#this is my love letter to this very minor character but i do badly at outside povs so i kept it in scully's

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

Whumpay Day 15: self-hatred

late s3 (idk what the timeline is like tbh, but according to fandom wiki page on Holly, Pusher happened in November of 1995??) | tagging @today-in-fic and @whumpay2022, tysm! :D

Scully is alone in the office in late February, 1996, when there's a hesitant knock at the door. It's Saturday, she's already got plans for the weekend — she's meeting up with Mulder tonight to catch him up on the case she's been studying while he was out complainingly recovering from a sprained ankle, then dinner with her mother tomorrow, because it's her birthday and Maggie wanted to do something. She only came into the office to collect some of her things that she'd forgotten the evening before, then got distracted trying to organize the scattered papers across the desk.

(She would love to blame Mulder for that, but the fact is that she leaves things behind, often untidy, almost but not quite as much as he does. It's a gamble as to which of them will eventually tidy things, though, and to how they'll be organized.)

She looks up, surprised to see someone else down here on a weekend, with the beginnings of a reproach on her lips if Mulder has decided to come in when he'd been expressly told — ordered by Skinner, Scully, and another doctor who'd agreed with her — to stay out of the office at least until Monday. Instead, Scully is surprised to see another agent she recognizes standing in the doorway and looking like she was about to head home.

Holly Patton is willowy and dark-haired and gentle, and her unassuming nature and soft face would make her a good undercover agent if she weren't just as soft-spoken. Instead, she excels at the work she does in the Computer Records office. Scully has spoken with her a few times at mixers, or when relevant to a case; she interviewed the slightly younger woman when she was a victim of Robert Modell back in November. Now, prim skirt suit covered by a grey wool coat and a bag slung over her shoulder, Patton looks more casual than Scully has ever seen her, and distinctly out of place.

"Agent Patton," she says, surprised. "I didn't expect to see you here." She didn't expect to see much of anyone here, seeing as most people working today are tucked away in cubicles or haunting their bullpens.

Patton smiles and tentatively steps into the office. "You can call me Holly," she offers. "I'm not a field agent, after all."

"Alright." Scully smiles, ignoring her instinct to comment that field agents aren't any more important or respectable than those who spend their careers in the Hoover building.

Holly glances curiously around the office for a moment, then looks back at Scully. "It's your birthday tomorrow, right?"

Scully blinks. "Yes," she replies, and her quizzical look must give her away because Holly quickly shrugs and offers a sheepish smile.

"I work in records," she offers in explanation, and Scully nods, suddenly understanding a little bit. "Anyway, I um... I saw your car in the garage and wanted to come down and say happy birthday, and also thank you."

"Thank me?" Scully blinks, confused.

Holly adjusts the bag on her shoulder — fairly new, by the looks of it — and nods. "For being so compassionate after what happened with Robert Modell. I don't really understand what you and Agent Mulder do down here, but you stopped that man, and-" she hesitates. "And you were very kind to me."

Scully glances back down at the stack of unorganized papers she'd forgotten she's been holding, taps them on the desk to straighten them out, and sets them down. "Of course," she replies. "Nothing that happened was your fault, Holly."

"I know that," Holly says quickly, like she's still not sure of it. Scully suddenly thinks of Mulder flinching away from her touch after the events of that case like he thought he didn't deserve it. "But it felt like it was. I took a week off work just to try and deal with it because I felt so ashamed of what I did to A.D. Skinner." She hesitates to meet Scully's eyes, but eventually she does. "You told me several times when you questioned me that it was okay and I shouldn't hold any of it against myself, but I still did. I thought it was my fault for letting him control me. But then I thought, you know, if Agent Scully who doesn't even believe in mind control like that is believing and is telling me I'm not to blame for it..." She trails off with a shrug, and Scully stays quiet, listening. "I wanted to come talk to you before," she admits, "But I never had a good enough reason until now."

Scully bites her lip, thinking. "Thank you for that," she says quietly, because she's not sure what else to say.

She's never really considered her impact on others, only thinks of helping them; especially with others at the FBI, she mostly thinks of the too-common animosity toward Mulder. She thinks maybe she doesn't take into account enough those like Holly, or Agent Pendrell, or even Skinner. Their battle isn't meant to be against others; it's meant to be for others.

"You don't need a reason, though," she adds. Holly looks at her, confused. Scully smiles. "You're welcome to come down here anytime you want, even just to talk." She wants to remind her again that what Modell did to her wasn't her fault — she and Mulder had certainly been over that enough, and she has no taste for victim-blaming, even self-inflicted — but she doesn't; it's not the time, and she thinks, hopes, Holly already knows.

Holly returns her smile, brightening noticeably. "Okay," she says. "Maybe I will." She turns to leave. "Thank you again," she adds, pausing. "And I hope you have a really good birthday."

"Thank you," Scully says again, as she watches her leave as quietly as she came. Maybe that's all there really is to say.

#so. number one: i adore holly. she's my precious innocent child. #number two: scully trying to navigate interactions with other women is SO FUNNY #and number THREE: she and holly seem pretty familiar when they talk in gethsemane/redux i and like. I'm v attached #to the idea of them lowkey being friends #scully needs more friends and holly seems like a good one #so i wanted to kind of take a look at how that friendship might have developed #also i wish we saw more of holly in the show shdjdnsnsn she was a sweetie #this is my love letter to this very minor character but i do badly at outside povs so i kept it in scully's #and tbh she's. quite obsessed with mulder at this point shdjdnsj. #it's a holly story but with msr throughout #this is only loosely the prompt but like... Holly having some self-hatred after everything w/ Modell bc somehow she blames herself #for letting him get inside her head #Lu writes #whumpay2022 #txf #the x files #txf s3 #ish... the timeline is weird tbh #dana scully #holly patton #fox mulder #msr #(in spirit) #txf fanfic

[earthtooz]

x : AUGUST 12TH :*+ﾟ

in which: reo sees his birthday marked down on your calender, and it fills him with the courage to win you back. or, he's hiding from the paparazzi... in your apartment, for whatever reason.

warnings: 2k wc, gn!reader, exes to lovers but they're very much in love, they kiss (eww), minor angst and minor embarrassment for reader but it's very cute, very much fluff and happy endings, professional soccer player reo, characters aged to be around 21+

a/n: I LOVE REO. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!

August 12th used to be one of the most important dates on your calender. Now it is one that brings forth bittersweet thoughts and memories whenever you think too hard on it, reminiscing a love that you had to let go long ago, despite how badly you wanted to keep him.

Mikage Reo’s name used to be stamped loud and proud beneath the date, with a heart that you hastily scribbled on due to the awkward angle of the page. His name is still on there, just without the heart, and merely in capitalised letters of your handwriting. 

You don’t know why you need to record it down because you remember it regardless, the set of numbers etched in the crevices of your mind. In fact, when August first hit and you were planning the month ahead, the act of recording down Reo’s birthday was a second-hand instinct, and when you did so without realising, a little pool of embarrassment and hurt developed in your chest. You didn’t even have the guts to cross it out either, despite it being almost seven months since you split.

Not a day has passed without you thinking about him, clearly.

But it was nothing to be embarrassed about because no one will ever think too much about it, especially not Reo, because he has no reason to ever step foot in your apartment ever again. If he ever saw it, you might just wither away.

So why on earth was he here now, sitting on one of your kitchen stools? The one that he used to always sit on when he came to see you when you were still dating with the reasoning that it ‘gave him a better view of you whilst you were scurrying around’.

Now you are ever aware of his gaze on you, entranced whilst fixing him a mere glass of water. 

Sliding it over to him on the marble countertop, he takes it with a grateful smile. “Thank you for allowing me to hide here, and I'm sorry about bringing you into all of this.”

“No problem, you got lucky that i have nothing better to do today,” you sigh, trying to tune out the clamours of the paparazzi that were residing outside of your apartment complex. Wandering over to the balcony window, you see that the swarm hasn’t decreased from when you last checked. 

Your poor, clueless neighbours. None of them deserved to be dragged into this. You wonder when it can all settle down.

“Reo?” You murmur. He glances over at you immediately, attentive purple eyes bright and wide in their curiosity. “Why did you come here out of all places?”

“You’re…” he falters. “You’re the first person I thought of, and I just so happened to be nearby.”

“Nearby? There’s nothing to do around my neighbourhood. What could you possibly have to do here?”

He looks away, shamefully staring down at his glass of water. “Errands. Stuff.” 

“Okay,” you trail off, not wanting to prod further. “So how are you thinking of getting out of this situation?”

“Does your apartment have another way out?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Well unless you want me to jump from your window, then my only way out is to wait,” he says with a shrug and you pinch the bridge of your nose. The clamours of the crowd below can be heard even on your second-level home, and no matter how badly you wanted to return to your work, a certain ex of yours is only another reason for your headache. 

Since the breakup, you never thought Reo would ever be here again, however, fate seems to have pulled peculiar strings to bring him back to you- on his birthday too.

You won’t admit that this all feels a little set up. Perhaps it was the universe mocking you for not being able to stop loving him, despite it being you who forcibly let him go so he could fulfil his soccer ambitions in England.

The last time you saw him, he was crying at your doorstep, reluctant to go and to let you go. It is a sight that will always haunt you, especially when you then shut the door in his face and ultimately, ending your relationship.

Would you let him go again if you had the chance? No. Reo won’t ever know that, though.

You doubt he wants you back.

“Maybe you needed a better disguise if you wanted to escape the paparazzi,” you mutter.

Reo fiddles with his sunglasses. “Don’t scorn a man who just wanted to go out. I can’t even do anything normally nowadays anymore, not even in Japan.”

“Well, yeah, you’re kind of a big shot, Mr-Signed-With-Manshine-City,” you huff. "It's like high school and your fangirls all over again."

“You remember my team?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It's all anyone talks about, especially after the World Cup.” 

“And you listened?” 

“Of course I did,” you confess, no louder than a whisper. “I’m happy for you, Reo. You're really amazing.”

Something about your sentimental statement makes the purple-haired frown, looking away as an obligatory ‘thank you’ slips from his lips.

There’s a quip resting on the tip of your tongue about it being his birthday, but it slides back down your throat with the ease of paper, cutting you in the process. 

“Can I request something from you?” You question.

“Anything," the athlete looks over at you with hopeful eyes.

“Since you’re using my house to hide in, can I have your Netflix password so we can watch a movie or something?” You murmur, “something’s telling me that you’ll be here for a while.”

He laughs, bright and exuberant and boyish that it makes your yearning expand tenfold. “Sure, as long as I get to pick what we watch.”

Your heartstrings soften a little, “fine. I have popcorn somewhere so let me get that out.”

It only takes one movie for the clamour outside to disappear. You’re sure that your neighbours called the police at some point too given then flash of red and blue that illuminated onto your walls, but there was little conflict, and eventually, the quiet returned. You should be grateful for it, really, because your headache can calm and you can get back to doing your work, but it also means that this is the end of yours and Reo's paths. He’ll leave your apartment, and then Japan, and then your life will return to the seven month-long limbo that it was without him, with possibly no due date this time.

He stays around until the end of the movie, however, and when it’s over, he stands with a huff, hands on his knees to help push him up. If you weren't too focused on your dread, you'd have noticed the subtle reluctance clinging to him.

“I ‘ought to be going now, I’ve been in your hair long enough,” sighs the soccer player. “Thank you for allowing me over.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” you mutter. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Likewise. you lo-” Reo’s eyes widen before he shuts his mouth, visibly shaking the sentence away as you’re filled with an invasive sense of curiosity. You want to pry his words out of his mouth, but you don’t think that’s appropriate for your current relationship. “I’ll see you sometime.” 

“Yeah. I’ll be here.”

He nods. During the time of your conversation, the two of you had made it to your kitchen and to your horror, Reo stops right before your calender. He glances at it and has to do a double-take, making sure that his eyes hadn’t failed him.

How will you recover from this one?

Reo turns to you, eyes and smile soft and so so warm. “You still have my birthday marked down.”

“Oh. You’re right!” You laugh awkwardly. “Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you. I’m honoured you remember.”

“Oh my goodness, please shut up,” you hide your face with one hand and Reo laughs harder.

“Do you remember how old I’m turning as well?”

“We’re the same age! Of course I'd remember-”

“-do you have a present for me? You know I love presents.”

“Go buy your own damn presents, you multimillionaire.”

He laughs harder and you almost want to chase him out of your house. “But I like it when they’re from other people!” 

“I don’t have a gift for you, Reo, now can you please shut up?”

“If you don’t have a present then can I ask you for one thing?”

“What is it?”

“A date. Tomorrow, at your favourite place downtown.”

The light, cheery environment dims and you find your breath getting lodged in your throat. “Reo… I- we, we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” He asks, “do you still love me?”

“I have your stupid birthday on my calender and no one else’s, not even mine, so yes I do still love you.” 

He grabs your hands and you feel weak in the knees, clasping onto the warmth you had grown so familiar with. “Then another chance, please, that’s all I ask for.” 

“I let you go for your sake, you shouldn’t have someone like me dragging you back whilst you’re in England. Didn't you see how successful you were without me?” You mutter, thinking back to the night that you let him go, recalling all the pain you felt. 

And how you might relive it again tonight.

“Dragging me back?” he parrots, voice slightly strained. “I thought about you the entire time I was abroad, every training session, every time I scored a goal, I thought about doing it all for you. It might have hurt me to not have you there with me, but it killed me to know that I didn’t have you at all.” 

Reo rests his forehead against yours and you close your eyes, basking in the intimacy that you never thought you could ever experience again with him. “And it killed me even more to know that you wouldn’t be waiting there for me when I came home. You know who was there instead? Stupid Zantetsu, and a few high school friends, but not you.”

“I love Zantetsu though, we get coffee together all the time,” you comment quietly. “He told me that he was going to pick you up.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t even think of going with him.”

“Exes don’t go to the airport to pick each other up.”

“So be my lover again,” pleads Reo. “Be mine again, be here for me every time I return to Japan.”

“Is it what you want?"

“A thousand times yes.”

You sigh through your nose, memorising the feeling of his forehead against yours one last time before parting from him. “Then pick me up tomorrow, at half past six, and we can go downtown.” 

His smile could rival that of a thousand suns, and just seeing it is enough to cure your heart.

“Okay,” he nods, a dreamy sort of look settling in the purple hues of Reo’s gaze. “Okay! I'll be here, without paparazzi this time, and no one will disrupt our date, I'll make sure of it.”

“One more thing before you leave. Stay here!” You command before scurrying through your house and into the study to retrieve a pen. Uncapping it, you then scribble a little heart on the calender, right next to Mikage Reo’s name.

You don’t miss the look of pure elation on his face.

“Call me. My number hasn’t changed.”

“Okay, I will, I will. Watch out for it.”

“Then I look forward to it.”

“Now I really don’t want to leave,” he whines, gently pressing you against the wall with his hands holding onto your shoulders. “It wouldn’t be gentlemanly of me to ask to stay the night, would it?”

“No, but, I think we’re beyond your awkward gentleman-liness.”

“Then, I have permission to do this, right?”

He presses his mouth to yours, hot and needy, you wonder if he’s trying to swallow you whole so you really can’t ever leave again. 

“Happy Birthday, Reo,” you murmur against him.

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

#reo mikage x reader #reo x reader #mikage reo x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #reo mikage #mikage reo #reo fluff #reo x reader fluff #blue lock

[critter-rarepair-reccs]

Hello all! Hope your Wednesday is going well. Today we have nine Pre-Relationship fics for you to enjoy! As always, you can find them below the cut and if you check any of them out, I encourage you to leave kudoes and comments to spread the rarepair love 🩷

gravity-bound by hanap (7,591 words, Teen) Pairing: Jester Lavorre/Essek Thelyss (Jessek) Warnings: None

Essek writes poetry under a pen name, Jester is a fan, she writes to him and they start to exchange letters over many years.

Reccer Says: I love epistolary fic, and also its so cute. There's a lot of background details of canon events we can fill in the background through the letters contents, which is very fun.

in the pieces of what's left or what we've found by SeaWitchDreams (14,620 words, Teen) Pairing: Astrid Beck/Eadwulf Grieve/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (Blumenshadow) Warnings: None

Post canon, Astrid decides what to do with Ikithon's tower, and her life.

Reccer Says: Its a nice long read, and the character beats are complex and nuanced, bc that's what Astrid deserves <3

That Lucidian Glow by fjorests_of_wildemount (455 words, General) Pairing: Kingsley Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss (Shadowking) Warnings: None

Essek needs to put on sunscreen, Kingsley volunteers.

Reccer Says: It's fun and cute moment <3

to be in someone else's coat by jaskofalltrades (1,369 words, General) Pairing: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast (Shadowidomauk) Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

After Essek's dinner with the Nein at the Xhorhaus, Molly and Caleb walk him home. Flirting, of course, ensues.

Reccer Says: It's so fun to see how Essek responds to Molly's relentless flirting, filtering through Caleb's observations on how new Essek is to friendship. And how he can tell that Essek wants that companionship so badly! It's very sweet.

though we're tethered to the story we must tell (when I saw you, well, I knew we'd tell it well). by exhaustedwerewolf (4,535 words, Teen) Pairing: Polymachina Warnings: Mentions of backstory typical violence and character death

On one wrist is your greatest love. On your other, your greatest adversary. And for a certain group of fated adventurers, one of these follows a pattern.

Reccer Says: I'm always a sucker for a good soulmate AU and I *love* ones of this flavor. The angst of not knowing which name is which is delicious and the way this fic plays with that for each member of VM is so good! Also love that the love-bonds don't Have to be romantic, I always appreciate that when it comes to soulmate AUs. And the way it all comes together in the end for VM is just... so good. Also the character voices in the narration? Spot on.

know no shame by hanap (4,453 words, Teen) Pairing: Adeen Tasithar/Essek Thelyss Warnings: None

What if Essek and Adeen had crushes on each other as teenagers and were adorable, messy disaster about it?

Reccer Says: It's so cute. Like oh-my-god so cute. They're adorable with each other and baby wizard Essek trying to join the Aurora Watch so he can spend more time with Adeen has my WHOLE heart. The messy teenage feelings! The circumstances keeping them apart! Deirta and Dad Thelyss's reactions to them!!! It's all so so good.

The Sunny Side by dracoqueen22 (1,767 words, General) Pairing: Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett (Beaujes) Warnings: None

There’s nothing Beau won't do if it’ll make Jester smile, even if it means fixing something as minor as a sunburn.

Reccer Says: Cutteee <3 Beau is just so smitten. Plus Cad being his odd self in the first half <3

Today I Love You Even More by wtgw (5,687 words, Teen) Pairing: Yeza Brenatto/Veth Brenatto/Caleb Widogast Warnings: None

Yeza Brenatto is a creature of infinite anxiety, but he’s not blind. He can see how much Veth loves Caleb. He can see how much Caleb loves her back. And he can also see that Caleb is really attractive. But it’s not like he’s not going to do anything about that…

Reccer Says: Yeza Brenatto is just a perfect sweetheart always and there's this scene where the three of them are sitting around drunk complementing each other that is just too cute

Just Between Friends by biorusted (3,624 words, Explicit) Pairing: Ashton Greymoore/Orym/Dorian Storm (Dashrym) Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Aspec Dorian talks with Ashton and Orym about how sex has always felt to him and they share their feelings in return. Things escalate from there. Just as friends, of course.

Reccer Says: Aspec Dorian my beloved <3 always love the dynamics between these three, they fit together so well.

Thank you for joining us this week’s recc list! All the love to everyone who submitted a fic 🩷 All enclosed recommendations were submitted by the community via our submissions form, which you can find here. All fic information is as it was provided by the reccer, so it may not be accurate to the author’s intent or the precise contents of the fic itself. Please assume good intent from all parties 🩷

Submissions for next week’s list are already open! We’ll be featuring Canon Divergent fics. If you have any you’d like to highlight, you can send them in here. The week after that, the theme is Keyleth Rarepairs and the weeks after that we’re taking recommendations for Polyamorous Ships and Enemies to Lovers fic! Submissions for all of these themes are currently open.

