#still not sure what i want to do with the considered bully characters

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

I’ve read a variation of soft and rough König and I’ve enjoyed both but I’d love to see your take on his character.

I can’t deny I have a preference for soft König. I think his size is a major concern, especially if his partner is on the smaller side, which leads me to believe he’d prolong the inevitable and the pining and anticipation would be off the charts on his end. But maybe his SO thinks he’s not as interested as she initially thought.

Add in the fact that he’s gone for long periods of time in which there is little or no communication and perhaps she considers moving on. The ol’ miscommunication trope if you will, with a happy ending. Thanks!

Overflow the Stars

Pairing: König x F!Reader

Synopsis: One more abandoned date night later, you're left wondering if the man you're infatuated with is really interested in you at all.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Angst, feelings of insecurity, body issues, allusions to König's past w. bullying & his anxiety, size difference, fluff, soft!König, happy ending

A/N: This is my apology to the German-speaking people out there - I think I butchered your language (feel free to correct me). I'm so sorry lmfao. But, Anon, this request was adorable to write, hope you enjoy it!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wanted to say you were surprised when he didn't show up – really, you did – but in the back of your mind, you already knew he wouldn’t. It was hard not to feel disappointed when you swirled your tiny cup of Franziskaner tensely, watching the whipped cream sink away into the concoction of dark espresso and milk; calling attention to the same feeling in your chest.

König had a strange habit as of late, and with a delicate furrow in your brow and perhaps even a smidge of sadness in your eyes, you wondered what you had done wrong. Why had he been avoiding you so…violently? While you wouldn’t have called yourself perfect by any means, nothing you had done over the course of your meetings was strange or downright embarrassing. 

You admitted that the man had never been the type to run away from something, and sighed as you brought the cup to your lips and sipped. Caffeine sits on your tongue along with a bitter revelation as the rain begins to pick up in velocity outside. The small and quiet café where you’re spending your afternoon is warm and unburdened by the weather. 

Do you think…he’s even interested in me anymore? The sharp thought brings a pang to your chest, fingers over the warm cup flinching back as if struck with lightning. O-or he doesn’t like being around me?

Your relationship was still new, very new, and if you were asked you would say it wasn’t even dating yet. König hadn’t asked you to be his girlfriend. 

But it had still been going well.

“Or so I thought,” you take a breath, watching the fog on the window as the streets of Vienna are rapidly being emptied of tourists and locals alike. Your shoulders are painfully tight.

Aggressive rainfall like this into the cold seasons was unusual, but it wasn’t like mother nature cared about the whims of anyone but herself. It’ll freeze overnight, leaving a bitter chill that puffs from breaths and a shaky few steps out the door across hardened ice. You’d probably go out – alone – for a walk in the morning to clear your head, or try, at any rate.

Lately, all you could think about was the bear of a man that was supposed to be sitting in the empty seat ahead of you. The cursed wooden chair burns your eyes; its dark wood and red cushion stab your vision over and over until you’re sure you’ll bleed tears instead of water. 

He was supposed to be here.

Taking another shaky sip of your drink, one that König had recommended to you himself a few dates ago, the brief moments of warmth it brings to your bones does little to satisfy you. You doubted anything short of a hulking figure trying to stick their knees under the small table could do just that.

The giant man you called your possible future boyfriend was avoiding you, and your subconscious was breaking itself to try and understand why. As if that gracious plea had been heard above the glossiness of your eyes and the gentle hum of the café workers who shuffle about, the phone in your pocket jumps. 

You don’t want to admit how fast your hand snapped to your thigh, sneaking under the layers to draw out black metal. A single link to König when he was overseas or out of sight that you were told was unwise to use. He was rarely able to answer you, but for what it was worth, he always tried to call back later. 

Even if recently, it had been a brief state of events. 

“I-I can’t talk right now–”

“Forgive me–”

Your lips thin.

Pulling the phone out, you immediately look at the contact, though you already know the message before you read it. The sunken whipped cream finally falls under deep chocolate-colored waves.

“Sorry, Bӓrchen, I’m stuck in the building for the day! I swear I’ll make it up to you for missing–” You don’t bother reading the rest, thumb already scrolling upward to see the numerous times other excuses have been made. 

His parents were needing some help moving furniture, he was drowning in post-operation reports, or simply just too tired. You weren't stupid. But every time you had stuffed down your pride and responded cheerfully, dressed to the nines and standing in your living room while your fingers shook over the keys.

Holding back tears. 

It would hurt less if he’d just tell you to your face what you were thinking. Maybe all of this was just… 

Your thoughts trail off. 

But that didn’t make sense – König was never malicious!

Placing down the phone, you leave him on read, feeling the pitying eyes of the baristas burning into your skin like a brand. They knew as well as you did that he wasn’t showing up.

When he calls sometime later, you shut the device off completely. Staring out the window at the dimming light, you lean your head into the glass and try not to cry as you watch couples rushing for cover from the rain; laughing and holding the other close. 

The empty chair stays motionless in the corner of your eye.

—

The first time you met König, you were left gaping at the sheer size of him. 

Towering over ninety percent of the other patrons in the art shop, he had looked down at the package of charcoal pencils in his large, scarred, hands. Turning them over to read the description on the back like an expert with delicate eyelashes that you’d kill for. 

You yourself had been cast in his shadow quite by accident, looking along expansive shelves for a sketchbook – your friend had gotten into a watercolor phase lately, and what better to give her than a birthday present she could actually use? The only problem was that you had no idea what was considered good quality or not, but had a strange suspicion the man beside you did. But what a happy accident it all turned out to be.

König had a black surgical mask on, but the milky-white scar that ran up his right eyebrow and disappeared into his auburn hairline was still starkly visible. Expressive dark eyes blink down at his object from a surprising height. Between picking up multiple books, running your fingers over the paper and whatnot, you can’t help but stare at the pure strength the man emanates. Compared to you, he was utterly gargantuan in both mass and height. A bear and a bee, you thought with a stifled giggle.

He blatantly appeared to know more about this stuff than you did as he placed the charcoal pack down and picked up another.  

“Erm,” you begin, and his head snaps down to yours immediately, head of hair falling into gentle curls near the ears. He had looked partially surprised to hear you speak to him, and his eyes had flickered around instinctually. But it was only the two of you in the aisle. “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir, but you seem to know a helluva lot more than me about art supplies.” Your voice was cautious, and you were afraid you’d seem rude for disturbing him, but all he did was stare and wait for you to finish speaking. Feet every so often shifting, or his hands twitching as if he never was able to stay still; he blinks a few times like a rabbit. “Any suggestions for watercolor?” A small laugh meets the air as you move your hand to show off the wall of possible options for paper. “I’m not much of an artist, but my friend’s birthday is coming up – thought I’d get her something she’d actually use this year. She wasn't too enthralled with the plant I got her for her twenty-third. Killed the thing in a week.” 

A nervous chuckle is softly met and your face heated as his own did. There’s a moment of a clearing throat before the man nods carefully, and the sparse freckles over his forehead shift. His biceps flex.

“O-of course, Ma’am,” his accent is quite strong, and you like the guttural raspiness of his tone. “I prefer Saunders Waterford, though I don’t manage to use it often. Better, eh, was ist das Wort?” He stumbles for a moment over the proper descriptor. “Beständig. Durable.”

A tilt of his head later, and you’re beaming, picking up the large pad with careful fingers, testing the weight in your palms as one would an apple. 

“Wonderful! It looks like I owe you one, eh?” Looking back up, you watch his eyes widen as you notice him blatantly staring. Face crinkling into a shy display of heat and curiosity, he slightly moves back, a large hand going to scratch at the base of his neck as his sweatshirt bunches. 

Chest tight, you stick out a hand and offer your name with a smile. It was only customary, but the action was pure instinct more than thought-out. All the while restraining a shiver, his limb encompasses yours so completely and radiates a large amount of heat.

“A pleasure,” your voice wavers, but it’s not so much nervousness as it is genuine intrigue. For a man so blessed with the tall gene, he really had a considerate hold – barely squeezing your skin in fear it would break. 

The action makes your chest squeeze.

“Ah, guten tag,” he utters, nodding with a firm shake, though his eyelashes caress his cheeks as his eyes rove away, “König.” 

A bit awkward, isn’t he? You have to ask yourself. Not that it was a bad thing – in fact, you found the nervous tensing of his thighs to be cute, along with that red tinge that was over his pale ears. So very opposite of how you expected him to act.

That was when you noticed the dog tags, as well, though you found no purpose to say anything. But everything about this man had caught your attention as a large billboard would, and the comparison has you practically bending in laughter. He probably could be a billboard with a build like that. No doubt he’d catch a lot of attention.

You tilt your head and release his hand, nodding to König’s charcoal pencils. 

“I bet you can make some killer drawings with those things, huh?” The beast twists them in his hand and turns down to stare at the supplies as if he’d forgotten they’d been there at all. “You draw often?”

“Ja,” his eyes brighten, and the crinkling of his eyes tells you that a small smile pulls at his lips. “Whenever I’m able. I,” König pauses before his shoulders move in a soft movement akin to a shrug. “I…find it calming.” 

Your ribs move in reaction to an interested sound. 

A bear that likes to draw.

“You’re better than me, I’d just get frustrated if something doesn’t look right.” A deep laugh echoes off the shelves before a lapsing silence settles like a bird’s wings. Overcome by a sudden urge to speak, yet having no other words to say, König’s voice meets your ears before you can find something to say.

It’s slow, the tone, bathed in hesitation and even a smidgen of armor; like the outcome of your response was already measured and taken as null compared to the giant’s own thoughts.

“I…don’t suppose I could show you some if you’d be interested.” At your widening lids, his twitching hands come up to his sides, eyes blinking rapidly as a vermilion hue blossoms like a flower over his visible skin. Dark eyes like broken obsidian pay more attention to your shoes than your face.

“N-not, eh, scheiße, I only meant I–” Watching him stutter was similar to what a high schooler would do when he was called out during an assembly. Though, your giggle makes him clear his throat and pause with a stiffening spreading to his legs. His body seems to deflate, taking your reverence for his soft inward nature as making fun or at worse, a blatant rejection. The delicate makeup of his psyche was on display, though you didn’t know. “I’m…I’m sorry, Ma’am–”

“I’d love to see your artwork, König,” you begin, pulling the watercolor pad closer to your body instinctually, cheeks hot. The man perks up, and you can see his heart hammering through his clothes when his eyes blaze with light. “How about I give you my number and I’ll text you a day I’m free and we can work something out? A local café or library sound good?”

“I…yes, that sounds wonderful.”

—

You throw your soaked coat on the hook as you shut the door, hating how the frigid rainwater had wetted your hair, though still holding it as a blessing. At least no one could see the tear tracks as you walked back to your apartment. 

Kicking off heavy boots and peeling the slick layers of fabric from your chest with a sloping sound, you flick on the lights with a shaking finger and a sniffle. Wet footprints are left over the rugs and hardwood as the phantom shuffles over them, beelining to the bathroom to strip. 

Your mind was preoccupied as you slipped out of heavy fabric, the pile already on the floor creating a large puddle that you threw a towel on and left as it was. 

“He…he’d tell me if he didn’t like me anymore, right?” Whispering, the broken words meet air as you toss on a large shirt – the hem meeting your knees as a pair of thick sweatpants follow. 

Quite the look for someone who was having an internal battle. Your friends would say you looked like you were minutes away from grabbing a tub of ice cream and sobbing over a rom-com. The quick-witted part of you confessed that the idea wasn’t even that bad if you threw in a glass of beer. Preferably the shitty kind so you could complain about it and distract yourself.

“Get it together…” You would not cry over a guy that hadn’t even asked you out officially, but with that familiar sting in the back of your eyes, you hissed that König wasn’t just any guy.

You’d really liked him, and for what it was worth, your heart would have exploded if he had asked you out. 

He was kind – respectful. Utterly adorable when he was speaking so passionately about his artwork and his parents who he held on a larger-than-life pedestal. König’s heart was just as big as his body, that gorgeous, bear-like body, and…oh, you’d wished he would like you just as much as you liked him. 

Before you could stop the wave of hopelessness, the tears were already dribbling down your face, and the dark apartment was echoing with the barely-there sobs that hit the walls.

—

When you hadn’t answered him in the next two hours and his calls were going to voicemail, König was hit with a train’s worth of worry. Feet tapping faster than unusual and eyes were finicky as they passed over documents.

Although his contract with KorTac wasn’t exactly like his own had been in the military, the hyper-vigilance was still ingrained bones-deep. The Austrian man held his personal relationships tightly – and if someone wasn’t answering him, the anxiety reserved for large, uncontrollable, crowds reared its ugly head. König wasn’t sure when it had happened, but you had entered that loyal group consisting of his parents and a few work friends in an incredibly small amount of time. 

He really should have bit the bullet and gone out with you today, the man acknowledged as he slipped out of his office and tried once more to get in contact with you. König watched the icon of your smiling face go straight to the familiar voice that in any other circumstance, he would have wanted to listen another moment too.

“...Thanks for calling! I’m not able to speak with you right now, but go ahead and leave a message–”

“Come on, Bӓrchen.” König lightly growls, hanging up and stuffing the infernal device into his cargo pant’s side pocket. 

His usually hidden face was twisted up with worry, so commonly lit with bloodlust on Ops now left in a state of unknown. It was stupid to think like this, but how could he not? In such a small amount of time, you’d made him fall for you like a bird does the sky; that thin line between falling and flying caught underwing. 

That was why he’d been making excuses, you see. 

You were so…good…that he’d been worried about the way he carried himself; second-guessed small actions like a hand on the small of your back in public, or a comment about how nice you looked. 

Did she take that the wrong way?

Why did I tell her that?

I hope she doesn’t think that I’m rude…

You were messing with his mind with every turn, but it wasn’t even all that, either. His size also played a part. Your form was so small as it trailed beside him on walks through the city – it fit in the clutch of his arm easily. 

König was just scared he might break you, he’s never had to be…gentle so often before. It was against everything he’d been taught in the last decade or so.

Pushing open the front door of the KorTac: Private Military Contractor building, the man pushes on with a frown over his scarred lips and a drawn-in expression. He hadn’t even noticed he’d forgotten his surgical mask in his office, along with a jacket, and braved the volatile winds and slapping rain in a slight jog, an athletic shirt tight across his chest. 

By the time he’d reached your apartment building, his hair was dark and stuck to his skin, slight puffs of breath escaping his lips and wracking shivers along his spine. König ascended the stairs in double steps, agile as his heart pounded. 

Being ex-military left him with an undeniable state of readiness.

With heavy knuckles and panting breath, his hand quickly rasps against the door, and after a second of no sound, he does it again. 

“Bӓrchen, it’s me. Are you there?” König’s shoulders are set, ready to batter the door down at the barest hint of something wrong. He calls your name but like a voice on the wind, there’s no answer. Not even a shadow under the barrier, a whiff of your shampoo.

Grunting, strained eyes going grim, the man’s hand encompasses the handle, arm and body going parallel to the wood. His hips tense, feet grinding over the floor as they set. But the nearly missed footsteps that his ears twitched at gives him pause. 

After a few moments of intense listening, his body stone-stiff and eyes spaced out, there’s a clicking of a lock. 

König moves back swiftly, hands going to rest at his sides, and when your face graces his vision, a large weight is lifted. Until he realizes that your eyes are red-rimmed. His lids go startlingly wide, fingers coming up to curl into themselves near his middle, but you speak before he does.

With a hatred for interrupting others, König keeps his lips sealed and watches with a concerned once-over and nervous lungs.

Your hand is clenched over the door frame, the muscle of your tongue licking at your lips as beads of water fall from your locks. 

“What are you doing here, König?” With a voice more hoarse and dry than a desert. The man itches at the side of his hawk nose, hesitant about what he sees. 

You’d never been like this before – always so happy. 

“I…” He trails off quietly, seeing your eyes unwilling to meet his own. “Are you…alright?” 

The Austrian’s fingers jerk when you laugh, and a surprised blink later he’s coming closer to check on you, hand almost outstretched before he sees the size difference and thinks better of it. He just taps on your cheek instead, delicately, like a hit from a flower. 

“Sweet one? Please tell me what is wrong. You weren’t answering your phone.” He wants to beg for you to look at him, plead. “It made me worry for you. Why did you not respond?” 

“So you want me to respond when you’re obviously bailing on me for what,” you pull back, disappearing partially behind the door. König watches with a still body as your arms go to wrap around your waist, dread creeping up his throat. “The third time? Fourth? I guess I’ve lost count.” 

The man’s lips go thin, eyes crinkling as an expression of pure self-hatred takes hold. He had stupidly hoped you wouldn’t notice that. When times got tough for him in the past – whether with the schoolyard bullies or an operation on wrong, avoidance was usually his best tactic; it was one he had fallen back into time and time again without fail. But he’d never told you that. 

And now he looked like a proper Arschloch. 

But you’re not done yet. When you leave the door open and disappear inside the dark apartment, König follows after like a lost puppy, water still dripping from his strong chin and stuck in his stubble. Cursing himself out in his head. 

“Ach, du Depp, jetzt hast du‘s getan. Die eine gute Sache ruiniert, die du hattest, oder...?" He mutters, slipping out of his boots and frantically looking after you as your form goes to the couch. König closes the front door and stays in the foyer, fingers twiddling and mouth opening and closing. 

You hadn’t even looked at him yet, and you’d barely seen him without a mask on. 

The Tv was on, playing some show that he’d never seen and he doubted you were watching. Your body plops to the couch with a shrieking of springs and bouncing of pillows. A small huff escapes your lips, though you speak no more. 

König clears his throat again, a nasty nervous habit along with the fidgeting, as he takes a few steps forward. The finger of his right hand goes to spread through his hair, pushing the strands back like a red wave and unintentionally slicking them to his skull. The clicking of his jaw reverberates in his ears as he resets it, picking at the palate scar under his left nostril. 

