#like. how the fuck do you physicalize the fear of darkness. or falling. they’re both concepts characterized by absence.

[m-aximumjoy]

Some interesting similarities between the forms of Falling Devil and Darkness Devil.

There’s the use of multiple bodies to create a singular form, the angular shapes, the mantis-leg-like appendages, the sheer height.

These two also share very strong hand motifs, which makes sense for both of them: when it’s dark, you have to feel your way around, usually with your hands; when you’re falling, you try to grab onto something with your hands.

I’m curious to see if the other Primals look anything like these two.

#chainsaw man #csm 123 #csm meta #darkness devil #falling devil #csm spoilers #csm manga spoilers #csm part 2 spoilers #csm 123 spoilers #there isn’t a particular Point to this post really but #I just enjoy the symbolism Fujimoto has in his designs #like. how the fuck do you physicalize the fear of darkness. or falling. they’re both concepts characterized by absence. #also the fact that darkness and falling are both metaphors for despair/depression #saying you’re in a dark place or your heart dropped/sank or that you’re in a deep dark hole #Fujimoto you’ve done it again!!! #body horror cw #oryginals #ACK forgot alt text sorry y’all I fixed it

[aro-geo-turtle]

OH MY GOD I HAD NO IDEA IT WAS DROPPING TODAY I THOUGHT IT WASNT COMING FOR ANOTHER WEEK AT LEAST

SCREW YOU SLEEP SCHEDULE ITS MALEVOLENT PART 41 TIME

Omg I’m so scared I’m so fucking scared

Arthur screaming at Kayne, what a beginning

Divorce time hehehe…ow

John baby 😭😭😭😭 all is forgiven on my front!!! I love you! Ahhhhhhh I think he’s finally airing out a bunch of stuff that’s been building up inside for a while. Owwwww

I wonder if projecting again is going to be as easy as they’re assuming it’s going to be. It was kinda a heat of battle thing. Either way, the physical toll on Arthur is a good cost to balance it out story wise

This is why John and Arthur work so well together, they fight but in the process they get all their feelings out there and communicated. They don’t let secrets and resentments fester without confronting them

And then they pack their shit up and work together, even when still angry. John’s voice when he tells Arthur that it’s ok 😭 because describing surroundings, looking for shelter and directing Arthur on how to get there is familiar territory, he knows how to do that and do it well so it’s all going to be ok now 😭

Jfbdjdb Arthur reaching for a light switch. Yeah this is going to take some adjustment

Aaaaand a monster already, yay! …wait a second. Jfbjdbdbfbdbdbb omg. An owl!! It’s the bathroom mirror all over again

John is finally able to openly talk about his time in the dark world 🥺

But also Arthur telling him he gets its a hard topic and he doesn’t have to when he’s not ready 🥺 and what we were all thinking, that he would have forgiven John for the deal

PET OWL PET OWL. Come on they deserve it! And I did not expect Arthur to be a huge owl nerd lol that’s so unexpected and wonderful

Welcome Alexander the Owl to the party! I’m so happy about this.

Spooky claustrophobic crack already, huh? Wonderful. S4 was a reprieve from the caves and it couldn’t possibly last any longer. And of course it looks like a mouth. Why not.

Ok writing down this broach description cause it’ll probably be important or metaphorical later: two gazelles, the baby escapes while the parent is eaten by a lion, angry snake in a tree in the background. Weird. A snake in a tree immediately makes me think garden of eden symbolism…

Please don’t enter the spooky crack guys.

No you’re going to fall off the ladder you guys fall down every hole and break every staircase/ladder you go on yep yep that’s exactly what I meant.

Omg letters. They’re going to find Oscar’s letter oh gosh I’m going to cry noooo Oscar’s letter was ruined????

They didn’t lose the gun for once??? Damn. And this is going to be far more advanced weapons tech than this era, this could be super helpful!

Wait Oscar’s letter??? It’s ok??? And they remember him???

Into the crack we go! Damn they’re both getting poetic now

These two spend far too much time in caves for a claustrophobe and a nyctophobe

Flesh! Wonderful! Is this thing actually a mouth?!??

Mmmmmmm ahhhhh what is happening????? This is very freaky! Oh no oh no was that an egg sac???? Ahhhh nope nope nope nope the sounds are not making this better! My only consolation is that it isn’t spiders, I was very scared about that for a sec!

Two paths is diverge in a yellow wood evil flesh cave…

John does seem to have gotten a lot better about his fear of the dark, I guess he’s just had to deal with it enough and been in enough situations where the darkness is actually helpful to get better.

Trapped in a cave with skeletons. Oh not only that, it’s a dungeon! Oh! Oh no! Can we help this guy???

Aaaand that’s where we leave off. Oof. Imma need to process this one. If I can stop laughing about Arthur being an owl nerd lol

#malevolent #malevolent liveblog #malevolent spoilers #malevolent part 41

[cartelheir]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 .

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟷    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

NAME  :    patricia carosella. EYE COLOR  :    dark brown. HAIR STYLE  /  COLOR  :    brown,  waist-length.   it’s often styled into soft,  voluminous curls,  but her natural hair texture has much tighter curls. HEIGHT  :    5'2″ / 157cm. CLOTHING STYLE  :    fancy.   she loves elegant clothing and expensive fabrics,  often with pops of bold patterns of colors.   she also highly prefers her clothes to be tailored to her frame.   think designer dresses,  high heels,  fur coats;  and,  of course,  lots of jewelry always. BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE  :    she’s a 10/10 nobody can deny that.   but i would say her best features are her lips and the beauty marks on her face.   also her boobs.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟸    :    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄.

FEARS  :    helplessness,  being at someone’s mercy.   abandonment.   she’s also been scared of dogs since she was attacked by one as a child. GUILTY PLEASURE  :     junk food,  trashy reality tv. BIGGEST PET PEEVE  :    passive aggressiveness,  being interrupted / talked over,  being given the silent treatment,  people who walk their dogs without a leash or get mad when she’s scared of their dogs  ( specially if it’s a large dog ),  work meetings about things that could’ve easily been solved through an email or a phone call. AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE  :    killing the person who’s hurt her the most.   she would love to get away with it unharmed and become a cartel boss afterwards,  but revenge is her priority.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟹    :    𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒.

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP  :    "who the fuck is calling me at 4am”.   otherwise,  probably work. THEY THINK ABOUT MOST  :    work.   benjamín.   lately she thinks about the past a lot,  even when she tries not to. WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED  :    work again lmao. WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS  :    honestly?   her looks.   there are days pat struggles to see much good in herself except for that.   but if she had to pick her best personality trait,  it would be her boldness.   she’s not afraid of saying and doing what she wants.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟺    :    𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒    𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES  :    she thinks group dates feel more like hanging out with friends than an actual date.   she prefers single ones because they’re more intimate and romantic,  but also because she likes undivided attention. TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED  :    respected. BEAUTY OR BRAINS  :    both.   pat gravitates a lot towards successful and powerful people,  and you can’t really get to that level if you’re not smart,  so it just kinda goes hand in hand.   but the truth is she won’t look at someone twice if she doesn’t think they’re attractive. DOGS OR CATS  :     as mentioned above she’s scared of dogs.   cats all the way.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟻    :    𝐃𝐎    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘…

LIE  :    if she has to lie to get what she wants,  yes.   she also tends to lie about her abusive relationship when questioned about it,  like making up stories about the sources of bruises. BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES  :    almost too much.   she thinks she’s invincible sometimes. BELIEVE IN LOVE  :    most of the time,  not really.   but when she does fall in love,  she falls hard,  and tries really hard to make it work.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟼    :    𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘    𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑…

BEEN ON STAGE  :    yes,  she used to sing in church choir as a child. CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN  :    no.   pat’s unapologetic about who she is,  and doesn’t care about not being liked.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟽    :    𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒.

FAVORITE COLOR  :     definitely red.   she loves gold too. FAVORITE ANIMAL  :     cats and tigers  ( which to her are just cats,  but larger ). FAVORITE BOOK  :     pedro páramo. FAVORITE GAME  :    chess and blackjack.

𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁  𝟶𝟶𝟾    :    𝐀𝐆𝐄.

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE  :    april 15th.   y’all better be thinking of a gift. HOW OLD WILL THEY BE  :    technically 29,  but i don’t usually age her up i just have her turn the same age over and over again.

TAGGED BY:  stolen from @bornfornothin thank u TAGGING:  @newyorksrose,  @dadukos,  @parieur,  @exspiritment,  @mdellin,  @justicism,  @afraidofchange​  if you guys want to!!

[lexienootfound]

i bet you think about me - jegulus

𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: based off i bet you think about me music video by taylor swift.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: mention of self harm at the end if you squint.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: the three featured poems are not written by me. first poem: vulnerability by a.j. on pinterest second poem: vows by s.c. on pinterest third poem: the boy i love left me for a revolution by e.h. on pinterest

JAMES IS DIZZY, his hands clammy and the collar of the suit he's wearing seems to suffocate him no matter how many times he pulls at it.

Everyone around him seems to be unaware of the rock in his stomach, sinking and sinking till he fears he can no longer hold it. Perhaps he's a better liar than he thought because not a single person questioned his fake smiles and his rigid, tense stature.

He's getting married to the most beautiful woman he's ever met. He should be the happiest man in the room so does it feel like he's marching to his death with his hands tied behind his back? Why did he want to run and never look back? Why does he want to curl into a ball and cry?

In a few minutes time, he will be making vows and in doing so, breaking the ones he's made before. Ones whispered in a blanket of darkness with heavy breaths of desperation.

"It's almost time. Are you ready?" His best friend says and James made the mistake of meeting his eyes. They're grey, stormy like the sky before a hurricane, wanderlust and bright. They're his eyes, except that there's a certain kind of vulnerability in his; lost, confused, terrified. James had spent nights after nights trying to erase it all away.

In his dark childhood room, James Potter had worshipped Regulus Black. He had made a cathedral out of his body and for a foolish, naive moment, James had believed his mouth was the antidote that would cure the broken boy he had foolishly fell for.

But like everything beautiful and rebellious, like fallen angels who had turned their backs on God, they had fallen and crashed and burned, the wreck they left before them setting their hearts aflame. Two boys who knew war and heartache so well should have known better than to play with flames.

He tears his gaze away from Sirius' eyes, forcing a smile to reach his lips. "I am."

It was a never ending cycle. Everyday, James would attempt to forget, to numb his burnt heart and silence his aching soul. He would go about his day, his friends by his side, his girlfriend holding his hand and he would try to forget how he wished it's someone else's hand he's holding, he wishes it was pale and long and slender. Hands that had touched him in places no one else has, hands that traced his skin and memorized every dip and bump.

And sometimes, he succeeds. Sometimes, he doesn't look at the other end of the room where he stands. Sometimes, James numbs himself just enough that the physical ache of not being able to hold him disappears for few glorious hours that he doesn't feel like a traitor when Lily touches him.

Then the night falls and he's laying on his bed and wave crashes in like a fucking tornado determined to destroy everything in its path. His skin feels dirty, not his own and he feels empty, void and dull of everything that made him the James Potter everyone knows. He had read somewhere that the body regenerates every seven years and he lays there fearing the day where his skin was never touched by his lover.

THE FIRST TIME they touched, they had both been so cautious, like children trying something new and big and scary for the first time. Their eyes are curious and full of wonder despite the fear. They knew what they were doing was dangerous. They knew the consequences of being caught and yet they continued like eager schoolboys. They held each other that night. They kissed, hands under each other's shirts, but nothing more.

They basked in each other's presence and god, Regulus was cold. His skin felt like snow against his own, but his words more so.

"You're going to break my heart," he had whispered against James' neck, voice low and thick. "And I'm going to let you. Isn't that terrifying?"