If you want more rarepair fic, check out @cr-summer-wildflowers and their event collections on ao3! If you want some friendship after all this romance, take a look at @critter-genfic-events and their recc lists! And if you’re interested in everyone’s favorite wizards, you can’t go wrong with the lists at @aeor-is-for-reccing !

Thanks all and have a lovely day/night/timezone! 🩷

#critter rarepair recc lists #jessek #blumenshadow #shadowking #shadowidomauk #polymachina #adeen x essek #beaujes #yeza x veth x caleb #dashrym

[presidenthades]

I am doing very minor revisions of Daemon’s Handbook (mostly formatting and continuity errors), and I wanted to do some behind-the-scenes commentary before too much time passes and I forget my original thoughts. Here’s Chapter 11!

(Note that these commentaries aren’t canon to the verse until/unless the author writes them into the series. I might change my mind on a few points later, but these are the thoughts I had while writing.)

In my early outline, the big scandal in the last chapter was supposed to be Luce and Aemond getting caught in flagrante by somebody aligned to Otto (the servants’ passages scene in Chapter 9 didn’t happen in this version). I was writing it as a parallel to the Episode 4 brothel scene, so I was going to have it take place in the city somewhere, and there was going to be a lot of drama with Luce and Aemond being forcibly separated while Daemon searches for Luce. But the pacing was off and the necessary sequence of events was too contrived, so we got the version that currently exists in the fic.

I kept wondering if it was plausible Clement Celtigar to be stupid enough to unwittingly act as Otto’s lackey. I decided the answer is yes. I try not to character bash, but the Celtigars make it too easy. 😭 Seriously, read about them on the ASOIAF wiki (and look at Edwell and Bartimos’s pages).

I imagine that Otto pretended to be more familiar with Rhaenyra’s side of the family than he actually is, and he dropped some hints (without outright saying it, because like Daemon thinks in this chapter, young men want to believe they come up with their own ideas) that Luce favors Clement, and that she enjoys visiting the library late at night. Then Otto had the note forged in Aemond’s handwriting and left it for Luce. I’m sure this scheme was a lot smoother and sneakier than my bullet points can convey.

I picked the library as the setting so I could play with the trope in a lot of Aemond/OC fanfics (which I really enjoy! But I also enjoy flipping tropes) where Aemond and his love interest rendezvous in the library.

ASOIAF has names for hours of the day (eg hour of ghosts), but GRRM hasn’t revealed all the names. So I extrapolated names for all 24 hours of the day. “Hour of the cat” in the forged note is 11PM.

I spent a while debating how badly Luce injures Clement. I considered making it a lot more grievous (with a knife involved, as a redux of Driftmark), but that would have drastically darkened the story’s tone and changed the fallout from the event. So Clement gets away with a bit of testicular torsion, which Dr Google tells me *can* be serious if not quickly given medical treatment.

Bartimos comes close to calling Luce a whore. If he said it, Daemon would probably have given him the Episode 8 Vaemond treatment. Again, that would’ve been a very dark tonal shift, so Barty stays quiet.

Clement wants 8 sons and 2 daughters because a crab (his house sigil) has ten legs total, two of them being pincers. But Luce doesn’t care about the symbolism, and she ain’t having that many kids.

Normally Luce would have sneaked off alone to meet Aemond in the library. But she brings Rhaena because the argument with Daemon is still fresh, and she’s smarting from his (reasonably accurate) accusation that she doesn’t think enough with her upper brain. So in a strange way, Daemon’s diatribe benefited Luce because if she’d gone alone, there wouldn’t be any witnesses to defend her.

Daemon’s snooping around the girls’ letters is also proving to be surprisingly helpful several years later! If he hasn’t read Aemond’s letters to Luce, Daemon wouldn’t notice the handwriting discrepancy.

Daemon spends the entire fic paranoid about Hightower schemes, and he’s FINALLY right! He finally gets validation! 😂 But he also has zero evidence, literally just gut feelings and vibes.

Baela has been having a great time with Cregan Stark (who canonically has a thing for bisexual tomboys). The Northerners are staying around longer than most wedding guests because the distance is so far, so Baela has plenty of time to keep seducing him. By the time Cregan leaves, I imagine he’s going to make an offer to Baela, but she’s going to put him off for a while longer; she’ll *probably* accept him eventually, but she’s not sure Moondancer will like the cold.

After Daemon confronts Aemond, Aemond goes to the Tower of the Hand to confront Otto. I’m not sure what exactly they say to each other, but afterwards, Aemond tears his room apart looking for the present he planned to give Luce three years ago. I don’t know where he eventually finds it, but it’s probably a laughably obvious spot he totally overlooks at first.

Jace has already been setting up a gossip/whisper network in the Red Keep, so she’s able to hear first thing the next morning about the library incident.

I like Paddy Considine’s take that Viserys *does* have the “blood of the dragon,” he just forces himself to control his temper because he’s trying to be a good king. Also, when he’s a walking corpse in Episode 8, he has the wherewithal to draw his dagger and threaten to cut out Vaemond’s tongue. Viserys would 100% call for Clement to be gelded and gossipers to be silenced. So, for once, Viserys strongly approves of Daemon’s violent streak. 😇

I spent a while debating Clement’s punishment. He kissed Luce when she didn’t want it, which, for most girls, would unfortunately be swept under the rug since he’s the heir to a notable house. But things are different with the royal family. Luce doesn’t want an unnecessarily cruel punishment; she was friendly with Clement until recently, and in Chapter 7, she’s restraining Aemond from violence against Ulf. Even though she’s quick to defend herself by any means necessary, she’s by no means a sadist. She was also deeply affected when Aemond lost his eye (which she partially blames herself for), which leads to her resisting punishments that involve maiming.

Jace also advocates for less violence, but not because she’s a softie. She prefers the diplomatic route, which is harder if you’re trigger-happy to forcibly amputate your vassals. But she knows a monarch has to make hard decisions sometimes, and she’s willing to do what it takes. For example, if Clement had done worse than kiss Luce, Jace *would* want him to be gelded, and she’d have no qualms about it.

Helaena did not have a vision or prophecy about Aemond and the book. She just saw him panicking in his room and figured out what he was up to, because she’s his sister and she knows him. 😂 And because she knows him (and Luce) so well, she can deduce they’re probably going to patch things up, so she packs his bags for him.

No God’s Eye duel in this verse, but I couldn’t resist slipping in a reference about Luce jumping into Vhagar’s saddle 😭

ASOIAF book readers can probably deduce what Joff’s candle is. And that’s all I’m gonna say about it until we get Joff’s POV. 👀

Joff kisses Daeron’s cheek purely to distract Daemon from asking more questions about the candle. Daeron is now very confused. I like to imagine he runs off to Jace and Aegon’s room screaming “Aegon, Joff kissed me, what do I do????” But Jace and Aegon are newlyweds so Aegon isn’t going to appreciate Daeron’s interruption 😂😂😂

That’s it for the Handbook commentaries! Fingers crossed that I have an update this weekend about my next fic in this AU-verse. 🤞

#my writing #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #meta #hotd fic #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon’s handbook

[ultrahpfan5blog]

Shazam! Fury of the Gods - Review

I am a big fan of the first Shazam movie. To me, that is one of the unique superhero movies that is less about action and superheroics, and more about heart and emotion. Plus, it was genuinely funny. So I was very excited when the entire team reunited to do Shazam! Fury of the Gods. Just saw the movie today and while I don't think its as good as the first, the film was a lot of fun. Arguably my favorite superhero movie since The Batman.

The film feels like it improves on some elements from the first film and is inferior on other elements. One thing the film definitely improves on is the action and visual effects. The first Shazam was fairly measured on its big action set pieces. And the Seven Deadly Sins definitely felt quite video gamy. Here though, the action sequences are quite good and the visuals on the Dragon, as seen in the trailer, are quite awesome. The film's humor is also on point. There is a scene with Helen Mirren reading a letter which had me in stitches laughing. The humor is consistent and keeps the tone light and frothy. The film also gives all the characters something to do and they all have some sort of purpose and story. Djimon Honsou's Wizard has a much expanded role and he and Jack Dylan Grazer's Freddy share some really funny scenes. The cast also has a lot of chemistry and immense likability, so you enjoy watching the various antics they get up to. The film is also fairly quick paced. It never slacks or bores the audience. The very final climactic set piece is pretty cool.

The one element that the film is inferior to compared to its predecessor, is the emotional heart. It is a little tricky for this film because one of the appeals of the first film was the little kid in a superhero's body. But Billy isn't so young anymore. They still have enough of it to be fun, but it is no longer as refreshing. Also, there is nothing quite as emotionally powerful as the arc of Billy trying to find his mother and finally coming to terms with the fact that his mother rejected him. The film actually doesn't spend enough time with the characters as kids. The key arc with Billy clinging onto his family out of the fear of losing them doesn't have enough emotional weight because we don't see Billy as a kid in situations where that worry would come up. Also, the key dynamic between Freddy and Billy, which was the heart of the first film, is pushed to the side though it does come full circle at the end. The entire action climax could have been trimmed down because it does start to feel a bit repetitive although the ending of the climax is kickass. They could have given that 10-15 mins to giving some more depth to all the kids and their individual predicaments.

The performances are strong across the board. All the kids and their counterparts are perfectly matched. Levi is still a delight as Shazam. Asher Angel doesn't have enough to do in this film but he makes an impression. Jack Dylan Grazer is a scene stealer, as he was in the first film and Adam Brody is a very apt adult Freddy. Ross Butler and Ian Chen as Eugene, DJ Cotrona and Jovan Armand as Pedro, Meaghan Goode and Faithe Herman as Darla, and Grace Caroline Currey as Mary are all excellent. I particularly love how Meaghan Goode plays adult Darla. Grace also makes an impression as the most level headed sibling of the lot. Rachel Zegler, Helen Mirren, and Lucy Liu are all enjoyable as the daughters of Atlas. Marta Milans and Cooper Andrews as the foster parents are very likable and the movie could have used more of them. Djimon Honsou is a hoot and clearly having a lot of fun.

All in all this was still a really fun film. I feel bad that this film is bombing so badly at the BO. I still can't believe that Morbius had a better opening weekend than what this film will have. Unfortunately, this film feels like it was a bad victim of circumstance. Coming 4 years after the first film, which was probably too big a gap for a minor character, after a spate of comic book films which haven't been received with a lot of positivity, with no major integration into the main DCEU till then, with now also the image of being a dead franchise walking after Gunn and Safran have taken over DC, there just has been audience apathy towards the film that the marketing hasn't been able to overcome. I also find the reviews for this to be strange. While I do think the first Shazam is a bit better, I don't get how that has a 90% RT and this has a 54%. I would have thought it would at least have a 75-80% RT rating. I think David F. Sandberg has done a real admirable job with these two Shazam films and its sad that we won't see any more of these but I have enjoyed the two we got. I'd rate this a solid 8/10 on first watch.

#zachary levi #shazam #shazam fury of the gods #david f sandberg #asher angel #billy batson #jack dylan grazer #freddy freeman #mary marvel #mary bromfield #eugene choi #pedro peña #darla dudley #anthea #kalypso #hespera #helen mirren #lucy liu #rachel zegler #djimon hounsou #adam brody #grace caroline currey #ross butler #ian chen #dj cotrona #jovan armand #meagan good #faithe herman #marta milans #cooper andrews

[radiant-reid]

What CM characters do you ship ? Because I think that the only compatible ship would be Spencer and Elle

ohh, i love this ask !

So, let's chat about Spencelle/Reidaway. I adore them, I feel like their personalities really would have been a good match since Spencer's so book smart, and we learn that Elle is street smart. I absolutely believe something happened between them in that hotel room.

So why didn't the writers ever make them officially involved?

They love to put Spencer through a boatload of trauma. Let's imagine this;

Spencer admits to her that he's never had a girlfriend, so they go out on a date as 'practice,' and it ends in a kiss for 'practice'

then she ends up in hospital after Fisher King II, and Spencer realizes that he cannot lose her, so they start dating

it's shown to be very clear that she's his first girlfriend

he's so scared because he knows something bad is happening to her, but he doesn't want to say anything and ruin their relationship

then everything goes incredibly badly. Elle leaves, ghosts the team but also Spencer, and he's so upset about it (maybe the team know they're together, but maybe they don't- which is sadder)

and when she gets to wherever she's going, she sends him a letter... just like his dad did.

that definitely would have given him an added layer of trauma

there's more under the cut

my other favs

Emily x Aaron I'm not sure whether people like this one or if it's controversial. I've just always seen some chemistry between them and it's an enemies-to-lovers plot... like Hotch is flipping out at her for doing something minor, and she just has this feeling that something more is happening behind the scenes, so she calmly asks him if he wants to talk because he has no one else to talk to (sorry, Gideon) and he reluctantly agrees, and they just talk about their trauma for a whole night. of course, he's really embarrassed the next morning but he admits he likes talking to her so they very slowly get into a relationship

Emily x JJ This isn't a long-term one, but I think something happened before Will turned up, and they still think about it sometimes, but Emily had to watch someone she loved fall in love with someone else (even worse if no one knew about it)

Emily x Tara I don't know, I feel like there were a few flirty moments between the two of them. i love tara with my whole heart. they're both girl-bossing it up in the FBI, and they would be the ultimate power couple

Emily x Derek This was never a thing for me, not until that deleted scene where Morgan mentions to Spencer that he likes her... and i think about it a lot

Spencer x Luke Something happened... I love Luke with Penelope, and I don't want to give Spencer any more trauma, so I'm choosing to believe it ended mutually.

Spencer x Ethan (not both on the team so idk if this counts) Obviously. If anyone tries to debate this, have you seen the New Orleans scene from Jones 2x18? something went down both then and after, which contradicts me thinking Spencer hasn't been in a relationship but shh

Matt x Kristen Literally my favorite couple on the whole show. she totally accepted his job and was the most supportive. Their kids are freaking adorable and all of them deserve the world

Jeid I'M JOKING. I literally hate this ship, it was the cheapest plot ever. I love JJ but Will never deserved that shit

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencelle #reidaway #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds hc #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #luke alvez #emily prentiss #derek morgan #tara lewis

[grigori77]

Critical Role, Campaign 3 Episode 72

Mortal Kombat? Oh dear ... what will Sam do for THIS promo? Are we safe? Oh yeah, Mokap WAS just a dude in a Mocap suit, that was so embarrassingly true ... guest characters? Hmmmm ... oh, this is going so badly ... Sam: "There is no winner so I will get the prize!"

Ooh, nice accidental Ace Ventura reference, Laura! XD ... cue numerous enjoyably lowbrow jokes ...

The pixie frogs, of course ... Matt: "You befriended some, and invited others to shit upon you." Oh yeah ... dear gods that really did that, didn't they?

Chetney: "You're really just making up the rules there. They're not backed up by science ..."

I'm sorry ... BEEF serpent? You sure about that?

They won't want money, no ... Ashton: "Laudna, what do ghosts want?" Laudna: "Closure." Hmmm ...

FCG somewhat blsnks on how a compass works ... or was it Sam himself?

Travis ' map nonsense ... LOL

Ashton: "I feel like there are THE SEEDS of a decent plan in here ..."

Oh shit, IS Ratanish still in the Hole? Yeesh ...

Questioning corpses? Oh ... OH!!! Speak With the Dead? Yay! I love this spell ...

Ashton: "You can stitch a skull onto a dead rat and THIS is a problem?"

Oooooh ... spooky stuff ...

Deception check? Okay ... 21? Blimey, Laura!

Thul's still at the Key. Okay ... Travis losing it over Matt having to hold that ridiculous face ... XD Unity? What ... "keep them scattered"?

Whoa ... they're REALLY gonna try interrogating Ratanish? Okay ...

Oh boy, here we go ... yuck ... Matt goes HARD with this description ...

Another deception check ... 21 AGAIN?!!! Fuck ...

Old fashioned communications ... so THEY'RE having the same problems with Sending and stuff? Okay then ... "The Moon Folk have kept eyes as well"? Interesting ... bollocks, that's a question! Damn it ... ask about the monk snd the wizard! Damn it! Tell us about Beau and Caleb!

"Mzin pit entrance"? Hmmm ... agh, he's getting wise ... Insight check! Whispers! Aaaaaah!

FINALLY!!! But his head's off so it's quite the anticlimax ...

100 strong Reilorans loose ... hmmmm ...

Ratanish teeth? Fearne's getting her creepy Baba Yaga thing on again.

Chetney's incantation ... XD

Oh, here we go ... it's going all first POTC movie here ... oh okay ... is this the Black Pearl slouching out of the mist? Or maybe the Flying Dutchman?

Eagle's Splendour? Cool ...

Aaaaaah! Ghost pirates! Creepy!

Holy fuck, it really IS the cursed crew of the Black Pearl ...

Roll initiative? Crap!

Battlemap time! Yay! OH MY GODS!!! AND a ghost ship! Awesome!

Orym's up first? Nice ... go off, wee man! Badass! Damage, too! Nice ...

Ashton Rages! Oooh ... he's see-through! Okay ... takes a swing! Boom! Rocking up two big hits! Nice ... falls in the water? Wait ... EHAT did he just do? That's so cool ...

Uh-oh ... what's happening? Wait ... A PISTOL?!!! How the fuck? What ... AN ICE GUN?!!! Are you kidding me?

Minor Illusion? Hmmm ... a deception check? Okay ... 21! Nice, Travis! Oh bollocks, against a NAT20?!!! Ouch ...

Chetney: "They don't leave ... (Scottish accent) survivors!" XD

Form of Dread! Yeah ... and FIREBALLS!!! Nice ... wow ... that's A LOT of fails ... 26 fire damage! Fuck ... Laudna is ANNIHILATING these guys!

Shadow Cant? Ooooh ... and a NAT20!!! Whoa ...

Oh ... Parley? Or maybe not ... hmmm ...

Command From the Grave? Ooooh ... AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! No! Not Imogen! Phew ... Nice save ...

Spinning rocks ... okay ... very Magneto! Nice, Imogen! Boom!

There's one in the crow's nest? Hmmm ... oh fuck, what's THIS thing? TWO crossbow shots? Damn ... Nat20! Ouch ... crits on BOTH Chetney znd FCG! AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! Oh fuck, that's NASTY!!!

Fuck ... the dead are getting back up? CRAAAAAAAP!!!

Yes! Punch a ghost! Very Beau of her ...

All this Cold damage is SO not fun at all ... fucking undead!

Coin flip? Hmmm ... oh I know what he's gonna do ... Turn/Destroy Undead! Yes! About time! Go, Letters! Wait ... LAUDNA'S afraid of FCG now? Ah shit ... that's problematic ...

Fuck ... and there's NO FIX for this situation, either ... crap.

Do something FLAMEY Fearne! Burn these arseholes! Fire Shield? Not quite what I expected ... oh, resistance to Cold damage? That's okay ... she's running to Laudna? Oh, okay! Mirthful Leap! Yay! 9 on athletics? Crap ... and now she's blocked ... she sends Mister instead, then ... Dimension Door Laudna? Maybe not ... no, just shooting shit fire instead ... bah, and it's a miss! Crap ...

Orym starts running under legs znd goes straight for the ship, then uses Seedling to drag himself onto it! Nice! Whoa ... crazy skeleton girl! Eep! Oh ... what, a rewind? Hmmm .. and now I'm just lost ...

Okay, attacking instead! Let's go! Goading Attack! Yes ... "A flea"? Really? I mean it's not THAT dissimilar, but still ...

Ashton is going after Laudna? Okay ... I mean OF COURSE he is ... oh my gods is he just headslapping her? Wow ... but yeah, that works ...