He opens his mouth to speak but closes it fitfully and already his face is reddening. König looks away from you for a moment, breathing before shuffling over like a guilty child would on drowned socks. He places one leg on the floor and kneels down in front of you so he can better look into your creased face. 

“Bӓrchen,” he liked calling you that – little bear – because the comparison was enough to make him smile every time it passed his lips. It was such an endearing term that it became difficult to look past the blatant harm he could inflict on you if he wasn’t careful. While his size made him perfect for the field, home life was, well, let's just say he could easily force his way through a crowd. Not that he would, of course. But at any rate, that was what you were to him – a little bear. “I…I have to confess to you that I have been avoiding you, yes? That much has been,” a stiff breath is taken in. “Obvious.” 

Your head turns to the side, knees brushing his own as you hold your hands in your lap. Behind König the show continues to play, spreading a silver light over the living room and the continuous droning of voices.  

Not knowing whether it would be frowned upon or not, and with a steadying breath for confidence, the man loops a cold finger under your chin; bringing you back to him and finally setting your glossy eyes ahead. 

He sees you blink in surprise when you find him maskless, and a faint smile flicks over his lips when your expression goes shy. Cautious like a bird.

“It was of no fault of your own, Sweetling, I ask that you believe me. I’ll try to explain the best I can, Ja? If you’ll let me, though, I know that I don’t deserve it.”

“If you don’t like me anymore, you can just say it…Stop dragging me on, please.” His heart stops, mouth still partially open before a sharp breath is sucked in. “I don’t know if I can take that anymore.” The pang in his chest hurts immensely, like taking an arrow and peeling back skin. You look at him so hopelessly, broken beyond belief as though a piece of you was being ripped out.

“W-why do you say that?” König tries to desperately stop the wetness of your tears from falling, shaking his head and cupping both of your cheeks, rubbing at the flesh in agony. “No, no, no, Dear One. That’s not what it is at all, I beg of you to listen.” In the fever, he switches between his native tongue and English, fingers shaking though not from the drenched clothes. “Meine Schöne, oh, meine Schöne. Bitte hör auf zu weinen.“

He takes quick breaths and finds in himself that he would do anything to stop you from crying – take a bullet, run a marathon, or learn to fly. Name it, any of it. Anything to wipe away the sadness that lives in your expression as if it even belonged there in the first place

“Do not cry over me, please, I-I,” König’s tongue trips over itself, but he persists, a similar burn in the back of his nose. “I…You scare me, Bӓrchen,” that gets your attention, creased eyes and a loose jaw going to give him full observation. 

What?! Your expression screams.

Face on fire, the Austrian continues with intense eyes, dark obsidian awash with pure light that reflects stars. Overflowing with anxious tears that he refuses to let fall. 

He can’t lose you. No, no, not you. You were the best thing to happen to him in a long time. Damn him – damn his own consciousness that’s more of a betrayer than Brutus. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go… 

“...What?” Your voice wavers, nose twitching so adorably that the man is momentarily stunned. 

“I am afraid of you, my Dear. Utterly and wholly.” König sucks down a breath, now the one unable to continue the stare-off. His foot shifts. “I am afraid of what you do to me. Your smile, Gott, your smile. A-and the way you speak, how you react so honestly to my paintings like you care with all of your heart.” He laughs wetly when you smile dimly, continuing as he caresses your skin. “Everything down to your very bones is like…like…” König’s words fumble, because comparing you to something earthly was impossible to him. 

“Ever since I met you in that art store, I cannot string together words with any semblance of meaning when I am around you. Bӓrchen, you have entrapped my mind, and I am afraid.”

He watches you breathe in slowly, tears no longer falling, though the evidence still haunts him. The man’s chest lets go of a tightly wound knot, the anvil on the other side just narrowly missing his heart as the sweat on his brow evaporates.

“A-and,” König sighs, shaking his head and moving his hands to tightly hold your own in your lap. How could he explain the last part of this dilemma? He bluntly states, “you’re small.”

A brief moment of silence bleeds like a wound, long and slow, until a tiny snort echoes. Full-blown laughter emanates not even a second later, and he watches your body heave forward and slot itself with your nose in his shoulder. König’s blush stains all the way down his neck, but minuscule giggles also fall from him in retaliation to yours. His great arms wrap themselves around your waist, dragging you slightly closer as he breathes deeply. 

Your scent pulls him under like a ship at the water, riding great waves with sea beasts under the waves guiding the vessel along its course. 

“Everyone’s small compared to you.” Your mumbling in his shoulder makes his grip tighten, side-eyeing your visage as his head tilts down. “Not my fault you got every gene that made you sprout like a damn tree.”

With your lips caressing his neck, he blinks softly down at you, amused, as his breath mingles with your hair. He lets you speak, getting it all off your chest and feeling stupid for how he had been avoiding this.

“You’re afraid because you’re so big, then? That you might hurt me?” 

“Ja.” Your hands circle around his shoulders, and with a sigh that leaves the man short of breath, you shimmy back and face him, fingers playing with the base of his neck; pulling at tiny hairs. 

“Don’t you think being worried about that means something? And, c’mon,” you smile lightly to him, and he watches closely, fingers moving along your spine. “With how conscious you are of your body, it’s hard to imagine anything ever happening.”

Hands grasp his neck, and with a bobbing Adam’s apple, König yields to your pull, angling his head to you as your back straightens. Watching with awe; your silhouette bathed in silver light and eyes fatigued, though never more beautiful. You’re beaming.

“I’ve never felt safer than when I’m with you, okay? So stop worrying about it, you big dope – and stop ditching me!” The Austrian’s dark eyes are fastly moved from one spot on your face to another, cataloging every bump and pore to memory. 

He’d never been this close to you before, though he’d fantasized about it. And what you were telling him…it’s like his body deflates with relief, and a genuine, boyish, smile blossoms. 

“Safe? W-with me, Bӓrchen? Oh-oh, my…” A kiss suddenly hits his forehead, and if you continued doing things like this, he was sure he’d explode. His body was vibrating with pure bashfulness; it was so odd to be complimented and doted on by someone that wasn’t his close family. For someone to reassure him of his flawed concerns. 

She feels safe with me. 

How could he tell you how happy that made him to hear aloud?

“Hey,” hands cup his jaw, and his spaced-out eyes snap back to you instantly, blinking away the rose-colored fog. You shake his head back and forth until he’s chuckling, like a kid again, and his grip catches your wrists to make you stop. Your breath fans over his blazing cheeks like a wind sent from Zephyrus himself, and the sticking clothes to his body matter little. “No more leaving me hanging, okay? I miss you, König. I want to be around you.” 

The eyes that travel down his scarred and freckled face leave him slightly self-conscious, but as if sensing this, your lips curve. Before he could utter a grunt of surprise, your kiss had connected with the scar on his forehead, as well as the palate. Just brushing the top of his lips as his large nose poked your cheek. 

“Mein Gott.” König gasps, eyes fluttering shut when you pull back and a grin slashes your face. A whisper meets the room.

“Thank you for showing me your handsome face, mein Schöner, I’ve been wondering what you looked like.” Shyly scanning his features, the redhead lets your fingers trace his flesh, shivers left in their wake, and a soft sigh. 

If he opens his eyes, he’s afraid he’d start crying. So he lets you touch his scarlet flesh, nearly the same shade as his hair, though the auburn is more deep-set. Shivering every time you lay another press of your lips to a blemish; more addictive than drugs. 

“You’re going to kill me,” König pleads, “but if this is punishment for causing you pain, I will gladly bear it.”

“Sly.” You smirk, pressing one more peck to his nose, and pulling back. He grumbles in his throat before his eyes peel open slowly; pupils blown wide and mouth parted. “Are you alive down there?”

“Barely. Perhaps I’ll need another kiss to tell, yes?” 

“You’re horrible.” Looking at his clothes, your eyes suddenly go grim. Like you’d just noticed the state of him now that he was kneeling in front of you and struck by your beauty. “And shivering.” You huff. “Why didn’t you start by saying you were soaked to the bone, König?” 

He looks to the ground, and you try to shuffle past and grab him a towel, but his arms trap you. You find yourself in a chest faster than you can blink, hands splayed over a pec that jerks as you’re lifted up. 

König hears you squeak and laughs, throwing you up into a bridal-style hold easily. Laughing chest-deep, you curl under his chin and quickly comment, “what are you doing?!” 

“Hush, Bӓrchen,” the man squishes you closer, “I’ll find a towel, don’t strain yourself.” 

You direct him to the bathroom after he sets you on your bed, hearing the pounding of rain outside as he sneaks off. 

The room smells of your shampoo, and König takes a pastel towel from the wrack after half-closing the door, slapping it to his head and violently rubbing it back and forth. Lost in his elevated thoughts and happy demeanor, the knock on the wood is almost missed. He’s just about to take off his shirt and wring it out when he blinks at the sound. 

“König – I’ve got some spare clothes, but I doubt they’ll fit you well enough.” An amused twitch of his lips later, he’s opening the door to your soft face, staring down at it. Standing shyly, your eyes crease; head tilting. “Sleepover?”

The man looks at the pile of fabric and nods kindly, a lofty feeling in his bones.

“Yes, please. They’re perfect, vielen Dank.” It isn’t long before he’s coming back out, a shirt that barely fits over his wide chest and a pair of sweats clinging to his hips. But he didn’t mind. 

They smelled like you, and thus, he smelled like you. König quickly found out that drawing wasn’t the only thing that could calm him. 

An embarrassed smile and a sheen of giddiness never leave his face.

He slides into bed with you, and you quickly latch under his arm, limbs tangling with his own as his fingers twitch over the width of the base of your shoulder blades. An easy expulsion of air leaves him as your weight settles, back curving to the make of the mattress. 

The words leave him in the delicate silence; water hitting the window and during the exploration of souls. Cheeks hot and heart hammering. 

“Sei mein?” Be mine? 

He feels your grin, nose nuzzling his flesh like it was the perfect pillow, and his heart speeds like a shooting star.

“Mein Herz war immer deins. Ja.” My heart was always yours. Yes. 

He stays awake for a long while, listening to your breathing and staring at the ceiling, running knuckles over your spine and staying silent. 

Smiling.  

#konig #konig x reader #konig modern warfare #konig fluff #cod konig #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 #mw2 fanfic #mw2 x reader #cod mw22 #cod x you #cod x reader #cod #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #x fem!reader #x female reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod fandom #cod fanfic #mw x reader #modern warfare #konig x you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Old Scars, New Blood 2

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, borderline bullying, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has accepted that she’ll never be wanted, not only by the man she’s crushed on for years, but by anyone. That is until a new player enters the game. (f!, short!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen, Thor Odinson

Note: Man, I need some sleep.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

As the large house fills with the rabble of strange men and flowing alcohol, you retreat back to your quarters and stare at your dead phone. Still not sign of life from Lloyd but that doesn't worry you in any existential way. He always finds a way to scrape by, it's just that you usually hear from him by now. Even when he leaves you behind, he has a dozen orders for you. Not that time.

You lean against the headboard and mull the walls. Maybe you'll finally leave this life. You should be proud you got this far. You weren't exactly honed in blood like these underhanded mercenaries. You're just an executive assistant who took a chance. A woman and a Craig's List add, what an origin story.

After a while, you find it hard to sit still. You leave your bed in a mess from the turmoil of your nerves. You drag yourself to the door. You must look like you're going through a breakup, at the very lest, a crisis. A grey gap hoodie and black leggings. You shuffle around in your beat up Keds and drift downstairs, concealing yourself in the distraction and cacophony of the full house. Valhalla and his men jeer from the dining room as you slip past, a quick peek inside at the joining of forces. 

Rico sits near the head of the table next to the gargantuan blonde with his braided locks and rugged jawline. The host looks less than impressed as his guest guffaws and claps his back roughly. You don't stay and watch, hurrying on as your stomach squeezes hungrily. You find when Lloyd's not around to demand his meals, you tend to forget to feed yourself.

You enter the kitchen and find chaos strewn over the counter tops. Bottles, some half-filled, others empty, littered over the granite. Crumbs and whole chunks of cheese and meat tossed around carelessly, a lingering stench hanging in the air. You assume the staff is hiding until there aren't men mixing alcohol and firearms.

You pull open the fridge and growl to find your neatly stacked containers gone. You keep your own food and Lloyd's precisely curated. You're a planner and meal planning is your greatest pride. While the other men depend on the processed foods dished up by the help, you make sure to feed your boss his preferred organic cuts. The door shuts as you let it go and turn to peruse the kitchen. There's a bag of biscuits with some spilling out. You leave the spilled cookies on the counter and claim the rest.

You stop as you come to face the wine rack. A single bottle remains in the crisscrossed slats of wood. You're not exactly fond of Risling but you've never been very picky. Nor much of a drinker.

You slide the bottle out with a soft clink against the rack and consider the label. You're not expert, would it pair well with shortbread? You compare the rumbled package of cookies and the pristine font on the bottle.

"Another!" The booming voice makes you leap and you spin around, the wine sloshing in the glass and loosening your grip. You face the large man as he bounces into the kitchen and the long neck slips free entirely. You step back with a surprised squeak as the glass smashes around your feet, sending a splash of wine up your leggings. 

Valhalla stops short as he finds you standing in the ruin of your surprise. His rosy cheeks pale and his cheeks draw to a more sober expression, a glint still gleaming behind his bright blue irises, "ah, pardon, my lady, I didn't mean to startle you. And look at what I've done," he gestures to your feet. You lift a shoe and he makes a noise, "ah, ah, do not move."

He comes closer as you stand dumbly in the shards. You look down then back at him. "I have shoes on--"

"And you wouldn't want to stain them," he insists as he nears. You shy away but not fast enough. He picks you up easily, like a hero in a ridiculous story, scooping you over the broken glass and carrying you to safe ground. "Forgive me for wasting the wine."

"It's fine," you wiggle in his hold, the bag of cookies wrinkling loudly, "really, I think..." you look down, dizzy as you see the pattern of tile below, "you can put me down, sir. Please, if you don't mind."

"As you wish," he places you gently on your feet, "what an introduction. Valhalla," he holds out his large hand, his palm rough and calloused, fingers thick but lock, "and you, beautiful woman lurking in the shadows?"

Your breath is stolen by the unexpected compliment. You remind yourself that it is only gas. He's like Lloyd, he must be, compliments are only currency. You take his hand and introduce yourself as sternly as you can. Your voice is barely more than a mousy squeak.

"It is you," he lights up as he tilts his head, clinging to your hand. 

"Me?" You question.

"Oh, I hope you remember. I suppose I am forgettable. We emailed... how pathetic I must sound," he chuckles at himself.

"No, I remember," you wiggle your hand and look at it, still trapped in his grip.

"Apologies," he lets you go, fingers brushing your palm reluctantly, "I only... I was disappointed when you disappeared."

"I disappeared?" You frown. "You never answered my last message."

"I..." he pauses, "I was in communication with Hansen, he said he preferred to take on the negotiations himself."

"Oh," you nod. Lloyd never mentioned that. "Of course, I'm so... careless. I have so much going on. I... I should've said goodbye. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he pleas, "you've nothing to be sorry for. I should be. I might make it up to you. You like wine, so let us grab a bottle and catch up."

"Catch up," you muse meekly, "you make it sound like we're old friends."

"Aren't we?"

"Emails..." you murmur.

He laughs as he turns and goes to the wine rack, ignoring the puddle of glass and wine by his feet.

"That was the last bottle," you say dully.

"There must be a cellar, I'm certain the best vintages are there," he turns as he pokes his finger into the air, "let us go scavenge."

"Uh, that's nice and all but I think... cookies are just fine for me."

"Cookies?" He comes back to you, eyeing the bag in your hand, "shortbread. My favourite."

"Oh, well, erm, if you want some--"

"Only if you come with them," he meets your gaze and you shy away at his implication.

You open your mouth but no sound comes out.

"I mean, I'd like to eat them with you. Share them," he stammers slightly, another rocky chuckle escapes him, "I've been on the road long, I'm afraid I'm bit delirious."

"It's fine, I wouldn't want to-- you and your men should settle in and maybe tomorrow--"

"Tonight. Right now. I can't wait. I'm not known for it," he seizes your hand, "come, meet my men."

"I... please," he tugs you, moving you with little effort, "I'm only an assistant."

"Bring your cookies," he insists, ignoring your protests.

You can't stop him. Your soles squeak and slide under you as he drags you into the hall and through the wide archway of the dining room. The men at the table are drunk and a few whistle as you pass by, even as female agents sit smattered among the group.

Valhalla brings you to the head of the table and claims the empty chair awaiting him. Before you can react, he lifts you onto his lap, his arm firm against your back.

"Wait-- what are you--" you can barely catch your breath with how fast everything is moving, "I really should-- Lloyd will be back soon and I have to--"

"Forget him. I want to know about you," he bows his head, focusing on the cookie bag as he slips his fingers through the open top. He plucks one out, admiring it before holding it out to you, "please, you first."

You go to take the cookie from him, shifting on his leg, uncomfortable as you hear the snickers from the table. You must look ridiculous. This man is like a storm, he just comes in and blows everything out of sorts. He pulls the cookie away from your reaching fingers, instead hovering it before your mouth. You swallow, too humiliated to look anywhere but him.

"I can--"

He shakes his head and presses the shortbread to your lips, quieting you. You open your mouth and bite into the crumble buttery goodness. You snap your teeth shut and chew stiffly, lowering your eyes as he watches you. He tosses the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and hums.

"Delicious," he remarks as his fingers tickle the back of your arm, "now, we have tonight. Tomorrow we can work, but now, you will tell me everything."

"Lloyd--"

"Not him," he interrupts again, "you," he cups your chin in his hand, "I travelled all this way, won't you humour me just a little?"

You rub your lips together. What can you say? Every time you try to come up with something, it begins 'Lloyd...' Is there even anything interesting about you? Have you lost yourself so completely to your own foolish crush?

"Tell me," Valhalla rests his hand on your shoulder more firmly, "anything. Tell me your favourite cookie. Just speak and I will listen."

