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hoe-imaginess · 4 years ago

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a helping hand (or two) | dabi

Dabi x fem!Reader

summary: Dabi is suffering from an aphrodisiac quirk. Now he’s got a dick that just won’t quit, and you have to take care of it.

word count: 10.4k

contains: almost dub-con, handies, bjs, dick riding, dirty talk, slight violence, a very stubborn Dabi who has to be restrained

a/n: self-indulgent & vaguely crack-ish. my idea of an aphrodisiac includes an overload of the five senses bc...idk I wanted to play w/ descriptive prose. my kink is describing Dabi’s horniness in paragraphs ok. meaty intro before the smut, hang in there

⤰⤰⤰

Dabi entertained the alley-dweller’s angry outbursts with sadistic patience. The man yelled at him, threatened him, boasted of all the ways in which he was going to make Dabi suffer for attacking and underestimating him—

Then, finally having decided that the fodder was no longer amusing him, the flame-user extended a glowing palm in preparation to finish the job.

When you read the intention in Dabi’s movement, you fidgeted where you stood and calculated the risk of opposing him.

“You can’t just keep burning everyone you don’t like,” you said, calculations made, deciding that you might as well attempt to be a voice of reason while you were paired up with him on this job.

It was a voice he happily ignored. The white-hot glare of his palm smoldered into the bursting blue of his flames as they lit up his fingers.

“Says who?”

Trash was trash. If you couldn’t see that, then oh well. Folly on your part for thinking the tedious task of recruiting didn’t require this sort of disposal; what better to do with underwhelming candidates than permanently remove them from the talent pool? You shouldn’t have tagged along if you weren’t prepared for his methods.

When the alley-villain realized that Dabi’s patience for his empty, arrogant threats had been spent, his dirt-stained face colored with fear, and his wild eyes darted in every direction of the alley to seek refuge from the imminent flames. He started to plead—which Dabi found grimly amusing given that the man had been spouting insults about his patchwork skin just moments before—then he shrank back against the alley wall, sinking to the ground in fear.

“The more bodies you leave the easier it will be for the police to track us.” You’d taken to your persuasions again, fruitless though you knew it was.

“And?”

“And you’ll be compromising the entire League.”

“If all you’re gonna do is complain then you don’t have to tag along, ya know.” He spared a glance your way, with that drolly exasperated look on his face he always gave when he felt you were speaking out of turn.

But his diverted attention proved costly: the alley-dweller suddenly went berserk, and was rushing at him with a final, rogue desperation to escape.

The charge, surprisingly swift as it was, was also uncalculated, and Dabi narrowly side-stepped to avoid a blow. With an indignant sneer, he rounded his hand and kindled his flames anew: no more games, it was time to kill. But before he could retaliate, the lunatic was on him again, barreling toward him.

Though fatally seared by the sudden discharge of flame that Dabi released, the derelict’s bulk was still sufficient to topple into Dabi and throw him off balance. He might have fallen from the impact if not for the way the man gave a wailing, pained shriek and threw himself away from the flames.

Torched and agonized as the man was, his mounted attack hadn’t been a complete failure: though Dabi’s flames had mostly protected him, there was an unmistakable sensation of damage in him which left him suddenly rigid with alarm.

Had he been wounded?

He looked down at himself, saw no injuries from which the bodily distress might have been roused. After a few moments the distress was gone, and he decided it was just adrenaline. Then, there returned the enervated frustration.

“Trash,” he muttered indignantly, glaring at the steaming heap of the man, who’d stumbled over a litter of aluminum trash bins and capsized with them onto the ground. He wasn’t moving. But he was still whole, and not the pile of burning ash he could have been, should have been, now, after that little effrontery—

Your arm was on him before he could pursue the murderous thoughts.

“Are you alright?” you asked, inspecting him carefully.

Instantly and fiercely, he shrugged away from your touch.

“Fine,” he grunted out, straightening and stiffening his limbs to convince himself of it. But that odd feeling was still there, burgeoning slowly at the sight of the man’s body fuming on the ground, at your own body standing so close to him. “If you hadn’t been running your damn mouth—”

“Sorry,” you conceded, more concerned with his demeanor than with defending yourself. In all likelihood he didn’t even realize how ruffled he looked. “Did he… are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted firmly.

While you stared at him in doubtful concern, an energetic heat crept up his spine. Slow, like an insect bite bringing its stinging warmth to a crawl over his skin, skin both scarred and unscarred alike.

There was a smell, then, when he took his shallow breaths: something sweet, like lingering perfume, or fragrant incense—

Fairly quickly he realized the smell was coming from you, and glared at you in puzzled indignation, like the fact that this scent was yours and that he could smell it now—why could he smell it so profusely now, when he hadn’t before? What the hell?—was somehow offensive. Worst of all it smelled damn good. Had you always smelled that good?

“...What is it?” you asked carefully, not quite able to place the look on his face, but considerably unnerved by it, nonetheless. “Dabi…?”

Your voice—it held such particular tones that he hadn’t before noticed until now, as though he’d been deaf to what you really sounded like; how sleek and enticing your words were when they came out of your pretty mouth.

Oh, and your mouth: lips parted fretfully in preparation for another concerned inquiry on his well-being, objectively innocent but suddenly, and infuriatingly, looking very much like they were tempting him for a kiss.

Then when your pink tongue came to wet your lips in anxious trepidation, that too he saw as a maddeningly teasing gesture that made his hands feel hot. Then it was his feet; then his whole body.

He began to fidget where he stood.

Then, at the sudden onset of warmth in his head, he slid over to the alley wall, a splayed hand against the brick keeping his balance while he hung his dizzy head low.

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself woozily.

“Dabi?” You went to inspect him cautiously. You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of black that had fallen over his face, but you knew something was amiss. “Are you okay?” you asked again.

“I’m fine,” he huffed out, and you’d been oblivious to his hoarse breathing up until the moment you stopped in front of him.

“Dabi,” you begged his attention now that his eyes had closed shut, his features pinched. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes, dizzied by the heat, began to play tricks on him. Even behind the closed lids he saw sparks flying, and swirls of white-hot passion dancing.

When the heat in him turned to a near-burning sensation, he opened his eyes and stared down at his body. Was his quirk activated? he thought confusedly. Or was the heat that licked his skin just a hallucination: flames that failed to consume him wholly? What the hell was happening? What was this—

The heat finally centered—mortifyingly—between his legs, and what had been confusion before was now full-blown bafflement.

“Dabi,” you were saying again.

The sound of your voice inflamed him not in aggravation, but something else.

“You don’t look good,” you said. The way his breath had thinned to long, rough pants put anxiety in you. “...I’ll call Kurogiri.” You fished your phone from your pocket with the intention of doing so.

A grunt was his response; he couldn’t coherently pick his words. Then, the anticipation of your voice again, on the phone, speaking in those tones and that sweet melody, made him shudder.

“No,” he muttered.

You looked at him, the phone to your ear, the line ringing. “What?”

“Don’t,” was all he could say, lower this time, almost in a growl.

“But Dabi, you—”

Suddenly, at the thought of hearing your voice for even another second, the fire overtook him.

First he slapped the phone from your grip. Its screen broke against the pavement and the voice that answered the call—too late, you thought fleetingly—stuttered on the line. Then he slammed you against the wall.

Winded and bewildered, it took you several seconds to find your bearings. In that time he’d pressed against you, his breath so hot and so angry that it flushed perspiration over your skin.

Gaping, your lips trembled. “Dabi, what—”

“Shut up,” he seethed quietly, teeth baring.

You recognized the wild look of violence on his face, but the lust in his hazy eyes wasn’t anticipated. Nor was the erection you felt pressing against your leg. You stared wide-eyed as the sinking realization came over you.

In desperation you pushed at him; he pushed back, corralling you against the wall even harder.

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and with it, a dying protest, “Wait—”

He clamped a too-warm hand over your mouth, and pressed his face against yours. His forehead on your own felt feverish and sweaty; his eyes, like blue-burned coals, pierced into yours. You could smell the heat smoldering off of him.

He loosed a shaky, unhinged breath. “Shut. Up.”

Unthinking, your hand tugged at the one on your mouth, inadvertently digging into his staples. But his wild passion lent him a worrisome insensitivity to the hurt, and his other hand was going for your waist, squeezing into your shirt and wrenching you impossibly closer against him.

The pain which erupted from his compromised staples only fanned the flames of his arousal. He didn’t know why. Of course he fucking didn’t. He didn’t even know why his body was moving the way it was: rutting against you, seeking friction for his aching dick.

His mouth went to your neck but applied no kisses or intimate caresses; he just pressed against the skin and breathed in pants. He put his free hand to your breast, the movement not a calculated one, more like he was seeking leverage to his imbalance. The stuttering beat of your heart was palpable under his palm.

"Fuck,” he sputtered out angrily, disoriented, and dug his fingers into your chest. You moaned behind his palm, both in shock and pleasure.

All he needed to hear was the latter.

The sound made him hiss a low and dangerous curse, and when he peeked his head back up, his pulsing eyes shone with something beyond just lust now: pure hunger.

Just as he moved his hand away from your mouth with the intent of crashing his own against you in a bruising kiss, there was a sound behind him.

In the back of his mind he recognized it: Warp Gate.

Kurogiri, and possibly someone else, had answered your call for aid.

Dabi utterly ignored it.

It had nothing to do with him.

He was only concerned with the heat. All he felt was the heat; all he saw was your lips: parted in dumbfoundment, dry, and begging to be wetted by his tongue–

There was a commotion, and then an angry voice that Dabi distantly recognized as Shigaraki’s.

Then a blow to the back of his head took everything away.

⤰

A subtle transformation had overtaken his body by the time he woke.

No longer was the heat excruciating, but it was still there, nevertheless: a curling medium beneath his skin which he felt the instant consciousness came back to him. With it, the dizzy ache in his head and the haze in his eyes. Then, finally: his limbs refusing to move when he tried to stretch them.

At once he realized he was back in the bar, confined in a chair, with people gawking at him from all sides.

He blinked his vision back to clarity, then scowled. “The hell?”

“Do you remember anything, Dabi?” That was Kurogiri somewhere to his left. Looking, Dabi confirmed his usual station behind the bar.

Delaying an answer, the flame-user glanced around. Not all of the League was there, he saw. Besides Kurogiri, only Shigaraki and you were audience to the spectacle.

You tried to avoid his harsh eyes when they landed on you, when they flitted across your features as if in an elaborate struggle to put pieces of a disoriented puzzle together. Solved, apparently, as his memory came back, his confused scowl worked into a realizing frown.

“Shit,” he muttered in annoyance.

Shuffling uncomfortably in the chair, he surmised it was rope binding his wrists behind his back, and his ankles to the chair legs. But the movement also brought attention to the hot pressure in his gut.

Or at the least, he thought that’s where it was—until he glanced down and realized that despite the abatement of the wild heat, his erection still peeked proudly underneath his jeans.

Now he was scowling again.

“What the hell,” he spat out, and suddenly, with his frustration flourishing, the heat was returning in slow order.

He cursed under his breath. He looked up and glared at the first onlooker he set his eyes upon: Kurogiri.

“Get me out of this shit.”

“I can’t do that,” the man replied regrettably. “When I came to retrieve you from the scene we had no choice except to put you down when you refused to listen. Given the nature of the quirk that you’ve been struck with, we have to take precautions until we know it’s out of your system.”

Dabi listened with steely suspicion. “What quirk?”

“An aphrodisiac—” You almost bit your tongue once you’d started, because the quick and fierce glance he gave you suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with you, and even less happy to hear your voice.

“It’s an aphrodisiac quirk,” you stated, more calmly now.

Dabi blinked, brows knotting in concentration. Spoken plainly that way, it seemed absurd, stupid.

He scoffed dryly. “You’re joking.”

“Really fucked up this time, didn’t you?” came Shigaraki from a spot at the bar, his arms crossed. “Serves you right, searching the alleys for trash. I told you to stop doing that shit.”

“Fuck off,” Dabi spat. “How was I supposed to know the guy’d have such a stupid fuckin’…”

Dabi tsked and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair again. The bitterness he felt for his confinement was quickly gaining, and so was the returning arousal. A sweltering, uncomfortable warmth on his skin made him hyperaware of his flushed face, and he could practically feel the sweat teeming on his unscarred flesh.

“I’m serious,” he muttered, glaring at Shigaraki. “Get me out of this.”

“So you can go ape shit again? No. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m not gonna do shit, relax.”

Dabi was aware then that focus was being pulled in the room, pulled directly to you: the victim of his unbidden arousal.

With a roll of his eyes, he huffed a frustrated breath and gave you what might have passed for an apology, if he’d even bothered looking at you. “My bad, and all that.”

Shigaraki’s arrogant snort derailed whatever amendment you might have transpired to make.

“You’re lucky the guy was still alive when we got there—barely,” your leader went on. “Told us a bit about what to expect from you in the next few hours though, once we promised we’d let him go.”

Dabi gave him a flat look of doubt.

Shigaraki scoffed. “Didn’t keep that promise, obviously.” Then he was scowling behind Father. “I don’t like having to clean up your messes. Shouldn’t have to finish off your fodder for you. You can’t even do that right, can you?”

Dabi’s frustration was in full bloom now, despite reason persuading him against it; he’d gathered enough at this point—at the expense of his own body—to know that agitation of any kind would feed the quirk’s effects.

Heat pooled low in his stomach when he demanded again, “Let me out of this shit right now or I’m gonna get mad.”

“Supposed to be a 24-hour thing unless you take care of it, to put it plainly,” Shigaraki responded.

“I assumed as much. So get me outta this shit and I’ll fuck off for a while.”

“Nah. Don’t need you going and causing a scene somewhere because you don’t know how to keep your pants on.”

You could feel the conflagration of tension in the room. Maybe it was Dabi’s quirk, maybe it was the alley-dweller’s mixing with it, making it dangerously palpable. Regardless, Shigaraki’s snark seemed to bring Dabi’s attention back to his body, to the insufferable bulge between his legs that demanded relief.

“This is stupid,” he declared bitterly, and tugged on the knots tied at his wrists, the throbbing heat in his lower-half lending itself to his quirk as it activated in licking flames along his arms. He was tired of this shit. He lost his temper all at once. “You’re damn crazy if you think I’m just gonna sit here—”

Then there was blue flame torching the back of the chair, blackening the rope which bound him and making the tethers frail enough to tear apart under a strong tug. He was freeing himself.

From there, it all happened relatively swiftly.

As he went to work on the binds at his feet with newly liberated arms, Shigaraki was in a conniption of angry protests, and Kurogiri fluttered nervously between taking action or remaining an onlooker.

Then there was you, probably the least equipped to do much of anything to alleviate the situation, but nevertheless skipping to your feet the moment the chaos ensued. There was arguing, cursing, insults—then your voice, attempting to wedge some conciliatory reason into the room.

It did the exact opposite.

Dabi had apparently forgotten of the trigger in your voice that sent his body into a frenzy. When you spoke up, your voice just loud enough to cut above the rest of the uproar, his aspiration to free himself tapered off as his sharp eyes honed in on you.

His arousal came back with a vengeance; in his pants, his dick twitched angrily for relief, and that frenzy took over his thought process again.

His flames burned the rope at his feet and he came at you, so close, so very close, not knowing why he was doing it but only that he needed to touch you—

You were frozen on the spot. But Shigaraki was reaching for something along the bar, and Dabi’s world went black again soon after.

⤰

When he woke this time, his rope bonds had been replaced for something cold and metallic, something stronger to withstand the vehemence of his flames. Even the chair to which he was bound had been swapped for something sturdier than wood.

“You fuckin’ serious?” he spat out, even before his vision had centered. He knew where he was, and why he was there. No need for context clues.

“You gave us no other choice,” Kurogiri amended carefully, the black vapors that composed him flitting about anxiously.

“Told you that you’d lose it,” Shigaraki said, anger having replaced all his snarky tones of condescension from before. “You’re like a damn animal.”

Dabi hissed and put his head back, feeling the soreness at his nape from consecutive blows. If he weren’t so presently occupied with the curl of heat welcoming him afresh, he might have simmered on the idea of burning his relatively recent—but entirely disagreeable—boss to a crisp when this was over.

Then for the first time Dabi realized you were absent, and glanced around as if in search of you. Good, he thought, when he confirmed that you were missing. You just... complicated things.

“I’m fine now,” he insisted, as placidly as possible as if to give stock to his lie. The respite had done nothing for the arousal harassing him; the longer it having gone unsatiated, even in unconsciousness, making it all the more demanding.

Mellowing his urgency to a non-existent degree was almost impossible, however. Dabi knew the way the soles of his shoes twisted and flattened restlessly into the ground below was anything but inconspicuous.

“Just warp me outta here, Kurogiri,” he implored.

“No,” Shigaraki answered. “Shut up. Consider this a lesson. No more rummaging for allies in shithole parts of town. This is what happens when you go dumpster-diving for recruits.”

“You want me to burn this place down?” Dabi threatened, testing the strength of his bonds. A flicker of blue teased along his jawline. “‘Cause I got no problem doing that.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just burn up with it, since you’ve got no way out of that chair.”

He knew it was true, and worked his jaw. “For all you know the damn guy was lyin’,” he said as a final act of contempt, and gave his leader a leery, side-long glare. “And this shit might not go away on its own.”

“Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?”

Dabi sneered. Foiled, but regardlessly frustrated by the truth of it, he put his head back with an angry sigh and resigned himself to an attempted calm.

⤰

You’d lingered in the bar’s back rooms for the better part of an hour before emerging.

Shigaraki had instructed you to make yourself scarce, but you were drafted to stay by some guilty—and admittedly curious—sentiment.

It was awfully unfair, you agreed, to keep Dabi chained up like he was—even in spite of the danger he posed under the quirk’s influence. But you must have overlooked that danger when you decided to slip into the main room where he was being held, long after you had been assured that Kurogiri and Shigaraki were gone.

His back to the door, Dabi didn’t glance over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. It seemed he was sour enough not to offer greeting, and preferred to be left alone in his turmoil.

He especially didn’t want your company, which he made clear by way of a harsh frown when you came into his peripheral.

He tsked and readjusted uncomfortably in his seat at your arrival. “The hell do you want?”

“How are you feeling?”

“Never been better,” he muttered.

You were aware of how he avoided your gaze, and couldn’t know whether it was in an effort to stave off the arousal your presence had so viciously wrought before, or because he simply didn’t appreciate your company. The latter seemed just as likely as the first, though neither stopped you from taking a seat in one of the room’s couches so you could sit across at him.

Your eyes were trained on his face, on the agitation creased into his expression. It was almost indecipherable under his otherwise cold demeanor. Clearly, the quirk was still in effect. If his tried composure wasn’t enough, there was a subtle tent in his pants that hadn’t gone away, not since its first appearance hours ago, you imagined.

You didn’t realize you were ogling until he noticed. He tsked.

“Take a picture,” he offered spitefully, immediately dissuading your eyes away from him.

“Sorry,” you let slip, embarrassment flushing your cheeks, and in response he only lulled his head back again and shut his eyes.

All was silent for a while, and might have remained thereby, if not for the way that the curt apology brought back the weight of guilt you’d felt to see his sorry state.

“And I’m sorry for bringing you back here,” you spoke up. “Or at least, sorry that I called the others. I didn’t realize you’d be held up like this–”

“Stop talking,” he muttered.

Mouth opening, then closing again, you almost swallowed down your next words. But again, they refused to stay unspoken.

“I wouldn’t have called them,” you insisted, “if you didn’t—if you didn’t come after me like that. I was confused.”

No response. Only another uncomfortable shuffle in the chair while his eyes remained shut and his mouth a thin line.

They’d put his hands in a sort of metallic sleeve since you last saw him, to discourage any more pyromania, you guessed. Though they weren’t visible, you could see how his arms shifted, how his tendons worked, and could imagine his fingers flitting anxiously inside the restraints.

“Is… me being here making it worse?” you chanced to ask.

He scoffed, and finally gave you his attention. “What?” Then, fully understanding your train of thought, rolled his eyes, and resigned them shut again while he relaxed into the chair. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that dumb look you got on your face all the time isn’t exactly alluring.”

You frowned, and it was almost with cross touchiness that you argued, “But you came after me—”

“I’m guessin’ the point of the quirk is to make anything look fuckable. So don’t flatter yourself.”

Despite all your caution, you couldn’t help but give the man a sour look. “You’re rude.”

He shrugged, the movement impeded considerably by his restraints. “Whatever. Anyways, you just gonna sit there and watch me? I’m not exactly in the mood for company.” He moved in his seat again, fighting the heat between his legs the best he could. “Unless you’re gettin’ off on my suffering and what not. Kinda twisted of you, if you ask me. Didn’t peg you as the type.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted quickly. “I just wanted to…well—”

“To what? Check in on me? Nice of you. But you can fuck off now.”

A sudden twitch in his legs took the tension from the repartee. You looked down at the limb as he did.

The burning heat in his veins took away practically all control he had of his extremities, rallied them into unconscious servants of the damn quirk until they were twitching, then relaxing, then twitching again.

You noticed this, too, and though his efforts to conceal the struggle were commendable, they left you in a state of shame, as if it were you bound in the chair with your arousal on display. Seeing someone so normally composed as he was in such a state was distressing, and admittedly, absorbing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and let your rampant thoughts form to words. “Will it go away if you…”

“If I what?” Then once understanding, the smallest of smirks twisted his scarred lips. “Rub one out? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You ignored the heat that dropped down your spine to hear him say it so unabashedly. “I don’t have the key to your locks,” you explained. “So I couldn’t let you out even if I wanted to.”

He gave no response, just looked away from you again.

And here now was the adrenaline pulsing nonsense out of you, making you think crazy and debauched thoughts that would in any other situation be put down immediately by rationale.

“But…”

He glanced at you when you tapered off. “But?”

Your silence annoyed him, now that he was interested. Before he could hound you to continue, you sputtered out your proposal:

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

He looked at you, an eyebrow raised, as if demanding clarification. But you had a resolute feeling that he was toying with you by choosing silence.

“You know what I mean,” you asserted.

The blank, cold stare you received in kind made you wonder if he actually did know what you meant. Maybe he didn’t understand—

“No,” he then said.

The defeat you felt was utterly uncalled for, you knew. But you felt it anyways: a wash of humiliation plummeting down your body and swelling up again in frustration.

But you let it be, knowing anything more you had to say would probably earn you tenfold embarrassment.

Twenty minutes must have passed—though he wasn’t counting, and he wasn’t so sure that the affliction in his body wasn’t twisting his sense of time—each entailing another dredge of painful heat in his groin that worsened the longer his arousal went unattended to.

All the fail safes he’d practiced in his adolescence to ward off unwanted arousals were utterly useless now. He might as well have been on cloud nine when he filled his head with repulsive concepts: the smell of antiseptic, the smell of fish—fucking disgusting fish—even images of roadkill and dead bodies, putrefying and blackened.

The thoughts themselves were off-putting, as promised, but it wasn’t thoughts at all that fueled his libido: it was a completely physical and natural arousal.

Even shuffling his legs around, as meager of friction as it gave, made his hips inch forward in search of more when the fabric of his jeans teased his hard cock. It was fucking humiliating.

He looked at you. You were too occupied searching the floor for an answer to your anxieties to notice the way he studied you.

