆◆◆

That night, he and his two brothers are drinking together as the women are in another room. He takes a long drink of his beer before putting the empty bottle on the table.

“You alright? You don’t typically drink this much,” his younger brother says.

The older one puts his empty bottle down. “Yeah. Not since your divorce.”

Your ex glares at him. “Did you really have to bring that up?”

His brothers glance at each other. “Why are you in such a bad mood? Your wedding is in like a few days!”

That’s also what’s bugging him. His wedding. It’s a chance to start anew with someone else, something he desperately wants to do. But it feels like an unattainable dream with him still chained to his past. He knows he has no feelings for you anymore. The two of you are broken beyond measure, and nothing can change that. He just wants to hear those three words.

“Wait…” His brother looks at him. “Did you bump into her?”

Your ex almost chokes on the alcohol, which is an answer in itself. “Was her boyfriend with her?” the younger one asks.

He’s not sure why this catches him by surprise. He’s getting married, for goodness sake. “She’s seeing someone?” your ex asks.

“Yeah. The dude’s name is Alhaitham.”

“...How do you know him?”

“We met through Kaveh.”

The older brother puts his beer on the table. “The blonde guy you work with? The one that’s like a pretty boy?”

“That’s the one.” He looks at your ex. “So, did she say anything to you?”

“She ignored you, didn’t she?” the older one asks. “Treated you like air.”

“Not surprised.”

Your ex sighs loudly and leans back. “She’s not going to talk to me.”

“Still pining for her forgiveness, I see.”

Your ex glares at his younger brother, who quickly opens another can of beer. "I just want a chance to apologize."

"Well, hate to break it to you, brother, but sometimes we don't get closures. So, just move on."

If only it was that easy.

◆◆◆

“You seem distracted.” Your ex looks up from his phone and sees his fianceé climb into bed next to him. “Everything okay?”

He wonders if he should bring you up. She knows about you and his past. Well, most of it. He had told her the truth, for the most part. But, he had kept the sexual assault and abortion a secret. He'd said that both of you weren't right for each other and rushed into things without thinking, which ruined your relationship. That is the truth, at least.

But now that the wedding is approaching, he's getting increasingly anxious.

He can't keep this from her. It's eating him alive. As much as he wants to forget about it and move on, he can't. Maybe that's a sign he still has a conscience. But what would she think of him? Will she still love him? Or dump him on the spot? He just wants a happy ending like everyone else. Is that so much to ask for?

“I met my ex today,” he says. “At the convenient store.”

“...Is that why you’re distracted?” He quickly turns to her, but instead of seeing a suspicious look on her face, she’s looking at him worriedly. “I remember we talked about her, but you always looked anxious. So, I didn’t want to ask further.” She takes his hand. “What really happened between the two of you? Did she do something to you?”

He isn't sure if he should find it heartwarming or sad that his fianceé has so much trust in him. He's moved, but at the same time, he feels like he's deceiving her. What she said is true. He's anxious because he doesn't like talking about you, but he knows you're not the problem. He is. He just doesn't want to talk about himself.

He takes her hand. “No. She didn’t do anything to me.”

“Then, why do you always look so…broken when you talk about her?” She sighs softly. “I want to trust you.”

Will she still trust him after she knows the truth? "I didn't lie to you. Everything I said about her is true. We were childhood friends, grew feelings for each other and…you know the rest. But, we weren't right for each other."

“...I know both of you wanted different things. You wanted a family, and she didn’t,” she says quietly.

“Yes. That’s the truth!”

His fianceé sighs. “I know that she got an abortion.” His heart almost stops. What? Since when? From who? Before he gets a chance to ask, she says the name of his brother’s wife. “She was the one who told me.” Your ex almost scoffs. He can’t even count on his brother to keep a secret. “Is that true?”

"...Yes." But does she know why?

“You’re still bothered that she did such a thing without telling you?”

“I…” He can’t bring himself to say it.

Finally, his fianceé gets out of bed and says, “...I’m going to sleep in the other room tonight.”

“Wait.” She stops but doesn’t turn back. “I just…I need a bit more time.”

She turns around and glares at him. “For what? I don’t understand what you’re talking about! You’re clearly hiding something from me, but nothing makes sense! How can I trust you when you don’t trust me?”

Because it’s not that easy. That’s what he wants to say. But, instead, he says without thinking, “I did something…terrible to her.”

Her face goes pale. “Excuse me?”

"I…" He's almost on the verge of tears and doesn't know why. Since when did he become like this?

“...Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

And then she leaves without another word.

◆◆◆

It's supposed to be an early morning jog around town. But, somehow, your ex is standing in front of your family-owned villa. His hand is almost shaking as he hears footsteps approaching on the other side. Then, when the door opens, he stares into the eyes of an unfamiliar man. This must be Alhaitham.

“...Can I help you?” he asks.

Your ex looks past him and sees you, who seems alarmed. "I came to see her."

“Well, it doesn’t seem like she wants to see you. So, you can leave.”

Your ex looks back to Alhaitham. “...You can’t speak for her.”

“He’s right,” you say, walking up next to Alhaitham. “I want you to leave.”

"Please," your ex pleads. "I just want to talk." By now, he doesn't care if he looks pathetic or desperate. He'll do anything to get this feeling off his chest. Alhaitham is about to close the door when your ex stops it, which earns him a solid glare from your boyfriend. "Ten minutes. If you give me ten minutes, I promise I'll never bother you again. File a restraining order or whatever. Just please give me ten minutes."

He can see the gears turning in your head. Perhaps you're curious about his strange actions. Honestly, he's curious himself. He never imagined that he would show up like a heartbroken teenager at an ex's door. But here he is, and he doesn't want to take no for an answer.

Finally, you put a hand on Alhaitham’s arm. “...Only if he’s close by.”

“Deal.”

On a bench near your villa, you're sitting on one end while your ex sits at the other. Alhaitham is a short distance away, far enough to give you space and privacy but close enough that he can easily interfere if anything happens.

Your ex gets straight to the point. “...I want to apologize to you.” You slowly turn to him. “What I did was wrong.”

“...It’s a little late for apologies.”

"I know." He moves a little closer to you, and you signal him to stop. He does and moves back to his spot. "It's been three years. But I can never forget about her. Our child."

“Daddy, why did you let mommy kill me? Why….why did you bring this fate onto me?”

He immediately sat up. His body felt hot, and he was sweating. He couldn’t go on like this. He was losing sleep and going mad. Were you also having nightmares? His head hit the wall, his quiet sobs sounding throughout the darkness of his room.

"That child was not ours." Then, you look him in the eyes. "She was yours and yours alone."

His breath gets caught in his throat. “...It was a girl?” You sigh loudly as you turn away and stand. He quickly stands. “Wait. I’m sorry. I won’t bring up the past. I just…I came here to ask for your forgiveness.”

The unnerving silence is killing him, and the answer he gets shatters his world. “Well, you wasted your time.”

“...You won’t forgive me?”

You turn to him. “I know you too well. You always loved yourself more than anyone else.”

“I—”

"So, don't blame me because I question the motive behind your apology. Are you really sorry for what you did to me? Or do you just want to get rid of your guilty feelings?"

"It's true I want to stop feeling guilty," he says. He can feel the tears in his eyes. "But, please trust me when I say you were important to me. And I just want some closure for what I did."

“...Well, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”

He grabs your arm, and you glare at him. Upon seeing Alhaitham, he immediately backs off. Then, he says, “Don’t you think forgiving me will also make you feel better? I know you hate me, and it’s my fault we got to this point. But, I just hope both of us can find peace.”

He sees the slightly surprised look on your face. Perhaps it's because he admits that it's his fault your relationship turned out this way. "...You caused me a great deal of pain. So if you think I'm suddenly just going to forgive you because you asked for it, that's wishful thinking."

“...What will it take?”

He assumes you need time. But, instead, you surprise him. “I don’t think it’s my forgiveness you’re looking for.”

“...Wait. What do you mean?”

"Your brother told me you're getting married in a few days. Does your fianceé know about what you did?"

No. “...I haven’t told her yet. I want you to forgive me—”

"And then what?" For an angry statement, you sound strangely forgiving. Like you're trying to help him somehow, but he can't put his finger on it. "Sure, let's say I forgive you. And what if she doesn't?"

Then, his happiness is gone.

That's when you get honest with him. "Before I met Alhaitham, I kept thinking about the divorce. Where did we go wrong? We were so happy," you say honestly. "...If this apology came before, then I would say you're right. It would help me find peace." He thinks he knows what you're getting at. "But you aren't important to me anymore."

“...So, it doesn’t matter,” he finishes for you. “What matters is that your boyfriend accepts the past that you have. Is that right?”

“Our friendship is already long gone,” you say. “And it’s never coming back.”

He can’t argue with that.

When you opened the door, you weren't expecting to see a kid around your age wearing a bike helmet on your porch. He was smiling from ear to ear. "Hi!" he said excitedly. "I heard you just moved in next door." Then, he extended his hand and introduced himself. "Wanna go for a bike ride?"

Your mother came up behind you and opened the door a little wider. “Oh, it’s you!” she said happily. Then, she put a hand on your shoulder. “You haven’t met before, but he was the one I was talking about. The boy about your age.”

You took his hand, and a slight blush blossomed on his cheeks. “Er, so, do you want to hang out?”

"...That depends," you said. "Are we getting ice cream?"

“Ooh, I know just the place!”

“Let’s be happy,” you continue. “What’s past is past. But that doesn’t mean I’ll forget.”

“...Me either.”

“I don’t know what you heard, but I want to make myself clear.” You take a small breath. “...I don’t want to see you again. But”—you extend your hand—“I don’t wish you a life full of misery.”

Is that your way of saying you forgive him? It’s better than nothing. He takes your hand and gives it a firm shake. “...Let’s never see each other again. And”—he inhales deeply—“I truly am sorry.”

As he watches you leave and take Alhaitham's hand, the look in your eyes is reminiscent of what once was, but it’s also different. There’s an extra sparkle in your eyes that he never saw before. Alhaitham kisses your head, and you smile widely.

You’re truly happy, and it’s easy to see.

If only he could find that, too.

◆◆◆

“Oh, hey, you’re finally back!”

It seems like everyone is waiting for him when he gets back to the hotel. But there's only one person he wants to see. As he looks around for his fianceé, his brother says, "You just missed her. She went to grab something at the convenience store."

No one gets another word in as your ex is again out the door. It doesn't take long to find her; she has just come out of the shop when she sees him. She looks away. Clearly, the atmosphere from yesterday hasn't changed. Plus, the fact that he ran off most of the morning doesn't help, either.

“...Why are you just standing there?” she asks.

Then, he takes her hand. “I came looking for you.”

She eyes him skeptically. "Did something happen?"

“Yes and no.” Then, he smiles slightly. “But, I’m ready to be completely honest with you. So, can we talk?”

Chapter Twelve

End Notes: The next chapter will be back to your POV. This story only has 1-2 chapters left, and I'm starting to feel slightly bittersweet.

Tag list: @suoshiii @lordbugs @lxry-chxn @themusingsofmany @thelightofmylife @jolyyuwu @meowzurii @caelestisimbrem

[portaltothevoid]

Love Bites (eddie munson x ofc one shot)

Summary: This is part of the Hellfire Haunts writing challenge! Eddie, Vampire, “I’ve waited lifetimes for…” prompt. Let’s just say I took the Kas theory and turned it on its head. Photo made by @cryptidcasanova (who’s the creator of this lovely Halloween challenge)!

Word count: 3.9k

Taglist: @munchabunch @madaboutmunson (thank you both for being my superstar beta readers!) @riffcrusader @michele131 @idiot-parade @mikaylamaiden333​

Red, everything was red. This place was like the other world, the human’s world, but it was different. It was devoid of warmth, of happiness, of ambition, of longing and yet it was perfect. Anything could happen here. Ripe for the taking, as it were the true last frontier. 

He called any mystical being near him. He made sure only the worthy would hear him and she did. She heard him loud and clear. It felt as though her whole being was being pulled toward the most intense power she had ever felt in her long, extraordinary life. This world has promise. He had vision. One in which she could see herself holding more power than she could ever imagine. Most importantly, she wouldn’t have to hide it. She was not born to hide in the shadows; she was born to rule.

“You have not found me the soldier I seek,” he spoke in a low, guttural voice.

“Master, it is almost time. He’s almost ready.” Her eyes pleaded with him, shining with a desperation foreign to her. This was her chance to finally have the only thing she’s ever wanted in all of her existence. 

“Time…Time is something I am running out of. The stronger the girl gets, the less time we have.” The figure growled. 

“It will happen in just a matter of days. You have my word. He is the one we need.”

“Why him? Surely, there is someone else out there who is capable, who is ready now.”

“You don’t understand,” she said hesitantly, shaking her head as her dark ruby red waves cascaded around her. “I’ve been following this soul for centuries. He– He’s different this time. I’m… I don’t know how to describe it. There’s this fire inside him. He will burn that world to the ground given the right weapons.” Usually eloquent and flawless with her speech, the only time she ever stumbled over her words was when it came to him – to this specific soul, no matter the incarnation.

“And you’re sure of this?”

“I just need him to trust me. I’ve been watching him. He won’t join us unless he wholeheartedly trusts me.”

“Go. The time is nearing.” He waved her away with his talon-like fingers. The floating clock about them chimed as she dissipated back to her original realm.

— — — — — —

I could still hear the chiming of that clock as I gained my bearings. It always took a few seconds to adjust after transmuting between worlds. Brushing myself off, I looked into the floor mirror. Not a hair out of place. I lightly tapped some fallout from my smokey cat eye makeup.  I adjusted my black, split-thigh maxi skirt. My strapless black corset was staying put, but I fiddled with the laces in the front anyway. This was a seemingly drastic departure from my normal, more casual look, but this was how I would always dress if I wasn’t trying to blend in most of the time. Tonight, however, I was out for blood.

As I left the house, I had to laugh as I thought of how ethereal I looked and felt. The lore the humans came up with, our reflection not appearing in mirrors, never made any sense to me. We’re objects. We take up space, cast shadows. Why wouldn’t our photons bounce back at us? Corpses show up in mirrors, why wouldn’t we? I digress.

One of my favorite upsides to being a supernatural being was the speed. I could make it from the once magnificent house I call home to this dingy dive bar in thirty seconds, all while wearing black stilettos. It’s where his band played, every Tuesday. I’ve come here ever since I arrived at this godforsaken town. Of all places, this soul wanted to be here this time around? I couldn’t help but grimace in disgust. At least it was settled nicely atop an alternate universe. If you could even call it that.

As Corroded Coffin, the band that held my attention, was setting up, I ordered my usual filthy martini made with the most expensive ingredients this cheap excuse of a bar offered. Most nights, I hid off to the side. I stayed where he could still see me, but not easily reach me. I was merely observing those times, which were the only occasions I would let him catch glimpses of me. The other times I had to keep myself hidden, so I wouldn’t frighten the poor boy. No matter how otherworldly my beauty was, there was no chance in hell that he would have trusted me if he saw me at his favorite spot in the woods after school, at his band practices, silly little extracurricular meetings where they all acted out lore that was either grossly exaggerated or misinterpreted from years past, or when he was at home. Often those were my favorite times as I listened to him practice on his prized guitar for hours on end. Better yet, there were many nights when he was asleep that I would spend snooping around his room, trying to figure out exactly who he was in this lifetime. 