You look at him again. Listen? How long have you longed for someone to do just that? To be heard? To be seen? It's almost as if he knows and is heeding that desperate call inside of you.

"The little..." you put your fingers up to show the size you have in mind, "jam-filled ones," your voice grows less wobbly as you speak, "with the bit of custard."

"Ah, those are a delight," he proclaims, "my brother is overly fond of those. I caught him sneaking some at the family holiday last year-- anyhow, he is another matter. I see it, you are sweet, you like sweet things." He frames your face with his hand, "and you have a sweet voice, tell me more.”

"I..." you begin and push your shoulders into a shrug. You take out a cookie, needing to do something with your hands, "I'm not that interesting."

You nibble on the cookie as he laughs again. Not mean or judgmental like Lloyd, just fun. You focus on chewing, wilting away as you feel him watching you.

"I'm interested," he intones, his timbre blowing through you.

You don't know what to say. There are no words. It's like you're the centre of the world in that moment, or at the least, of his. A man you hardly know, a man you only ever encountered in text.

Or maybe you're all wrong. Maybe you're misinterpreting every word he says. Just like you did with Lloyd. Searching for any sliver of longing.

"In fact," he leans back, rubbing your back casually, "you're the only interesting thing I've found in this place."

❤️‍🩹

The night sweeps you up like a whirlwind. You don't quite remember it ending, waking up in bed with remnants of the evening dancing in your mind. Valhalla's voice nips at you, sending spirals over your flesh, zapping every nerve as it echoes in your ears.

You almost feel guilty that he's your first thought. How he never looked away, never spoke to anyone else, only you. His entire focus was yours.

And yours was his. You listened to his stories, mentions of his family, though his reputation never suggested sentiment. His tales of firefights made comical by his retelling. The way he described his homeland like some mystical paradise. He filled the void left by your own boring life.

You stretch and roll over, sitting up as something dangles down your chest. You look down. Still inhe same hoodie you wore all night was a charm hanging between the strings. You take it between your fingers and examine the medallion, a bullet lodges into it, the burn of gunpowder seared around it. Strange.

A waft of amber and citrus clings to the sweater. You dare to take a whiff before you stand. It smells like him.

You peel off your sweater reluctantly and hang it, opting to skip the hamper. You strip your leggings and your undershirt and pick a fresh outfit. Something more appropriate.

You force yourself into the shower and come out feeling awake. You pull on each piece; a pair of stiff slacks and a striped blouse, paired with a gray blazer. Your usual dull attire.

You sit and slide into a pair of leather flats. The mornings aren't usually hard. Something is different. Something has changed.

You head downstairs and find several staff working at tidying the previous night's ribaldry. You enter the kitchen and set the keurig to brew a cup as bodies scurry around you. Everyone has their place here; you, Rico, and Lloyd.

But not Valhalla.

At the very thought of him, a blaring horn takes over. Your ears throb and you forget your mug as you race to the front door. There's a man passed out against the wall in his own puke. Wonderful.

You pull open the left door as the gate opens and tires bounce over the paved drive. Lloyd is behind the wheel to your surprise, laying into the horn as he skids to a halt. Grumbling comes from behind you as Rico drags his feet and peers out over your head.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

The alcohol lingers in his breath. You step outside to escape his stench. Lloyd swings open the door and hops out, smiling at the sky as he presents himself as some great hero returned home.

“Morning, fuckers!” He bellows.

Silence, only an odd rhythm. You realise as a figure jogs around the east wing that it's footfalls. You turn to look as Rico and Lloyd do the same. It's him, Valhalla, running towards you.

He smiles, unaffected by his brisk pace as he nears, a smile on his face as he waves. He slows and you get a clear sight of his shirtless torso. He wears only running shoes and a pair of riskily short shorts. 

There's a sheen of sweat over his skin but he hardly seems spent. His veins bulge beneath his skin and his muscles are thick but toned. His chest is broad and trimmed in golden hair, every part him immense and statuesque.

You almost let out the ‘wow’ as it creeps up your throat.

“Who the fuck is this ken doll?” Lloyd asks as he points to Valhalla.

“Ah, you must be Hansen,” Valhalla ignores his brusque question and holds put his hand.

“Who's asking?” Lloyd rests his hand on his holster.

Valhalla smiles and gives his name, unfaltering as he keeps his hand put. Lloyd doesn't shake it as he scowls. He looks the larger man up and down.

“You're early.”

“Or you're late,” Valhalla challenges and turns, clapping his hand on Lloyd's shoulder as it goes unshaken, “I thought you'd be bigger.”

Lloyd tilts his head, a grimace twisting his features, “huh?”

“I must day, it's a nice property,” Valhalla continues, gesturing to the house. He smirks and gives you a wink, “very welcoming.” He grips Lloyd's shoulder and pulls him closer, “I could get you somewhere even bigger. How about that?”

Lloyd squints at Valhalla, head craned awkwardly, “yeah?���

Valhalla smiles, “let's talk.”

#lloyd hansen #thor #dark lloyd hansen #dark thor #dark!lloyd hansen #dark!thor #thor x reader #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #mcu #marvel #avengers #fic #au #series #multifandom #dark fic #dark!fic

[dekusleftsock]

HMMNGGGSHSHHSHD IM SO LATE TO THIS BUT THERES SO MANY THINGS IVE WANTED TO SAY FOR SO LONG AND IVE JUST BEEN TOO DEPRESSED OR BUSY TO DO IT

I did just re-read the chapter, hazbin/helluva hyperfixation is gone y’all I’m back and ready for more.

Okay so, a couple of things I noticed. Let’s start there.

Throughout this chapter, it really is heartbreaking to see how Izuku regards one for all as Allmight’s power, and therefore a disrespect to him to give that away. Which is quite frankly insane given the nature of what the power is, but regardless it still shows me just how deeply he still cares for and admires allmight.

It also makes the transfer Izuku makes to Katsuki in the heroes rising movie all the more intimate; izuku wouldn’t just give the power to anyone, if not for himself (which is also clearly due to that fact since he still sees ofa as the thing that makes him a hero, not his characteristics), then simply out of respect for allmight and his legacy.

It’s just the anger you can see, feel in those words as he demands to know why. I’ve personally been in the boat of “Izuku dislikes Kudou immensely bc he hasn’t proven to be heroic and amazing like Katsuki has, and also he insults him a lot why would he like him”, since Izuku does genuinely have self respect (a common mischaracterization imo), he’s just also more forgiving and faithful to those he admires or loves (or both).

SPEAKING OF SELF RESPECT AND MISCHARACTERIZATION!

I want to highlight the words “But even so, this boy refuses to throw in the towel”, bc it’s such an important part of Izuku and his character.

He isn’t overly self sacrificial, he isn’t a masochist, he isn’t even a martyr—especially not a martyr.

Izuku is stubborn. That is not the same thing as wanting to constantly die for others; izuku is like Katsuki, he wants to fight for others. Giving up just simply isn’t in his morality.

And if “giving up” also includes letting someone die or failing to save someone out of his own negligence, that’s not because he wants to die.

I can’t explain how much the interpretation that Izuku wanting to die, even for others, is so fucking out of character. Izuku is stubborn, he’s stubborn in the way that he won’t just fall over and let the ground take him. Given the circumstances, Izuku would fight for his life just as he would fight for another.

THIS HAS BEEN THE CASE SINCE, I DONT KNOW, CHAPTER FUCKING ONE?

“Idiot! If I’d really jumped, you’d be charged with bullying me into suicide!! Think before you speak!!”

“Idiot…”

Like he’s so unaffected by the awful comment outside of being angry at the DISRESPECT of said comment. This is why all those damn suicidal Izuku fics have always felt so ooc. Izuku isnt a moody, brooding ball of depression, he’s a stubborn, courageous, and angry ball of depression. There is a difference.

Even before this, he literally attempts to say something or fight back to Katsuki, honestly it looks like he’s about to punch him here.

The only reason he DOESNT is bc HE DOESNT WANT TO GET HIS ASS BEAT

Btw for anyone who has or ever will be in Izuku’s position, punch him. I love Katsuki But hit him in the fucking gut. If you get your ass beat at least you can say you can took it like a champ.

Speaking from someone who regrets not punching three girls who were trying to gang up on me in middle school🫶🫶🫶

Anyway, I’d argue that Izuku not taking Katsuki in a fight was made out of self preservation, something he very much has.

And last but not least, we get to this lovely fucking page.

First of all…

Hm, ain’t that strange?

I’m not saying it’s fully a parallel, I’m just saying it’s something to consider.

Especially with the context that I don’t think Izuku feels shameful here.

He’s been a hero who didn’t look like one once before, I’m sure a snide comment through Shigaraki is nothing in comparison to the literal hundreds of civilians afraid of him.

Or, even more interestingly, what if he’s shameful of it, and okay with that? Now THATS some control over your emotions. This is demonstrating the very thing Banjo told him in the first place; using his emotions to fuel him. Let himself live with them, breath with them. They exist, and they hurt, and that’s fucking okay.

But it begs the question…. Why bring attention to it?

Clearly horikoshi WANTS you to see that Izuku is the one who looks like the monster now. He even looks devil like, blackwhip coming out of his back the way it is just feels like wings.

But maybe… maybe this is how he stops sweeping problems under the rug. Maybe this is him, Izuku, at his most animalistic form. Him. At his core. This is the Izuku he doesn’t want people to know.

The faceless, long clawed, oozing black monster.

He’s a kid who can take a fucking beating. He’s not Deku the useless doll, nor is he Deku the hero. He’s simply Izuku.

And you know what’s even more likely?

The black pit of anger that Shigaraki has formed, fueling his uncontrolled emotions and anger and despair, with the light tear showing something underneath…

What if, this was Izuku’s black ball of anger and shame, except this one is escaping his body, pouring out and showing all of that for what it truly is. Pent up rage, uncontrolled emotion, anxiety and shame, all mixed into one hell hole of a person—but a ball that can be molded, controlled, torn apart from the inside out.

See, the same way Kudou tears at Shigaraki’s mental breaking to see what’s underneath, so have the ofa users for Izuku. Slowly, but surely, the people in Izuku’s life have, while created that ball in the first place, also worked to destroy it. The final piece of the puzzle is for Izuku to choose to let it happen, and he is.

Learning to sit in one’s fear, doubt, hatred, anger, sadness, grief, happiness—without that emotion having to be something, simply something that flows through you, that you can choose to act on or not; this is where Izuku’s arc is coming to its tipping point. We are nearing the climax, I can feel it.

#bkdk #midoriya izuku #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bnha deku #bakugou katsuki #mha analysis #deku midoriya #IM FUCKING BAXK BITCHES #I’ve been trying to write this for. not joking. two weeks. #like I have three different versions of this meta that I scrapped completely #they all have their own cool ideas tho so maybe I’ll come back to those #have a good fucking night and happy Valentine’s Day!!!!!!!

[comfortless]

sylly (like silly yk yk) what are your könig hcs? 🌹

SYLLY?! i…. Ok…. fair warning this is a little long… all that i do is think about this guy someone get him out of my head.

tread carefully reading this! there is a lot of sensitive content here: mental health stuff, abuse, mentions of sex and pornographic material, suicidal ideation, etc etc.

Generic, silly headcanons:

He prefers coffee (black) over tea, but he does have a bit of a sweet tooth (will never resist caramel if it’s presented to him). Honestly, he’s pretty self-reliant when it comes to food, too. On lazy days, he makes enough to where a takeout bill is hardly a concern, but for the most part he cooks! Not a chef by any means, but nothing he ever makes is bad!

Definitely wants a big, loving family, the polar opposite of what he had growing up as an only child in a far less than perfect household. Not a dealbreaker, but he does yearn for all of the love that he’s missed out on and then some.

Not big on video games, but… I do think he is absolutely spending every lonely leave playing Elder Scrolls. Would be so easy to convince to go larping or to a renfaire. I see everyone’s car/bike guy headcanons and I raise you… obsessed with fantasy König. He loves history and myth!! Why not combine the two and see him in chainmail.

The scent & kink posts. But to add… he’s an affectionate biter. (,: Knows the correct places to do so that won’t cause damage or hurt too terribly much. Likes to sniff you just as well! The embodiment of the “merge souls with me” post; in love, he just wants to feel you any way that he can and have some part of you lingering on him, even if it’s just a stray hair or your scent clinging to his shirt or pillowcase.

Cheating is never on this guy’s mind when he’s in a relationship. If he’s found a lady not running for the hills the second she catches sight of him, that’s his one and only. Sure, he may find himself attracted to someone else at some point or other during the duration of a relationship, but he’s devoted and disciplined! There’s never the fear of anyone coming in between he and his lover. He’ll spoil you with gifts, clingy to a point it’s overbearing, always giving you the utmost care… but is not opposed to bullying you into being a submissive, trembling mess either. He’s balanced!

Adores animals. Like any of them. There’s a special place in his heart for cats, but having a constant companion that he can take on hikes like a large dog would be ideal. Would definitely consider owning a tarantula or a snake, too. ^^ He isn’t scared of anything, let alone a creature that most are misinformed about… (he projects a little..). He would treat them just as well as anyone would treat a more “normal” pet. Understanding if you wouldn’t want to hold a giant arachnid (they’re delicate and you squirming over it would make him a bit protective over the poor thing. ): ), but it would mean a lot to him if you were more accepting.

König would not be a pretty sight (to most people) the majority of the time… I doubt that he takes care of himself past training his body and his allotted one-two minute military showers. His character description describes what is rumored to be under his mask as scary. Let him have his buzzcut, and scars, and teeth or old wounds a little too fucked up to fix! Unconventionally attractive is still attractive! (i think his ‘face reveal’ is actually so cute…)

Lots of sporadic little thoughts, but… Ambidextrous, can not ride a bike, whistles/hums to fill lapses of silence, flexes his fingers/cracks his knuckles when he’s nervous, definitely snores (loudly), brushes his teeth like 3-4 times a day (when he can) because he eats so much, not a picky eater at all, thinks it’s cute if you’re affectionately a little grossed out by him from time to time, absolutely the kind of person that thinks fuel and fire smell good, fluent in English and German but certainly knows many words and phrases from other languages.

Kind of clumsy. Overthinks the way his body looks to the point where sometimes his movements are a little stiff. Overestimates how tall a door frame may be if he’s distracted in the presence of others, hits his head and plays it off like he didn’t even notice. He’s (obviously) highly confident on the field, but in regular circumstances it’s totally reversed.

Though. Yeah. Sometimes this does translate onto the field. Can’t stay in one place for too long, once knocked an enemy soldier out by barreling into him. He’s a quick shot, skillful with any weapon that falls into his hands, but his focus can get a little skewed.

He collects some things. Nothing exactly pricy, but antique knives, coins, and a pocket watch or two. And he isn’t the most apt at putting things together in an appealing way… The first time you’re allowed into his house it looks like he’s robbed some vintage hunting shop/is planning something nefarious with the way he’s just got a few daggers strewn about his kitchen table. Just push them to the side, it’s fine! (His favorite is certainly one with a handle carved from a stag’s antler.)

Definitely takes a physical approach to bad feelings. @melancholic-thing mentioned to me that he bites himself when he’s feeling dejected or frustrated and yeah. (All of Ghost’s hcs for him are factually correct.) Not going to punch a hole through the wall but may aggressively slam a door or raise his voice before he can catch himself.

I have many thoughts about König’s childhood/early adulthood. Like, too many. But to summarize…

I think that everyone experiences bullying to an extent but what would make it so bad that it managed to make its way into the scraps that we do have of him? What made him so fundamentally unlikable to his peers? /: With my König I’ve settled on it being a blend of neurodivergency and a nightmare home life and alienation from his peers.

Height is predominantly viewed as a good trait. I don’t think it was necessarily his appearance at all that got him picked on so heavily (albeit… I do think that he would have had some scars, crooked teeth, regular facial bruising or cuts from scraps with other children/his father). Perhaps not the most conventionally attractive guy around, but normally viewed as a solid 5/10, just average. The kind of person who you wouldn’t remember from just a face alone.

His personality was always memorable though.

Whilst the other children/teenagers were interested in the regular trends, sports, whatever was shown on the television or heard on the radio at the time, I think he probably would have had a great interest in escapism!!

Comics, books, researching history and geography, etc, anything that could keep him from thinking of where he was/what other people viewed him as. He had a lot of strange things to say: odd facts (like the kind of person to tell you the longest word in the dictionary because he thinks it’s cool, “um actually—“ to correct something, monologuing about some bug you’ve just squashed and how it was not just a pest but very useful in nature, borderline concerning reactions to being shunned (feigned threats of violence that he would laugh off, things he’s probably heard from media and his own parents), over explaining himself for the simplest of misunderstandings, and… quoting his Oma’s very old-fashioned turns of phrase (think of little Kö regularly saying “Du gehst mir tierisch auf den Keks.” when he’s annoyed whereas the others say things far less dated like “Du gehst mir auf den Sack.”)

With him being difficult to relate to and having the most uncanny things slip out of his mouth, others probably did view him as a bit of a freak. He didn’t particularly stand up for himself often either apart from a few fights (and would never hit a girl). He would stay quiet, pretend to focus on his studies or whatever else was before him while the other children jeered and taunted. Regularly a target for fake confessions and offers to hang out outside of school, too.

König did have crushes, did have people he thought were cool and wanted to befriend, but after the third time of showing up someplace that he had to walk to on his own to find that no one had actually wanted to spend their time with him, he gave up.

I don’t think he had a good relationship with his parents or much of anyone. Seriously, leaving for the military at seventeen sets off a ton of alarm bells! He left the week of his Oma’s passing, because what else was there for him — no girlfriend, no prospects, hardly a relationship with his mother or father.