You weren’t bad looking, he decided. Not that he’d ever really thought of you that way before. Not thoroughly, anyways. In this little group of delinquents he’d surrounded himself with—a grand mistake on his part, he thought, especially during times like these—you were the only fuel he had for his imagination on nights he needed to let off some steam.

There was no intimacy behind it, no real passion for you that extended beyond the time from when he shoved a hand into his jeans, to when he was cleaning thick ropes of cum from his knuckles afterwards.

You were only ever given credence in his brain then, when he was giving his cock hard and angry tugs to the thought of you on your knees for him, or against a wall with his hand curled around your throat, and sometimes bent over his knee while he spanked your ass raw (a more recent daydream now, ever since that time a few weeks ago when you’d bent down in front of him to pick something up off the floor).

Suddenly aware of an alarming change in his body, he paused his thoughts to immerse himself back into his too-hot skin again.

He felt a wetness against his swollen cock, and after squirming covertly, frowned, realizing with loathing that the stickiness chafing his briefs was pre-cum.

He stubbornly decided that it was just an inevitable response to his body’s raging war with arousal, and not—not at all—because he’d been thinking of you.

Letting his body endure until his pants were dampened with pre-cum was an unwanted solution. Or even worse, until the sensitivity in his cock went haywire and even the tiniest of movements might make him cream his pants.

A frustrated breath whistled out from his nose and he grit his teeth. Goddamnit. This was fucking stupid.

“Fuck,” he said aloud, shaking his head as if to condemn the words he was about to say, knowing how they would haunt his ego later, “Fine. Come here.”

You glanced up, and, unable to fulfill the request with your mind suddenly racing, simply stared.

That insipid look of failed registry on your face irritated him, and he scowled. “Are you deaf?”

“You want me to—” A sweep of your eyes down to his crotch elucidated what you were too hesitant to say.

“You offered,” he reminded you, and decided that in order to make this even a fraction less humiliating, he’d need to emphasize your culpability. “Kinda been thinking it’s your fault, anyways. If you hadn’t been such a dumbass back there I would’ve finished the guy off like I wanted to. But you were too busy spouting your nitpicky bullshit.”

There was a guilty look on your face now, like you’d been considering the accusation in your own time. Now having it confirmed, you were more susceptible to the reasoning, and even more willing to rectify yourself.

Still, you struggled to swallow down hesitation. “You’re sure that you want me to—”

“You’re gonna start pissin’ me off if you get all shy,” he said, trying as hard as his dancing nerves would allow to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Since yielding to the ludicrous idea, his body had apparently taken up a premature celebration at the thought of your hands on him. His balls were tight and his dick was throbbing hard enough to make his legs tense with each pulse.

“I just want to make sure,” you insisted. “I mean, if you really–”

“I’ll make it easy for you then. Either get over here, or piss off.”

He was relieved, pleased, and somewhat amused when the hesitation left you and you obeyed. When you came to stand idly in front of him, he glanced up, watching your confusion.

Your eyes flicked from his face to his crotch, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his hard dick pressing against his jeans.

“You gonna stare at it all day?” he asked.

You looked at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“When you offered to do something about it I assumed you already had some ideas. You need me to give you an instruction manual?”

Your silence frustrated him again, and he tsked, glancing away from you as the reality of what you two were doing finally set in.

“Take it out,” he muttered.

So you did, reaching numbly down and carefully undoing his pants. The bulge that awaited underneath his jeans gave you pause. You stared at it, and a shot of adrenaline pumped through you when it twitched in his briefs, as if feeling your eyes ogling it and begging you to give it attention.

You tried to clear your conscience. This was Dabi, Dabi who treated you with such disregard that you sometimes wondered if he even knew your name; Dabi, who was letting you even breathe next to him without trying to scorch you.

A trickling, somewhat fatally comedic thought entered your mind: was he going to light you ablaze the second you touched him? Or maybe after, once you’d relieved him, as a way to permanently silence you against ever speaking a word of this to anyone?

Shivering at the morbidity of your own creation, you reached for his briefs and pulled them down carefully until his cockhead showed itself, pink-hued and shiny with an excess amount of pre-cum.

You worked a hand underneath the briefs instead of exposing him completely, thinking he might want some semblance of modesty during this. Your convictions were rattled from their mounts when your fingers wrapped gently around the tip of his cock and gave a firm squeeze.

In response: silence.

You’d thought with how viciously his arousal had seemed to harangue him that he might give a stronger reaction: a moan, a sigh, a grunt, maybe even an audible breath.

He just stared at you, looking as utterly bored as he usually did.

Then your fingers decided to retreat, and the sound you’d been displeased to be robbed of came finally as a frustrated grunt when your grip left him.

“Seriously?” he huffed, staring at you. The irritation left its first but considerable split in his composure. The rest was quickly chipping away. He couldn’t pretend to be aloof about this for much longer. “You got cold feet now?”

“That’s not it.”

“What then? Never seen one before?”

“I don't know… how you want it,” you explained.

“The hell does that mean?”

“Do you want me to use my hands?” you clarified hesitantly. “Or…”

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his open lips made an eerie picture of his otherwise blank face.

“Or what?” he taunted. “You got something else in mind? You been dyin’ for a taste of it or something–”

“No,” you finished, and that flustered look of anger on your face was pissing him off again, instead of amusing him like it might have under another context.

“So then cut the shit and do whatever.”

With a frown you went to your knees, unwilling to get further embroiled.

When you started to stroke him, more pre-cum squeezed from the tip in generous pumps. You didn’t bother asking him how hard or fast he wanted it—you started hastily, hand gliding quickly over his cock, urgently enough that pre-cum eased the motion and made wet, sharp sounds with every stroke.

His knee twitched like he’d been checked for reflex, which you took as encouragement to keep going despite his loyalty to silence.

The veins along his dick pulsed needily and you swore you could feel the throb under your palm. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought you were doing well. But apparently not.

“Harder,” he muttered, not a minute after you’d started.

You glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, but instead had shut his eyes in concentration. It looked to you as though he was trying to find the pleasure in your pace—which was apparently too soft for his likings.

You did as instructed, nevertheless: you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling and making your strokes face slightly more resistance as they worked more pre-cum from the red tip.

Another twitch in his leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver; you saw his toned stomach shudder with the motion beneath his clothes, and fleetingly considered inching his shirt up a bit more out curiosity: how far did the burnt skin go down his body?

But then he was grunting, and breathing more stiffly than before. You thought that was another sign of a job well done, when his eyes peeled open and looked down upon you with such emphasized frustration that you realized you were not, in fact, meeting his standards.

“Harder,” he demanded again, more rigidly this time. Despite the command, your hand slowed. For that, he frowned at you. “Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that. I like it rough.”

A flush of humiliation put purpose back into your rigid fingers, and you were moving your hand again, albeit slowly as you tested the new grip, this time with such purposeful pressure that you were tugging his dick now more than stroking it.

“I thought it might hurt,” you started meekly.

“It doesn’t. Keep going.”

You did, picking up speed again. The adrenaline put some more initiative into you, and you made a purposeful attempt to drag your thumb down hard on his swollen cock with every jerk of your hand.

A croaky hum from his throat brought your attention to his face; his eyes watched your hand stroking him with fuzzy scrutiny.

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes fluttering closed again, finally satisfied. “Just like that.”

That made your chest tight with excitement and your legs fidget beneath you. Your own arousal was wetting the inside of your thighs by now, but you were able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving his.

At some point his hips stuttered up to start meeting your hand, but in a much slower rhythm than you were stroking; lazy pumps up into your grip. Every synchronic motion when you jerked up and his hips rolled down, there was an amazing tightness on the head of his cock that made his breath catch every time.

You decided on using both hands (he was big, unexpectedly big, so much so that it was staggering and you decided you would think about that later when he wasn’t filling your palms so generously) and started twisting your grip in time with your strokes. It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan.

Then his hips were pumping into your hands roughly, fucking himself in slow but hard thrusts—so hard that you had to steel yourself and tighten your grip to keep from getting bucked off.

Another low moan from his throat. “Shit…” Then, when a surge of confidence urged you to quickly run your tongue along the head of his dick, his breath caught in a hard grunt.

“Shit,” he hissed out, and spread his thighs wider, pushing them up eagerly in demand that you give him more.

To the best of your ability you tried, spreading your tongue underneath the head and rapidly swiping it back and forth. That got his hips stuttering, and his body jolting in its confines.

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck.... Just like that.”

Without prompting your lips came into the fold, closing tightly around the tip and sucking in time with the hands that fisted his cock until you were lavishing every inch of him in some way.

The feeling alone was ridiculously good, but watching you made his jaw go slack and mouth open as he panted. Maybe it was just the stupid quirk making him delirious, but you looked a hell of a lot hotter doing this than what his fantasies had led him to believe. Fuck. You weren’t half bad.

A particularly hard thrust into your mouth had one of your hands slipping loose, and his next thrust, unimpeded by the length of one your fists around him, shoved his dick to the tight heat at the back of your throat.

He grunted hard, “Fucking shit—” Then arched up quickly, jumping at the opportunity to sink his cock deeper.

Without a pause to steady yourself you had little choice but to oblige, and his cockhead shoved in, cramming itself against your hot tongue, pumping farther back inch by inch.

The hand still jerking him off covered what your throat was too inexperienced to swallow down, and the rhythm of your tight mouth and vice-like hand made him moan deeply.

But it might have been too much, and a strength lent to him by the quirk’s desperation made his hips lift off the chair forcibly, driving his cockhead to the very back of your throat until you were sputtering and choking.

“Fuck.” It made him dizzy with pleasure, and he shut his eyes to keep them from rolling as he frantically pumped his hips upwards to get you gagging on him again. “Yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

But then you were pulling off completely with a gasping breath.

His eyes opened, wild with exasperation. “The hell–”

You coughed wetly and started to plead, “Don’t choke me–”

“Fine—fine. Hurry the hell up.” His hips jutted up impatiently in search of your mouth again, his swelling cock bouncing and twitching urgently. “Put that fuckin’ mouth back on it right now—”

You obeyed, and his hips shuddered down into the chair, following the motion of your lips as they tightened over his length—only to start thrusting up into the hot and wet cavern again once his cockhead hit the roof of your mouth.

It was like a fire had been kindled underneath him and was rapidly boiling all his thoughts to a vapor. It was stupidly good, so damn hot and tight and wet he couldn’t remember a mouth on his cock ever feeling this amazing. He wished his hands were free so he could fist them into your hair, so he could push you down more, get you gagging and sputtering on his cock.

His eyes squeezed shut, face flexing with occasional twitches. His lips pulled back into a desperate grimace and long, shaky breaths whistled out through his clenched teeth.

With his vision released of the sight of you on your knees, his mind was free to give the hot wetness on his cock another name, and he instead imagined that it was your pussy he was shoving into, gripping him nice and tight.

He felt his quirk stirring underneath the pleasure; every vein in his body warmed at the mere thought of shoving into you raw, and until that very moment he hadn’t itched to break through his constraints like he did now, hadn’t wanted to be free of them so he could wrestle you to the floor and fuck you like he needed to.

You were doing something particularly creative with your tongue on the underside of his cock, and a full body shudder brought him back to present. He watched you in your task: your eyes were shut tight in concentration, your brows furrowed as you struggled to accept his dick while it rammed against the back of your throat. Even your hand’s grip on his cock was a little tighter, he noticed appreciatively.

It would have been fucking fantastic: a real goddamn sight to see that he might have honestly applauded you for later—if he wasn’t suddenly so absurdly enraptured with his fantasies.

Dabi wanted more. Something deeper and hotter, something to bury his cock into and relish the velvety grip, something he could ravage and fuck away the ache in his body—

The thought of pounding his dick inside of you suddenly encompassed all other thought; it wasn’t a notion his frenzied mind would let remain as a fantasy. He wanted nothing else. Your mouth on his cock, your throat curdling around him, choking on him in a way that made his legs shake...

It was all insufficient now. He needed to be inside of you. As soon as fucking possible.

“Shit,” he spat out. It was a curse different from the others, not breathed on arousal, but frustration.

You looked up at him, and read him to be just as disgruntled as he sounded.

“This ain’t doin’ it,” he said, and slowed his thrusting hips, which was a more hard-fought task to complete than he imagined; he may have been getting greedy with his fantasies, but his cock was still more than happy to use your mouth as a warm sleeve.

When you slipped off, you must have been giving him one of those dumb looks he hated, because he frowned.

“You hear me?”

You nodded, licking the wetness from your lips as you caught your breath. You were lightheaded. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, and you swore you would smell the smoky salt of his skin on you for days. But now there was more?

The heat pooling in your thighs demanded your attention again, and you fidgeted on your sore knees. “Well... what do you want me to do–”

“Sit on it.”

You gawked at him. “Sit on it?”

That got him smirking just a little, his tongue peeking out to wet dried lips as he slowly panted. He cocked his head.

“Worried it won’t fit?”

Your body surged with wild ambition. “That’s not it, but—”

“Bet you’re nice and tight, but you can work it in. I’d offer to stretch you open a little, but my hands are tied.” He flexed his fingers and arms in his binds for show, then grinned to see how flustered his words made you. “Besides, looked like you were enjoyin’ yourself. I’m sure you’re wet enough.”

God why couldn’t he shut up and let you think for a second? The teasing was horribly nauseating; his voice even worse, spoken with his smirk seeped into it. You realized the very sound of it would probably make you shiver now in all the wrong ways after this, even in casual conversation.

“I… don’t have condoms,” you said by way of reply.

He shrugged, the gesture lacking his usual languor now that he’d been worked up without release. “Me neither. They’re annoying.”

He noticed you were frowning at him, and scoffed. “What, not on the pill?” He didn’t wait for a response; maybe that was the heat making him forgo on better judgment. “Well, guess it’s a good thing they got me pinned down, then. You’re free to pull off when I’m about to bust.”

The way in which he spoke it made your stomach queasy, and the first true lick of doubt ruined your mood as you stood up. “Fine. Just… tell me before you’re about to.”

He grunted in response, inwardly absorbed with impatience.

You took off your bottoms and pushed your panties—yes, very wet, you confirmed—down, then hiked a leg over and climbed somewhat clumsily onto the chair.

Only when you’d awkwardly positioned yourself over him did you notice that his eyes were fixated down below, where your hands steadily worked his dick against you. A raspy sigh passed his lips, and it was then you noticed his body teeming with eager spasms.

Awkwardly, you sank down onto him, staring between you two the whole time and watching his thick length press tightly inside.

The binds on his feet jabbed sharply against his ankles as they shuffled for leverage, desperate to rut up into the tight heat that welcomed him—but your legs resting on his thighs kept the movement to nothing but shallow thrusts.

Whatever this fucking quirk was had a ridiculous effect on his sensitivity. You felt good—fucking amazing, even—though he couldn’t decide if that was just the quirk deluding him into thinking your cunt was the best he’d ever had, or if it really was: if you really were just that fucking incredible.

Normally he would have managed that with stilled hips and practiced control; just sat back and enjoyed the ride. But shit it took a monumental effort not to fuck up into you, especially with how damn... slow you were going.

Your pussy was gripping him so nicely, and that tight look on your face as you seated yourself onto his lap, accepting him fully and staggering from the size of him, was thrilling. But when you finally started to move your hips, you were going about it so cautiously, so boringly, that his patience all but thinned in a matter of seconds.

“Could you go any slower?” he muttered.

The words guilted you. “I thought it might… hurt?” you explained.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not in pain, dumbass. I need to cum. Which ain’t gonna happen if you keep this up.” He shuffled his legs, widening them so he could better press up into you. The pressure made him grunt, and you shiver. “C’mon, you were putting on a real good show before. Ride me like you mean it. I know you can.”

And there it was again, the words and the voice that threw repose out the window and made you all the more eager to see this through.

With arms linked around his neck you started to roll your hips. He didn’t seem to mind the contact, helpful as it was in balancing yourself on his lap.

You weren’t entirely surprised when the first sighs and grunts came from your own lips. Every time you thought a new angle of your hips or a quick thrust of his own had finally hit that one pleasurable spot inside, you would sink down harder on his cock and gasp when his thickness dragged over another.

It made you go faster, turned the fluid rolling of your hips into quick grinding, then finally when you’d adjusted to his size, a steady bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck yes...” he muttered, then moaned low, licking his lips; that was what he needed, feeling you sink down over and over, lifting yourself a little higher each time then dropping so hastily that his hips started jutting up to meet you.

“Shit.” Lolling his head back he breathed heavily, deeply. “Ah shit...”

It encouraged you to circle your hips with every motion, which garnered a throaty growl in response. A string of curses under his breath accompanied it, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, keeping careful of his staples, and moaned along with him.

Only when you started getting noisier did you think of anything except what you two were doing: what if Shigaraki or Kurogiri were to come back now? What if any of the others decided to waltz in?

You bit your lip to keep your next few moans low, but you swore Dabi must have had a sixth sense for your timidity, and didn’t at all appreciate the way you were holding back.

He shifted his hips on the chair in a precise motion, and suddenly his cockhead shoved against the right spot over and over again as you bounced on top of him. All your logical thoughts were fucked into the back burner immediately.

All you could hear was your own panting and the slap of your thighs against his. He would give his heedy approval in an occasional growl or moan, rasping it against your ear. It made you shiver uncontrollably.

You lost rhythm soon enough and took to grinding again, the chair scraping along the floor beneath you. His thick cock drove you crazy, until you were panting and moaning and whining. If that wasn’t enough to signal an orgasm, he could feel it, could feel your pussy gripping him in a desperate flutter.

“Oi,” he got your attention, turning his head, his breath thin at your cheek, “You serious? Are you actually gonna–”

And you did, legs stretching and contracting, tightening around his thighs as you came hard. He cursed and dipped his head low when you squeezed around him, panting through the ridiculously good pressure on his cock.

Your body jerked and shivered in any way it could, anything to expel the white-hot pleasure that shot up your spine and then back down again. You couldn’t breathe, shaking on top of him so violently he was sure you were going to keel over at any second and start convulsing on the floor.

“Hey shithead,” he snapped after he’d let your shivers die down. Using what little leverage his tied legs allowed him, he pushed his shoes off the floor, bouncing you impatiently in his lap and jarring you back to awareness. You gasped in hypersensitivity, his cock digging against you.

“I’m flattered you like my dick that much,” he went on, your body languid and slouched against him. The heat was nearing again; his cock twitched miserably inside of you, desperate for release and so damn close to getting it. “But you’re not the one in need of attention here, in case you forgot. Keep it up. I’m close.”

With a moan you pushed yourself up, sucking in breaths of renewal through parted lips. Legs tensing and aching, you tried your best to grind on him again, but the task left you oversensitive.

He needed to finish, you reminded yourself. He needed to cum, like he’d said. You were sure, so blissfully sure you might be rewarded with more of his unhinged reactions that you forced your muscles to be ignorant to their ache, and started to ride him in earnest.

That was when you noticed it: the heat wracking you wasn’t just your own, it was his. His skin too hot, too hot to be normal, furnace-warm to the touch.

You lifted your head from his shoulder and peered over at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips pulled back into a tense snarl. Perspiration dewed on the portions of his untainted skin, dampened his brows and fell in droplets along his temple.

You felt his body heating rapidly against yours—the clothes keeping your skin apart might as well have been paper-thin. His chest, rising desperately with heavy pants, was concerningly feverish. He felt it too.

Fuck, he thought. Not fucking now.

“Damn it—” he sputtered out, body going suddenly rigid, craning his neck away from you. “Move,” he warned you.

“What—”

“Move your damn head—”

Just as you did, your eyes stretched in shock as flames broke out from his jawline. Their angry blue reflected threateningly in your eyes, made you come to a shivering slow on his cock as the dry heat blistered out over your skin.

The fire was out in a second, forcefully extinguished with his frustrated grunt; smoke puttered out from beneath his staples instead. He breathed out an angry sigh from the effort of combating his own quirk.

You hesitated to put your hand out and touch him, hovering over his face. “Dabi, your skin—”

“Shut up it’s fine,” he breathed raggedly, turning his head away from you. When was the last time that had happened? Fuck. He made himself believe it was just the quirk. Just the quirk. And not you. Not because you felt so fucking good.

His legs jolted up in desperation to make you move on top of him. “Don’t you fuckin’ stop—shit—I’m almost there—”

You didn’t know whether to be frightened or exhilarated by the display of fire, but you were moving again regardless, bouncing on his lap for all you were worth until your legs were begging for mercy and your lungs ached.

He sucked in tight breaths through his teeth, then exhaled them as gravelly moans. You pressed against him, arms wrapped about his frame, ignoring his sweltering skin and abandoning any fear that his quirk might disobey his control again. You bit your lip and whined excitedly when you felt him bow his head against your shoulder and pant heavily against the clothed skin there.

The heat was fucking blinding now. And it was loud: a numbing and seductive beat in his chest that made his heart stutter to keep up. Every slam of your hips down onto him, and every one of his thrusts up into you in turn, made the heat louder, ache more, and burn.

“Now,” he grit out against your ear, body seizing in warning. In his enclosed binds, his fingers clenched into fists, so hard that the joints popped in protest.

A whine in your throat was the response. You were ignorant to much else except the wetness making a mess of your thighs, of his searing skin against you and his belt buckle digging harshly into your legs.

“Right now,” he sputtered hurriedly, hips rising from the seat. All he could do was shove up into you once, violent and hard, digging his way as deep as he could as his balls went tight and fiery pleasure raced up his body. “Right fuckin’ now move, I’m gonna—goddamnit… fuck!”

He wasn’t prepared for the way you slammed your hips down as you came again with a cry. He stiffened hard, body bowing down into yours as much as the restraints allowed, shoving his face into your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped out, “fuck—” You shivered wildly around him and in an instant he was cumming hard, legs jolting in their restraints, shaking under your thighs.

“Fuck!” he shouted again, the exclamation muffled against your skin. “Motherfucker—fuck—” His voice puttered off into a series of strained, frantic groans. Unthinking and delirious on pleasure, he closed his mouth around the soft flesh of your neck and bit hard.

You gasped, tried to wriggle free, but his hips were desperately snapping up into you, effectively throwing off your balance.

Your hips hadn’t stopped their determination either. They had a mind of their own, rutting fast to squeeze him dry. All the while, he growled hotly against your skin, teeth leaving deep marks, sucking blemishes into the flesh despite all restraint that told him otherwise.

After the last, hard spurts inside of you, he sank back into the chair, utterly wasted. Little spasms harassed his body and made him shiver weakly. Only his mouth persevered, teeth still digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

The pleasure ebbed into raw sensation, and you could feel the marks his incisors left in you, the heated metal of his staples singeing you.

“Dabi,” you stuttered out, a shaky hand coming to push at his forehead in protest.

It shook him back to reality. He brought his dizzy head back to look at you through hooded eyes, then down at the wound he’d left on your neck.

Shit, he thought fleetingly, but not very regrettably. That was gonna bruise.

He put his head back against the chair and heaved, shutting his eyes to dispel the lightheadedness.

“Told you... to get off,” he muttered.

You knew it was a mistake you would dwell on later, but you could barely move now, let alone think.

When you shifted your legs, wanting to move and put some blood back into your limbs, it set off a chain reaction of oversensitive-pleasure; dwindling sparks went off inside you and you shuddered, making him jerk and grunt in tandem.