Yeah, here’s a footnote. It’s also a myth that we have to be invited into someone’s home. My kind was created from a magic so primal, it kept itself hidden from these treacherous beings. In order to become one of us, one doesn’t need to die at all. Enough blood just has to be mixed so that the DNA is completely rewritten, giving the former human supernatural abilities and transforming them into this magical, powerful being. Blood does taste better than any other substance and keeps up thriving, so go ahead, call us vampires if that tickles your fancy.

On this night, I made sure to be where he could see me. All of me. I smiled as I sipped my drink knowing immediately when he laid eyes on me. I could see the goosebumps form on his skin. I could smell his intrigue, even the slight arousal that threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t aware of why his body was reacting the way it was. We would always find each other. There was no way he could put into words what he was feeling right now. From that moment on, I never took my eyes off him.

This second twentieth century version of him was by far my favorite. His first stint in this century, he died from influenza, before he could come of age. I know the moment this soul returns to this universe, no matter where I am in the world; however I’m never allowed to see them until after their eighteenth birthday. This time around, I waited. When you have all eternity, two years feels like no time at all. I wanted to see his human life and learn everything I could about him, his character, even his hopes and his dreams. Of course, they were all for naught in the grand scheme of things. Always destined for something greater.

As they ended their set, I snuck out the back for a cigarette. He was always the last to leave. I disguised myself in the shadows until the place had emptied. To the human eye, I instantly raced past him until I was leaning against the back of his van. I rested my heel on the bumper, exposing my pale bare leg from the split in the skirt. His jaw dropped when he saw me. I smirked.

“Hey,” I said simply.

“H-hey. Hello. Um…” He looked around nervously as if this might be some kind of joke. Somehow he found his composure. With a tilt of his head, his eyes narrowed. “You’ve been coming to these shows for weeks. Why are you finally talking to me now?”

I let out a breath through my nose as a sort of laugh. “You’re quick, aren’t you? Well, I guess I just decided there’s no time like the present.”

“What’s with the outfit? You’re a little overdressed for this place. Your look is usually more…tame.”

“It’s a special occasion.” I smiled sweetly without showing my teeth. “Why haven’t you approached me before now? I mean, you can never seem to take your eyes off me when you cover ‘Love Bites.’” There was a hint of playfulness to my voice as the irony of the Judas Priest song was certainly not lost on me. Some might call this happenstance fate.

“You always take off before I get a chance.” As he crossed his arms, his tone was accusatory and bold. Yeah, he was certainly ready. Humans rarely challenged me. Instinctually, everything screamed for them to run as far away as they could. He meant what he said. He would have come up to me, sparking up a conversation, which was precisely the reason I took off every time. Until now.

“I guess you have a point there…uh…” I conceded as I found an opening to ask his name, despite already knowing it. Couldn’t reveal all my cards yet, now could I?

“Eddie. Eddie Munson. And you are…?”

“Kassandra, but everyone just calls me Kas.”

“So, what made you come to Hawkins?” He asked, his demeanor relaxing as he put his hands in his pockets and kicked at nothing on the ground in front of him. He never managed to be able to stay still.

“What is this, Twenty Questions?” I lightly scoffed before retorting with “Why do you stay in Hawkins?” His only response was a look of confusion and a furrowed brow. “You have talent. You could go places, yet you choose to play to no more than six people once a week,” I elaborated.

“I have to graduate school first. I… No one else in my family has. It’s just something I have to do, before I run out of here like a bat out of hell.” His tone softened. It almost seemed like he draped it in shame.

“Ah, let me guess. Rocky home life, vowed to be different and not like your parents, and you’re gonna do everything you can to live the life they never could. How’d I do?”

It was his turn to scoff. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, I’m just good at reading people. You put up a good front though.”

He narrowed his eyes at me again. I found this incredibly amusing. Especially as he put his hand on his van’s window and leaned down to ask me, “What is that supposed to mean?”

I wasn’t exactly sure if he was trying to be intimidating or was simply irritated. Either way, it was endearing that he thought he could get a rise out of me. Putting my leg back on the ground, I snaked my fingers through his belt loops, pulling him towards me. I moved one hand to trace his jawline with my pointed, black painted nails. I could hear his heartbeat quicken. I could smell the hint of adrenaline starting to kick in. “It means…you aren’t as rough and tough as you seem.” I dropped my hand to his chest. “That you crave something more in here.” I whispered as I tapped where his heart was. The self-control I had was truly remarkable. If he were anyone else, I would have cut the bullshit right there and devoured him. Well, with the mood I was in I would have played with my food first. I was a sucker for a good chase, but again, I digress. 

The way his curls formed a curtain around us. The way his deep brown eyes searched mine for an answer to a question he had yet to figure out. I knew I struck a chord that reverberated echoes of feelings long repressed. “Who are you?” was the only thing he was able to mutter. 

I placed my hand on his shoulder and reached up to speak breathlessly in his ear. “Maybe we should get out of here, so I can show you,” I whispered. 

He pulled back and gazed into my eyes again. I looked right back at him, through him almost, searching for the soul inside that remembered mine. Abruptly he went around the van and opened the passenger door while he circled around to take his place behind the wheel. I didn’t go at a human’s pace. As he was passing his side view mirror, I was already seated and buckled. He didn’t process how I moved until he opened the door and saw me.

“How did you…” He started to ask. I simply gave him my most charming of smiles.

“How did I…what?” I asked with feigned innocence coating my voice. He just shook his head and started up his van. The scent that filled the room from that simple motion was intoxicating.

Towards the end of the short ride, he broke the silence. A feat he’d been debating on doing the whole time, judging from how many times he gripped and ungripped the steering wheel and from how often he opened his mouth to begin to speak, but immediately closed it. “Can I level with you?” He finally asked. “I feel like I should be terrified of you for…some reason I can’t figure out. There’s another part of me that is enthralled by you – and I don’t even know why I’m admitting that – and an even deeper part of me that… that feels…” He struggled to find the right words, a sensation that was completely foreign to him.

“That finally feels at home?” I finished for him.

“Yeah…” He agreed softly.

Half of my mouth turned upwards into a sly smile. “It’s a long story… As for feeling terrified of me, the question you asked earlier… It’s not a matter of who I am, but what I am.” I could hear his breath catch. Again, his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as he pulled into his driveway. I laughed as I eyed him. “Should I tone down the theatrics? My apologies, I do have a flare for dramatics. You do too though, I’ve noticed.” 

I got out of his sad excuse of a vehicle and opened his door in the blink of an eye. Doing my best to give him a reassuring smile, although in the dead of night I probably came off as sinister. I held his face between my hands, forcing him to hold eye contact with me. “There are worse things out there than me. You needn’t be afraid of me.” Immediately, the tension in his body ceased. I let go of him and began walking to his front door. 

“How did you just…” His breathless voice was barely above a whisper, but even with the slight distance between us, I could hear him as clear as day. 

I couldn’t help but sigh. I was growing impatient. “I may be eternal, but I really don’t have all night.” I spoke loud enough so he could hear me. He scrambled to get out of his van and get to his trailer. I opened the door and helped myself inside. A little more about the supposed “invitation only” rule as far as people’s homes go. It doesn’t apply to my kind, at least. That is still a real thing, just for those not of this realm such as certain demons, the fae, those kinds of entities. 

I went straight to his room and settled on his bed, leaning my back against the wall. Despite the compulsion I used on him, his disposition was still hesitant. 

“Yeah, I mean, just make yourself at home.” He said as he got himself settled. Even with everything that was going on, he managed to turn himself around to grab his precious guitar. He put her in its rightful place before turning back to me.

“I always do when I’m here.” I said absentmindedly.

“Run that by me again?” He said, crossing his arms.

“I’ve been watching you for some time now. Ever since you turned eighteen. We have rules.” I shrugged. “You never found it weird when you would lose something and then it would conveniently show up?” A mischievous smile crept onto my face. He could only stare at me, mouth agape in shock. “I always find you, no matter where you reincarnate. I find you.” My tone softened to that of adoration. “Sit. I told you, it’s a long story.”

I used nothing but a commanding tone this time, yet something inside him moved him to sit on the edge of his bed. Perhaps it was fear, curiosity, the rumbling of destiny he felt stirring deep within, or a mix of all of those things. He watched me expectantly. 

“At this point, it might have been a millennium ago, we were created at the same time. Turned would probably be a better word for what happened. The one who figured out this magic altered us simultaneously, thus our souls formed an everlasting bond. Of course, balance is everything here, so another righteous human found a magic to counter us and our kind was hunted. They were not pleased that we fed off blood.” I paused. His eyes showed the calculations his mind was computing. He was piecing the puzzle together.

“You– you’re a vampire?” He asked incredulously.

“For all intents and purposes.” I shrugged again. I really wasn’t a fan of this term, because of what romanticism and Hollywood had turned it into. Nonetheless, it was the easiest for humans to comprehend.

“What happened next?” 

“Everything was so new to both sides. The Hunters caught up to us.” I stared off at nothing in particular as I recalled what had happened. Nostalgia flooding my features for that version of him. In every life, he always tried to be the hero. “You sacrificed yourself for me, allowing me the chance to escape. So I spent a few centuries learning about what I had become, honing my skills so to speak. Eventually there was enough of our kind to over take the Hunters. They conceded when we nearly wiped them out of existence. We set up rules to live peacefully with one another. Even still, there aren’t many of us left, but everyone has their own choices to make. Some get tired of this world. I never stopped seeing its potential.”

“So…how do I– how does…my soul fit into this?”

“I’ve made plenty of enemies in my past. Each of your incarnations, I had to wait for when you turned eighteen until I could even approach you. Sometimes your soul would forget who I was. Sometimes you were taken away from me one way or another. Throughout each one, I learned more and more about our bond. When others realized how much power we possessed when we were briefly reunited, they stopped at nothing to take us down. Ever the hero, I’ve lost you more times than I could count. I knew though, with each lifetime, you grew stronger. There would come a time when you would be ready to join me.”

“Am I ready…now?”

I let out a curt laugh. “You tell me. You’ve figured out what I truly am, so the compulsion to subside your fear has worn off. And yet…you haven’t tried to run. This is the first time that’s happened. Before, outside of the Hideout, you even tried to challenge me.” I couldn’t help but grin, the pride radiating from me. 

He shot up off the bed and began to pace. “No. No! This isn’t real. This can’t be real. This… this… Stop bullshitting me! Who the fuck are you?!”

“I’m not bullshitting you.” I said from the living room having moved at such an inhuman speed it appeared as if I had teleported. He whipped around to stare at me. “You can become what I am.” I whispered into his ear as I, then, moved behind him before his brain even registered that I had left where he saw me standing. 

He turned around as rapidly as he humanly could. His eyes widened and he screamed as he scrambled backwards, tripping, and falling onto his bed looking up at me. Again, I applauded my self control. The scent of fear really worked up my appetite. 

Before he could even think of running away, I was on top of him, straddling him, pinning him down. My hands locked his wrists to the bed. I stared down at him, giving him a full smile, exposing my fangs. Tears started to stream down the side of his face. A foreign twinge of guilt nipped at me. He was the only being who could ever bring this emotion out of me. I bent down to lick his tears away. “As much as I’m into this,” I started to say before releasing his wrists and boring into his eyes, “Stop crying,” I demanded. The compulsion made him comply.

I adjusted my weight on him to keep him locked in place between my legs. “Can I level with you?” I asked, imitating him from earlier. “What exactly is keeping you here? I can feel your resistance. I will respect your decision, should you refuse my offer, but… I’ve watched you long enough. I, personally, cannot think of a single reason that would keep you tied to this human life.”

He blinked slowly. “I… um, my friends. Wayne. I… can’t… leave them.”

I threw my head back as I laughed. “No. That’s not the reason. You’re terrified. You know deep down, you hate it here. You hate the confines of this life. You need something more. You crave something more. Why do you think you’re so into that stupid ‘fantasy’ game?” I rolled my eyes. It’s astounding how terribly the humans misunderstood everything. “Let me just show you.”

I placed my hand over the top of his skull, pressing down slightly. A surge of energy went through my arm into his head. His mind was flooded with my experiences, my feelings, my abilities, my plans for the future all of which involved him. “This is what you’re resisting. This is what you’re turning down.” I said just before I removed my hand from him. He stared up at me, his wide eyes shone with desire now.

My tight smile grew devilish. “So, what say you, Eddie Munson? Will you finally join me? Join us?” He nodded eagerly. “I need you to say it.”

“I’ll join you. I want to join you. I want to be with you. By your side.” He was breathless, but the yearning in his voice was unmistakable.

I leaned down, inhaling his scent when my face was pressed against his neck. I licked the length of his neck before kissing it. He could only moan. I smiled against his skin, before I sunk my teeth into his neck. I’ve never tasted any being as sweet and exhilarating as him. Tearing myself away, I looked down at his human form one last time. I will say, this was the prettiest version this soul has ever been.

I took my thumb nail and sliced open my own neck, feeling the cool blood slide down my throat. I bent back down allowing him to drink as much from me as he wanted. This feeling was complete ecstasy, unlike anything I had ever felt. 

I knew the transformation had started when he went limp beneath me. Patiently I waited. Content with myself, I reached out to the Master to alert him it had been done. 

Soon enough the time came. His eyes shot open. His brown irises were even more intense than before as they were now flecked with shimmering gold.

Breathlessly I spoke, “I’ve waited lifetimes for this moment.”

[danses-with-dogmeat]

R! FO4 Companions React to Being Told They Look "Submissive and Breedable"

Ask: Companions being told they look submissive and breedable

So I wasn't quite sure what to do for the specific context on this one since it wasn't too specific, but I ended up going with Romanced FO4 companions being told this by Sole/Reader. I hope that's along the lines of what you had in mind!

I also am not really sure what I did in regards to the ask itself, some are more humorous, while others got a bit steamy, sooooooo idk. Do with this what you will, I just hope it's entertaining 😅 (this was a lot of fun to write though, tbh)

And here is this prompt with the New Vegas folks as well!

And the Fallout 3 folks!

NSFW under the cut, so beware!

Cait:

"Oh yeah? Why don't ye come an find out fer yerself just how submissive I can be."

Oh, she'd take your words as an invitation to get rough with you. If you meant this as a joke... no you didn't, not in Cait's eyes, anyway. Something about those exact words did seem to trigger a certain something in the redhead.

She wasn't always aggressive in the bedroom, taking the opportunity she never had before to actually be softer with her intimacy when she was with you, given that she was actually having sex with someone she cared about now. Which, unfortunately, was quite the unfamiliar feeling. But man, you give Cait the opportunity to pin you down and take you the way she likes, she's all over it. You think she looks submissive? You'd better be prepared to prove it, but the odds really aren't in your favor.

"If I'm gettin' bred, we're doin' it my way, ya hear?" She'd say, pinning you to the bed or the wall before beginning her ravenous assault on your body. You didn't really think you would best her, did you? (And really, did you even want to?)

Curie:

"Oh? You really think so?"

You'll have to explain the function of dirty talk or this sort of humor to the poor synth another time. For now though, she's honestly quite thrilled that you think so.

Were you really considering trying to breed her? Could she actually become pregnant? Was this something you had insight into? Something that you wanted? Is that the point you were at in your relationship?