His father was your standard shit parent— womanizing, loud, physically abusive towards König. “Bonding” activities with him always had a heavy lean towards violence: hunting and arguing that usually resulted in fist fighting his own son seemed to be his favorites. A small man with an equally small ego— he probably would have boasted about his affairs to König, exposed him to pornography as a way of making sure his son wasn’t anything other than straight (which: never stopped his curiosity). He would never hold back from telling König that he would never in a million years find a girl willing to put up with his supposed stupidity and shortcomings. Generally just viewed his own son as utterly worthless if not for use as a punching bag.

In turn, König always loathed him, would dread hearing the bastard just walking around the house because he knew he would always find something to bicker with his wife or son over. Nothing that they ever did would be deemed correct, and his social anxiety initially developed from his dealings with him.

His mother was withdrawn, emotionally neglectful. König was just… there to her; another mouth to feed, another person begging for the attention she would have rather spared on herself.

She wasn’t a bad mother and she did try, but the product of dealing with his father’s nonsense + letting her own mental illness go unchecked (as in, his father controlled the family financially and why would he let her blow through their funds to see a therapist and “lose her lucidity with pills and ridiculous talks”). There were some days when she would be feeling more like herself and take König along with her for walks through the park where she would try to ask him about his life, about school, and… he would end up spilling his guts to her only for her to return to silence. Still, those were his favorite days. His fondest memory was picking a flower for her on one of those walks, one that she kept pressed and later framed.

There were never family dinners, no movie nights, no day trips or vacations. The most blissful of days were spent in the comfort of his room where he could keep the door locked and muffle the sounds of his parents arguing with loud music.

So, König did not have much of a safe space within his own home, but he had his Oma and her cluttered little house. She had books and plenty of food, even a cat, too. Though she was like his mother, stern and withdrawn, she would at least sit with him and tell him stories of her own life. She would at least tell him “Ich lieb dich, Käferchen!” in her quiet voice, stroke his head where he would sit with his nose buried in a book beside her. She would show him her dusty antiques, her old photographs, and in turn taught him to be a proper man by making him tend to what needed to be done around her house. And the garden. He loved his Oma’s garden, full of orchids, petunias, and tomatoes she would mash up to make him goulash or tomatensalat!

With Austria’s leading religion being Catholicism, I do think his Oma would have dragged him with her to service plenty, too. Not that he ever particularly enjoyed it… just zoned out with a plastic soldier in his pocket to fidget with or some trading card he spent the money he earned doing chores for her on. He’s never considered himself religious, thought himself to be bound for Hell no matter what, even if most of the time he felt that he was already there.

You take a puppy that’s been beaten down his entire life, but still remains eager and throw him in a barrack with people more horrible than any bully he’s ever had, though…? He starts taking his father’s advice more and more then. He wouldn’t harm anyone that he didn’t view as deserving of it, but it didn’t need to go that far that often, anyway. König is aware of the space he takes up by then, aware that all of his training has made him more broad and sturdy, and those playground fights are nothing compared to what he’s capable of now.

He gets his callsign from a quip about him owning nothing. His barrack is empty, devoid of pictures or any sentimental belongings. He rarely checks his phone, there might be the occasional missed call from a spam number, what is there to even see? He has no social media presence, every leave is spent in a shitty apartment only a days travel from his hometown, and he is utterly silent when the other soldiers invite him out for drinks. So yes, he’s a king. The king of absolutely nothing.

One of these rowdy boys does eventually coax him into talking to a woman. He loses his virginity in a disgusting bar bathroom, where he asks her after the two minutes he’s spent inside of her if it means anything to her at all. She laughs, washes herself in the sink and calms him down, but doesn’t give him her number or anything more than her first name.

He’s starved for love, utterly miserable without it, but doesn’t have much of a desire to seek it out, either. He’s seen how people are, how they treat him. But time and time again he will grapple onto any thread that may lead him to a pinhole of hope when it’s offered to him. For the most part, he has his hand and a perpetually almost-empty bottle of lotion.

And it’s not much of a surprise that König has contemplated suicide more times than he can count. It has never culminated in any way, only fearing that he would disappoint his men, even further disappoint his parents, maybe even a small part of him still believes in a Hell; that maybe with enough vigilantism on his part he’ll earn his way to a pleasant afterlife, one he teeters on the separation of believing in and not.

He doesn’t think about his mental health, always haunted by his father’s words, thinking that assuredly it would make him weak if he were to seek help for something like his own thoughts. So he overexerts himself during workouts, bottles everything other than rage and love inside: no one is going to see him cry, not ever again after being laughed at for him hundreds of times during school where he sat being called an “ugly giant” a “daydreaming freak” and an “idiot” near daily where silent tears did escape, only spurring further laughter.

Though I do not write him with these things in mind for every au, there are always subtle hints scattered about. ^^ I could probably prattle on forever about him, but I will leave you with this for now…

[thehollowwriter]

Calling Florid abusive/bully x victim is so... astoundingly stupid to me. Like how. How do you conclude that. Did you even play the game? Floyd makes fun of Riddle's height sometimes and steals his books to work him up. That's not abusive or bullying. That's teasing.

And considering the fact that this is Floyd of all people, if he were actually bullying Riddle, he would not settle for running off with Riddle's books. He's a violent character, not mindlessly so, but still violent when he wants to be. He beats people up and is fully capable of taking advantage of their situations to get what he wants/to hurt them. He is an Octavinelle student, after all.

But he literally doesn't do that with Riddle? All things considered, he's nicer to Riddle than he is to most students. There's ofc that bit in the manga anthology where he compliments Riddle and calls him amazing, and while it technically isn't canon (?) I think it counts for something. I'm quite sure he's done something similar in game.

Let's not forget, Riddle isn't a poor, helpless kid victim to Floyd's meanness. He's ferocious when he wants to be and meets Floyd halfway. He could kick Floyd's ass if he wanted to, and he doesn't put up with Floyd's shit. It's literally the opposite of a bully victim. Like, a lot of the appeal of Florid is that they're two opposites (land and sea, red and blue, fire and water, etc) who meet each other halfway, balance each other out, and learn from each other.

Some say it's weird to ship Riddle with someone he hates, but he doesn't... hate Floyd? He just seems to dislike him, which is something he could easily grow out of while getting to know him?

I just... the amount of mental hoops you have to jump through to call these two an abusive ship is ridiculous. If it's not for you, that's fine, but calling it abusive or harmful is just wrong.

#quinn quips #riddle rosehearts #heartslabyul #floyd leech #octavinelle #florid #floyd leech x riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts x floyd leech #twisted wonderland

[spoops-screams]

| You and I

Character(s): Malleus Draconia

TW: Bullying (?), loneliness

Genre: Comfort/ fluff

Notes: Gender neutral MC || Getting back into all of my fandoms slowly but surely ���

"They're always off on their own."

"Yeah, they don't talk to anyone. They just sit down in the gardens and draw all the time."

"Do you think they have any friends?"

"D'know. I know the housewardens are kinda close with them after the overblots and they've got those two from Heartslabyul around them sometimes but they don't talk to any of them."

"It might just be because people need help with the overblots. It's not like there seems to be much that they can offer since they don't have magic. They just seem to be convenient to have around."

"Yeah, maybe—"

"Child of man."

"Hm?" You looked up to the sound of the familiar voice, meeting Malleus' green eyes and noting his furrowed brows and the slight pull of a frown at his lips, prompting you to immediately put your pencil and sketchbook down as worry swept into your mind.

It’s quiet for a moment; not your usual comfortable silence when Malleus has noticed how tired you’ve gotten on one of your walks or when you both simply don’t know what to say but know that you don’t have to fill the silence, but it’s heavy and it worries you the longer than it stretches on.

"Malleus? Have I done something wrong." You only just managed to stop your voice from exposing the depth of your concern, multiple ideas running through your head as you considered the possibility that he might be upset with you. Your anxiety spiked with your heartbeat and you wished for it to slow down. It was almost ridiculous how quickly you were to jump to conclusions. You were overreacting, surely.

You weren't scared of him; far from it. He was perhaps the person that you felt closest to and safest with in this world but you were scared of the idea of him being upset with you.

It was irrational, sure, but a little voice in your head still nagged you with currently unfounded concerns and fears of what would happen if you upset one of the only friends you had here. The people who talked about you being your back only really consolidated the idea that you didn't really... Have anyone here. Not that you really minded.

You were used to being lonely, yes, but you didn't want to be whenever you were with Malleus. You didn’t have to be. You couldn't stand the thought of upsetting him and prompting him to leave you alone.

The draconic fae paused for a moment and his frustration melded into concern as he watched your face twist into slight panic. He had spent so long with you that he could tell what your worries were before you'd said them. "I am not frustrated with you. Are you aware of the manner in which people speak about you?"

His emphasis had you almost breathing a sigh of relief before his actual words had registered in your mind. It took you a moment to realise what he was talking about as you sat there somewhat dumbly as you stared up at him, tilting your head to the side in confusion.

"What do you-" And then it hit you. "Oh! I mean, yeah, more or less. Why?"

It wasn't like you didn't know about the things people said about you. You just didn't care about for it to be at the forefront of your mind. Otherwise, you would never get anything done and you preferred to be able to draw in peace without having to constantly worry of other people's opinions of you though perhaps it was partially because of Vil's overblot that you were really able to ingrain that into your belief system.

"And you don't see an issue with this?"

"Well, not really? It's not like I've given anyone any reason to think otherwise and it's not exactly an unfound belief." You shrugged, the matter really not meaning much to you. You were used to it. You had expected that kind of reaction considering your support for the housewardens and vice wardens was paired with your isolation from people.

"I do kind of just stay out of the way until I'm needed and it doesn't bother me all that much. I'm only really close to you, Ace, Deuce, Silver and Lilia, if you don't count Grim. There aren't really many people here that I could really consider friends, even Sebek would be a very emphasised maybe, so I don't really have an issue with people just saying what they see."

"Honestly, I'm only barely there at the friend mark with Ace and Deuce because of how little I'm around them nowadays so it doesn't bother me much. It's not like I know these people so I have no reason to care what they say."

He looks down at you with an unreadable expression before he sighs with his eyes closed, muttering something too quickly under his breath for you to catch. He doesn't seem to know how to respond to this. He's used to loneliness, it follows him everywhere he goes because of who he is and what he represents, but you?

You're everything he feels that he isn't. So why would be resign yourself to being alone?

He hesitates to sit down next to you and you notice the way that he shifts. Reaching an arm up slightly, you gesture for him to sit down. “Come on, it can’t be that comfortable to be looking down at me the whole time. I know it isn’t comfortable craning my neck to look up at you.”

He stares at your hand for a second. It’s strange, and the first edge is still for a moment. You make a move to retract your arm, an apology ready on your lips, but he reaches out and grasps it in his.

He stares at your hand again. “Are you not-?” He doesn’t finish his question but you understand him well enough.

Are you not lonely? He can’t say the whole thing out loud. It would make him consider who he’s actually asking too deeply if he was to do so.

You smile easily up at him. “Not really. I mean, I’ve got you, haven’t I?”

Do not repost, edit or claim. Only reblog 💕

#twst #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst malleus #malleus draconia #twst fanfiction #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfic #malleus x reader #disney twisted wonderland #malleus draconia x reader #twst comfort #malleus comfort #twst fluff #malleus fluff

[redrose10]

Here is Part 2. Hopefully I can get the next part out within the next week. Comments and messages are always appreciated!

Inn Keeper Yoongi x Female Author Reader

Summary: You have never experienced true love which is hilarious considering you write romance novels for a living. When you end up staying at The Interlude Inn located in Holly Falls you start to wonder if maybe the answer to your newest love story is sitting behind the welcome desk. Quickly, you find out that Min Yoongi hides a lot of pain and sorrow behind his shy smiles and quick glances.

Warnings: (may get updated) Swearing, character death, very very angsty for a while, mentions of physical and verbal abuse, bullying, a really mean letter, panic attacks, eventual light smut, eventual fluff

Word Count: 3,704

Tag List: @viankiss @kam9404 @igot7fairlyoddparents

Later that evening dinner was filled with laughter and stories. Jimin had countless tales from Milan and Paris, New York and LA, Munich, Seoul, Tokyo. The list went on. You guess that’s what happens when you’re one of the most sought after models. He was charming and charismatic. Mae was certainly head over heels for him which brought many chuckles up on your end.

While you tried your best to stay interested in his stories and be polite your focus often shifted to the sulking Yoongi sitting off to the side next to his grandmother. His shoulders dropped down and he picked around at his food even though you knew it was one of his favorite meals. You hoped he wasn’t still upset with you about what happened after the trip to the strawberry farm and you were just looking for a chance to speak to him about it.

Thankfully after dinner Jimin went off to his room to get some sleep and Mae was going to meet one of her friends for some coffee so that just left just you and Yoongi. You had offered to clean up the dishes and once they were all dried and put away you started making your way around the inn looking for him. It didn’t take long for you to find him out in the garden using the last little bit of sunlight left of the day. Making sure your steps made enough noise to warn him of your arrival you knelt down and gave him a smile once you knew that he wasn’t going to get startled.

“What are you working on so late at night?”, you asked.

“Nothing really. Just pulling some weeds and cleaning up.”

Silence filled the air as he returned to the task he had set out to do.

“Listen Yoongi, about earlier, I never meant to upset you. I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

He gave you a small smile, “It’s okay. You don’t have to pretend to care about me.”

Your brows furrowed, “What’s that supposed to mean? I haven’t been pretending to care about you. I genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you better.”

Standing up he brushed the dirt off his knees before walking back to the inn. Quickly you chased after him a little surprised at his quick movements.

“Yoongi I’m serious. I’m sorry if you got that impression, but that wasn’t what I was trying to achieve.”

Suddenly he stopped and turned startling you this time.

“Why are you doing this? Is my grandmother forcing you? Wouldn’t you rather spend it with Jimin?”

It might’ve been the lighting or even your imagination, but you swear you saw the start of tears forming at his waterline breaking your heart.

“Yoongi no one is making me do anything. Jimin is a nice guy and I liked talking to him, but he’s not you. And he’s leaving soon anyways. He was just passing through. I really do want to get to know you more before I leave next week and even then I’d like to keep in touch with you. I promise I’m not trying to intentionally hurt you.”

For a few moments you weren’t sure how to proceed. Yoongi stood at the back door of the inn staring at the ground while biting his lip. After what seemed like forever he looked up at you with a tear falling down his left cheek. You had to muster up all the restraint in your body not to reach over and wipe it away.

“Y/N please don’t give up on me. I just need more time.”, he whispered before running back into the inn leaving you staring at the now empty spot. You wanted to give him all the time in the world, but you knew the clock was ticking.

Over the next few days you hardly saw Yoongi other than at breakfast and dinner. Even when you specifically went looking for him he was nowhere to be found. Jimin had already left leaving just the three of you again. After working on your new novel for a few hours you decided to head over to Taehyung’s and see about trying that new latte and maybe getting a slice of pie. On the way there you happened to look over and saw Yoongi walking through the field where you saw the few cherry blossom trees the other day. He was wearing a baby blue colored sweater that made him look so soft and cozy. As much as you wanted to run over and engulf him in a hug you thought it was best to just let him be and head over to the farm as planned.

Jin had convinced you to try his newest creation, a grilled cheese sandwich made with Brie cheese and sliced strawberries with a honey balsamic dipping sauce. According to Jin he wanted to expanded the cafe into more of a restaurant adding more savory dishes. You weren’t 100% sold, but it wasn’t terrible either.

“Hey so what happened with Yoongi the other day?”, Namjoon asked taking a seat next to you.

“I think he just got really overwhelmed by the thought of spending time with so many people.”

“Yeah I could see that. Sometimes even I get stressed out by how hectic things are around here.”, he chuckled.

“Who are we taking about?”, Jungkook asked walking over and taking a seat across from you. Quickly you noticed him eyeing your uneaten sandwich so you slid the plate over chuckling as he inhaled it.

“Just Yoongi and what happened the other day.”, Namjoon replied.

Taehyung having finished up his duties also walked over and joined you guys.

“You know I was thinking of having Jin make him a cake since his birthday is coming up. I thought I could drop it off at the inn. Just something to let him know we’re thinking of him.”, he said.

“Wait his birthday is coming up? When?”, you asked.

“Umm it’ll be Saturday.”, Namjoon added.

You were supposed to leave Sunday, but that would still give you enough time to go into town and get him a gift or something.

“What if we threw a little party for him?”, Jungkook asked while trying to pry the melted cheese off his fingers.

Taehyung laughed, “Come on Kook. You know there’s no way in hell he’d ever come to a party.”

It was a really nice gesture, but you also knew Taehyung was right and there was no way that Yoongi would ever agree to go to something like that. But maybe if the guys helped you get something together then Yoongi could see they meant well you thought.

“What if we put something together for him to walk into but he’s alone? Kind of like a surprise party, but without us all there to shout surprise.”, you suggested.

“You know that just might work”., Jin replied. With everyone in agreement the group started brainstorming different ideas. With a plan set you said your goodbyes and decided to make your way back to the inn. Luckily you found Mae alone in the kitchen and filled her in on the plan and she was thrilled to go along with it.

Once back in your room you were greeted with the faint scent of flowers. You noticed on your desk a vase filled with various wildflowers in different colors. They were absolutely gorgeous, but you weren’t sure how they ended up there. You thought maybe Mae had placed them so you went out to the kitchen to thank her when you found Yoongi sitting at the table sipping some water. You also noticed the bright purple bandage on two of his fingers and his jeans were noticeably dirty. He gave you a tight lipped smile as you took a seat next to him.

“Some very beautiful flowers happened to make themselves into my room today. Would you know anything about that?”, you asked almost certain it was him.

His cheeks flushed red as he nodded, “Y-yes I picked them for you.”

Your heart swelled and you just wanted to reach over and hug him.

“Is that how you ended up dirty and with bandages?”

“Yeah I tripped and tried to catch myself on a tree trunk. It didn’t go so well.”, he chuckled softly.

“Thank you for the flowers. That was so sweet of you.”

“I..I just wanted to say sorry for the way I acted the other day.”

“No need to say sorry. I understand.”