“Don’t move,” he chided, his head still bent to the ceiling. “Just gimme a minute... Fuck...” he breathed. “You fuckin’...” He shook his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you’d been the one to give it to him.

Then he thought: he wouldn’t need to conjure up fantasies of you anymore when he was getting himself off. He could go by memory now.

Once he’d regained partial composure, he shifted, glad to find his dick was going limp—fucking finally—inside of you.

“You got a way to take care of that?” he asked, leaning back and looking down at the wet mess between both your thighs.

You blinked, hazy. “What?”

“I’m not tryna knock you up just ‘cause you’re too horny to listen,” he said disdainfully. “You on the pill? Gotta get one of those morning-afters otherwise–”

“It’s fine.” You nodded. “Don’t worry.”

It was easier said than done, he thought to himself sourly. But he was having trouble thinking of much else besides how fucking fantastic it was to feel the arousal leaving him in blissful waves.

He took a heavy breath. “Now get off and get me outta this shit.”

“But you might still be…” You wriggled a little on top of him, felt him soft inside of you. It was uncomfortable, but even if you’d wanted to move, your muscles were spent. “What if you’re still… ”

“Still what? Still horny? Bet you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

You wouldn’t let the comment fluster you, and obeyed as a way to prove him wrong, slowly lifting yourself off of him. The ache of your insides as he slipped out was raw and hot and wet, but unmistakably satisfying.

“Let me out,” he demanded again. “Now.”

“I told you I don’t have the key.”

He sighed in frustration, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Then go get Kurogiri. Go get someone. And at least be nice enough to cover me up. Don’t want my dick hanging out.”

It was shiny, wet, and red from stimulation. When you went to tuck it back in his pants, it twitched.

“Oi, clean it first,” he snapped.

You glanced around. “With?”

“Whatever the hell’s lying around. Shirt, rag, your mouth.” He scoffed when you put on a frown. “Don’t give me that look. This is your mess on my dick, ya know.”

With barely contained insolence you went down shakily on your knees, ready to go about the particularly humiliating task, when he laughed dryly under his breath.

“You’re a real slut,” he muttered, looking down on you with a cheeky smirk, “aren’t you?”

That guaranteed your spite, and you stood up just as quickly as you’d gone down, then nudged his still-messy dick into his pants and zipped them closed.

“Oi, oi—” The wetness squished uncomfortably underneath the fabric and he shifted awkwardly, glaring at you. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“You’ll be fine,” you muttered, turning away from him in search of your clothes, hiding an indulgent smile.

As you redressed, he sneered and pulled at his bindings. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Or what?”

You were too exhausted to wrangle with his temper, or your own self-preservation; you knew it was a dangerous game to tease him. But you couldn’t help it. Your mind was foggy, your body teeming with giddy pleasure. Not to mention, you were free. He wasn’t. And that was remarkably funny.

Now he was scowling. “You little shit. Letting it all go to your head now, huh?” When you didn’t answer, when he caught a flash of your teasing smile, his frustration started to run rampant. “Not gonna be so funny when I’m out of this shit—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

In response, he just glowered, and despite the front you were trying to put up, it threw an excited shiver down your spine. You were perilously tempted to egg him on, but decided against it.

You pulled your shoes back on and breathed, looking at him with something that resembled soft smugness. “I’ll go find Kurogiri.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ better,” he muttered under his breath, keeping his critical eye-contact with you up until the very moment you disappeared out of his line of vision.

When he heard your footsteps finally dwindle down an adjacent hall, he let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his head back. “Fuck.”

The quirk had gone, the heat and arousal with it.

But what hadn’t gone were the thoughts of you.

Angry thoughts, confusing thoughts, and most of all, intriguing thoughts.

#dabi x reader #dabi imagines #bnha x reader #dabi

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nineteensixtieschikadee · 4 years ago

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Arya Stark & Femininity

This might turn into a mini rant, so bear with me here. A lot of times whenever I watch old GOT clips, (bc I hate myself) and read stuff about Arya on fansites, I realize that there’s been a lot of misconception about her and her character. Particularly about her being a woman. And a lot of times i see this sort of “justification” from her fans that the reason why she’s such a fan-favorite character in the show (and to some extent, the books?) is because Arya is esentially this “bad-ass ninja asassin tomboy who’s out for revenge against those who’ve killed her family.” And some of her fans and especially her anti’s will call her out expressing that “Arya’s only a child who doesn’t like girly things like dresses and boys and doing her hair. She “identifies” herself as a tomboy because she likes “boyish things” like sword play, and playing in the mud, and gore, wrestling, etc. I was scrolling through the Jonrya tag here on Tumblr, this is a comment I found regarding Arya:

The moment I read that I straight up just wanted to rant! Lol! Also, I’m sorry for the formatting, I’m writing this on mobile. :( Anyways, these people who make those claims about Arya, esentially only see her as this small girl who likes fighting and getting dirty. They completely disregard everything else that makes Arya, Arya. Pretty much just limiting her to her sex, understanding that because Arya likes boyish things, she’s NOT ALLOWED to inherit things, like the North, fall in love and get married, have a high position in the hierarchy and in politics. It’s because that these people see her as someone who hates needlework or everything that isn’t Sansa, everyone believes that she hates everything that makes her FEMALE. Everybody here knows that Arya’s my favorite female character in the books, so I just wanna talk about how the general public views her, and how their views tend to go against Arya’s entire character.

People have this view that she is the “exact opposite” of Sansa. And while that’s true in terms of their different characteristics, it doesn’t mean that Arya is against everything that makes Sansa, feminine. Now lemme elaborate here. Sansa is everything that represents “femininity.” Especially in terms of the inspired time period that ASOIAF takes place in. She’s very girly & lady-like, is mannerful, “soft-spoken.” She daydreams about boys and being a princess. She’s graceful and elegant. She knows her place in terms of society, and as a woman. AND YEAH, Arya is the exact opposite of that. Yes, she has this boyish nature. She’s wild and free spirited. Loud also adventerous. But that’s the thing: Arya has a lot of femininity in her. It’s just not the femininity that we’re used to. What society percieves as “normally feminine.”

Arya is not Sansa. And it’s because she doesn’t act like a “lady” that the audience sees her as this girl who “doesn’t want” or most importantly, should not want/get the same treatment as the typical noblewoman in Westeros should recieve. This idea was engraved into people’s heads because of the show, and that’s how we’re supposed to see her. As this cold hearted ninja assasin warrior who happens to be a girl, but doesn’t act like a typical girl. The audience pretty much places her in the “I’m not like other girls” trope. Which is honestly, so wrong to me. Because yeah okay, Arya isn’t like the typical lady. But god, she is far deeper than that, and is a much more complex character.

Here’s the thing, Arya does not reject being a female, and most importantly, she does not reject the typical ideals of what makes a lady feminine. Of course not. In fact, she actively encourages that women be included in all things, especially in things only made for men. She believes that women should not be held back or ignored because of their sex and femininity.

“The Lannister’s are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

This excerpt is from Arya’s very first chapter in AGOT. It is also my favorite Jonrya moment, lol. And asides from the scene foreshadowing potential plot points for not only Jon & Arya, the scene introduces to us and examines Arya’s perception of society and more specifically, the women in society. In this scene Arya joins Jon in observing Prince Joffrey, talking about the Lannister/Baratheon coat of arms. Jon makes a point that while the Baratheon sigil should be enough to prove that Joffrey is of royalty, the Lannisters (Cersei) are a proud house, married into the royal family. So therefore Joffrey is of house Baratheon AND Lannister. That is why the Lannister sigil stands besides the Baratheons. Because they, specifically Cersei, should be seen as equal to the king.

And while Jon makes this seem like it’s wrong or not needed, Arya disagrees with him. She tells him that the women should not be forgotten, as they should be seen as equal to the men. That the women are just as important as the men, and that it would be of good conduct to not forget that. And with that being said, she never acknowledges that Joffrey’s mother is too lady-like or too feminine to be seen as an equal to the king. Nope. Although she does question later as to why if women cannot fight, why should they have a coat of arms. Though that is hardly the point of her argument.

Another point that makes people believe that Arya is not feminine or does not support femininity, is when she flat out says to Ned that she hates the idea of being a lady.

“Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady,” Arya flared.

Alot of people misinterpret this as Arya not wanting to be a noblewoman, because she only likes to play with swords, and get dirty. Because acting like a lady is stupid and not her. This is simply not true. Arya has no problem with women, or being a lady. She is a lady. A highborn one. What she does have a problem with is that being a lady often means being trapped in the conformities of what society percieves to be the acceptable standard for women in this time period.

All of the acceptable standards is what Sansa is. And she is not like Sansa. She does not believe herself to be a lady like her sister or her mother. When she first reveals her true identity to Gendry in ACOK, he immediately apologizes to her for his behavior and calls her m’lady. :3 Arya unfortunately sees this as a form of mockery and an attack because while Gendry acknowledges that she is a lady, Arya doesn’t act like a typical lady or even look like one. That insecurity of not being a lady like her mother and sister makes her believe that Gendry is using her sex against her. Like a form of irony. But I mean, we all know that’s far from the truth, lol!

And Jon recognizes this too! It’s the reason why they are so close and tightly knit together. Because Jon understands Arya, and sees her insecurity like how she sees his. They are one and the same. Jon sees and understands Arya’s frustrations of sexism viewed in Westeros. He acknowledges that Arya is to become a lady. But he also sees that Arya is not the conventional type of lady wanting to stick to the norms. She is a different type of lady, and to him, that is okay. He may tease her for it once in a while, pointing out all the unfair limitations that women have to go through. But he accepts her for being this unconventional noblewoman, and often encourages her to pursue being different.

“Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

Later when Jon and Arya say their goodbyes, Jon gifts Arya with the swords. Needle. This is his way of saying, fuck all them haters, be who you wanna be. Solidifying the idea that he supports her and accepts her for who she is. Kinda like how Tyrion told him to use his identity as armour, Arya should do the same to herself. It’s okay to be different than the rest. Fuck the rules.

It’s not that Arya hates the idea of being a lady. It’s a far cry from that. It’s the sexism that goes along with being the typical lady that infruiates her. Arya loves running around, riding horses, playing with swords, being loud and adventurous. She has a firery temper to her. And just because she likes doing all of that, and is all of that, it doesn’t mean, shouldn’t mean that she isn’t a lady. That she can’t be a lady. All of those things shouldn’t limit her to being viewed as a girl, a highborn lady. She is a woman, and she identifies as one.

“Listen to him, boy.”

“It was the third time he had called her “boy.” “I’m a girl,” Arya objected.

That is why, even though she sees herself as a woman, she often tells herself and other people that she is not a lady. Despite others telling her that she is one. Her insecurity and her frustrations do not allow her to see herself as a lady because she isn’t a “conventional woman.”

But the thing is, even though Arya doesn’t enjoy most of the typical lady-like things, she still has a ton of femininity to her. And people often ignore her more feminine traits in favor of her more “badassery” side, which unfortunately are most often occupied by men. People forget and downright ignore that Arya is really intelligent. She particularly excels in math. It’s one of the few things that she’s better at than Sansa. She loves flowers—like her aunt Lyanna. The very person who she’s said to look and act like the most. And a really important one is that she has motherly instincts. It’s what helps her protect other kids throughout her journey. Her ability to empathize enables her to be more social with outcasts and befriend others without judgement. She is well-mannered and kind to strangers. (An example of this would be when she apologizes to a common woman who lent her a dress to wear, and she accidentally destroys it because she and Gendry were playing by the acorn tree.) She can also cook and clean just like any other woman—or any other person. All of those are feminine traits, and are traits that make her more human. And the show opted to get rid of all that and gave us some cold-hearted, angry, ninja.

The audience perceives that because Arya is this ninja warrior who rejects the common standards of being a lady, it means that she can’t have these other more female traits. Nope. She’s not allowed to have or want more rights and power because that’s not her. She’s a warrior and nothing more. She can’t find love because she has to be this bad-ass independent woman who don’t need no man. That’s not her, that’s her sister. We can’t have Arya be any more female than she already is because she rejects the idea of being female. Leave all that crap to her sister! Sansa’s the princess—and we can’t have Arya being a princess or queen. Arya’s only allowed to carry a sword.

And it’s the audience’s perception of her that goes against everything that Arya is, and everything that she believes in. Because remember, Arya hates the idea that being a lady means being trapped in the societal norms. And it can be said vice versa too. Arya still respects those who want to be more of the conventional type. Arya may not have the more typical feminine traits that make her a lady, but to hell with it! It doesn’t mean that she’s not allowed to have the other things that the more conventional woman would/should have. That goes against all of her views and beliefs. The audience puts Arya at an unfair standard because she doesn’t act like a conventional woman.

It’s the same thing as the audience saying that Jon Snow doesn’t want a title or power, because he’s devoted his life to the Nights Watch and is unselfish. False. Very false. Just like Arya. Arya’s young. She still has time to grow, and no doubt she doesn’t think of all those things now because of other priorities. But she’s slowly getting there. And there is so much foreshadowing of her finding love, becoming a woman gaining power, etc, etc. She’s not there yet, but that’s a part of her growth. Just because she defies the typical female standards, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want or wont want all those things later.

Like com’on. Everyone knows that Arya is the only legitimate candidate right now to inherit the North. Everyone knows. The Northmen know, the Nights Watch knows, the people in Kings Landing knows. Hell, even the damn wildings know this. And it’s because of this knowledge that formed the majority of the northern plotline in ADWD. People are going to war for her. She is the true key to the North, and that’s why the Boltons lied and said that they have her. It’s why Jon went to war and died for her. I don’t think Arya will truly believe it if/when she finds out that people are fighting for her because she holds the power to the North. Unless Jon’s gonna be the one to tell her himself. The fact that she is being set up to inherit all this power, and yet people deny it and believe that she doesn’t want it because it’s “not her” in regards that she’s not feminine enough, is seriously infuriating.

I mean look at the type of women Arya respects and idolizes. Where do you think she got the name Nymeria from? Nymeria’s name originates from the Princess of Dorne herself, Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar. Princess Nymeria was said be very beautiful, strong-willed, cunning, and full of wisdom. She was a “warrior-queen.” From that alone, her femininity clearly did not matter. She was a woman whose goals were not held back because of her femininity and sex.

Arya does not hate femininity or things that makes women more feminine. She doesn’t truly hate wearing dresses or being a lady. It’s being conformed to the general standards that she hates. It’s her sex being used against her that makes her angry. It’s not being able to be herself that she despises. And thanks to Sansa and her mother’s judgement of her, Arya’s insecurity only heightened. Despite looking exactly like Lyanna, Arya herself believes that she’s not beautiful enough to even be considered a lady. Only Jon and Ned allowed Arya to be Arya. Only they called her beautiful, and only they encouraged her to be who she wanted to be. Arya loves her fellow women. And yeah, she also loves Sansa despite her being such a pain in the ass bitch, lol.

Arya’s character encourages women to just be women. She encourages us the audience to just be ourselves despite all the conformities forced upon us. Her character explores the limitations of sex, gender, and especially the loss of identity. Arya not wanting to be a lady doesn’t actually mean she doesn’t want to be a lady. She doesn’t want to be held back by the standards of being a lady. Her question, her argument is that why should women be limited only to being this or that. Women are far more than meets the typical standard, and if society can’t accept it, then fuck that! Women can be knights and still be a lady. They can be fierce and passionate and emotional and still be a lady. Women can be warriors and still be a lady. Just because there are some women out there who don’t fit the ideal standards of what it means to be lady, it shouldn’t make them feel like less than one.

#Arya Stark #Arya Stark meta #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #jon snow #Gendry Baratheon #Jonrya #Gendrya #Arya is a feminist #When is TWOW come out?! I miss her!!#Also shes going through puberty in the next book so uh that’ll be interesting hm?#Ya’ll Dany may be going mad in the books too #But I mean Dany and Arya NEED to interact at least 1 pls George give it to me :(#Anti GOT

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personuhh · 4 years ago

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okay so awhile ago you posted something about Yosuke (crazy, right?) and in the tags I believe you mentioned something about how you don’t like Yosukes parents? Could you elaborate? bc I have not stopped thinking about it since you mentioned it (sorry this is so vague my memory is horrid skjdjfjgj)

OYSUEJGHHBKEJHDSGVDH oh my god okay SO. At first I just got ~vibes~ from him... like, I couldn’t quite pin down what made me think he had abusive parents, because obviously he never says anything to indicate it explicitly, but then I started noticing... small things.

I don’t want to say outright that I think they’re abusive (physically or verbally) and I also don’t think that Yosuke hates them, or necessarily even sees anything wrong with how they treat him, but I do think that their behavior has severely impacted Yosuke and led to a lot of the negative traits he displays.

To me, the most telling example is this conversation where he talks about Teddie being praised by his parents for being “thoughtful” very pointedly in front of him. It seems to be a reoccurring thing where they compare him to other people (primarily Teddie) and make him feel inferior. Yosuke’s a bit of a pushover, and frequently gets taken advantage of monetarily, and in this case he’s caved and lent Teddie a significant chunk of his savings for their trip to Tatsumi Port Island... only for him to spend it on presents to suck up to Yosuke’s parents which makes Yosuke look unthoughtful. Yosuke clearly sees it that way, even if Teddie hadn’t intentionally planned it out from the start as such (he calls Teddie “surprisingly shrewd”).

Yosuke gets told off either because a) he didn’t want to fight back/argue, and instead just took a passive stance instead of telling his parents that he was the one to lend Teddie the money in the first place, and thus didn’t have any left to buy them gifts, or b) his parents think so little of him that they don’t believe him at all. He specifically says he doubts his parents understand, which makes me think that he did try to explain the situation.

There are also several instances of a large Junes event being Yosuke’s responsibility, or at least of him thinking that he has to scramble to make things work, like the Junes concert, where he says he’ll have to move away if it doesn’t pan out; maybe this is his own thinking, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if it was something his dad said to scare him into helping, especially considering he MUST know that Yosuke is friends with Rise, or the time during the summer where he calls Yu and begs him to help out. Yosuke isn’t a manager, but he’s still got all the responsibilities of one, and even tries his best to work out other employees’ problems as well (look at his SL).

The Junes concert in particular really sent up some red flags for me, especially because Yosuke says this.

“Awfully nice for some reason”?

Yosuke’s got terrible self-esteem, there are countless times where he’s shown to be overwhelmed and embarrassed by completely genuine praise from his friends. In one of the drama CDs he mentions that he intentionally doesn’t try his best in school because he doesn’t want to disappoint himself by doing poorly while also knowing that he gave his all. It really makes me think that his parents just have an abysmally low opinion of him, and he’s adopted that same view of himself.

There’s also several scenes where he talks about his parents finding his porn (or Teddie showing it to them) and in his SL he says his mom “read the title out loud to [his] family” which on top of obviously indicating his family is pretty conservative about that kind of thing, also means he’s had to learn to be secretive with them to some extent. In Arena, Yosuke’s mother goes as far as burning the porn Teddie finds. Even if it's meant to be humorous, Yosuke's property is still being destroyed.

Now these next few things are more... abstract and can definitely be argued, but personally I still find them important to point out when discussing the topic.

Yosuke obviously struggles with toxic masculinity, and similarly to Kanji, feels like he needs to be the ideal, strong man that protects the weak, etc. Even without looking at specific dialogue, you can tell that Yosuke’s been raised to think he needs to be a “real” man, that displaying more “feminine” behaviors is a sign of weakness; because that isn’t just subtextual, it’s something he very visibly displays, it’s part of his arc. He can’t mourn and cry, he has to get revenge (because he couldn’t protect Saki at the time and he watched helplessly as she died, it makes it his fault), he says hugs are for girls (a common sentiment, but he had to learn it from somewhere), and any time he slips up and reveals his actual feelings, he has to overcompensate, let everyone know that he’s just your average teenage boy who’s definitely interested in women. Yosuke’s not the most masculine guy, he likes fashion and cares about his appearance (the bar is so low) and I’d bet that if he were given space to explore his interests without any expectations, he might actually find he’s into stuff that goes against what he’s been taught. He admits to liking crossdressing, then walks it back; not because he’s ashamed of it (on the contrary, once he realizes people found him cute, he openly brags about it), but because he thinks he SHOULD be ashamed of it.

It’s why he feels so threatened by Kanji, who completely takes him by surprise when he realizes his outer appearance and interests don’t match up. Now Yosuke’s got to compete with Kanji over who’s the manliest, show that he’s not like Kanji, because Kanji’s already accepted that side of himself, and it totally goes against everything Yosuke’s been taught to think is “normal”.

So then we look at lines like this.

On its own it’s nothing special, but it’s not just the slogan itself, it’s the way that Yosuke specifically says that his dad is still saying it. Combining this with what I mentioned previously about Yosuke’s behavior, and a few other tidbits, like Teddie mentioning that he watches violent war movies with Yosuke’s dad, it definitely makes me think he’s the type of guy who’d try and push Yosuke into being more masculine, being a traditional, unshakable, unemotional man.

Lastly, there’s the recently identified album on Yosuke’s shelf in arena, and what do you know, one of the songs on it (The Chain, by Mr. Big) has these lyrics...

In my mind, I see Yosuke’s mother as an incredibly controlling, strict woman who expects her son to be utterly perfect, and even when he’s good, it’s never good enough. Yosuke’s father is busy with Junes, and while he isn’t around the house too often, Yosuke sees him at work quite a bit, large and in-charge, not allowing anyone to see weakness, he leans on his son because he can’t bring himself to ask for help. Yosuke’s left to pick up the slack, and he’s taught by example that relying on others is cowardly, that being intimidating gets you further than being “nice”. Even though Yosuke obviously goes against this, he can't fully commit for fear of standing out and disappointing his parents, and that makes him passive; he ends up being a pushover, and neither of his parents are happy about that. He’s a “disappointment” to them, it’s one of his defining traits that everyone loves to bring up. It's something that's shown to really get under his skin, but he can never do much more than get angry, because he truly thinks he is a disappointment, he doesn't think highly of himself, even if he protests.

Maybe I’m reading into all of these things a little too much, but... I don’t know, I’ve said it before, but I just don’t see how half of Yosuke’s personality would have been shaped by anything other than his parents being Not Great.

#ada's writing #yosuke's parents #yosuke hanamura #yosuke appreciation #WHEW. THIS WAS A LONG ONE.#i literally spent like 3 hours on this and i still couldn't find most of the examples i wanted to lol #mentions of abuse #mentions of neglect #official-redhood #ask ada #ada's analysis #yosuke meta

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papirouge · 2 years ago

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I feel like you would not give a f if there were no christians in Palestine. Hope I am wrong though.