Oh yeah, she's pissed ... FCG: "Respect the gods!"

Imogen! No! Aaaagh ... and on Orym ... another Crit? Ouch!

Wolf Chetney gets hit breaking off but he's just BOOKING IT for the boat too ...

Laudna's going for it too ... and pretending she's still afraid? Nice ...

Imogen casts Shock Flare? Ooooh ... 2d6 Lightning damage ... 12 each! Nice ... one down! Yeah ... and she damn near drops in the Hole too ... whoops!

Gah ... the Sniper again! Crap ... shooting for FCG ... and it's a hit! Noooo! Ouch ... oh shit, he's DOWN!!! Fuck ...

Second shot at Orym ... oh thank FUCK that's a miss ... phew ...

They're coming for Imogen ... and just FALL IN THE HOLE!!! Nice ... XD

Creep little skittering halfling zombie ...

Fearne casts Cure Wounds at on FCG ... 8 points, and HE'S UP!!! Yes ... and she's STILL pissed at him for what he did to Laudna ... only can't rips for a bonus action? No joy ... just going for the boat, then ... oh, Fire Shield causes damage if they hit her? Nice ...

Mister shoits flame at the fucker next to FCG ... 13 damage! Nice ...

Orym uses the stuck bolt to swing around and ACROBAT himself into his foe ... that would have be so nice if they hadn't rolled better ... nuts ...

Reckless Attack! Yeah, Ashton ... BOOM!!! Smash that fucker to pieces ... Teleport? What? And a Wormhole Strike on the Sniper? Oooooh ... lots of damage maths, nice ... 23 points and it gets shoved hard ... and it DROPS onto the deck! So that's MORE damage ... another 15! Nice ...

Right back to FCG? Ashton's really shifting this fight ...

The whirlpools can MOVE?!!! What the fuck?

Orym gets SHOVED ... oh, nice save! Stabby instead ... oh, that was SO disappointing ... phew ...

Wolf Chetney CLAWS his way onto the ship ... atracks the Sniper and tries to drag the crossbow out of its hands ... and he rips it away! Nice ... he chucks it into the water! Yeah ... oh ... these things don't have blood? No Curse of Bloated Agony ...oh, he can use HIS OWN blood? Oh, well THAT works ...

Spiderclimb! Yay! She's on the boat! Is she going to parley? No, she opens her ribcage, puts his hand in it ... what the hell is she doing? Oh, she's APPEALING to him, one undead to another? Interesting ... the Strife Emperor? What?

Well, at least that means he's still distracted ... and TAKING HIS TURN to continue the parley ...

She's offering up Chetney's cursed sword as a bonus? What?

What even IS this out-of-context conversation about?

Is Imogen close enough to the ship? I'm sorry ... "cheese wiz"? What? Going for Orym's attacker ... oh NICE SAVE!!! You go, girl! 29 points of Psychic damage ... oh they are DONE!!! Nice ...

FCG prone and under attack again! And he's OUT again! Fuck! And a death save already? Wait ... he's using his FLASK as a dice tower? Seriously?

Fearne is IN one of the whirlpools ... oh nice, she's out! Okay ... and she doesn't know if FCG's out again ... okay, she's GOING BACK to him again ... a SECOND Level Cure Wounds ... 13 points znd he's up AGAIN!!!

Orym does a jack rabbit kick and boots this thing RIGHT OFF the ship, goes after the one attacking Chetney ... 17 points of damage! Nice ... and it's down again ...

Ashton dies a reckless on the little shit attacking FCG and ANNIHILATES the fucker. Then teleports onto the ship ...

Chetney gets his sword out, and it gets chatty on him again ... oh, he's just trying to PERSUADE the captain instead? Hmmm ...

Oh shit ... Chet didn't know she offered up the sword too ... awkward ...

Another persuasion check? Hmmmmm ... roll good, Marisha! Fuck ... 10? Shite ...

Wow ... he's giving it up? Oh yeah, cursed sword is NOT HAPPY and neither is Chetney ... but at least the captain accepts ...

And they got their ride!

Time for a break ...

Laudna (waving like a queen): "We're friends now! We're going for a ride!"

Fearne doesn't like having GUILT. That's hilarious. XD

Oh yeah, actually technically they are kind of pirates themselves, actually. Yeah. They're smong peers! Woedders? Cool. Keith? No ... KYLE ... hmmm ... "I've been with you for a hundred years!" XD

Chetney's staying as a wolfman cuz he doesn't trust this lot. I don't blame him.

How does an undead die MORE, Fearne? I'm curious.

Oooh, SAM gets a Whispers ... and it gets weirdly flirty ... what the fuck? XD

He sounds honest. I THINK we can trust him ... Laudna's trying to get snippy about it ... oh, okay, they're shaking on it? This is getting weird ...

Laudna SCARES Chetney back into halfling form. Wait ... is he trying to trick them with the fake? Crap ... the sniper's a bit too sharp for him.

Okay, they hand the real one over, and ... yeah, that's that. And they're going to let them off in one piece too, apparently.

No food on board ... I mean really, what were you actually expecting?

Hunter's Bane ... but I mean what is he REALLY trying to find out?

So the ship's is a total wreck? Sounds about right ... and it's SAILING ITSELF!!! Oh boy ... proper ghost ship here ...

Oh wow ... is Fearne FLIRTING with the captain now? Really?

The Solstice has had NO EFFECT on them? Now THAT is interesting ...

The Strife Emperor is Betrayer God ... okay ... not sure if that's a good thing for us, then. He might be more on Ludinus' side ... or maybe not ... hmmmm ...

Clearly he doesn't like question ...

Interesting ... he's looking to strike up a BOND with Chetney's sword ...

Find out what the boots are about? Hmmmm ... FCG's not sure he can do that. But he has time ... oh, there's a card! Double speed for ten minutes? That's not bad, actually ... oh yes, Ashton could FUCK SHIT UP with those ... oh, Rollies with Chetney ... okay ... oh, that's it. They're Ashton's, then.

The ship is literally REPELLING marine life ...

Ashton's going up to the crow's nest to talk with the navigator. She carved her own eye out? To make a point? Wow ...

Woedders: "Anger's good. It makes things happen."

Oh ... the mention of Ruidus gets her attention ... she hasn't seen it in weeks? Well it is STUCK in position now ...

The others are going exploring ... oh, it is FREEZING down here. Okay ... oh, so when they sleep they LITERALLY just fall apart. Charming ...

"Is it warmer in the hole?" Oh boy ... this conversation is getting dirty ...

The Whitts Twins ... oh, the halflings? Okay ... so they just like go gamble? For no real purpose any more. Not that there's any reason to.

No natural threats to the ghost ship on the High Seas, then ...

Sanjay? Okay ... ooh, he's a fancy one, clearly.

"Who hasn't heard of Scanlan Shorthalt?" Cute ..

Beads of Love ... ye gods ...

A pile of Kyle ... XD

Oh, the guns are NEW acquisitions? That's interesting ... Percy's legacy has spread FAR ...

Is FCG really suggesting they try a thief-off with Fearne? Really?

They're trying to introduce Rollies to them now ...

Oh no, Marisha, please don't ... oh, it's sll getting a bit meta all of a sudden ... Matt: "And that wax the last anyone saw of Bells Hells."

And now they're playing Rollies ...

Ah, secrets ...

Wow, this is spreading now ... and now they're addicted to Rollies, that's hilarious and adorable ...

And that's it for the night. Yup ...

#critical role #crit role #crit role campaign 3 #crit role spoilers #campaign 3 spoilers #campaign 3 episode 72 #matt mercer #marisha ray #laudna #travis willingham #chetney pock o'pea #laura bailey #imogen temult #liam o'brien #orym of the air ashari #ashley johnson #fearne calloway #taliesin jaffe #ashton greymoore #sam riegel #fresh cut grass

[questioned-quetzalcoatl]

Common Ground - Part 1

Rating: K

Pairing: Wales/Tonga, New Zealand/Australia (Minor)

Characters: Various

Summary: A Commonwealth meeting calls for members from around the globe to meet all in one cramped up building, at least that's what Kainga’s impressions were when arriving in London, England. Veining politeness to their fellow commonwealth nations has always been a bit of a problem, until they unexpectedly meet a rugged Welshman with a drinking problem.

(Also available on AO3)

-

AN: Well, looks like I’m stuck in Historical Hetalia now- I was never really a history lover until I started exploring some of Tongan/British history. Now I’m kinda interested? Bonkers I know. So this dates around 1930’s time, after the First World War. I wanted to write some more on WalesTonga, how they met ect. Also practice with my expanded list of writing more characters, hope u like! (If there are any historical mistakes or inconsistencies, I do apologize.)

Trying a different writing style too!!! Let me know how it is! <33

Kent, England 25th August, 1931, One year after the Commonwealth of Nations was founded.

In this particular spot, there was no discernable speck of civilization. And it was raining.

They hadn’t even taken their first real step off of the train from Paris, and already up to their ankles in mud. Thanking the circumstances that they’d packed extra shoes and stockings, or the poor chap next to them was certainly in for it. Adjusting to their surroundings, just to find out they weren’t in London at all. The countryside around them was fairly pleasant, they always loved the countryside, certainly one of their favorite places to be. Rolling hills in riotous green where small white dots of sheep grazed, soggy and bleating in annoyance. Kainga wished they could join them in their protestations. Sheep were their favorite part of the countryside.

They took a step, prying their foot from the sucking mud. They nearly left a shoe behind, and was shocked when their foot landed not in another puddle of squelching mud but on something hard. They looked down. They had been deposited on some sort of track, two parallel iron bars driven into the ground connected by perpendicular wooden boards beside the mud track they were set upon. A letter from Mr. England had proposed they were to catch some sort of carriage to London, they’d never doubted the Englishman before, however they couldn’t help being skeptical that he’d dropped them in the middle of nowhere. That couldn’t be it, perhaps somewhere down this trail someone was waiting to pick them up. So they started down the countryside path, the rain turned to a very English drizzle, wind whisping in the trees around them.

It was so peaceful, the gentle hills of evergreen pastures where the fluffy white sheep chewed on knife edged grass that only parted and ceased on the snakey rutted path Kainga was on. It really reminded them of home, brushing their fingers along the wool of a sheep near the path, it bleated in a friendly manner at them. Their peace disturbed just a moment later, an ear splitting whistle startled them so badly they nearly tripped over as the sheep scampered away back to the hills. They looked up, something was barreling along the side of the track. The rain spat and fizzed off its metal siding as it let out another shriek, it was a train.

They only realized it as it chugged past them, pistons pushing the wheels along the track, if there was a train coming towards them then that must mean some town or village lay ahead. At least someone to show them the way to London. The Steam train driver shouted something from his perch in the engine, something that Kainga was certain was an obscenity as they were dangerously close to the train tracks beside them. Kainga watched the train pass, the first few cars lined with windows behind that Kainga could make out the dim, crouched shapes of people within them. The back half of the train was black windowless cars. Luckily the train's wheels hadn’t made too much of a mess but mud still splattered up to their knees, letting out a distasteful grumble in return. Remembering England’s letter in their pockets, they quickly went rummaging around for it, some sort of instinct they had to not get it soaking with either the mud or the rain.

Much to their disappointment, as if they were expecting something else to be written on the letter that wasn’t the exact same thing they’d read on it since they first opened it.

Nothing but a vague direction to a town called Chilham, Kent. Wherever that was. They supposed that’s where they’d be meeting their ride to London, they also supposed that England had thought there was going to be signs. Perhaps if it wasn’t for that train they’d be well and truly lost on that dirt path that led to nowhere, with that they followed the train tracks up the hill, praying that it was the right direction.

—

“Well, that took longer than it needed to.” They couldn’t help but remark at the sign in front of them that read;

CHILHAM

Now all was left to do was find who on earth was picking them up. Hoping it wasn’t someone fashionable, they’d have to walk up to them in mud splattered white stockings that weren’t very white anymore. The last thing they looked like was presentable, covering it up with their coat and trying to ignore it as they walked through the quiet village.

Chilham was a village of what could only be described as architectural marvels, a small town hidden away within the English countryside with stone paved roads and old white buildings lining each curb, some made of brick adorned with dark brown rooftops of tile and chimneys. Flowers of all variation against the green of the bushes and leaves that nooked into window sills as they walked by the Woolpack Pub. Buildings stamped along and clustered around the large square where there were a couple of quaint tea rooms and the entrance to Chilham castle. All looked over by the grand St. Mary church to their behind.

However much the Tongan would have loved to sight see the beautiful little town, they spotted the carriage Mr. England had described to them. It looked almost royal, that had to be it, no matter how tempted they were to visit the farm shop nearby to collect some memorabilia from this place.

The carriage was horse drawn, wheels that looked like they rumbled across the stone roads, suspended on the axles or chassis by leather straps. Genteel as it all was, the chariot and its steed seemed to be lacking only a driver. They turned to scan the small crowd back in the village square for anyone who might resemble a Charioteer within them. Even going to trail around to peek around corners and brick alleyways, they couldn’t see anyone and was too socially anxious to ask around, deciding their last option was just to put their bags in the carriage and wait.

Its handle looked like that of a door knocker, being in England they’d already seen their share, a few of them blazing on front doors of houses that lined the wet brick roads and pitched black fences to section off each property. This handle was gold plated with an antique texture that formed a lion's head. In its mouth was a brass ring also in the color of gold, the whole thing looked very well polished against the deep red wood of the door and its similarly golden resplendent structures around it. They took the ring and knocked it against the wood, testing the waters to see if there was someone already inside. Expecting some fellow nation who was also hitching a ride.

Upon no answer, Kainga took it upon themselves to open the door.

Heaving their bags up onto the first levitating step of the carriage, quickly flicking their head over to check that the horse wasn’t bothered by this very wrong feeling activity. Much to their luck, the carthorse wasn’t kicking up a fuss and seemed to be rather content with nibbling on the grass of a nearby lawn instead. That at least gave them a little hope with the gentle swing of its tail.

Opening the door was a whole other situation, it seemed locked yet it felt like there was some weight leaning against it, becoming a direct opposing force to Kainga who was trying to open it from the other end. Whatever it was, it was heavy enough to push the door and swing it open suddenly, sending Kainga back off the step and onto the sidewalk with a thud, their luggage crashing beside them.

Letting out a squeak once they came back to their senses, only to find a half drunken half hung-over man sprawled over the step and ground, his legs still in the carriage. Indicating that he must’ve been slumped against the door, he let out a loud long groan, the bubbles of the alcohol practically popping off of him and somehow he’d managed to get his suit both the wrong way round and inside-out. What concerned them the most, the drunken Welshman wasn’t moving. Worried nonetheless, as they always tended to do, Kainga knelt down to try and shake the man awake. When that didn’t seem to work, they tried gently slapping at his face and trying to ignore the urge to pour the rest of that liquor bottle he was drinking straight from over his face. That would surely wake him.

When they did, he was not impressed. Kainga however was at least slightly amused.

“D-do you know how expensive that stuff is?” He growled, grabbing the now empty bottle and staggering to his feet, having to lean on the carriage for balance. Wiping his face, he somehow completely missed and Kainga rolled their eyes, just handing him a handkerchief instead.

“No, I do not,” They remarked. “You can inform me how expensive it was on the way to London. I’ll do you one better, do you know you’re supposed to be taking me there and yet you’ve decided to drink on the job?”

“Yer took too long.” He grumbled and kept wiping his face before wiping his nose across his sleeve. Kainga felt a little sick at that.

“Yes, I might’ve taken too long, but we’ll be even longer if you don’t take me to London now.” They huffed and opened the carriage door to put their bags in. “Everyone’s probably wondering where on earth I am! Drunk, hung-over or both, I need to get to London and you have to take me.”

“M’ not drunk.” He watched the Tongan pack their things away. “Hun’ over. Took a nap then drank again. Hey you’re not actually expecting me to drive hours to London in this state are yer? It’s a good…two hours.”

“Well that gives us plenty of time doesn’t it?” They replied with annoyance glazing their voice, soft like icing on a cupcake. “If you don’t take me there now, I’ll inform Mr.England of your drinking on the job.”

“Yer wouldn't-”

“You underestimate me, Welshie. I need to get to London and you appear to be the only sorry soul with a horse and carriage to help me.” They folded a soft woolen sweater from their bag and handed it to him. “I heard it’s cold this time of year as well.”

The Welshman gave him a strange look, one that overstayed its welcome as Kainga shoved the sweater into his chest after waiting for too long. “Gaping is not allowed either.”

“Alright, can I at least get your name? If I am going to be taking you to London at least I’ll know who owes me money afterwards.”

Kainga pondered for a bit almost as if they were stalling or even confused on their own name, it wasn’t that at all. In fact, it was more of which name to actually use. Though depending on who they were speaking to, he most likely only knew them by their English name given to them. Just to throw him off, they responded, “The Kingdom of Tonga. You?”

“I’m aware, got anythin’ simpler?”

“Tonga.”

“I meant an actual human name, fleecy.”

Kainga’s cheeks pinkened deeply at the nickname, though even they were unsure of their own reaction to that. Embarrassment? They were rather fond of that name, but they shook it off. “Um- Lynley, Lynley Wellesley.”

In their eyes, their English name could be worse. Mr England had in fact put a bit of thought into it and it was rather charming but not something they were willing to keep for long. Lynley derived from the word ‘meadow’ and Wellesley after the Wesleyan religion and priests that had been brought to Tonga upon European arrival. Many churches of methodist denominations had been set up and still being built, most of their people had already converted due to the missionaries. Even after all that, they still preferred their native name of Kainga Tukuafu more, wishing not so many nations knew them as Lynley.

The Welshman nodded, not exactly approvingly, just to let them know he’d understood. “Lynley…oh yes I’ve heard of you. You seem to be Arthur's only sensible colony.”

“It’s good to know my reputation isn’t something other than that.” They smiled, stepping up onto the platform of the cart. “May I get your name in return or should I just forever know you as the stinky drunk Welshman?”

His eyes widened and almost instinctively went to sniff his armpits to check if he did smell or not. Kainga held their disgust within a raise of their eyebrows and a slight paling of their face. “I don’t smell.” He started off again, his voice deep yet rickety like old wooden floorboards. “Wales, Southwest of England, Great Britain. I’m Owain Marc.” He surprisingly took off his hat to them, more of a fancy cap than anything.

“Are you not a Kirkland? Mr England’s brother.”

“Yes, but personally I prefer not to be known as a Kirkland. Don’t sit right.”

“But why if-” The door closed on Kainga before they could get their words out cohesively. “Excuse me?!” They yelled and peered out of the front slot of the carriage. “What on earth was that for?”

“Save that blabber for explaining to Arthur why you’re late to his meeting.” Owain replied, opening a metal flask that was kept in his discarded coat pocket, full of whiskey or rum nonetheless. Surely it was impossible to get drunk while you’re hungover?! Kainga was bemused at all of this. More so at the fact it was later just chucked to the side as he mounted the driver's seat of the carriage.

“Are you not even going to pick that up?!”

The slot in front of them closed over quickly.

#fic: common ground #hetalia #aph tonga #aph wales #walestonga #walesxtonga #aph #hws tonga #hws wales #fanfic #fanfiction #my fic

[griffintail]

The Lost Ones

Summary: Several of the SMP members find an infant in a place they didn’t expect and decide to care for them.

Pairings: Platonic! Parental! Tommy, Wilbur, Philza, Technoblade, Eret, and Dream x F! Child! Reader

Next

Warnings! : Swearing, Village Raid, Minor Violence, Minor Deaths (Mostly mobs), mentions of blood

A/N : I’m the biggest sap for child readers. Dating back to 2014. I literally couldn’t help myself. Just so everyone knows, I suck at writing in gender neutral terms, that’s why the reader is specifically female in all of these (Including Tommy’s, Minor Spoiler, Tommy’s just an idiot and doesn’t look). So, sorry about that.