The two of you sat in a silence that was surprisingly comfortable until he excused himself and left to his room. Once back in your own room you tried to get some more work done, but you couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful vase of flowers sitting in front of you. So you opened up a new email to send to your boss begging for more time away from the office so you could continue to stay at the inn for a little while longer. It felt like something was brewing between you and Yoongi and you didn’t want to interrupt that now.

Thankfully the following morning you woke up to a reply from your boss giving you the okay to stay as long as you were making progress. Excited that you were going to be able to stay longer you walked out to the kitchen a little cheerier than usual greeting Mae with a big smile.

Hi Mae, how are you doing today?”, you asked happily accepting a cup of coffee from her.

“Oh you know dear, same old same old.”

“Hey Mae, what do you think Yoongi would want for his birthday?”

She smiled, “Well he isn’t really one for material things. He’s much more sentimental.”

That really didn’t help you much. You were hoping you could just buy him a new sweater or some gardening gloves, but it seems you’re going to have to think a little harder. You thanked Mae and decided to head into town hoping that something there would give you some inspiration.

The little town seemed even busier than when you arrived with tourists from all over the world taking in the scenery. As you were walking up and down the streets you looked into different storefronts hoping something would catch your eye and something certainly did, but it wasn’t any gift.

Quickly you darted back behind the brick wall of the building you were next to trying to stay out of sight when you saw Yoongi looking into a large window with a large gummy smile on his face. Mae must’ve sent him into town for something. You watched as he looked over whatever was in the window. He looked like he wanted to enter into the shop, but after some hesitation he turned and started making his way back to the path to the inn. After you were sure he was gone you walked over to see what he was looking at and you were shocked to the name of the building ‘Fluffy Paws Adoption Center” and in the window an adorable little brown poodle puppy was bouncing up and down trying to get your attention. Your heart fluttered at the thought of Yoongi with a little puppy happy and giggly. You knew that a pet was a full time commitment so wanted to speak with Mae first before you just showed up with a dog that they would be responsible for after you left.

You went inside and asked if you could put the dog on hold and thankfully they gave you 48 hours so you quickly went back to the inn. In your room you hid away the knitting yarn, tangerine candies, hand painted notebook, and fluffy white sweater that you had already purchased as gifts for Yoongi. You thought maybe you were going a little overboard, but you really wanted to make this special for him.

After running through the inn you found Mae sitting in the backyard thankfully no Yoongi in sight.

You explained to her how you saw him looking in the window of the shelter and how you wanted to buy him the little brown dog. You offered to buy several months worth of food and fill an account with the local vet so that the dog could get medical care when needed. You were talking so fast you were out of breath by the time you were done and Mae couldn’t help but laugh at the state of you.

“Y/N, I think that is a wonderful idea. I actually had a little dog just like that one when Yoongi he was younger. He adored that dog. That might be why he was drawn to her.”

You were so ecstatic you could hardly sit still so you quickly called the shelter to let them know you’d stop by tomorrow to purchase the dog.

The following morning was Yoongi’s birthday. Mae convinced him to leave the house under the ruse that she needed him to accompany her to a doctors appointment even though she was fully capable of going herself. When the two of them left the house you let in Jin, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jungkook who went to work. Jin placed the cake in the fridge along with the meat he had roasted leaving you with specific instructions on how to reheat everything properly. Taehyung and Hoseok hung up a few streamers and placed some balloons throughout the room. Namjoon and Jungkook finished wrapping up the gift they had all chipped in to get him, a laptop with music producing software already installed along with a card that they each signed.

Taking a step back you admired everyone’s hard work and you were really hoping that Yoongi would appreciate it too. After saying goodbye and promising the guys that you’d let them know how it went and hopefully send some pictures you headed off to town and picked up the adorable little poodle along with some food and a few toys. You even grabbed a tiny bandanna that said Happy Birthday.

Once back at the inn you began heating up the food from Jin which was harder than you had thought it would be thanks to the little rambunctious puppy that you were constantly chasing after. Just as you put the last plate on the table the front door swung open. Yoongi came sulking in with Mae not far behind him. You’d hope that he would’ve been surprised or at least gave you a smile, but he didn’t even look in your direction and instead stormed off to his room.

Mae walked over giving you a big smile, “It looks beautiful Y/N. You guys did a great job!”

“Yeah I really thought Yoongi would appreciate it thought. I guess we were wrong.”

She shook her head, “Just give him a few minutes dear. The doctors appointment didn’t go as well as I had hoped and we received some bad news that he is not taking well right now.”

Your heart sank.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. Please, is there anything I can do?”

She gave you a reassuring smile, “No but thank you for the offer. They want me to travel to the main city to meet with some specialists in the coming weeks. They have some high rated oncologist there that they think may be able to help.”

You couldn’t help but feel the mood dampen. You knew that Yoongi must be devastated at the thought of loosing his grandma. You played out multiple different scenarios in your head before you felt a light tap on your thigh. Looking over you found Mae giving you a sly smile.

“I have an idea. Grab the dog and follow me.”

You did as she requested by grabbing the puppy and following her down the hall to Yoongi’s room.

Mae stood at the door and lightly knocked twice, “Yoongi are you okay dear?”

After no response she slowly cracked open the door and motioned for you to set the dog on the ground and then she took one of the squeaky toys and through it in Yoongi’s room chuckling as the little dog went racing in to retrieve her toy. You heard a small yelp of surprise coming from behind the door and you knew that Yoongi was not expecting to see the little dog.

After a few moments the door slowly creaked open revealing a red faced Yoongi holding the small dog close to his chest. His eyes still had the remnants of tears as he sniffled looking around confused.

“Come out to the kitchen. We’ve got a surprise for you.”, Mae said motioning for him to follow. You followed behind him smiling as you watched the little dog he still held close take tiny licks at his neck. As you walked into the kitchen his mouth dropped open.

“What is all this?”, he asked.

Mae nodded to you giving you the push to speak so you did, “The guys from the strawberry farm came over and helped me put this together. Jin made us dinner and there’s a strawberry cream cake in the fridge. They helped me decorate and they even got you this gift and a card. They wanted to stay, but we didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

You noticed how Yoongi bit his lip trying to hide the tremble.

“Yoongi dear, wasn’t that nice of them? Maybe you two could go drop by tomorrow and thank them.”, Mae said.

He simply nodded before looking at the dog that had surprisingly fallen asleep in his arms.

“Oh she is a gift from me. I saw you looking at her the other day in town so I adopted her for you. Shes got food and some toys. There’s even an account set up at the vets office.”, you smiled.

It seemed like that was what broke the dam and he started letting tears fall while his shoulders shook slightly before he gently placed the dog on the floor and ran off to his room.

You stared for a while in shock before Mae came over gently nudging you with her shoulder in the direction he just ran off too. You took the hint and made your way to his bedroom door softly knocking. You didn’t get an answer just like you had assumed would happen, but you cracked open the door anyways finding him sitting on the edge of his bed crying.

“Yoongi I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just wanted to do something nice.”, you said taking a seat next to him.

Gently he wiped at his eyes, “I know. I’m sorry. Sometimes I just can’t help it. I do really appreciate all of this. I-I just don’t deserve it.”

Deciding to risk everything you leaned over wrapping your arms around his shoulders pulling him into a hug. When he didn’t immediately pull back you decided to speak, “Yoongi you do deserve it. You deserve it more than anyone I know. Please don’t ever think you’re not deserving of feeling loved and feeling happy. Everyone that put in effort on this just wants you to know that they’re thinking of you.”

He nodded sniffling a little, “Thank you Y/N. And m-maybe tomorrow we could go to the farm and thank them too.”

Before you could speak the bedroom door cracked open slightly and in came sprinting the little brown dog. She beelined it for Yoongi trying to get him to pick her up. You both giggled at her excitement at finally being held.

“What are you going to name her?”, you asked.

He thought for a moment as he stared out of the window, “I think Cherry. Like cherry blossom.”

“I like it. That sounds great.”, you smiled.

You sat there and spoke with him for a while. You were careful not wanting to bring up any bad memories so you were happy to just let him talk. His voice was comforting in a way and you were just taking in the moment hoping that there would be more like it in the future.

After he had finished telling you a story about how he had scored the winning basket at his elementary schools championship basketball game he suddenly got quiet. You were worried you’d done something to upset him.

“Y/N can I ask you something?”

You nodded, “Of course.”

“Why are you so nice to me? I mean we’ve only known each other for a couple weeks. You don’t have to pity me. And if my grandmother is forcing you to do this you really don’t have to. She means well, but sometimes she prods too much.”

Taking a deep breath you continued, “Yoongi it’s nothing like that. I already told you no one is forcing me. I can’t really describe it and I know it sounds so cliche, but I feel a connection to you. I want to spend time with you and get to know you. I’m extending my stay here for a few more weeks. And I just want to show you that you deserve to be treated well and that you deserve to be loved.”

When he didn’t say anything in response you looked up finding him looking at you with soft eyes. He was so close to your face that you could smell the faint scent of his vanilla and musk cologne.

Suddenly he leaned in placing the softest of kisses to your lips. It was so quick your brain almost couldn’t process what just happened and you let out a small gasp. Not because you didn’t want or like the kiss, but because you were so shocked that he had actually initiated a kiss when a couple weeks ago he couldn’t even look you in the eyes. Before you could react any further he got off the bed running out of the room ignoring your pleas for him to stop and come back.

With a sigh you sat back down on the bed giving a confused Cherry some pats as you groaned to yourself. Just when everything was finally going so well and you were beginning to make progress.

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi x y/n #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi au #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #namjoon #jungkook #jin #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #yoongi #bts fic #happy birthday yoongi

[lightdustchild]

Hey, can you please do bnha boys x hard of hearing male reader? If not, that’s perfectly fine. (´∀｀•)

Yeah sure why not, hope you enjoy it's gonna be in the form of head cannon's sorry if that's not what you wanted also pronouns aren't used so its gender neutral ♥️

Characters: Bakugou,Izuku,shoto, kirishima,Denki,lida

Bakugou

He would understand considering his quirk he has the exact same problem.

He wouldn't give you pity or comfort you because of it

Instead he would relate to you "I got the same fucking problem" he would say.

"Don't go thinking where equals either!" Bakugou is stubborn he will eventually start to talk to you more about it though just give the angry Pomeranian some time.

He would probably take you out on a date seeing as you had the same problem it would cause him to eventually be more comfortable with you then with anyone

He thinks your cool he won't admit it out loud well yeah nvm he will no one would believe you anyway

Izuku (Not vigilante)

Lucky for you he knows sign language! He mainly learned it because he felt that bakugou might lose his hearing and he wanted to still talk to his childhood best friend.

But hey he's glad he can use it with other people with the same problem (If you know it)

Talks to you a lot reassurance is key in his mind.

Gives you compliments and would gladly admit out loud that he thinks you're awesome and everyone would believe you ;)

Kirishima

He also would not mind but be would take pity on you.

Anytime bakugou got too loud he would cover your ears not wanting your hearing to get worse.

He also started saving money for hearing aids seeing as he wanted to always talk to you.

He would learn sign language! Probably ask izuku to teach him.

He compliments you and gives you pats on the head while covering your ears since bakugou cannot stop screaming.

He does not recommend sitting at the bakusquad table

Denki

Exactly like kirishima in this situation except he would have a little fun with it.

Such as messing with you about but He is joking keep that in mind.

Sometimes he does take it too far and you don't talk to him.

He would feel horrible and hold you while whispering he's sorry and he would live with the guilt forever

He still jokes but keeps them small now scared of hurting your feelings.

Someone bullied and yelled at you because of it? That's okay he'll kiss your forehead and make all the bad thoughts go away.

lida

As class president he makes sure no one bothers you about if they do they Will get a very long lecture

Doesn't really do PDA as it's against the rules but if you really are feeling bad he would gladly hug you and no kisses but you'll get some in private.

He knows sign language Incase your hearing goes out claiming it is unfit of him if he doesn't know it.

Make sure that your school time goes smoothly and when you're alone in your dorm the class president phase goes away and he'll hold you and everything.

Shoto

He is not good with feelings but he doesn't mind your situation. Someone messes with you?

Easy he glares till they go away

If you're upset he'll give you an awkward hug before offering some of his cold soba ♥️

He does eventually get better at affection and hugs you whenever you feel down.

He does not know sign language! But that's okay he'll give you a notebook to write your words in if you ever lose your hearing.

He'll probably even steal his sperm donors credit card to buy you hearing aids :)

#x reader #bnha #fluff #mha #shoto x you #shoto x male reader #bakugou x male reader #tenya lida #iida x male reader #iida headcanons #bakugou headcanons #izuku x reader #izuku x gender neutral reader #izuku x y/n #kirishima x male reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima headcanon #denki x male reader #denki x you #denki headcanons #shoto headcanons

[booksandpaperss]

How Stranger Things (poorly) handles racism as a topic compared other heavy topics it successfully tackles

before we get started, I would to direct you all to some other accounts who have already discussed this that you should check out either before or after reading this post: @wewebaggit @googoogagaeyes @elekinetic and anyone else please feel free to tag yourself or another account that’s discussed this and I’ll happily boost it

Content Warning for in show examples of racism and discussions of racism, as well as mentions of homophobia and the AIDES epidemic

.

. While we're discussing historical accuracy in stranger things and homophobia + ignorance being present even in well meaning characters, I want to point out that if the writers of the show weren't so squeamish about addressing racism in any in depth way, than this type of historical accuracy would be for racism too.

what I mean by this: in this sense, the show is not consistent. It's clear that the writers have done their research on 80s homophobia and how openly prevalent it was, if the AIDES allegory in season 2 and the way homophobia was very clearly present in seasons 1 and 2 (it still is in seasons 3 and 4 but the first 2 seasons showed it in the scope of the entire town), but racism was just as overtly prevalent, and yet the writers have neglected to address it in the same thoughtful and coded way. if the show was just as consistent about racism as it is about homophobia, than the white characters would be at the very least shown as ignorant just like the straight characters are.

and I'm not going to say that it's completely ignored, because that's not true:

-in season 2; mike makes an ignorant comment that implies Lucas should have been Winston because he's black, and Lucas calls him on it. There's also the very racist undertones (that are practically overtones) of Billy's treatment of Lucas. -There is almost nothing in season 3 except for a jokey joke when Nancy says the whole party is her family and the receptionist, who is a black woman, gives Lucas a skeptical look.

-Season 4 is a little better, with the implications (key word: implications, I'll come back to that in a moment) of Lucas's season 4 arc being that he was trying to fit in because he didn't want to be racially targeted and bullied for being a nerd at the same time anymore, that he felt like even more of an outsider compared to the rest of his otherwise all white friend group who, as far as he knows, are all cishet and giving him shit for wanting to lessen how much he's perceived as an outsider because he's automatically seen as even more of a "freak", and his friends just weren't getting it because they were white and ignorant. So the writers aren't blind to race and racism.

However. None of the examples that I've just listed are addressed later in any in depth way; not like the homophobia is. The only one that's even remotely delved into instead of simply being glossed over is Lucas's s4 arc, and even that is still very flitted around and left up to interpretation of the audience.

The writers seem to have a very "hit and run" sort of policy with addressing racism. They clearly know they should, and they at least seem to know that having a black character in an 80s setting with a cast of mostly white characters inherently creates a lot of racial subtext-

-for example, the very loud subtext of Jason (a white boy much older than Lucas) seeing Max (a white girl) in a trance alone with Lucas (a black boy) and immediately assuming the worst + Jason's white friends tackling an 11 year old black girl to the ground: subtext that I'm still not sure if the writers and directors were even aware of bc they never addressed it and their track record isn't great-

-but they hardly do anything about it.

I'm not surprised, considering this show is headed by two white men, but what really gets me is that they all truly could have tried harder. Like I said earlier, it's clear they've done research and put thought into addressing homophobia (it still could've been handled better but that's an entirely different conversation), and it's evident from Max's s4 arc that they also did research on Depression, PTSD, and the impacts on someone of their abusive family member dying. So the lack of care and thought put into addressing racism in the same way is clearly more than ignorance (which would still be bad, when you're writing a show this big in 2023 with topics like this you're actually, shocker, responsible for making sure they're addressed properly, ignorance is a choice at that point), its just fucking lazy. they don't care. And this not caring is inherently harmful on a show this big and frankly, I'm tired of so many viewers and people in this fandom straight up ignoring this fact, just like the show runners.

And I haven't even covered the complete lack of effort put into Patrick's backstory, or the fact that Erica is very much the sassy, mature for her age black girl stereotype (she deserves so much better). Oh, And we can’t forget the copaganda.

I'm glad that season 4 started to explore the dynamic between Lucas and Erica and expand on both their characters, and from the looks of things that will continue in season 5, so the writers have a chance to do their research, actually put effort more effort into the sinclair sibling’s characters, and improve, and I'm hoping they will but as of right now I don't trust them to, and won't unless they prove me wrong.