Nah, I'm defending ALL Palestinians regardless of their religion 💜

I hate Israel based on political but also religious reason. As a Christian, I know that Israel is the name of a land lent by God and God himself - not men. There's a reason He let biblical Israel be invaded and Israelites go to exile (don't you find interesting how Jews have been systemically kicked out of all 100+ countries where they've been exiled throughout History? don't you think there wasn't a message from God behind that?). The only time when Israel (the real one) will be rebuilt is after the End Times when Jesus comes back. It won't be from the hands of men, let alone through population deportation and war - especially from people who don't even acknowledge Jesus as the Messiah 💀

God does NOT support all of this and all Christians supporting Israel are spineless, ignorant and evil. The reason I'm directly addressing myself to Christians is because they usually are so vocal whenever Christians minorities are oppressed abroad. They won't shut up about the threat of Islam and terrorists killing Christians in Middle East or Africa (which indeed are big issues) but will conveniently go silent about the well documented oppression of Christians by Jewish religious (extremists). They also purposely ignore how religious Jews HATE Jesus and write slurs against Him & Christians on the walls of their city.

youtube

"we killed Jesus we're proud of it" Yeah, we know.. that's why you still refuse to acknowledge Him as the Messiah 2000 years later. 👀

Meanwhile you'll never see Muslim insult Jesus or Mary because they still hold them on high status in the Quran. But the Talmud says Mary was a whore and Jesus a warlock boiling in his feces..... That's why I can't take seriously any Christian supporting Israel or Judaic religion. They either have no idea of what they're talking about, or their (racial) bias against Arabs overpasses their theological consistency (WASP Christians will always defend fair skinned Ashkenazi over brown skinned Arabs any day, we been knew right?)

The modern state of Israel is a travesty. God didn't make it - it's the US tax payer's money who for the most part funds it. The IDF is known to terrorize populations and make war crimes, but the whole world goes blind about it because uwu anTisEmitIsm. Sorry but it's not antisemitism to have the honesty to say people pulling out tshirts bragging about killing pregnant women are evil & deranged. Even the US Marines wouldn't get away with such a vile stunt.

Oh and btw an Israeli politician called for the Genocide of Palestinians... (she's not the only who said crazy things about Arabs but ush ush bc antisemitism uwu)

https://electronicintifada.net/blogs/ali-abunimah/israeli-lawmakers-call-genocide-palestinians-gets-thousands-facebook-likes

Again: what other country would get away with such deranged stunts without being called out? That's why the accusation of antisemitism against anyone remotely of critical of Israel is retarded and dangerous. Because it makes "antisemitism" pretty thoughtful and reasonable.

Beside, as a Black person I know the story of my people and I know that Israel was the last country supporting South Africa apartheid. Racists supporting each other. Israel is a racial supremacist ethnostate with politicians routinely calling Arabs names to deem them as (racially) inferior, and let's not even being how they threat Black jews/immigrants....

#answered #free Palestine

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obsidianfr3sk · 3 years ago

Text

true colors

@renegadesnet event 10: pride

↪ [ “But everything was temporary. And pain was one of those things. Well, except love. Everything but love was temporary. Or that was what he liked to believe.” ]

Summary: Two years after the supernova, after Tamaya notified them the gearboxes that contained the lights had gotten soaked and that she needed the money to buy more before the next day (June 1st), Simon realized they were not enough for him anymore.

Simon wanted a bigger flag.

No. He wanted two. The biggest pride flags he could find.

AO3

Hello, friends!! I hope you’ve been having an excellent pride month and have been eating a lot rainbow cake and pissing off a lot of conservatives with the mere fact of your wonderful existence:’) As my contribution to this month and the event organized by @renegadesnet, I decided to write a fic focused on my favorite gay dads and their sons (bc I’m me, and you should have seen this coming.)

Before you read, I want to give a trigger warning: at the start of a fic I talk about a homophobic attack, which is not graphic or violent per se (it’s someone in the middle of the night taking away the flag they put outiside the house), and I do discuss about internalized homophobia during some parts of the story. If you read it and are sensitive to this kind of stuff, proceed with caution and take care of yourself <3

Also, this entry is a collaboration with my talented mother @healing-winston-pratt, who is going to be uploading some fanart of this in a near future, so keep an eye on that👀 she’s the best skjhkjds thank you for accepting to collaborate, I feel this is a great bonding activity and I hope we can do this more often✨

I need to update my tag list because a lot of the people who were included are not active as active as they were before/changed their URLs. But I’m going to tag @the-wee-woo-rita @lackadae @all-weather-is-bad @chiyuki-hiro bc you guys are the only ones who are still active users who I had on my previous tag list lol

With that said, I hope you enjoy this fic. I think that despite the angsty parts, it came out really fluffy and domestic, it was fun to write. And to all my queer silbings who are reading this: I am very proud of you.

But I see your true colors shining through.

I see your true colors, and that's why I love you.

So don't be afraid to let them show.

Your true colors,

true colors are beautiful like a rainbow

Simon couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t know he was gay.

There was a time when he didn’t know he was gay, of course. He was probably too young to even comprehend the meaning behind that word. And there was also a moment in his life when he felt embarrassed about it, and sad, and angry, and really, really scared, and probably thought that no matter how hard he tried, he was never going to be happy living the life he wanted to live.

That the pain was never going to end. That he was going to be miserable for the rest of his existence, and that maybe, there was no point in existing if he was going to stay like that until the day he died.

But everything was temporary. And pain was one of those things.

Well, except love. Everything but love was temporary. Or that was what he liked to believe.

That was the reason why, the first year after the Day of Triumph, he told Hugh they should get a rainbow flag for their house. They went to one of the first stores that opened at the mall (that had just been remodeled after twenty years of being abandoned) and bought one at a not so affordable price. Simon offered himself to install it on one of the fence pillars and had to spend thirty minutes listening to Hugh telling him that maybe he should let him do it, that the ladder Kasumi had lent them was ratty, and that Simon was going to fall.

Fortunately, Simon didn’t. He did almost fall, though, when he was about to pass out from stress because seeing Hugh getting all anxious, made Adrian cry and he started to basically beg him to come down, given that now he was convinced he was going to fall, and hearing his dad saying “Look what you’ve done to the kid, Simon” didn’t help at all to make Adrian (or Simon) feel better.

That night, there was a thunderstorm and Adrian used it as an excuse to sleep on their bed. As soon as he cried himself to sleep, two hours later, after their dads did everything in their power to calm him down, hugging him, giving him kisses, and assuring him his aunt Tamaya wasn’t going to let the storm hurt them, Simon raised his hand to high-five Hugh and tell him that they were amazing parents, just to realize he was already asleep. Simon silently judged him for sleeping so soundly while his son was having a crisis instead of sleeping.

When he woke up (at five in the morning) Adrian was looking out their window, with the Baby Indomitable blanket on his shoulders. The sky was still cloudy, but it wasn’t raining anymore.

“Darling, what are you doing?,” Simon told him. “Today’s Sunday. Let your daddy and I get some more sleep—”

“The storm took our flag,” Adrian blurred out.

Hugh was already awake too. “What?”

“You said the storm wasn’t going to hurt us,” Adrian said, turning around to see them, “but the storm took our flag.”

Simon got out of bed, looked through the window...

And, yes, the flag was completely gone.

But for some reason, Simon knew it hadn’t been the storm.

“Why would the storm do something like this?” Adrian asked.

Simon didn’t know how to answer that. Luckily, Hugh did.

“Because the storm is homophobic, son.”

Adrian laughed out loud and then asked his dads if they could have pancakes for breakfast. He had already forgotten about the storm and the flag.

They didn’t. Neither of them ever forgot about it.

While Simon and Adrian ate their pancakes, Hugh went to his office because, according to him, he needed to check something. When Adrian finished his breakfast and went back to his dads’ room to watch TV, Simon stayed in the kitchen, doing the dishes, and Hugh finally came downstairs. He was pretty quiet, and Simon thought that it probably was because he had told him to eat the burnt pancakes he didn’t dare to throw away, but after he finished them all, he said:

“I lied.”

Simon threw a glance at him. “When did you lie?”

“When I said the storm was homophobic,” Hugh answered.

“Well, of course, you lied, love. Storms don’t have strong political opinions about gay people.”

Hugh didn’t laugh. “What I mean is— that it wasn’t the storm.”

Every joke Simon’s brain could come up with disappeared at that moment. So he continued doing the dishes, and Hugh, thinking he hadn’t made himself clear, continued talking.

“It was someone else. It was a person. I saw them on—”

“I know,” Simon interrupted him. “I know. I’ve always known.”

But even if Simon knew, he still told Hugh to show him the footage because four eyes were better than two (especially considering that the owner of those first two eyes needed to wear glasses). It was all useless, though; the storm made the image all blurry, and the only thing they could see was someone taking it and running away in the middle of the night.

Simon wanted to think that it was just some dumb teen whose friends had challenged him to do it. But when it came to things like those one never really knew.

On Monday, they had promised Adrian to take him to the park that was a few blocks away so they could teach him how to fly a kite, but the thought of going out made him feel as if something bad was going to happen to them if they did, so Simon told Adrian that he and Hugh were feeling sick and that they would stay in their room to get some rest. Adrian asked them if they minded that he stayed there too because he was in the middle of watching a movie he had never seen before.

“Only if we can watch it with you,” Simon answered.

It was a weird day to be alive. They really just stayed there, watching silly cartoons with their kid and listening to him ranting about the weird proportions those characters had.

During the afternoon, Adrian told them he was hungry, so Simon went downstairs to look for something they could eat. He was thinking that maybe they should order something from that Chinese restaurant Tamaya had taken him the other day, when Hugh entered the kitchen and told him Adrian had asked him if he could bring him water.

Simon felt his hands were trembling while he looked inside his wallet for the paper where he had written the restaurant’s phone number.

“Do you want to get another flag?” Hugh asked him.

And something hurt.

Something hurt inside of him. Something started to cry, and to scream, and to flicker, trying to make him invisible to the world.

And it told him, the same way Adrian had told him he was hungry, that someone had taken him by surprise and made a deep cut on his chest.

But Simon didn’t allow it to come out.

He just said: “No.”

And Hugh answered him: “Me neither.”

He called the Chinese restaurant to order some food, while Simon went to their room with Adrian again and cuddled with him, trying to tend to the wounds of that something that was bleeding out inside of him.

Little Simon was crying, and screaming, and flickering, and needed adult Simon to take care of him.

The next day, they talked about the incident with the rest of the Council during their lunch break. It was one of those few occasions the six of them were together in the same room during their work hours. Tamaya was furious about the flag situation. She ranted for a good five minutes without anyone interrupting her about how fucking horrible people were and that she was going to find that little piece of shit and cut his hands off. Kasumi nodded in approval while drinking some horchata she had bought for herself, probably thinking about how to ask Tamaya to let her join her revolution (something she didn’t need to do, since Tamaya always included Kasumi in everything she did). Evander, on the other hand, was very quiet, something that made him feel a little bit relieved because he was not a sensitive person and Simon didn’t want him to... Evander the situation.

He didn’t say anything insensitive that day, though.

In fact, he said something… helpful, even.

“What about a flag made of light?”

Hugh rubbed his eyes and Simon knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.

Because he said that phrase constantly.

“Shut the fuck up, Evander.”

But Evander didn’t shut up. “Dude, think about it. No one would be able to take down a flag made of light.”

And everyone realized that, now, it was not only one of those strange occasions when the six of them got together to have lunch during their work hours; it was also one of those strange occasions when Evander had an idea that was actually good.

So after spending another hour discussing how they were going to make it work, they decided they were going to lit up the building in rainbow-colored lights.

Tamaya and Hugh were the ones in charge of almost all the operation because Evander said he had already given them the idea, so he didn’t need to do anything else (and then got mad at Hugh when he told the media he was the one who came up with it). Kasumi helped them, but was especially insistent about putting a trans pride flag somewhere in the building, and after they agreed with her, she personally hung it on the main entrance of Headquarters.

They started turning the lights on each night of June since that yeat.

Hugh and Simon still didn’t get a flag. Three nights after they told their friends about what had happened during the thunderstorm, Simon was woken up by the sound of someone crashing against the trash cans and almost jumped out of the window with his dagger on hand to slay whoever was trying to break into their house, but when he peeked out to see what was going on, he realized the “robber” was Kasumi, who had put a bunch of small pride flags on some pots they kept on their porch and started crying as soon as she realized Simon was watching her, not because she was upset the surprise she had for them had been ruined, but because now she was covered in trash.

(That week was like a sign Georgie was sending them from the afterlife to tell them they needed to install a better security system.)

Those were the only flags they kept around the house. They were small and discreet, and, most importantly, no one had taken them away. Why? Well— because they listened to Georgie’s sign and installed a better security system. Not because there weren’t any more homophobes out there who were willing to do it.

Until that moment, those flags (the little ones Kasumi had given them in a rather unconventional way and the one made of light that Evander had come up with) had been more than enough for them. But, two years after the supernova, after Tamaya notified them the gearboxes that contained the lights had gotten soaked and that she needed the money to buy more before the next day (June 1st), Simon realized they were not enough for him anymore.

Simon wanted a bigger flag.

No. He wanted two.

The biggest pride flags he could find.

***

That was the reason why, after having pancakes for breakfast (because it had rained during the night), he took the car, took the other three people living in that house with him, and after he was able to read the map, they arrived at a store that, among other things, sold flags like the ones they were looking for.

“I want one too,” Adrian told them when they were at the flag section of the store. “For my room, you know. And I want to get ones for Danna and Nova because I don’t think they have any. They would’ve told me.”

Usually, when Adrian asked for something Simon hadn’t agreed to buy him, like some candy, an action figure, or a pair of sneakers, he would turn around and ask him if he had the money to buy any of those things himself, which would anger him so much he would stop wanting that certain thing.

But that day, he felt like buying them everything they wanted. As if money grew on trees (something he always told his kids didn’t happen.)

“Of course, darling,” he answered, “get them everything you want. It’s pride month.”

“It’s May 31th,” Max said. He was inside the shopping cart Hugh had grabbed the second they entered. It was something he always did, even if they weren’t going to buy a lot of things because, according to him, it felt weird and wrong not to.

“It’s almost pride month,” he corrected himself.

“So can I get something for Nova?” Adrian asked again, just to make sure.

“You can get something for Nova,” Hugh assured him, smiling a little bit.

Adrian quickly turned around and started looking for the flag he wanted while texting Nova about something Simon couldn’t read (not like he was trying to, anyway).

After making sure Adrian stayed on the same aisle as them, they started walking around, gazing at the flags and posters available. Simon felt pretty progressive because he was able to name every single sexuality and gender they were supposed to represent. He imagined Hugh was doing the same thing, but with a lot more difficulty than him. He kept his eyes fixated on each flag longer than Simon did, as if he were trying to remember what they meant, and when he did, he pushed the cart (with Max still inside of it, playing a game on Hugh’s phone because he had forgotten his tablet at home), and the cycle began again.

But suddenly, Simon saw ones that he didn’t recognize.

After three seconds of standing in front of those little flags, someone hit him in the butt with their cart. He turned around immediately, ready to say a really threatening “Hey” to whoever had done it.

Hugh was the only other person who was there. He had been the one who had hit him with the cart.

Suddenly, Simon felt a little bit stupid for thinking someone else had done it.

The two of them maintained eye contact for a couple of seconds until Hugh started looking at his own hands grabbing the cart’s handle.

“Simon.” Before Simon could ask him what happened, he added, with a deep voice: “Move.”

Simon didn’t move. Instead, he hit the cart with his hips, just out of spite. Hugh hit him again with it, making Simon feel the unexpected need to grab the cart with his two hands and use his own weapon against him, but Max was there and they couldn’t act like kids in front of him. So he just hit the cart with his hips again, a little bit harder than the first time, and left it there.

He realized he was just going to be wasting his time asking Hugh if he knew what that flag was supposed to represent.

“Cherub,” he called Max. “Do you recognize this flag?”

Max looked up from the screen. He usually didn’t like it when he called him “cherub” in public, but this time, he didn’t seem mad about it. “Um… no? Ask Adrian—” and continued playing.

Adrian came back with a basket full of pins, and for a second, Simon almost asked him if he really was that naive to believe he was actually going to pay for all of them. But then, he realized that it was only the basket where they kept all of the pins they sold and that Adrian had taken it to show them to them.

“Look, they have so many pins here—” he started taking random pins “—this is the aromantic flag… this is the genderfluid flag—”

“Interesting,” Hugh interrupted him, “but which flag is that one?” and pointed at the one Simon didn’t recognize.

Max took a random pin from the basket and started looking at it with curiosity. Adrian almost didn’t pay attention to it, and after a few seconds, he said: “That one’s yours.”

Simon frowned and took one. It was a handheld flag with green and blue stripes, with a white one in the middle. He touched the polyester with his fingertips as if that was going to give him the ability to communicate with it.

“But we don’t have a flag,” Hugh told Adrian. “I’ve heard of the lesbian fl—”

Adrian took a pin of the lesbian flag. “This one.”

“Yeah— but gay men don’t have one.”

“The rainbow is ours,” Simon said, without taking his eyes away from the blue and green flag he was holding. “Like, it’s for all queer people.”

Hugh directed his attention to Adrian again. “You’re messing with us.”

“I do mess with you a lot,” Adrian admitted, “but this time I’m not because if I do and you get mad, you won’t buy me all the stuff I want to get.”

“Huh.”

Simon knew Adrian and Max were a lot of things, but "dumb" wasn't one of those. And Adrian was especially intelligent when it came to convincing his parents to buy him things.

So he decided to believe him.

“Well, I like it,” he said. Then, he asked Hugh: “Do you like it?”

Hugh grabbed one and observed it for a while. “I like that it has blue on it,” he finally answered, nodding a little bit.

Simon noticed Max was spacing out while playing with the pin he had taken, so he waved the flag on his face, making him laugh and sneeze because the damn thing had a lot of invisible dust Simon didn't notice at first.

“Oh, sh—”

“You know? Maybe we should get two of these,” Hugh said, waving it too, but in his case, not on the face of one of their kids. “For our offices.”

“Matching flags, very romantic.”

Max rubbed his nose. “Why don't you get a big one for the house?”

Simon quickly started to look everywhere on that aisle, and he saw a lot of big versions of the flags he had recognized before (and some of the ones Adrian had mentioned), but there were no gay flags in sight.

“Maybe next year, I guess,” he shrugged. “I don't think they have them here yet.”

He grabbed two of the rainbow flags that were there, inside their respective plastic bags, gave them to Max, and he put them on his lap, still holding that pin. Simon made a quick mental note to remind his future self they needed to pay for that (he didn’t know if it had to with the fact that Max had been spending a lot of time with Maggie, Nova’s sister, but he had developed this weird habit of stealing the most random objects one could think of. Luckily, he limited himself to stealing things from his dads and, one time, from a store.) (Kids went through weird phases when they were Max’s age.)

(Because… it was a phase, right?)

Adrian received a text. “Danna says that she already has a flag, so I’m getting her a pin,” he said after reading it. “And Nova says she wants one too.” Then, his whole face lit up. “And I could get one too so we match.”

“Copycat,” Simon accused him, jokingly. “Your dad and I got matching flags, and now you want to get matching pins with your girlfriend.”

Hugh shook his head, disappointed. “I cannot believe you have betrayed your own family like this.”

They stayed at the store another 30 minutes to buy some other things they needed for the house, and from time to time, when he or Hugh grabbed something, they pretended they didn’t see Adrian and said: “Um, but the copycat may be listening” to a point he told them to stop, and refused to forgive them until they agreed to buy him the flag he didn’t intend to get anymore, but now was going to.

He got the last bisexual flag there was at that store.

***

The first time the four of them were together in their room was last June. Something went wrong with the A/C system of the entire house and the only room where one could stay without having a heatstroke was theirs because their A/C hadn’t broken down for some reason. Adrian and Max were sleeping on the air mattress until Simon (who hadn’t been able to sleep lately) heard that one of them woke up and asked Hugh something. He sat down on the bed, at the same time Hugh moved a little bit to allow Adrian to lay down between the two of them.

Then, in the middle of the dark, his eyes met Max’s.

He looked tiny. Young. Pretty young.

And far away.

Simon couldn’t remember who did it. He didn’t remember who talked that night. It could have been him, even. But he was sure that, at that moment, someone whispered:

“Get in here, kid.”

And Max obeyed. He crawled, raised his arms towards them, and Hugh grabbed him carefully by the collar of his shirt and placed him between him and Adrian.

It was a peaceful night. The bed was big enough for the four of them, and Simon was able to sleep and actually rest for the first time in weeks.

At least until their A/C turned off with a weird sound, and the four of them woke up at the same time, sweaty, uncomfortable, and almost at 11 AM, not because they weren’t necessarily willing to stay there longer, but because the heat was starting to get unbearable and suddenly the bed was too small for three adults and a little kid that was not that little anymore.

“This isn’t a room, this is a— a freaking oven,” Hugh said, while Adrian tried to push him out of bed to get the hell out of there and seek comfort on the air mattress he had abandoned in the middle of the night.

“And we are the... cookies,” Max giggled.

“The turkey,” Simon added.

Max turned around. His whole face was red and his hair was a little bit wet. “The lasagna.”

Simon grabbed him by the cheeks; a discreet way to check if he had a fever. “The cake.”

“The ham.”

“The—”

“Dad. Move.”

Later that day, Simon called someone to fix the A/C, and that was the end of the story.

When they arrived at the house, Adrian wanted to hang his flag as soon as possible, on one of his room’s walls, but Simon insisted that they should iron it first so it looked nicer. Hugh said that he was planning on ironing the ones they had bought for the house and offered Adrian to do the same with his, but when he insinuated that he didn’t trust him enough not to mess up his flag the same way he had messed up his favorite shirt (the one he wanted to wear to take Nova to a nice place during her birthday), Hugh reminded him that the only reason he kept doing that for him was that Adrian didn’t know how to iron yet, and decided that he was going to use that moment as a teaching opportunity. Max made the mistake of laughing at his brother when he thought no one was paying attention to him, but Adrian was and dragged Max into the teaching opportunity with him.

Simon joined too. Just because.

And suddenly, the four of them were in their room again.

With the A/C on, of course.

He didn't know if Hugh had noticed, but he had been so invested in his own explanation, that after he finished ironing the two rainbow flags, he started ironing Adrian’s without realizing it. Adrian, instead of giving up and stop pretending he was paying attention, was looking, kind of mesmerized, how he opened the bag of his blue, purple, and magenta flag, and proceeded to put it on the ironing board, now telling him that when Georgie had tried to teach him how to iron his clothes, she accidentally burnt Evander.

Simon was half-listening to the story, half-listening to the music video that Max was watching on the TV. He was sitting on a big and old ottoman they had bought a long time ago but had never found the perfect place to put it and just stayed there for years until they forgot about it. Max was in front of him, sitting on the floor and resting his back on the ottoman, while he covered his blond hair with small butterfly hair clips he had found at the store and bought just because he thought they were cute (who knows, maybe Nova wanted them for Maggie, or Kasumi could use them for herself, she loved them when she was little).

When all the hair clips were on Max's hair, he took a small mirror they kept in the bathroom (but Simon borrowed it for a minute) and gave it to him so he could see the final result.

“Look at me,” Max exclaimed, laughing. “I look so pretty.”

Simon grabbed one of the hair clips and pulled it a little. “Butterfly hair clips are a popular trend this time of the year.”

“This is definitely going to make me the most popular kid in the playground.”

“Definitely.”

He leaned forward to start taking the butterfly hair clips off Max's hair and was putting them on Max’s open hand when he noticed that he hadn’t let go of the pin they bought him at the store.

(Simon did remember to pay for the thing, but if he hadn’t done it, Max wouldn’t have said anything.)

“That was really nice of you,” Simon said.

Max looked at him, confused. “What?”