"Zhis is wonderful news!"

Your wording was a bit strange, but the thought was at least there, no? If she felt you were both comfortable, you were far enough along in your relationship, and you were serious about your proposition, you could bet that she'd want to try. In fact, maybe she didn't need to know that it was dirty talk at all, because her enthusiasm at your words seemed just as satisfying as any other response she could have given.

Danse:

His eyes would widen to the size of saucers, and his face would flush a deep crimson color as you breathed the words in his ear. He'd want to make some kind of retort, to try and say something in response. Anything in response, really. But he'd instantly just become a flustered mess, trying desperately to swallow down the choking noise that rose to the top of his throat.

Danse would try to hold himself together until the two of you were fully alone, behind closed and locked doors; where, oddly enough, the Paladin would be ready and willing to relinquish his authority in order to please you. He'd be a good little submissive soldier, obeying your every order as you had your way with him, blushing all the while remaining impossibly hard at the thought of being completely at your mercy. Damn, if it didn't feel good to let go and have you take control; just so long as you praise him for his good behavior, he'll be submissive for you any time you please.

Deacon:

"No, sorry, I'm not subsidizing any beetles. But thanks for asking."

He'd have a shit-eating grin on his face before you could even finish what you were saying to him, and would joke with you without missing a beat.

Just as you think the agent missed the meaning of your words, he'd wrap his hands firmly around your waist, pulling your body flush against his, and kiss you heatedly. The true effect the words really had on him was made evident in the firmness that pressed insistently against your abdomen as he held you close. He's pretty sure you were just trying to be funny, but come on, there's no way the way you said those words couldn't get him just a little hot and bothered.

He'd pull away just enough to feel your noses still brushing, his persistent grin still plain on his face as he met your eyes with a quirked ginger brow.

"Or was it something else you said? I couldn't quite make it out. Subliminal bead labels, was it? Submarine breath abrasion? Sebaceous braid oil, maybe? You know, I almost thought you'd said submissive and breedable, but that's far too filthy for my innocent little shnookums, isn't it?" He'd kiss you again, recoiling with a surprised gasp as you bit down on his lip playfully.

"Heh, alright. Then again, maybe not so innocent."

Hancock:

"Mm, that right?"

He'd say with a growl and a sinful grin. The ghoul didn't really care how you meant it, Hancock would take your words as he will. No matter what position the two of you were in, he'd wrench you closer to him, kissing you deeply, and drawing it out until you were out of breath and seeing stars.

"For you, I'll be anything you want." He'd whisper into your ear, before pulling away to gaze lovingly into your eyes. "I'm yours, sunshine. However you want me. Now and always."

It was strange how Hancock could hear you utter words like these and yet still respond with such wholesome sweetness.

Taking every opportunity to emphasize the extent of his love for you was one of Hancock's many talents, and in this instance, he wouldn't disappoint. You can be sure he'd let you have his way with him if that's truly what you wanted, only misbehaving just the tiniest bit, if only to keep things interesting, but don't think he's always so mushy. He's got a feral side to him too. Hancock would surely twist those same words to his advantage another night he was with you, catching you off-guard and uttering them to you at just the right moment.

MacCready:

*whines/moans*

Oh, MacCready desperately wants to say something dirty back. He wished he had some clever refute to counter the embarrassing words, something bratty and witty just to see how far he could push you; but you've got him in such a compromising position here beneath you, and dam- dang, those words, ugh, the way you said them, and the way you felt as you-- O-oh, he's gone.

In the next instance, MacCready was a sweaty, heaving mess beneath you, as a strangled moan escaped his throat, and he came undone at the sound of your filthy words. You had always wondered how dirty talk in the bedroom would go with your lover, and he sure didn't disappoint.

Nick:

"Heh, that right, sweetheart? I don't really think I have the biology for that sort of thing, but I sure won't stop you from trying."

He's an old hat at wooing through some steamy talk, but this would have his synthetic cheeks burning. The way you were looking down at him, eyes half lidded, standing over him as he sat on the bed, loosening his tie, it made his pistons fire at twice their normal rate; but you always seemed to have this effect on him. As you lowered yourself, walking your fingers up his chest to the first button of his collar, the way you closed in on him, like he was some kind of prey you’d been holding out for all day long, just waiting for the proper time to strike, the way your hands moved hungrily over his clothes, and the way your breath quickened, sounding rough as it passed through your parted lips, it didn’t matter what you said to him, what you called him. The synth was yours, however you needed him.

Piper:

*bites her lower lip and blushes*

"Oh, Blue. Is it-- is it hot in here, or is that just-- whew. Okay." The reporter would fan at her face furiously with one of her hands in light of your words.

Between the sheets, Piper was cheeky as could be, her sharp tongue slicing through each of your attempts at dirty talk with a heated response of her own. Now though, as you whispered lowly into her ear in public about what she was to you, what you would do to her when you got her alone... this really was the place to do it if you wanted to make her squirm, apparently.

Normally, she wouldn't be quite so eager to do the dirty with you out in the open like this, and she would still find somewhere relatively safe before really getting into it; but man, she needed to have you now. Forget the teasing and the payback, that could come later, but for now... she'd be whatever you want her to, just so long as you give her what she was craving.

Preston:

*choking noise*

Damn. He couldn't even get a single word out in response.

He'd never really thought about it before, but those words, the way your hot breath had fanned over his blushing face as you'd whispered them into his ear, with that low, rough voice, just dripping with your wicked intentions and promising something deeper than sex; it had his knees trembling and his cock aching desperately in his trousers, practically crying for your attention.

He wanted to give you anything your heart desired from him. He wanted to be everything you wanted, everything you needed, everything he possibly could be for you. So, you say he's submissive and breedable? Then he'll be damned if he's anything else.

X6-88:

"Care to test either of those theories?"

Cue the sexy, suggestive smirk. The courser is not without a sense of humor, despite what it seems like most of the time, and he'll take these words as a playful challenge. You had better prepare yourself though, this statement certainly is masquerading as a mission in X6's eyes, and if he's one thing, it's relentless.

The playful fight for dominance you had in mind is certain to be taken to the extreme. But don't worry, X6 is well aware of the limitations of the human body; how much abuse it can handle, how much pleasure it could withstand, and where the fine line between the two can be crossed, where it can be blurred. He'll only seek to test these limitations a little, as "punishment" for the carelessness of your statement about him. Perhaps next time, you shouldn't be so reckless with your words... Or maybe you should behave badly more often...

[magniloquent-raven]

(pt1 here)

billy grew up afraid of finding his soulmate.

when he was eight his father caught him trying to wash nail polish off with soap and a hand towel.

he’d heard girls at school saying it was what you did when your soulmate was a boy. you were supposed to paint yourself up all pretty and find the person who matched. and it was easy enough to sneak into the vanity and steal a bottle of his mother’s nail polish. but once the paint dried he realized it would be impossible to hide from his father, and he panicked.

his mother showed him the bottle of nail polish remover after neil left. dabbed some on a cotton ball to rub at the thick layer of paint. she was silent, kneeling on the floor in front of him cradling his sprained wrist while he sat on the edge of the tub and cried.

they both had questions, but neither of them got answers.

it took billy months to work up the courage to try again.

he wasn’t sure why he was bothering, at first. he knew he couldn’t look for his soulmate the traditional way. and he was constantly terrified that his father would find the supplies he’d started hoarding. it seemed like more risk than reward, and yet. he couldn’t stop himself.

every time he was allowed to wander off in a store alone he’d slip something into his pocket. a tube of lip gloss. a compact full of shiny powders. he wasn’t even sure what some of it was, he just liked the colours. liked the pictures they hung alongside the displays. he wanted to look like that. beautiful.

and in his heart of hearts, he wanted the boy who was out there waiting for him to know he existed. whether they’d be able to find each other or not.

he’s more careful with this than he was with the nail polish. his father works saturday nights, and his mother always visits their neighbour while he’s at work. despite having the house to himself he locks his bedroom door.

the first thing he tries is the watermelon lip gloss. it’s sticky, and the wand doesn’t fit in his hand comfortably, but once he’s smeared it on he feels...good. he likes the way it catches the light. likes the way it smells. he looks at himself in the mirror and likes seeing something different.

the high doesn’t last long, it inevitably gives way to paranoia, anxiety that has him glancing at the locked door every thirty seconds, heart pounding, wondering if just maybe his father will get home from work early, and he jumps at every sound, hearing boots thudding on the porch and car doors slamming and anything that could be neil coming through the door.

cleaning himself up is hard. panic makes his hands shake, his eyes well up. he drops everything on the floor when he tries to tuck the bag away. and he has to spend twenty minutes with his back to his bedroom door getting his breathing under control when he’s finished.

but he does it again the following saturday. and the one after that.

for five months he does this. locks himself away with his stolen treasures and lets himself live a little. it gets easier as time goes on. and his mind wanders sometimes. to a future where he gets to share this with someone. the boy out there who’s supposed to love him one day.

it’s a small bubble of a dream. one he doesn’t spend too much time dwelling on. not when there’s neil’s voice in his head, telling him that no one could love a fucking freak, ‘cause fags don’t get real soulmates anyways.

he wants and he wishes, but the more he thinks about it the more he doubts. he’s never gotten a mark from his soulmate, and even if he did some day, what if his father’s right, and his “soulmate” doesn’t want him or makes him miserable or...worse.

so he does his makeup for himself.

until, like all good things in his life, his father ruins it.

he never found out what set neil off initially, something going wrong at work maybe, or the martial strife of the week getting to him. whatever it was that started it, neil eventually decided billy should bear the brunt of the fallout.

so he went through his things. said billy’d been acting cagey lately, and he was going to find out why.

and then found the makeup bag stuffed into an old sweater in his closet.

it was ugly. the things neil said that day would play on repeat in billy’s head for years afterwards. the scars his belt left on billy’s back were nothing in comparison.

the next saturday came and went. billy spent the evening curled up under a blanket not bothering to wipe away the tears dripping down his face.

by morning he’s resolved to forget the whole thing. to put it behind him. because it was stupid, and risky and childish and maybe his father was right. he’s almost convinced himself. and then he notices ink on his arm, as he reaches up to rub his eyes. messy scrawl, i bet you looked pretty crookedly written up his forearm.

he didn’t think he was able to cry any more, but he manages it.

for the first time his soulmate isn’t just a concept, or a what-if, he’s...a person. he’s a real person out there somewhere. someone who doesn’t even know billy and still wanted to reach out, to offer comfort. it’s more than he’s gotten from anyone else. even his mother. who he knows loves him, and she does her best to protect him, but when she found out about his makeup stash she just looked sad, and she’s said nothing to him about it.

but his soulmate…

can never, ever meet neil.

the thought hits him right in the chest.

whoever he is, he cares, he’s good. and neil breaks good things.

billy falls asleep that night tracing the empty space where his soulmate’s message used to be, wrapped up in worries and dreams, and terrified for someone he’s never met.

the doodles that come and go over the years are terrifying and exhilarating and billy manages to hide every single one from his father. they only ever show up during the day, and they don’t linger. something billy is both grateful for and resentful of.

sometimes he’ll watch other boys’ hands in class. check them for drawings. he thinks he’s being careful, but a girl in his chem class, becca, catches him. she says it’s only because she knew what to look for. they share a cigarette under the bleachers and she tells him about a girl who likes green eyeshadow and writes homework reminders on her wrists using stars instead of bullet points.

it takes billy six months and a couple shots of tequila to tell her about watermelon lip gloss and bet you’re pretty and they both cry when he starts to wonder if his soulmate will be disappointed that he isn’t a girl.

on a rainy april afternoon she asks him to go to a gay bar with her. he tells his father he’s going on a date. she tells her’s that she had to reschedule a tutoring session and it’ll run pretty late.

they wait til it’s dark and get ready in a dingy gas station bathroom. when she’s smearing on her eyeliner she catches sight of his face in the cloudy mirror. he wasn’t going to ask her for anything. he wouldn’t have brought it up. the twinge in his heart and a hollow feeling of longing aren’t anything new, he can deal.

he feels and empty kind of rage every time old, well-meaning relatives give max girly lip gloss kits and eyeshadow pallets and shit normal preteen girls who care about finding their soulmates actually appreciate. she always rolls her eyes and throws them away. susan will fish them out of the trash sometimes, and leave them under the bathroom sink, like if max just sees them there she’ll suddenly give a shit and start using them. like them being there does anything but taunt billy with what he can’t have.

neil watches him like a fucking hawk every time that shit comes into the house. and max doesn’t fucking care. doesn’t notice.

but becca offers.

and.

he’s not about to say no.

he should’ve said no.

it feels good at first, like it used to, it feels like freedom and he likes what he sees when he looks in the mirror, and he kisses a boy for the first time and it isn’t fireworks but it’s something, and he thinks maybe it’s going to be a good night, but then…

neil is waiting on the curb outside becca’s house. they were heading there first, because her parents wouldn’t notice, she said it would be fine, she has makeup remover he can use, he can clean up and head home and everything was supposed to be okay, except. it wasn’t.

it’s the last time he sees becca. neil tells her parents what was actually going on, and she isn’t allowed to visit him in the hospital.

and then six months of rehab, one rushed wedding and a big ugly sold sign later, neil carts them off to hawkins, indi-fucking-ana. as a “family.”

billy was certain this town would be nothing but a prison. it’d be somewhere he’d never find a place to be himself, neil would make sure of that. there wasn’t a single thing to like about this place and its bullshit small town sensibilities. for all the open space it might as well have been stone walls and steel bars.

except.

except...here was a boy with soft eyes and nimble fingers, who gets a little wrinkle between his brows when he concentrates, and is always moving, fidgeting, fiddling with zippers and touching his elbows and looking at him makes billy itch. to touch, to soothe, to take, and…

things get complicated when aimless blue waves scrawl up billy’s arm. when steve follows him out into the parking lot. calls him pretty to his face. and suddenly billy’s eight years old and realizing this shit is real. terrified of what that could mean. spinning fragile dreams like spider’s silk, hard to shake but easy to destroy.

even entertaining the idea of putting on makeup while he’s still in hawkins is stupid and dangerous, but goddamn if he hasn’t risked more for less.

he’s sure he’ll regret it. like he’s regretted every other desperate bid for freedom. but when faced with steve harrington’s smile, he can’t find it in himself to say no.

(edit: pt3 here)

[theroomofreq]

can you give me muggle jily recs pleaaseeee <3 :D

HOW MANY HIGH-QUALITY MUGGLE JILY FICS ARE THERE?? TOO MANY TO COUNT. *cracks knuckles* BUT I am here for the challenge. Jily AUs are my JAM.

Again, shoutout to our amazing @jilyarchive friends who tag every wonderful muggle jily au they come across. here is the link that will take you to their tags page. You'll find links to specific tropes and AUs :')

I've searched through my own AO3 bookmarks and history tabs, and I present to you 28 jily muggle fics that I LOVE. I am THRILLED thinking about all the good things in store for those that read these wonderful stories. This list took me ages to make because I went through and reread most of these brilliant fics. Happy reading !! xx

properly improper by @lizardcookie

“Marry me,” Mr. Potter repeats, closing the distance between them by striding back up towards the sofa, only to stop and crouch to one knee right there at her feet, looking up at her. Burning. “Pick me,” he elaborates. “Pick me, choose me, love me instead.”