TDLR; the main issue is that Stranger Things is clearly a show that addresses topics like depression, abuse, homophobia, and racism, but the racism part is neglected compared to the others, just like how Lucas and Erica's characters are handled poorly compared to the white characters,. it's lazy, horribly insensitive, and racist in and of itself. There's a clear bias, and even if it improves in season 5 we still should be talking about it, and more white people (yes white queer people included, we are not exempt from this discussion, if anything we should care just as much about it as when we’re talking about homophobia) in this fandom need to start listening when black and brown people do talk about it instead of just waltzing through and ignoring it for your own peace of mind.

also I should clarify that I myself am white, I made sure I did research before making this post in order to talk about this accurately and consciously, but if I made any mistakes or said something insensitive or used an incorrect term or anything else, feel free to correct me and I will readily fix it

as a final note: please check my rebligs of this for links to more posts that talk abt this issue

#also I know this is a lot of text I’m sorry I tried my best to format it but it’ll be way easier to read on desktop than on ur phone #stranger things #stranger things analysis #stranger things fandom #tw racsim #elli talks stranger things

[misc-obeyme]

your post about the human au with beel as a farmer has me giggling and kicking my feet!! and now i can't stop imagining the brothers on their own little farm (writing this even though i know nothing about farming)

lucifer and satan mainly handle the finances, making sure they have the best equipment and techniques to produce good crops. the goats and sheep seem to take a liking to lucifer, especially the baby ones, who love chewing on his clothes. satan stays away from them bc they keep thinking his blond hair is food, choosing instead to coo over the farm cats

mammon and levi are the unofficial handlers and bully victims of the birds. mammon gets pecked by the chickens as he goes to collect their eggs, and he says one day, he'll cook them all up as revenge!! (everyone knows he's lying). levi spends more time with the ducks, where they quack at him on the farm and when he's fishing at the local ponds. (one time, a group of baby ducks imprinted on him and followed him home. it took forever for him to get them back to their mama)

asmo does a lot of advertising for the farm, with both his social media and charming personality at the farmers' market. he designs the cutest packaging and sews any holes that end up in his brothers' clothes with lovely little patches. his favorite animals on the farm (a couple piglets and bunnies) are marked with pink bows, but you could tell by how he squeals whenever he sees them

you already went over beel, but i imagine him still having his super strength and can easily carry adult sheep with ease. he also has gained a lot of (kissable) freckles from being in the sun all the time

belphie is a straight up cow whisperer, which may be caused by his habit of cuddling with the cows on their pasture to skip out on chores. but he's great at milking and can instantly tell if something's wrong with the cows, to the point that other farmers go to him in need of help. he's a lazybones hero!

aaaaaa the sillies - 🎠

Honestly, I'm surprised that little post of mine got so much attention lol! I was definitely thinking about it more in terms of what I think the boys would do if they were humans, rather than how it would be if they all worked on the same farm. But I saw a couple tags suggesting a Stardew Valley crossover, which could be all of them on the same farm or all of them with separate farms. I haven't played Stardew in a long time, but I am so obsessed with farming sims it's ridiculous. My favorite is Story of Seasons Trio of Towns, I've played it so many times and I still replay it from time to time because I loved it so much lol.

ANYWAY that's all to say that my farming experience comes almost entirely from video games. I took a class about plants and agriculture in high school, but otherwise it's all vibes and cozy gaming!

But I think you've nailed it with these. I keep seeing Satan falling asleep in a pile of hay, just completely covered in barn cats. Cute lil Asmo all decked out like a farmer but only for the aesthetic 'cause he's running that farmer's market booth like nobody's business. Cow whisperer Belphie, please I love it so much.

Also freckled, sun-kissed Beel... human!Beel would have so many freckles if he spent any time outside at all. I love this because I'm extremely freckled myself and it'd be really cute if MC had freckles to match his.

Though I actually hadn't even thought about MC's role in a human au. Since they're already human. Would it be reversed? MC is the demon in this scenario? Or just MC is their same human self but they meet the others in a different way? I think both options could be interesting. I was initially going with the idea of there being no magic and no realms though.

I was trying to think of what the characters would do with their lives based on their interests and Beel just screamed farmer to me. Like yeah he probably still works out a bunch, but he really loves food. So I thought it would be interesting to consider that as his primary motivation for wanting to become a farmer. He just wants to feed everybody.

Anyway, I love this, I'm thoroughly enjoying imagining the boys on their farm. Though Mammon threatening to cook the chickens is hilarious. Like I can just hear him saying that to a bunch of indifferent hens, too. It reminds me of a story my mom used to tell me about my great-grandmother getting so annoyed at my uncle's pet rooster for getting his beak tangled in her yarn that she straight up made soup out of him. I dunno how true that story is, but it's one my mom & her siblings have told me numerous times lol.

#has there been a farmer event? #if not there should be #give us farmer Beel card art please #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me brothers #🎠 anon #misc answers

[wakeupthemembersofbylernation]

It is not even that Mlvns are homophobic. I mean, many of the toxic ones are. We’ve all seen them and interacted with them and received hate anons from them. When Noah’s article officially confirming Will’s sexuality dropped during the summer, people were literally tweeting slurs and fantasizing about him being hate-crimed or dying from AIDS. (It’s probably unfair to group Mlvns in with these people, as lots of them weren’t even Mlvns, just bigoted GA members and trolls). But still. It was bleak. There’s a deep darkness within the ST fandom undeniably.

But I’m sure many Mlvns/Byler-antis are the types of people who genuinely have no problem with queer people in real life. When we call them out on their bigotry and homophobia, they get confused and say, “But I have gay friends! How am I homophobic for not liking Byler?” And they mean it 100%. They really do have gay friends. They probably consider themselves allies and yada yada.

The issue is that A) they are deeply heteronormative without realizing it, and B) they simply aren’t the target audience for the show, and as such, they don’t really understand or connect to the themes of the show. The thing is, lots of people, many Milkvans included, are simply normies. Now I love Steve as a character, so this is literally no hate to Steve, but lots of people are Steves. And people who are like Steve: popular, straight, attractive, used to dating the types of people they want, into ‘normal’ interests like sports (not that Steve is hyper into sports, but you know what I mean), likely to go down ‘normal’ paths and live fairly conventional lives like their parents, etc. are simply not the target audience for the show.

Obviously, the show centers on outcasts, nerds, queer characters, characters with disabilities, black characters, etc. Most people recognize this on some level, but they recognize it in more of a general sense like, “Of course the protagonists are nerds/outcasts, just like all the classic 80s teen protagonists. I just love how nostalgic ST is!” And they leave it at that. Because they are normies, they don’t really connect to the themes of the show other than a surface-level, power of friendship sense. They don’t see how Byler is more aligned with the show’s message than Milkvan at this point. They don’t see that the outcast status of most of the characters is more than just a throwaway personality trait… its deeply integral to the point of the show itself and closely connected to the supernatural storyline.

This is because nerd culture is somewhat mainstream now, and lots of “normies” like it too. Star Wars, Marvel, LOTR, Harry Potter, etc. These are all major parts of society and billion dollar franchises, even more so than they were in the 80s. Because of this, people don’t realize that in the context of the world of the show, they wouldn’t have been friends with the Party most likely. It is far more statistically likely that they would’ve rolled with Angela’s friend group or joined Jason’s human hunting squad. Or even if they weren’t outright bullies, it’s far more likely that they would’ve been one of the nameless background characters in Hawkins High, just kind of floating by in a conventionally comfortable existence, entirely oblivious to government lab conspiracies and alternate dimensions. The characters in ST are outcasts in a deeper, existential sense. Society is against them.

And so many people can’t relate, especially to the queer themes. They can’t even see the queer themes. Because the show is not for them. That’s why you see so many baffling takes on the show:

“Will is so whiny all the time, and I don’t like him!”

“Mike was right in the rain fight! S3 is about growing up, and Will was acting like a baby.”

“Tbh I don’t care that much about the Party dynamics. My favorite part of the show is Steve and Dustin being funny together. And my second favorite part is Hopper being a cool action hero.”

“B*lly is overhated! I mean, he’s so hot and misunderstood! He could’ve redeemed himself.”

“I don’t get Byler. It barely seems like Mike and Will are even friends.”

To be clear, it doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy the genre of the show. Being horror/sci-fi, its core fans are a smaller pool of people than, say, fans of The Office or Friends or other popular sitcoms. So the Mlvns who watched it since the beginning probably do have some avant-garde tastes in terms of genre-preferences, since lots of people wouldn’t touch horror with a ten-foot pole. But it does mean they don’t pick up on the themes of the show and the arc of the characters.

(Of course, many newer fans now are just watching it cause it’s popular, regardless of which genres they typically prefer. This opens the show up to lots of people who don’t connect to anything about the show, not just its themes but also its darker content. A lot of newer fans sound like this: “Like, I just love that Mike was in love with El from the day he found her in the woods, and it’s so cute that El is Mike’s superhero, and Eddie is so cool and badass; I wish he could’ve told Chrissy how he felt, and I’m anxiously awaiting S5 to see who Nancy chooses but I hope she chooses Steve… Stancy 4ever!” This is because Stancy is like every other conventionally attractive couple in media).

I’m rambling, but a lot of people are into Milkvan because of their expectations that “pretty boy and pretty girl go together,” and that’s all there is to it. Finn is attractive and Millie is attractive, and they play the protagonists, so of course Mike and El are endgame. Why wouldn’t they be? This is true for the girls who project themselves onto Millie and see Finn/Mike as a dream boyfriend, and it’s true for the guys who project themselves onto Finn and who would want nothing more than to have a cool, superpowered girlfriend.

This is the way of nature. In a normie worldview, there’s no deviation from this path. A lot of fans basically take The Kissing Booth/To All the Boys I Loved Before and slap a sci-fi/horror filter on it, and they think that’s what Stranger Things is. It’s a cool show where kids fight monsters, and there are normal, heterosexual romances like Mlvn to root for, and there’s a badass superhero main character at the center.

Oh, there’s a gay character too? Well, that’s weird. I mean, y’all already have Robin, but whatever. I’m not homophobic! I’m cool with Will being gay… as long as he stays over there. Oh, he’s in love with Mike? Well, that’s even weirder. Why would the writers do that? I suppose that’s fine, as long as it’s just a little crush, and as long as it doesn’t get in the way of “the main storyline” and my OTP. I’m not homophobic, I swear! I have gay friends!

And they do. And they might not actively be against LGBTQ+ people in real life. They may really be telling the truth. But because they are Steves, this is where heteronormativity comes into play and blinds them. Main couples in shows are always straight, so the cool sci-fi, monster show they love must also be. They’re fine with Kevin Kellers, but queer Mike doesn’t fit the box that they allot to gay characters. So Mike must be the straightest character of all time to fight back against “weird delusional Byler theories” that would “come out of nowhere.” It’s not that they’re actively anti-gay; it’s that they are profoundly closed-minded and have a very myopic view of sexuality/storytelling/their favorite characters/their favorite shows. This is very similar to the XO, Kitty situation and people who were upset that Kitty was ‘suddenly’ bi and had a crush on Yuri.

WHAT?! Where did this come from? I thought I was watching a normal rom-com! I was fine with the gay characters on it who were clearly televised from the beginning! But Kitty? No! Kitty’s my self-insert. How can she like girls too? It must be a phase and be “less real” than her male love interests. This isn’t Heartstopper. The same weird energy is present in the ST fandom.

Byler being semi-canon isn’t seen as confirmation of a love triangle; it’s seen as a disruption to the norm and the foregone conclusion that Mike and El will be together forever and get married and have telekinetic children because the show owes that to them for all they’ve been through. “But why is Will inserted into their scenes?” we ask them, begging them to see reason. “Idk, but he should know his place and stop being a homewrecker and go find a new boy to like. Just leave the soulmates alone. Mike has already made clear he’s straight and that Will is nothing more than a friend. He said it in the roller rink!” This is how heteronormativity works.

That’s why Byler endgame will be so important because it will shatter preconceived notions and open people’s eyes to the beautiful tapestry of humanity. And they will see that this powerful, queer, coming-of-age, love story was right there, under their noses, in their “fun sci-fi monster show” this whole time. *Mind Blown*

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #mike wheeler i know what you are #byler endgame #stranger things 5 #anti milkvan #ST fandom analysis

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 14

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Pretty sure I'm getting another sinus infection.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You realise a little too late that you have no idea if you should do more than pour the brew into a mug. You recall Frigga mentioned Mr. Laufeyson took his tea black but was it the same for coffee? You never drink it so you wouldn't know better. You hate to presume.

So you find a small tray, setting the mug on it with the dish of sugar and a little porcelain milk urn. You balance is all and climb the staircase tremulously, the task made heavier by the dread nipping at your ears.

You come down the hall and stop before the study door. Your hands are occupied so you gentle tap with your toe. Without an answer, you try again. Still, you're met with only silence.

"Mr. Laufeyson?" You call through, "I have your coffee--"

The door a few feet down opens instead and you turn to face the dour occupant. Mr. Laufeyson beckons you wordlessly with a curt gesture before he disappears behind the door frame. You follow as you let a breath slowly out your nose. Inside, he sits at the writing desk, the laptop open as he tilts his head at it. He has your notes open, shamelessly perusing your reminders.

"Here you are, Mr. Laufeyson," you put the tray on the desk.

"There we are," he accepts tersely and sits back, swiping up the paper from atop the gold and white folder. He eyes the estimate left by the carpenter with your signature at the bottom. "So, what are we to do about that infernal thing?"

You fold your hands and wait for his answer. You realise he does not want one from you. He sniffs and slips the paper over the keyboard, letting it drift slightly over the edge. He sits back and look at you.

"It is the last of your worries, surely," he says flippantly, "firstly, this..." he taps the laptop, "you leave it here. As if you do not care."

You purse your lips. You won't argue. If he wants you to take it home, certainly you can, but you don't have wifi or a need for it beyond these walls.

"What if something should happen? You would want to have access to all your..." he eyes the screen, "clutter."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson. Noted."

"Noted?" He scoffs and unfolds his arms, "right."

He moves the paper back to the folder and types swiftly, much quicker than your chicken pecking. He sits back proudly and once more sets his sights on you. You clutch your hands tighter and await further remonstrance. This is his vengeance. You can't help but feel you deserve it.

He reaches for the mug, disregarding the milk and sugar, and blows over it. He watches you as he sips.

"Mm," he considers the double-walled cup, "bit strong..."

"Mr. Laufeyson, I could try again--"

"It'll do," he dismisses, "as I said, other concerns. And as I also said, several times, and how you know I do hate to repeat myself, this..." he points at you, flicking his finger up and down, "attire."

You look down at yourself and shrug. The clothes aren't that bad, only plain. Maybe not to his standard but you don't see how they're so wrong.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I don't know--"

"You don't know much, do you?" He challenges, "well, you better catch up." 

He pauses to take another sip, cheeks straining as his throat tightens. He can barely choke down the coffee, making you feel even worse. Is it that bad?

"Are you not curious why I've returned early?" He sets the mug down as he leans forward.

You're quiet. It's not that you don't care, you just wouldn't dare ask. Not after last night, you wouldn't want to bring up bad feelings.

"I see you had my return marked in your calendar," he continues, "I suppose I spoiled your plans, hm?"

"No, Mr. Laufeyson," you assure him.

"So you are happy for my return?"

Your cheek twitches. It's an odd question. One that has no right answer. A trick.

"If you're happy, Mr. Laufeyson, then I am too."

He seems surprised by your answer as his brows arch and his lips part slightly. He closes his mouth and narrows his eyes as he watches you. He chortles and stands.

"How..." he struggles to find a word, "foolish."

You're struck equally by his response. The threat that underlines it and the rebuke in his tone. You dip your head down.

"Call the carpenter," he orders as he retrieves the bill, "I'll sign off on the repairs."

He struts by you as you stare at the tray and his unfinished coffee. Another to-do: you'll have to figure out that machine. 

🧹

It isn't until you sit down to work that you realise the door is still open. The one adjoining the library to Mr. Laufeyson's study. You can hear the subtle tap of keys as he sets to work. You hunker down to do the same, overly mindful of each little noise.

You'll make your call to Ronan elsewhere so you don't disturb the silence. You go through your list, marking down what can be done today in your phone. You get up and slowly move towards the door.

"Sneaking off? You are so good at creeping around? Like a little cat," Laufeyson intones before you can let yourself out. You look back as he stands in the other doorway, "I have an appointment shortly. You will let them in when they ring and show them up."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you agree.

"So you won't stray far."

"I won't."

He waves you off lightly and disappears into the study once more. You turn and quietly shuffle into the hallway. You go downstairs and pace as you dial the phone. Your nerves are a swirl. Mr. Laufeyson is suffocatingly observant.

"Ronan Carpentry," the voice comes from the speaker.

"Oh, ach, hi," you nearly choke on your tongue, "hi, um, I'm just following up on an estimate."

He asks for your name, you give your own but add Mr. Laufeyson's as he would be the leaseholder. The air is static as the man is silent on the other end. He hums and finally speaks again.

"So you would like to go forward with the work?" He prompts.

"Yes, sir."

"When would be best to begin?" He's straight to business. You can appreciate that.

"Hmm, well, I could do most days except Wednesday but the owner would be here."

"Would he be handling this or would you?"

You trace a fingernail with your thumb, "me, I guess."

"Thursday works for me," he confirms, "if it suits you, miss."

"Great," you sigh, "yeah, Thursday works."

"Nine good?" His deep voice is smooth like syrup as it drips through the phone.

"Nine," you confirm with a squeak, "thank you, sir."

"Of course. Have a good one."

You eke out a 'you, too' and hang up. You exhale out your nerves. You're even more jittery and you don't know why. Usually getting phone calls out of the way is a relief. 

You do your best to focus, working down the list until the doorbell buzzes. You jump, taking a moment to recall the expected visitor. You rush out the front door and down the steps. You come up to the gate but find a car waiting by the bigger door. You hit the button so it rolls open and lets the brown vehicle through.

The man that gets out has gray hair and pale blue eyes. He looks around curiously as you cross the lot back to the house. He gives you a friendly smile as you approach and offers his hand, "Loki hanging around here?"

You daintily shake his hand, a gesture you're unused to. His grip is firm but not harsh.

"Mr. Laufeyson is upstairs in his study, I can show you in--"

"Mr. Laufeyson?" He repeats, amused, "in his study? I can find my way," he lets you go, "he didn't tell me he had a lady friend."

Your mouth forms a surprised squiggle, "I'm the house manager."

"Ah, house manager," he clucks, "interesting. Well, can't keep him waiting, I'm already late."

He shoots you with a finger gun and rushes past you. You frown as you turn to watch him. He's not what you expected. You don't see Laufeyson as tolerating someone like that, not that he puts up with much.

As you enter the house, you hear the man's voice upstairs. You're not used to signs of life. His gregarious greeting is soon smothered behind a door. You carry on.

At one, you take a short break in the garden to have your peanut butter sandwich. You thought of eating at the counter as you usually do but being inside is starting to feel oppressive. You chew the dry bread and thick spread, staring at the foliage without seeing.