“Getting a rainbow pin—” he took his other hand and started putting the hair clips on it so none of them would get lost “—to show support.”

Max didn't say anything and Simon continued with what he was doing. After the music video finished, and another one started playing, Hugh gave Adrian his flag and told him he could go and hang it in his room, and as soon as Max heard that too, he gave Simon the hair clips and followed his brother out of the room, asking him if he could help him with it.

Simon, after realizing the bag where the hair clips came in had been destroyed by Max punching holes in it with the pin, took one of the empty pill bottles he kept in his drawers and put them there.

He closed the pill bottle and realized Hugh had been gazing at him during all this time, slightly leaning on the ironing board. “What?”

“That’s my pill bottle, Si,” he told him.

“Ah—” Simon pressed his lips “—can I have it?”

“No.” Hugh smiled at him. “Yes, you can.”

“So funny. Come here—” and patted the bed mattress.

Hugh, being extremely careful not to touch the flags he just ironed, lied on the bed and sighed.

“Do you want me to play with your hair?” Simon asked him with a soft voice.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

After a while of the two of them just being silent, he said, “Hey… I heard what you told Max, by the way.”

“The butterfly hair clips trend?”

“The pin thing.”

“What about it?”

Hugh opened his eyes, just a little bit. “Just don't tell Max I told you, all right? Because he told me he wouldn't tell anyone else until he was sure, but… I think it's important the two of us know,” he explained.

Simon was starting to feel his palms get a little bit sweaty. “Okay— but just tell me, please.”

He checked overhearing their conversation one last time, and that the kids were still at Adrian's room. “Max told me a couple of days ago that he has been thinking about… what he likes.”

He stopped playing with his hair for a second. But then, he continued.

It was his way of coping with the feeling of his stomach twisting inside of him. “What he likes?” Hugh nodded again. “Huh. And has he— does he has an idea or—”

“No, he doesn't,” Hugh answered. “He just knows that he doesn't like girls. Or that's what he told me.”

Simon raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “That sounds like a lot of things. Not liking girls.”

Hugh scoffed too. “That's what I told him. And that he can take all the time he needs to figure it out. Because he can—”

“Yes. Yes, of course, he can,” Simon assured, with determination. “Life is longer than we think it is.”

They stayed silent again. And Simon couldn’t help but feel relive inside his head the moment he called Max an ally, feeling his stomach twisting even more at every second it passed.

“I feel bad.”

“Why?”

His palms started to sweat again. “Because I called him an ally.”

“It’s all right. You didn’t know.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed anything.”

“You didn’t know,” Hugh repeated.

But Simon didn’t listen. “Si.”

Then, Hugh grabbed him carefully by the wrist, and, a little bit surprised, Simon tilted his head. Hugh usually didn't interrupt him when he was playing with his hair.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“No, what’s wrong with you?” he deadpanned

Simon knew him well enough to know he wasn’t trying to be rude. It was just his way of asking things. Especially when he was genuinely worried and didn’t think about modulating his tone so it It fitted the situation better.

He sighed. Because he didn’t want to lie to him. “I assumed Max was straight.”

As soon as he said it, he realized how silly it had sounded phrased like that. But he also noticed his voice had broken and he had to put a hand on his mouth so he didn’t start crying.

And Hugh, instead of saying the encouraging phrase he expected him to say…

He smiled.

And for some reason, that made him want to cry even more. “Ew, why are you smiling?” he asked.

Hugh took his time to answer him. “Oh, it’s nothing. I think I'm just… happy.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Hugh smiled more. “I know, love, I know… It's just one of those things…” he tried to find the right words this time. “One of those things I didn't think we were going to go through together,” he kept saying. “Like… we're going to be together when Max finally discovers who he really is. Like we did with Adrian. And like other people did with us. And that makes me happy.”

Simon wanted to tell him to shut up and let him cry and be dramatic as much as he wanted because he considered he deserved it. But he tried to do it, the only thing that could come out of his lips was almost imperceptible “Yeah…” and then, a small tear started running down his face. Hugh quickly noticed this and wiped it away with his finger. Simon scoffed and looked away, rubbing his nose.

“Hey…” and he moved aside so Simon could lay beside him.

The space they had was a little too small but he didn’t mind because now he had an excuse to be closer to him.

And there it was again. Little Simon. Little Simon was there again with them.

Just that this time he wasn’t crying, or screaming, or even flickering. He was just… existing.

And all he wanted to do was to exist.

When Hugh held him that way, sometimes he felt as if it was the first time he did it. Which made Simon (and the sad, angry and scared part of Simon) wonder if there was a sad, angry and scared part of Hugh that also craved that comfort and validation, and if it was the one who hugged that younger version of Simon until they convinced each other that everything was fine.

That there was nothing wrong with neither of them.

Because sometimes it was as if people didn’t remind them that as many times as they needed. So the only option they had was to be there for the other, and tell him that it was okay to hug, to kiss, to touch, and to share until the one who was talking ended up convincing both of them.

Love wasn’t temporary.

And their love was as powerful as they wanted it to be.

Those younger versions of themselves wanted to stay like that forever every single time. But their adult versions knew they couldn’t do it because they had other responsibilities that they needed to attend.

Installing those two pride flags that were next to them, for example.

Their younger versions were excited to do that, but they also asked them if they could rest together a little bit longer. And neither of them had the heart to tell them no.

Hugh started to play with a lock of Simon’s hair. “We’ll be there to catch him.”

He knew he wasn’t talking about either of them. Even if, with his eyes closed, he could see little Hugh and little Simon holding each other’s hands and throwing themselves into the world, a little less sad, and angry, and scared than before, without being sure if there was going to be someone down there to catch them if everything went wrong.

“Together.”

And Simon agreed. “Together.”

***

“He’s going to fall.”

Simon rolled his eyes.

“No, he’s not,” Hugh told Max. “I’m here.”

“But what if—”

“Done,” Simon announced before Max could even finish his sentence. “Now, let’s just hope these things stay there as long as possible, because this ladder makes me anxious. I was trembling while putting the first flag.”

Max clicked his tongue. “It’s a windy day. The wind could have pushed the ladder or something.”

Now it was Hugh’s turn to roll his eyes. “Take my hand.”

Simon went down the ladder without letting go of his hand. Then, while Hugh took it and quickly went inside the garage to put it there, Adrian pricked his little brother up with his own rainbow flag pin, and in response, Max punched him in the stomach with all his might (which wasn’t that much). Adrian laughed and pretended to be hurt, but immediately asked him if he wanted him to help him with his pin.

Simon noticed that Adrian had already put his pin of the bisexual flag on his clothes, and watching him pull Max a little bit closer so he didn’t prink him again (now by accident), while Max gazed at his hands, trying to memorize his movements so he could do the same thing when he wanted to wear that pin again, made his mouth curved into a smile.

When his husband came back from the garage, he thought he was going to tell them to stop blocking the sidewalk and get in the house so they could continue with their day. But instead of doing that, he walked towards them and looked at their waving flags, flying on their mansion for the first time in years.

Adrian grabbed Max by the waist and carried him on his shoulders so he could have a better view. And he realized that there would be a day when they would throw themselves into the world completely alone, without knowing how people were going to act and aware that two of them were brave enough to take whatever blows that they were going to throw at them.

But they weren’t going to do it alone. Because Hugh, Simon, and their hurting parts weren’t going to spend a day without reminding them that they were going to be there, ready to catch them every single time they needed it.

Simon started to look for Hugh’s hand just to realize, Hugh was already looking for his too, and when they found each other, he couldn’t contain himself and stood on his tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Then, Hugh smiled and kissed him back, this time, on the corner of his lip.

Simon felt proud of what they were.

He was really proud.

And he hoped they were proud too.

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #hugh everhart #simon westwood #adrian everhart #max everhart #everhart-westwood family #the warden and the captain are sitting in a tree #obsi's writs #i should get an oscar for the homophobic storm joke

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years ago

Text

Written In The Stars CXXXIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I’m scared to see how you guys will react to this one, hope you at least find it enjoyable despite my very self-indulgent plots -Danny

P.S. Huge s/o to @bwbatta bc I decided to update my fic and now I have pretty dividers in all my books! Most of the ones I ended up using are her work so go check it out :)

Words: 4,641

Series’ Masterlist

Book V // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Need Your Love’ -by Joshua Wicker

Chapter One: Dumbledore's Mission.

"A galleon says Erick will crash the car —"

"Shut up!"

"Don't make him nervous," Emily scolded Harry. "If you continue this I won't teach you how to drive!"

"We don't need to learn," Mel snorted. "We'll apparate everywhere..."

"I thought you hated it," Her mother raised a brow.

"Yeah, but she's lazy," Harry smirked.

"Why is Harry here? He's not allowed to leave the house, is he?" Mel frowned.

"He's not allowed to be alone outside, there's a difference. We're babysitting two infants, unfortunately..." Erick taunted.

"What's the matter, Flint? You have stage-fright?" Harry replied.

"Oh please, he feeds on attention! Like a dementor but in a more annoying way..."

"Enough!" Emily looked over her seat. "Is that the kind of things you want to teach your brother?"

"I doubt he'll remember any of this!"

"We know he can do it, Em, we're just teasing," Harry said blithely.

"Yeah, he's the only adult here apart from you, mum. It's kind of his obligation to be good at driving."

The baby let out a squeal of agreement, he was three weeks old but had a good set of lungs that he was happy to use at any given time, especially while everyone was sleeping.

Harry leaned and checked that the baby's blankets. Mel beamed at the sight, the boy had pretty much adopted the boy as his own brother, which she thought made a lot of sense, not only because it was Sirius' son, but because he'd been part of her family for so long that anything else would've been silly.

They were well aware that bringing little Regulus to their driving lessons was a bit risky, but Emily wasn't as keen to leave Mel and Harry alone in the house as she used to, so she put a few safety spells on the chair once the baby was seated while Harry and Mel sat on both sides of it.

Erick turned out to be a good driver, but he still had a bit of trouble understanding how cars worked.

"I have to be pulling and pushing stuff all the time!" He complained as he activated the windshield on accident for the third time. "Why can't I just turn the key and press the pedal?"

"Cars don't work like that," Emily said patiently. "It's complicated, but you're good!"

"He's only gone up and down the street for half an hour, Leggie fell asleep already," The girl huffed.

Emily looked over the seat once again, she was frowning. "Erick, switch seats with Mel."

"You're joking... right?"

"Erick," The woman repeated.

"On it," He said happily. "C'mon Mel, are you scared?"

Ten minutes later, Erick was in the backseat and she was tightly holding onto the wheel.

"I'm doing it!" She said. "Is not that hard, is it?"

"A slug could move faster," Harry was looking at the roof of the car and dying of heat. "I thought you were going to be more... the reckless type of driver."

"Me too..." Erick agreed lazily, he was playing with one of Reggie's feet.

"I'm not going faster, my brother's in the car!" Mel scoffed.

"We're not asking you to! Just enough so we can feel like we're actually moving!"

"Bringing you three was a bad idea," Emily said over the boys' laughter.

"Fine!" Mel pressed down the pedal, the car immediately gaining speed. "I'm was just being careful!"

"Which makes me proud," Emily softly patted her shoulder. "It feels like it was yesterday when you were running around Remus' house in nothing but a diaper and now you're driving!"

"The other night I ran into her wearing no pants, so she's hasn't changed really," Erick murmured nonchalantly. "I stepped on Grey's tail thanks to that... maybe that's why he hates me so much."

"What?" Harry's head snapped to the side so fast he hurt himself.

"I forgot you live here now! Sometimes I sleep like that, s'not a crime!" She looked at Harry through the rearview mirror. "I've been an only child for sixteen years, sometimes I forget there are more than two people in my house..."

"I'm surprised her scream didn't wake up Leon," Erick sniggered.

"He's a heavy sleeper like his dad," Emily responded distractedly.

The conversation died instantly. It wasn't the woman's intention, of course, but it'd been only a few weeks since Sirius' passing, sometimes they would forget for a moment, just a brief second, then one of them would talk about Sirius and everything would start again...

It was painful, and it was weird. Mel had never endured something like this with anyone except Harry. Having a larger group of people sharing the same pain was strangely comforting.

Mel cleared her throat. "It's Harry's turn..."

"I'm okay," He said quickly. "I can learn another day..."

"Glasses, you and I have a tradition of experiencing things at the same time," The girl stopped the car and turned to look at him. "You're not going to ruin our streak. Besides, I need to know if I'm better than you."

Harry stared at her in amusement, then he looked at Erick.

"Is it fun, having her bossing you around all day?"

"I boss her around too," Erick smirked.

"They take turns," Her mother sighed.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry gave the woman a look of sympathy as he stepped out of the car.

"There are worse things than being stuck with two pushy teenagers..."

"Hey!"

"Sorry," Emily smirked. "A pushy teenager and a pushy adult."

"If it annoys you that much I'll move out," Mel offered humorously. "What d'you say, Prince? Should we try our luck outside our comfort zone?"

"You wouldn't last a day," Erick taunted.

"Fiddlesticks," Mel muttered, to which Harry laughed.

It was around three in the morning when someone knocked on her door. She'd been awake for a while now, so she stood up and opened it.

"Hi," She rubbed her eyes. "What's up?"

"Can't sleep," Erick mumbled. "Care if I stay a moment?"

"Go ahead..."

She went back to bed, Erick sat at the edge and stared at her for a moment. Grey let out a sleepy growl, curling further away from his reach. Erick pulled out his pocket watch, now hanging from a chain he'd found in Regulus Black's room back in Grimmauld Place. The reason why he'd taken it was unknown to Mel.

"What's up?" She mumbled, suppressing a yawn.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"How lucky I am."

Mel let out a puff of air without replying. He would do this often, say he was lucky to be there, that she'd saved his life... She just wanted him to shut up.

"I really don't want to punch you, Prince, I'd ruin your pretty nose."

He smiled, unbothered.

"You know, a few years ago you would've been pleased to hear me say that, you ungrateful git."

"Yeah well, a few years ago my biggest dream was to become a princess," She joked. "So you see my priorities were a bit messed up..."

"You'd make a cute princess."

"C'mon —"

"I mean it."

"Erick," Mel said in a tone of warning. "Stop."

He'd been acting like that for a whole week: flirting when no one was around, complimenting her... Mel had closed up so tightly around herself that she was barely capable of saying I love you to her mum. Erick had lived deprived of affection his whole life and was just getting out of that environment. At what point had she become the cold, distant one, and he the ray of sunshine?

She knew right away what he was trying to do, but she was so numb... Mel cared about him, but she was not there yet.

Erick leaned on the wall and tilted his head a bit so he could look at her.

"I'm sorry."

"Why?" She replied. "It's not your fault... I just — I need time."

He nodded shortly.

"We can talk later?"

He was wonderful, but she was in the middle of all that was wrong in their world, right next to Harry and the lifeline that she still hadn't decided whether she wanted to keep or not.

"We should go to bed," She murmured, still unable to make any real decisions for herself.

"Yeah," He stood up, carefully putting the blankets back in place and dropping them all over Grey on purpose. He put the watch back in his pocket as well. "Sweet dreams, Mely."

The Ministry of Magic

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST DARK FORCES

The Wizarding community is currently under threat from an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.

"I have a better way to protect our house," Erick groaned, he was gently rubbing his temples. "Let Leon cry the whole night and not even Voldemort will try to enter... I myself am starting to consider living on the street just to get away from the noise."

"S'not that bad," She answered, the dark circles under her eyes giving her away. "It's hard to get used to being a human, you know?"

"Look at this," Emily unfolded the newspaper. "'Scrimgeour succeeds Fudge' — Well, haven't met him yet but I hope he's got a bit of brain, Tonks told me a few months back that he's certainly a bit brisker..."

The doorbell rang and Mel left to open the door.

The routine at that point was established even if it had been only two weeks since their arrival; Erick got used to life at Privet Drive quite easily, he spent two whole days examining every corner of the kitchen, and when Mel showed him what a movie was, he wasted a whole day in the drawing-room watching the movie adaptations of the books she'd lent to him.

Harry would go daily to check on"Reg". Once he'd stayed the night but refused to sleep in Mel's room, not that she'd tried to convince him otherwise.

"Goodmorning," She opened the door without paying attention, "you're a bit late for breakfast but I'll let it pass as soon as you —"

She stopped talking at the sight of her great-uncle, Dumbledore smiled at her and walked in.

"I can't stay for breakfast, but I dare say I regret it deeply."

"Professor... I — Is everything okay?"

"Certainly."

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Mel turned to see her mother standing near the stairs, gazing at Dumbledore coldly.

"Emily," Dumbledore said. "Good morning... I'm here to speak with Mr Flint."

"Is he in trouble?"

"Quite the contrary, I believe he's never been better."

"Professor," Erick's posture changed when he walked into the room, suddenly he looked more like a young man and less like a boy. "What can I do for you?"

"I have a mission for you... Mel as well, but only if she wishes to go."

"She's not of age," The woman replied quickly.

Mel was ready to accept whatever it was he wanted her to do, she needed to feel like she was doing something. Although she wasn't exactly happy to see him so soon after the end of their last term.

"As I said, only if she wishes to come. I assure you she'd be safe."

The girl looked at her mother and then at the men standing in front of her.

"Can I hear what this is about first?"

Emily crossed her arms without uttering a word, her uncle signalled towards the couch.

"A word, then?"

Erick nodded, making a beeline to the closest armchair. Emily turned to leave, but Dumbledore spoke again.

"You can stay."

The woman shared a look with her daughter, Mel couldn't hide her eagerness to hear what the old man had to say.

"I won't sit there and watch history repeat itself," Emily sighed.

The woman left before Mel could say anything. She would talk to her later, but first, she needed to talk to Dumbledore.

"I beg you not to interrupt me while I speak."

Both pupils silently agreed to his petition.

"Now, I find myself in need of a new Professor, but the man I'd been contemplating for the job has been on the run for almost a year — He's not guilty of any crimes," He added, noticing the way their faces grew worried. "He's just afraid like everyone else... I need you to track him down and point me to where he is so I can have a word with him."

"I'll do it," Erick responded instantly.

"Alone?" Mel frowned.

Dumbledore stared at her for a second too long.

"If I remember correctly today is your sixteenth birthday, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Mr Flint turned seventeen in January — You may know that's considered to be the start of our adulthood."

"Yes."

"Erick is allowed to do magic outside school... But you still have a year left."

"I don't see —"

"You have Matthew's spirit when it comes to saving a friend, Mel. When you were eleven you left this house with Hagrid so you could look for Harry yourself... The time has come for me to finally be honest with you."

"What do you mean 'finally'?" The words were burning a hole in her brain. "You mean all the things you told me when I was in your office last month... that wasn't it?"

Erick stared at them with polite interest, even though she knew he was dying to ask. Mel hadn't told him a thing about that night out of respect for Harry's privacy.

"That was all I had to tell you regarding the Harry," Dumbledore replied. "There are plenty of things I haven't said, and I wish to talk about them with you."

"And if I agree to go with Erick on this mission... you'll tell me?" Mel raised a brow.

"I'll tell you whether you help me with this or not, but I believe there's nothing else I can teach you, Mel. All that's left for you is to start putting your knowledge to use; I recommend you to go on this mission."

"What about my animagus lessons?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore smiled. "I'll help you with that, but that'll be it. You've concluded your lessons with the highest marks, dear girl."

She would've been elated hadn't been because of the strange way her uncle was acting.

"Aren't you happy?" Erick nudged her arm gently. "You've worked hard for years, you should be proud!"

"I am proud," Mel replied shortly. "And I'd love to help, but I can't leave my family, it's not safe."

"They'd go to the burrow if you leave."

"What about Harry?"

"He'll go to the burrow too, but I have a few matters to attend with his family first."

"If Mel wants to stay that's alright, I can go on my own —"

"You can't."

Erick looked at her irritated.

"It's not like you can do magic outside school."

"It takes more than magic to survive out there — You don't know how to blend in with the muggles, do you?"

"You can discuss this throughout the day," Dumbledore grabbed a letter from his pocket. "In this, you'll find all about Horace Slughorn's last known whereabouts and a picture so you can identify him. If you do, don't approach, he'll know you're following him. As soon as you find him come back to Privet Drive and write to me."

"This is all just in case we decide to go, right?"

"I'm going," Erick scowled at her.

"We'll talk about this after dinner," She glared back.

Dumbledore stood up and they followed, Emily was at the entrance ready to let him out.

"I'll wait for your response, then," Her uncle stared at her for a moment. "You and Harry..."

"We haven't decided," She was quick to reply. "We need time."

"Very well."

"You're quiet."

"I have a lot to think about."

Her day had been slightly ruined by her great-uncle's visit. Although Lupin had been there for a couple of hours and stayed for dinner. Mel and Erick talked about the mission and she'd promised to tell Harry after the party was over, which was now.

The Slytherin was upstairs taking a shower and Emily was putting Reggie to bed. Mel and Harry were sitting on the grass, watching the stars above them. She'd fallen into contemplative silence, pondering what to do. She could go chase some stranger for Dumbledore's benefit, or she could stay and look after her family.

"This would be much easier if my mum had asked me to stay!" She pouted.

"I reckon she knows that," Harry responded, throwing small rocks over the fence.

"Won't you?"

"Hmm?"

"You won't ask me to stay?"

Harry stared at her.

"No."

He didn't explain his reasons, but he didn't need to. Mel had made up her mind even if she didn't want to admit it. That was exactly why she was so upset, she wanted to look after her family, but her responsibilities were keeping her apart. Three years of hard work had led to this, and although Mel was a big sister now, winning the war was more important than changing diapers.

Her mother was a whole different problem too. Around them she was always cheery, but Mel was sure she'd heard her cry when none of the boys was around to hear.

She believed it was about Sirius, but it could also be about her and Harry, that she was scared for them. Mel didn't have the heart to lie if her mother were to ask about the prophecy. It was, as they had agreed without even having to speak about it, too much weight to put on their loved one's shoulders. The idea of Emily, the closest thing to a mother Harry ever had, finding out there was a big chance one of them would die after having lost Sirius in such a brutal way...

"I don't think I'll be able to look at Dumbledore in the eye if I come back empty-handed..."

"You're one of the best witches I know," Harry shrugged. "You'll be fine, just try not to murder Flint while you're away."

"He's less annoying now," She grinned. "Ever since he left his parents' house, dunno, he's improved. Although I might murder him if he doesn't stop —"

She was going to say 'flirting', but for some reason, she didn't feel ready to talk about that with Harry. She wasn't ready for anything and yet the world was forcing her to keep moving, it was exhausting.

Mel got up and offered her hand to her friend.

"Do you remember when you were just Harry and I was just Mel, and we were the odd kids at school?" She fixed her gaze on her bedroom window. "Wish we could go back to that."

"When I didn't know I was a wizard?"

"Things were easier back then, don't you think?"

"Maybe," He retorted. "But they were never entirely good."

In Harry, Mel found another reason to stay.

They could have the summer to talk about the things they needed to. She would stare at his aged features and compare them to the ones of that young boy she used to call her best friend...

Their bond still had thousands of cracks that had to be fixed, Mel was having a hard time letting him in again and they needed to be okay in order to know if they wanted to keep the lifeline or not. It wasn't that she didn't want to like him, she wanted the comfort he used to provide, the warmth and security of having someone who understood.