- this fic is the reason why I comment the way that I do (spoiler it's because it's amazing)

The Wedding Ring by @mppmaraudergirl

What is undeniably worse than attending your sister's wedding looking as desolate and forgotten as a wilted houseplant? Drunkenly ringing your ex-boyfriend and asking him to be your date.

- SOBS UNCONTROLLABLY AT THE PERFECTION

Oh my god, they were ROOMMATES by @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world

Silly one-shot, Muggle AU with Fem!Jily as pining roommates and Marlene as their matchmaker.

- the fic that brought me back to jily and inspired my deep obsession of fem!jily

Swipe Right, Swing Left by @downn-in-flames

The unspoken rule of using dating apps in D.C. is that you always start with where you work.

James Potter, it seems, never picked up on that one.

- giddy just thinking about this gem

'Tis the Damn Season by @petalstofish

It doesn't feel like Christmas for Lily Evans, not after losing her parents to COVID before the Holiday season. She anticipates spending Christmas all alone until a boy from her past shows up and offers her a mutually benefiting deal that has her calling him 'babe' just for the weekend. 'Tis the damn season, after all.

- cries in respect for lyrical writing

Watch Me Unwind by @maraudersftw

Lily Evans hates her job, hates the bigoted customers she has to serve as a bartender at the richest club in the city. But the one person who makes bearing all of it worth it has someone else in his arms tonight. (Rated: M)

- obsessed with the way the plot jumps around the time line in this

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

- YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE HOW FAB THIS IS

a matchmaking mission by @downn-in-flames

James Potter has a mission: get Sirius Black and Remus Lupin to finally admit that they both fancy the pants off each other by Valentine's Day.

His partner in crime? Lily Evans, Remus' flatmate, who he also happens to be slightly in love with

- DOUBLE the amount of pining idiots in love :")

about time by @jilyss

'sure, yeah, I can accompany you to that black tie event for your work tonight. wait. why are we on a red carpet?'

- this is my emotional comfort fic, your honor

whiskey business by @elanev91

Sirius Black has a (bad?) habit of picking up hobbies that take over his and James' flat -- this most recent one? Homemade vodka that James now has to try and peddle to everyone in the building.

- hysterical! must read!

Fashion Disaster by @maraudersftw

James Potter is roped into an awful dare by his best-mate, which involves him wearing atrocious pieces of clothing for all days until Christmas as dictated by Sirius. If this wasn't terrible enough, he now has to contend with his maddening crush on the beautiful saleswoman at the clothing store.

- classic hijinks that I live for

it wasn't a pity invite by @elanev91

Part of the December "Winter Tropes" Jily challenge. Prompt: my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and omG i’m so sorry

- awkward Christmas date that owns my heart

spice and honey by @clare-with-no-i

tagging along with her food reporter sister to profile James Potter, London's hottest young chef, is not how Lily Evans pictured her Monday going - especially if he's anything like Petunia’s described.

needless to say, she's in for a whirlwind at Chez Maraudeur.

- I'm one re-read away from printing this out and putting it on my bookshelf.

Waffle Wars by @elanev91

There's only one waffle maker in the dining hall and it literally always breaks. So, naturally, the only reasonable course of action is to meticulously map out when it's working and, ultimately, do a heist.

- the witty narration in this fic can not be matched

You Can Hear It In The Silence by @alrightginger

Lily is non-verbal and deaf in a world where the things your soulmate says about you end up written on your skin. She has known about her soulmate since she was seven, but knows they don't have a clue she exists and possibly never will.

- exquisite, cue me sobbing forever

out the window by @displayheartcode

A new family moves to Ottery St Catchpole.

- everything I could ever want in a fic, forever in my mind rent free

The Christmas Guest by @thegodmachine

An Evans Family Christmas: Petunia is bringing her fiancé and Lily is bringing her…Friend…

- petunia pov that gives me WINGS

Football, Calculus, and Cappuccinos by @moonawrites

At eighteen years old, James Potter has a lot going on. He's a rising star navigating the politics of professional football, the pitfalls of sudden fame, the fallout from choosing his dream over his father's company... and a serious crush on the red headed new barista at his favourite coffee shop.

- I'm still working my way through this fic, but trust me when I say its a GEM

if u like pina coladas by @zephyrcove

Lily is desperate for a date to Petunia's wedding, James has been pining, and their friends meddle ;)

- explain to me how characters can be so perfect via texting fics?

Shelf Awareness by @ghostofbambifanfiction

It's too far out of her way and she's wasting so much money, but Lily can't help but return to the bookstore every weekend, where her passion for good literature has, perhaps, been unexpectedly reignited by the messy-haired, pun-making, rather handsome bloke who works there.

- you absolutely must know that I binge read this and then immediately REREAD it

How to win a witch in 10 days by @adenei

“She’s going to find some unsuspecting wizard, get him to fall for her, and then do all the things that turn men away to get him to break things off! Won’t it be the best way to see what witches do that drives men crazy?” But what happens when the man in question is a blast from Lily Evans's past? A Jily Magical AU based on the romantic comedy "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

- fic based off of a rom com? YES PLZ :’)

The Fight Before Christmas by @ghostofbambifanfiction

The heartwarming Christmas tale of Lily Evans and James Potter - two plucky kids who hated one other, until the day they really, really didn't.

- complete sucker for this one

All This Time by @thejilyship

James and Lily grew up next door to one another. Their bedroom windows giving them glimpses into the others life, and also offering prime opportunities to argue with each other over every little thing. They never figured out how to be friends when they were kids, but now that they've graduated from college and are home for the summer, they have a second chance to get things right.

- one of my favvvv tropes

Let Me Love You by @thejilyship

With only a month until she's set to take the throne of Gryffindor, Lily is informed that she'll have to get married or choose to give up her throne. She never thought she'd have to even entertain the idea of an arranged marriage. Enter, James Potter.

- cries in princess diares AU

The Fabulous Baker Brothers by @frustratedpoetwrites

Lily walks a different route home from work and stumbles upon a cute little Bakery with an even cuter baker in the window.

- yes yes yes to embarrassed pining.

Marigold Mornings by @mppmaraudergirl

This is a fun game she thinks, as she removes her hand from his side and reaches up to run it down his chest.  He catches her hand in his own, takes a step forward so that her nose nearly brushes against his shirt. She can feel the heat radiating off of him—or maybe it’s from her. He licks his lips and her eyes are drawn to the motion.  She knows it is a bad idea, absolutely knows it.

- incredible storytelling featuring dynamic characters :') a favvv

Welcome to Pettyville by@women-inthe-sequel @alrightginger

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

- LOVE SQUARE ANYONE

The Kiss a Stranger Project by @alrightginger

“What’s your name, then?” she asks, realizing they haven’t even properly introduced themselves yet. She nervously crosses her arms.

You shouldn’t kiss a guy without knowing his name first.

Right?

- THIS ONE WILL LIVE IN MY MIND FOREVER

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Random WIP snippets – an ongoing saga no one asked for Part 3

Because, ugh, I don't really have a reason. Sue me! The basic idea for this one:

Buck returns to the 118 after the lawsuit, all the more unsure of his standing at the station and with his friends. Sadly, someone seeks to take advantage of that, leaving some none too kind messages feeding right into some of Buck's worst insecurities. Can his friends get through to him before it is too late?

Cheers!

Coming back to work, Buck did not expect a welcome party. He was glad that most people acted civil around him. Hen even got him a bleeding cake. So Buck tried to focus on that instead of the rift he knew was gaping between him and his team, him and his friends, him and his best friend in particular… well, between him and Eddie.

Because he’s not entirely sure anymore whether Eddie considers him that anymore, his best friend.

After the fallout at the grocery store, Buck felt so floored he wanted to crawl under a rock for a week, maybe even a year. He didn’t know what to say to Eddie, didn’t know how fix this, where to even begin, no matter how much he wrecked his brain about it.

Something shattered, and it wasn’t just the ladder truck, not just the windshield, not just his leg, his dreams of being a firefighter. Now there’s a million pieces of his life, scattered on the ground, of what they all used to be, together. And while Buck enjoys puzzling with Christopher, trying to mend your life back together proves to be more difficult than solving children’s puzzles featuring the Milky Way.

Not that he ever had anything close to an idea of how to fix this, before or after the lawsuit. People were still understandably mad at him by the time he ran into them at the grocery store. Buck got that, still gets it.

But he felt like he was in an echo chamber. And he was screaming inside it, for no one to hear other than himself. Because no one seemed to get how important being a firefighter is for him. He wasn’t just being a petulant child. He chose the wrong approach, but was it all wrong? Was it really onlyjust him?

Bobby wasn’t being up-front with him. That shit hurt. He kept it from him, left him to believe that if he worked his ass off, the higher-ups would let him come back. But it was Bobby, and he didn’t tell Buck until he had to. Bobby thought he wasn’t ready, but he didn’t say it out loud, he didn’t even whisper it, while Buck was screaming and screaming and screaming to get back the job he fought for so desperately to keep, the team he was so desperate to return to.

But it shouldn’t matter anymore, not if they all want to move on from this, right?

Buck came to the conclusion that they both should have acted differently, should have talked more instead of less. That may have prevented a great many things. But that didn’t happen. Bobby didn’t talk to him. Buck sued.

Shit happens, huh?

And now there’s shards on the ground and leaving them on the ground is just no option.

It’s always easier if there is one bad guy. But there really isn’t – safe for his asshole lawyer he never should have hired. There is no moustache-twirling guy with a black cape who is there to mess them up. Bobby isn’t the villain of this story, but Buck tends to think he isn’t either. He made some bad calls, is all. That makes things impossibly more complicated than they should be, though. Because that means both have to admit to something. There isn’t just someone to apologize and the other having to accept it. You have to find a common ground again, somehow, anyhow.

But that’s Bobbyand him.

What really doesn’t sit right with Buck is the thing with Eddie. At the grocery store, he told Buck he needed him and Buck wasn’t there. That he only thought about himself, leaving two of the most important people in his life behind.

And wasn’t that a harsh truth to get handed to you right next to the produce?

It had killedBuck not to be able to talk to his best friend because of the stupid lawsuit. Not to have a chance to maybe make him understand why he was doing all this. He wanted to see Christopher, God, does he miss that boy even now. And that’s what Buck regrets about it most, that he dragged people into something that should have been between him and his captain.

That the people he loves got hurt because of him.

But it is what it is now. He can’t retrace his steps to where he went wrong, or where he thinks Bobby did, and take a sharp turn to the left from there.

So what is Buck supposed to do? Apologize some more? Grovel? Buy a cake spelling it out in frosting? He cando that, that’s not the thing. Buck just doesn’t know how long this is supposed to go. How long he has to eat crow before they can forgive him. How many shards he has to glue back together before the others can start to lend him a hand to fix this mess of a life.

But he apologized, many times. And they said it’s okay. So what is the expectation here? That’s also what Buck struggles with. What do they expect him to do to fix this? Can’t they just give him a list he can work through? Buck likes lists. Because he will jump those hoops if they show him which. He will bust his ass to get it done.

Going through the tests, that seemed easy by comparison. There were points, rules, set times. There was a finishing line in sight. But that’s not the case here. Buck doesn’t know the goalposts leading to his forgiveness. And he doesn’t know who sets which and how high or low…

Yes, the lawsuit may have been a shit idea, but at its heart, keeping things from Buck was none of Bobby’s brightest ideas either. Right? He isn’t the only one who made a couple of bad calls. So Buck hoped that maybe if they forgave him for his bad calls, he could forgive Bobby, and then all would be forgotten, back to normal, no matter how complicated this is otherwise. You know, managing the amount and height of the goalposts.

It should be like that, between friends, right?

But somehow it isn’t. And Buck starts to believe it won’t ever be again. Or at the very least, he finds his hopes faltering a bit more every day, walking into the station he used to consider perhaps even more of a home than his own apartment.

The ease is gone. There is always tension the moment his name is dropped, the moment his presence becomes apparent to the other members of the 118. It throws Buck back to the many times he felt that shift right upon entering the living room as a teenager, only to get that certain look from his parents. Like his mere presence was a nuisance, but not enough to make them turn their heads and say something.

And sure, those people are nothis parents. Buck won’t hold it against colleagues that his parents managed to mess him up like that. So this is in all likability really just a bit of cold shoulder treatment, a bit of awkwardness because, well, frankly, it isawkward.

Tell that my brain, though. Apparently, won’t get the memo no matter how often I leave a voicemail.

Buck tries his best to stick to his guns, keeps his head leveled, does what he is told. To make sure he doesn’t trample on the shards on the ground and produce some more. He doesn’t complain – as much– about being on chore duty all day, getting the really stupid and obnoxious tasks.

This is what he let millions of dollars slide for, after all. He’ll be damned if he lets his hurt feelings get in the way of that.

He will make this right somehow. He’ll talk it out with Bobby. And he’ll figure it out with Eddie, too. Eventually. Somehow. Anyhow. Losing is no option, giving up is not.

He just needs to focus on this first. Because that’s the only thing Buck dares to think he knows how to fix. Stick to the rules, keep a low profile, don’t make your problems everyone else’s… and then we’ll see what’s next.

Maybe once he’s back on calls, things will be easier. He and Eddie always fall into sync on the job. So maybe that will be an easier way to get back into the groove. Somewhere closer to where they used to be.

I fought my way back through physical therapy, through the tests, through a friggin’ tsunami. I should be able to do this, right?

He hopes.

He dares to hope, even when it all seems fleeting lately.

It’s not like he has much of an option anyway, but that won’t stop Buck. He fought so hard to get his job back, to be back with the 118. This is just another hurdle. Just one more. One more.

Right?

Buck is pulled out of his musings when he sees Eddie approach.

Buck makes sure to put on his most charming smile as he approaches. “Hey Eddie, I was about to…”

“Sorry, I gotta go,” is the only reply he gets. There is no malice to Eddie’s voice. A sense of urgency. To get away? He is not entirely sure. But there is no malice there, not even disinterest. Buck knows disinterest better than most, after all. There is just something he can’t put, something that instantly cuts off whatever conversation may have started. And again, Buck doesn’t even know where to begin to fix that.

“Okay, sure,” Buck mutters as his partner pushes past him up the stairs.

No, they are not fine.

But I’m getting there. I will. I have to.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, a frown forming on his lips.

“Crap, my phone.”

He jogs back into the locker room to fetch his cell phone, seemingly forgotten in the haze of trying to keep up with the conversations going on behind his back. Buck opens the locker, his frown deepening as he catches the sight of something unfamiliar inside it.

A card. Plain white, no address, no nothing. Sitting right at eye level. But there is something on it that’s not nothing. And it’s staring back at him.

Black on white.

You don’t belong here.

It’s like teeth digging into his skin, pushing down slowly, drawing blood.

Buck stares at the card for a long while, strangely mesmerized by it. He can’t believe it, doesn’t even dare to touch it. Though maybe he should. It’s sickeningly tantalizing. Like a spell. And he should break it, but he can’t. Because it has teeth and it bites and it hurts and it’s drawing invisible blood out of him and he can’t afford to bleed.

Because this is not a prank. Pranks, Buck can live with. Pranks, he’d even welcome because that’d mean they could finally laugh about it again. But this is something else. This is a very clear message that he is, in fact, not welcome. Not forgiven.