Your eyes are drawn up as you sense movement and you find curtains being drawn back on the second floor. A figure lingers behind the pane before backing away. You're certain it's Mr. Laufeyson. You hope he's not bothered by you being out in the garden.

You finish the crust last, your stomach mulching up the food violently, and you dust off your fingers. You take out your phone and check the list. No time to waste. You had your ten minutes. You can get through a few more hours.

🧹

Tuesday comes and goes in a similar slog. Your hours are whittled away as you find yourself under the omniscient eye of Mr. Laufeyson. Each time you think you're alone, he appears. He looms but doesn't speak, lurking and waiting, for what, you don't know. At the end of the day, you still don't know. You go home, just as you do every night, without a farewell.

Home sees you just the same. Leslie's finishing up as your father sits over a new puzzle. It's been ages since you've seen him so consumed by anything besides his cigarettes. You sit and have dinner at the nurse's insistence and bid her off. 

Your father stays up as you go up to shower and settle into bed. The last six days hang off your shoulders like sandbags and needle in the muscles between your shoulder blades. You lay down and fall asleep almost as soon as your head meets the pillow. You've never been so exhausted in your life.

You wake up, less refreshed than groggy. You make yourself get out of bed, wanting to get stuff done on your singular day off. After you have your tea and get your dad his coffee,  you get to the chores that you couldn't do throughout the week. Mopping and vacuuming, then laundry.

As you work on the second floor, your father sits with his puzzle. He's fidgety as he hunches over the table. You watch him as you sweep the floor around the couch. He catches you as he glances up. He scowls and shakes his head.

You gather the dust and dirt into the pan and dump it out. You check the time. It's nearly lunchtime. You wash your hands and check the cupboard. There's a can of tuna leftover from your last grocery trip. You'll try to do another on your way home from work tomorrow.  You take out your phone and add it to your reminders.

You go back to the living room as your dad holds a handful of pieces and tosses them one at a time onto the wood as he searches for a particular shape.

"Are you hungry at all?" You ask.

"I want a fucking smoke," he growls.

"Well, I'm sorry, I don't have any," you tuck the phone in your pocket and push your hands behind you, clasping them tightly. The weight of it presses against your thigh.

"Don't be a fucking smartass," he throws the pieces left in his hand at you and they scatter on the floor. "Maybe if you got off that phone , eh?"

You kneel down to gather up the pieces. He snarls and hits the table. You pluck up the last few and set them on wood as you stand.

"Where'd you get a phone like that, huh? Expensive? You been buying yourself all this nice shit and I'm sitting here on a stinky fucking couch rotting away," he accuses.

"It's for work," you say, "I'm gonna make tuna sandwiches."

He sits back and huffs, swiping up the remote and jabbing it through the air towards the television. He sets the volume on blast so your eardrums pulse. You step back as he jams his thumb into the buttons.

“Makes me wonder what kinda job affords you a fancy phone like that?”

“Huh?” You grimace.

“Well, you got no schooling, got no skills,” he sniffs, “only got one thing of use.”

He can't mean… that. You're his daughter. Your eyes sear and gleam as you shake your head.

“I… I'm a house manager,” you croak, “dad–”

“Sure,” he guffaws, “what kinda idiot would want you managing their house? They probably haven't seen this dump.”

“Please, I'm trying–”

“You always gotta fucking yammer!” He barks and a hot pain bounces off your arm. 

You grunt and look down as the remote hits the floor. You rub the tender spot as you let out a shocked ‘ow.’

“Go fucking cry about it. I can't hear the TV over your whining.”

You hold back the wall of tears and pick up the remote. You set it by his puzzle and back up. Yo wiggle your nose as you sidle out of the room. hiding your face.

You move tentatively like prey avoiding the vicious eyes of a hunter. Your arm throbs as you feel a welt forming. It's better to hide before you get more.

You forget about the tuna as your hunger evaporates. You can only think of the pain that goes much deeper than flesh. That rent in your heart that can barely contain your despair. It splits wider as the stress of the week threatens to overflow.

You retreat to your room as the salty tears begin to stream, catching along your nose and dripping off your chin. You close the door and hurtle yourself towards the bed to bury your face in the pillow. A hard shape presses into your leg, a corner stabbing you bluntly.

You lift your hip and fish around in your pocket to free your phone, tearing your pocket inside out. As you go to put it on the nightstand, you notice the timer in the corner. Didn't you lock it before you shoved it away?

You sit up and gulp back sobs, shaking as you stare at the ongoing call. Mr. Laufeyson's name is blazed across the screen. You put it to your ear and whisper, “hello?” You swallow and make yourself speak louder, “hello?”

The line clicks and you pull the screen back. The call's ended as the option to return the call pops up. You blacken the screen and turn the phoje face down, dropping it onto the night table.

Did he hear all that?

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #thor #avengers

[buterccup]

Hey I saw your price x son!reader post and I don't know if you already did one with a daughter!reader but when not could you do one?:D

Of course! You ask and you shall receive, dear^-^. Now I give you more papa Price for the soul.

Father like daughter

summary: You haven't had the best of days but once you got home you were met with non-other than papa Price...but also a couple friends of his, and they are as shocked as you are once you both meet for the first time.

Warnings: light swearing, fluff, she/her pronouns, a little bit of gen z shenanigans, small mistakes.

Character(s): Price x Daughter! reader (platonic)

You didn't have what you would call the best of days today. It wasn't because you had to walk in the cold, no you could handle that. It was because of the constant bullying and rudeness you've gotten at school. I mean everyone goes through bullying but you just couldn't handle it today.

Of course, you weren't in tears from the words they said, you were tough like your father. Although you were angry at the fact the reason you weren't tearing up at the words thrown at you was the reason you were picked on so much.

The fact your father was rarely home.

It's not like you hated your father for not being there, you absolutely loved him. He was the best father you could ever ask for. You just wished he was here more often. It may sound selfish considering his job protected many peoples lives but it was the truth.

You would've thought about how you missed your father more but you already arrived home and you had other things to do. But once you opened the door and the warmth of the house hit your face you suddenly heard a Scottish accent and last time you remembered you dad did not have a Scottish accent.

Did mum bring someone home? No, she was still at work..

After hearing the voice you slowly closed the door behind you and locked it before slowly making your way to the living room, dropping your bag and coat on the floor near the door.

But once you got to the living room door your eyes lit up with delight, forgetting about the voice you heard before, as an ugly bucket hat that clearly belonged to your father made its way into your line of sight...along with three other men.

"Dad there are weird buff men in our living room.."

Upon hearing your voice price turned around with a smile, chuckling at your reaction to the boys. Meanwhile Soap, Gaz, and Ghost all looked shocked.

Price has a kid.

"wait...DAD???"

"Soap.."

"Johnny-"

"HELP SOAP???"

"[Name]- please.."

To say the least, you were in shock. Why are there big buff men in your living room and why was one named Soap. You would've started laughing if it wasn't because of how shocked you were.

"I'm sorry for the sudden visit baby girl but I wanted to surprise you. Plus I wanted to introduce my team to you one day."

"Surprised I am-" you then talked back, your eyes meeting and scanning all three men. You liked the most normal looking one (Gaz). Meanwhile, your dad just sighed and shook his head with a smile at your response. "Well... [Name], this is Soap, Ghost and Gaz."

"What's with the goofy names...did your parent hate you guys or something-"

"[Name]-"

"Kidding! I know their codenames." making Gaz and Soap smile at your little interaction with your father, even though they were still a little bit shocked.

"How about you four talk to each other while I get some food ready?"

"Dad...I don't how a high school is supposed to get along with full-grown ass men"

"You'll find a way, good lucky baby girl." your father would say in a joking voice as he got up and went to the kitchen. He already talked to the boys long enough and wanted a break anyway.

"So what you wanna do?" Gaz's voice would pipe up, breaking the silence while you looked back at your bag filled with homework before looking back into the living room.

"shooting games?"

"Sure!"

It had been a couple minutes since you started to play this one shooting game called 'Calling of Loyalty'. It was a great game. Plus it gave you a lot of opportunities to make fun of Gaz's aim. Making the three of the guys think of their captain.

"Jeez Gaz have you gotten your eyes checked recently..."

"Father like daughter..."

Requests: Open

#price x reader platonic #price mw2 #mw2 141 #mw2 fanfic #ghost mw2 #mw2 soap #mw2 gaz #platonic #daughter reader #gen z reader #fluff

[shitty-blade-runner-reference]

alice post

i think alice and kara are a foile-a-deux going on there, i think not only is kara in her weird "denial" that bumps the game down a full letter grade, where clearly they put in the alice twist at the last minute and then didnt go back and edit to make sense but alice is TERRIFIED of people realizing shes an android. i think its alice's strongest motivation besides the characteristic anxious attachment that manifests as constantly requesting kara to reiterate/reassure that she's willing to take care of alice. ("i'm cold" bro we know youre not cold you just want to make sure the adults around you care that youre uncomfortable; as a video game character you are annoying but as a person i'm analyzing youre valid and im validating you) alice has an insane amount of some kind of internalized dislike of androids. not that she hates other androids, she seems to like them, but she definitely thinks it would be better if she was a human and not an android. (alice's third strongest motivation is actually that she has a really vivid sense of ethics? this is characteristic of kids sometimes: they've been watching shows where all the morals are things like "dont steal" and "dont bully," but alice is very firm on what she considers right and wrong. she'll chastise kara for violating that, which is incredibly ballsy coming from a child that regularly gets abused when adults are angry with her) alice keeps a photo of the human girl she replaced, standing with a happy version of her dad and a mom that's around and remembers her and recognizes her. alice looks at pictures of humans and is like "haha can we please be like them please kara i would love to be a human child with a human mom and dad :')" if you try to prod alice about what you've realized, if kara puts together the clues while at rose's house, alice completely shuts down in terror because she thinks youre going to leave her for not being a real child. alice does NOT correct kara's weird delusion. alice doesn't offer to interface to immediately warn kara that todd destroyed the last kara, she communicates it with spooky little drawings even though its an actual life or death situation. alice draws herself in her little spookychild abuse crayon drawings with red blood - even inside the little locked chest that represents the secrets in this house that alice knows about. alice is over the moon when jerry treats her like a human child and puts her on a carousel. kara mentions its the only time she's ever seen alice smile. its probably because alice is having a pure moment of carousel!!! just like human child!! everyone thinks im a person so they're being nice to me!! when my dad knew i was an android he was awful! alice is an interesting character written very badly. i do think @thiriumhound is correct that shes a deviant but also she is on some kind of third axis of messed up that has nothing to do with whether shes still obeying her program

#alice williams #detroit become human #alice yk500 #yk500

[cherrycocaineee]

32. Joker - Tell Me Again

* Warning: I incorporated characters from both Suicide Squad and Gotham, some violance, attempted sexual assault, some blood, kissing, legal age gap, bullying, whatever else is considered a warning because I’m bad at warnings *

* Paisley’s p.o.v *

Wet sneakers squeaked harshly against the tiled school halls as students made their way through the building. It was the end of the school day, and rambunctious teenagers were shuffling their way out of the building to enjoy the start of their weekend plans. I was shoving books into my backpack while listening to Freddy go on and on about his family’s plan to travel to Long Island and visit their ailing grandmother. Freddy had mentioned to me, through tears, that he wasn’t sure when she’d pass so they wanted to spend as much time with her as physically possible. Even though I knew I should have been listening more closely, I wasn’t really interested in hearing Freddy tell me about his weekend plans for the third time today. Instead, I just kept placing my belongings into my bag while mindlessly tuning him out, only humming once in a while to make him think I was more interested than I actually was.

  “You aren’t really listening, huh?”

 “Mm-hm.”

   The sound of my locker door closing snapping me out of my daze as my eyes widened at the realization that he had asked a question. He was watching me with a slightly arched brow.

 “Sorry,” I apologized, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

 “No apology needed,” he laughed, “I’ve been going on and on about my weekend plan, I never really asked you what yours was.”

 “Nothing really. Probably just sit at home, watch some boring drama, and read.”

Of course I had plans but they were with the Joker so I couldn’t just give that out. I’ve done pretty well so far in hiding my relationship with the criminal clown and I planned on keeping it that way.

  “You could always come with me to my grandmother’s, if you want,” Freddy offered.

 “That’s okay,” I assured him, smiling kindly, “sometimes it’s nice to spend the weekend alone. I’m able to relax and ease the stress from the week.”

  “I can understand that. You know it’s only been a month since you’ve been allowed to come back to school. I never asked how you were feeling.”

He didn’t ask, so I never bothered telling him. Honestly it was stressful; there were a lot of things I had to catch up on even though it didn’t feel like I’d been gone for long, and despite the class load I was catching up on, there was also the problem with Daniel and his friends eyeing me down every chance they got. One time I even thought they had followed me so I made a detour from my house to the police station.

  “Maybe it’s just me,” I muttered, “but since I’ve been back I feel like Daniel and his friends have been watching my every move.”

  As if right on que, just as Freddy and I walked out of the school building, we saw Daniel standing by his friends staring at me. His arms were folded across his chest, and while most of his wounds had healed, there were still some deep, purple bruises on his face. The bad bruises would take longer than a month to completely go away.

I could hear Freddy visibly gulp as well as gripping the straps of his own book bag.

  “He might still be mad at you,” Freddy said, causing me to look at him, “you know, because you embarrassed him when you beat him up.”

 “He started it.” I couldn’t even stop the childish words coming out of my mouth even if I wanted to even if it was technically true.

  Freddy and I started walking towards the street so we could head to my house and do some homework. He didn’t have homework, no one normally did during the weekend, he was just kind enough to help me with the work I missed. It wasn’t that I needed the help, honestly I could finish the work all alone, I just didn’t want to. On the way back to my house, we stopped at Starbucks to get a little pick me up since it’s been such a long, drawn out day. Freddy got his normal order which was an iced coffee with almond milk and caramel drizzle while I got my typical, boring order: a vanilla, iced latte with caramel drizzle. I guess we both loved caramel. With our coffee in hand, Freddy and I made our way down the block to my place. I was fortunate to have a Starbucks so close to where I lived; it made it easier to get a cup before my therapy sessions or when I wanted to study, a nice place to relax outside of my bedroom.

   I pulled my keys out of my bag and unlocked my door, letting Freddy go before me so I could relock the door once inside.

For the next few hours, Freddy and I tackled the piling pieces of school work that was crowding my bedroom desk. Fortunately for me, we were able to get most of it down because Freddy remembered going through them in class and was able to tell me about it. By the time he had to leave, I had ten more assignments to do out of the thirty. So overall, it was productive and time well used. When Freddy was gone, I stayed in my room waiting for my dad to come home. He always came home before going back to work and spending the next two days there.

  I picked up my phone and went to my messages with the Joker, silently thanking that my dad wasn’t the type of parent to snoop through my phone when I was asleep. As I smiled down at the previous message he’d sent me, just a simple goodnight, I sent him a new one. It had been a while since the last time we spoke; a week if I remembered correctly.

Paisley: Where should I meet you tonight?

   It was short and to the point which was the result of many of our messages. And unless he was busy working, he always messaged back incredibly fast. A little ding came from my phone, the flashing light telling me that I had a message.

Mister J: The park.

  Short and to the point.

 He didn’t even have to tell me which park, I already knew he meant Gotham Park. It was normally dead in the evening time, no one bothered to go there because the woods made it incredibly eerie for the average person.

Just as I finished reading his message, the front door was opened and closed. I could hear the sound of my dad’s heavy shoes assaulting the carpeted ground as he made his way into the house. He’d be here for almost an hour so he could make himself a lunch box that would last for the next two days, gather some clothes in case he started smelling too ripe for his and his colleagues liking, and whatever else he’d need. I left my phone on my bed and made my way down the stairs, just wanting to see him before I couldn’t.

  He stood behind the kitchen counter already preparing himself a sandwich. His eyes looked up at me when he noticed I was standing at the entrance.

 “How was school?” He asked.

  There was no warmth in his words, and I knew he wasn’t asking because he cared, he simply wanted to make sure I wasn’t stirring up trouble again.

 “It was okay,” I answered, “I’m catching up on everything I missed.”

 “Good.”

He turned around and opened the fridge, pulling out the Dijon mustard then going back to his sandwich. I sat down at the kitchen table and folded my hands in front of me. I liked our relationship more when neither of us spoke to each other. It was almost as if we were normal, that we didn’t harbor any dark secrets from our friends. It was almost as if he loved me again.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he muttered, catching me off guard, “maybe we should leave Gotham.”

  My eyes widened in shock. I pushed a bit of my blonde hair out of the way.

  “Wh-where would we go?” I questioned.

 “Back to Texas.”

  “What about mom?”

   I could see his bicep flex as he clenched his jaw which was a normal sign that he was getting annoyed with all of my questions.

 “Don’t worry about your mother.”

 “Don’t worry about mom? You’re talking about leaving Gotham! Does that mean you’re leaving her too!?”

 “Paisley!”

 “No! You always do this! You never want to tell me anything and that isn’t fair. It’s normal for me to have questions! That’s a normal family!”

  He slammed his butterknife down and glared at me, “we aren’t a fucking normal family!”

He came around the counter inching closer and closer to me. I took several steps back until I was standing in front of the kitchen entrance again. My tiny fist balled into a fist as I felt waves of anger and fear. It was never my intention to piss him off, I just did that naturally by still existing. I watched as his nostrils flared, his dark, cold blue eyes staring down at me before a quiet sigh left his mouth.

  “Go to your room, Paisley,” he said, “I don’t want to see you.”

  “You never do,” I muttered, turning on my heel and running up to my bedroom.

  I laid on my bed, my arms spread out as I stared up at my rotating ceiling fan, listening to the noises coming from downstairs as I waited for him to leave. In the meantime, I thought about what he said about leaving Gotham. There were so many things running through my head: Would mom be coming with us? Would he be divorcing her if she can’t come home with us? What about my siblings? What about the Joker? He surely wasn’t going to be okay with that at all. He’d made it pretty clear that I wasn’t allowed to leave, that I practically belonged to him now. But I couldn’t not tell him, he’d find out eventually if my dad was serious about the move. There was also the question as to whether or not everything would go back to normal. Would I be beaten almost everyday like I was here? Would everything be normal again? I just didn’t know and he wasn’t going to tell me.