James couldn't even deny it. They would break each other's hearts. When morning comes, they could not be. It's like some sick sort of fairytale. They are stealing borrowed time and one day, they will pay the price.

"And I will break my own along the way."

James woke up the next morning alone and he would have thought it were all but a dream if it weren't for Regulus' scent clinging to his pillow, if it weren't for the dirt of his shoes against his carpeted floor. In the space where his lover should be is a note, written in a perfect penmanship that flowed through the paper.

I am afraid of you. In loving me, you hold a knife to my throat. In loving you, I tell you exactly where to cut. We are two against the world, yet I still do not trust your hand in mine. This is new, and I am terrified.

THE CROWD STOOD as James walked down the altar. He can see his mother crying, his father holding her tightly. He can see his friends, his people, ones he grew up with. They looked at him with smiles on their faces as if they knew he's doing the right thing. How can they know when he doesn't?

And then his eyes caught his. He stood by the corner, dark hair falling to his face. He watched with such anguish that almost made James stop in his tracks. Lily had invited him, thinking the summer they spent together warranted them friends. If only she knew.

James never thought he would come. He hoped he had more self preservation than that, but he really should have known better. Regulus is a masochist, believing himself worthy of the pain and suffering he receives and so he welcomes them all with open arms, always silent as the tears fall.

Regulus' hand clenched, as if they would reach for him any moment and James wonders what he'd do if he does. He knew what he'd do. He'd take them. He'd turn his back on his family, his friends, his fiance. He'd reach for him, he'd crawl to him. Regulus could take him apart, break him and destroy his life and James would plead on his knees.

But Regulus did not reach for him. Instead, he buries his hands in his pockets and lets his head falls, tearing their eye contact and suddenly the orchestra felt like a death march and everyone's eyes on him was heavy to carry and he wondered if his legs will give up on him and he'd crash but he reaches the front of the altar too soon and before he knew it, Sirius is patting him on the should as a new song is being played.

But his eyes turn back to his lover and he pleads, he pleads as silently as he could. Take me away. Please. Fight for us. Please. Don't let them do this to us. Please. I love you. I love you. I love you. And I think I'll spend the rest of my life loving you.

But Regulus just looks. His lips shut and his eyes glassy. He watches and James wishes he'd stop. If they could not leave together, then he hoped Regulus would leave now. He hoped the man he loves would turn back and not let himself witness the breaking of his own heart. If he could not save him then he hoped Regulus would save himself.

THE FIRST NIGHT they made love, James could have swore he had just signed his own death certificate. Gods be damned, heaven be damned. He would burn a thousand times over for this. If he was made for hell then let it be hell. He will accept damnation for this.

He never knew stars had flavor till Regulus kissed him. It turns out, they taste like ambition and ancient fire, desperation and self destruction, determination and dark matter, and the mind numbing fear of losing it all. He had never tasted passion like this, love like this.

Pain like this.

It started as a gentle summer breeze, a brush of fingertips against bare skin, a slight shiver in their absence. Then it strengthens, shaking the trees and James pushes his lips against Regulus' with fast matching heartbeats to guide them in the dark.

Then the weak trunk begins to bend and they do too. No longer in control, James' hands find his torso and Regulus' finds his hair. The flowers uproot as they desperately try to get closer, but never close enough.

Eventually, the weather calms. Foreheads against each other as James softly brushes Regulus' hair out of his face. The younger boy buries his head against the older's shoulder as they embrace.

"After I spent what felt like eternity drowning," Regulus whispers, voice breathy. "You taught me how to breathe."

Because they knew. They knew that if they played too much with the unstable flame, it could burn out.

But it's so hard to stay away.

I will love you as Patroclus loved Achilles. With blood under my fingernails and venom on my lips. I will hold you as if you are the world. Not even death could do us part.

LILY LOOKED ETHEREAL as she walked down the aisle, the train of her white gown following behind her like liquid clouds, and he wished his heart would beat out of his chest and his soul would roar as the most beautiful woman walked towards him, fully ready to spend the rest of their lives together.

But he wishes for a lot of things. Every step Lily took felt like another burden added to his shoulders.

After the summer, after Regulus' last note, James had spent weeks trying to chase that feeling. He drank and did cigarettes and drugs. He flew on his broom as fast as he could, drove a car way past the speed limit. He kissed Lily, kissed her skin and touched her as he would touch Regulus. He tried everything, desperate to make his heart beat the way it did during the summer they spent together.

None of it worked. He wonders how anyone can explain the physical pain in his chest when all he wants is to be with the one he loves. What would be a bigger tragedy? That he can't have Regulus? Or that one hundred years from now, no one would know how desperate he had been to be able to keep him?

Would his children find out? Would he tell them about the broken boy who captivated his soul and shattered his heart? Would he explain to them how he had been willing to fight, willing to turn his back on everyone?

"If love is war, I am your soldier." He had said it to Regulus before. He had said it as a joke, trying to hide the desperate truth behind broken humor, but they knew. They both knew he had meant it. He would have fought. He would have fought every god that stood in their way. He would have gone through heaven and hell, to the moon and saturn. He would have fucking set stars aflame for them. He would have fought even if Regulus refused to lift a finger.

But he had fallen for a man who wore blood so gently. One whose purpose was to give light in the dark, to shatter when needed. They say the biggest stars burn brightly and die quickly. James was the sun, but Regulus was a supernova, the biggest explosion anyone had ever seen.

James' eyes don't leave Regulus as Lily comes closer. If only for the last time, if only for the hopelessness of it all, he pleads again. Say the word and I will crawl to you. Say the word. Say the word. Say the word.

But Regulus remains quiet.

THE DAY THEY said goodbye, James finally figured out the exact shade of Regulus' eyes. It's the calm sea shot from miles away like the ones in postcards someone sends you when they love you but not enough to stay.

Regulus loved him. James knew this. He knew it as he knew the sun would rise everyday. But he also knew from the start that it was not enough.

Regulus stood before him, the farthest they had been since the summer started. He looked the same. Same grey eyes, same black hair, same lanky frame. But a different mark brands his skin, not like the ones they give each other during the night. This one came with the terrifying truth. They cannot hide under their covers anymore. There's no running from reality.

"You must have known it would end sooner or later." His voice is thick with emotions, strangled as if he genuinely believed that he deserves the branding on his skin.

James remembers the first night. Regulus had claimed James would break his heart and James had fully accepted the role, believing himself to be the catalyst of their relationship. But it had been Regulus. He had been the first to give up.

"I would have fought," he says, his hands shaking as he stopped them from reaching for his lover. "I would have fought for you."

Regulus smiled sadly. "I know."

"Then let me."

"We were destined to end from the start, my love." Regulus shook his head, as if he couldn't quite believe what James was asking.

James' tears fell now. "I thought we had more time."

"Me too."

James finally took a step toward him, hating the way his touch seemed to burn Regulus, but nevertheless, he didn't pull back. He let their foreheads rest against each other. "I will spend the rest of my life loving you."

Regulus smiled. "And you will be the last thing on my mind as I take my final breath."

i think you will set yourself afire before you realize that even you cannot conquer the sun.

rebellion sits well on you; like a red coat Or the gilt gold burnish of youth.

i do not believe we shall ever see how old age looks on you.

you are breaking my heart.

A MONTH AFTER the wedding, James received a letter. Lily is just getting started on breakfast, their friends meant to arrive in a few hours time.

But the penmanship on the package makes him stop dead in his tracks. He didn't rip the paper as he does the other letters. He opens it carefully, taking his time. If this is the last he'd have of Regulus then he will take it to his grave.

Inside is a lone letter and he slowly unfolds it, terrified it would rip and he'd have nothing but memories of the summer they spent together.

I was so undeserving. And yet, you were so relentless. I pushed ─ you pulled. I wept ─ you embraced. I bled ─ you repaired. I faltered ─ you shushed. I stopped ─ you smiled. I was a disaster ─ the worst of its kind. And yet, you still had the audacity to let me know that I was beautiful.

This is it. I say goodbye to you now, my love. And like I promised, you are the last thing on my mind as I embrace death. I'm sorry you came into my life at a bad time when I truly hated who I was and what I had become. I was broken, damaged, and fading. You fought to save me but there's no more saving that can be done.

I love you. I hope you live a happy life. I truly hope so, even if it's not with me. And I know once upon a time, you loved me too even if you no longer do and that's enough.

I promise you, you will be my last breath. As I die, it will be you in my mind.

Love, RAB

James laughed at first, taking it all as a stupid joke, because surely, it can't be real. He can't be gone. James had spent months loving him, missing him, wanting him. He had gotten used to the ache knowing that he's out there somewhere.

But this was a different type of pain. First, he felt his lungs gasping for air, hot tears streaming down his cheeks in streams. His chest feels tight like it was physically restricting him, like his body was giving up, He couldn't breathe. It felt as if someone had ripped out a piece of his heart, cut off the oxygen and made him live.

An uncontrollable scream broke out of him, one that reached the heavens. It rings with a question. Why? Directed to god even though James no longer believed in him. If there was a god, then how could he let this happen? If there was a god then he must be the cruellest man there is. How could he give James a love that caused cosmic warfares in his soul and ripped it away? What did he ever do to deserve it?

He didn't know how long he sat there clutching that parchment, the last of his lover's remains. He didn't know if it had been Lily who had pulled him up and ripped the last of his lover's memento from his hands. Either way, none of it mattered.

James had died and been brought back to life and now he wanted nothing more than to cut his wrist open than live.

The story ended in death.

#james potter #jegulus #starchaser #jily #marauders #harry potter #sirius black #angst #fluff #smut

[sunflowersupremes]

Back on my “Feanorians and their Eldritch Horror Oath” bullshit.

Okay so they willingly swore the Oath, which is NOT GOOD and certainly something they shouldn’t have done, but they probably didn’t fully understand what sort of darkness they were invoking or how it may or may not control them. In fact, maybe no one - even the Valar - realize how dangerous the Oath would be. Remember, originally JRRT envisioned the Oath as being much more of a living, breathing force.

So they do bad things because of it. Does it physically force them to do bad things like a marionette? Or do they do bad things out of fear of what it will do to them if they don’t obey? It whispers into their minds, ‘attack, attack, attack’ and they do.

So here’s Maedhros and Maglor at the end of the First Age, half mad, ‘sick and weary’ at heart, the only survivors of the once great house of Fëanor. Maybe they don’t even know how much they’re in control anymore, they sit up at night debating ‘are we evil or is it our Oath forcing us to be this way?’ (They both strike me as the sort to say ‘I’m evil, but you’re being controlled, because you’re my brother, and I love you, and I don’t think you’re capable of this’). In the end, I’m not sure they themselves know what they’re capable of anymore, or even recognize themselves as the same people who swore the Oath.

So here they are, mostly mad and falling apart, and they go to Eönwë, to say ‘just give us the Jewels and let this be over’ because they don’t want to be evil, they’re tired and they’ve lost everything, and they just want to make sure that their father and brothers can remain safely in Mandos instead of being cursed to the Everlasting Darkness. They don’t want to commit evil anymore, even with the Oath telling them to do it.

And Eönwë, an Ainu, someone who is supposed to protect and guide the Children of Illuvatar, says ‘no.’

I mean fuck. How are they supposed to have any faith in him or the Valar anymore after that? Of course they don’t trust the Valar to return the gems to them at that point, and they don’t trust the Valar not to cart them off to the eternal darkness.

Is killing the camp guards evil? Yes.

Is it understandable? Yes.

But I guess another question, is ‘why did the Valar get to change the rules?’ Why did the Valar get to decide ‘no, the laws of inheritance don’t apply when we say they don’t, therefore the Silmarils belong to us now. It’s too bad your souls may or may not depend on having them.’

If you’re Maedhros and Maglor, why should you trust the Valar to end the Oath after that?