And as there is no sender, Buck has no way to tell who it is who wants him gone. Which may be even worse. Maybe it’s all of them, maybe it’s some of them. Maybe it’s one of his friends, spelling it out.

That he is not welcome.

Not wanted.

Air won’t enter his lungs, no matter how hard he tries to breathe. Buck clutches at his collar, the staccato of his heartbeat drumming in his ears, shrinking the world down to just that white rectangle staring at him.

But then he manages to look away and stare down at his watch instead. He has to go, or else all eyes will be on him up on the gallery. Buck grabs his phone, quickly throws the door shut, and skips up the stairs to the others already gathered around Bobby, ignoring the whooshing in his ears, the way he feels like keeling over.

He volunteers to wash the trucks before the captain can demand it of him. Buck knows today is not the day he’ll be back on calls. And a small part of him is glad for it. Because whoever it is is right, right? He doesn’t belong. A sore thumb. A wound that keeps on festering that you should better cut out with a knife before the rest gets infected, too.

But maybe he can wash it off, at least for a while.

He has plenty of practice with that, after all.

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

“Hey, aren’t you joining in for lunch?”

“Hm?” Buck removes one earbud, trying hard not to stare at Chim crouching over him as Buck made himself more or less comfortable outside, letting the lights blind him.

“Sorry, made too much food yesterday, so I’ll have my own,” Buck answers, hoping whatever his mouth does passes for a smile. “Thanks.”

Chimney looks at him with confusion. “You can still come sit with us, though?”

And Buck knows he should be happy, he should jump right on it. After all, he is desperate for this kind of thing, for the attention, for being included, not being alone, but… but he just can’t. Not right now. Not when he feels like choking.

Because he will trample on shards, and they will turn to dust. Because he’s bringing enough of his problems into this station and he can’t afford to add any more.

“Thanks, I just need some fresh air. I think… I think I inhaled too much of the polishing stuff,” he manages to say, which earns him an amused chuckle from Chim. “Y’know you’re supposed to use it for polishing, not sniffing, Buckaroo?”

“Thanks for the advice, man. Will try to keep it in mind next time.”

Chimney pats him on the shoulder. “Alright, you know where to find us in case you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

This has Chimney frown as he straightens up. “… Not for that.”

Buck would want to say something, but he doesn’t find the words. Chimney seems to get the message and walks away, sparing them both more awkward silence, for which Buck knows he should be thankful, too.

He sighs, pulling his knee up to rest his chin on it. The mere thought of food makes him want to throw up right now, so what’s the point of pretending to be part of those dinners that almost feel like family dinners?

What’s the point of all this, really?

How are you supposed to keep hoping when you have it black on white that your hopes are for nothing, your efforts futile?

That you are never going to be good enough?

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Aaron Hotchner / Worth Your While

Prompts: The Beard Hotch Fic™ - inspired by that one episode where hotch has a beard and all of us collectively lost our minds 

Word count: 3.728

Warnings: E, phone sex, mutual masturbation, beard kink (i guess that’s a thing??), oral (f receiving), i don’t know just smut

Image Credit: @agenthotchner​

“Still don’t know when you’re coming back?” 

A sigh floated through the phone, “Not yet,” you hum, climbing into bed on top of your covers, your legs folded underneath you. You hear his cot creak underneath him. You hummed, as you placed your pillow beside you, if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine that he was lying there beside you. 

“Enjoying the hot Pakistani desert a bit too much, Hotch?” a small chuckle leaves his throat, voice gruff over the line. 

“I would enjoy it a lot more if you and Jack were with me,” your chest aches at the sound of the weariness in his voice. He was so tired — and now you couldn’t even take care of him. Another sigh leaves his lips, before he adds, a ghost of a laugh in his voice,  “although he’s not a fan of the beard.” 

You raise your eyebrows, “Really?” 

“His exact words were, ‘do they not sell razors there, Dad?’” you snort, turning onto your side, “I think I’m going to shave it off before I get back.” 

“Ah let’s not rush it,” you bit your lip, running your fingers over your bare neck, “why don’t we ask for some other opinions before we jump to conclusions?” 

You could practically hear his eyebrow raise over the phone, “And what’s your opinion, sweetheart?” his voice is low and scratchy, and you can almost imagine his fingers tucking your hair behind your ear as he murmured the question against your neck. 

You feel a heat begin to climb up your neck, and down your body, “I don’t think you should shave,” 

“You don’t think?” he presses, and you hear the cot groan again as he shifts, “or I shouldn’t?”

“You shouldn’t,” you swallowed, fingers drifting down to the waistband of your shorts, “not until you see me again.” 

“And what are you going to do when you see me again?” you whimper, fingers past the elastic of your shorts, your fingers drift against your soaked panties, “answer me.” You gasp his name as your fingers circle your clit, “are you touching yourself?” 

“Yes,” you say, breath uneven as he shifts in his cot again, more this time, “I need you, Aaron, I—” 

“Call me on video call,” he hisses, and you know his fingers are around his length, the video call feed only confirming it, “see what you do to me,” his pants are gruff and short, “show me what you’re doing.” You flip the camera from your face to the middle of your thighs, your hand hidden beneath the fabric of your obviously drenched underwear, “Pull those off, I want to see you. I want to see exactly what I’m doing to you.” 

Your underwear slides down your thighs, slowly, as you lift your hips for the camera. And his breath hitches when he sees you — soaking wet and two fingers deep in your pussy, “Aaron, fuck, I miss you—” 

“What do you miss?” there’s an edge to his voice, an urgency, but still, his voice is hushed and quiet, tension thrumming in the air, “tell me what you want me to do to you.” 

“Is that an order, sir?” and you hear him groan quietly over the phone that hangs in the silence of the desert. 

“Fuck, yes, it is,” he growls, and he hears a quiet hum leave your throat, and he knows you’re enjoying this — all too much, but not as much as if he were actually there. If he had two thick fingers pressed inside of you. His mouth swallowing all the little noises leaving your throat, until his lips sucked dark bruises against the hollow of your throat. 

“I would want you to pin me down, your fingers parting my thighs,” quick gasps part your lips, filling the silence of his tent, and you wonder — could someone hear you if you were just a little too loud? Could a colleague hear your desperate cries of his name, you begging him for his cock, his mouth, his fingers — anything, “feel your beard against my thighs as you wrap your tongue around my clit, fingers inside me, like mine are now—” Your fingers sink deeper, adding another with a loud gasp, your hips rolling against your hand, “and I’d cum all over your face.” His beard slick with your cum, as he kisses you again, tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. 

“Then, you want me to fuck you hard, don’t you?” a helpless whine parts your throat at his words, low and sharp, “But still, I’d sink into you, slowly, let you feel every inch of myself part you — wet and tight — for me.” 

You arch your back against your bed, Only for him. 

“Aaron, please, I need to see you — see your face—” You’re close — he doesn’t need to see your face to know that. And you know he hears it — hears you preen against you, and in the quiet silence of your bedroom, and his hand squeezes his cock. Fuck, and he abides by your request — shows you his face contorted in quietly controlled pleasure, his teeth against his bottom lip, until he hears you. 

“Aaron, I’m—” he groans, far too loud for the quiet desert and conscious colleagues that surrounded him. But it only further pushes you over the edge, thinking about that groan in your ear, pressing kisses against your neck, fucking you hard and fast until your walls tighten around your fingers, phone falling from your hand. But not before you hear him say your name, reverent and breathy.

Your fingers begin to still, the feeling of your fingers carrying you through your orgasm, chest rising and falling in quick pants. Your body slumps against your mattress, boneless, eyes squeezed shut. That is, until you hear a voice on the phone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, reaching for the phone, “sorry, did you say something?” 

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice deep and blissed out — and you can almost feel the words of love vibrate against your skin, “I miss you, so much.” 

“Distance makes the heart grow fonder?” you offer, flipping the camera so he could see your face, “but phone sex definitely helps.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, “It does, but it’s not enough.” 

“No, nothing compares to the real thing,” you sigh, rolling over on your bed, “but luckily, the real thing is waiting for you when you get back,” and then you add, “Just don’t shave the beard.” 

He runs a hand through his beard, “Yes ma’am. You’ll make it worth my while?” 

You grin, tilting your head, “Don’t I always?” 

~~~

Hotch leaned against the headrest of the airplane seat, stuffed between two sleeping passengers — this was certainly different than using the jet. Not that he was complaining — he needed to get back. He resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the arm rests. 

Ian Doyle. That was a name he had spent several months trying to forget. The events of what happened still haunted him, but even more than that, the lies he had to tell the team wore away at him. Guilt gnawed at his insides, a pit in his stomach that he was sure would give way. 

He had to do it. He had no choice. He was the team’s leader. He had to make the hard decisions. He had to bear the burden. But he only wished he didn’t have to do it at the team’s expense. 

He rubbed at his eyes. Watching them cry and mourn, listening to them grieve right in front of him, as he evaluated each of them for field work — it had killed him. And now it would all come out. Prentiss was alive. And they had kept it from them. He had kept it from them. 

But there was no use thinking about the fallout. Not when he was on a plane miles away from its destination still. No, he needed to think about something else. 

He glanced at his phone, smiling at the picture of you and Jack smiling back at him. He remembered the day they had taken that photo. It was your first time spending time with Jack. He never met someone who clicked so easily with Jack — after everything that had happened with Haley, Jack was a little quieter, a little more reserved (not so dissimilar to himself, you had pointed out to him). But with you, it was different. He would smile. He would laugh. He understood. He knew you and you knew him. And he was so grateful for that. 

And he was so grateful for you. 

His fingers rubbed at his chin, still prickly with his beard. He had kept his promise — he had kept it for you. Even though Jack would be less than pleased. He would be staying with Jessica either way while he dealt with the situation at hand. He wouldn’t be getting much sleep the next few days — he knew that for sure. But even so, the prospect of seeing you soon made his chest feel a little lighter. No longer would date night consist of a hurried dinner and possible phone sex. Now, he could hold you, he could touch you, and he could fall asleep to your quiet breaths, instead of to a far too hot desert and a lonely cot. 

And the best part? He hadn’t told you that he was coming back yet. And he didn’t think he was going to, until he was at your doorstep. 

~~~

“How was work today?” Hotch gave a heavy sigh over the phone, and you put down the bowl of dough you had been stirring, “Aaron?” 

“It was a hard day,” he cleared his throat, “we saved a kid, but he saw his father die in front of him.” 

“Aaron,” you wished you could touch him, could comfort him, no words were enough for times like this, “you couldn’t have done anything more. You saved his life.” 

“I know, I just—” he clicked his tongue, “I just wish it didn’t turn out that way.” 

“And that’s why you’re one of the good guys,” you smile at your phone, “and that’s why you can’t let it eat away at you — you still have your own little boy to come home too. Not to mention, your very patient girlfriend.” 

He laughed, a soft noise that made your heart stutter in its chest, “You have been very patient, haven’t you?” 

“I have,” you hummed, perking up at the tone of his voice — appreciative and teasing — “got something to reward me with?” 

“I actually might,” and you bit your lip, “but you’ll have to do me a favor.” 

“This is my reward, and I have to do you a favor?” you clicked your tongue, “doesn’t seem very fair, Agent Hotchner.” 

“I know all about fairness, sweetheart. After all, I did study it in law school,” you could almost see him shaking his head, a smile dancing across his lips, “I just need you to open your door.” 

“Open my door?” you wiped your hands clean, before grabbing the phone off the counter, making your way to your door. You spotted the back of someone’s head through the peephole. Locks clicking as you undid the lock and the deadbolt, you held the phone between your shoulder and your cheek,  “Aaron Hotchner, did you order me dinner again? Because I told you I already—” 

You gasped, your phone clattering against your hardwood floors. Aaron stood, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips, as he tilted his head, “No, but I did bring dessert.” 

“Aaron!” you ran into his arms, hands on his shoulders, face buried in his chest, “I can’t believe this. You’re back. You’re here.” 

“I am,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair, “and I’m not going anywhere now.” 

You pulled away, “You’re back for good?” and he nods, as your fingers cup his face, thumbs running over his cheeks, and you note the bristle underneath your fingertips, “and I see you kept your promise.” 

“Of course, I’m a man of my word,” he breaths, leaning closer as your breath hitches, his lips pressing against yours. It had been months, and you had nearly forgotten how he tasted, lips moving firmly against your own. His teeth grazed your lip, as he eagerly swallowed your moan, as your hands tangled themselves in his hair, walking backwards, as he shut the door with his foot, “I missed you so much,” he says in between kisses that stole the air from your lungs. 

Your hands pushed the jacket from his shoulders, “I missed you too,” his hands squeezed your hips, before his hands slipped your thighs, lifting you against him, as he carried you to your bedroom. No longer could you tell where you began and he ended, but you didn’t care — not when his teeth grazed against your pulse point like that. He had you pressed flush against your bedroom door, lips burning a trail of kisses down your neck, fingers toying with the straps of your camisole. 

“Take me to bed,” you whispered, and he did — placing you on your bed, and in a second, he was on top of you. 

Your fingers busied themselves with undoing the buttons on his button down, while his slid the hem of your camisole higher and higher. You undid the last button and the shirt slid off his shoulders, and he lifted his arms as you did away with the undershirt immediately. Your fingers traced over the broad expanse of his chest reverently, enjoying how his muscles reacted to your touch and how his breath stuttered his chest when your fingers grazed him. The same man who stayed calm under pressure crumbled under your touch. 

You raised your arms and he slipped the camisole from your body, groaning when he realized you had no bra on underneath. His fingers teased your nipples, mouth wrapped around one of them, “Aaron,” you arched your back into his touch, your fingers slipping between your bodies, trying to undo the button on his pants. His teeth grazed your nipple, soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue, “please,” 

You undo the button of his pants, and pull them down, helping him kick them off. He whispers your name, pressing a kiss to the skin between your breasts, before tucking fallen strands of hair behind your ear, “What do you want, baby?” 

Your eyes fall to the prominent bulge in his boxers, “Fuck me,” you look up at him, thumb brushing his lips, and he smiles, pressing another heated kiss to your lips. 

“Not before I taste you,” he says, voice husky, as he burns a trail of openmouthed kisses down your body, re-familiarizing himself with every curve and dip of your body, until the fire in the pit of your stomach all but engulfs you. He tugs your sleep shorts down, as you lift your hips to help him, kicking them off. His calloused hands part your thighs, as he settles between them. You watch him with lidded eyes, breath stuck somewhere in the back of your throat. A low groan rumbles in his chest at the sight of your obviously soaked panties. You hiss as his beard scratches beautifully against your thighs, friction making you squirm, until his large palms steadied you. Fingers splayed over the soft skin of your inner thighs, his nose brushing far too close to your soaked center, as he kisses right below the waistband. 

“I had forgotten how good you smell,” he murmurs, another kiss, this time right on top of the wet spot on your panties. 

He spreads you wider, hips jumping as your heart does in your chest, when his fingers brush your slit through the thin fabric. He doesn’t remove them, no, instead, he slides the crotch aside placing you on full display for him, half wrapped in that silk fabric. You hiss when you feel his warm breath mingling with the cool air of the room. His tongue darts out across his lips, looking at you with half-lidded eyes, before leaning down to press a kiss to your warmth. 