 About an hour later, I finally heard my dad leaving the house. He wasn’t going to tell me bye, and I was use to that, so I waited until I heard him pulling out of the driveway. When he was gone, I peered over at my alarm clock and saw that it was almost nine o’clock. Who would have thought time would go by so quickly?

I shot the Joker another message saying that I was heading to the park, not even bothering to check his message when I heard the ding echo throughout my bedroom. Instead, I brushed out any knots in my hair and touched up on the small amount of makeup I’d chosen to wear today. Opening my drawers, I took out some clothing for the weekend and placed them into my bag. I just used my school bag, it didn’t make people wonder why I was out so late; they either thought I was heading to the library or coming home from the library. People in Gotham were nosy. After I sprayed myself down with some of the Joker’s favorite perfume, a perfume that he kept in stock in case I ran out which was nuts considering it was pricey, I gathered the rest of my staying the night items and headed out the front door, locking it behind me. I peered down at my phone, reading the message the Joker sent me, before being on my way. For the first time in a long time, I was happy and there was a genuine smile on my face.

   Halfway to the park was when the real problem started.

 “Well, well.”

  My body froze and I refused to take another step forward. I immediately recognized the voice, and I nearly cursed myself outloud for not paying better attention to my surroundings. Turning slowly, I came face to face with Daniel and only one of his four friends. That was a relief in itself.

 “Paisley Mayflower,” he chuckled, “what are you doing out so late?”

 “Fresh air,” I lied, “not that that’s any of your business.”

The longer it took for me to see the Joker, the more aggravated I grew. Which I’d learned wasn’t a good thing, even my therapist noticed it when she tried to hint at something I didn’t want to talk about. Boys, my family, my dad.

 “That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day,” he hissed.

 “What do you want?”

 “Payback really. Getting your ass kicked by some psycho freak who’s barely even 5’5” does some harm to your reputation.”

 “Especially when that person’s a girl,” his friend added, not really helping much.

Daniel glared at his friend, who merely shrugged his shoulders. I rolled my eyes. There wasn’t enough time in the day for me to deal with this. And even if there was, I didn’t want to. However, taking my eyes off the violent person in front of me was never a good idea so I had to mentally cuss myself out again when I felt a hand wrap around my neck. He was squeezing pretty tight too, and I could feel the air being pulled from my lungs. They felt like they were on fire too, a burning sensation covering my entire body as my vision started to blur. Mustering as much energy as I could, I slammed my knee into his crotch making him drop me. A sharp pain shot through my wrist as I landed on my ass, catching myself with my hands. My bag slipped off my shoulder momentarily but I just shoved it back into position. Daniel was cradling his crotch as his friend tried to make sure he was okay. It was a tough blow. While they were distracted, I climbed to my feet and took a few steps back.

  “Stop fucking worrying about me,” Daniel hollared, “and grab that bitch!”

 “Right.”

  When his friend looked up at me, I took off running. I could hear the sound of their shoes slapping against the pavement as they chased after me. I was surprised that Daniel was even able to run after that.

  I could feel a bruise forming on my throat, a burning itch in my skin even when I swallowed, trying to moisten my dried esophagus. People watched as I was being chased by two much larger men, no one stepping in to do anything. I just needed to reach that damn park.

As if my prayers had been answered, I made it to Gotham park. I didn’t think they’d follow me in, no one ever came here in the middle of the night. I barely stopped running when I was tackled to the ground, pain bolting through my body as someone heavy sat on top of me. Daniel turned me to face him, throwing my backpack to the side while pinning me down with only one of his arms. His friend, seeming frightened once he realized where they were, stood behind him panting.

  “Get off of me!” I screamed, thrashing myself around.

 “You’re gonna fucking regret that, bitch!” He sneered, “Guess you need to learn a lesson.”

  He started lifting my shirt up and as I tried to scream and pull away, one of his hands clamped over my mouth. My screams were muffled, tears started to spill from my eyes. It was too dark for anyone to notice, and no one would because they avoided the area completely. All I could do was wait. This would either happen before the Joker got here, or he’d walk in on it. Until then, I tried to fight him off as his hands wandered over my exposed chest before trailing down to my jeans. I squeezed my eyes shut, everything going numb until the sound of a gunshot rang throughout the park. Daniel’s movement stopped as birds took off from the trees. Daniel turned around and I peered over to see his friend on the ground with a bullet through his head.

  “Holy f-fuck,” Daniel whimpered.

  Standing beside the deceased was the Joker; his gun pointed at where the other boy had stood, his arm still hanging in the air as his dangerous eyes stared deeply into my own. I could feel the inside of my chest throbbing painfully.

 “Joker,” I choked out, my voice strained from the lack of air and screaming.

It was loud enough for Daniel to hear but not loud enough for the whole world. Daniel turned his attention to the tattooed criminal standing an inch or two away from one of his closest friends' unmoving body. His scared eyes widening at the sudden realization of who murdered his buddy. The Joker’s eyes wandered over to him watching as Daniel tried to put some space between himself and the clown. I pulled my shirt down, wincing at the sudden movement as I felt the aftermath of being tackled and manhandled. Pulling myself into a standing position, fighting every urge to burst into tears with each aching movement, I looked at Mister J. My face felt sticky and wet with fresh tears. The Joker let his hand drop as he made his way closer to me, Daniel watching every step with fear. Getting up to run would be a bad idea, it would just make the Joker kill him instantly. Though I guess it didn’t really matter because he was going to die either way.

   Mister J lifted my chin up with his rough hands, they were cold to the touch. His eyes looked over my entire body taking in all the damage. They lingered a little bit at my neck before he used his thumb to wipe something off my face; I thought it might have been tears he was wiping away but when he pulled his thumb away, I saw fresh blood. He pulled his hand away, and despite his hand being cold, I missed the subtle touch, wanting desperately to pull his hand back to my face. The Joker turned his attention to the still frozen high school boy.

  “Mmmm,” he hummed, approaching Daniel like a predator, “What do we have here?”

  Daniel couldn’t even talk, his mouth was only hanging open but no sound came out. I didn’t blame him, up close the Joker was incredibly intimidating. Mister J squatted down beside him, close enough that he could reach out and grab him. His decorated gun grazed the tip of Daniel’s shoe. I wiped my face feeling the blood under my nose.

 “Cat got your tongue?” The Joker muttered, tapping the gun against the tip of Daniel’s shoe.

 “We…we were just messing around,” Daniel said, his voice quivering, “isn’t that right, Paisley?”

  Daniel’s eyes shifted over to me, pleading for me to save his life. The Joker craned his head back waiting for me to answer Daniel’s question.

 “Well doll?” He questioned, “Should I let the poor boy go because you were only playing?”

  I couldn’t help myself and inadvertently rolled my eyes.

 “What a stupid question?” I snapped, gesturing to myself before crossing my arms, “Do I look like I was playing around?”

 “P-Paisley,” Daniel stated, “come on. We were just fooling around with you.”

  But I ignored him, instead, I went over to my discarded backpack and picked it up then swung it over my shoulder. Joker reached over and ran the gun against Daniel’s chin, his painted red lips stretching into a wider, mischievous smile. His silver teeth sparkling in the bright moonlight.

  “Hmm. I think I’ll take ya home with me. Have a little fun with ya. After all, I can’t have you running around terrorizing my sweet, little girl.”

 Daniel was quick to his feet and started taking off towards the street, his eyes darting back ever so often to see if the Joker was following him. And Mister J wasn’t. He didn’t run after his prey, that just wasn’t him. So I was surprised when Daniel ran right into Frost and some more of the Joker’s henchmen. I couldn’t help but wonder where they came from. Were they waiting over there this whole time? Frost lifts a black pillow case up and wraps it around Daniel’s head before allowing one of the other henchmen to knock him out, using the butt of their gun. Daniel’s body crumbled to the ground and all Frost did was point, telling them to deal with him. No one argued, they just did what he said. While they did that, Frost nodded his head towards Mister J and walked away with the others. That left Mister J and I alone.

  “Let’s go, doll,” he stated, not even looking at me as he headed over to his parked, purple Lamborghini.

I didn’t argue, I just ran after him ignoring the waves of pain bolting through my body.

* Joker’s p.o.v *

The entire car ride back to my place, I watched Paisley out the corner of my eye as she tenderly touched the forming bruise wrapped around her neck. The darker it got, the more it looked like a handprint. Just the sight of it made my fingers tighten around the steering wheel. She hadn’t told me that prick had been bothering her, and now look, she was all marked the fuck up. And that wasn’t even the concerning part of it all; if I hadn’t showed up when I did and came to her rescue, that piece of shit would have done more than just fondle her. I didn’t keep the bastard alive because I wanted to save Paisley from seeing me kill him, no, he was only alive because I planned to do all sorts of heinous things to him. Before he died, he was going to beg me to kill him.

    When we arrived, I told Paisley to wait for me upstairs in the bedroom as I went with Frost and the others to my special room that I normally kept prisoners in. Just as he began to wake up, Frost had finished tying him to the chair and removing the black hood off his head. He blinked a few times as he searched his surroundings, his eyes finally landing on me and Frost.

 “What’s his name again?” I grumbled, approaching him.

 “Daniel Anderson,” Frost answered, “he’s that boy from the video that was on the news a month ago.”

 That much I knew.

  I gripped his dark brown locks between my scarred fingers and yanked his head back so that he was looking into my eyes. There were fresh tears forming over his waterline as he tried to force himself not to burst into tears. It was very manly of him.

  “Almost in tears,” I grinned, “I have to applaud you for trying so hard to be brave despite the position you’re in. Though manliness won’t be getting you out of it.”

 “P-please,” he pleaded.

 “P-please,” I mocked, laughing menacingly, “pathetic.”

I threw him back causing him to topple over in the chair he was strapped to. A quiet thud filled my ears as I heard the sweet sound of my new toy whimpering, silently praying that he’d be saved. Unfortunately for him, no one, not even Batman, would be coming to his rescue.

    In my bedroom, I saw Paisley staring at the large window that overlooked a lot of the city. My house was far from Gotham but not far enough that you couldn’t see it from my high up window. It was a pretty view but definitely not as pretty as the one I was staring at right now. At the sound of my footsteps, Paisley turned to me with a grin on her face. I didn’t move, instead, I extended my arms out welcomingly and she ran into them. Her arms wrapped around my neck while her legs tightened around my torso.

  “Even all bruised up you look pretty,” I chuckled, “shame I had to get you this way though. Poor girl.”

  Her fingers ran through my styled, green hair causing it to come undone. Her pretty, ocean blue eyes never tore away from my own eyes, her smile never leaving her face as she took in everything at once.

  “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to mine.

 “I’ve missed you too, doll,” I muttered, leaning forward, letting my lips graze hers, “How long do we have together again?”

  “Two days.”

 “Not long enough.”

  And just like that, I saw the light in her eyes disappear as she dropped to the floor. Her hands stayed securely on my chest as she looked away from me. I lifted her chin, forcing her to look up at me. We didn’t say anything just yet, I just walked causing her to move backwards towards the bed. Sitting down on the edge of the thick, king size mattress then pulled her to sit on my thick thigh. She was so much smaller than me, barely even covering up my leg when she was sitting.

  “Something the matter?” I questioned.

 “My dad,” she answered, learning a while ago that I didn’t like liars, “he wants to leave Gotham and go back to Texas.”

  My grip on her thigh tightened causing her to flinch a bit in pain but she never pushed my hand away. I grinned, remaining as calm as possible.

 “He can leave all he wants,” I stated, “but you aren’t going anywhere. You made a promise.”

 “I don’t want to go anywhere,” she replied, “I was hoping you’d have a plan to keep me here.”

 “Of course I do.”

  Of course I did. If that bastard was planning on leaving Gotham with her while she lived under his roof, then I was just going to have to snatch her up right underneath his nose. Slowly but surely I’d just have to move her in, have her disappear so that no one could find her. Anything to keep her here with me.

  “But we’ll talk about that later. Right now, just relax.”

 Paisley nodded her head, her blonde hair bouncing at the sudden movement. A smile returned to her face as she tackled me to the bed with a soft laugh leaving her lips. I chuckled softly, letting her have her moment on top of me. The smile on her face never left as she played with my hair once again. After ten minutes, I flipped us over and pinned her onto the bed; one hand tangled into her hair so she couldn’t look away while the other caressed her chin as my elbow kept me from putting all my weight on her.

 “Mister J,” she said, her voice soft.

 “Hmm.”

 “I love you.”

Her words made my heart throb, it was a different feeling compared to before Harley died.

  I leaned forward, letting my nose touch hers, our lips incredibly close.

 “Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

There was no hesitation when she said it, it was like she already knew what she wanted and she wasn’t afraid to claim it. I let my lips touch hers fully. She moved them in sync with mine, her eyes fluttering close as we kissed. I swiped my tongue over her bottom lip, earning a sweet moan from her. Her fingers tugged at my hair as the kiss deepened. I pulled away, causing her to whine a little.

  “Again, doll.”

 “I love you, Mister J.”

  I sighed contently before dipping my head back down, allowing my lips to engulf hers all over again. I pulled her close to me, her chest pressing against my own and I couldn’t help but notice her size all over again. God, she was so little against me. When I pulled away again, I noticed that a bit of the red from my lips rubbed off on hers. I just ignored it, nudging my head into the crook of her neck and pressing wet kisses against it. Her fingers dug into my bicep.

   There was a knock at my door and I growled against her skin, opening my eyes and seeing the red on her purple neck.

  “What?” I growled loudly, keeping Paisley pressed against me.

 “Boss,” Frost’s voice called on the other side of the door, “you shouldn’t keep your prisoner all night. Someone will be expecting him home, so we have to get rid of the body quickly.”

  “It’s always something,” I muttered, hauling myself off of her, “I’ll be right back. Stay put.”

Paisley nodded her head, not moving from her position as I walked towards the door. I straightened myself out before opening the door. Frost wasn’t standing in front of my door when I opened it so I assumed he went back down to the prisoner. That was fine with me.

  “One more time,” I said to Paisley.

  She sat up, placing her hands prettily in her lap as she crossed her legs.

 “I love you.”

*Tag list* @w4nt-h1s-d1ck @leaveitbythewave @ellatitanium @gaymistakeboi @erika-solic @amirra88

#joker #the joker #the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #leto joker #jared leto joker #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #suicide squad #joker fanfiction #joker imagines #joker suicide squad #mister j #mister joker #joker x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #imagines #fluff #smut #joker smut

[fluffydice]

I've mentioned it before, but I think I finally want to try and explain how I write the characters in my Saiki K fics. It's mostly for me because I love talking about writing and Saiki K, but maybe some of you will enjoy this, too.

I did Toritsuka because @akechi-gf mentioned wanting tips on writing his dialogue, but 1) I felt bad info-dumping on his post and 2) didn't quite answer the dialogue answer and jumped straight into characterization (Sorry! Hope this still helps you in some convoluted way, if you're willing to read it all LMAO)

Obviously, he's very aggressively horny. He and Aiura are probably one of the firsts to laugh over something that could be taken the wrong way. But I think it's his way of trying to connect with others. He might open a conversation with some odd, vaguely creepy comment on a girl with the intention of moving the subject to something else.

He's vulgar, though I don't consider him much of a swearer. Not when compared to Kuboyasu or maybe even Kaido.

I personally write him as someone who is very opinionated. If he thinks Saiki is being too passive, or in over his head, Toritsuka is going to tell him straight up. Even if he knows the other won't take it well.

That's a big part of their relationship, I feel: even if Toritsuka is the first to cower away from Saiki puffing out his chest, he's also the first to come bounding back. He's not a 'once burned, twice shy' kind of guy. He doesn't really hold grudges, and can't quite go through with threats. I think it's why Saiki puts up with him. Like Nendo, Toritsuka is very devoted.

If you want to portray him differently, that's alright, but I always feel that something people miss with all the Saiki K. characters is that most of them are genuine assholes. They're teenagers, and I feel Toritsuka exemplifies this best. He'll say hurtful things and fucking mean them. It doesn't make him a bad person, but he definitely doesn't have the same emotional regulation as...I was going to give an example but I don't know if any of the kids are good at that. Akechi, maybe.

And speaking of emotions, he's not the best with them. He understands them, sure, but he's not even remotely delicate. That means he'll back off easily when he thinks things are beyond him. If Saiki tells him to leave it alone, that's what he's going to do. He isn't a bad guy. Toritsuka doesn't want to actively make things worse.

And on that note, he's also really fucking whiny. I try really hard not to shy away from making characters unlikable in certain aspects. If they're annoying, make them annoying. If they're a jerk, then so be it. I don't like sacrificing personality for likability. I just make sure its balanced out by other things. Toritsuka, despite his faults, has a lot of things genuinely good about him. He has pure, unadulterated faith in people, a genuine desire to become a better person (after some nudging), has shown care toward his ghosts...there's definitely stuff there.

Toritsuka's world view is fucked up, point blank. The way he talks about women isn't right. If I wrote from his perspective, it'd probably include him objectifying them. But, depending on what period of his development he's in, he might be able to step back and acknowledge that what he's thinking isn't right. He's very capable of growing and changing. Even if he's reluctant with it, he starts being less self-centered and more willing to do things just because it's the right thing to do.

He has mommy and daddy issues up the fucking wall. I think it colors his interactions with the other psychickers (who are willing to keep him in check), especially Saiki (who mother-hens basically anything that moves). He needs guidance, even if it's a bit of bullying.

#i don't know what to tag this as #character voices #maybe #that'll do for now #holy shit I could tag this under three of my catagories #woah #saiki k #fluffy writes a fic #fluffy cooks a headcanon #fluffy writes an essay