#feanorians #jrrt #jrr tolkien #oath of feanor #silmarillion #Maedhros #maglor #eonwe #Eönwë #my post #meta

[pardy-dardy]

some thoughts on spamton

// SPOILERS FOR DELTARUNE CHP. 2, DUH

TLDR: Spamton scares the shit out of Kris not because he’s freaky and glitchy and plays off some classic uncanny-type tropes, but because he very closely represents how Kris feels about their own life. Watching Spamton try and fail (and go nuts in the process) to cut his strings is like watching a tragedy, starring you, where the ending realizes your very worst nightmare.

Kris doesn’t feel great about themselves or their future, and if you happened to read my last post about this beautiful thing Toby Fox has created, you’d know what I think on that matter. To give a little summary-- Kris played second-fiddle to their brother their whole life, they’ve grown up physically (they’re human in a town full of monsters) and socially estranged from their community, and thusly, they’ve turned into a bitter, isolated, awkward preteen.

That kind of living situation, even in the face of a loving mother and a generally jovial community to be around, can twist your outlook on life pretty hard. It shouldn’t be a stretch to assume that Kris would feel like they’ve never been the one in control. They’re Toriel’s Kid, and they come to school every day with their mom. They’re Asriel’s Sibling, and they go everywhere with him, the poor thing.

And I think, personally, that we’ve come to inhabit Kris at one of the apexes of that feeling. We, as the Player, quite literally are able to take hold of Kris while they’re in a Dark World (aka a World of their own creation, fueled by their own imagination + others’ influence, alongside environmental bits and bobs). As soon as Kris believes they’ve got a good thing going in the creation of the Dark Worlds, it’s choked by the realization that though they can provide the options, they’re not the ones choosing the outcome in the end while they’re in there.

Rough shit doesn’t begin to describe it. All their life, they’ve gone by feeling like they’ve gotta cling to what’s good (Asriel). That person goes off to school, Kris is left with nothing. But then, they find a way out through the Dark Fountains. Everything is cool, even if their first encounter with it is with the class bully-- and all of a sudden, they realize that it’s not really them. By letting us into the Dark Worlds, Kris has given not themselves, but US, freedom. And that fucking stings. It stings so bad that they’re willing to rip us out every time they want to do something alone, something without our guidance. It’s why we hear about them acting out, even before we’ve inhabited them. They want attention, and by proxy, control. It matters less how they get it than the fact that they’re getting it at all.

You see where I’m going with this? Spamton is literally a puppet. From day one, he realized that he was never truly in control. But he wanted that control. He wanted to be a Player, not an NPC. And thus, he had to rely on outside help to get [[ Big ]]. When the outside help left high and dry, both his mental state and his bank account sank like a stone in a lake. He starts living in the garbage, rotting away with every waking moment he spends there. Then, he just so happens to come across the motherfucking creator of the world, and he seizes his opportunity the only way he knows how. He’s going to convince Kris to help him get [[ Big ]], so that he can truly see what it’s like to Play, and not be Played. And even with all the power he could want short of US, he’s still bound by his strings. When Kris cuts them (whether out of mercy or self-defense is a great question), he falls flat on his back, entirely unable to function without his puppet master keeping him up. The only option he has left, in the end, is to tag along with Kris on their journey to get [[ Big ]]. Again, just being a piece in someone else’s game.

Think about it this way-- imagine your worst fears. Now imagine someone else living through it, in front of you, on a theatre stage. They lay it all bare for you to see, even going so far as to parallel some of your own life experiences. You want the best for this character, but in the end, even though they grow strong and powerful (at the cost of their friends and sanity), the play you’re watching turns out to be a tragedy. You see the character you relate with most trying YOUR solution to YOUR OWN issues ending up flat on his back, dead to the world without his strings.

    Spamton is Kris’ cracked mirror, their worst case-scenario personified. It’s why after the Pacifist Spamton NEO fight, Kris freaks the fuck out completely independent of our choices. They have just watched themselves fail catastrophically, only realizing in said failure that they are nothing without that which binds them.

    And you know what? I can’t help but wonder whether Kris would’ve let Spamton take us if we didn’t intervene. We’ve been a help at best, but an existential nuisance at worst for them. I don’t think it’d be a stretch to say that Kris would’ve considered just getting rid of us, hoping that without our involvement, our “strings”, they can go back to living the way they were (no matter how shitty that way was).

        God. See, Jevil wasn’t like this. That guy just got Jokerified through realizing that his world is but a figment of someone else’s imagination, a game. He realized that the only way to exist is to play, and if he’s going to play, he’s going to have a damn fun time playing it. Perhaps he mirrors some ideas Kris might have about the world itself, but I think that Jevil’s purpose is to let Kris know that things aren’t quite what they seem.

    Spamton, on the other hand. Whooooo baby, Spamton is fucking terrifying. 

If in creating the Dark World, Kris thusly created Spamton? Holy shit, that means that there’s aspects of this whole “life creation” thing that the angsty preteen still doesn’t fully grasp, and that their deepest fears are beginning to physically manifest. 

If folks like Spamton and Jevil aren’t being created by Kris (in the form that they are in), but rather being manipulated post-creation by an outside force? Holy shit, that means something even outside OUR jurisdiction is trying to fuck with the psyche of an angsty preteen. 

Pulling back a little before the end, god, I just have to praise Toby Fox again on his writing. It’s so goddam impressive how he structures his narrative leads and themes. If you were just playing thru the story normally, you’d pass by the Spamton stuff and think to yourself “oh wow that was weird haha what a funny guy”. But that fucking dog does such a good job of allowing you to peek behind the outer curtain, get a glimpse of the flesh mass underneath, then tell you where you can find more of it, that he’s one of the only storytellers to this goddamn day that I think I truly get envious of sometimes.

I thought I was out, man. It had been a month or so since my last post. I thought I had gotten it all out. But here I am again, thinking about that dirty, grimy, ad-flinging tragedy of a salesman. Writing it out in a goddamn essay like I’m back in undergrad. 

I want to shake your hand and give you a kiss and punch your teeth down your throat you fucking dog, let me pay you for the best piece of media I’ve consumed in just about ever. I am running out of room in my dresser for skeleton merchandise just please god take my money i just want the gaming experience you have to offer

#deltarune #undertale #kris #spamton #spamton neo #jevil #i wish i could talk to toby fox for just like two seconds about narrative please god please i just want to LEARN

[willowcrowned]

Star Wars Time Travel AU - Flavor: Anakin and Obi-Wan, from ROTJ to TPM

I asked, you guys answered. Here it is: Obi-Wan and Anakin get sent back to TPM after ROTJ, and proceed to confuse everyone. In everyone’s defense, Anakin and Obi-Wan have a lot of confusing trauma.

The thing about being dead is that it’s not quite as restful as everyone made it out to be. 

Oh, Obi-Wan is sure that if he’d done the irresponsible thing and ignored Qui-Gon and passed properly into the netherworlds of the Force instead of following his bloody Path of the Whills, he would be perfectly happy floating along as part of the larger universe. And alright, he doesn’t regret doing it because Luke desperately needed the help, what with Yoda’s isolation having made him only more reticent, but it’s still annoying. Because even though he watched Anakin toss Sidious down a reactor shaft and die peacefully in his sons arms before moving on, the next phase of existence looks a whole lot like the Healer’s Ward at the Jedi temple forty years ago, and he’s being stared at by one very alive-looking Mace Windu.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan says, because being dead is no excuse for being impolite. “Whose idea was it to decorate like this? I find it rather gauche.”

One also very alive looking Vokara Che sends him a warning look. “Large windows and pale colors are beneficial to the health of patients.”

“Oh, I think we’re rather past the need for worrying about our health,” Obi-Wan jokes.

Vokara just gives him a confused and suspicious look. “Are you alright, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan feels hysterical laughter bubble up inside him. He’s dead. He watched the Jedi fall, felt their deaths like they were his own and heard the Force crying out at the pain and wrongness of it all; he disfigured— attempted to kill— one of the few people he had ever loved, fully and unconditionally, and felt the attempt rend him further apart in the process, and then he watched as that person twisted themself into a horrible facsimile of what they once were; he hid for twenty years on a desert planet while slowly detaching himself from his physical body so he could train and advise a child on whom he pinned nearly all his hopes; he was killed by Vader, and then watched Luke save him— save the man Obi-Wan couldn’t— and saw Vader kill Sidious, and then die. And now— now— he has finally passed on, expecting rest and peace, only to wake up in the healer’s ward of a temple that was destroyed.

Obi-Wan laughs, sharp and harsh and slightly deranged. “No,” he says, “I am not.”

“Yeah,” says a voice from next to him, “I get that.”

Obi-Wan turns to see Anakin— wait, no. Obi-Wan turns to see an unharmed Anakin— well, not quite. Obi-Wan turns to see Anakin, alive, unharmed, whole... and all of nine years old.  

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks, surprised. He’d assumed that this odd make-believe healer’s ward was a result of the Path of the Whills— a journey that Anakin had decidedly not undertaken.

“Yep,” Anakin says crossing his arms. “So, this is what being dead is like? I’d assumed it would be less, uh,” he searches for the word, “medical.”

“It could be a construct,” Obi-Wan suggests, “while our consciousnesses slowly dissipate— a waystation of sorts. Of course,” he frowns, “that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Excuse me,” Mace Windu says, very on-edge, “but what exactly are you two talking about?”

“Ugh,” Anakin complains, lying back, “why is he here?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, acerbic, “I wonder why he could be here, what with that fall you gave him.”

Anakin flushes, embarrassed. “Fair point.”

“So,” Obi-Wan turns to Mace Windu, “where are we exactly?”

Windu raises an extremely suspect eyebrow. “You’re in the Healer’s Ward at the Jedi temple on Coruscant.”

“Well, yes,” Obi-Wan says, a touch exasperated, “but where are we?”

Windu frowns at him.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says, “I don’t think he knows what you mean.”

Windu casts an evaluating glance at Anakin. “No, I don’t.”

Obi-Wan gives him a curious look before turning back to Anakin. “Perhaps he’s part of the construct.” He pauses. “Speaking of, why have you chosen to look like that?”

“Like what?” Anakin blinks confused.

“Like—” Obi-Wan huffs. “Does anyone have a mirror?”

“There’s one in the fresher,” Vokara Che says.

Anakin hops out of bed, and after a moment, Obi-Wan follows him to the fresher.

“Oh sweet stars and suns,” Anakin breathes, looking at his ten year old face. “I really used to look like this?”

Obi-Wan looks in the mirror as well, shocked to find that he looks as he did when he was twenty, padawan braid and all. “You know, I’m actually very glad that I’m never going to have to try to unpack the psychological implications of this,” he remarks.

Anakin snorts. “Yeah, why’d you choose to look like that?”

“I... didn’t,” Obi-Wan realizes. Before, he’d been able to change his appearance to living beings. He hadn’t for Luke, partially because Luke probably wouldn’t have taken very well to a thirty year old Obi-Wan, and partially because there wasn’t a point, given that Force ghosts didn’t get creaky knees.  

“Weird,” Anakin says.

They head out of the fresher to see that Vokara Che and Mace Windu are looking at them as if they’ve grown second heads.

“So let me unpack this,” Windu says, “you both think you’re dead.”

Anakin and Obi-Wan look at each other.

“We have reason to believe so, yes,” Obi-Wan replies, amused. “Are you going to try to convince us that we’re not?”

Windu raises one very unimpressed eyebrow. “I would think that even a padawan would be able to look into the Force to see that they’re not dead.”

Obi-Wan looks at Anakin, who shrugs. It seems that neither of them have allowed themselves to be very connected to the Force. It must be a force of habit— Obi-Wan had been careful on Tatooine to never let too much of the outside filter in, for fear of Vader finding him, and for fear that the dark currents in the Force would sweep him away. Perhaps Vader had done a similar thing.