His moan vibrates against you, a reverent noise of unrestrained passion and you know that this is just as much for him as it is for you, sending shivers down your spine of what’s to come.  A single finger begins to part your folds, as his mouth presses butterfly kisses all around your clit, his beard deliciously grazing against your thighs. And finally, he takes a single broad swipe up his tongue up the length of your weeping cunt. A gasp blooms into a moan, as your fingers grasp at him, traveling the length of his shoulders, until you are able to card your fingers through his dark strands. 

His tongue moves in tight circles, your muscles squeezing his thick finger, as keen against him, eager for more, more. As you always were for him, and only him. Desperate for his touch, even when he couldn’t provide it. His beard only stokes the fire coiling in your stomach, now burning against your cunt. 

The phone sex seemed like a distant memory, a cheap imitation of the real thing. Nothing, nothing could compare to his lips, his tongue, his teeth, his touch. Nothing could compare your fingers threaded through his hair, his moans quietly reverberating against your slick folds. Nothing could compare to him — the sweet man who had just come back after spending weeks away from his home, his family, his friends, his life — but he chose to spend this night with you. 

Another finger parts your folds, and a broken whine leaves your throat, as your head falls against your plush bed, “You take me so well, sweetheart,” he mutters, tongue flicking against your clit, as you lift your eyes to meet his gaze, “so good to me. So patient. So sweet.” 

And that’s when his mouth closes over your clit. Your hips rock against the flat palms of his hands, as his tongue flicks against it. And the coil in you snaps, his name a ghost upon your lips, a soundless scream on your lips. You feel him hum against you, far too pleased, but you barely notice, lost in your own high. But he does not relent, pulling your orgasm from you as his fingers scrape against your shuddering walls, tongue eagerly tasting all that you offer him. 

He drags himself back up to you, his hardness brushing the inside of your thigh. His fingers trace your jawline, as your eyelids flutter, watching his tongue dart across his chin, still glistening with your release. His lips quickly follow the paths scorched by his fingertips. His lips find yours again when your breaths are even, and even now you can’t get enough of him. 

You arch towards him, fingers sliding down his chest to the waistband of his boxers, “Sweetheart,” a strangled groan of your name on lips still sticky with your cum, and he stares at you, eyes black as the darkness that surrounds you, as you slide his boxers down finally. 

You both groan in tandem, as your fingers close around his length, flushed and weeping. His hips lean into your touch, the head of his cock brushing your folds. 

“Aaron,” you shake your head, “I need you.” 

“Where do you need me?” his voice barely above a rasp. He rips your hand from him, pinning both your wrists to either side of your head. He presses another kiss to your skittering heartbeat. 

“I need you to fuck me—” you gasp, as his teeth scrape against your neck, pressing soft kisses against its length, before sucking a pretty bruise against the hollow of your throat, “please.” 

He sinks into you then, sliding into your warmth, murmuring in your ear. Your mouth falls open, “Even after all this time, you take me so well,” his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thigh as he lifts your leg over his shoulder, “I love you.” 

His name is a prayer, his touch is your salvation, as his nails dig crescents into the curve of your hips, “Missed you so much—” his own snap against you harder, deeper,  “needed you so bad. I love you. I love you.” 

“I want to feel you cum for me, sweetheart,” his fingers skim your clit, and that’s it. You come apart underneath him, veins no longer filled with blood, but with pleasure. His hips stutter as your muscles flutter around his cock, still fucking you through your orgasm, as his fingers make you jump against him, “Say my name,” he growls, as your arms wind around his shoulder, tugging him closer, closer, closer, “say it.” 

 And you do, just as he cums inside of you with a groan of your name in your ear, nearly collapsing on you. He presses into you, and it’s much too warm, the sticky heat and smell of sex pervades, but you don’t care. Still you tug him closer, chest to chest, as your eyes shut. You feel him come down from his high, his breath slowing. He pulls himself out, and your body mourns his absence. He curls up beside you for a moment, his finger drawing absentminded circles on your thigh. You look at him, a smile pulling at your lips as you find him staring at you. And you press kisses to him — to his shoulder and neck, your fingers sweeping his hair out of his eyes. 

But his gaze still persists, “What?” you ask softly, your fingers tracing his jaw, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your fingertips. 

“Should I keep the beard?” and you laugh, shaking your head, as you lay back on the pillow. 

“I think you should do whatever you want to do,” and he kisses you again, full and warm and happy, “and I think you should definitely take Jack’s opinion into mind.” 

He raises a brow, a smile on his lips, “Will you still make it worth my while?” 

You roll your eyes, fingers cupping his cheek, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips, “I will always make it worth your while.” 

Tags: @bucky-of-the-opera, @agenthotchner, @sammy-babes, @hommoturttle, @flightsoffandom, @penelopecult, @good-heavens-chris-evans, @tgibstan, @ssacandi-ass-prentiss, @daddy-hot-chner, @ilytgibs, @spencerreidisgodly, @aquila-leo, @gabile18, @kurtsieforlife, @kinkyassvampire, @aaronelishotch, @spooky-muldy, @thecharmingart, @emma-alysee, @honeyshores, @tegggeeee, @evee87, @missbrightside13, @antmnwasp, @stardust-fray, @pansexualh, @hearmecallinyou, @arabellathorne, @llemmapie, @hecklleandjyde, @anonymous-0tter, @jdougl-love, @musiharrystyles, @spencerhotchner, @purpleturtle31extra, @blatant-attitude, @nuiboo, @shamelesslyf, @just-a-nat, @genevievedarcygranger​, @captain-christopher-pike, @natienerd, @unsocialized-nerd​, @zoerayne2426​, @hp-marvel-starwars-kotlc​, @aannamaria98​, @infj-slytherclaw​, @i-am-addicted-to-tea​, @lghenry4​, @geekgirl007​, @rintheemolion​, @m00sethemurderer​, @justevraimentconfus​, @elite4cekalyma​, @soloriormora​, @b-is-for-brynn​, @willows-studies​, @dreila03​, @skittle479​, @kalexp​, @peachymomosblog​, @retromami​, @ijustwantanapandtocallitaday​, @a-disaster-bisexual​, @daydreamingandbooks​, @joemazzello-imagines​, @wargoddesss​, @pann1247​, @giveusbackourbucky​, @justanotherbrunette​, @1mailefigueroa1​, @yes-sir-hotchner​, @kitachan21​, @smiles1994​, @criminallyfanatic​, @ange-must-die​, @lotties-journey-abroad​, @marvels-agents100​, @criminalmindsgonewrong​, @captain-christopher-pike​, @therestisconfettis​, @asuckerforyou​, @ephemeral-barnes​

[darkcircles4lyfe]

retrospective & predictions

Since we're on a hiatus week (between 320 and 321) I feel like waxing poetic about the depth and growth of bkdk for a bit. Especially because it seems like we’re right on the edge of their biggest development yet, I’m getting the urge to lay all my perspectives and insights I’ve picked up from others out on the table. This is ultimately only my subjective interpretation of subtextual material in canon, though. If you’ve never quite understood what people see in their dynamic and you’re actually open to hearing me out, maybe from this you can at least see where we’re coming from. And if you don’t like my takes after all, well, we’ll see who’s right in the coming chapters, won’t we? What I have to say can be taken platonically or romantically; I appreciate both. 

putting it under the cut, since it’ll be long:

At the risk of projecting, I want to start by examining a couple things based partly on personal experience.

From many different directions, I often hear people expressing that Deku’s persistent attachment and admiration for Bakugou is baffling at best. Despite the bullying, despite Bakugou’s loud, rude, and uncompromising personality, he still puts effort into their relationship and frequently describes him as amazing. It seems like Deku himself is aware of this as he’s said things along the lines of how he’s difficult, BUT... etc. Although I don’t think it’s exactly that Deku finds Bakugou’s personality hard to be around, but that he’s deliberately expressing patience for Bakugou’s emotional turmoil. 

I have to say I know what this sort of patience is like, as I went through it with someone I love. I only chose to put up with their behavior because I decided the possibility of what our relationship could be was worth it. I wasn’t blind or submissive to how they treated me, and I wasn’t coerced. I simply expressed myself and established my boundaries while still allowing them the opportunity to join me in my world once they got over their own hangups. And guess what? It worked out in the end. That doesn’t mean there aren’t circumstances where it’s better to cut ties, but I want to stress that true reconciliation is possible sometimes. I used to worry that other people around me thought I was delusional for seeking it, but what really helped was my therapist reminding me that I’m smart and strong. So I think Deku deserves to feel the same. In a way this is his whole mission in life, his approach to being a hero as well as his personal relationships.

Let me also be clear though that I don’t mean Deku is only tolerating Bakugou’s personality, his mannerisms, the parts of him that will likely never change. I’m drawing a line between those things and his emotional state (they so rarely align anyway, but I’ll get to that later). In fact, I think Bakugou’s general attitude is part of what Deku admires. This is gonna be hard to explain without inserting personal experience too, sorry. As a writer myself I’ve noticed I’m drawn to writing characters that are brazen and bold and don't mind telling people off. Really it’s because I operate in the world in the polar opposite way. I try not to draw attention to myself, I’m quiet, and I’m a people-pleaser. People who project confidence, especially in an impolite sort of way, fascinate me. It’s good to take cultural context into account, too: I've heard people who’d know better than me that part of the reason Bakugou is the most popular character in the Japanese fandom is likely because he contradicts a lot of their social norms. His disregard is refreshing and cathartic. I can speculate that Deku has a similar point of view based on what he thinks but does not admit about Bakugou being his image of victory and how this sometimes makes him mimic Bakugou’s speech and mannerisms: 

There’s also the bit in this fight where Deku realizes he's the only one able to receive Bakugou’s emotions. This is because he’s the most intimately familiar with him and his situation, but I think there’s another layer. Deku, as we know, has a self-sacrificing tendency, and in the current chapters we’re seeing the worst side of that. But let’s also not forget that to an extent, it can be a positive trait: resilience. When it comes to Bakugou, he has an almost comical ability to dodge the potential fallout of his outbursts. The example we all jump to (and fight about..) is how in ch1, apart from the initial shock of Bakugou suggesting he jump off the roof, the most he reacts is to criticize him for saying such a ridiculous thing. However, I think their interaction post- sludge villain is a lot more interesting:

Note two things: 1, in his head, Deku is practically making fun of how Bakugou’s acting as he stomps away without waiting for a reply. It doesn’t faze him. 2, Deku thinks, optimistically, that he can now focus on a different career choice. This is astonishing really. Up to this point, none of Bakugou’s attempts to put him down have worked; he just kept pursuing his dream. The only reason Deku concedes in this moment it because for the first time, he has been shown that he really couldn't do anything in a fight against a villain. All Might told him he couldn't be a hero (although he’s literally about to take that back in the next few pages lol) and the other heroes at the scene gave him a lecture about it too. It was those experiences, and not Bakugou’s words, that truly affected him. And when All Might tells Deku he can be a hero after all, it’s not thinking of Bakugou’s bullying that makes him sob and fall to his knees, it’s the memory of his own mom never telling him those words he so desperately needed to hear. Having spent most of their lives together, Deku must have been aware all this time that Baukgou was influenced by larger societal forces rather than a core judgement, so he didn’t take it personally. He separated the person from the action, and because he’s resilient and patient, he is thus equipped to handle Bakugou’s emotions. It’s a testament to his maturity and emotional intelligence, really. 

But I can almost hear some of you saying, “that doesn’t mean Deku should have to be the bigger person here!” Correct! Just because Deku is perfectly alright bearing all of that, doesn’t mean atonement-era Bakugou sees it this way. We can track his awareness of Deku’s care and selflessness as follows-

The bridge scene, when they’re little kids: Bakugou conflates Deku’s heroism with pity, and subsequently thinks Deku is looking down on him because Bakugou’s own insecurity makes him defensive.

The Sludge Villain, and also Deku vs. Kacchan Part 1: Bakugou witnesses first-hand how easily Deku jumps to risk his own life, but still thinks he’s being looked down on. 

The Sports Festival: Bakugou fights Uraraka and recognizes her endurance strategy and refusal to give up as very Deku-like. He’s half right. He thinks Deku advised her in the fight, when in reality she just mimicked Deku because she admired him. I want to draw attention to his very sober comment about her not being frail. It’s a great endearment of Uraraka’s character and Bakugou’s respect for her when others didn’t take “fighting a girl” seriously, but it also reflects on his opinion of Deku. Deku isn’t weak either. He never was.

Deku vs. Kacchan Part 2: Deku finally corrects him about the whole looking-down-on-him thing, and Bakugou is informed that Deku’s selflessness is in fact the reason All Might chose him. Since Bakugou had been in search of what he himself was “doing wrong” for All Might to favor Deku over him, he now has to reconcile the fact that selflessness is a heroic trait, and moreover something he lacks. This is also possibly the first time Bakugou is able to see his past actions toward Deku as bullying since he previously thought it was more mutual. Additionally, Bakugou can now link Deku’s selfless behavior to what he perceived as pity/contempt, and realize that Deku has been giving him A LOT of grace. Maybe too much. Maybe more than Bakugou deserves, and definitely more than Deku should have to. Holy heck- now Bakugou has to figure out how to live up to all the faith that’s been placed in him. 

Subtextually, we can see Bakugou’s feelings about atonement reflected in the Todoroki family:

1, Shouto is another example of Deku growing a friendship using his selflessness (since their fight in the sports festival) and their relationship is being acknowledged here where it hasn’t been in Bakugou’s situation. Perhaps Bakugou is wishing it could be so simple for him, to be able to thank him for being his friend like that. Deku saying the pleasure is all his also probably calls to mind how a mere apology from Bakugou would probably be dismissed because that’s just the kind of accommodating person Deku is. Bakugou has to operate more quietly in order to actually make up for their past. I personally don’t interpret this scene as Bakugou being jealous of Deku and Shouto’s friendship, exactly, just the lack of emotional baggage. Side note, Deku and Fuyumi are kinda similar in their desire to repair relationships. I like that she’s the one to give him some credit. 

2, With the common terminology, this can be interpreted as Bakugou receiving a model for atonement, one that is about action, and nothing to do with receiving favor or forgiveness. It’s a sense of duty. 

Many of the above sentiments are repeated in the flashback conversation between All Might and Bakugou right before Bakugou’s sacrifice. 

Bakugou acknowledges his bullying and that it happened because of his own insecurities, but aside from that, it’s interesting he neither confirms nor denies All Might’s suggestion that he’s trying to atone, or that Deku doesn’t see it that way. All Might is a bit of an unreliable mentor sometimes, but I don’t think he’s misreading here. Rather, Bakugou is displaying his tendency to hold back when talking about things that would make him really emotional. Besides, admitting to what he’s doing kind of defeats the purpose. He isn’t seeking acknowledgement. All Might has gotten to the crux of the issue here when pointing out that Deku doesn’t recognize the atonement, likely because Deku doesn't think Bakugou even needs to atone. Am I reading into it too much to say Bakugou looks wistful at this? It’s kinda frustrating sometimes trying to interpret Bakugou’s actions because he’s so paradoxical. Loud and in your face, but also extremely reserved. Sometimes I feel like I’m grasping at thin air, but hey, being hard to figure out is part of his intrigue as a character. The simplest way to look at him is to assume that unless he’s really showing vulnerability, he’s probably deflecting and hiding something.