He knew it, and he was trying his best to not mess it up, but Mel didn't want to love him again, cutting the lifeline was the best way to assure that... It was easier said than done, though.

Harry was confused. Sometimes it felt like nothing would ever happen, then an overwhelming affection would crush his chest whenever Mel laughed or touched him. He didn't want to put a name to it, he was terrified of saying it, even to himself. All he knew was that the connection was a way to make sure Mel would be safe, and he didn't want to give that up.

"I should go."

"Yeah..."

"Happy birthday," He said. "I have to be honest and tell you that your present was meant to be sent last Christmas, but..."

"I didn't give you a present either, it's okay... I'm a bit angry though, that was a missed opportunity, I could've won."

Harry laughed.

"You'll have a new chance this year, but I doubt you'll be able to beat me — I've already gotten yours..."

"It's July!"

"I know," His smile vanished suddenly, then he added. "Be careful out there, please."

"Erick'll make sure I don't do anything stupid," Mel smiled. "He's so obsessed with protecting me — as if he didn't know I can do it alone just fine!"

"Yeah, but now's different."

"Different how?"

"We need you alive," He told her. "You want to live long enough to become Headmistress, right?"

Mel froze, not knowing what to answer.

"What?" Harry tilted his head.

"I lied," She blurted out. "I never wanted to be Headmistress — I saw you that night, in the mirror... I saw..."

"What?" He asked again, this time softer.

"You kissed me. A real kiss... like the type we used to gawk at as children."

Harry cleared his throat. "Oh."

A tense silence surrounded them. The variations of colour in his eyes were remarkably easy to notice from where she was standing. She was tilting her head up now, perhaps they were too close.

"Be careful."

"You told me that already," Mel whispered, unable to look away. "Anything else you'd like to say?"

"Yes," He paused, his eyes took a quick glance to her lips. "But if I say it you'll get mad."

Harry kissed her, Mel responded by pulling him down.

It was hard to tell whether she was euphoric or scared, perhaps both, or perhaps neither. As soon as it happened Harry jumped away, and she was dropped back into reality.

"I can't do it — We haven't talked about the lifeline — We won't make the right choice if we let our feelings —"

"You're right! Yes!" Mel said, acting just as agitated. "It's a terrible idea — I like you, but—"

"—it's confusing," He said anxiously. "Do you have feelings for me?"

"Do you have feelings for me?" Mel asked in a high-pitched voice.

"No!" He responded, but his voice trembled with a lack of confidence. "I care about you a lot —"

"— I care for you too —"

"— But just —"

"— as friends!"

They stared at each other with the same frightened expression.

"I'm sorry if I made things uncomfortable," He groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I... I don't want to lose you."

"We need to spend some time apart," She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "We can ignore this happened, right?"

"Absolutely," He agreed. "You're spending the summer at the burrow?"

"My mum and my brother will be there, so I kind of have to... is that okay?"

"It's okay," Harry looked around. "We... we should go."

"Did you ever regret falling for my dad?" Mel asked randomly. "I mean, you ever wonder how things would've turned out if you'd stayed as friends?"

Emily stopped folding her clothes.

"Something nagging that head of yours?"

"I think relationships are a waste of time. They all break and you always end up hurting..."

"What makes you think such nonsense?" Emily raised a brow, leaning back on the couch. "Who are you and what did you do to my daughter?"

"You don't think that way?" She asked doubtfully.

"Because I lost my partners that means I have to be bitter?"

"I didn't mean it like that," Mel replied quickly. "But... yeah."

Emily remained silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts.

"Solitude can do weird things to your heart, love. It can pull you towards bad or good places... People that make you feel a little less lonesome, someone who understands you. You should hold onto that for as long as you can, no matter how scary it is. You never know what wonderful things may bring you..."

"Sirius said something similar a year ago," Mel said quietly. "Something about finding my equal, that the earth's full of options and stuff..."

"I won't force you to find a partner if that's not what you want, but you're young and the world is big, you can't turn your back on every opportunity."

"It's not like I have lots of prospects right now..." She huffed.

"You don't need lots, just the right one."

Mel hesitated for a moment, then added:

"I know you used to have a crush on James Potter."

Emily looked up from the laundry again, she raised a brow. "Oh?"

"I know it was a long time ago," She shifted in her place awkwardly. "But do you ever wonder what would've happened if you two..?"

The woman sighed.

"Only once."

"When?"

"When I found out Voldemort was after his son," She folded the last shirt and handed it to Mel. "I asked myself if I had made the right choice by giving him up... When I look at you I know it was the right thing to do. What happened to James and Lily... it was horrible, but it wasn't my fault. I was happy with your father; maybe Matthew wasn't my first love, but when it comes to this, your first love rarely is the one that lasts."

"Mel?" Erick walked into the room. "If we're planning to drive around all day tomorrow, you should sleep," He nodded shortly at both of them and left the room, her mother chuckled.

"You know, Erick reminds me of your father... I know Sirius said he was like his brother, but Regulus made all the wrong choices... Erick's done all this for himself, to be better. Just like Matty."

Mel's gaze lingered on the doorway long after Erick had left.

"Thank you, for letting me go," She sighed, looking back at the woman. "I don't love following Dumbledore's orders but I... I want to make this world a better place."

"Love," Emily cupped her face adoringly. "I know why you're doing this. Just how I knew why you flew that car to save Harry, and why you went to the Ministry... but you're my daughter, and it's my job to worry about you anyway."

Erick and Mel took three changes of clothing and put them in the trunk, Emily gave them muggle money. Mel had a fake driver's license as well as Erick, and they would take turns driving. Harry was nowhere to be seen, but it was expected since it was five in the morning. She hadn't mentioned the kiss to either her mother or Erick, she was determined to keep it that way, much like the whole lifeline stuff and the prophecy.

'Just pile more secrets on top, why don't you,' She thought bitterly as she walked out of the house.

Emily hugged both and let them kiss Reggie goodbye, Mel promised they would see each other soon, and Erick vowed he'd make sure Mel would be safe (she snorted loudly at this). Once inside the car, her friend took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

"This isn't our first adventure, Prince."

"This one's the first we do with permission."

"You're an adult, you don't need anyone's approval."

"You know what I mean," He rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. I get defensive when I'm —"

"I know," He sighed. "I talk too much when I'm worried."

"I know," She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "I'm ready... We'll be okay."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @wlwmaximoff @reverse-hxlland @hamiltonwc @omiwashere @t-rexs-world @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee @thelastpyle

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter xoc #harry potter fanfiction #WITT fic

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erenthecoordinate · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 138: Dreams vs Reality

So I’ve sat down with my thoughts on ch138 for about a week analyzing Mikasa’s “vision” for character meta and its function to the plot. Needless to say there are polarizing opinions for obvious reasons- but I still feel the need to share my view bc I think it reveals a lot.

Disclaimer: I realize the issue with ship wars. I don’t intend to claim one thing or another; it’s entirely fair to interpret Eren’s feelings in many ways because that’s how this series works. I have no interest in arguing about it. I’m only interested in the dream vs reality aspects of the chapter.

For the record, I’m working with two theories here and I emphasize THEORIES. It’s cool to disagree with parts or all of it! I do hope my words get you thinking at least a bit though!

The Butterfly Effect

In order to tackle these two theories, the theory of the “butterfly effect,” paths dividing into multiple timelines originating from one singular timeline depending on Eren’s choices, needs to be considered. On first introduction to the Attack Titan’s abilities, Eren says that the holder can see future memories of its respectable owners. Thanks to the Paths, Eren is able to communicate with previous holders, like Grisha, to commit acts that would lead him to obtaining the Attack and Founding Titans. The Butterfly Effect would kick off the events that we’ve been following along in the story and imply that time exists in a circle, since the reason Eren gets the titans is because he was able to convince Grisha to do so by showing him selective memories.

The issue with this is in ch138, if Mikasa’s reality was actually a divergent timeline, if it really were the case Eren and Mikasa would run off together if she had confessed her feelings, there would be no way for Eren to convince his father to give him the Attack and Founding. Therefore, they wouldn’t have even been in the outside world to run away to, Eren wouldn’t die of the titan curse, which is what happens in Mikasa’s ideal world.

It seems that he needs Paths specifically to communicate with Grisha. It’s even possible he needs direct contact with royal blood to even see the memories, or else it was needed to trigger that ability for him to now do so more freely later.

Therefore, in this case, we can assume the butterfly effect is either debunked or functions differently than a domino reaction.

Paths exist in parallels – Mikasa’s Ideal is an alternative reality

We have confirmation from the storyboard of the chapter that this was meant to be Mikasa’s “ideal (world).” Had she confessed her feelings to Eren, she would have suggested running away the night before Eren leaves his friends so that they can live Eren’s last 4 years in peace. Obviously with the watering down of the Butterfly Effect, we see that it is impossible for this to happen, at least in the main timeline.

Mikasa experiences a migraine when faced with the reality that Eren has to die in order to kill the “Founding Titan.” She’s been experiencing these unexplainable headaches throughout the series during certain critical points of the plot that she personally experiences. We can assume Eren has been lying about the Ackerman abilities in order to push Mikasa away from him, so that she would have less hesitation when she ultimately has to face him. We don’t see Levi having these migraines when his own “host” Erwin cannot be protected from death. Even Kenny doesn’t seem to experience or note these headaches when Uri is dying. The only thing that is mentioned is the awakening power and inability to have their memories wiped or manipulated.

That said, it doesn’t seem to apply to Ackermans actually experiencing what the Founder can show them. In this case, the theory of an alternate reality would be plausible if one with the Founder can access those other realities. If Mikasa did experience another reality, it is because Eren who “controls” (or rather is lent power by) Ymir is able to bring her there. This would mean that timelines exist in parallel to each other and there are multiple alternative universes and realities, ones with Titans and ones without. The headaches may be a result of a resistance that is likely due to showing Mikasa these realities during specific moments, ones with situations that align with other realities but aren’t explicitly converging at any point and her Ackerman blood trying to block that process from happening- with Ymir and Eren together, they are able to breakthrough that barrier.

Now you can interpret that Eren’s reason for bringing her there is to assure her that there is a reality where she suggests running away together and that she experiences that life with the assurance that she will stay with Eren as long as he lives. She knows that this isn’t her own reality: “I think I shouldn’t be here.” Eren likely also brings her here to show that even with their peaceful life that the conflict still exists and that she still cannot save him. After he dies, he wants her to detach herself from him, forget the memories, and to be free.

Whatever the reason, we can assume that the “cottage” Mikasa and Eren aren’t the main timeline Mikasa and Eren. It wouldn’t make sense for the history and it wouldn’t align with their motivations throughout the story. While the timeline of events up to that point are similar if not exact, their behaviors aren’t quite the ones we have been following.

I’ll explain further but in short to believe the above in genuine runs a high risk of presenting as “character assassination.” In other words, “out of character.” (Sorta)

Keeping this in mind, this potentially means that these “path” visits have been foreshadowed and even acted upon by Eren before this moment. First off, we know that Eren foresaw the future of the Rumbling and “that sight” when touching Historia’s hand. We also know he sees other moments in between via these future memories. He is only limited in seeing the actual chain of events that gets to that point.

For years before he concedes to this future, he is adamant about finding literally any other solution that will not result in the Full Scale Rumbling. When Kiyomi brings up even threatening the world with the Rumbling on top of sacrificing Historia, he rejects that offer, suggesting that they should consider other options. When Hange says that Hizuru cannot aid in getting other allies to help them, Eren is distraught by the failure of another plan. However, he accepts going to Marley to survey the nation to seek opportunities for peaceful conversation. Before their departure, Eren discusses the potential destruction of Paradis with Historia, saying that their options are to fight or run away- Historia, however, accepts the duties given to her. Eren knows this option is unacceptable and with that nature he must go forth with Hange’s plan or commit the Rumbling (though of course he knows the latter is the future). It’s the rescue of the little boy Ramzi that gives Eren the realization that the events are exactly how he saw them when receiving the future memories. He actually considers leaving the boy behind to change that fate, but his nature, just like how he can’t accept the fate of Paradis to be destroyed, causes him to protect the boy. Eren realizes that the future cannot be changed- because of fate and because of his nature.

He asks Mikasa the big question and receives her final answer. This seems far fetched but when his friends arrive to interrupt the moment he says with disappointment that it was “perfect timing.” Of course, this could also indicate the frustration of having this conversation interrupted with Mikasa, or that he no longer wanted to hear an elaboration because he didn’t expect anything to change, but with the future sight theory he could have foreseen his friends showing up at that precise moment; there isn’t a lot of evidence to say one way or another, but it’s worth considering since even Mikasa is confused when he says this, meaning that there is supposed to be focus on why he says this. During the conference that proposes Eldian rights, after attendees and speakers insist that the real issue are the Paradisians and they should be ridden of, Eren leaves, now convinced that this is the path he has to take. All other options are lost despite his begging, and he is sure there is no other way.

Everything seems to go just like Eren plans, including the time to meet up with Zeke; the only obstacle that he hadn’t foreseen was Reiner bringing reinforcements early. Either these are events leading up to the same future that he did not see, or this is a different Path he exists on.

We see that he convinces Grisha to slaughter the Reiss family in order to get the Founding Titan when Zeke takes them on a “memory lane” trip. With showing Grisha selective memories, his father decides to hand the titans to Eren just as he did in the “alpha” timeline. He tells Zeke that he was able to “get to this point” thanks to Zeke, so now he is on the proper path. Now the events are aligned where he does “see that sight” by contacting Ymir directly and activating the Rumbling.

How did he get to that path though? Where does it start? Is there a beginning at all? Well, either Zeke had led them to a parallel path that was similar enough to show identical memories so to convince Eren that Grisha was brainwashing him—or Eren took advantage of a distracted Zeke to “path jump.” It’s interesting that Zeke is the one leading them up until the end of the chapter when Eren is the one now pushing Zeke to get to the next memory. The events up until Grisha gets to the Reiss Cave during the titan invasion occur according to the main timeline.

At this point, Eren is aware that the future of this timeline is viable, one that he is most “like himself” because his behavior is consistent with his beliefs. He was always fated to be this way, he always knew that he would never abandon Paradis so long as they were at risk. He would never allow his friends to suffer that fate. There was never a future for him to run away and live in the mountains living the rest of his life in isolation with Mikasa. His very nature would never allow him to.

It is also possible that this foresight didn’t always come with the goal of flattening the entire earth- he would have foreseen the Rumbling not complete, he only ever mentions starting it and “that sight,” points in the manga that we have already seen. He had the opportunity to prevent his friends from fighting by wiping their memories (save the Ackermans, but even they are just two people), but chose not to due to his ideologies, which he carried since he was a child. In fact, he goads his friends to kill him. He knows this is a future he is fated to have. He expects Mikasa to kill him. Expects that he must convince her to let go of her hesitation and end his life. “You should let go of me.” Why invade that path to tell her this if his goals are to destroy the world, unless he truly expects to stop her and the rest? How could he foresee “see you later Eren” though as an end to his life?

This might be the answer to destroying the true Founding Titan since it now exists in their physical world as he acts as a vessel. This might be the solution to eradicate the titans- “destroy this world.” Disconnect Paths. Stop the indefinite fate where he and his home perish by erasing the existence of Titans altogether. Break fate.

It was (mostly) just a dream

The second running theory is that Mikasa really does just experience the moment of “going back to their home” as a dream. We know she gets headaches at critical moments where she runs the risk of losing someone close to her—and this isn’t isolated to just Eren. This happens when Carla dies and Armin is on the brink of death. The dream ultimately is a coping mechanism, wishing for an ideal world where she can live with Eren in peace and isolation, instead of facing the inevitability that Eren must die.

Also the chapter’s title is “A Long Dream.”

Now I’m not claiming that Mikasa is suffering a delusion, because she is very much aware that this “reality” or “dream” isn’t real- just because she is lucid does not mean she thinks this a world that exists for her. She’s very aware that this ideal world of hers is impossible and was never possible to begin with. Her dream is a confrontation of the reality that even with an innocent Eren who just wants a peaceful life that it is not aligned with the nature she has watched develop. As much as she wants to cling onto an innocent and idealized image of her loved one, she knows this isn’t who he is. This isn’t who they are.

She knows that the world they live in is still with conflict- Eren reminds her of that. She apologizes for bringing it up because that realization that they left to live in peace and potentially leave their homeland exposed with no alternative solution, simply giving in to the circumstances, is not who either of them are, and to hold onto that image of Eren is merely fabrication. The entire dream functions as a metaphor. But in every world, Eren will die, be in by her hands or the titan curse.

[This is alluded to in Lost Girls, another “alternative reality” story.]

It is only disrupted when Eren tells Mikasa to throw the scarf and forget about him because she deserves to be free. He wears the titan markings of his Founding Titan. At this point it’s implied that Eren is communicating through Pathways that connect to her dreams. Remember, dreams (and nightmares) are a very prevalent subject brought up in the series alongside memories- it is possible that the Founder can infiltrate dreams to communicate much like it can bring Eldians to the Path realm. Mikasa cannot be controlled because she is an Ackerman, but this doesn’t omit the possibility that she can still see differences in her dreams (or reality) if interfered by the Founding Titan. Ymir allows this open line of communication with the knowledge Eren is convincing Mikasa to kill him. To simmer down the emotional turmoil, he says that she must forget about him. Of course, because Mikasa cannot be manipulated, she decides that while she must kill him, that his death is inevitable, she will not forget him. And he will not die without her expressing her feelings. That is her own willpower.

At this point, the dream is “shared” between the two because Eren is an active spectator. When Mikasa says her final goodbye, her “see you later,” it isn’t the same dream as what it started as. Which is why he is able to remember it in the first chapter.

Now, I say mostly a dream because it is possible that dreams themselves could create alternative realities if they haven’t existed before. But even if that wasn’t the case, Eren still alludes to path jumping, so the series of events could have still led him to a path that would be able to infiltrate Mikasa’s coping dream, knowing that she would struggle to end his life, but that she needs to see him again and be assured that he wants her to move on with her life, and not to see this as a failure on her part- that her answer really would not have mattered so she should not regret her choices. She is the one that has to kill him to get to this point. He expects to die, he doesn’t stop her when she gets in the titan, he seems resigned to that fate.

The dream theory is shorter but I’m inclined to believe that is what really happened with perhaps some mixture of the “alternate realities” theory for the sake of the plot solving the issue of titans, as well as reverting the rest of the cast from their Pure Titan fate. Getting rid of Paths (the Founding Titan and Eren) is a viable solution to both rid of the nightmare as well as give Ymir and Eren a new life without being enslaved by fate. But that’s a big elaborate and perhaps too complex theory. I’m only making sense of how the final chapter may wrap up.

Alternative Selves: Fabrication to Cope aka “Mikasa and Eren would not run away”

Regardless of either theory, we must come to the conclusion that the Mikasa and Eren in her dream, her ideal world, whatever it may really be, are not their main story selves. In fact it is impossible both because it would break the timeline and because it would not align with their true selves, the ones we’ve been following along throughout the story. It makes more sense for Mikasa to cope with this ideal of hers, but the moment she enters that vision, she knows that this is fake and that this Eren is an idealized version she created (or exists elsewhere and time). To believe otherwise is not understanding who these characters truly are at their core.

Regardless of Eren’s feelings towards her, be it romantic, platonic, familial, his very nature, as he states himself, would never allow him to “not make a decision.” He would never abandon the others he claims to love, the ones he wants them to live long lives, to wander in the dark without at least a warning of the impending doom ahead of them. He gave his friends the freedom to fight. He fights for the freedom of Eldia, protecting Paradis. He could never accept a fate that would allow the massacre of his people, even if he must commit omnicide to prevent it. Remember, this is the boy who saved a girl he never knew because her freedom was stolen. This is the boy that defends his weak friend because he values how the other boy’s mind opens to doors to freedom- the boy that gave him the knowledge of the outside world that fueled his ambition to break down the case in the first place. He doesn’t want to live a mundane life. Especially not if his oppressed people are in danger. This is the guy who has a superior officer who calls him a monster that will not submit to any cage anyone puts him in- he has the fire in his eyes to keep moving forward, to persevere against all odds.

This is the man that would lay down his own life if it meant Paradis would be saved. He would simply never choose the option to run away from that, not even dream about it.

He knew he wanted to see that sight. He was shown that image. That is his ideal world. His vision, his dream. Which means he must fight and move forward. Find a way to save his loved ones so they live long happy lives.

And, honestly, it’s inaccurate to call Mikasa selfish for her ideal life because while she would want to live alone with Eren by her side, when being reminded of the carnage that will take place and that they are not there to help, she submits that it is something neither of them could accept. She might want to run away to have a peaceful life, but not with the knowledge there are consequences for doing so. That there are people she would leave behind. She wouldn’t leave them to that fate. Her actions to stop Eren is evidence of that.

As much as she loves Eren, she has devotion to her homeland and her friends, too. To run away would be uncharacteristic. This is the girl who decided to fight when the boy who saved her was in danger. This is the girl that chose to keep fighting even when her closest family, the one she loved, was “killed.” She is the girl who threw the knife away and promised that she would never leave her friend behind. She stays to fight for her home, Paradis, because it is her birthplace, she belongs here- she wouldn’t run if her home is in danger.

Which is why, to assume they are the real Mikasa and Eren in Mikasa’s “ideal world”, is utterly and completely misread. That is not nor ever what their characters would lead to. The idea of running away would be barely a flicker of a thought at most, but even then, it is uncharacteristic to act. Unreal. Just like their artificial selves in that “dream.”

It isn’t like Isayama didn’t allude to Mikasa and Eren separating. He does so for Armin when they have clashing views on the world and their own selves- Armin being more “worldly” and explorative and Eren being more “self-focused” and personally ambitious. Mikasa would sympathize more with Armin’s point of view, but her desire is to be by Eren’s side.

Isayama gives his opinion on Mikasa’s determination to be stuck to Eren the entire time. It is a “pitiful” existence. She is willing to even shoulder his burdens just so he could come home, that perhaps his emotional distress is the reason he is causing mass destruction. She is desperate for this. That is… not exactly productive of her character, or the plot.

However, he clarifies that this is his view on Mikasa’s course of direction. Her ideal is to be with Eren forever. It may not necessarily be entirely positive that she leaves him behind since deviation from that ideal isn’t guaranteed growth. Isayama has a habit of allowing his readers to experience his work with their own interpretations. Just because he believes Mikasa’s existence with Eren at a constant is unfavorable, everyone will see it that way. Perhaps it is a good thing that she has a goal to work towards and that it is the fuel to her fighting spirit. That her desiring a peaceful life with Eren is a good motivator. Or alternatively, her fixation on Eren would lead her into more dangerous situations that would risk her life, it has her see an unreal version of him, unable to accept his fated death that she is willing to sacrifice everything, even if it means shouldering the burdens he carries, if it means he lives.

The message is clear, however, that whether you, the reader, sees that as wholly positive or negative, or a mixture of both, the intention is that she must let him go. She must accept his death. Because if she is to keep her home, a semblance of peace and closure, save her friends- this is how it must end. There is a beautiful nuance, however, that Mikasa is given the opportunity to forget so that she can avoid the suffering and be free, but she chooses not to- just as she decides when Eren is first taken from her. When she initially thought he died, she decided to keep fighting to honor his spirit and memory. She never wants to forget him. Even if he will die in every reality they share together, the worst thing in the world is an existence without even the memory of him.