“Shall we?” Obi-Wan suggests to Anakin. At this point, it’s likely that this is the construct telling them both that they need to connect to the Force to finally relinquish their consciousnesses.

Anakin shrugs. “Can’t make things worse, right?”

Obi-Wan snorts. “On three?”

Anakin nods.  

“One, two, three.”

Obi-Wan drops his outer shielding, letting the Force filter through.  

What he feels isn’t the ethereal, ineffable currents of the Force, calling him to drift among them as they had during his time as a Force ghost. What he feels is thousands of bright lights, sparks where there should be void, and a darkness that has surrounded everything but not yet consumed it.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan breathes. “Anakin, I’m not sure we’re dead.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything back, and Obi-Wan turns to see him crying.

“They’re alive,” Anakin whispers, tears rolling down his cheeks, face frozen in wonder and horror and guilt. “They’re all alive.”

Obi-Wan can feel them— every single one— and a lump rises in his throat. “It’s—” he starts, but he can’t finish the sentence. “We—”

Anakin nods, face still frozen. “How?”

“I—” Obi-Wan shakes his head, “I don’t know.”

“We were— you were—”

“I know.”

“And now they’re—” Anakin takes a deep breath, small body shuddering, and Obi-Wan instinctively gathers him up in his arms, holding him close.

“It’s impossible,” Obi-Wan says. “You were dead. I was dead. I felt it.”

“Luke,” Anakin chokes, “We—”

“We’re alive,” Obi-Wan says hoarsely. “The Jedi are alive— none of it has to happen.”

“Mustafar,” Anakin adds, hoarse. “Padmé.”

“The Death Star. Alderaan.” Obi-Wan says in a dark undertone. Then, louder, “I will be very cross if I get chopped in half again.”

Anakin frowns at him, momentarily distracted. “The blow didn’t hit. I should know. You have nothing to complain about.”

“I have nothing to complain about?” Obi-Wan replies, indignant. “I was on Tatooine for twenty years!”

“You cut off my arms and legs!” Anakin shouts.

Obi-Wan huffs. “Only three!”

“I was stuck in a stupid life-support suit for twenty! Fucking! Years!” Anakin retorts. “Do you know how much that sucked? I couldn’t eat real food! I fucking suffocated just because I took off my helmet to see my son in my last breaths!”

“You killed me!” Obi-Wan shouts indignantly.  

There’s a cough from beside him, and a silence as Vokara Che, Mace Windu, and several very nosy padawans stare at him.

Obi-Wan looks at them, slightly embarrassed by his outburst. “I got better.”

Anakin looks at Obi-Wan, the rage in his eyes not Vader’s, but Anakin’s, and then slowly, slowly, it dissipates.

Anakin snorts. “Fuck, we made a mess of things.”

A small, sad, smile creeps on to Obi-Wan's face. “We really did.” He sighs. “I suppose we’ll have to fix everything.”

Anakin shrugs. “Well, Sith Lords are our specialty.” He sighs. “And then I’m retiring on Naboo and learning to fish.”

#i know at first glance this looks like a very normal AU #but keep an eye out for the next post #which is about what happens AFTER they get rid of sidious #it devolves into my usual brand of nonsense VERY quickly #obi-wan and anakin ignore their trauma by quipping (as usual) #don't worry i'm sure they start going to therapy off screen #sugar baby ben au #star wars #willow's aus #star wars au #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker

[blackenedwhite97]

Coming Out [Poly! Erasermic x {Fem}Reader]

Hello! this was a requested fic from like before Christmas. I'M A MESS I KNOW I'M SORRY! I’ll be catching up at some point, I'm in my final sem at uni and have MAJOR senioritis. Me no do unless me have to. Instead, now I just spend my time staring at the existential abyss the threatens to swallow my ceiling and think about everything I'm procrastinating. But I digress...

Content Warning: This story is of a negative experience coming out as poly to your family, this deals with rejection from the reader's mother, father, and a grandparent. This story demonstrates Homophobia, xenophobia, traditionalist and conservative values and attitudes and may be triggering to some folks.

This story includes a Polyamorous relationship

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

Word Count: 3.7 K (A baby story)

Y/N --- 4:06pm

Hey can my roomates come to dinner?

DAD --- 4:06

You mean the gays?

Y/M --- 4:08

Please don’t call them that. Neither of them are gay anyways, there’s more than just gay or straight.

DAD --- 4:10

Yeah whatever. Let your mom decide.

MOM --- 5:12

Sure, they can come.

Mom --- 5:23

Gma might be coming dinner tho. Maybe talk to them?

That conversation should have been enough of a warning for how the evening was going to transpire. At news of your grandmother attending dinner, you panicked and tried to back out of your plans. You had been growing steadily farther apart from your parents anyways, barely seeing them more that once a year if that. It’s not like they didn’t have their suspicions anyways, to them you were a single woman living in the big city sharing an apartment with two gay men. Not that they’d ever been to the apartment. If they had they might have notice that one of the two “bedrooms” was being used as an office. Earlier on in the relationship you were so deeply uncomfortable being around your parents alone, that you had Shouta come with you every visit because you were so paranoid you were just going to come out on the spot.

At first your parents were sure that you and Shouta were together. He had subconsciously cleaned up quite nice the first few times he met your parents anyways, wanting to make a good impression on them if you finally did tell them about your polyamorous relationship. Then as time went on you got busier and started to see them less. Shouta’s parents lived in the suburbs and you saw them on holidays, plus Shouta had come out to them as being bisexual a long time ago and hadn’t felt much pressure to hide the polyamorous nature of your relationship to begin with. Hizashi’s mom was still a city dweller in her 60’s and on top of doing the cute mom things like baking fantastic cookies and handing down family jewelry to the daughter in law, she’d also taken Hizashi and Shouta to their first pride in Tokyo and had an in-home recording studio where she recorded for local punk bands. She was, quite literally, a cool mom.

You gnawed vigorously at your thumbnail, not quiet biting the whole way through, instead riddling it with dents and cracks. Chewing your nails wasn’t a habit you’d always had, it became a sort of silent worry thing you started to do when you got to your agency and had to remain still and quiet during briefings, no matter how terrible the news was. Your ruined nail beds were an atrocity to Hizashi, who had paid several times for you to get a manicure to get your nails short and evenly trimmed so you could manage them on your own. You still somehow found a way to gnaw on the short squared off nubs of your nails though, and it drove him nuts. Shouta cared less, his hands were in ridiculous shape, he was callused and bruised, cracked and flaking all over the place and Hizashi would regularly force moisturizer on them. Shouta cared more about figure out the root stress, it’s not that Hizashi didn’t, he just didn’t know how to, so he settled for pampering you.

“It’s dead.” Hizashi huffed from the bedroom door. “Obliterated, actually.”

“Hmm?” You looked up from your phone, you hadn’t been reading any of the messages in the chat for a good few minutes and just let your eyes unfocus instead. You yanked your thumb from your mouth and hid it below the table like a child caught with a sweet they’d snuck from the kitchen before dinner, you knew he saw.

“Your nail.” Hizashi gently patted the end of his hair with his special fluffy towel that he’d convinced you and Shouta he needed to control his frizz (which he didn’t have) and padded towards the kitchen table where you sat. He placed a kiss on the top of your head as he strode around you.

“What’s up, love?” he murmured softly, leaning against the table next you. One of his legs propped up on the chair to your right and leaned down to look at your phone screen.

“This is going to go horribly.” You breathed, panicked as you set your phone down on the table.

“You don’t know that.” Hizashi looked back up at you and smiled sweetly.

“Not everyone’s mom is a cool rocker lady in her 60’s who lives in the heart of downtown still and is fully supportive of her child’s bisexual polyamorous relationship with their childhood best friend and an ex-small-town girl with an ultra-conservative family.” You huffed out in one long breath.

“That was oddly specific.” He chuckled softly. “What about Sho’s parents, they’re conservative?”

“Yeah, but his parents are at least polite and send us both Christmas gifts every year and keep any and all of their shittier opinions to themselves because they want their son to be happy.” You groaned dramatically, dropping your head onto his thigh, using the extra meat to muffle the noise.

“Y-your-” Hizashi’s leg twitched from the vibrations of your groan. “Your parents want you to be happy too, Y/n.”

You groaned into his thigh, trying to explain the difference between your parent’s and Shouta’s. Hizashi laughed and gently grabbed the side of your face, lifting it so you were no longer muffled by his leg.

“Try again.” He instructed.

“They only want me to be happy if it fits into their rigid frame of what acceptable happiness looks like.” You explained again.

“Hey,” Hizashi ran his thumb back and forth across your cheek, “have faith, baby. They’re your family, they love you.”

If only he’d been right.

Shouta was the know it all, the one that way always right. Hizashi on the other hand was quiet used to being the one that was not always right, he had no hubris about his intelligence what-so-ever. So much so that sometimes you and Shouta had to remind him that he was intelligent and offered a lot of knowledge and wisdom in many many ways: public speaking, social relationships, radio scripting, he spoke two languages fluently as well. However, this one-time Hizashi wished dearly that he had been right, that he was an insufferable know it all who never got it wrong. It was a different twisted feeling in his gut, sitting the back seat watching you try to keep it together in the front seat, than the usual mild embarrassment that faded after a couple of minutes when he was wrong about something. That was damn near luxurious compared to the painful knot tearing into his stomach.

The silence in the car was so dense and absolute that it almost physically gagged Hizashi and Shouta, the two of them were too afraid to say anything and break it. It felt as though the heavy silence was keeping you from breaking, as if it were applying enough pressure at all sides to keep the thin veneer of composure you were managing together. You felt it too, along with the heavy weight that was nearly crushing your chest, the thick doughy lump clogging your throat and the tremble in your lips. You took a deep breath, it getting caught halfway and freezing in to an unrealized sob that you pushed down.

Shouta huffed and pulled off to the side of the dark country road, slowing into the gravelly shoulder. He turned in his seat to face you, undoing his seat belt so he could fully turn his body. You kept your eyes out the window, trying with all your might not to let the tears that clouded your eyes to fall. You knew you’d need to cry about this, about your parents and their conditional love. You knew that this was something you would need to deal with, but you didn’t want to at this moment. You wanted to go home, take some sleeping medication and go to sleep, you wanted to wait until the open wound in your chest had stopped bleeding to begin treating it.

Your father was being facetious about your living arrangement as usual, whenever he was faced with Shouta and Hizashi his first reaction was to constantly point out that fact that you were a woman living with two men and that if they weren’t gay that one of them should have married you by now. Shouta and Hizashi had taken these comments like water rolling off of a duck’s back, Hizashi even grinned and mumbled something about your father tempting him. You could have kept your mouth shut, you could have kept your cool but Shouta’s hand was brushing against your thigh and you felt it tense into an annoyed fist. Something about Shouta’s minimal reaction lit a fire in you, more like an explosion. It was a surge of very sudden and very ferocious courage that lasted a split second and no longer. You’d practically shouted it, the ringing in your ears drowning whatever words you’d used out.

You were met with complete and utter silence, shock and fear thick in the air. You’d almost believed for a moment that you hadn’t done it, that you’d just shouted randomly and just scared everyone. But then your dad stood up, his shocked open mouth flattening out into a hard straight line, this jaw swelling as he clenched it.

“W-what?” he growled, stepping back from the table as if you were a threat.

You were ready to backtrack, you were so ready to just laugh and pretend you were fucking with him. But you spared a glance to Shouta and Hizashi, their faces pale and guilty. They, regardless of what you could say in an attempt to cover up what you’d just said, were basically admitting to it already. You instinctively shrunk back into your chair like you’d do when you were younger at the dinner table whenever something uncomfortable would come up. You could tell everyone was at a loss for words, the difference was that you were scared and at a loss for words, Shouta and Hizashi were shocked and at a loss for words and your father was steaming angry and at a loss for words.