Speaking of Bakugou’s tendency to to hold back emotional stuff, there’s his apparent lack of issue with Deku calling him Kacchan. Maybe to begin with, in his warped perception of things where he thought they hated each other, Bakugou saw it as Deku’s way of getting back at him for calling him “useless,” and didn't dare give any indication that it actually bothered him. However... consider how betrayed Bakugou has appeared when he was noticeably thinking Deku was looking down on him- the bridge scene, and the beginning of their first year at UA when he thought Deku was hiding a quirk all along. He looks shocked and hurt. That kind of emotion couldn’t be invoked by someone Bakugou didn’t actually care about his relationship with. “Kacchan” comes from a long time ago, before their relationship was strained, so it’s connotations are pure. Maybe somewhere deep down, Bakugou has always been hoping that Deku’s continued use of the nickname was not simply a matter of habit or teasing, but a vestige of friendship they’re both clinging to, and Bakugou himself was too afraid to admit to himself that he felt this way about it, so he mostly ignored it. (These are not original thoughts I am having here lol, this is a common interpretation. I’m just laying everything out like I said.) 

And now we turn to the current situation. Personally, I’ve been looking frantically back and forth between them wondering who’s going to break down first (Deku vs. Kacchan Part 3, this time it’s just a fight to get the other person to cry? ha.) Both have looked like they’re approaching a breaking point for some time. Also, I’ve addressed this before, but I think it’s significant that Bakugou is no longer wearing his mask with his hero costume, in contrast to Deku recently donning his own. It feels symbolic of Bakugou about to be upfront about how he feels.

The question is, what is it going to take to get Deku to accept help? If you ask me, Deku has dug himself so deeply into the I’m-doing-this-for-everyone-else’s-safety-and-smiles hole, no common sense argument can possibly reach him. By the end of 320, Deku’s mask is off, and we can see how desperate he truly is. But he has not cried, yet. I predict we’re going to see a bit more of his defiance, this time on full display on his face as the remaining class members and his other friends take their turns. But then I think Bakugou has to be the one to break down so Deku can witness his actions having the opposite effect he intended. People have been pointing out that Deku is currently ignoring Bakugou, and oof, that’s gotta be intentional. Regardless of what Bakugou says, it’s going to be wrapped up not only in his understanding of Deku’s self-sacrifice, but also the betrayal Bakugou feels at being ignored/left behind that ironically echoes his previous perception of being looked down on, as well as a need to express how much he cares about Deku before it’s too late. He must show that the two of them are inseparable because they both act to save each other without thinking, and both feel like losing the other would be like dying themselves. All Might may have been right when he told them they could learn from each other after Deku vs. Kacchan Part 2, but he didn’t fully realize that idea by making sure they stuck by each other for support and balance. 

I can’t wait to see what it’ll be like when they do finally get to that point, totally in synch and in tune with each other. They’ll be a powerful force no one is quite prepared for. Who knows when that will be, or even which chapter will be their big showdown, but I know the day is coming.

To speculate even further, I think the 2nd user is going to be really important really soon. And no I don’t mean to suggest that the 2nd user is Bakugou. But I do think their resemblance is key. Okay this is gonna be convoluted...

See how 2nd is the only one still standing? I think that’s symbolic of him withholding his quirk. Deku may not even know what it is at this point, let alone have unlocked it. Given that 2nd approves of Deku’s strategy at this point, it seems odd for him to withhold his quirk based on lack of faith. I think if his quirk was something that would help Deku in combat, he would have shown it to him already like the others did. So what if those gauntlets of his are support items that are meant to make up for his lack of a combat-oriented quirk, rather than to augment it? Mind you, I still have no idea what his mysterious power might be, but I’m dead set on it not being explosion-y. Regardless, I think 2nd looking like Bakugou is more about aiding some grand visual parallel, so! You know how 2nd and 3rd were probably intending to do away with Yoichi but 2nd changed his mind as soon as they made eye contact? This is really a long shot, but I wonder if 2nd’s quirk has something to do with that exchange. Maybe it’s something psychological, or some 6th sense about people he meets. So... in that way 2nd’s quirk could play a role in bkdk reaching a deeper understanding? Idk! But it could be significant at least that 2nd left Yoichi’s question about why he reached out to him unanswered. 

One more thing- while I was gathering screenshots I found this. I think “you’re the last one I’m telling” might be foreshadowing for Bakugou revealing his hero name to Deku and it being a Big Deal:

As for other lingering threads in the overall plot right now, such as the UA traitor, Stain, whatever Tsuyu is apparently about to do, All Might’s car maybe in the background of the last page of 320... man I have no idea. All I know is there’s literally 320 chapters’ worth of build-up to this confrontation that can’t be interrupted. 

See you next week <3

[calamitykaty]

Breathe You In

Alive!Luke x Fem! Reader 

Requested: Yes and no? This originated from an ask game and @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ asked what a story titled ‘Breathe You In’ would be about so...this is it. 

word count: 3259

Warnings: mention of anxiety, I don’t think there is anything else but if there is then let me know and I will add a warning! 

A/N:  Huge huge huge shout out to @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ for helping me with this and letting me bounce ideas...and for encouraging me to write this one...and to post it cause I second guessed a lot with this one. 

Luke stood on her porch, barely lit by the dim porch light with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His eyes were red and puffy from tears cried beforehand. It had happened again. She opened the door and immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders like she always did. His arms tightly wrapped around her waist in response and he buried his head in the crook of her neck. 

“You’ll be okay.” She assured him as she pulled back from the embrace. She lifted her hands to his face and wiped away the tears that gathered on her thumbs and smiled at him. Her smile was soft and nurturing, the way it always was when she looked at him. She was his constant, always there for him, never changing. 

She wiped her hands on her jeans and grabbed the boy by the hand, pulling him into her house. Luke closed his eyes as he breathed in, vanilla and cinnamon filled his nostrils and eased the tension in his shoulders. 

“What happened this time?” 

Luke opened his eyes as the question lingered in the air. This time. There always seemed to be a this time. They fight and break up, kiss and makeup, and y/n  was always left with the fallout. She was always left to pick up the pieces until Luke didn’t need her anymore.

“Luke?” She placed her hand on his bicep. 

Luke wiped his eyes with the back of his left hand and shrugged “I’m just...I’m just never good enough for her.” 

Y/N pulled her top lip into her mouth and hesitated on her response. This wasn’t the first time Luke had said those words to her and she could never wrap her mind around why he constantly went back to Olivia when she was standing right there in front of him, ready to love him the way he deserved to be loved. 

“You are more than good enough, Luke.” Y/N finally settled on, she couldn’t stomach arguing with him about Olivia again. 

Luke’s lips were on hers as soon as those words had left her mouth. She didn’t hesitate to kiss him back even though she knew it didn’t mean the same thing to him as it did to her. Luke needed comfort and she would settle a million times over for fleeting moments with him. 

“Can I stay?” Luke’s forehead was pressed to hers and his thumb lazily traced the outline of her jaw before running softly over her bottom lip. 

“Yeah--” she breathed out, “of course, I’ll get you some clothes.” 

Luke dropped his hand from her face as she turned away from him and headed to her room. Luke followed behind her and stood in the doorway where he watched as she pulled open the bottom drawer of her dresser, his drawer. She pulled out a pair of flannel pants and a t-shirt and held them out to him. 

Luke sauntered across the room and grabbed the items from her hand and began undressing. Y/N’s cheeks burned red and she averted her eyes from his toned chest to the floor. 

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, y/n” Luke teased. 

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Y/N changed the topic as she turned back to the dresser and pulled out a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt for herself. Her brows pulled forward in confusion when Luke grabbed the items from her hands and placed them back in the dresser. He avoided the girl's questioning gaze and pulled one of his t-shirts from the drawer reserved for him and handed it to. 

“You’re ridiculous” She snorted but grabbed the t-shirt from his hand anyways and motioned for the boy to turn around. 

Luke obliged but not with scoffing “and I’m the ridiculous one? I’ve seen your body before or did you forget about that time---”

He was cut off by the sound of his phone vibrating in his discarded jeans. He bent down and grabbed the phone from the pocket of his jeans. He turned around and faced Y/N, his eyes flicked between the name on his phone and the girl standing in front of him wearing nothing but his t-shirt. Y/N felt her heart drop as Luke’s thumb pressed the green button and he walked out of the room. Y/N stayed in her spot with her eyes on the door, she let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she had been holding in when Luke walked back into the room. She could see the smile that was threatening to take over his face and instantly knew what that meant.

“Let me guess, Olivia said she’s really sorry and that she overreacted and you should come over?” 

Luke’s smile faltered at the coldness in her voice “Yeah, but I told her I would come round to hers later because I’m watching a movie with you first.” 

Y/N pursed her lips and tried her hardest to not roll her eyes before she grabbed the remote from her nightstand and moved to the bed where Luke was already situating himself. She started the movie and laid her head on Luke’s chest, only half paying attention to the tv screen as Luke’s fingers tangled in her hair and massaged her scalp ever so slightly. Her mind began to race along with her heart and she suddenly felt like she was tearing at the seams. 

“I’ll be back…” she muttered as she pushed herself up. 

“You okay?” Luke looked at her with worry in his eyes. 

“yeah...I just have to use the bathroom” she gave a tight lipped smile and excused herself. 

Y/N closed the bathroom door and gripped the edge of the counter as her breaths came in desperate gulps. She closed her eyes and began to count in beats of four until her breathing slowed down. “Pull yourself together, Y/N.” She whispered to herself before letting go of the counter and staring at herself in the mirror for several seconds. The back and forth between her and Luke had been going on for almost as long as she could remember and she had always been fine with it. She had accepted a long time ago that she was always going to be the fallback, never the choice, but that didn’t stop her feeling like she was a flame being snuffed out every time he went back to Olivia. 

Y/N wiped her eyes and took a deep breath before turning off the bathroom light and making her way back to her bedroom. She froze in the doorway at the sight of Luke putting his jeans back on. 

‘You’re leaving? It’s been like twenty minutes…” 

Luke shot her an apologetic smile as he placed the pajamas he had been wearing back into his drawer. 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N closed her eyes at those words and how she despised hearing them leave his lips. How he always said those words before leaving her. 

“Olivia called again and said something was wrong, I told her I would come over right away. You understand, right?” 

Y/N opened her eyes and nodded, forcing a smile as Luke pecked her on the cheek before he passed by her to leave the bedroom. 

“When Olivia calls…” she mumbled to herself and moved over to the bed. She turned the tv off and pulled the blankets tightly around her body, not bothering to try to hold back the tears as they landed on her pillow.

When she woke up it was to her cellphone vibrating wildly on her nightstand. She rolled over and pulled the phone free from the charging cord and swiped the green button before placing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" She mumbled through the receiver

"Good morning, junebug!" Her friend,Jade, sang through the speaker. 

"Too early…" y/n muttered and cleared her throat to shake her morning voice away.

"It's almost 10am." 

she could practically feel Jade rolling her eyes at her.

"I'm up, I'm up…" y/n sighed

"That's what I like to hear! Meet me at Bryan's in twenty? I'll have a latte waiting for you!"

"Mhmmm" y/n hummed before dropping the phone on her bed and stretching her arms above her head. She stood up and made her way over to her closet where she grabbed a pair of ripped jeans and her favorite jumper. She moved to the bathroom where she quickly changed before pulling her hair into a messy top knot and brushing her teeth. 

She walked back to her room and grabbed her phone from her bed and shoved it into her pocket, ignoring the stream of text messages that flooded in from Luke. 

"Juuuunnnneeeeebug!" She heard Jade shriek from the corner table as she walked into Bryan's Diner. She felt her ears turn red as several patrons turned their attention to her. She ducked her head down and scooted into the booth, opposite of Jade.

"You are so embarrassing!"

Jade folded her arms on the table and pouted "someone is in a foul mood today…"

"I'm sorry...I had a rough night and I shouldn't be taking it out on you" Y/n apologized and took a sip from the latte that sat on the table in front of her.

Jade pursed her lips, knowing that the cause to Y/N’s bitter mode was one certain green eyed, brown haired boy, 

“You can just say it,” Y/N rolled her eyes, “I know you don’t like Luke.”

Jade hesitated as she got her thoughts together, knowing that she was approaching a sensitive topic with Y/N. 

“You’re right, I don’t like Luke,” she reached across the table and grabbed Y/N’s hand, “ I don’t like Luke because of how he makes you feel, Y/N.”

Y/N opened her mouth to defend Luke out of habit. It was an instinct to always stand up for him, one that she had perfected after years of practice. She closed her mouth when Jade held her left hand up to her.

“I have kept my mouth shut for a very long time, Y/N, but I can’t anymore! I have watched that boy wear you down time after time and I can’t just keep watching him destroy you.” 

“I’ll be fine, Jade.” 

Jade scoffed and threw her hands up in exasperation “you shouldn’t be just fine though, Y/N! You should be great!” Jade's tone softened as she continued “you should feel loved and chosen and cherished…and Luke is never going to make you feel those things.” 

Y/N avoided Jade’s gaze on her and instead focused on tearing the napkin in her hands into small squares, 

“You don’t know that…” she whispered and watched the pieces of napkins float across the table from the deep breath she sighed out.

Jade closed her eyes and cursed herself for what she was about to bring up, knowing that she was going to be hurting Y/N by doing so. 

“Do you remember junior prom?” 

“Why would you bring that up?” Y/N dropped the napkin and looked up at Jade with her eyes narrowed. 

 “Olivia dumped Luke for the 100th time and he asked you to go to prom with him. You had the most amazing dress and you looked like a dream...and he left you standing in the corner by yourself because Olivia decided to take him back.” 

“Jade, stop!” Y/N demanded.

 Jade shook her head and pressed on “Do you not remember how heartbroken you were? How disposable he made you feel, Y/N? Has he really done this so many times that you’re just desensitized to it now?”

Jade paused and lowered her voice “I’m just saying, that you need to choose yourself, love. Because that boy has had every opportunity to choose you and he hasn’t….so stop choosing him. Choose you.”

Y/N licked her lips and quickly slid out of the booth, not bothering to notice that she knocked over her latte in the process. The milky brown liquid spilled over the edge of the table as she hurriedly made her way to the door. She gasped for air as she stood in front of the diner and contemplated her next move, deciding to walk through downtown to the used record store, the place where she had first met Luke. 

She pulled her phone from her back pocket as she walked through the busy downtown sidewalk, shoulders bumping hers and apologies quietly escaping her lips for each person she bumped into. She clicked on her messages seeing a handful of texts from Luke that she had ignored earlier. She clicked on the first message and scrolled down through each of them. Without surprise, each message was Luke rambling about how he and Olivia had made up and everything was great. Y/N decided to not message him back and slid her phone back into her pocket. 

She pulled on the door to the record store and stepped in, her eyes scanned across the rows of tables that were filled with cardboard boxes that held endless amounts of vinyls. She breathed in the unique smell of the store, one that she couldn’t recreate if she had tried. 

“Hi, Don.” She waved to the man at the register as she walked towards the rock section. Her fingers grazed over the tops of the boxes until she stood in the exact spot she had met Luke.

 Her dad brought her to the record store when she was twelve and she had started to show a real interest in music. She remembered her dad telling her to choose five albums and he would buy them for her and how she immediately gravitated to the rock section. She remembered how she pulled an Elvis Costello album out only to be met with resistance from a boy on the other side of the table holding the other side of the record. She remembered how even back then she had set aside her own wants for his and how she let him have the record, assuring him she would find something just as good. 