I’ll most certainly will make more of these. I won’t always have it just like this, I might write a certain character individually in a scenario. It’s all dependent on my mood. I might add more characters! This is just basically the introduction. So yeah...ENOUGH RAMBLING! Hope you enjoy :)

       Tommy (Before the First Disc War)

        Tommy smirked proudly to himself as he tucked his new disc safely into his inventory bag before starting the walk back to his home. His adventure was successful, he managed to get a rare disc and it was now all his. Walking through the small bit of woods, he rested his hand on his sword handle. It was still night time after all and the monsters were out to play.

        As he could see the lights from the small town of the Dream SMP, he heard a cry. Looking back into the woods, he frowned before grinning.

        Someone is in trouble! He’d save them and get a payment—er— “willing reward” from them. Pulling his sword, he ran over towards the sound of another cry, this time the sound being continued. He rolled his eyes, someone was crying, what a pussy. As the crying was practically on top of him, he frowned in confusion as he only found a skeleton, which was trying to shoot at a basket hanging in a tree. There was no one there to be crying.

        He shrugged regardless, taking his shield off before going for the skeleton. It only managed one arrow before Tommy killed the mob. Looking at the basket, Tommy hummed before putting his weapon and shield away to climb up. As he got to a safe place to reach the basket, the crying now made sense as his eyes went wide.

        “You’re a fucking baby!” He shouted in surprise.

        Said infant noticed the new face and their wails quieted, but small cries still came out.

        “Quiet down. You’re going to bring monsters!” He hushed, moving carefully, getting the basket off, and brought it to himself. “How the hell did you get up here? Who just leaves a baby?”

        He looked down at the baby as he sat back in the tree. He couldn’t help but think how small she was, had he been that small when he was this young?

        “Guess you got nowhere to go huh?” He asked as the child looked up, their cries having gone silent seeing the boy much closer.

        They played with their blanket and he hummed as he held the basket close, making his way down the tree.

        “You’re lucky, a big man saved you! I don’t live far, so you’ll come with me. Of course, I wouldn’t just leave you here again.” Tommy rambled, despite knowing the infant couldn’t respond back. “I’m not some kind of monster!”

        He made it back to his home, putting the basket on his bed, and looked down at the baby with his hands on his hips.

        “If you were left out there like that, you’re alone.” This time, the baby gave a small babble and he couldn’t help the small smile that came on his face. “Well, then I’ll take care of you! I’m a big man and can do it easy! Phil took care of my brothers and me after all and he’s old and stupid. I’m young and very wise, so I can do it. I suppose you’ll need a name now.”

        If anyone had been in the room with Tommy, they’d be surprised how gentle he picked up the small human. Carefully, he held them properly, only knowing how as Phil had once shown him when they were helping a village out after a raid when he had taken the younger boy to trade.

        “Hmm, I’ll call you (Y/N)!” He decided. “And I will be the greatest father ever! And I know the perfect way to celebrate today!”

        Going into his bag, he grinned as he pulled out his new music disc. Putting it on the jukebox, he sat on his bed as the infant looked over at the object making the beautiful sound. His grin went into a gentle smile as he watched (Y/N) listen to the music. They’d both be happy; he’d make sure of it.

        Twenty Minutes Later…

        Tubbo sprinted down the stairs of his house as he heard frantic knocking on his door and the sound of crying. Swinging the door open, he let out a startled noise seeing a distressed Tommy holding a wailing baby.

        Of course, he’d need some help since there was just a little bit of a learning curve.

          Wilbur (Right after Declaration of War)

        Times were hard. Wilbur had just started a new nation to free himself, his friends, and his family from the iron grip of Dream and his friends, but they did not like the loss of power and declared war on him. As well as the war, Fundy had become a rather rebellious teenager and Wilbur wasn’t sure how to handle all of it. He didn’t let it show to the others though. He’d be a strong leader for them.

        He looked over his map of L’Manberg. They needed better defensive points…they fought with their words but Dream fought with weapons of destruction. They needed safe spaces to protect themselves…

        Wilbur jumped, knocking over an ink bottle over on the table when there was pounding on the van door.

        “Damn it.” He grumbled, quickly flipping the bottle back up and moved the map out of the way before going to the door.

        He opened the door to see Eret standing there, making Wilbur raise an eyebrow as Eret was on guard duty at the moment but looked shocked seeing what the other man was holding.

        “Hello, sir. They were just outside the gate. I didn’t see anyone else around.” Eret rapidly explained to his leader, the small infant wiggling in his hold. “I brought them here because they were cold.”

        “Get inside,” Wilbur instructed, going into the back of the van again quickly.

        He heard the door close as he grabbed his spare coat.

        “Hand them over,” Wilbur muttered, Eret carefully transferring his hold to the other man.

        Wilbur saw they had a blanket but it was thin and the child was cold to the touch. Wrapping his coat around them, he instructed Eret to light a furnace, which he did post haste.

        “Hello there, love.” He whispered quietly to the infant, rocking them lightly. “We’re going to get you warmed up and something to fill your stomach, how does that sound?”

        The baby didn’t fuss, too tired and cold to even thinking about making one. Wilbur stood next to the now lit furnace and looked up at Eret.

        “Is anyone out there?” He asked, his proud leader voice coming out.

        “No sir, I was worried about the child.”

        Wilbur nodded. “I commend you for saving their life, but I have it from here. Send someone to fetch milk and then please stand guard again.”

        Eret nodded before leaving the van.

        Once the two were alone, Wilbur sighed heavily as he sat on the floor, still close to the furnace. He felt the child’s forehead, feeling them warm up to his relief.

        “You gave us a scare little one.” He chuckled quietly. “But don’t worry, you’re in a safe place. L’Manberg will care for you. I suppose it was lucky you were left here rather than the Dream SMP.”

        He hummed quietly as he gently rocking the child, their eyes closing as they relaxed in his hold. As they relaxed, he gave a quick check for their gender.

        “Welcome little one. You’re the first woman of L’Manberg.” He smiled lightly.

        For a short while, he was able to forget about everything outside the van. He could relax himself and let his mind clear as he watched the little girl in his arms. They were both at peace.

        After a few minutes, he looked up as he heard the van door open. As he was standing up carefully, his own son Fundy came in holding a bucket.

        “Hey, Eret said you needed…What the hell is that?!” Fundy exclaimed in surprise, startling the girl in his arms, tears appearing in her eyes.

        “Shh, it’s alright,” Wilbur whispered to her as he rocked her again and he wiped her tears away with one hand.

        Fundy cautiously came over, raising an eyebrow. “Who are they?”

        Wilbur paused thinking for a moment, before smiling. “Meet your new little sister my son. (Y/N), the newest member of our great nation.”

          Philza (Right before Wilbur’s Betrayal)

        Phil shook out his wings as he landed in a village. He needed to rest them for a bit before continuing on his journey to L’Manberg. He had gotten word of how the tides had turned badly for his sons in the new nation they made to try and live peacefully. Originally, they hadn’t asked for his aid as Tommy and Wilbur had made contact with Techno and they believed with their older brother, they could surely turn it back. Yet, Tommy had sent him a letter with worry for Wilbur’s state of mind and Phil decided he needed to be there for his sons.

        Yes, he wanted them to learn the world on their own but there were some times when Phil needed to be there to help them.

        Looking at the sky, the night was fast approaching so he managed to get a house in the village for the night. Keeping his sword by his bedside, he went to sleep for the night…

        Startling awake, Phil heard the sounds of the village bell.

        “God damn it,” Phil mumbled, scooping his sword and bag before putting his hat on his head.

        Running out, he saw the cause of the panicked ringing. A pillager raid, and it was already out of control. Fires were crackling madly and blood littered the paths.

        “Shit.” He swore as a pillager spotted him and he dodged the arrow before running them through with his sword.

        The few surviving villagers ran from their homes and Phil went to follow when he heard a wail, the wail of a child. His throat tightened as he looked back to the burning buildings, his fatherly instinct along with his good nature kicked in.

        “God…” He muttered before spreading his wings.

        With ease, he was able to dodge between pillagers and ravagers alike as he followed the sound. Landing at the house that was most certainly ablaze, Phil kicked in the door. Holding his arm to his mouth and nose, he rushed in and found a small nursery, the flames engulfing the walls and ceiling. Rushing to the crib, he found the small child and quickly picked them up.

        “Let’s go kiddo.” He said as he rushed back out.

        Once he was outside, he took flight again and flew high enough to be out of arrow range, and flew far from the village. As he did, he looked the small child, of which he found out was female, over for injures as she screamed and cried. She had no visible injuries but Phil knew she had to have inhaled smoke. So, after a handful of minutes flying, he landed and shushed her quietly.

        “It’s alright kiddo, hang on,” Phil told her quietly as he went into his bag taking out a health potion. “I got something that can help you.”

        Being gentle, he gave them a few drops of the potion to hopefully clear out any smoke and heal the damage it might have done. The little girl gave hiccups and small cries.

        “It’s alright. You’re safe now.” He bounced her lightly, slowing down her cries to nothing. “There we go. We’re ok. Once morning comes, we’ll find the others of the rest of your village and see if we can’t find your parents.”

        The little girl’s eyes merely drooped and he gave smile before he frowned as he looked up to see the fires in the distance. They were a human child and he didn’t remember seeing any humans running away with the survivors but he’d try. And if not…

        “Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of you,” Phil assured the now sleeping infant.

        Technoblade (Start of Retirement)

        Techno shouldered the bag of wood he had gathered over his shoulder, his axe on his belt as he made his way home through the snow. The voices were relatively calm, not hungry for blood at the moment, and Techno was able to have a peaceful moment. As he trudged closer to his house, he slowed to a stop seeing footprints by the stairs and the voices kicked up as his thoughts went wild.

        Phil always gave him notice on his walkie if he was on the way and whoever had been there had gone up the stairs then walked away in a different direction from where they came.

        The voices were bringing up the question of if he was being scouted out. Who could have found his house? How did they find it? They started to demand blood.

        Technoblade took his axe off his belt while putting down the bag of wood. Going towards the porch carefully, he held it ready to expect the worse when he entered his house but he didn’t even go up the stairs to find something. On his doorstep, there sat a large huddle of blankets.

        Furrowing his eyebrows, he came up to the huddle carefully and slowly with his axe raised. Stopping when it was fully in view, he stared in even more confusion.

        “What the hell?” He questioned, lowering his axe slightly as he looked around the snowy tundra. “Who leaves a child on my doorstep!”

        In the middle of the huddle of blankets was a sleeping child, who wiggled slightly at the loudness of his voice.

        They’re an orphan now

        You know how you feel about orphans

        Blood for the Blood God

        Techno winced at the sounds of the voices as he looked at the child. They were right…they were an orphan now. Someone had left them on his doorstep and now they were abandoned. He gripped his axe tightly as he looked down at the infant.

        It’d be quick and easy…

        The small human opened their eyes slightly, squirming slightly as they saw him. Techno’s grip loosened, the voices screaming in protest. They were so small and so defenseless…he wasn’t calling for blood anymore.

        Grunting, he put the axe away, going back down the stairs to grab the bag as he clenched his jaw at the loud noises of the voices before going back and picking up the child with surprising gentleness as the child was startled slightly. He shouldered his door open, dropping the bag of wood next to the unlit fireplace before making his way upstairs to his bedroom. He put the child down, who watched him in silent curiosity as Techno took the walkie off his belt.

        “Phil, you there?” He questioned into it.

        It took a minute but the device crackled.

        “Yeah, what’s going on?”

        “I got a…issue. Come over as soon as you can.”

        “An issue? What kind of issue?” Phil asked in surprise as usually, Technoblade could handle most of his issues.

        “It’s hard to explain, just come over.” Techno rubbed his temple at the screams of the voices.

        “Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

        He put the walkie down as he looked over at the child watching him.

        “What?” He huffed.

        Then the child gave a small giggle, trying to get their hands free to hold them out to him. The man stood there in shock as his heart melted. He had not felt something like that in a long time. Scrunching up his nose slightly before coming over and taking the infant out of the blankets and holding her as he used to with Tommy.

        “What the hell am I going to do with you?” He muttered and the small human held lightly onto his shirt, making even the voices slow down.

        He down a level in his home to wait for Phil, keeping the child in his hold as he just decided to do his normal routine. He started a fire and began to brew a few potions when the knock came on his door.

        “Come in.” He called.

        In stepped his father, who immediately dropped his bag in surprise seeing what Techno was holding as he added a new ingredient to his potion.

        “Hello.” He greeted the older man without looking at him.

        “What the hell did you have?” The older man questioned.

        Techno looked over at him confused. “Blaze powder.”

        Phil took his hat off as he ran a hand through his hair. “I meant the baby!”

        “Oh! Yeah, this.” Techno said casually, the older man freaking out. “Someone left them on my porch.”

        “Oh god…are they ok?” Phil asked, coming over.

        “Yeah, they’re fine. They were swallowed by blankets.”

        The child tried to take a bottle in their hands and Techno simply moved it from them and kept working like it was the most natural thing in the world. Phil stood in surprise at how casual Techno was, he knew about the orphan thing and how vicious the voices in his head could be.

        “What…what are you going to do with the child?”

        “That’s why I called you,” Techno said, before holding the child to the man. “You take it.”

        “What?! Techno, I can’t just take this child. I…” Phil’s hand shook slightly at the thought of Wilbur. “I can’t have another child right now. And L’Manberg will question where I even got them in the first place.”

        “Well then what do I do with it?!” Techno huffed as he was surprised by the quietness of the voices.

        “Well…you could take of them.”

        “I don’t know how to take care of a child. I don’t even like children, have you seen me with Tommy?” Techno rolled his eyes.

        “You seem to like this one.” Phil pointed out as Techno was holding them willingly and at the gentleness, he had with them.

        Techno frowned as he tried to think of a good reason. “That’s because they’re quiet.”

        “Look…I know you don’t want to hear this but maybe you should look after them, even just for a while. I can see if I can find someone who wants a child.”

        No, you found them.

        They’re rather cute…

        Keep them!

        The voices had done a full turn around from when they first saw the child. They were demanding Techno care for them and protect the fragile being. Techno couldn’t disagree with them because in his heart…he wanted to protect the child that had been left on his doorstep.

        “Fine, I’ll take care of them for a while but you need to help me, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

        Phil chuckled. “Of course, son. We should look them over first to make sure they’re alright.”

        Techno rolled his eyes but agreed, listening to Phil as he told him what to do. The father was smiling proudly as even though Techno was frustrated with the new task, he continued with it. Once she, as they discovered, was checked over, Phil put a hand on his son’s shoulder.

        “What do you want to call her?” Phil asked.

        He looked down at the child, who was giggling as Phil smiled at her.

        “Blood Child.”

        “Techno!”

        Later, Techno actually decided on (Y/N) and for once, the voices were on his side.

          Eret (Before the founding of L’Manberg)

        Eret chuckled to himself as he walked down the path back towards his castle. Tommy’s antics for the day had been particularly ridiculous that it still brought a chuckle to the older gentleman as he went back to his home. He knew the days around the Dream SMP certainly wouldn’t be boring.

        Walking to his castle, he stopped as he noticed a basket left in front of the door and peered inside.

        “Why hello there.” Eret smiled seeing a small face peering back up at him as they squirmed slightly in discomfort. “What are you doing here little one?”

        He carefully picked up the basket and went inside his castle. As he got to his bedroom, he carefully took the infant out struggling a bit but managed before searching a bit in the basket.

        “Hmm, no note or anything.” He muttered as he looked at the child squirming around. “Well, someone made a mistake leaving you behind. Let’s see if I can’t figure out what’s making you so fussy.”

        After a bit of trying, first checking to see if she needed a diaper, he figured she needed some food and managed to get milk, putting it in a clean potion bottle to help her drink it easier. That also took a few trials, but he managed to help her drink until she stopped fussing.

        “There we go, now I can see your lovely face better.” He smiled as he sat on his bed, wiggling his finger in front of her making her giggle.

        As he played with the small girl, he frowned slightly as he looked over the basket that she had been left in. Why would someone leave someone so precious on the doorstep of his castle? It was truly a shame for those that did leave the little girl as Eret couldn’t help but slowly smile again as the little girl grasped onto his finger.

        “You’re not going to have to worry little one. You can stay here with me and you can be the princess of this castle.” He promised her, hugging her lightly, making her giggle. “I’ll make sure you’re safe and happy. It will take me a little while to learn how to do it all properly but I’ll learn. How does that sound…(Y/N)?”

        He chuckled as he moved his head back as she reached for her glasses. Yeah, this sounded like a beautiful idea.

          Dream (The Very Start)

        Dream rolled his eyes behind his mask as he heard George screaming in the distance, Sapnap laughing wildly in return. Those two never know how to stop.

        “Come on you two! We need to build a house before the night comes.” Dream called to them. “Stop goofing off.”

        Yet, he could still hear George’s high-pitched scream and he just chuckled and shook his head at his friends’ behavior. They were the company he kept and he honestly wouldn’t trade them for anything.

        Eventually, they did stop screwing and they were able to get to work on building their first home of the new land they had. The three of them joked and there was some arguing still between Sapnap and George but it just made it peaceful for the three of them. It was how their lives were.

        Dream went to go look for some sheep to get wool for beds before night fully struck, leaving the two “children” at the house. As he went searching, he jumped when he heard the sound of screaming, but it wasn’t liking George’s scream. It was quieter but still a scream.

        “Hello?!” Dream called as he pulled out his stone sword.

        As he went towards the noise, he realized it wasn’t a scream of terror as he first thought it was. No, it was a screaming cry, the kind a child would make. He started sprinting at that thought and skidded to a stop as he found the infant that was making the sound laid on top of a rock, a group of three zombies trying to get it.

        Dream gripped onto his sword before shouting to get their attention and moved back, quickly taking care of the mobs. He pushed his smiley mask to the side of his face as he finished them off and rushed over to the baby.

        “Hey! Hey. It’s ok now.” He told them as he climbed up next to them, dropping his sword at the bottom. “All the bad things are gone.”

        He gently picked up the baby, shushing them as he put a hand on top of their head. Slowly, they quieted down and Dream smiled wiping their tears away.

        “Hey, there you go. See? There’s nothing to cry about.” He chuckled before screwing his face up to look funny.

        The child giggled and he grinned.

        “There we go. Now, let’s check you out.” He muttered, looking them over. “No injuries. That’s very good princess. Now, what are you doing out here?” He asked as he looked around, seeing no signs of human life other than the two of them.

        Dream’s blood boiled slightly. Someone would just leave a child out here? If it wasn’t for him, she would have died!

        “You got nowhere to go huh? Well, you don’t have to worry.” He said, carefully sliding down.

        He picked up his sword, putting it back in its sheath, before walking back towards his friends.

        “I’ll take care of you. You’ll be the princess of our new land! You, me, and your two idiot uncles.” He laughed, the tiny girl giggling at the sound. “And I’ll make sure you always have a reason to smile.”

#mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #dreamsmp #tommyinnit x reader #wilbur soot x reader #technoblade x reader #philza x reader #eret x reader #dream x reader

[eartht137]

DEAREST HEART- Letter One

Okay, For The Better has got me at a standstill. Every time I go to write the next chapter, I get a very "bad" idea and I have to write it in to meld with what I have in mind, but as my birthday is approaching in 2 days and Halloween is quickly approaching, I have developed a very new and delicious idea. I thought up this story in the shower. Hear me out, okay? The blinds that cover the window in my bathroom fell, and I mean fell from the wall, so I had to take a shower in the dark with a candle. Well it gets pretty muggy in my bathroom, as there's not a lot of room, so I opened the window to get some air, well with the wind blowing and the leaves rustling I kinda got that weird feeling that someone was watching me (which I highly doubt). In this story the character/you are a new wife and mom and you've been unmotivated to do normal chores and upkeep due to de pression and anxiety. I kinda wanted to touch on some real topics that I felt may resonate as I've noticed there is a lot of depression and anxieties that have been major high and I just wanted to send a small message that you are seen, you are heard, you are worthy, you are loved. Even if it is in your own world, I'd rather have my own world that I can escape to and have things go my way than keep taking on the pressure of things we deal with everyday. Also this is another Dark Clark Kent. I know, I know, the idea of the man just does something to me. So with that curvies, I present to you Dearest Heart. Okay rant over for the day. Please proceed..........oh yeah MMMMMMmwwwwwwaaahhhhhhh

Dark Clark Kent x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Non Con, somnophilia, masturbation, stalking, mentions of impregnation. Maybe other things too. MINORS DNI!!!