Your mother, who had always been the least confrontational of the two turned away from you and almost in a show of disgust immediately went to comfort your grandmother. It was as if you were an afront to goodness, an act of moral atrocity being committed in front of them. Your father began to barrage you with passive aggressive questions and accusations towards Shouta and Hizashi. He was trying to understand while at the same time refusing to give you a chance to explain. You stopped listening after the first few sentences that came out of his mouth, falling back into an internal monologue filled with regret. He must have said something exceptionally terrible because in an instant Shouta was standing, his arm reaching out to separate you from him and he was shouting. Shouta never shouted, he barely voiced any form of annoyance or frustration in general when it wasn’t a learning moment for his students, but here he was on his feet volleying harsh word with your father.

Hizashi, you realized was attempting damage control, his hands raised and his voice lower than either of the other two men’s. You blinked back into the present, as noise filled your ears, you mother was crying, your father and Shouta were shouting and Hizashi was rambling panicked. You took a couple of deep breaths and stood up on shaky legs, gripping Shouta’s protective arm for support, and looked your father in the eyes. He faltered at the direct eye contact and you saw an opening where there was less shouting to contend with.

“Stop,” you hissed through gritted teeth. “this is why I never wanted to tell you! Why I was perfectly okay with living away from you guys for the rest- This is why I haven’t been home.”

Your mother gasped a ragged, tear-filled breath. She’d expressed before that she’d wished she could see you more often, that she’s noticed you’d been coming home less and less. You’d been good at covering it up, saying you were busy with work and simply couldn’t get the time off. You knew that what you’d just said hurt her, not in the way it should have. It hurt her because you’d just told them it was their fault that you felt unwelcomed here and not because you were afraid of your own parents.

“How long?” she breathed.

“Three years.” You sniffed, hand tightening around Shouta’s wrist.

“THREE?! THR-” your father bellowed in disbelief. “For three years they’ve been brainwashing and forcing themselves on you?!”

Suddenly you understood why Shouta had leapt up, you had just now caught up with the conversation. Red hot anger flared up in your chest, the mere insinuation that you were being forced in anyway to be with your partners filled you with utter rage.

“No!” You growled, for the first time in your life matching your father’s volume. “For three years they’ve been by my side, showing up at the hospital when I got hurt at work, celebrating my promotions at the agency, helping me make a home that I feel safe in and actually fucking caring about me!”

There was silence again, this one was thin but not light in anyway, like it was a delicate thread barely holding a great weight from falling and crushing you.

“We care for you.” You mother said darkly.

“No,” you swallowed hard, “you haven’t for a long time.”

“Get out.” You father growled.

Hizashi was already moving, grabbing your coats from the back of the chairs and pulling Shouta by the arm away from the table. It took you a good long second to move, even then it was because Shouta latched onto your shoulders and Hizashi tugged him along.

“I’m sorry.” Shouta whispered, his hand finding yours in your lap. You kept your eyes focused out the window at the pitch-black fields with barely visible for off golden dots of light. You couldn’t talk.

You heard Hizashi shuffling around in the back seat, scooting closer to you and his hand joined Shouta’s, pulling up onto the storage compartment between the seats. It was cracking, that veneer.

“It’s not your fault.” Hizashi murmured.

You sniffed hard, biting int you bottom lip. Of course, it wasn’t your fault that your parents didn’t accept you, that you weren’t good enough or right for them, that you weren’t on par with the apparent morality of the rest of the family. It wasn’t your fault that they were backwards people with terrible ideas of how a person should be. It still didn’t hurt any less that you couldn’t meet those backwards ideals, that you couldn’t be the right kind of person for them.

“Y/n,” Shouta whispered, gently grabbing your chin and turning your face towards them.

They were looking at you the way a mother looks at her crying baby in the first few months, the desperate need to connect and nurture glowing in their eyes. They were filled with worry, with pity, with understanding but also, with fear. No doubt, what had just happened had been traumatic for them too. Looking into their emotion filled eyes you felt that veneer shatter, falling away and unleashing that mournful sobbing that had been trapped inside.

Shouta pulled you towards him, holding you firmly to his chest placing his head atop yours. You vaguely felt Hizashi disappear from you for a moment, but you were too preoccupied with the trembling muscles seizing violently in your chest. Then you felt him sliding in behind you, only now realizing he’d stepped out of the car and slide in through your door as he shut it behind him. He draped himself over you rubbing circles into your back.

“It’s not your fault.” He murmured into your hair over and over again.

At first you didn’t really focus on it, thinking it idle words of comfort but the more he said the more it sunk in. The more your realized that you were holding onto the hope that there was something about this, about you, that you could fix. With every repetition of those four words that false hope chipped away and that heavy weight in your chest began to fall away. It was still painful, it still felt like you had a pen festering wound that you’d never fully heal from, but it also felt lighter. It felt as though a burden you’d believed was yours to bear was suddenly the responsibility of the many.

“You don’t have to change,” Shouta whispered softly as your sobs ebbed into weak beaths, “they do.”

That reignited some tears, to hear what you needed to said so plainly. Shouta was good at that, putting those intangible thoughts and feelings into plain words. You cried until the tears and the worry and the late hour caught up with you, until your head felt heavy and waterlogged and you slumped backwards into Hizashi sniffing. You cried until your wavering breaths evened out and your tired mind fell to silence. Hizashi pulled you into his lap and cradled you against him like a parent holding and oversized child, running his hand slowly through your hair.

When you awoke you were swaddled thoroughly with the fuzzy blanket from the couch Shouta hated because it shed and sandwiched between the two men who snored away. As you blinked in the early morning light that just barely peaked through the blinds you noticed the red rims around Hizashi’s eyes and deep-set circles under Shouta’s as if they both been awake all night. Shouta was still in his dress shirt and Hizashi had stripped down to his boxers and pulled his hair back into a sloppy bun. Neither were properly snoring which told they hadn’t been asleep for very long.

You tried to ignore what had happened last night, what had led to the heavy feeling in your head and crusty dry eyes and tight cheeks. You tried to pretend that they had stayed up for work, that they you had swaddled yourself up in the blanket nor because you were sad but because you just wanted to be cozy. Then you heard a phone vibrate on the nightstand and any and all work towards denial washed away as you dreaded checking it. It could just be a work thing, it could be Hizashi’s phone even though he’d never had it on silent even once since you’ve known him. It could have been Shouta’s vibrating against the wooden table even though you could see his slightly peeking out of his back pocket.

You sighed and sat up, daring the smallest of glances at the nightstand. It was your phone screen that was lit up, several notifications on the screen. You groaned and laid back down, scrunching your eyes shut begging for sleep to suddenly and miraculously take you. It buzzed again and you huffed. Fine. You’ll check it. I guess someone could be dying. I do stop that from happening for a living.

You very cautiously crawled over Hizashi and reached to get your phone, electing not to look at it until you settled back between your boys. You scrolled though your notifications, weather, news, a work email, a second email from a contact that made your blood run cold and three missed calls and two answering machine messages from the same contact. Grandma. Your hands trembled at you unlocked your phone and typed int your voicemail password. You held the phone up to you ear and listen to the first message which was more or less just some frustrated grandma noises and mumbles about the inconvenience of technology, followed briefly by a set of hellos. If you hadn’t been ready to shit yourself, you’d have laughed. Then the second played and you had to take a deep breath to hold yourself together enough to keep listening.

“Hello? Hello? Y/n? Oh shi- well this is just ridiculous. Y/n, I don’t know if you can hear me, or maybe this is your answering machine, I don’t know I can’t hear too well but-” her soft worn voice said into the phone, “I want you to know that I love you. Your parents love you too, even if they did not act like it tonight.”

She paused and your eyes welled up with tears, a lump forming in your throat. It was this strange feeling of pure sadness but also happiness and relief.

“Those boys,” she continued, “probably would have killed your father last night if they had the chance. I’m not saying I get it, but they sure do love you, sweetheart. I quite like the blond one he is very-”

The message cut off and the automated voice asked you what you wanted to do with the message. All you could do was laugh, laugh and cry. You were still sad, still in pain, but it was already starting to feel less life-ending.

“Hey,” Shouta mumbled blearily, “S’okay. I’m here.”

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, trying to pull himself from sleep. You hugged him back and massaged the back of his scalp gently.

“Listen to this.” You sniffed.

He nodded and you pressed repeat, listening to the whole second message through again. You watched as a smile spread across his sleepy lips and he laughed softly. He pouted suddenly when it ended, his eyebrows pulling together as much as his drowsy state would let them.

“What?” you asked, worried he’d heard something you‘d missed.

“Why does she like Zash more?” he grumbled, barely awake now.

You smiled and curled into him, electing not to answer knowing that he wouldn’t like being told that Hizashi is more sociable than him. Besides, you smiled to yourself, he’d be asleep in a matter of seconds.

You were still hurt; you still had that big open wound in your chest. But with Shouta and Hizashi at your side you knew you’d heal; you knew they’d give you anything you needed. You knew that your grandmother was right, that these two boys loved you very much.

#polyerasermic #eraserhead #erasermic #erasermic x reader #present mic #present mic x reader #present mic x aizawa #eraserhead x reader x present mic #eraserhead x reader #reader insert #bnha #mha #myhero #my hero academia #my hero fanfic #bnha fanfiction #y/n x mha #y/n x bnha

[soldrawss]

Sol i need headcanons for the brothers, please im begging you

BRUH I GOT YOU

I’m currently working on some little fics for them BUT I CAN GIVE YOU SOME DETAILS BECAUSE I’M DYING TO SHARE

(Warning, gets a little dark towards the middle, but overall fine. Sorry for the long read. I went for a DEEP dive on the Age Gap Au)

Ace was put into foster care 4 hours after his birth. His father died before he was born and his mother died during childbirth. Ace had nothing to his name but physical traits of the dead (Like his father's sharp eyes and his mother’s freckles) He grew up with a need to prove himself and to gain something that truly belonged to him all on his own.

Sabo was placed in foster care when he was 5 because of an altercation with his abusive and possesive parents, involving him having broken ribs and running away.

Ace and Sabo met in a halfway home for troubled youths when they were 6. (They both had issues with authority and past placements in foster homes, so they quickly bonded over that, and decided to stick together ever since)

Their bond was so strong that ‘honorary’ brothers didn’t really fit them. They were brothers. And they stuck together and stood up for one another like it was them against the world (which sometimes it was)

They would often run away from the halfway home they were at, trying to earn a living on their own on the streets, and often commit petty thefts in order to survive. 

These little runaway trips wouldn’t last long though, because they were always caught by Officer Garp, a police officer that happened to have a knack for catching little runaways.

However tough Garp acted though, he had an incredibly big soft spot for these two little brats that were only trying to make their lives better. These two kids, barely 8 years old, who had so much hatred for the world because of adults in their lives that failed them. Adults that hurt them, giving them scars and bruises on their hearts just as easily as the scars and bruises on the little frames. 

After a particular runaway incident, Ace breaks down and confesses about all the horrible placements he and Sabo had been in before. How social services always judge Ace’s sharp eyes and label in a problem child, how Sabo’s quick wit always get him in trouble with the adults, how they both have scars and bruises from past foster homes they were placed in, and that's why Ace and Sabo runaway. They’re tired of getting placed in bad homes. They’re tired of having adults try to separate them. Ace is all Sabo has and vice versa because that's the only person in the whole world who they trust to not hurt them. And Garp thinks that’s the last fucking straw.

Garp, much to Ace and Sabo’s but nobody else’s surprise, adopts both the boys, and takes them into his own home. Because dammit, if they’re just gonna runaway, they might as well stay with someone who will at least love them enough to always look for them and bring them back to a good home when they do.