This is why she is able to get that closure. She expresses her feelings and says her final goodbye, in this world anyway. “See you later” because she will still have the ideal dream knowing that while it isn’t real, it can never be real, not for her, but his memory will live on with her. And she can carry that memory without sacrificing her agency, her home, her friends, her love. That is what she is meant to do.

Anyway, I wrote this mostly to observe the function of Paths and what Mikasa’s dream infers is possible, and an opening to a solution, as well as her decision to end Eren’s life. The dream speaks loudly of Mikasa and Eren as characters because it shows us what they are not. It emphasizes the characters that we have been following since the beginning are raw and motivated, destined to live their lives fighting and protecting and moving onward, never surrendering. And to insist otherwise would be a disservice to how they’ve been built up to after all this time.

....

[Once again: Despite the language in this, the manga has always been a work to be wildly interpreted in a multitude of ways, I just speak passionately about why I think certain interpretations don’t make since to my own. But nothing is indefinite. The material is flexible. See it how you wish.]

#shingeki no kyojin #snk meta #snk chapter 138 #eren yeager #mikasa ackerman #analysis #theory #paths #mypost

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valhallasubstitute · 4 years ago

Text

What is Mine, is Yours

Sihtric x reader

Prompt #13 & #17 - ‘There was only one bed’ and ‘They were right in front of your eyes the whole time.’

You and Sihtric are entrusted with a holy relic while the others sent on a rescue mission. You arrive at the rendezvous point before the others and make camp. As night falls you discover that Sihtric left his pack behind and it’s too cold to sleep without one… with the light of a new day some things become very clear.

A/N: I re wrote this like 8 million times but we got there finally! I found it really hard to write an oblivious reader bc how can you not take notice of Sihtric? How can you not immediately fall deeply in love with him? Idk if anyone has the answer then let me know

WC: 1207

WARNINGS: none

Tags: @flowers-in-your-hayr

The relic was a leather-bound book - old, worn and valuable to the Church beyond measure. It had belonged to a long dead Saint, whose name escaped you, but the importance of the item had been stressed so strongly that you felt its spiritual weight as you carried it.

A group of Danes had heard of its worth and ransacked a monastery in hopes of an agreeable ransom. They had taken a handful of monks and a bible they had mistaken for the relic. Uhtred had been summoned and while he argued that only one of his men needed to guard it the bishop had insisted that there should be two of you.

Sihtric walked beside you, huffing with annoyance at missing out on another raid.

‘I do not understand why it needs us both.’

‘Do you not enjoy my company Sihtric?’ You nudged him with your shoulder teasingly. The man beside you said nothing, opting to roll his eyes before continuing his rant. The friendship between the two of you was strong, having known each other for many years you understood each other better than anyone. You were family, bound by loyalty and love, just as the others were.

The sun was setting when you finally reached the rendezvous point. It was a small clearing in dense forest, known only to those in your party and the deer that darted at the sight of you.

‘There goes dinner…’

You set up camp quickly, keenly aware of the dropping temperature and ache in your feet. The fire did little to fight the cold, but you were grateful, the glow it cast was warm and gentle, lulling you into a peace that one only found when immersed in the flicker of a flame.

Sihtric sat opposite you, shield at his side and axe in his lap, his eyes coming to rest on you as you kicked off your boots. You sighed at the relief, stretching like a cat does in the sun.

‘I cannot wait to find a river to bathe in and wash away all this mud.’

‘Mmh and the smell.’ Sihtric’s tone was level and his face straight but his eyes danced with amusement, a smile breaking out as your boot flew past his head. It landed just behind him, startling your horse. As he made his way over to calm the mare, he returned the shoe, dropping it in front of you.

You raised your hand to smack his passing form, but he caught it mid-flight. He held your wrist with little force, both of you trying and failing to keep a straight face as he shoved you harshly off the log you sat upon.

Many people mistook you and Sihtric for lovers, your fondness for each other was palpable but you always dismissed the claims with fake disgust and horror. Sometimes you played on it, knowing you worked well together Uhtred often used your relationship to his advantage, playing Sihtric’s wife was something you had done often when sent to spy but it had never encroached on your friendship. Yet why he had never found himself a real wife nagged at you.

Once the horses had been settled you let the fire begin to fade, turning your attention where you would rest your head. Your pack rested next to the shawl covered book and you delighted in the idea of unconsciousness, to let your mind wonder away from the relic without guilt and your body rest from the journey.

As you finished laying out your furs Sihtric called your name, confusion evident in his tone. You made your way to him in the darkness, his silhouette familiar and inviting as you placed your hand on his back in comfort.

‘I cannot find it…’

‘Find what?’

‘My furs.’

‘You were the ones that packed the horses Sihtric, how do you manage to not pack your own bag?’ The man beside you huffed once more, dragging a hand over his face he turned to you.

‘We will have to share.’ You groaned at the inconvenience but there was no weight in your displeasure. You and Sihtric had shared a tent many times, and often when on the road his shoulder was the best place to nap in all of Wessex.

‘I will repay you Y/N.’

‘No need, what is mine, is yours.’ You led him to your furs and his hand squeezed yours briefly in thanks. The two of you settled quickly, drooping eyes and the call of dreams making words seem entirely unnecessary.

You dreamt of long dead saints and Danes and hands grasping one another in far more gratitude than just thanks.

You woke just before dawn, light just beginning to filter through the leaves. You felt warm despite the frost on the ground, breathing in the pillow beneath your head. It was then that you realised that it wasn’t your furs, but Sihtric’s armour clad chest acting as your pillow. His arms were wrapped around you, one resting on your waist and the other laying on top of your own hand that lay on his stomach. His cheek rested on the top of your head and he nuzzled into it, breathing you in, in his sleep.

The action was gentle and reminded you of how he was with other women that warmed his bed. You would often watch him once he had found someone to share the night with, your initial quiet amusement would fade into an aching curiosity; his actions were so subtle, but his claim was obvious. They way he whispered in their ear, hot breath fanning their neck as his did to yours now. The way he would trail his fingers up and down their arms as they spoke, how he would take a handful of their arse if any other man looked for too long, despite her only being his for the night.

It made you seek out a man of your own.

Now that you lay in his arms you marvelled at how natural it felt, you would be hard pressed to think of somewhere you felt more at home. Rationally you knew you had gravitated together in seek of warmth but the way he held you felt different than just intimacy born of circumstance.

You could feel Sihtric stirring beneath you and your first instinct was to pull away, the realisation of emotion too blatant to hide, but his arms trapped you. You waited with bated breath for him to pull away, to address your tangled bodies with amusement and indifference but the blow never came.

You turned to him, a sheepish smile on your face. Your eyes met and your own expression was mirrored in his gaze, the confusion, the questioning, the happiness. It dawned on you as he studied you with tenderness that if you were never to wake up in his arms again there would be little point in waking up at all.

‘Sihtric…’ Your hand traveled up from his stomach to cup his face, the action was ill practiced and over cautious, but the way he lent into it, with just as much tentativeness settled your nerves.

‘Y/N.’

‘Why have you never taken a wife?’

‘The same reason you have never taken a husband.’

#the last kingdom fanfic #tlk fanfic #sihtric #sihtric fanfic #sihtric x reader #sihtric kjartanson x reader #sihtric kjartanson #inga writes #100 followers celebration

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dynamightsfave · 4 years ago

Text

My everyday text (2) - Owen Joyner

(gif not mine! credits to owner)

owen joyner x oc

summary: oc goes to a party for halloween and calls owen drunk. he’s worried

warnings: underage drinking (bc rowe’s 20), swears, mentions of sex

a/n: this has a part one that i recommend you read to read this one and a part three that you can decide if you wanna read

masterlist

***

It was a day before Halloween, and I was debating on whether to stay in my apartment dressed up and with a marathon of Halloween movies and a bunch of sweets like I used to do with Mads, or go out with Nora and her now boyfriend and some friends to a college party. Nora was very adamant on the second one.

“I’m just saying, you’ve been very stressed lately and you deserve to let go and go crazy. Get in a hot or cute costume, have fun, get drunk if you want to, maybe meet someone” she gave me a suggestive look and I rolled my eyes “Oh come on, Rowan! You need to get laid!”

“Nora!” I laughed, this time getting her to roll her eyes “I don’t know if I want to meet someone, even if it’s just for a one-night-stand”

“Are you serious?! Rowe, you spent all last year with one-night-stands! Believe me, I know. I have a list”

“No you don’t” I gaped, but Nora only hummed nonchalantly “Why would you have that?!”

“Well, people were coming in and out of here at least three times a week, and I was thinking that maybe I should’ve started to make them pay rent, ‘cause they always ate something from our cupboards. But then I thought that that would technically make you a prostitute, so I decided against it” while I still looked at my friend with a slacked jaw, I found myself not finding it that weird. Conversations like this were normal around here.

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want a one-night-stand, it feels wrong for some reason”

“Is this because of that boy you talk to on FaceTime?”

“Which one? I talk to Owen, Char and Jer” it was true.

I had talked to all three boys on FaceTime. I didn’t talk to Charlie or Jeremy as much as Owen, but we had still had our times when we’d kick Owen out of his own call and talked with them alone, and I liked to think of them as my new friends too. Other times I’d just hang up on him and call any of the others —that I knew, because apparently there were a lot of people in this secret project I didn’t know about—, and most of the time I talked with them it was just a massive group call of us being stupid. Same thing happened when Jadah joined Madi and I.

“Which one?” Nora asked incredulously “The blond! The one that flirts with you! The guy! You fucking wrote him a song, Rowan!”

“I wrote you a song too. And he can’t flirt for shit”

“But it’s different! You like this boy, there’s deep feelings in that song. Mine is literally about how much you love me because I bring you pizza”

“Okay so maybe I have a crush on Owen!” I admitted “It’s not like I’m gonna do something about it, you know what happened the last time I had a crush on a friend. I don’t want that to happen again”

“Sweetie, you can’t just block romantic feelings for everyone” Nora sat down next to me and placed her hand on my knee “You were bound to fall for someone again, it’s not something you can’t control”

“Yeah, I know” I sighed “Okay, so what kind of costume did you have in mind?”

The blond smiled excitedly and jumped up, running to her closet.

[...]

“Happy Halloween!” Madison cheered on her side of the screen “What are you gonna do? We’re going to have a party over here, I’m dressing as a devil and Jadah is going as an angel”

“Fitting” I nodded “How much candy have you had?”

“None. But I did have three coffees. Day started early, and I was basically falling asleep while I was standing”

“God, Dee. Anyways, I’m going to a party at a faculty. Nora lent me a black dress and bought me a pair of black feathered wings. Her words were “Rowan, you’re going as a raven”. But just in case, she also bought me some Maleficent horns, because I’ll probably end up losing the wings”

“A party? You going back home with someone?” she arched a brow as she whispered the las sentence, eyeing around her.

“Why does everybody think I’m taking someone home? I’m not!”

“Who’s not taking anyone home after a party?”

“Jeremy! My man! Can you please take my side? Is it really that weird that I’m not having a one-night-stand?”

“He doesn’t count! He doesn’t know how you were last year”

“I don’t, but I’d love to know” he quickly sat down, completely ignoring my offended look.

“You’re such a gossip. You already know about my famous crushes you don’t need to know about my love life status”

“Hey, you told me about them” he pointed his finger accusingly at me.

“But you didn’t stop me! You even made comments about some” I crossed my arms.

“Is it because of Owen that you’re not taking anyone home?” he arched a brow, smirking when he saw my blush and sharing a look with Madi.

“What about you, Jer?” I quickly changed the subject “What’s your love life look like? Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

“He’s way passed that” Madison smirked “He’s engaged”

“No he’s not!” I gasped as a small smile and a giant blush appeared on the boy’s face “How did I not know that? You’re supposed to brag to everyone about your fiancée, dude. I wanna know about them”

“Her name’s Carolynn” he started, and once he started, there was no stopping.

I ended that call knowing the whole story about how the soon to be husband and wife met, how they had started dating, how wonderful and amazing she was and how happy Jeremy was with her. I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I watched him talk about Carolynn, it was very obvious he was very much in love with her and that he couldn’t wait to be married to her. Madi looked exactly like me, it was impossible not to smile at him.

[...]

“Hello?” I couldn’t quite comprehend the tiredness in the other person’s voice, but then again, I couldn’t quite walk straight “Rowan? You there? Why are you calling me at- four in the morning?”

“Owen! ¡Hola!” my tone was probably too overly cheery and happy, but I could care less in that moment “How are you?”

“Are you okay?” there was shuffling heard from his line, like he was moving on his spot.

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” the words came out slurred.

“Are you drunk?” if I had been in a normal state, I would’ve probably identified the disbelief in his voice, but like I’ve pointed out a couple of times now, I wasn’t.

“Just a tiny bit” I neared my thumb and index fingers and narrowed my eyes, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t see me.

“Where are you, Rowes?”

“I’ve been walking around campus for a while now” I giggled “I can’t find my apartment. It’s usually with the residences, but I can’t find those either”

“Okay, uh... Rowan? I need you to listen to me, are you listening to me?” I hummed, nodding my head along “Okay, you know where the apartment is. I need want you to get there, can you do that for me?”

“Of course silly. I’ll do whatever you want” I smirked.

“As much as I like you flirting with me, it’s really not the moment”

“You’re no fun, I’m gonna call Milo. Maybe I can find him around here and we can go somewhere” I frowned and pulled the phone away from my ear, ready to hang up and call the funny tall boy Nora had introduced to me two days before and was now my best friend.

“Wait, wait, wait! Don’t hang up please! I just want you to get home safely. If you need to flirt with me while you do it, you can. I’m just worried”

“Aw, Owen, you’re such a softy. It’s one of the reasons I fell for you” I cooed “Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll get home just fine” and then I hung up.

I ignored all the text messages that popped up in my screen from different people, let all the calls ring and just kept walking. I did eventually get to our little apartment, and fell face first on my bed, not bothering to take my make up or contacts off. I was sleeping within three minutes.

[...]

I woke up the next day with a massive headache, and with a lot of trouble to open my eyes. “Fucking contacts. Fucking party. Fucking Nora. Fucking drinks. Fucking stupid brain.”

My phone rung in that moment, making me groan. I picked it up, answering the call.

“So loud. Cállate. Shut the hell up” I whined at whoever called me.

“You picked up. Oh my God, guys! I have her!” I furrowed my brows as I recognized Jadah’s voice, forcing myself to get up and make my way to the bathroom.

I rummaged the cabinet trying to find a pill for my headache. I placed my phone in speaker as I took my lenses off.

“Rowan María Flores! What the hell were you thinking?!” I knew that voice. That was Mr. Reyes, using his dad tone on me.

“H-Hey, King” I said hesitantly.

“Do not “King” me, señorita. Do you know how worried we all were?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked “I hardly remember anything from last night” I admitted embarrassed “But I just woke up, so it should all be coming back in the next half hour”

“You called Owen drunk, saying you were lost in the campus, Rowan” Charlie spoke, calling me by my name instead of the nickname he was adamant in using “Then you just hung up on him and never picked your phone up again. He woke me up in the middle of the morning worried sick and stressed out”

Guilt washed over me like a waterfall. When had I done that? Why had I done that? “Dammit drunk me”

“We didn’t know what to do, so we called Madi and Mr. Reyes and the others” he continued “We’ve all been trying to call you since. Your phone probably has millions of messages and lost calls”

“Are you okay?” Madison’s voice sounded broken, and all I could do was stutter out a “Yeah”. “Thank God. We were so worried, Ro-Ro”

“I’m so sorry” I whispered “I didn’t want to make you all go through this. Oh my God, what have I done” I ran my hands through my hair, looking down at the sink “Is uh- is Owen there?” I cleared my throat.

“I’m calling you” he stated instead of answering. He didn’t sound happy.

The phone call ended and two minutes later his contact name was requesting a FaceTime. I gulped. I didn’t care in the slightest of my appearance with my messy hair and smudged dark make-up, but I knew how he had been feeling for the past hours, because I had experienced it too with some friends. It was a terrible feeling of being worried for them and slightly panicking, scared because I couldn’t go save them, as I didn’t know where they were. He knew where I had been, but he couldn’t exactly jump on a plane to come save me.

I shakily hit the “Accept” button and breathed in.

“What were you thinking, Rowan?!” he all but exclaimed when he appeared on the screen.

His hair was the messiest I’d seen it —and I’d seen it just out of bed— and he had bloodshot eyes with bags under them. He only had a pair of sweatpants on, like he hadn’t bothered changing at all.

I couldn’t utter a word, my throat had completely closed, and he took it as his cue to continue.

“Do you know how worried we were? How worried I was? You call me at four in the morning, telling me you can’t find your place while you’re drunk, alone, after a party and on Halloween! And then you hang up and you don’t answer anymore! You’ve no idea what kind of scenarios were going through my head! I was this close to hop on a plane to make sure you were okay! Fucking hell, Rowan!”

“I-I’m sorry” I repeated, tears about to spill from my eyes “It’s just, it was Halloween, and I wanted to have fun, release all the stress and forget about the problems, a-and I lost track of how many drinks I was having, and next thing I knew, I was super drunk. I shouldn’t have called you, I only made you worried. God, what was drunk me thinking?”

I shut my eyes closed for a second and let my breath go, hearing him do the same. His voice was softer the next time he talked.

“It’s fine. I mean, it’s not, but I get that you wanted to let loose” he rubbed his face “I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I’m sorry. Shit, it was just so scary, you know? Not knowing what would happen to you”

“I get it” I assured “I’ve been through it too. So I know how it feels, and I can’t believe I made you feel it. I am so stupid”

“Hey, no. Let’s talk about something else. How about you get all that make-up off and freshen up? You look a little dead”

“Hey!” I shouted, only to hold my head and wince “I hope the pill kicks in quickly, otherwise I think I’ll die for real”

I took some cotton pads and my make-up remover, looking at my mirror to make sure I got it all off. I then left the camera to change into comfier clothes and came back to Owen with a sweater on and fiddling with his fingers.

“Rowes?” he called, and I hummed to show him that I was listening “There’s this thing you said yesterday, and I didn’t notice it at first, but I kinda ran over the conversation a million times in my head-”

“Owen, what did I say” I chuckled “It can’t be that bad”

“You said I was a softy” I rolled my eyes, but then he continued “and that it was one of the reasons you fell for me”

My mouth fell into a perfect “o”, and I felt my cheeks and neck get hotter. He was red too, but had a small smile on his lips. I stuttered trying to make out an excuse, but his chuckle cut me off.

“A drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts” he said with a smirk “Or a woman’s in this case. I knew you were crazy for me, Flores” I furrowed my brows at his teasing. Was he really making fun of me for having fallen for him? “Don’t look at me like that, Rowes. I like you too. A lot” he laughed a little “But it’s always me that is left stuttering whenever you flirt with me, so I thought I’d take advantage of it” he shrugged.

“You little shit!” I laughed “I’d kiss you if I could” I grinned, causing his smile to get bigger, if it was possible.

“First thing I’m gonna do when we meet, after squeezing you in a hug”

“Deal. I’ll sing you your song”

“Can’t wait”

“Yeah, me neither”

[...]

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#owen joyner imagine #owen joyner #owen patrick joyner #julie and the phantoms #charlie gillespie #madison reyes #jadah marie #jeremy shada #netflix

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earthlyemily · 4 years ago

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I’m struggling so much financially and honestly just wanted to vent somewhere. I’ve always lived in poverty and I think in my whole life I’ve had maybe 2 years where I didn’t have to stress about money and not be able to buy groceries or pay rent or be put into collections for not being able to make payments etc and that was when I was in college. For at least the past 5 years I’ve been struggling but I never talk about it. I don’t even know where to start haha I don’t even know what it’s like to not stress financially and be in debt. I’ll just start with the first things that come to mind with what I’m owing maybe. So it’s Dec. 23 and rent was due yesterday because we moved into this small suite attached to someone’s house on Nov. 22. It’s $1200 which is so expensive, but also the average price for BC if not even cheaper for a one-bedroom with a yard, utilities included. and no first and last, no pet deposits, etc because this is just short them for 4 months until the end of March because i reached out and asked and they said yes.