You were getting up and ready for work, since starting your new job, you'd found yourself a bit out of balance. Being a new wife and mom, trying to adjust, you'd found yourself falling in and out of a reel of depression and anxiety. You very rarely had the energy or drive to clean and sometimes your depression got you to a point where you didn't really want to keep up your hygiene. Finally, you'd gotten the burst of life you needed and decided to make use of it while you had the drive. You started keeping up your hygiene as you used to and cleaned your house day by day. You started cherishing more moments with your husband and son. You had noticed the more you took effort within the day, it helped you feel a bit better everyday. One day, you stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air and sunlight. As you were getting ready to head back inside, you saw a letter place neatly on the bars of you security door with small rose. You tilted you head in confusion and looked around. You took the letter, seeing that it had "Dearest Heart' written beautifully across the front. You walked inside while admiring the vintage parchment envelope.

"Baby?" Your husband asked curiously, making you look up and smile as he and your son watched you.

"Well I think the mailman left someone else's mail-again." You sighed tossing the letter down on the table by your door. You went over and spent the remainder of you free time with your husband and son before heading into your office and logging on for work.

On your first break, you rushed out of your office hoping to spend time with your loved ones. You giggled as you watched your husband and son sleep with their mouths wide open on your couch. You were about to step into the bathroom when you got the nagging urge to go back and look at the letter again. You stared at it from across the room a moment before finally giving in to curiosity and grabbing it. You studied it for a moment before your husband adjusting on the couch startled you. You quietly went to the bathroom and examined the letter. Looking at your phone, you realized you didn't have much time, and would just open it to see what it looked like inside. A very hopeful side of you prayed that in your head that it was filled with cash that some good saint just felt in their heart to give, but you knew that was a slim chance. When you opened the letter, you almost gasped, almost like a child feeling as if you if you'd just done something forbidden. The alarm on you phone vibrated and you jumped, the letter dropped from you hands. You laughed a bit at yourself, picked up the letter, tucked it away and went back to work.

One your lunch break, after making something to eat for yourself and your hungry boys, you found yourself practically lured back to the bathroom to find the letter you'd tucked away for later. You opened it and pulled out a very beautifully written letter, but the first line damn near made your heart stop. You read it over and over trying to make sure you weren't seeing things, but there it was in black in, your name. You took a deep breath and continued reading the letter.

My Dearest Y/n,

I promised myself I wouldn't try to interfere in your life, but my heart won't let my stand idly by. I know this is abrupt as you've never seen me in your life, at least you don't remember meeting me, its been so long ago; but I can't keep quiet about this anymore as my love for you has yet to subside. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I swore I'd never lie to you and I am a man of my word. You might be a little worried as to how I know you, where you live-but you'd be shocked at how much I know about you and it'd scare you to know how long I've watched over you. Little love, I've been a bit disappointed in you. You allowed yourself to get to far down and instead of talking it out, you've been bottling everything in. We both know how that ends. You can talk to me if you need to, but I was really disappointed in how you allowed things to get. You weren't getting out of bed, you weren't keeping your hygiene up, and you weren't keeping the house up; on top of that, you haven't been utilizing any of your self-care tools. You didn't leave the house for a month and you cried every night by yourself because you're too stubborn to get out of your own head for two seconds and let the people who love you in. You were also finding a new lie every week to call into to work, that was disappointing darling because you don't have to lie, just tell them you need a day for your health, you don't owe them anymore explanation than that, but I don't want you to lie again. Do you remember those 2 weeks your backside was sore and stinging and you couldn't figure out why? I'm so sorry dear heart but I had to light a fire in you some way, and I just can't allow you to behave in such a way. I also can't stand to see the woman I love not take care of herself. On another note, I do want to tell you how proud of you I have been with how much you love and care for our son. He's growing so big isn't he? Oh darling, I know you think he's your husbands, but I guarantee he is my flesh and blood, why do you think he stares at me so long when he sees my photo pass your screen. His blood is my blood, he knows who he is. I have decided dear heart, to be a bit more active in your life as I have come to realize that my standing by protecting in the shadows is not enough. It will be awhile my love, but one day we will be together. You, Me and our son. I love you both so much, I promise you we will be a family as we should one day. For now I will continue to watch from the distance and protect you when you need me. I will also be there to talk whenever you just want to talk out loud. Before I end this letter, I want to also tell you how proud I am that you've started writing. I love the stories you've been writing about me and I promise to fulfill every one of you desires as soon as the time is right. Only this time, you'll be able to enjoy it as much as I have. I will be writing again, you don't have to reply, but it would be nice. Keep up the good work sweetheart, I love you.

With All My Heart and Soul,

Kal-El

Your heart pounded in your ears, you forgot to breath and tears filled your eyes. You kept trying to convince yourself it was a prank, but the more you tried to deny it, the more you knew it was real. You sat thinking to yourself, when you'd written a story about him, you didn't know anyone named Kal-El. You immediately started walking around your house making sure every window and door was locked. You wanted to tell your husband, but once again the gut feeling told you not to, and you'd realized that your gut was really on point and that just made things scarier.

You finished you lunch break and the rest of that day unable to concentrate on anything. That night while you took a shower, you kept looking through the blinds to see if you'd see someone. On one had you wanted to see if there was someone really there and on the other you felt you'd probably shit yourself if you really saw someone. After a moment or two, you'd finally convinced yourself it was a sick prank and someone in the neighborhood was being an idiot. You laughed a bit and finished up, ready to finally get the sleep you'd been begging for all day. As you laid in bed, every noise made you jump. Every time something or someone would move, you'd go from the precipice of sleep to fully awake. You had been feeling watched for the longest time and you'd just blamed it on being crazy, but now with the letter confirming your nightmare, you really had no idea what to do. Your mind ran and ran until it finally shut itself down and you drifted off to a very peaceful sleep despite everything going on around you.

He sat in the corner of your dark room watching you breath calmly. He wanted so badly to go over and rock you to sleep as he watched you struggle to fall asleep, but he couldn't present himself to you just yet, not until everything was perfect the way we wanted it before he showed himself.

He sat there watching you from the other side of the room knowing that soon you'd throw the covers off of your plush body exposing your luscious curves that he loved feeling in his large hands. His hand stroked himself as he thought back to the first night he took you. You were sleeping so good, you didn't hardly move. His released his hard thick cock from their restraints and pumped himself as he watched your breasts rise and fall with your breathing. He thought back to the first time he tasted your nipples, how hard they got when he kissed and nipped them. How wet you got for him and how he once made you cum from playing with them only. He then thought about how delicious you were. His fist moving faster and rougher down his shaft. He remembered how tight you were when he first fucked you. How hot and juicy you were as he pumped deep into your soft pussy filling you with every inch of him. He wanted to ruin you, and he wished you could see the happiness he felt when you couldn't cum one night from yours or your husbands touches. His hand pumped faster as he remembered fucking you so good one night your orgasm woke you as you came, as disappointed as he was that he couldn't feel you cum around him, he was still proud to have your body so responsive for him. That sent him over the edge and he came hard wanting so badly to empty inside of you. He wanted to see you round with his baby again, but he wanted to allow you the time to fully heal. He used one of your husbands shirts to wipe himself clean, and he gave you a soft peck on the lips, smiling when you turned away.

"I love you so much. I promise things will be right soon. Sleep well dearest heart." He whispered before leaving. He couldn't wait until you found his next letter.

#dark clark kent #plus size reader #dark superman #henry cavill #stalking

[baku-bowl]

broke 1,000 followers (the fuck? I don't even make content people), so decided to write up a list of some (but not all, I'll make other lists later) of my favorite Bakugou-centric fic recs. my tastes run towards hurt/comfort, as you'll probably figure from the list. if there are some Baku-centric fics that you've enjoyed that aren't on here, please add them - this is definitely not a complete list of the ones I've read and love, but I'm always up for some recs. <3

fair warning, most of these are wips.

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

Social Media 101 by WindsChild8178

Part 1: Survival Guide to Fucking Up

[Solely Bakugou’s point of view]

Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body. He’s aggressive in everything he does and does everything with 100% of his heart in it. After the Sport’s Festival, Katsuki starts to get harassed by strangers for his unheroic demeanor. It starts with letters but it doesn’t end there. The moment Katsuki realizes the harassment has entered dangerous territory and he needs to tell someone, it’s already too late.

Part 2: Post Traumatic Life Disorder

[Point of View opens up to Bakugou, teachers and classmates]

When the Dorms are finally built, everyone is settling in well, but things become tense as people begin to realize something isn’t right with the recently rescued Bakugou.

[Cannon compliant right up to after the License Exam]

hands down my favorite fic in the fandom right now. it’s the one that converted me into a Bakugou lover. if you have any fondness for Bakugou as a character then it’s likely you’ve read this one already, but if not, I can’t recommend it enough. incredibly depressing, but with the hope that comfort is coming soon in the next few chapters.

The Kids Will Be Alright, Eventually by NotWithThatAttitude

Bakugou is spiraling in the aftermath of Kamino and his friends are starting to notice. He's stubborn, aggressively independent, and less than willing to dig into his past, but after a breakdown that ends with a painful secret revealed, he starts to get help.

Whether he likes it or not.

Meanwhile, a new kind of villain threatens an uneasy peace following the loss of Allmight. Whispers build as a new narrative slowly takes shape:

Hero society needs to change.

Feat. Therapy, Dadzawa, best boy Kirishima, dysfunctional families, healing, growing up, and the mortifying ordeal of being known

guys.. the medical accuracy of this fic is just... *chef’s kiss*

I rarely see mental health genuinely handled well in fics, but this one goes above and beyond. kudos to the author for doing such excellent research into psychology, and making the application of it in here not-boring. also, while this one does have abusive!Mitsuki, it’s done in a way that feels realistic, and how I usually will see it occur in real life, rather than just for the hurt/comfort feels.

fair warning, the fic can be incredibly triggering (themes of severe depression, PTSD, panic attacks, rape survival, abuse survival, suicidal ideation/attempted suicide, among other things), so be safe and heed the tw’s if you decide to read. legitimately one of my Top Favorite fics in this fandom.

Lock and Key by autochorystalize

Bakugou made a choked, gravelly noise before croaking out a low, “You can’t be serious.” His fingers ached to blow up everything in the room.

“I’m sorry, young man, but you can’t change reality! This sometimes happens.” Recovery Girl clicked through his file, adding a new symbol in a previously empty slot.

- - -

A pair of eyes discreetly locked on to an explosive blond plowing his way forward, parting people in his path. He recognized the kid, of course. Anyone in the underbelly of society would recognize him, after the publicity of both UA’s Sports Festival and the events leading up to All Might’s fall. The uniform he was wearing cast away any doubts about the young man’s identity.

It was a bit of a surprise that the little firecracker presented as an omega.

- - - - - - - - -

Or: there are certain types of evil that seemed too distant, archaic violations and perversions that would never actually threaten bright-eyed heroes-in-training in the clean, modern world...but sometimes those evils aren't as distant as one might think.

remember when I said that I love a/b/o fics that are full of plot and world-building and gender-induced tension? that’s this one. the OC’s are fabulous and you love to hate ‘em. also, it’s the fic that made me fall head-over-heels for the TodoBaku dynamic, so it’s got a special place in my cold, dead heart. 

be warned, there are rather explicit non-con scenes between an adult (OC) and a minor (Bakugou) in this one, but the author warns for them in advance, and you could likely skip those parts without missing too much if you need to.

Never and Always, Eventually by Wawa_Boonliang

"Katsuki can remember the exact moment that he and Deku…that he and Midoriya Izuku became friends. He can also remember the moment he and Izuku became fierce rivals, a time when they were almost enemies.

However, what he remembers most clearly about their relationship is the moment that they moved passed rivals and became something more close than mere friends. Something more like brotherhood, something forged in fire and secured in the middle of a battlefield or in the midst of natural disaster where the number of the dead was climbing ever higher. And then it was torn from him."

Katsuki is given a second chance. A chance to save everyone. A chance to change everything.

But should he?

y’all. I’m a slutty, slutty whore for time travel fics. a time travel fic with autistic!coded Bakugou? it was love at first read.

Lessons Learned by Sif (Rosae)

Rather than the police station, Katsuki's friends bring him to a hospital after rescuing him from the villains. His wounds were minor, but it didn't make having them treated any less important. As it would so happen, Best Jeanist was also brought to this hospital after the attack.

Sometimes, small choices have a big impact on how a story plays out.

classic Bakugou hurt/comfort. this fic opened me up to the potential that could be a genuinely good Best Jeanist & Katsuki mentor-mentee relationship, and I kind of dig it and search ravenously for it in other fics now. I’m also a huge fan of the behind-the-scences Pro Hero Chat group.

Slope by sunfleurmoon

“I’m not a hero. Or a good person,” Katsuki says, giving Aizawa a pointed look, “So leave me alone. I don’t care about the League or UA, or you—” The two years he’s been away have been fine, more than fine, fucking fantastic actually if you ignore the bi-monthly near-death experiences. He doesn’t need this place. He doesn’t miss this place.

And yet, longing, a childish desire to tear up, or maybe blow something to bits, they all twist in his chest like a band of traitors regardless. “—I just want to go home.”

Or: the one where Katsuki and Izuku fail the first term exam, Aizawa discovers their pasts, and Katsuki is booted from UA. Featuring questionable descriptions of villain organizations, a slightly illegal moving shop, and your favorite emotionally constipated badass in distress with a newly discovered penchant for collecting strays.

paaaaaaiiiiiiiin. the hurt is ALIVE in this one. lots of tortured, angsty exploding child goodness. the OC’s are excellently crafted, and the Bakugou & Eri relationship? beautiful. definitely deserves a read.

Ground Zero by WindsChild8178

In the wake of Kamino, Katsuki is tested more than anyone could imagine. Bound by a villain’s quirk to keep his silence or die, he lives each day knowing it might very well be his last. He continues to work towards becoming a hero, keeping his secret from his classmates and teachers, focusing on making it through each day and trying not to allow the panic or depression to get the best of him. When the villain finally corners him with demands in exchange for his life, there is really only one answer Katsuki Bakugou can give.

honestly don't know which I want updated more - social media 101 or ground zero. this author's fics are amazing, and I really wasn't expecting the twist in this one. can't wait for windschild to come back to this fic some day.

The Defect by LadyGreenFrisbee

"Why do you want to win the Sports Festival so badly?" 

Because I want to see if the defect could usurp the masterpiece.

(In which Endeavor holds a terrible secret and Bakugo has to suffer since childhood for it.)

a great concept, and I adore the shouto and Katsuki sibling interaction here. hoping the author will come back to this one some day.

A Name That You'll Remember by Heronfem

Kirishima Eijirou is a Hero. Bakugou Katsuki... is not. Trapped in his toxic workplace and increasingly desperate to get out, Red Riot's days are only brightened by a new villain known as Caution, who's not exactly villainous and keeps accidentally doing good deeds. But when a real villain appears, a threat from the past that demands that Red Riot make the ultimate sacrifice to keep the public safe, Bakugou is forced into saving the day... and eventually, Red Riot himself.

sob story good guy villains are my weakness, this fic is a gem, and I'd kill for the sequel.

Our Hero by AnonymousTwit

He felt everything jerk to the side and throw his balance off before he saw anything, dust clouding his vision and irritating his lungs as the earth itself opened up to swallow them whole. For a single moment, in a millisecond's time, his wild eyes locked with Raccoon Eyes', hers alight with fear and adrenaline-fueled desperation. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that it was the first time she'd looked at him with something other than long-deserved hatred in days.

And then he was free falling.

Or

After a particularly nasty encounter between childhood friends, the class learns about Bakugou and Midoriya's dark history and practically ostracizes Bakugou while trying to defend Midoriya. An earthquake during an outing has all sides regretting their decisions.

just fucking tear apart my self-sacrificing faves in every way imaginable while their loved ones watch on in terror. 💖🥰💖 this one is heavy on the Bakusquad and Class-1A feels, and VERY heavy on the Mina & Bakugou relationship (platonic).

Running back the tape, watching it replay by Faralyne

For someone ripped from their time, ripped from the few but strong relationships built by time and personal development, by self-reflection and swallowed pride, ripped from the one thing that made him feel worthwhile and needed and put-together, and forced to forge everything over again—Katsuki thinks he is handling it pretty fucking well.

Or

A villain’s quirk sends a 29-year-old Bakugou back in time to his middle school days.

am I a sucker for time travel? yes. am I a sucker for vigilante!bakugou? also yes. am I a sucker for this fic? literally refreshing the page in wait for an update as we speak.

Liability by sandelf

After All-Might dies rescuing Bakugou from the League, Bakugou is determined to prove it wasn't for nothing.

But the world is against him, his grief is overwhelming, and his stability is splitting at the edges.

very self-indulgent bakugou angst. tw for harassment, severe depression, and suicidality.

Special Mentions:

How To Win The Sport Festival: A Step By Step Guide by mhwright

Short re-imagining of the Sports Festival Arc if Shinso had planned a little better and worked a little harder to win the Sports Festival and if the match-ups had been slightly different. Self-indulgent fic of watching him succeed.

this is completely Shinsou-centric, not Bakugou-centric, but I love and adore it and am dying for a sequel. Shinsou is Best Boy here and you'll be rooting for him the whole time.

#fic rec #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #seriously though if you have a rec for me please always assume i will be unbearably grateful for it #and hit me up with it in the comments or through messaging #thanks for the follows y'all!

[starryeyedweeb]

Valentine’s Day with BNHA

A/N: I know it’s late for Valentine’s Day, but this is about the fifth time I’ve tried posting this because every other time it never got a single note even though all of my other stuff does pretty well??? So not to be that person, but if you see this I’m begging you to give it some love because it’s one of my favorites!

*DISCLAIMER*: As I’m over eighteen, I write all underaged characters aged up to be eighteen or older.

Contains: As always, sickly-sweet fluff; gender-neutral

Characters Included: Todoroki Shoto, Bakugou Katsuki, Yaoyorozu Momo, Shigaraki Tomura, Dabi/Todoroki Touya, Aizawa Shota

Valentine’s Day with...

Bakugou Katsuki

As expected, Bakugou thinks that Valentine’s Day is kind of ridiculous and isn’t too keen on celebrating

When his friends ask him what he’s planned for the holiday, it results in a bit of a rant

“Valentine’s is a shitty holiday for shitty partners to try and make up for being shitty. I take them on dates and spoil them all the time, so why should I make a big deal about a random day in February?”

But because he wasn’t a shitty partner, he knows he has to do something for you

“Oi, do you want to go hiking?” he asks shortly on Valentine’s morning, already dressed for the occasion. “We can go to that spot you’ve wanted see for a while.”

You agree- eagerly.

You honestly weren’t the biggest fan of hiking until you started dating Bakugou, who’s obsessed with it

It’s like meditation to him- one of the best ways for him to find a calm and clear mindset- and the two of you always have your best conversations when you’re out on a hike

Plus he looks amazing in his hiking clothes

The trail in question is further outside the city than most, and when you arrive, it’s pleasantly deserted

With backpacks swung over your shoulders, the two of you start down the rough path, which cuts through a thick forest

When you first started hiking, you could barely keep up with Bakugou, but you had gotten much better at it over time and are now able to comfortably keep pace with him, even holding his hand part of the time

The trail is mainly uphill, though, and periodically he will all but force a water bottle into your hands

“Get a drink. I don’t want you getting all dehydrated on me.”