And it’s weird at first, because Garp is the rough and loud and nosey officer that used to grab them by the scruffs of their shirts and drag them back to that awful halfway home kicking and screaming. But then it gets better. Because he still yells at them, but it’s with a tempered and fiercely protective love it when he does. He still grabs them, but it’s just to pull them into a rough bear hug that they fervently pretend they don’t like. And every dinner is spent with tears of laughter in their eyes and cheeks warm with delight at the stories he tells them. (They call him old man with affection and he’s their father figure even though they treat him like their grandpa.)

Sabo joins his school’s baseball team! Which is so freaking cool! He’s a really strong batter, can weild a bat like it’s an extension of his own arm, and Ace and Garp are always the loudest cheers on the bleachers every home run hit Sabo makes.

Garp makes Ace take up boxing, because the kid’s got a lot of pent-up rage and aggression, and he figures it’s a good constructive sort of therapy for the rowdy brat.

The two still get up to mischief every now and again, though. Nothing illegal, but Garp is still having to wrangle up his two little idiots before they do something stupid. (They get into a lot of fights with local gangs because they have smart mouths and are still a little reckless)

Garp has a biological son that Ace and Sabo never met due to Garp’s and Dragon’s strained relationship. Garp had always bad-mouthed him whenever his son was brought up, but it was always with words that had no heat behind them, and Sabo and Ace could tell there was a sadness behind his eyes whenever he looked at the picture of his son in his wallet.

The boys were 10 when they got the news of Dragon’s death a week after it happened. Garp had gotten the phone call when he and the boys were watching some late-night trash tv on the weekend, and he had all but strangled the phone in a grip that turned his knuckles white. He didn’t say what had killed his son, (he never did), but he had told the boys he needed to take care of something, told them to pack up some of their things, dropped them off at his friend Newgate’s house, and got the quickest flight out that night.

He came back 3 days later, and when he did, he had a tiny little baby with him.

Ace and Sabo were no strangers to babies. There was always some snot-nosed kid that would get dropped off at the halfway home (and then adopted that week, because everybody loved babies), and they were pretty sure this baby wasn’t gonna be any different. Because babies were loud and gross and never stopped crying, and Ace and Sabo were prepared for the absolute worse.

But then they stood over the baby’s crib to get a good look at him, and the baby looked back.

And smiled the biggest and happiest smile Ace and Sabo had ever seen.

And Garp had said “His name is Luffy,” and Ace and Sabo had been hooked around his little finger ever since. 

Luffy was barely 6 months old, and was a bundle of chubby cheeks and contagious giggles. With big brown chocolate colored eyes that melted all the sharp corners and edges of Ace’s and Sabo’s hearts.

Because Sabo and Ace were the same age, and neither one of them felt like the older or younger brother. They were equals in every way. But it was different with Luffy. Because Luffy was tiny, and soft and could barely wrap all 5 of his little fingers around one of theirs, and it hit Sabo and Ace like a bullet train because oh.

 Oh this is what it was like to be an older brother. This was what it was like to have a little brother. And Sabo and Ace have always looked out for each other, of course. But Luffy was something they had to protect fully and with their entire being. His smile, his laughter, his heart. All of it. Sabo and Ace knew all the horrible things in the world, knew all the hatred and fear and heartbreak the world could throw at you and it was like a silent promise to each other they never verbalized, that Luffy should and would never have to go through the things they went through. He would never feel unloved. He would never feel unwanted. He would never feel like he had to prove his worth or reason for existing. (He was worth more than any price anyone could give anyway)

Sabo and Ace stopped getting into trouble. They got good grades, excelled in their respective clubs, and didn’t give Garp any reason to chase them down in his old cop car and bring them home. (They were always at home anyway, giving Luffy piggyback rides and teaching him how to ride a bike and do one-handed handstands and cartwheels, and basking in the warmth that was Luffy’s endless love) And they lived in peace like that for 5 years.

Then the fire happened.

Garp was a good police officer and an even better Deputy Chief, and for almost 40 years, he served on the Foosha County Police Department. He had put away a lot of bad guys and saved a lot of people in the process and was an honored and highly respected man. However, this also made him a big target and earned him quite a few enemies. He was 3 weeks away from retirement and spending most of those weeks staying at home, playing with Luffy, and ingnoring the last of his paperwork left on his office desk.

When the fire broke out, Ace and Sabo had just turned the corner from the bus stop on their way home from school. They had seen the smoke, but didn’t know where it was coming from till they saw the towering blaze of fire that used to be their 2 story home and the group of neighbors surrounding the outside. 

They managed to push their way to the front, hands shaking and eyes wide and absolutely breathless, because that was their house! That was their house that was one fire and where was gramps?! Where was Luffy?!

The only thing Ace heard Sabo whisper among the roar of the fire and the loud murmur of people around them was “Do you hear that? That... crying?” Before Sabo surged forward.

Ace didn’t have time to reach out and stop him, and by the time he could, Sabo had already disappeared into the open front door, which was covered in flames. He had screamed out, tried to race in and follow his brother into the flames, but the neighbors around him were quicker than he was and pulled him back. 

Edward Newgate, one of their neighbors and close personal friend of Garp’s was in the crowd, and he was holding Ace to his chest with an arm like an iron bar, as he was on the phone with the local fire department. (Newgate was also the Foosha County fire chief, and was shouting at his lieutenants to “get your asses out here now!’) But Ace didn’t hear a word he was saying. All he could do was struggle to get out of the older man’s grip, reach out for his brother and best friend, and scream his lungs out.

What felt like hours went by, and Ace felt like his heart was shattering into a million piece, the glass shards falling around him, as he sobbed into Newgate's chest, thinking he had lost everything. His home. His family. His only purpose and reason for living.

And then some of the neighbors were shouting again, only this time in surprised alarm and Ace looked up with hazy eyes blurred by tears, to see something was coming out of the front door.

And it could only be Sabo. Ace knew it was him before he could even register it, and bolted out of Newgate's grips that had slacked at the surprise and towards his brother.

Ace met Sabo only a few feet from the door, Sabo collapsing into his arms, and Ace had to pull him the extra few feet away because the flames were still too much to bear even at that distance.

And Sabo’s skin was hot and red and covered in smoke and ash alike. There was a giant welting red burn against the side of Sabo’s face that looked like it would leave a scar forever, but Ace was having a hard time focusing on it because he was too bust focusing on the bundle of blankets that Sabo was desperately trying to push into Ace’s arms.

And Ace was already crying before, but he began crying even harder when he removed the fold of blankets to reveal a muffled Luffy, covered in ash but unharmed, crying his eyes out. 

Sabo had a coughing fit that rocked his whole body, and burns that looked like they'd hurt forever, but he was smiling when Ace broke into a sob, clutching both Sabo and Luffy into his chest.

The firefighters and paramedics came a few minutes later, and they had to physically pull Sabo and Luffy from Ace’s arms to check and treat them. Luffy only ended up with a few mild burns and cuts on his arms and legs and some burning of his throat from inhaling so much smoke, but Sabo had to be taken to the hospital immediately for his burns, especially for the one on his face. Ace pleaded to let them all ride in the same ambulence on the way to the hosipital, and held on to Sabo’s shirt sleeve with a grip that would take the end of the world and then some for him to let go.

Sabo had to get some surgery and treatment to save his left eye, but he was all in all ok, and Ace and Luffy were allowed to visit his hospital room for as long as they needed.

When Ace finally confronted Sabo on why he had ran into the house in the first place, it was on the first night of their hospital stay. Sabo had a giant white gauze wrapping half of his head, and he looked at Ace with tired blue eyes that looked a little fuzy, still a little drugged from all the medication he was on to ease the pain. 

And Ace felt bad about it, he really did, because Sabo didn’t derserve to be grilled on the matter. Not after he had sacrificed himself and saved Luffy. Their little brother. Their little brother who they wouldn’t even have anymore if it weren’t for Sabo. 

But Ace had to know. He was so mad and heartbroken and scared out of his mind when Sabo had rushed in without word or warning. Because they had lost Garp. They had almost lost Luffy. And Ace could have almost lost Sabo too.

But Luffy was tucked underneath Sabo’s arm on the hospital bed, and Sabo just smiled at Ace with a patience that only Ace and Luffy could pull out of him, and patted the other side for Ace to join them. Ace climbed onto the bed beside him, and even with the two 15-year-olds and one little 5 year old, the bed didn’t feel too small at all.

Sabo explained that he could hear crying from the door and he just moved. Knowing it was Luffy before his mind could really think about the implications behind that. He confessed how the flames hurt at first. Hurt so bad, and it was so hot, and everything, from the floor to the ceiling, was on fire and he could barely see anything through the smoke. But he could hear Luffy’s little rough and horse scream, coming from one of the back rooms that used to be Garp's office, and suddenly all Sabo could afford to think about was Luffy’s crying.

Sabo would tell a watered-down version of this story to the cops in the morning, because they were Garp's friend and companions, and they only really needed the broad details for their report anyway. 

He’ll tell a heroic version of this story, lacking any horrific graphics, to an older Luffy whenever the eternally curious kid wonders and asks about it.

But he only ever told the whole story right then on that night, one arm tight around his baby brother in a toothed and protective love, while the other one gripped his best friend's hands with shaking and bandaged fingers hard enough to leave bruising.

Garp was long dead when Sabo found him. The smell of his skin burning off is something that will haunt Sabo for the rest of his life. (Sometimes certain smells will set him off. Uncooked bacon is not allowed in the house anymore after one traumatic morning when Luffy is six. Campfires are viewed and enjoyed from a distance.)

He was lying on his stomach, clutching something to his chest. Sabo knew it was Luffy by the cries, bundled up in a few quilts and one of this office rugs, and Sabo knew he had to get them out of there before the smoke killed them off like it had a personal agenda against them.

The heat was unbearable, Sabo had confessed, but it was nothing compared to having to drag Luffy from underneath Garp’s grip. The old man was built like a brick house, sure, but even in death, his grip on Luffy, protecting Luffy, like he was daring the world to take anything away from him, was steadfast and almost unbbreakable. 

It was the hardest thing Sabo had ever had to make himself do.

He didn’t look at Garp’s face. His body was burned black and bloody and raw, and Sabo couldn’t live with himself if his memory of Garp’s face was replaced by anything other than with the one of his scruffy beard and the shit-eating grin that he always wore.

When he pulled Luffy out, he didn’t look back, and raced out of the house as fast as he could. Something along the way fell and smacked him in the face, knocking him down at one point, but Sabo couldn’t pay it much mind. He got back up, and continued towards the door. He could barely see, barely breathe, with all the smoke and the ash, and the pain from the fire was almost numbing against his skin, but he didn’t stop.

All he could think about was Luffy, still struggling and crying against the blankets wrapped tightly around him. Next thing he knew, he was outside, and looking up at Ace’s snot-covered face.

Ace had never seen Sabo cry for the almost 10 years he knew him. He didn’t cry when he was 7, and the Anderson family had called him a freak and had sent him back after a failed foster home placement. He didn’t cry when he was 9, and broke his arm falling out of the tree in their backyard that Garp had told him not to climb, so of course he had to climb it. And he didn’t even cry earlier that day, at 15, when he was off medication and feeling the full extent of his painful burns.

So when tears started pooling out of Sabo’s pale blue eyes, falling down his cheeks and staining the cotton white blanket he was under as he told his story, Ace pretended not to notice, wrapped an arm around Sabo’s shoulders, and held him like it was the only lifeline in the world. 