Y/N swallowed as she thought back to what Jade had said about Luke not choosing her. She thought back to him leaving her the night before and every other time before that. She thought back to them being fourteen and Luke telling her he liked a really pretty girl and that Y/N knew her really well. She remembered blushing when she thought he was talking about her and how her heart fell to her stomach when he asked if she could help him get Olivia’s attention.

 She thought back to the first big fight that he had with Olivia when Olivia told Y/N there wasn’t room in Luke’s life for the both of them. She remembered being so sure that Luke was going to choose her and she remembered feeling so low when Luke swung by her house after school and told her that she would just have to be his secret until he could get Olivia to come around. 

Y/N was brought back to reality when the door chimed as someone entered the record shop. Her ears pricked at the familiar voice that said hello to Don. She looked over her shoulder to find Luke chatting with Don, his arms slung over Olivia’s shoulders as she leaned into him. Y/N bit her lip and made a beeline for the door. She had always seen Don’s as their place and it hurt her that he would bring Olivia there of all places. She swung the door open, ignoring Luke as he called her name out. 

Y/N spent the next week purposefully avoiding places that she knew Luke would likely be at. She had ignored countless text and phone calls from him as she processed what choosing herself meant. Y/N sighed as she placed the last of Luke’s belongings in a box and headed downstairs to place them by the door. Her brows furrowed as she hit the last stair and heard a loud pounding on her front door. She placed the box down before opening the door to find Luke standing on the other side with his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw locked tightly. 

Y/N sighed and moved to close the door only to be met with resistance as Luke’s hand held the door in place before he pushed the door open and slipped past her. 

“You’ve been avoiding me, why?’ Luke snarled.

Y/N quietly closed the door and turned to face Luke. She could feel the hot tears rushing towards the front of her eyes and she blinked quickly to try to hold them back.

Luke’s face softened as he took in the girl’s demeanor and he stepped forward “y/n, talk to me, please? What did I do? I’ll make it better, I promise.” 

He reached out to grab her hand but she flinched back and wrapped her arms around her body in an attempt to hold herself together. 

Luke dropped his hand back to his side “Y/N, please…” he begged for a response. 

“I can’t be this for you anymore,” she choked out and shook her head. “You...you’re like secondhand smoke and I keep breathing you in but I can’t breathe anymore, Luke.” 

She looked up to meet Luke’s eyes and could feel the tears breaking through the rim of her eyelids

 “I love you Luke and--” she choked on a sob, “ I can’t live this way anymore, I can’t be the spark in your life while Olivia is the flame….I’m the one that’s turning into ashes...a-and .I-i can’t do this.”  Her hands frantically moved to her face to wipe away the steady stream of tears that were falling from her eyes. 

“I think you should leave, Luke.” She avoided his eyes, knowing that if she saw how sad they looked she would just give in to him.

 Luke moved forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders despite her resistance.“Please don’t do this. You’re my best friend, Y/N.” He whispered into her hair, his own tears tracking down his cheeks. 

Y/N pushed against his chest and freed herself from his grip. She raked her right hand through her hair and laughed “that’s the problem, Luke.” 

She moved over to the box by the front door and lifted it up before walking back over to Luke.

 “I can’t pretend that I’m not completely in love with you, Luke. I tried so hard to do that already and look where that’s gotten me…” she shook her head and pushed the box into Luke’s hands. 

“Please…” Luke choked out. 

Her heart broke at Luke’s strained voice and it took everything in her to turn away from him and pull the front door open despite Luke’s pleas. 

“Y/N, please, we can fix things! I can fix this….please let me fix this.” 

It was a scene that had played out so many times in their relationship, Luke on her porch crying because his heart was breaking. Only, this time she was the cause for his broken heart and she was exiling him from her house instead of inviting him in.

“I can’t breathe you in anymore, Luke. I’m sorry.”

She gently closed the door and twisted the lock leaving Luke standing with his box of clothing in his hands and his heart at her doorstep.

@straywonpil @siennanoelle01 @choppedhoundsludgeclod @cool-ultra-nerd @hxney-bunches-x @crybabyddl @sorryyoureoutofmyleague @dream-a-little-bigger-x @kcd15 @all-in-fangirl @ifilwtmfc @onlygetaway @iainttakingshitfromnobody @angryknightstatesmantrash @jazzyhales @bathtimejish @lanasfandoms @miranda0102 @emotionalbruv@aliandthephantoms  @multifandombabies @kinda-really-lost​ @5sosmukefan  @s0uz4s @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​ 

also @n0wornever​ I don’t know if you wanted to be tagged in this but this is the one from this morning that I finally finished 

[seventeendeer]

I actually really enjoying hearing your cartoon opinions! :o may I ask why you really dislike atla?

I'm glad you enjoy my goofy little rants! they're very entertaining for me to write, so it's nice that some people enjoy them also! <3

ah, atla, my old nemesis ... there are a lot of things I dislike about it and disappearingly few things I liked to any extent.

my biggest problem with it is that I simply find the character writing deeply grating. the character concepts are very charming, but the execution feels forced, dry and hand-holdy. every character feels like A Problem To Be Solved, with some positive and comedic traits tacked on there to try to make them likable. the narrative is constantly moralizing their actions, focusing more on the aesops it wants to teach than on portraying anything resembling real people. it also insists on using the same milquetoast pseudo-snarky vocabulary for every main character, further making them come off like a bunch of sock puppets instead of distinct personalities.

by contrast, I love stuff like spop - a show for the same demographic with comparable themes and characters - where the main focus is not on moralizing the characters' actions, but simply on portraying lots of very different people dealing with tough situations, how and why the shitty ones do what they do, and the consequences of their choices. spop doesn't choke its own characters out in an attempt to Teach A Moral, it simply lets the characters roam free in an exciting, complex story and realistically portrays the fallout. for a more specific comparison: atla starts Zuko's redemption arc early and devotes a ton of time to showing how wrong and shitty he was vs the amount of time he was actually allowed to be shitty on screen. by contrast, Catra spends most of spop being a terrible person and suffering the consequences, before having a short (beginning of a) redemption arc, which is portrayed as difficult but ultimately rewarding. I found Zuko's arc boring, predictable and overly finger-wagging - meanwhile I thought Catra's arc was engaging, nuanced, detailed, relatable and I felt like it flowed naturally among the other narratives.

atla only really allowed the villains to be heavily flawed by the end of it. all the good guys had to be scrubbed clean of their problems before they were let off the hook. any personality trait that was more than mildly irritating was treated as something to be fixed. I honestly don't like stories like that. I greatly prefer stories where characters get to be weird and fucked up and barely functioning in society, but they happen to find people who aren't bothered by it and want to hang out with them anyway.

another thing I really don't like is the comedy. so much of the comedy doesn't have an actual punchline, or at least not any good ones. mostly characters just act kind of quirky or say something you wouldn't expect. it feels like the writers are desperately trying to get a reaction out of me by pulling funny faces. the fact that comedy only comes up in the Designated Funny Moments is also annoying and again makes it feel like the characters are not real people with consistent traits. if a character only has a certain personality trait when it's funny and drops it as soon as it's time to be serious, that's not a personality trait, it's something stuck on there to try to force a specific viewer reaction - which then falls apart the moment the viewer doesn't find it funny.

I also don't like the way the faces are stylized. I think spop might actually be the only instance of a highly animesque art style I actually liked to look at. everything else from atla to voltron to totally spies looks terrible to me. the facial features are too floaty and it makes expressions look stiff and lifeless (unlike a lot of actual anime styles, which I often find pretty and very expressive). though this problem is probably made worse in my mind by the fact that whenever there's a face on screen someone is probably talking and I am about to once more feel a deep violence well up within me, so take this opinion with a grain of salt

also this one isn't really mine to complain about at length, but honestly I just never really feel comfortable in stories that take place in non-white cultures that the white writers have no connection to whatsoever. it feels like I'm being invited into a house by someone who doesn't live in that house. it's like ... why do you think you have the authority to invite me in? do you even know how the owners of the house feel about this? no matter how good your research into this house is, how can it possibly measure up to the lived experiences of the people who live here? how can I be sure you're not lying to me to make this place seem more appealing to your own tastes? what even is your motivation for giving me a tour of the house in the first place?

my research tells me there are countless opinions on the subject and I sincerely don't know how valid or not valid my concerns are, but these are my personal feelings on the matter. I love stories set in non-white cultures, but I strongly prefer to stick to the ones made by people with personal connections to said cultures. I want to feel invited into the house by the owners of the house; I want to see only what they choose to share and learn about the house from the people who have the most personal, intimate relationship with it. I feel I have a better chance of understanding how to treat others with respect when this is the case.

anyway, that was a little serious detour on my otherwise needlessly goofy and facetious rant about cartoons for babies. the fact of the matter is that I don't like atla for a myriad of subjective reasons. only character I cared about was Azula, probably exactly because she was allowed to remain deranged and maladjusted until the end and wasn't forced through the Character Flattening Device in the name of teaching lessons

also I probably would have only developed mild disdain for it was it not because no one ever shuts the fuck up about it pfffffft now I hate it with a white hot rage bc you know how it is when a lot of people very vocally like something you don't like. hell on earth

[walking-mf-dead]

Fem! SS and Nick

SS is helping Nick with a case he is working on (Maybe a missing persons)

They are very close "friends"

𝓜𝔂 𝓑𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓛𝓪𝓭𝔂 Pairing: Fem!Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine Word Count: 1167 Warnings: Kidnapping, missing persons case, mentions of blood and yelling, hints towards physical violence, non-canon case A/N: This is my first time writing anything for the Fallout universe and I hope it's good enough :') (the divider I'm using is one with the Vault-tec symbol and I just took the png from google and duplicated it in paint lmao you're free to use if you wish)

“Y/N, how do you know this lead is any good?” Nick questions. We’ve been on a missing persons case for a week now and we hit a dead end until one of my sources from the wasteland gave me insight on what could be happening. “I told you Nick, just trust me on this and we’ll get the woman back to her family, okay?” I stop for a moment and place my hand on his shoulder, “We’ll find her Nicky.” He sighs and nods, giving me a gentle smile before we keep heading to the building that stands before us.

The building is dilapidated, falling apart even as we walk through the broken glass of the door, the stench of rotting and fresh meat and blood invades my senses. This lead may be more dangerous than I anticipated. I pull out my Plasma Rifle and start to survey the area, Nick following my lead and drawing his Western Revolver. “Now Doll, I do trust you, don’t get me wrong, but did you just lead us to a nest of Super Mutants?” pipes up my partner in a hushed voice, “Well, Nicky, I didn’t really think this is what my contact had in mind for where the girl might be.” I reply through gritted teeth, not wanting to risk being loud and being spotted.

•

We spend a good hour surveying the area, taking down about 5 of the brutes before we find the group, the boss sitting upon a meat throne, his followers around him snacking on food, and the woman. She’s up in a cage, bleeding but not so much that she’s anywhere close to dying. For now. “And what do we have here? More puny humans for me? Gutsoul deserves more blood.” Booms the loud voice of the mutant, oddly well spoken for someone of his type. No wonder he’s the leader I suppose. “We’re just here to get the woman ‘Gutsoul’. We get the girl, and we won’t kill you. Simple.” I say, standing my ground on the subject. Nick is close behind me, a hand hovering on the small of my back, still holding his revolver in the other, leaning down slightly to whisper in my ear, “Doll, it’s not smart to rile up a mutant, you know that right?”, “Nicky, honey, I know what I’m doing.” I retort, waiting for the mutant to respond. “Graag, grab the woman human. She’s annoying me.” Orders Gutsoul, the larger Mutant charges over to me and grabs my arms, locking them behind my body as I squirm and try to worm my way out of the grapple. Nick raises his revolver to shoot before I shake head “No” at him, needing to stay away from this fight. I won’t let him get hurt.

•

It’s been a day, maybe two since 2 of the mutants took me, leaving Nick Valentine, the best detective of the Commonwealth, to bargain with the brutes. It hasn’t been fun to say the least. While alone I think about him the most. He’s always been there for me, helped me, and the look in those yellow eyes two days ago when I was grabbed, the worry and desperation to get me back made me blush. He treats me well. He’s one of the closest people in my life at the moment, which is hard to come by in a post-apocalyptic world like this. “Food for human lady.” Says one of the two towards me, throwing a piece of stale bread towards me. Hey, it's better than irradiated mudcrab meat. Biting off the tough pieces of bread I look around the cage I’m in, trying to find an exit, a broken pipe I can use to attack the two before me. They look like the weakest, it’s why they’re stationed here to look after me.

I’m still trying to find a way out before I hear yelling and gunfire. The two watching me go to see the situation. Dammit Nick. “You get out, run back to Diamond City!” I hear the Synth yell. Probably towards that woman. What the fuck did he do? “Doll! Doll!? Where are you?” A small, sad smile appears on my face. “I’m here Nicky! I’m stuck in this stupid cage, they took all my shit.” And they had, I was only in my singlet and underwear when Nick came to help me. “Fuck Doll. That’s one shiner.” He points to my face before starting to lockpick the cage open. He hugs me once the door is open. He’s warm. He puts his coat over my shoulders before we go to find my things. He’s rushing around. Frantic almost. “Hey Nicky, Nick, slow down.” I say softly, reaching my hand out towards his shoulder, his white dress shirt slightly unbuttoned down the front, his slacks have blood on them and his hat is slightly shifted on his head. “Doll, I coulda lost ya. If I weren’t fast enough I coulda…” He trails off. “Hey, hey, I survived a nuclear blast, albeit in a bunker and frozen but, if I could survive that, I’ll survive anything. I’ll always come back to you.” He hugs me again. So, so tightly. Almost too tightly, this synth is stronger than he thinks. “Don’t you ever leave again Y/N.” He looks into my eyes and I can’t help but smile. This man is too good for anyone.

•

Once we arrived back at Diamond City, the young woman was there at Nick’s detective agency, thanking him profusely for his help in saving her. I smirk watching the scene unfold and start looking at files of other cases we could take after a small break. “And I was wondering, Detective, if we could go on a date, I’ll show you a good time, for all the help you gave me.” the woman says to him, very seductively. You wouldn’t have thought she spent almost 2 weeks with super mutants. She plays with the collar of his coat before he says, very flustered, “Oh uh, that’s sweet of ya Dollface but I don’t date previous clients. Just how I do the job.” I giggle to myself, listening to him. That’s a lie, I think so myself. She tries again with her advances before I finally save him from the awkward encounter. “Hey Nicky, what about this case? Missing daughter, she’s only 12. We should get a start on it soon.” I yell towards him, still looking at the file. It’s empty, but the woman doesn’t know that. “Alright Doll, I’m coming. You’re welcome for the help kid.” He then walks towards me and the woman leaves with almost a huff. Nick places a hand on the small of my back and I rest my head back onto his shoulder. “You still got it Nicky, get any pretty lady on your case.” I smirk, looking up towards him. “I’ve already got the best lady.” He replies before placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

Hey dude! Thank you for requesting something T-T I hope I did okay and that you like it! Let me know if there are any mistakes in it at all and I'll fix it up <3 Enjoy!!