When you reach the peak of the trail, which is a flat clearing overlooking the city below, Bakugou indicates for you to sit down and pulls out two bento boxes that he had packed prior to the event

Though there’s nothing heart-shaped nor unnaturally red or pink inside, the box is sweetly filled with all of your favorite bento foods

And of course, they all taste amazing

“Katsuki, this is so good!”

“I know.”

“Come on.” You playfully push his arm, feeling his muscles rippling beneath his jacket. “Seriously, though, thank you. Life has been so crazy lately, and this little break was perfect.”

“So you’re not upset we didn’t do anything more, I don’t know...” he trails off, furrowing his brow and running a hand through his hair, “...on theme?”

“Of course not. Stuff like that is for shitty partners who use a holiday as an excuse to make up for being shitty. They’ll go right back to their behavior the moment the day is over.” You interlace your fingers in his and hold his arm with your free hand. “This was perfect.”

Bakugou can’t resist a smirk and short chuckle at your sentiment, realizing exactly why he’s with you

“Hey, what’s that look for?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Kiss.”

You reach up and press your lips to his, and his arms wrap around your body, holding you close

When you pull away, you cast a glance out at the tranquil cityscape below and reluctantly check the time.

“Do you think we should head back down?” you ask.

“No. I want to stay here a little while longer.”

Todoroki Shoto

As one of the top heroes, Todoroki Shoto is a hard man to get alone, but you have high hopes for Valentine’s Day.

On the morning of February 14, the two of you check into the luxury hotel he had booked for a romantic staycation, awaiting an entire day of activities planned around the resort: lunch and dinner reservations, a couple’s massage, seeing the hotel’s nightly show...

Only for it to all be completely foiled before it even starts when Shoto gets an urgent call about a villain incident gone badly wrong, with as many heroes as possible desperately needed to help.

“Go ahead and do everything we had planned,” he urges as he’s leaving, rushing through a parting kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

But you know that it’s not going to be as simple as “I’ll be right back.”

The moment the door shuts behind him, you can’t help but turn on the TV and flip to the news, trying to find out just what Shoto had gotten himself into

The danger of the situation makes you sick with anxiety, and you have to turn it off almost immediately for the sake of your own sanity

Trying to follow his wishes, you go through the motions of the day you had planned, but instead of reaping the intended benefits of rest and relaxation, your brain is completely clouded with worry for Shoto’s safety

Which is only amplified when the hotel lobby has the news on with a crowd of people clumped together before it to see what’s going on, and the receptionist approaches you to ask if you’re alright

Dark falls with no sign of Shoto, but your heart leaps when you get the news notification that the battle is over

You turn the news back on for live coverage of the heroes that participated being interviewed about the events, but your stomach knots once again when you see no sign of Shoto

They haven’t mentioned any casualties, you wonder, but have they missed him or something?

When a knock echoes throughout the room, a cold feeling of dread washes over your body

You freeze and merely stare at the door, sure you’re about to receive the news that’s the worst nightmare of any partner of a hero

Until the door opens, and reveals Shoto holding a bouquet the size of his torso, looking a bit battered but otherwise alright

You launch yourself across the room, and he drops the flowers to engulf you in his arms

“God, Shoto,” you sob. “No matter how long I’ve been with you, waiting and worrying never gets any easier.”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs back, stroking your hair. “But I’m here now. I’m fine. I ran here the moment I could get away.”

When you finally allow him to pull away, he hands you the flowers, and you call room service for a vase and a first-aid kit

You sit Shoto on the bed and tend to his minor wounds, then order some of your favorite comfort foods for a very late dinner

Shoto is never one to discuss his missions right after the fact, so instead you just talk about nonsense things, like the most recent episode of your favorite show to watch together, and where the two of you wanted to go on your next vacation

Afterward, the two of you lay in the dark, so tangled together that it’s nearly impossible to tell who’s whom

Neither of you are tired at all, realizing fully that the privilege of getting to hold each other like you are was almost taken away that day

You feel your eyes start to well up at just how much you love the man next to you, realizing how much you need him

Shoto seems to sense that you’re going to a dark place, so he traces his fingers lightly against your cheek and breaks the silence.

“I forgot to tell you. I extended our stay here so we can still celebrate like we were planning to. I’m sorry I had to go today.”

“Shoto, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cup his cheek back, a few tears spilling out of your eyes as they meet his. “I’m just so glad you’re safe and that you’re here with me.”

Yaoyorozu Momo

Recently, an adorable little paint-your-own-pottery studio had opened on yours and Momo’s route home

You two had always meant to go for a fun date, but never really had the time, so when a Valentine’s event is announced, you both leap at the opportunity and reserve your spots right away

When Valentine’s Day arrives, you and Momo show up half an hour early for the event, wearing coordinating shades of red and pink

Laughing at your accidental matching, the two of you kill the time until the event begins by taking a million photos together

When the doors to the shop open and you’re finally allowed in, Momo’s eyes nearly pop out of her head in excitement, and you just know it’s going to become a regular date spot for the two of you

The shop is decorated like a romantic tea shop straight out of a cheesy movie, with lace doilies marking work stations, faux roses as centerpieces, and red, white, and pink balloons covering the ceiling

The special event involves painting spindly teacups with handles shaped like hearts, the workstations supplied with punch and sweets, all colored and shaped for the holiday

“Look at these!” She exclaims, picking up the ceramic cup at her workstation. “What should we paint on them?”

“Why don’t we do a matching design?” you suggest. “That way we can remember this even better.”

“Yes, let’s do that!” she agrees. “What design should we do, then?”

You two decide to keep it simple: paint the mugs solid baby pink, stamp tiny red hearts all around, and then Momo would use her elegant handwriting and paint both of your initials in calligraphy on one of the faces.

You ready your stations and sit shoulder-to-shoulder as you work, chatting and giggling the entire time, occasionally nudging each other playfully with your legs

“Could you hold the cup at this angle for me while I do the calligraphy?” she requests, which gives you an excuse to sit even closer to her, the scent of her rosy perfume engulfing you

“I wish I had handwriting like that,” you whine, watching her paint the graceful swirls of your initials, followed by the date below.

“I can teach you,” she offers, coming to stand behind you. “Here.”

She puts her hand over yours, and guides it along in the shape of the letters, her free arm looping around the front of your shoulders in a casual hug

“See? You’ve done it!”

“It still doesn’t look nearly as good as yours.”

“Well, my heart stamps don’t look nearly as good as yours. I don’t think I applied enough pressure.” She returns to her own seat, stares at you for a few moments, then giggles. “Speaking of, you’ve got paint on your face. Come here.”

You lean forward so she can wipe off the paint with a gentle touch, and she places a kiss on the now-clean spot.

“There. All better.”

When the two of you finish painting the mugs, you turn them into the counter so they can be finished in the kiln, then sit by the window of the shop to enjoy your sweets while you wait

“I’m very excited about these cups,” Momo says, reaching out for your hand. “They’ll be a lovely little keepsake.”

“Me, too,” you agree, resting your head on her shoulder. “It’ll be nice to have tea in them every evening.”

“Exactly. And if there’s ever a time when we have to be separated, whether it be for hero work or some other reason, we can bring our cups with us to remember that the other is always there, waiting to come have tea together.”

Shigaraki Tomura:

Despite his villainous ideals, in romance, Shiggy is actually quite sweet, if not a little clumsy

When you first became close to him, his unhealthy lifestyle and lack of self-care worried you, so you made a habit of cooking for Shigaraki, and leaving a week’s worth of nutritious meals in the League’s fridge for him

He had never revealed this to you, but he appreciated it so much, and wanted to return the favor

When Toga mentioned something about Valentine’s Day, he knew that it was his perfect opportunity, and made his plans by ordering everyone of the League to get out and stay out for the night

He then did some research about something good to make you, wracking his brain to try and remember what you’ve mentioned liking, until he remembers a very important fact:

He can’t cook.

At all.

Has never even once tried.

Which poses an obvious problem.

He panicked for a few moments, until he landed on a new, and possibly better, idea

When you arrive for the date, dressed comfortably (because, as much as you love Shigaraki, you know that there’s no way you’ll be going out for Valentine’s Day), you’re a little bit surprised to find him standing in the kitchen

“Shiggy?” You approach the counter warily. “What are we doing tonight?”

“I can’t cook. I want to know how.”

“You want me to teach you how to cook?”

“Yes. I want to know how to make your favorite meal.”

“Okay. That’s simple enough.” You make to join him in the kitchen, but he blocks your path.

“No. I want to make this for you. Just sit down and...tell me what to do.”

That proves to be quite a bit more difficult, as you never truly understood just how hard it would be to explain cooking to someone that has never used more than a microwave before

The music you had put on in the background was quickly drowned out by his frustrated swears, and you can tell that there are times when he almost loses his temper, but holds it together for the sake of your Valentine’s gift

A couple of utensils do fall victim to his decay, though, and he subtly tries to sweep the remains away in embarrassment.

At one point, his poor knife technique leaves a decently sized cut on his finger, and you jump into action, running for a First-Aid kit

“I’m not a child,” he mutters as you clean the small wound, avoiding your eyes.

“I know,” you reply lightly, pressing a playful kiss to the bandage you had just secured.

As Shigaraki comes close to finishing the meal, you raid Kurogiri’s stores for your favorite bottle of wine, pouring two glasses and setting them out on the table.

“Does this look right?” Shigaraki asks once the final timer goes off, warily holding out his creation.

“You tell me,” you answer. “I’ve made this for you before. It looks the same to me.”

When the two of you sit down and portion out the meal, Shigarki neglects his own plate as he watches you take your first bite

You fight to keep your face neutral, because honestly, it’s god awful, even though you had been right there the whole time, telling him exactly what to do

But you really didn’t expect anything more from a first time-cook, and even though the flavor is completely wrong, you still enjoy it, because you can practically taste how much this prickly mass-murderer actually cares for you

And as twisted as your situation is, you wouldn’t change it for the world

“Is it good?” Shigaraki mumbles from across the table, pulling you from your thoughts.

You take a sip of your wine. “Thank you so much, Tomura. This was such a thoughtful gift. I really appreciate it.”

“I knew it. It’s shit.” He pushes his own plate away in frustration. “I just wanted to pay back a favor and I can’t even do that right.”

“Shig, what did I just say? I appreciate this so much.” You round the table to his seat, rubbing his shoulders and planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Of course your first attempt doesn’t work. But that gives us something new to do together. For tonight, we’ll order some takeout, but starting tomorrow, I’ll give you another cooking lesson, and then another, and another, and another... as many as it takes until you can make a whole meal for me by yourself. Deal?”

He meets your gaze with a puppy-dog expression, placing his palms over where your hands rested on his chest.

“Deal.”

Dabi/Todoroki Touya:

Let’s just say that Dabi isn’t one to ignore traditions.

He’s one to very openly and dramatically oppose them.

You were anxious if not a little worried to see what he was going to have planned for Valentine’s Day- but, honestly, as his partner, you’re equally as unconventional in your own ideals

And he doesn’t disappoint, coming home with tickets to a ghost tour at the most haunted spot in town.

“Do they even do these on Valentine’s Day?”

“Obviously. That’s when I got the tickets for.” He shrugs. “Apparently it’s a thing that people do.”

“Hopefully not very many people. You know how we hate crowds.”

“And hopefully it’s not overtly themed for this asinine holiday.” He takes your waist and whispers the next words in your ear. “The idea of a dark room and an invisible audience is romantic enough.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“I just made you more excited, didn’t I?”

“You’ll have to wait until the day to find out.”

When Valentine’s Day arrives, you dress for the occasion and meet Dabi at a glamorous hotel in an older part of town

Before the tour begins, the guide allows the guests to go to the bar for some drinks, and begin to tell the story of the hotel and the paranormal activity that had sparked the attraction

Dabi seems uninterested, taking in the architecture of the historic buidling and peering down random hallways

“I’m getting bored of this,” he mutters in your ear. “I’m ready to see something interesting.”

“Shh, Dabi, I’m trying to listen,” you whisper back.

He responds by pinching your ass. “So, are you in a naughty mood tonight? Noted.”

“Stop it,” you mutter, lightly pushing him away, but your flushed skin is a dead giveaway to how you truly feel about the situation.

When the tour actually starts, you and Dabi round out the end of the group as it descends into a long, dark hallway.

Eventually, you feel Dabi’s hand leave its spot around your waist, but you’re so distracted listening the tour guide tell stories at the front to even notice.

Until cold hands grab you from you behind and give you a violent shake, growling animalistically in your ear

You let out a terrified scream, but the laugh that comes after is all-too-familiar

“Dammit, Dabi!” you gasp, doubling over to your breath and quiet your heartbeat.

“Aha.” His hands trail down your sides and squeeze your waist. “Gotcha.”

You eventually reach the main event of the tour, which is an old storeroom that had been unused for years due to the intense paranormal activity

Dabi actually stood still next to you with his arm slung around your shoulders, interested for the first time that night as the guide used the ghost box and actually got answers from the spirits that occupied the room.

Though there are a few times when you have to stop him from pulling some prank to scare the other people taking the tour, trying to convince them that they’re actually in immediate danger of possession

When the event is over, however, and the guide is ushering people back down the hallway, Dabi pulls you into a closet, igniting a small flame on his palm and pressing a finger to his lips

When the noise of the crowd filing out is gone, he presses forward forcefully and starts to bury you in deep, passionate kisses

“Wait, wait.” You pull back once you realize what his idea is. “Isn’t this a little...scary?”

“Isn’t that what makes it fun?”

Aizawa Shota

Valentine’s Day happened to fall around one of Aizawa’s busiest times at UA, and he was so tied up and tired that you had barely seen one another lately.

So, when he remembers what’s coming up and drowsily asks you what you want to do for Valentine’s Day, you surprise him.

“I’ve already made plans for us,” you reveal, handing him a printed itinerary. “I booked us a spot at a day spa. Those are all the treatments we’ll be doing.”

“Why’d you choose this? I’m curious.”

“You need some time to relax, and I want to spend time with you when your mind is on something other than which one of your students is going to get broken next.”

“Fair enough.”

On the morning of, the two of you check into the spa, and are instructed to go change into the fluffy bathrobes they provided

“Do I really have to put this on?” he complains, holding it as one might hold a dirty diaper.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask, already changed into yours.

“I don’t know how I feel about my chest being out on display like this.”

“Well, I’ll like it.” You snake your hand up his shirt and rake your nails down his skin. “C’mon. We’re going to be late for our couple’s massage.”

Once Aizawa has reluctantly changed, the two of you start off your day with massages and facials

You had arranged for him to get a special eye treatment, and the small sounds of relief from his table reveals that your gift is very much appreciated.

“Are you relaxed?” you inquire as you move on from the massage room to your next destination.

“More relaxed I’ve been since I stepped through the doors of UA for the first time.”

“Well, are you relaxed enough to get a hair treatment?”

“Honestly? Bring it on.”

When Aizawa is laying back in a chair, a towel wrapped around his head and a styling cape draped over his robe, you can’t help but snap photos of the slightly comical scene

“Are you taking pictures?” he grumbles.

“Do you mind that I am?”

“Just as long as my students never see it.”

“Noted,” you reply, adding the photo to an album of embarrassing pictures you planned to show them at the end of the term.

After finishing the hair treatment- Aizawa’s hair looking better than you could ever dream yours would- and moving on to a high-tech infrared light treatment, you finished out the day with a soak in the spa’s top-rate onsen, reserved for just the two of you

You sit in comfortable silence in the hot water, bodies pressed close to each other

Shota’s arm was draped around your shoulder, and you loosely held the hand that fell across your body

When you lay your ear on his chest, you notice that his heartbeat is the calmest you’ve ever heard it

“So, did the spa serve its purpose?” you ask, tilting your head up to gaze at him.

“It did. Though I think it was less the spa’s doing, and more the fact that I spent an entire day with you.”

You hum happily, reaching up and tapping his chin. “Nice and well rested now, are you? You sure look pretty.”

He chuckles lightly, running a hand through your hair. “So do you.”

“Well, there’s still about an hour left until our dinner reservation,” you observe, noticing the clock on the wall. “Is there anything you want to do to kill the time before then?”

“We’re both sitting in hot water, naked,” he replies matter-of-factly. “The answer should be obvious.”

#bnha imagine #todoroki imagine #bakugou imagine #shigaraki imagine #dabi imagine #aizawa imagine #yaoyorozu momo imagine #bnha headcanons #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou headcanons #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki headcanons #dabi x reader #dabi headcanons #aizawa x reader #aizawa headcanons #yaoyorozu momo x reader #yaoyorozu momo headcanons #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #shigaraki tomura #dabi #todoroki touya #aizawa shouta #yaoyorozu momo #bakugou fluff

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Hi, Rachel! I was wondering if you’ve written anything that you’re especially proud of recently. It doesn’t have to have been published. Love your YouTube videos! :)

First, thank you for sending this question! <3 I've been going through a hard time lately with finals season and missing home, so this is just a really nice message to receive!

I have written a couple things I'm really proud of! I guess this isn't technically recent, but last semester I polished up my short story Phantom State (used to be Phantom Limbs in D Minor then just Phantom Limbs and now it's Phantom State) and it's my favourite short story I've ever written, I think. For some backstory, PS was one of the very first short stories I wrote. I started it in grade 12, and it took me a very long time to actually complete a first draft (a year) which is a long time for someone who usually drafts my stories in one sitting. I actually vlogged this process HERE! While I was happy to complete the draft, the story was so far from being finished, haha. That draft was such a pieced-together mess of the year it took to write it, though the foundation of the story was there. Flash forward to working on the story with CPs, etc, I thought the draft was in a good place, and submitted it to a couple magazines before re-reading it last summer and just not liking it.

I decided to workshop it for my fiction workshop this year and I’m so happy I did because it really forced me to edit the story before I submitted it. SO MUCH labour went into bringing the draft into workshop, even though the changes were small (the smaller changes I find can be the most difficult). I’m forever going to keep my prof’s editorial letter for this story, lol, it means a lot to me. Idk, working on something for so many years on so many drafts (which is unusual for my short fiction process) and then FINALLY finishing it was such a magnificent feat. This story took me from age 17-20 to complete! My magnum opus, lol. The characters, especially our narrator, Linda, mean a lot to me. I don’t usually feel attached to my short fiction characters at all, but Linda feels like my baby! I was thinking of adapting this story into a novel for that reason.

In other news, I WROTE A REAL NOVEL OPENING!!!! I hate to say the Fostered books don’t feel like real novels, and absolutely not to discredit my own work because my work is great in those books, I just haven’t written a non-Fostered novel opening since, I think I’m Disappointed (omg)?? Anyway, if any of y’all were here for The Sun Only Drowns Us hype that happened in April 2020 before the project intimidated me so badly that I fled into writing Feeding Habits out of fear (lmfao), then y’all know what this book is about! Here’s the summary (it might be a bit outdated):

The summer the sun turns poisonous, 15-year-old Eva commits to living off-the-grid with her neighbour Lillian Radoccia and her children, Charlie, Vera, and Jack. Lillian is convinced the sun is an evil, poisonous force that drives people to their ultimate deaths, so to protect herself and her family, she swaps her bustling life in a small British Columbia town, for a secluded life on a desolate island. They settle at a remote cabin where they only live at night, which Eva is thrilled about at first, having come from an emotionally absent household, though she quickly realizes something is not right when Lillian’s only daughter, Vera, turns up dead shortly after her sixteenth birthday. Coupled with Lillian’s increasingly peculiar relationship with eldest son, Charlie, Eva’s new life as an honorary Radoccia child begins having more consequences than benefits.