Garp’s funeral was held the following week. Closed casket. All the police departments in the county, and even some outside of it, showed up to give him a full send-off. Ace cried for both Sabo and himself. Sabo spoke a few words for the both of them. And Luffy stood between them, holding both their hands. They explained the night before that gramps was gone, but they don’t think the notion of death really got through to Luffy. He was crying, but only because Ace was crying, and when he asked ‘can gramps come out of the box to give me a hug before he goes away?’ everyone has to clench their teeth and hold their breaths to stop their hearts from breaking. Sabo kneeled down to wrap Luffy in a tight hug. Ace covered his face with his arm and cried harder

(They never bother asking Luffy about how the fire started, or what happened that day. Luffy doesn’t remember, and they don’t push it further. The truth isn’t as important as Luffy’s mentality is, but Garp’s old squad promises that they won’t rest until they get to the bottom of it. And as much as Ace and Sabo want justice and revenge, they have Luffy to think about, so they leave it up to the police)

Sabo and Ace are almost 16, and they suddenly have no parental figure, no home, no anything, and suddenly they’re faced with the horrible notion that even more can be taken from them when a blast from their past threatens to take Luffy away from them too.

They’re no stranger to the foster care system, so when social services show up at the motel they were renting with Garp’s savings, they feel their hearts drop to their stomach for fear of the very real possibility that Luffy will be placed in immediate foster care, and possibly, so would they. 

Ace and Sabo jump into action then, because no way, no fucking way, were they gonna lose Luffy. They had lost everything else. They almost did lose Luffy. They weren’t gonna risk that chance again.

Ace was only a few weeks older than Sabo. Sabo hadn’t paused a second to jump into the fire, risking life and limb, to protect what little they had. It was Ace’s turn to be the heroic older brother. And on the day he turned 16, Ace petitioned legal guardianship and parental rights for Sabo and Luffy.

And it was hard, because of course the courts felt sorry for him, the grandson of one of the best police chiefs in the county’s history, begging the courts to let him keep what little family he had left together. The courts wanted to give it to him, wanted to help him. But Luffy was a child. And Ace and Sabo were practically still kids themselves. Asking kids to raise themselves was something no one should ask them to do. 

But Ace and Sabo fought for it. Ace was 16, and Sabo would be 16 soon enough. They could get GED’s, no problem. They’d get jobs, get a little apartment near Luffy’s school, attend any parenting and child service meeting required of them. They’d buy all the necessities over again and they’d love Luffy where no other foster family could even compare. They’d do everything, everything and anything, to keep Luffy. To let them stay together.

With a couple of vouchers from Garp’s old police squad, including one from an overly enthusiastic Edward Newgate and one from the boy’s homeroom teacher, Makino, the courts ruled in Ace’s and Sabo’s favor, and Luffy was officially theirs until they proved that Luffy was better off somewhere else.

Ace and Sabo were never gonna let that happen.

They got a little 2 bedroom apartment a couple blocks from Luffy’s elementary. They quit school, and worked extra hard to earn their GED’s within the following months. (With the help of their old teachers and a few of their overly enthusiastic neighbors)

Ace got a job at the local fire department, as a rookie in training under Newgate.

Sabo got a job at the local news station, writing reports on top of his interning duties. 

Ace eventually got a motorcycle that same year, which scared Sabo half to death and delighted Luffy to no end. It was cheaper than a car, and easier to travel to and from work on, and no matter how hard Sabo tried, he couldn’t come up with a valid reason why Ace shouldn’t use it to their advantage. So Sabo made Ace promise to always wear a helmet when riding it, and that Luffy wasn’t allowed to ride it until he was much older. (Which Luffy pouted about to no end)

And it’s hard at times, both of them working overtime just to make enough to support themselves and keep them afloat, but it’s good, and it’s theirs.

Luffy makes a friend on his first day of first grade named Zoro Roronoa, another kid that lives just across the street from them, and when Ace and Sabo know they’re gonna be late in getting home, Luffy goes over there and hangs out until they can pick him up (Which is totally fine with Zoro’s father Koushirou, a kendo teacher and single father of 6-year-old Zoro and 9-year-old Kuina. Zoro has a bit of a personality problem and often has trouble making friends (because the child doesn’t see a need to) so when little bright-eyed and endlessly joyful Luffy pops into their life, Kushirou jumps at the chance to have him over as much as possible, because the two small children seem to bring out the best in each other, and are best friends attached at the hip) Sabo and Ace are eternally grateful to the kind man)

A few years go by, and Luffy is 8. Ace is still working at the fire station and is now legally allowed to join them on calls and emergencies. (Fire used to make Ace nervous, because he almost lost everything to it. Now he has a personal agenda with it, to make sure it doesn’t take anything from anyone else)

Sabo has moved up the ranks now, and when he turns 18, confronts Ace with a rare job opportunity he was offered.

“It’s a year-long internship for this really cool company that reports and delivers high-class diplomatic information around,” Sabo starts, rubbing the back of his head like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “I’d be working as like, a cool undercover spy with diplomatic immunity and a messenger bag. It’s not dangerous at all, and pays almost triple my paycheck now, which would really help us out. But it’s overseas, and I’d be gone for a whole year. You’d be raising Luffy all by yourself, birthdays and holidays and skinned knees, with just the two of you, so say the word, and I’ll totally turn this job down on the spot.”

And it’s scary to Ace. Because he hasn’t been alone since he was 6 years old, and he can’t possibly remember a time when Sabo hadn’t been by his side. His best friend and brother. It was always the two of them. Two little runaways that found a home, lost that home, and then built a new home all on their own despite it all. And neither of them had ever been away from Luffy for longer than a weekend, so Ace was sure it would kill Sabo to be away from them for so long.

But he also knew that Sabo was only playing this off like it wasn’t a big deal, when in fact it was the job opportunity of a lifetime for someone like Sabo, a kid who breathed adventure and freedom with every breath. And that when he talked about it, his eyes sparkled with a joy that Ace would hate himself forever for taking it away. 

Sabo was giving Ace the choice, and Ace knew that Sabo would go along with whatever Ace decided without a second thought or complaint. But Ace knew that Sabo would regret it for the rest of his life if he didn't go, so he slugged Sabo in the arm, gave him his best shit-eating, confident grin, (the kind he used to give him right before they were about to steal some food as kids, or about to get into a fight when they were teens) and said, “You let me have a motorcycle. The least I can do is let you go road tripping abroad.”

Because Ace and Luffy would be fine. They’d miss Sabo like crazy, and Ace was pretty sure Sabo was like, 90% of his impulse control, but they’d survive. Sabo had the burn marks to prove how far he was willing to go for their family, and Ace had never thanked him for that. Ace was never gonna live that down, and was going to spend the rest of his life making it up to both Sabo AND Luffy, and prove just how good of an older brother he could be. This was the least he could do for them.

#my work #one piece #monkey d. luffy #Portgas D. Ace #sabo #asl brothers #age gap au #oh ho look at me #my fics all start after this moment when sabo is overseas #so this is just context for that. #enjoy please and sorry in advance #i've thought too much about this au #it lives rent free in my head always

[zevexsii]

norton campbell  sfw + nsfw hcs (gn s/o)

holy shit i love norton campbell  

cut for length! 

norton’s a very complicated guy. he’s seen some shit, done some shit, and quite frankly hates most of the world around him. not because he actually thinks it’s bad- he just pushes away everything and everyone he cares about as a defense mechanism. 

he wouldn’t necessarily realize that he was developing feelings for his s/o right off the bat- he’d get closer and closer to them without actually thinking about the butterflies that your smile gave him or the protective urges that enveloped most of his critical thinking skills during matches. 

it really depends on how easily you open up to him. especially if you’re emotionally available early on. i doubt he would entirely open up to you about the mining incident, or even about the root of any of his problems, but if you were there on norton’s bad days to calm him down or let him vent, he’ll fall head over heels for you even quicker. 

not particularly talkative. norton doesn’t really know how to keep a conversation going and deflect too-personal questions at the same time, so most days he just enjoys sitting with you. 

right before The ConfessionTM, norton begins to isolate himself more than usual. he does his best to avoid you at mealtimes, will ditch matches that you’re both playing in, paying no mind to the consequences. it’s hard for him to even look at you without losing his composure- either spacing out and making heart eyes in your direction or having graphic thoughts of your death at his hands. it would be accidental, of course. he’d lash out and hurt you; make a mistake in a match and leave you bloody. 

if you seek him out, it might make it worse; he’ll probably snap at you, but he can’t hold up his apathetic front for long. he breaks down as you turn to leave, grabbing for your hand or your wrist. he hangs his head and asks you not to go in a low, hoarse whisper. he’s sniffling. 

this is the first time norton would seek out physical comfort from you. his movements are shaky and apprehensive as he tugs you closer to him- depending on where you managed to corner him, norton’ll ask to sit down and be held by way of burying his face in the crook of your neck. he’s terrified you’re going to pull away the entire time.

indulge him. gently card your fingers through his messy, dark hair or rub gentle circles onto his back and he might cry. poor guy’s repressed to hell and back. 

norton’s feelings for you are quite obvious at this point, but he needs to make sure to let you know, just in case. when he says that he’s in love with you, he’s breathless and the words are harried. if he’s able to look at you at all, his brown eyes are anxious and searching- begging for an answer, even if it’s one that would destroy him completely. he doesn’t really expect you to reciprocate his affections- he’s high maintenance at the very least in his own eyes. 

when you tell him that you love him too, norton is awestruck. he has to verify that he heard you correctly- tell him again and he lets out a watery chuckle proceeded by a shit-eating grin. 

hold onto him a little while longer. he needs it. 

now that norton’s confessed and you’re officially together, his behavior towards you in public doesn’t change too much- in lobbies before matches or mealtimes he lingers by you, keeping up a low conversation about mundane things. he’s unsurprisingly uninterested in pda, except for special occasions. 

in private, there are a lot of casual, domestic touches. norton’s inclined to come up and wrap his arms around you from behind, or rest a hand on the small of your back as you’re working away at a task. 

adores forehead/cheek kisses. the simple things make him soft beyond belief. deep, passionate kisses are usually reserved for when things are getting hot n’ heavy, plus they trigger norton’s claustrophobia very easily. norton normally despises any sort of attention drawn to his scars- they’re a massive insecurity of his, not to mention the horrible reminder of his past that they bring up, but if you give him small smooches on his upper cheek, or the border between scarred flesh and his normal tan, he’ll melt. 

can cook surprisingly well! norton’s been alone for the great majority of his life- not to mention he lived with a bunch of bachelors, so he knows the basics. however, anything you make will be devoured within seconds. really enjoys sweets!! uses excess frosting on your lips or cheek as an excuse to kiss you <33

is a pretty big eater!! norton’s a beefy guy and he tells you that he’s gotta keep himself strong in order to protect you <3 he’s also got a phat ass

norton’s a bit clueless when it comes to asking for cuddles; he’ll just sort of drape himself over you or mumble about being tired, hoping you’ll take the hint. on bad days, he doesn’t even want to get out of bed. everything’s just too much, he hopes you’ll understand. 

let norton rest his head in your lap or hide his face in your shoulder. sometimes it’s humiliating for him to let you see him like this- hold him close and gently play with his hair or intertwine your fingers in his. actions like that help ground norton. 

coo soft things in his ears. tell him you love him, that it isn’t his fault. that you’ll stay with him no matter what. these reassurances in particular help combat his overwhelming abandonment issues. 

on regular days, norton’s favorite cuddle positions are probably those that involve you laying your head on his broad chest, or him holding you from behind. 

very outdoorsy! go on walks with him and he’ll point out interesting rocks and the two of you will pocket geodes to take home and crack open. offer norton small things that you found on the way home, or gems that you pilfered from the golden cave map. it may not seem like a lot, but realizing that you care enough about norton to remember the small things that he enjoys makes him feel endlessly loved. 

i can’t stress enough how much norton appreciates domesticity. dude’s had a rough life, at this point he just wants to settle down in a stable place with someone who loves him, hopefully with a few kids, if his s/o is up for that!