After 1 month I already remember why we went into the trailer almost 2 years ago and it’s literally because we can’t afford any other lifestyle. I think that’s the difference between us and some people that live in trailers, vans, etc. like we lived in a mouse & mouse shit infested trailer for 6 months breathing in their feces and urine and having it all over all our belongings. i literally had to take my whole life to the dump and we officially have no food storage because they ruined it all. there were at least 50-60 mice because a few birth cycles happened in the ceiling. I could write a whole post about my experience of living with field mice, but now isn’t the time so for rent, i only had $600 yesterday so that’s what I gave them. thank goodness they were okay with me asking for a few more days to make the other half. but I don’t even know when that’s going to be :(

my etsy shop veganveins has been doing so bad lately for more than one reason, most of my orders are just postcards and stickers, and while I’m grateful for them, that $1-3 profit isn’t going to keep my business going. and it’s so hard for me to work lately. the wifi doesn’t work sometimes for hours and I always get distracted by shawn and the dogs working from home in a small space. I need to get better at my time management. I got up at 8:30 today which is actually early for me so I’m proud of myself. I’m chronically ill and I really need to go get a blood test and see what’s happening because I haven’t gotten one since being diagnosed with graves disease again 1.5 years ago. anyways. i switched to a print on demand method this year for veganveins for some shirts and sweaters because i couldn’t afford to keep ordering shirts in bulk, and it’s honestly been so, so expensive and i barely make any profit. I’m currently owing my t-shirt printer $999 on one invoice (it was originally $2196 so I’ve at least paid half of it) but that was 2 weeks ago and I still need to pay it. Mario, my t-shirt printer has been with me since I started veganveins and I’m so grateful he gives me extensions on paying the invoices. every other t-shirt printer I’ve ever asked has said no. in addition to the $999 there’s going to be another $2200 invoice I’ll be receiving this week for my last order. I think because of the holidays he’s going to give me some time to pay off that too, but the problem is when I have outstanding invoices he doesn’t print new orders for me. He’s closed now until Jan. 4 so I just need to somehow make that much before then.

btw I don’t have a credit card ($8500 all used on veganveins and it got put into collections last march) and I had a fully used $5000 line of credit but I got a debt consolidation loan for $16,000 1 month ago and my payment for that is $167 a month. it fully paid off and closed my credit card and line of credit + $3000 overdraft which is nice. but now I don’t have any extra money except for what comes in. my credit is only 640 which is really bad in canada so I won’t get approved for a new credit card or loan until I build that up, which is going to be a few months of regular payments. so for regular payments, the $167 for the loan is due on Dec. 27. Yesterday the trailer loan which is literally unliveable from what the mice did until we renovate it came out for $260, that’s how much I pay once a month for it on the 22nd. I didn’t have $260 in my account so it got rejected and I got charged a $48 NSF fee. omg if anyone is reading this long i’m shook. i’m genuinely just writing this for myself to process my feelings and in case anyone was curious about my financial situation here you go haha. maybe some of you can relate, maybe some can’t. anyways. so now I somehow have to get $260 in my account for that for when they try to take it out again in the next few days.

another payment that was supposed to come out yesterday but hasn’t, but I’m sure will come out today is our truck loan. they deferred it for 8 months because of covid which was so nice, but we started paying it again 2 months ago. for both those months I called and made my payment a later date and that helped, but there’s barely any service here so when I called 4 times yesterday to try and change the date the payment comes out, I was on hold for 20-30 mins then my phone would disconnect and hang up. so that’s $586 and it will come out today, I have $0.46 in my account right now so it will get rejected and I’ll get charged another $48 NSF fee. this is why being poor always costs more and the banks are always harsher on those who don’t have money. today I’ll try calling again to see if I can ask for it to come out on a different day like january 10 instead, so I can first have time to pay rent and the trailer and also our $190 truck insurance which got rejected from my account 3 days ago, which was another $48 NSF fee. oh and something else i’m so stressed about is CIBC is going to put me into collections on December 28 if I don’t pay $1000, $700 of which is purely their fees. I have a $300 overdraft which they said i have to cover by then and the $700 is literally their $48 fees added up over the past 3 months. I got a text from them today saying my account is over and it’s because an amnesty international $11 monthly donation came out and obvi there’s no money in there, so that’s another $48 they charged. they’ve already given me a month to pay it and don’t want to wait any longer :(

I owe everyone in my family money, my sister $1650, my mom $700 and my brother also lent me $700. none of my siblings have money either and my mom definitely doesn’t so I hate that i had to borrow that much, and it’s literally been months. thankfully they’re so patient but i can’t wait to not owe them that

omg and i can’t even think about the amount of money shawn’s grandma has lent us. she’s genuinely the only reason we haven’t been completely homeless. but it’s a lot. like i don’t even want to say the number on here. she let us use it from her line of credit over the years and we’ve been slowly paying her back, but she lets us go months at a time without making a payment which i honestly hate doing, but have no choice. i’ve felt a lot of shame and guilt about this, but I also know that she genuinely would rather help us than see us suffer.

so i’m gonna talk about a big reason I’m broke this month especially - saving a pig named buster. his rescue cost me $1850 out of pocket that I didn’t have. but otherwise he was going to be killed in 2 days, he was my baby and I loved him so I had to do it. I somehow made $1350 that went towards it but I’m still owing $500, which I just asked for an extension for today until the new year. i’m not really supposed to talk about it but everything I’ve ever posted here has stayed here, so that cost was literally just from me buying the pig off the farmer. myself along with everyone else ive talked to is disgusted that he charged that much, but he wasnt budging and if that’s what it was going to take, of course I’m going to do it. I wouldn’t think twice about doing it for my dogs and Buster was smarter and more affectionate than them. i love him and I’m so happy he was saved. a non-profit organization transported him to a sanctuary and it was my biggest wish come true and the happiest moment I’ve had all year. my eyes are literally tearing up haha i love him so much. i could write a whole post about his neglect but basically he hasn’t had fresh water in weeks, he was only being fed handfuls of mixed nuts, he was constantly dirty in a muddy enclosure with an electric fence that he was always getting shocked on. he never got true love or affection except for when I gave him it. i posted an instagram story about him and asked people to message me and that i needed help, 2 people donated $111 and $120 each, and 2 other people donated $15 and $12. Someone also e-transferred me $20. These 4 donations equaled almost $300 ($277) and I was so grateful for those people wanting to help me help buster. if anyone else wants to help me with the cost of his rescue i still do need help and would appreciate it so much. this feels really weird and vulnerable for me to do and i’m sorry if anyone is annoyed by this post, I just genuinely am struggling and figured if someone does have extra and wants to help, there isn’t harm in that. but i do feel guilty for asking because i know there are so many other people struggling out there that need even more help than i do :(

i haven’t talked about it publically but i guess I will now, this farmer that I bought buster off of is the owner of the organic vegetable farm i was living and working at this past spring and summer. we worked really hard all summer to be able to stay there and park for free in the winter, but this past fall he told us no one was allowed to stay at the farm anymore, including us, so we had to find a new place to bring our 14ft trailer in to live. so that was an unexpected bummer and if we had known we wouldn’t be allowed staying there anymore (despite doing the labour of $1200 a month for free harvesting organic kale, for an off-grid spot he told us was worth $350 a month to park) we wouldn’t have driven 8 hours with the trailer and we would have stayed in the snow in northern BC and sucked it up and lived on the land we got the opportunity to rent this fall. Donna, the woman who is renting the land to us has been the biggest blessing in my life this year. I love her so much. Basically, she’s letting us live on 170 acres for $600 a month. letting us do whatever we want on the land (building a cabin, setting up rainwater catchment systems, having a solar passive greenhouse and a huge garden) LIKE WHAT. we could even open a farm sanctuary if we had money, i wanted to so bad but obviously that dream didn’t even come close to being reality. opportunities like this literally don’t exist in canada, especially not in BC. i cant even process my gratitude, i cry everytime i think about it. when we go back in the spring it’s going to be the beginning of the rest of our life :) i want to rescue so many senior dogs. everything we’ve always wanted to do we’ll be able to do, assuming we have money haha. but i want to have an organic farm and grow veggies to donate to families in need, especially since we live on stolen indiginious land and I see how the goverment actively restricts their access to fresh healthy produce. but anyways by then it was too dangerous to drive 8 hours back hauling a trailer in the snow and it was just easier to stay in the okanagan until the spring. i know the farmer probably doesn’t realize this and he’s also probably struggling financially but not being able to stay at the farm for the winter months we worked for, and buying buster for that price is a big reason I’m in the financial stress I am now so I figured i’d talk about it.

anyways. i think this is long enough and i think anyone reading this gets the point, i’m drowning in debt, my small business is almost costing me more to run and i’m not making nearly enough profit to live, the past few months ive been living off grid (not by choice) and just focused literally on surviving and not freezing and getting water etc and not having service or internet has affected me negatively. there’s internet now in the suite I’m in, it works really good in the morning and not as well at night, like for example tumblr doesn’t work past 5 pm for me to post photos. but ive been in a bad sleep schedule since i got here that i need to change. im sick and i need to heal myself. tomorrow i’ll set my alarm for 7:30. hopefully i make some money today. i got a social media managing job and it will end up being $1000 a month once i do the 3+ hours a day of work which im already feeling like i barely have time for my own basic life tasks. but i can do this.

if anyone reading this wants to help me out a bit, my paypal email is [email protected] or http://www.paypal.com/paypalme/veganveins

and my e-transfer email is [email protected] i have auto deposit so you won’t have to ask a question :)

this is my first time in 7 years i’ve made a post like this or asked for help. i won’t do it again but figured i have nothing to lose. if you read up to here i love you a lot and thank you so much for being here <3

#personal #finances #broke #poor #vegan #small business owner #graves disease #saving animals #off grid #I wonder if anyone will even read this all #debt #life update lol #p

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rrandomtthings · 3 years ago

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Why i hate hawks and what i think about the heroes and villains :

Firstly I always thought of hawks to be really sus when i was watching bnha, and even before season 5 or when i started to read the manga this year. I didn’t trust that he was a good character and got really bad vibes from him. While everyone else liked him, I just couldn’t bring myself to see how. Sure he’s cool and I guess good looking to others. But I never understood why people could like him. Moving on. He’s a huge ahole. In season 5 , he really made me mad when he was treating tokoyami that way. Even though he ended up being a great teacher and helping him out, it still bugged me, idk but that’s my opinion. Now to the biggest reason I hate hawks, is what he had done twice. He had no reason . No reason to do that to him . Even though it was his job to betray the Lov, he really didn’t have to go down that path. Where was the good in killing twice? Making him think that they were friends, making him think that twice had another person to trust and someone else who understood . It's like hawks said right ? That he was only going to take him into custody, and help him change his ways . He said this right before he killed him off. And even more, what was the point at ALL for saving him from dabi’s fire???? What was the reason, if he was just going to kill him off himself . How is that being a hero ? Heroes are supposed to do anything to stop the villain, without causing deaths. There was no justice in killing twice, there was no justice in betraying the league, there was no justice in even giving the hero's information on the villains, because in the end, they just ended up having a huge war that they didn't even when, and let many heros die and villains get away, and everyone disagreeing with the heroes and having them against them. All i'm trying to say is , i don’t think hawks should be called a hero , and i hate him for what he has done, not only to twice, but also making things so much worse, gaining the trust of people who really believed him and then betrayed them, and for him getting justice for killing when isn't that a crime when the villains do it?

Speaking of heros. I don’t condone any of the villains for their crimes. But none of it would have happened if it wasn’t for society . The way I see it, it's the world's fault for how every villain turns out. No one is willing to help them. Listen to them. Understand their story . Villains, in my opinion, are understood people that lash out against the world, because the world turns their back on them. Just like what happened to Shigaraki when he was little. The old lady went up to him, gave him some type of hope that someone was there, got a good look at his appearance and she walked away and said “I'm sure the police or heroes will come soon” . Even the people on the street just gave him glances , not even bothering to see what's wrong.

“ After that, i left home and ran away . I had no idea what to do .” None of this would have happened if his family treated him better . “ What am i supposed to do now ?. Someone … Anyone… please tell me. Help me!”

“ But even so , in a society overflowing with heroes , I couldn't help but wonder if no one saving me was my punishment for killing my family “ . He even feels guilt for what happened, but he was put in a position where he had no choice, or that's what he was led to believe. That if he could take away the thing that led to his itchiness, he’ll finally be okay. He didn't know that it was a wrong thing, he was desperate to be finally okay, he didn't even know what to do , he didn't know what he was doing

“ If only he had done something , if only she had done something, I thought the itching went away but . If at that time, just one person had lent a helping hand … maybe all of the itchiness would have gone away.”

Why wasn't anyone there? Aren't heroes supposed to always be there, saving people, helping them, isn't society responsible for what happens around them since they are the ones who control how it can change and what happens to it from their actions? And then they wonder why things happen to them. Why not step into the villains shoes. Why can't the world just be kind , and right . But his itching went away, because just when he found himself all alone, surrounded by nothing but loneliness and getting hurt by the people around him, someone came to save him. And that person wasn't a hero, but a villain . Do you understand where I'm getting at? Of course shigaraki would grow up thinking that things that are illegal are okay, and why he turned out that way.

Fake heroes couldn't care less. They are in it for themselves , not giving a dang about anyone else. It's just for show. They just want to keep up appearances, show that they could never do wrong . But a true hero would keep fighting, and keep helping , making sure everyone was okay and preventing things from happening. He would fight for what's right. I dont think a true hero would let the villain get away of course, but they would look for the good in them and help them become a better person. Again, i do not condone the villains' actions. Because I do also believe that there are just some things that are purely evil and cannot be forgiven or even have an excuse for , but I'm saying, there are always two sides to a story. We just need someone who can look at both and make a change .Because maybe the heroes aren't really the people who should be getting praise in the story . In the end, sometimes the heroes are the hypocrites and the ones doing wrong. And we just need people to see that.

I don't know if I have a strong sense of justice, or think in grey, or maybe I'm just rambling. But I always felt strongly about these types of things. I am happy to share some more thoughts on bnha and some opinions and theories i have - 🔥❄️️

And anon!! You are super valid to have this opinion

I do understand where you’re coming from. I’m a very indecisive person. So when it comes to this situation I understand both sides. I understand why it was awful for Hawks to kill Twice, but I also understand why he had to do it. I generally agree with what you’re saying though and do understand where you’re coming from. But I also think it’s important to remember that Hawks did not want to kill Twice. It was 100% the worst case scenario — the scenario that had happened. It was an awful thing to do and you’re once again very valid to dislike him for this reason, totally understandable. I personally like Hawks bc,, he is the personification of what’s wrong with hero society. He was a child with a gifted quirk who was groomed to be what is perfect for societal standards — to be a good hero. He was stripped of everything from such a young age and to him,, this was normal. This shows how fucked up hero society is and how, being someone raised by the government, that has influenced his thinking. For example with the Twice situation and how he did not hesitate to hurt Twice

As for the villains, I 100% agree with you. They are a result of a failed hero society. Take Toga for example, she was completely trashed bc of her quirk. These people are pushed to villainy bc they literally have no where else to go. Where was Toga supposed to go after everyone treated her so horribly? Where was Dabi supposed to go after Endeavor? These people had no one. They are the result of a toxic mentality that revolves around quirks. The lesser or more “villainous” your quirk is, the further down you are in the chain. This was shown with Deku, but to a much lesser extent. Bc Deku was quirkless, he was treated like his quirk — he was treated like nothing. This is why I love villain!Deku AU’s so much bc,, it’s so interesting to think about where Deku would have gone if he had grown hatred for the people who treated him so horribly.

This reminds me of Ochakos question of “who saves the heroes” bc the answer is that the heroes save the heroes. They are the ones who are there for each other. This is why I want her to change her question to “who saves the villains” as she tries to save Toga,, bc who does save the villains? Bc it sure as hell isn’t the heroes

Also!! Pls feel free to come into my inbox at anytime!! I had a lot of fun analyzing and chatting about this <3

#🔥❄️#long post #answered #bnha manga spoilers

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soulwillower · 4 years ago

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narcissist • bill denbrough

(bill denbrough x reader)

(title taken by the song narcissist by no rome)

requested: hi i was wondering if you could do another fan-fiction of bill denbrough x reader and bill used to be friends with the reader until he became popular and started bulling the reader also the other losers are popular too so the reader has no other friends. when ever she comes home shes ussually crying or blaring music oh and her parents only care about there job then there daughter but you can do whatever you want from there

warning: swearing, mentions of shitty parents, mentions of bullying, lil angsty, fluffy ending, unedited and poorly written

[losers + reader are 16+ in this.]

hi i may come back and edit this bc i think its choppy, also the user that requested this deactivated their account sometime since i last talked to them :( i hope they’re okay <33 this is for them!

2.2k words

♡

it was one of those days that really should have been fantastic.

you woke up happy and not tired, you had the chance to actually make it to school on time and grab an apple on your way out the door, your parents even said good-bye to you as you left. and then today at lunch, you were eating on your own and you didn't quite feel as lonely - after that, nobody had come towards you and shoves your shoulder in the hall or knocked your books out of your grasp.

so yeah, it wasn't much but you take what you get, honestly.

and now you're walking home, headphones in your ears and drowning out the world around you as music blares at you from all sides, consuming your thoughts and creating a sense of security that you never found within the walls of your own home nor the halls of your school.

"y/l/n!" a voice barks, and you turn your head quickly, startled as you pull a headphone out of your ear. your stomach falls to your ass as you lock eyes with the only face you didn't want to see staring back at you.

bill denbrough.

he looks completely hazardous as he walks towards you, a teasing smirk on his lips. you already want to cry and he's not even opened his mouth yet - but you know when he does you'll loose the tiny shred of hope you had left for a good day, because he made your life a living hell.

well, you suppose it wasn't really just him, but he certainly didn't help whenever he would snicker at the words uttered by your peers, or the way his mouth seemed to tease you just as much as his eyes did.

and if your life was a silent film, bill had the means to force your world into an array of technicolor screams and and an endless, torturous laugh track that started with a joke at your expense and continued through your day until you ran into your indifferent parents as they stared at their laptop screens and barked work orders into their phones. everything you did, bill's domineering laugh haunted it.

and you know bill could take your silver screen tragedy and turn it into a major motion picture film starring you, the sad delinquent without a caring family and a disputably unappealing social life, and him - the star boy of the town, the dream boat, the handsome devil himself.

he could do that, but instead he just continues his ways, every day hurting your already smashed-out heart and stomping it into a messy pulp on the ground he floats upon.

although despite this, you know he wasn't ever really the one saying it. it doesn't matter, because he stands there and watches as you're berated and sometimes even cracks that brilliant smile of his at a real funny jest at your expense - and that was the most painful part of every day. because you used to be friends. you used to bring that same smile out all the time.

but in a much, much different way.

you and bill had a falling out so long ago that you barely remember what it was like to have him always by your side. all you can remember is feeling the complete opposite of how you now feel - you used to feel so powerful. but you'd gone and lashed out at bill after the stress of your absent parents, resulting in you doing some very terrible things that caused him to abandon you and find new friends.

"d-did you hear me?" he says with a lifted brow, staring down at you with a boldly irritated look. your throat feels dry and you shake your head, "leave me alone, bill." you squeak out, your legs starting to carry yourself faster down the sidewalk towards your neighborhood. but of course, there's that damn laugh again and his long legs carry him back to you effortlessly.

"i s-said, m-mrs. graham told me she lent you a copy of the s-scarlet letter. i need it."

you swivel your head to stare at him. "what." you say, completely unsure of the complete lack of animosity behind his words. is that why he's here? he needs something from you? you want to scream as you let your feet fall against the pavement, nearing closer and closer to your house.

"you r-really are a d-dumbass, aren't you? i said i n-need the book." he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. what's he doing, walking with you right now, asking to borrow a book? he's not your friend, as he reminds you every day, so why is he suddenly trying to act like it? "well i don't have it." you say honestly, "it's in my room. get it from one of your friends." you utter, mind flashing to the faces of the losers who, really, were absolutely not considered losers by a popularity standpoint.

the losers were the life of every party, they were the 'cream of the crop,' they were the most popular kids in school. and as much as you hated to admit it, they were the reason that you weren't friends with bill anymore. you and him were the best of friends when you were younger; your moms had been friends for a long time and when they both had kids the same age, it was like a match made in heaven. so for the first fourteen years of your life, you and bill were close to the point that you somehow fell for him along the way.

which is why it hit even harder when you went to high school and the losers started to pull bill away from you unintentionally. and even the losers didn't mean to do it. other people loved bill because of his charismatic, gently leading nature. they loved him because he was handsome and funny and caring.

and they hated you, so bill had to start conforming to that stereotype. and now, almost four years later, you still flinch when you catch a glimpse of the losers in the hallway or when you meet a certain pair of green eyes.

"n-none of my friends have it, y/n. that's wh-why i'm asking y-you." he insists and you swear you're about to scream or cry. maybe both.

in the end, he follows you to your house and you dig out the scarlet letter.

"fine, i gave it to you, will you leave me alone?" you mumble as you turn to meet bill, who hasn't moved a muscle since grabbing the book. bill huffs beside you, a strange and unexpected silence falling over you as the air changes in the room.

his eyes are swimming over your empty walls and you're suddenly embarrassed because you have no photos of you with friends to hand up. and he can see that. "you ch-changed your r-room." he says next, rocking on his heels.

you're so nervous about what he's going to say that you almost stutter like him. "y-yeah, of course i have since middle school." you reason, looking around and noticing all the ways it's changed since he and you were friends. now the walls are a new color, posters of your favorite bands hanging up, covering the spots where photos of you and bill and even georgie used to hang proudly. you aren't sure where those photos are anymore, but you know they're not here. it still hurts too much to look at them.

"why? i liked it b-before." he says, sounding honest. your heart drops and you look up at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“you’re joking.” you say, arms crossed. he glares at you, the animosity obvious in his green eyes. “you know why i changed it all.” “what, y/n? i don’t know what you want from me.” he snaps and you nearly scream at the irony of his statement. “you’re a narcissistic dick, you know.” you mutter, crossing your arms. and you believe it, which makes it even worse to realize that you still love him, despite that. you sigh, sitting on your bed and dropping your face into your hands.

slowly, the mattress dips beside you and a warm body slides next to you. you look at him out of the corner of your eye suspiciously.

“y/n.” he whispers, but this time his voice is soft and you’re just confused. he looks at you, eyes flickering downwards a few times and confusing you. until he’s leaning forward and his eyes are closing and... oh god -

you jerk your head away from him like he's a hot pan and he opens his eyes and stares at you. you want to fucking sob. "bill, are you kidding?" you whispering, noting how broken you sound to yourself.

your mouth continues before your brain can filter it. "come on. i can put up with the incessant teasing, the rude remarks, the dirty looks. whatever. but if you're going to try and make fun of me in this way..." you trail off, afraid that if you keep going you'll actually cry. he looks lost and nervous.

"can you just leave?" you whisper, avoiding his eyes and picking at the hem of your sleeve.

"y-y/n, but-" he starts but you let out a half sob, "no, bill, this is not funny. this is really fucked up." you say, the words slicing through the air like a sizzling knife.

"its n-not a j-joke." he says quietly, but he stands up and scratches his neck. your eyes snap up to watch him with an apprehensive feeling of hope blossoming in your chest. as he turns to leave, you catch his wrist. he looks at you, cheeks red and a defeated look across his features. "what did you say?" you ask quietly. he just looks at you, as if he doesn't want to say it again.

and you can’t believe he won't willingly say it - because he’s that ashamed.

"you've made my life hell, bill. you can't just act like everything's changed because you tried kiss me just so you could make fun of me." you say, tired of his shit, "you're a terrible person for what you've done, especially if you know that i still have feelings-" you try to cut off your frustrated ramblings but it happens too late and you sigh. "leave." you say simply, dropping his wrist.

he kneels down instead, though, so he can try and meet your downward tilted eyes. "p-please, y/n. i'm s-sorry. i don't want to h-hurt you any-more." he whispers, tears welling in his eyes. you look at him, shocked to hear him sound so vulnerable. you realize you aren't sure when the last time was you heard him sound so sincere.

"i kn-know you can't f-forgive me. i don’t d-deserve that. b-but maybe, one d-day, you'll s-see that i feel r-really awful. a-and i need to make a ch-change." he's saying these words and it's like your world is clicking by one still frame at a time and you realize fleetingly that he's done it - bill denbrough has finally turned your life into a major motion picture.

"so... that-what was-" you stammer and bill shakes his head, leaning closer and gently placing his hand on your jaw. you don't flinch this time.

"i w-wanted to kiss you for r-real, b-because... because i've w-wondered what it would f-feel like for y-years." he says, staring into your eyes. “so i’m s-sorry to put you in th-that situation. i-it’s just a crush, y-you don’t have to w-worry.”

your heart starts flipping as you stare at him, lips parted in shock. "what?" you ask, feeling dumb because no way is this happening.

no way is bill denbrough, the boy who learned just how to make your bad days just a little worse, confessing that he's wanted to kiss you for a while. and no way are you admitting to yourself the same thing.

“i l-like you, i think. i w-want to know you a-again. i hate not talking to you e-every day.” he says, staring into your eyes. you smile lightly, resolve breaking and he beams, happier than you’ve ever seen him.

so yeah, it was one of those days that really should have been fantastic. and as you sigh a shaky breath and lean forward, bill closes the gap with a soft press of his lips to yours and you suddenly dont care what the day should have been, because you have a feeling that what's happening is going to change the course of the rest of your life.

his lips are a presence against yours; a force that knocks the wind out of your chest as his hand caresses your cheek and lightly licks your bottom lip. you’re putty in his hands, and you both know it.

you just have to trust him.

as you pull away, though, you take one look at him and realize that yes, he will wait for you because this is bill, and he will show you how much he cares.

"c-can i stay? p-please." he asks, looking insecure and making you smile softly. "yeah, bill, of course you can."

he smiles fully, pulling you into his chest before rising up to flop on your bread, star fishing and tugging you to lay with him. you laugh slightly, heart pounding just as hard as his own

"we have homework, bill." you state, knowing the boy despite all that you'd been through. he grumbles, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder with red cheeks. your stomach flutters with nerves and butterflies.

#bill denbrough x reader #losers x reader #losers club x reader

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