I never finished the novel opening back then because I got so intimidated by the retrospective timeline where the narrator dips back in time during flashbacks. I am honestly short-storied out right now, and really felt nauseated by the idea of having to write another short story for workshop (literally nauseated, like I can’t do short fiction for another couple months lol!), so I chose to do a novel opening for my second submission this term as a change. I discovered the sort of apparated pieces of this opening and absolutely fell in love with the writing (2020 Rachel was SO GOOD at detail!!!) and the characters all over again. I’m very happy I never finished the opening back in 2020, because truthfully, I was not skilled enough to play with the timeline back then, which the chapter needed. 2022 Rachel was legit STRUGGLING through figuring out the timeline myself, and I think I finally fixed it?? I know there’s a writing vlog where I talk about this struggle... I can’t remember which one but oh god, I was so thrilled to have finished the chapter! Honestly, this is the biggest thing in my writing career that has happened in a very long time, because I’m debilitated by novel openings. They terrify me so much to the point where I cannot write (y’all don’t even know--I actually restarted writing the opening of Houses With Teeth for this workshop, another book I fear-quit, but then also fear-quit that LOL), so I was so relieved that this opening worked out.

I want to make a video reading some of the writing I’m really proud of recently (unfortunately no short fiction or poems that I want to get published but lots of novel stuff) so this ask also comes at the perfect time!

Anyway, this was fun! If anyone wants to learn more about these projects or want to read some excerpts, lmk...!!!

#asks #writing #thesunonlydrownsus

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Lost Their Voice From Screaming: Chris

For the @badthingshappenbingo​ prompt “Lost Their Voice From Screaming” (requested for Chris by Anon) - here you go! Timeline is during Chris time training at the WRU Facility. 

CW: Dehumanization, degrading language/victim blaming, noncon touch, referenced noncon, forced drugging, ableism (may be tough for those who underwent ABA therapy), internalized ableism, institutionalized pet whump, captivity, restrainted, shock collar, whump of a minor (character is 17)

---

Handler Petrus is already in the training room when the boy is escorted there, going over some paperwork at a desk in the corner. He glances up at the trainee, gives him a perfectly normal smile, and beckons him inside with a quick, absent-minded gesture. “Come on, ‘499.”

His friendliness is a trap, and the boy knows it, but there is no way to avoid any traps here. The boy must step into them, again and again, until he learns to love the way it feels as they close around him.

Even if he had a way to escape, he’d never think of it fast enough. His thoughts drift slowly, drugged into a foggy numbness. He feels fear, but only around the edges. In the center of his mind, it’s all just… smoke. 

He glances over his shoulder at the two handlers who escorted him, who give him blank, uncaring faces in return. Once he’s fully inside, they close the door, and the boy swallows at the sickening familiarity of the ssshhhh-click of the lock. 

Alone, now, with his primary handler. Alone, and the only way out of the room is Handler Petrus’s keycard, the ID he wears on a bit of blue stretchy nylon clipped to his belt, right next to his black baton.

“Good morning, ‘499,” Handler Petrus speaks warmly, affectionately.

The boy takes a breath, keeping his expression carefully blank, hands hanging at his sides. He’s wearing the weights again, heavy hexagonal pendants that swing from short chains off the cuffs they put around his wrists. When he moves, they clink together, and he has to work harder. He can’t hide it, if he tries to tap on himself or the walls. 

He managed to get one around to where he could hold it pressed into his palm, fingers curled, and he can settle himself just a little by letting his fingertips just brush along its textured edges. It’s something, to settle the nerves that crackle inside him no matter how much they drug him, how chalky they make his meals taste. The fog can’t quite steal all of him away, but he is not allowed to move.

He must be still.

He must-

Handler Petrus clears his throat and the boy jumps, his heart racing in a sudden panic as he realizes he’s been silent too long. It’s hard to understand, when he has to be quiet and when they want him to speak. He can’t read their faces very well, only the punishments that follow his failures. “Trainee-”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m, I’m sorry, H-Handler Petrus, I, I, I was only, I was-”

“223499.” Petrus’s voice goes cold, and so do his eyes, and the boy’s weights click together as his hands jerk in an aborted attempt to tap on himself to calm down. There is no calming. He has to learn how to calm without touch, without taps, without the things he needs but they tell him he isn’t allowed. “I will give you one more chance. Good morning.”

Silence is better than stammering.

The boy’s breath comes shaky and he hears a faint whine at the edge of his own exhale that makes his cheeks flush in embarrassment. He whines more now, whimpers, makes animal noises because it’s safer than using words. They like those sounds. They hate his words because he uses his words all wrong.

He speaks with careful, plodding slowness. “Good morning… Handler Petrus.”

“Better. Do you know why you’re here, when this was meant to be a rest day?” Handler Petrus sits back in his chair, tapping his pen on his desk idly. The boy’s eyes drift there with a twist of ravenous envy. 

Why does his handler get to tap when he doesn’t? How is Handler Petrus chewing the ends off all his pens different than the boy tapping on the walls? How in his foot tapping, like it is right now, his work boot hitting the cold tile floor that freezes the boy’s bare feet, any different than the boy bouncing on his feet?

He doesn’t understand how one kind is okay and another isn’t. He doesn’t know why he has to be a statue now. He doesn’t know, and no one can explain it, and no one ever even tries.

“Yes… yes, Handler Petrus.” He wants to rock. He wants to rock, and tap, and move his hands. The heavy weights make his shoulders ache just carrying his hands around all day. But they… they help, he tells himself. They keep his hands still.

He has to be still.

Stillness is better than what I do.

“Tell me.” Petrus’s pen stops tapping, the boy’s eyes frozen on it. The end is all chewed to bits. The boys swallows as he feels a rush of saliva in his own mouth. Deep inside, he remembers he used to chew on the ties to his hoods on coats and sweatshirts-

A sharp stab of pain cuts the memory off before it gets any further, and he closes his eyes against it, the overwhelming pain and the weight of the fluorescent lights on his skin. He feels the buzz, tangible and obvious, a pressure he can’t run from. 

“Tell y-you…” He’s trying to buy time, to get his mind back, but his foggy drugged-up brain struggles to lurch in this direction at all. The weights click, clack, together, and he remembers. “Because… b-because H-Handler… Handler Everly… caught me. In my room.”

Petrus starts tapping his pen again. The sound is deafening in the silent room. “Caught you doing what?”

“T-... tapping. With my… my fingers. On… the wall.” It’s so hard to speak like this, and he doesn’t know how other people can do it. He has to let words drop like stones and somehow hold them one at a time when they want to fall out all at once. Somehow, he manages. It’ll only get worse if he can’t use his words right.

“Good. The first step to fixing the problem,” Handler Petrus says easily, amiably, “is acknowledging it exists. I thought we broke you of that nonsense, ‘499.”

“I’m… sorry, sir.” 

Petrus finally stands, dropping the pen on top of a stack of papers. The boy’s eyes drift over there, and there’s a word he almost remembers written across the top in thick black block letters, it starts with D, he remembers the letter D-

More pain. He winces, this time, whines at the stab of it right behind his eyes. He has to close them tightly against the tears that instinctively well. By the time he opens them again, Handler Petrus had closed the gap between them. When the handler’s rough thumb rubs across his lower lip, the boy goes perfectly still.

Statue boy - don’t blink don’t move don’t tap don’t breathe.

He waits.

Handler Petrus drops his hand, with a slight smile on his face. “You really do try to be good for me, don’t you, trainee?”

“Yes… yes, sir.” He feels sick with the handler so close to him, knowing what usually comes with the proximity. His clothes, the thin white t-shirt that’s too big and hangs on him like it belongs to someone else, the shirt black shorts… they feel suddenly too constricting. He wants them off, but not because he wants this. He just wants something more. He wants to be coated in clothing, covered in layers of it, until no one can touch him anymore.

“But you failed today. You waited until you were alone and you broke rules. Do you know what happens when you break the rules, trainee?”

He had a name once.

Didn’t he?

Did he ever have a name?

The boy’s breath hiccups with a sob he wants so badly to let out, and he nods shakily, lowering his eyes down to the floor, to those heavy black boots all the handlers wear. Steel-toed, snapping ribs with a kick at just the right angle. He’s seen it happen to a trainee who threw a punch. He’s seen worse, too.

Everyone sees worse and worse and worse and when they think it’s as bad as it gets, the handlers find something new, something that cuts deeper than they knew a cut could go and still be survived.

“That’s right. Discipline.” Petrus’s smile is thick in his voice. “Discipline in a humane and necessary method of ensuring continued good behavior in a pet, right, trainee?”

The boy only nods again, his heart rabbit-fast inside his chest. He doesn’t look up when Petrus’s hand brushes against his face again, his knuckles just touching the boy’s cheekbone, trailing down to his jaw. 

He feels the collar around his neck shift, the slightest warning before the shock follows a half-second later on its heels, and his head jerks up, tears bubbling too quickly for him to blink them back. “H-Handler-!”

The pain rips through him, races along nerve endings from toes to top of his head, catches air in his lungs and refuses to allow them to exhale it.

“Eyes on mine,” Handler Petrus reminds him softly, taking his thumb off the button to the remote that controls the shock collar of any trainee within his radius. The pain fades, the boy’s muscles trembling as he forces them to lock, meeting the handler’s eyes with difficulty. He hates looking them in the eyes. The handlers all look cold to him, he hates it, he hates it.

“Y-Yes, sir, yes, so… so sorry, I’m, I’m, I’m-I’m-”

“Sssshhhh. Silence-”

“-is better than, than stammering, sir,” The boy finishes quickly, shaking, and he is rewarded with a smile from Handler Petrus, and finally… finally… he can breathe out.

“Discipline is essential,” Petrus reminds him, voice low. “Get on the table.”

Every training room has one. A padded table - like an exam table in a doctor’s office, the boy thinks, before the pain wipes that memory away, too - with restraints that line the sides, the top and bottom. He knows this table too well, has spent whole days strapped down here. The boy shudders in disgust and his body’s memory of worse things, darker things, pulled from him against his will.

But, no, it’s not. 

He signed up for this. They tell him all the time. He wants this, to be strapped down, to be visited when he is trying to sleep, to have handlers tell him things and touch him and worse. They promise him he asked for it, specifically to be this. They tell him he was made for this, or he wouldn’t have signed the contract.

It’s not against his will.

Somehow, all this horror and agony and disgust and the way he never, ever feels clean… somehow, this is what he wants.

They tell him, anyway. They tell him he wants this.

“S-sir? What am, am I… learning today?” He is already moving, following the command obediently. The padding for the table is slightly warm when he climbs up onto it, looking over to Petrus for guidance on how he is meant to position himself. 

“Not to think you have an ounce of fucking privacy, and not to tap on the fucking walls ever again. Now, we’ve been kind.” Handler Petrus moves to him, gently pressing a palm into the center of his chest, until the boy shifts onto his back, swallowing against the nausea that threatens to bring up the chocolate shake he was given for breakfast. 

How can he have wanted to be this, when it always makes him feel so sick, and scared? How can this be what he signed up for, when he is always holding back a scream behind gritted teeth while it happens?

Handler Petrus hums as he takes the weighted cuffs off the boy’s wrists, letting them drop to the floor with a careless clatter. He takes a thin wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb along the veins on the inside of the boy’s wrist, and looks up at him.

The boy stares right back, right into his eyes. They look like empty cold marbles in the handler’s face, skin like putty twisted into a smirk. 

He hates looking them in the eyes.

Each wrist is shifted fully above his head, buckled into the straps there to hold them fast. Shoulders that have carried pounds of weight at his wrists for days now ache as they are forced into a whole new position, and the boy’s top teeth come down on his lower lip until he feels pain that overwhelms the pain in his arms, if only for a second.

Then the handler moves to his ankles, securing them to the sides of the table. This isn’t… this isn’t a position the boy knows. It’s not a number, but it’s also not a position good for… for…

“S-sir?” His voice trembles.

“Sssshhhh. Just be still.” Handler Petrus pats his stomach, and the boy realizes he’s still clothed. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved - his training usually involves no clothing at all - or even more terrified of the horrible unknown of what could be done that keeps his clothing on. “You broke the rules. Now you receive your discipline.”

He steps away, and the boy’s head twists, trying desperately to follow his movements across the room, but he can’t quite see him. He hears the sound of a drawer being pulled open, then pushed shut again. A click - something opening, maybe? The boy flinches with every noise, because he doesn’t know what they are, and not knowing is worse than whatever it could possibly be.

Or so he thinks.

Until Handler Petrus comes back into his vision with a small square alcohol wipe and a syringe filled with a pale yellow liquid.

The trainee has never received this one before, but he knows what it is. They all know, soon enough. There’s a whimpering sound he only belatedly realizes is his own voice, and yanks hard against the restraints.

Of course they don’t give. He’s exhausted from never sleeping, weak from wearing weights on his wrists, weak from the lack of real food, weak from the drugs. They cheat, he thinks with a sudden wild defiance, as Handler Petrus grips his left arm at the elbow and wipes quickly along the crease. They cheat to break the trainees down, because maybe they couldn’t win without it.

Win what? He signed up to be this, whatever they want him to be. He’s a natural slut, a whore, they told him so, they told him over and over and over again, natural-born slut, made for it, you like this, you want this, you want it you want it you want it-

He cries out as the needle breaks the skin, slides in, finds his vein. It’s an awful feeling, like the drip at the beginning that he can barely recall beyond the eternal press of the needle, the sight of the IV bag slowly emptying and being refilled where the boy hung helpless against the wall. 

The handler’s thumb presses lightly into the boy’s arm as he depresses the plunger on the syringe. “After this, I think you won’t break the rules again, even alone.” Handler Petrus smiles at him, but his eyes are still so, so cold. 

Just like the liquid that moves into his bloodstream. He gasps at the ice of it, and he can’t begin to thrash, only be held still, forced to take it, just like he is forced to take everything here. Because he wants to be forced.

They tell him he wants to be forced.

He can’t remember, but… but he must have, because how else did he get here?

All pets are of legal and consenting age and sign contracts of their own free will fully informed as to the consequences of their decisions-

The cold dissipates, mixes in with his blood, his heart pumping the new drug through his body all too quickly thanks to his rapid, panicked heartbeat. 

“Please, please, I’m, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry-sorry, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean, didn’t, I just, my body, my body has to, to to to-to-to move, Handler, s-sorry-”

“Your body does what we tell it to do,” Handler Petrus says, pulling the syringe back empty, giving the boy one more smile. “And nothing more. You will understand that now.”

He walks away, leaving the boy to breathe, in the awful anticipation of what he has never experienced before but knows is coming.

He listens to Petrus drop the used syringe in the biohazard disposal box along the wall. He has the symbol memorized, the bright orange lid with black writing he can’t read. He could turn and look and see that if he wanted. But the boy only stares at the ceiling, gasping in breaths.

It starts as heat.

His veins start to burn, like fire pulses through him and not blood. It’s not the warming heat of the purple drug, the one that leaves him panting and desperate, the one that makes them all laugh at him even as they offer to give you what you need. This heat is sharper, stronger. It moves straight from a sense of warming to pain, and the boy catches his breath.

The pain begins in his arm, where the needle went in, but it spreads with each beat of his traitor heart until every inch of him is burning.

At first he whines, and whimpers. He pleads. Apologies tumble from his mouth, catch on his tongue, as Handler Petrus walks back over to his desk and turns his chair around so he can watch. The boy manages to turn to look at him just long enough to realize he is drinking out of a travel mug with a cat on one side. The sharp pain that comes with trying to read is less than the agony in his bones and so he clearly sees the words NO TALK ME ANGY WITHOUT COFFEE written on the side, and lets out a gasping, breathless sound that might be hysterical laughter as he realizes that he’s reading it.

The laughter breaks into sobs as the pain doesn’t stop building. His back arches off the table, wrists and ankles yanking at the straps that restrain them, twisting until they are rubbed raw, until they bleed, until he cannot imagine hurting any worse than he hurts now and still the pain keeps building. 

He can’t hurt worse than this and then somehow he does.

At some point, the sobbing tears turn into screams.

Handler Petrus keeps watching, sipping his coffee from his mug, as the boy screams in helpless perfect agony. 

The sound of his pain bounces off the ceiling and the walls, contained within the heavily soundproofed room. Only Handler Petrus - and whoever might be checking the security cameras right now - gets to enjoy this show. 

The boy is aware of nothing, now - his vision has narrowed to a horrible pinpoint. Everything is white around the edges, the pure cold clear white of the tiny room he sleeps in. The only thing he feels is pain.

Pain, and pain, and pain - because he couldn’t be still, couldn’t be a statue, couldn’t be good when no one was watching just as much as he is when their hands are on him. He wishes their hands were on him now, anything would be better than this, anything-

He is begging, he thinks, but the begging isn’t words, just shrieking screams. 

At some point the screaming stops.

Oh, his throat is still tensed with it, mouth open in a perfect rictus O, his eyes wide and bulging and running endless tears that collect and pool in the shells of his ears before they drip to the waterproof padding on the table beneath him. His breath still exhales with a force that keeps all the muscles of his body tense and shaking.

But the screaming stops, because at some point he has no voice left to scream with.

When that happens, the Handler has finished his coffee and started back on his paperwork. He glances up, briefly, and gives the boy a pleased smile. Then he looks back at his desk.

How long it lasts, the boy will never know.

The pain fades in increments, so carefully and slowly he doesn’t realize it a first. Eventually, though… eventually he understands that it’s less than it was, and then less again. He goes limp against the table, staring up at the fluorescent lights of the ceiling again. He can feel the trickle of blood along his wrists, his ankles. He can feel the sharp glass-shard pain of his throat when he swallows, hear the whistling exhale of his breath.

Eventually, he can even feel the clothes laid over his skin again.

Handler Petrus’s hand in his hair is gentle and soothing, and the boy pushes into it desperately, trying to please him so it won’t happen again. So he won’t be hurt again. 

Handler Petrus chuckles, his voice low and deep, and traces his fingers over the boy’s face, down his neck, rubs a circle just behind one ear. The boy whimpers, but no sound comes out. 

“Will you break the rules in your room again?” Handler Petrus asks.

The boy tries to say no, sir, but no sound escapes from him except a hoarse whistle. His eyes widen in panic as he tries, again and again, and he can’t make a sound. 

“Perfect,” Handler Petrus murmurs, and undoes the straps at his wrists, moves down to free his ankles. He takes the boy’s hands and helps him up to sitting, smiling at his pale face, the pinch of pain when he swallows. “Silence is better than stammering, 223499. And you can’t stammer if you can’t speak, can you?”

The boy’s eyes are wide and, in the nearly colorless room, terribly green. He nods, slowly. His mouth automatically forms the words, yes, handler, although he can’t say them.

“Good. And you won’t break the rules now, will you?”

A shake of the boy’s strawberry-blond hair, soaked with sweat now, sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. No, sir.

“Good. Let’s get you back to your room. No more training today.”

The boy can barely stand as he is helped off the table, leaning heavily against his handler. Petrus’s hand around his back supports him, keeps him moving, and the boy is grateful for the gentleness.

The handler could have chosen to have him train, today. Instead he is taken back through the maze of hallways to the room he stays in, shaky and weak, and deposited on the cold floor. Shivering, the boy drops to his knees.

When the handler’s fingertips press against the underside of his chin, he raises red-rimmed eyes. He hates looking them in the eyes so, so much.

But he’ll do anything not to feel the pain again.

“We see everything you do,” Handler Petrus says, almost gently. “Everything. Do you understand me, trainee?”

The boy swallows, licks at dry lips, and nods. 

“If I catch you tapping again, I’ll give you the full dose next time.” 

That wasn’t the full dose? It can get worse than that?

The boy whimpers, hoarse and barely-there, and then winces at the pain that comes from making any sound at all. He shakes his head, I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you, I’ll be so good, mouthing the words he can no longer speak.