nsfw 

norton is practically a connoisseur of intense, rough sex. as mentioned above, he’s got a lot of repressed shit to deal with and most of his more ‘vulnerable’ emotions are turned into anger. unhealthy coping mechanisms go brrrrr. 

needless to say, it’s best to use a safeword with norton. 

that’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy slow, passionate stuff- most days he’s perfectly happy to bury himself inside you however you need. 

during slow, soft sex, norton prefers to be ridden. it allows him to sit back and revel in the pleasure of being fucked by his lovely, lovely s/o. 

his fear of abandonment also comes into play during sex. he’ll get you begging for his cock, whimpering uncontrollably about how badly you need him inside of you. deep down, norton yearns to be needed by someone. 

not the most vocal partner, but lets loose a plethora of gasps and grunts once he’s got your tight hole stretched around him- most dirty talk consists of half-formed, growled curses that go straight south. 

always preps you with oral. he doesn’t care how ready you are for his dick, he needs to finish you off with his mouth first. norton’s definition of finishing you off consists of bruising and biting all over your hips and upper thighs before moving on to rub a calloused finger over your clit or give light strokes to your cock, paying special attention to the vein running along the underside. by the time he’s done, you’ll have cum at least twice and that’s if norton’s rushing it. 

unsurprisingly addicted to marking you. nothing riles norton up more than watching you interact with the other survivors while they frantically try to ignore the bruises and hickeys that have crawled up your neck and right under your jawline. if said survivor glances to norton afterward, he’ll toss a sleazy smirk in their direction. you’re fucking him and everyone knows it. 

not really a fan of missionary. norton’s partial to fucking you from behind and leaving small scratches and bruises from how tightly his massive hands grabbed your hips. 

he’s a thigh and an ass guy. ‘nuff said. he doesn’t have anything against boobs, though!

won’t introduce choking or restraining you- norton wants to revel in every little twitch and movement you make while he shoves himself between your thighs. of course if you ask for either of those things, norton will indulge you. choking would probably do well with his size kink. 

definitely has a breeding kink. all he wants is to completely fill you up with his seed- he’ll go as many rounds as he can, desperate to stuff you full of his cum. he’ll degrade you while he does this- calling you his little whore, going on and on about how desperate you are for his cum. 

a fair bit into overstimulation. it feeds norton’s sorely battered pride that no one else can see you like this- flushed and nearly in tears, letting out strangled mewls of pleasure while his cock slams against your prostate/g-spot. don’t even think about hiding your face in a pillow, either. the noises and expressions you make are part of how norton is assured he’s doing a good job- he also thinks you’re damn beautiful, all unraveled for him like this. 

as stated above, norton prefers to cum inside of you, but if you’re not up for that he’ll pull out and cum on your ass or in his hand. 

pulls your hair quite a bit- he’s pulled strands out in the past and apologizes like hell afterward. it’s not his intention to hurt you. 

aftercare!! soft. norton’ll offer to wash your hair and wash your back- his hands are strong and more often than not, he ends up massaging your shoulders. wash his hair and he’s in heaven. lots of mildly soapy forehead kisses and whispered “i love you”s as the two of you crawl into bed, your head tucked under norton’s. 

#norton campbell x reader #norton campbell idv #prospector #idv x reader #identity v x reader #idv x reader headcanons #prospector x reader #idv prospector #norton campbell #norton campbell x reader headcanons #identity v x reader headcanons #idv smut #identity v smut #norton campbell smut #i'm a bit unsatisfied with this but i can always post more #identity v prospector #norton simp hours

[bnhatrashsammy]

You Think They’re Gonna Hit You

Includes: Izuku, Bakugou, Todoroki and my lovely Mina baby!

Warnings: ANGST but with a happy ending bc im baby, nothing too detailed though. Gender neutral reader <3

Mentions of abuse and cursing ofc (its me i always curse so like-)

_____________________________________________________

  You had been in an abusive situation/relationship prior to your current relationship. You had yet to tell your partner.

You two were simply playing around, something very common in your relationship.

You were in his dorm, both of you going back and forth between tickling each other.

Your eyes were closed as you blindly search for his sides, your breath coming out in shrieks and gasps between you laughing so hard.

One you feel your lovely boo move so they’re hovering above you, rather than beside you and tickling the shit out of you, you open your eyes as you try to catch your breath.

However, once you see their position your breath gets caught in your throat, and your entire body freezes up.

They weren’t even in a very threatening pose, their face held a bright and playful grin. Yet, all you could focus on was the hand positioned like it was going to slap you. 

  It was practically coming for you in slow motion, you thought for sure your lovely partner was getting ready to slap you.

  Without even thinking, you automatically flinch, hands coming up to protect your face, your body trembling in fear.

Izuku Midoriya

Izuku’s face changes from playful to concern very quickly, not that you can see from your tightly closed eyes and arms covering your face.

“Baby?” Izuku says softly, leaning back so he’s sitting cross-legged in front of your form. “(Y/N), baby, look at me please.” The utter concern and fear in his voice had you peaking your eyes open, looking between your fingers at the teary-eyed look he’s giving you.

Your body reacts before your mind really catches up to what the fuck just happened, and you sit up, crossing your legs as well and fiddle with your hands in your lap, looking anywhere but at Izuku’s gaze.

‘He’s gonna be so mad- he’s gonna yell and scream- I shouldn’t have reacted- if only I had just-’ Before you can even finish your rambling, terrifying thoughts, Izuku speaks up.

“D-did you think I was gonna hit you?” His voice comes out slowly and softly, but there’s not a hint of judgment. Only concern.

You slowly meet his gaze, continuing to fiddle with your hands. “N-not really you- It’s just what I’m used to so I just assumed-” You hurriedly try to explain before he speaks up again.

“Baby, you’re used to? How could you be used to- who did it? I’ll kill them, I swear!” Izuku leans forward slowly, as to not startle you anymore before pulling you to him, hugging you comfortingly, protectively. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, (Y/N). I promise. If I had known I wouldn't have done it. I'm so sorry baby.” Izuku reassures you genuinely.

Izuku continues reassuring you, comforting you and caring for you softly as you tell him about your past. Obviously you couldn’t spill everything out all at once, there would be more of these conversations in the future. But it was honestly nice. To just be able to get it out in the open, to have him comfort you.

“I will never hurt you, (Y/N). Let me be your hero.” Izuku says after you had cried out all your tears and fell asleep on him. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, before laying down with you and falling asleep himself.

Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou freezes as the genuine fear he can clearly see on your trembling form. He’s quick to sit against his wall on the bed, pulling you into his lap as he comfortingly pets your hair.

You bury your head in the crook of his neck, a flurry of painful memories causing tears to build up in your tightly closed eyes as you grip onto Bakugou as if your life absolutely depended on it.

“I-i’m sorry- I didn’t mean too-” You try apologizing, but he’s quick to shush you, his voice gruff but gentle in his own Bakugou way.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, dumbass. Jus’ breathe.” Of course, Bakugou doesn’t blame you, but he also feels you thought he was going to hit you simply because of how angry he can be, he didn’t know of your past of abuse.

“I know i'm always angry and shit, but- fuck-,” His voice breaks, and he holds you the slightest bit tighter, more protectively. “I’d n-never hit you, (Y/N).” He tries to keep his voice steady but it breaks again as tears well up in his eyes. “I love you so much, I’d never do anything to hurt you, okay, baby? I swear it- fuck.” 

You continue to grip onto him desperately, opening your mouth to speak even though you know your voice is gonna be hoarse from your crying, “I k-know you would’t- it just made me think about when it did happen and I-I just reacted. I k-know you’d never, Katsu- I’m s-”

“No. Don’t be sorry. Just talk to me. Please?” He says sternly, but giving you the option object, to just stay within his arms protectively.

So you tell him some of the things you had to endure. He drops the name ‘dumbass’, giving you soft nicknames and encouragement to continue when you started crying too much to continue talking.

Aside from his encouragements, and hushing of your apologies, he just let’s you speak what's on your mind. It’s freeing, and honestly you feel a lot better when it’s over.

“Thank you, Katsu. I love you. So very much.” You whisper tiredly as you finish your hours long conversation. Bakugou shakes his head as he continues rocking you comfortingly.

“I'm here for you through whatever, babe. And I plan to keep it that fuckin’ way.” He says, the determination in his voice caused a small smile on your face.

You eventually fall asleep, Bakugou humming gently as he continues rocking you comfortingly. Honestly, you couldn’t be happier in that moment, with the love of your life caring for you with no restraints.

Todoroki Shoto

  Todoroki’s face instantly drops as he watches your reaction. He knows that reaction. He’s had that reaction too many times to count. 

He lays beside you, cuddling into your side, rubbing circles over your sides in a comforting manor as your breathing eventually returns to normal. 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” His voice sounds so remorseful, so genuinely hurt.

“It's not you- It’s just muscle memory- I know you’d never actually do anything to hurt me Sho.” Your voice comes out quickly, you turn over to hide into his chest as he rests his head against yours. He moves his hand so it’s rubbing your back soothingly.

“Talk to me?” Todoroki asks, and it makes your heart swell. He’s not the most emotional person, you loved him regardless of that fact obviously, but the fact that he’s offering to listen without you bringing it up first makes you a bit happier.

So you talk, telling him about different situations throughout your life that inevitably lead to the muscle memory reaction. Todoroki didn’t talk, preferring to just listen. He’d switch between rubbing your back, or running his hands through your hair, occasionally kissing along your hairline or kissing your cheeks softly as you vented.

Once you finish talking, genuinely too mentally and physically exhausted to continue, Todoroki speaks up.

“None of that was your fault. Those people- they were at fault. You had never done anything wrong, (Y/N). Thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me enough to talk about this. You’re so strong and brave. I'm so proud to call you mine. I love you, (Y/N). Thank you for allowing me to help.” He ends his mini speech by placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

You smile at him tiredly, before pulling the blanket from the end of the bed bed and covering you both with it. You snuggle into his chest, leaning your head up to place a kiss on his jaw, before allowing sleep to take you.

Mina Ashido

Mina pauses at your reaction, confusion taking over her features before the realization slowly comes to her.

“Babycakes, no, i’d never-” She says quickly, jumping to straddle your lap, wrapping her arms around you reassuringly as your thoughts turn dark.

“It’s okay, cupcake, I’m here for you, jus breath, I've got you.” She reassures as your wrap your arms around her, cries slowly leaving your throat while she nuzzles the crook of your neck.

Before you can even open your mouth in an attempt to apologize she starts talking, “Don't you dare apologize. It’s not your fault, love.”

You can’t help the chuckle that interrupts your sobs, she knows you through and through.

“You want to talk about it, babycakes? I’ll listen. Let me be here for you please,” She pleads, just wanting to calm your painful sobs, just wanting to put a smile back on your perfect face. Her own eyes start to tear up, and she sniffles quietly.

You hug her a bit tighter, nodding your head. Once your tears calm down a bit, you tell her. You relay some of the events of the past that have scarred you to this day.

And with everything you say Mina continues to reassure you, kissing all over your face and hair. She continues holding you, not letting up for even a second. It means the world to you, just the fact that she’s being serious about it for you. She’s genuinely trying for you, and it makes a small smile light up your face as you finish retelling your past.

“There’s that gorgeous smile I love to see!” She says, a bright grin lighting up her face which just causes you to smile more.

“What would I do without you, Mina.” You say lovingly, as she wipes your eyes for hopefully the last time of the night.

Her smile turns loving as she gives you a small, gentle kiss.

“Let’s not find out, babycakes. You’re just gonna have to be stuck with me.”

Well, you couldn’t complain with her on that note.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #mina x reader #mina ashido x reader #todoroki x reader #izuku x reader #deku x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha headcannons #mha imagines #bnha imagines #mina x you #bnha x you #mha x you