“Damn straight,” The handler replies. He presses his thumb against the boy’s lower lip, and he opens his mouth obediently to let the handler push it inside, press down against his tongue. His thumb tastes like salt and skin and the boy knows that taste as well as he knows the taste of the chocolate shakes. 

He is silent. 

Still.

“That’s it. That’s a good boy.” Handler Petrus pulls his hand back, ruffles the boy’s hair. “That’s my statue boy. Don’t break rules again.”

He leaves, the door sliding shut behind him, and the boy is alone in the white room.

The need builds and builds inside of him, but he doesn’t try to tap on the floor, on the wall, on himself. He curls into a ball on the floor, arms over his head to try and create enough darkness to sleep, and pushes down the need he has to tap, to rock, to do something with his body into a twisted little ball of fear and pain deep inside himself.

He is good. Just like they want him to be.

Just like he wanted.

They tell him he wanted this, to be fixed of his wrong words and his wrong hands. They tell him over and over again, and so it must be true.

In the white room, the boy weeps.

His tears are silent, and his body is still.

Just like they wanted.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp​, @finder-of-rings​, @endless-whump​, @whumpfigure​, @slaintetowhump​, @astrobly​, @newandfiguringitout​, @doveotions​, @pretty-face-breaker​, @boxboysandotherwhump​, @oops-its-whump​

#223499 #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #captivity #pet whump #shock collar #conditioning #ableism tw #internalized ableism tw #dehumanization #institutionalized brutality #noncon touch #noncon touch tw #referenced noncon #degrading language #vicim blaming #chris the strawberry blond romantic #luke petrus is a piece of garbage #training #punishment #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #intimate whumper #restrained #forced drugging #tw drugging #whump of a minor

[gohyuck]

↠ na jaemin; assassin in florence, italy, year 1469

the brotherhood: guide

pairing: assassin!na jaemin x renaissance artist!reader; based on assassin’s creed

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive (explicit allusions to sex)

word count: 2.8k

warnings: minor characters die, excessive overuse of the term “my love”

“i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.” - sarah williams

↳ personality: he’s flirtatious, almost too flirtatious, as he walks through the streets of florence, decked in the beautiful and extravagant cloths of italian nobility; you don’t mind it, though, not when he pulls you from your fruit stall in the central market and into a neighboring alleyway to trail open-mouthed kisses along the column of your neck, tugging your own, coarser neckline down to access the skin he wants to nip at. there’s a tiny hole at your waist where your skirt starts, one you haven’t mended yet, and he doesn’t fail to exploit it, placing his thumb against your skin to rub circles into it as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

there’s something arrogant, but bearable, about the way he carries himself. he’s boisterous, impossible to ignore when out with others. you’re dragged along to lavish parties, draped in dresses he gets specially made for you, even if it’s a life you’re unused to. still, with jaemin, you’re the center of every party. though people whisper about you - how you do not belong to any family, how you stay alone and all by yourself - their badly hidden passing glances bounce off of you when you’re with jaemin.

sometimes, he’s loud even when you’re alone with him, vocal in his pleasure as he forces you deeper, deeper into his mattress, which is a luxury you yourself cannot afford. you firmly believe that he’s the most beautiful in these moments - bare in front of you, larger than life and still so very human all at once. you run your fingers over his collarbones to ground you as your eyes roll back into your head, his own grunts and gentle, loving words muffled against your neck. 

other times when you’re alone with him, though, in the little space of your home that you use as a makeshift studio, he’s quiet. jaemin insists on sitting crosslegged in the corner, elbow on his knee and chin in his palm, as he watches you paint. sometimes it’s a sunset, dazzling against the open sky. sometimes it’s a bird you’d seen while peddling your foodstuff. often, it’s jaemin himself - his eyes, especially. there’s something playful but serious, sweet but cunning about them. he’s not one to hide his feelings, but his eyes tell stories nobody else will ever get from his mouth. you always make sure to listen. 

↳ origin: you’re forced to watch from the back of the crowd and through a flurry of tears, hand over your mouth and shoulders shaking, as jaemin’s brothers and father are hanged in the center of town, not a stone’s throw away from where your stall usually operates. jaemin himself is nowhere to be seen, but that doesn’t stop worry from pricking at the back of your mind - could they be torturing him extra? the florence nobility are ruthless, even amongst themselves, and you don’t even know what the na’s had done to deserve such a cruel end.

jaemin’s mother had died years ago. he is now all alone in this world. you may be the only soul he has left.

still, even as the bodies are cut down and thrown carelessly into an awaiting cart, you know that you can’t go looking for jaemin. he will come to you when he’s ready, if he’s ever ready. you pray that he’ll be ready.

you sit at home, and you wait. 

he drops in through your window that night, scaling your walls by moonlight. jaemin is stoic, silent, and that’s how you know that something, everything is wrong. the air around him is still, and for the first time since you’ve known and loved him, you feel almost suffocated. he has a hood drawn over his head, nowhere near as rich or flashy as the clothing you’re used to seeing him in, and you can just make out glinting metal against his clothes and skin.

you have no time to ask anything, no time to get out a word. he forces what looks like a document - you later find that it’s a letter to you - into your hands before pressing a quick, chaste kiss that holds more meaning than you want it to to your lips. you can’t even move and reach out to touch him before he’s gone, back out the window he’d come through.

in your disarray, something on the document catches your eye, drawing your eyes down towards it.

discard after reading is scrawled on top of the folded parchment.

↳ i have loved the stars too fondly...: you gather up the rainwater from the storm that night in the closest thing to a small tub you have. as you thoroughly soak the paper - tear-stained, already, as it is - running it under the water over and over again as the words into the paper and all of it dissolves into a mushy, inky mess that falls apart in your fingers, you can’t help but wonder why it’s your life that is like this, why it’s your jaemin that must face this. 

the words swim before your eyes, running through your mind even as you destroy them.

my father was hanged as he discovered a plot to... displace the medici family, he’d written. the very people he trusted with his knowledge were the ones that had the ropes tied to his neck. i must go - it is no longer safe here for me. more importantly, i must go so they do not come for you. i must go, and train for revenge. you deserve much more than a killer. 

the paper is practically destroyed by now, the water entirely murky and a grayish color. still, you continue kneading whatever you can grasp, if only to maintain the little composure you have left. 

i will not be back for a long, long time, my love. i should not even be telling you of this, but i have business to attend to far, far away from florence. it is not business you need to find yourself a part of. i will pray nightly that you do not find yourself a part of this aspect of my life. i know you will want to be with me, to care for me, but the best thing you can do for me is live without me. you let out a small whimper as you go over the letter, again and again and again, in your mind’s eye. whatever ‘aspect of his life’ he was talking about is consuming him, you know it because you know jaemin. it’s possible - too possible - that he is no longer a part of your life and that you are no longer a part of his. 

you are all that i have left. i cannot promise you much, but if i can promise you anything, it is that i will keep you safe. be well, my love, my adoration, my flower. apple of my eye. be well for the both of us. 

forever yours through distance and through time, 

jaemin, house of na 

you don’t quite want to part with the letter, knowing full well that it may be the last thing you ever get from the love of your life. still, you know you must kill the fact of its existence somehow. the next morning, you throw the leftover papery mush out with the rotting old fruits that remain at your stand after a full day of selling. you ignore the way your hands tremble, the way you wipe your hands hastily on your skirt to be done with the whole affair.

you use the inky water as paint, sheer and gray against your canvas. thicker paint goes on top of it as if to hide your bare soul, your truths, your sins, and though your days are far emptier than they had been, once, you find some respite in your art.

you paint jaemin with the words he’d written specially for you. it takes months, twisting itself into a project with a scale unprecedented to you. you paint a larger-than-life portrait of his face, his hand holding a bitten-into peach - it was meant to be an apple, though you’d miscolored the inside of it - against his thin lips. there’s boredom in his eyes, something you’d never truly seen in them in person. if you give his eyes the feelings you remember seeing reflected in them, you think that you’ll break for good.

the painting of jaemin becomes a symbol of your compartmentalization. 

in the mornings and throughout your days, you’re the same fruit vendor you’ve been for ages, trading whatever is in season for much-needed money or amenities. you give children free apples when they run up to you, chat easily with the woman who sells bread right next to you. all is well. 

in the evenings, you speak to the painting. it’s no substitute for the real man - jaemin, your jaemin, always responded to your woes by pulling you close and holding you closer - but at least the artwork can’t be made to leave you. you have no anger towards your love - not when you know why he had to go, not when you’d witnessed the gruesome deaths of his family members - but you do have a never-ending sadness. you tell it of your day, of how you grit your teeth subconsciously when you see the people who’d caused the real jaemin to leave. you speak of the things you would’ve painted in your life before what you’ve mentally dubbed The Departure - there was a young child who looked so angelic in the sunlight this morning, a droplet of water against an old man’s beard. your fingers twitch when you speak of creating art, but you make no move to actually do so. you have a feeling you’ve already created your magnum opus.

the nights are the hardest. no matter how hard you try, you cannot escape them - the dreams. flashes of jaemin’s bright smile, snippets of his teasing laughter, soundbytes of his voice against the side of your face as his lips brush against your earlobe, they all haunt you. the feeling of his fingers dragging across your jawline, running down your side, pushing into you as he stares into your eyes with all the love in the world pooled in his own. no matter what you do - covering the painting before going to sleep, switching positions, sleeping fully clothed - you cannot get them to stop.

you ignore the fact that you don’t really want them to.

↳ ...to be fearful of the night.: in the end, over a full year later, it’s your evenings that get you. 

there’s not much of an explanation to be gleaned from the men that barge into your living quarters, pull you up from your bed, and tie your wrists together. you’re too harried to make out what they’re saying, but you’re present enough to realize that the painting isn’t covered. 

jaemin had been a member of one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in florence once. most everyone knows his face. 

you don’t struggle - you can’t, really, but you refuse to even make an effort - because you find no reason. you feel fear, great fear, yes, but there’s nothing you can do about it. from the snippets of harsh conversation that float around you between the men who are twisting your arms, you realize that someone must have heard you speaking to the painting, referring to it as your lost love, not long ago. 

you’d never closed the makeshift shutters of your one window in the hope that, someday, jaemin would climb through them again. 

before you know it, you’re tossed into a prison cell, wrists raw from rope chafing but finally untied nonetheless. to your surprise, you’re confined alone. this realization almost makes you laugh.

you’re a vip - very important prisoner. 

you hope your death is worth it for whatever greater good is out there. 

↳ full circle: they decide to hang you at night, under the stars of the city that’s given you so much and taken so much from you. you’re glad - you don’t want an audience to witness your end. you wonder if you’ll join jaemin in the afterlife, or if he’ll join you. 

the bag is already over your head and the rope is being placed around your neck by coarse hands that crush purposefully against your windpipe when it happens. 

a soft thwack, followed by another, and then two low groans and drawn out gurgles. the pressure against your throat lets up, but you don’t hang. the box underneath your feet remains there. your hands are still tied behind your back, and the itchy bag remains pressing against the skin of your face, but you’re still alive.

why are you still alive?

before you can try to figure out what’s happening around you, someone’s soft breath appears against your neck, and nimble fingers work at pulling the noose off of you and undoing the ropes around your wrists. the bag is lifted last, and your heart jumps to your throat. 

although it’s what you’ve been waiting for for all this time, you’re still shaken at seeing jaemin in front of you in all his rugged glory. 

he sets his hands on your waist, pulling you off of the box and into his arms at once. although his white robes feel foreign against your skin as you burrow your face into his chest, he still smells the same. the way his hands trek over your back is the same, the way you feel in his arms is the same. you’re overcome, overwhelmed with emotion, and judging by the steel grip he has on you, jaemin feels the same. 

“how did you know?” you manage to ask, voice tight with nerves as you survey him and he surveys you. he doesn’t seem to expect you to be afraid; he’s unperturbed by your lack of hysteria. out of your periphery, you can see that the two men who were fated to kill you are now dead, crossbow arrows piercing through both of their throats. you assume the arrows had come from the gauntlet that adorns jaemin’s hand, though you don’t voice this out loud. he smiles down at you - a genuine smile, one that leaks into his eyes - and you realize that he’ll never tell you. 

he’s so different from the man you fell in love with, yet he is still so much of the same. 

“i’m here to stay, my love, at least to leave my roots here. the danger that forced me to leave no longer exists.” he finally speaks, deflecting your question as you knew he would. jaemin takes one of your hands in one of his, and your fingers trace over the rough callouses of his palms as if it’s second nature. you hear his breath hitch at this, and you realize how likely it is that, whatever he’s been doing, he hasn’t felt the touch of someone that truly loves him in a long, long time. 

“even if you leave, you’ll come back, right, my love?” you ask, startling yourself with how your voice wavers at the prospect. the moon illuminates jaemin’s face as he raises a hand to cup your cheek, tracing a thumb against your cheekbone. it comes back wet, and you realize that, sometime in between seeing him for the first time in so long and now, you’ve begun crying. he nods, belatedly answering your question. 

“you know,” he starts, and you realize that tears are pricking at the corners of his eyes, too. still, you’re more drawn to the way his lips quirk up. “i always liked to see you cry. for different reasons, of course.”

the tension in the air is not broken entirely, but with his in-character quip, jaemin eases both of you into being around each other again. you smack a hand against his sturdy chest indignantly, though you can’t help the grin that splits your face in half. 

“you’re utterly indecent,” you claim as you both finally step off of the base of the gallows. he pulls you into the shadows almost immediately, placing his arm around your shoulders and practically attaching you to his side as he does. his body language screams that he’s worried, but he still cracks a smile at your response. jaemin leans in, his lips brushing your ear. 

“take me back to your home and i’ll show you how utterly indecent i can be.” he whispers, and the smirk is audible in his words. as the moon begins illuminating your world and jaemin’s brilliant grin outshines it, you can’t help but think one thing.

maybe everything will be alright, after all. 

#jaemin #nct-writers #thekpopnetwork #kwritersworldnet #jaemin fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin smut #na jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin scenario #jaemin scenarios #nct #nct dream #nct dream scenario #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct smut #nct dream smut

[fandom-thingies]

My Complicated Feelings Toward JK Rowling

I think everyone who’s read Harry Potter and likes to talk has written something like this by now. It makes sense, right? She wrote possibly the most influential book series to come out in the last century. For me and many others, those books are an unforgettable part of our childhoods, and it hurts for the person who took us on such a journey of magic and wonder to be so unmagical herself.

So, here’s my take.

I think the thing I hate most about JK Rowling is how close she came to greatness.

There’s a reason her books became so popular, after all. For all her faults, (and there are many) she’s an amazing writer.

Every one of her characters feel like they could walk off of the page at any time and into your life. 

Dudley Dursley with his absorption of how his parents treat Harry and how his friends treat him, with his slow growth throughout the books into a person beyond who he was raised to be.

Molly Weasley with her overbearing mother henning, sometimes harmful but oh so clearly coming from a place of love, and her complete willingness to adopt any child that stands still long enough for her to do so. (Except Fleur)

Narcissa Malfoy with her belief in the horrible things she’s doing, without that stopping her from being entirely willing to do anything for her child.

Sirius Black with his tendency to unintentionally echo the sentiments he was raised with, and the tragedy of him losing his chance to ever truly grow as a person after being thrown in Azkaban for twelve years and then dying so soon after, and his complete, unconditional love for Harry.

I could write essays on any of them, and my point is that while JK’s treatment of certain issues and characters makes me want to hate Harry Potter, her characterization itself is both consistent and magnificently human.

Her world, too, is beautiful.

I first read Harry Potter before I turned eleven, and I was one of many across the nation who awaited my letter with eager anticipation. 

Can you blame me? The world she created filled so many children with wonder, made so many of us want so badly for magic to be real, to be ours- 

It was beautiful, and I hate her for what she could have been.

She had this fully realized system of prejudice that canonically created genocidal maniacs and put them in power every two generations or so, and she had this very realistic way of writing horribly flawed people that pronounces them as people without exonerating them for the awful things she’d have them do, and I can’t help feeling like “the horrors of war”, as well as she wrote it, wasn’t the story her world deserved.

But that’s a big idea to tackle, and I think it will be tackled best if I start small. I’ve spoken now of the beauty of her world, of her characters. Now I’ll speak of what marrs it.

Like I said, I want to start small.

So, let’s talk about the house elves.

TL;DR? Hermione was right. They’re indoctrinated from birth into believing the only thing they’re good for is housework, as well as being raised to abhor any elf who chooses to do otherwise. It’s a neat little self perpetuating system that bears absolutely no similarity in ideology to the mythology JK built it off of, and as such loses the aspect of choice that’s so significant to brownies.

Add to that the socially acceptable abuse, and you’ve got something that looks far more similar to slavery than it does little fairies who come to clean your home and get mad if pay them because they’re doing it as a favor.

And that’s why it’s so concerning, when JK brushes Hermione’s campaigning off in canon so casually.

It’s honestly hard to say when I started to be leery of JK Rowling, except that it was several years before the TERF scandal occurred. I think this was probably one of the earlier areas, though.

The first time I remember wondering if Harry Potter’s greatnesses were in spite of her intentions, rather than because of them, though, wasn’t the house elves.

It was, rather, a different contentious issue in the fandom, and one I’ve always fallen quite firmly to one side of, as someone who’s been bullied myself.

The first time I remember being suspicious of JK’s beliefs was when I realized she didn’t write Snape with the intent for him to be a villain.

Snape is not a person anyone in the fandom seems to be able to agree on. Some see him as a flat, cartoony villain, while some see him as a tortured soul who only did all those terrible things because he was hurting inside, don’t you see? 

Personally, I drew the line at him being a child’s boggart, as well as the time he attempted to kill Neville’s toad, Trevor, because seriously; what the fuck.

It had always been my belief that while him being obsessed with loving Lily motivated him to work on the side of good, it was more like Narcissa’s willingness to betray her cause for her son than anything else, being a sympathetic trait without absolving his cruelty.

Then I realized that a bunch of people (likely including JK) view Narcissa similarly to how they view Snape, seeing both as people who do bad but are good, rather than people who do good but are bad, and I honestly don’t know what to say to y’all.

You know having good traits doesn’t make a person good, right? Being capable of affection doesn’t absolve people of cruelty or make it your responsibility to forgive them and try to get them to change, it just tells them that they can do bad things without being punished for it. 

Do you guys need an abuse hotline? 

Anyway, that’s when I stopped liking JK, since I’ve been bullied myself and seeing her treat such a horrible bully as a good person kinda soured me on her. I’m not mad at her for letting her bullies grow and change- I love Draco’s and Dudley’s character arcs. I’m just mad at her because unlike those two, Snape is an adult and she kinda wrote it like forgiving him was an expectation of Harry, rather than a personal choice (and not an easy one either! Forgiving bullies is hard and it’s not always healthy!)

I’m getting off topic, but I genuinely believe that discussing this kind of thing is important, so I’m leaving that in.

Getting back to what this is actually about, I’m the kind of person who sees potential in things, often before I see the work itself, (it’s why I write fanfiction) and Harry Potter has so much potential it hurts, because so much of it is just wasted.

I said, earlier, that “the horrors of war” wasn’t the story best suited to this world, and I stand by that.

The first reason I believe that is because I don’t think that the black and white morality this kind of narrative often creates was well suited to JK’s writing style. JK has a tendency to put her characters in boxes of “good” or “bad” and as someone who doesn’t really believe in inherent goodness or evil, this will always feel unrealistic to me.

Because in the end, it’s JK’s minor villains, the ones not directly involved with Voldemort’s war, that really shine.

My favorite villains in the series were Umbridge, the Dursleys, Draco Malfoy, and Cornelius Fudge, because they were the villains who felt real, who felt like flawed people making flawed decisions because we’re all fundamentally products of our environment-

These are the villains who stuck with me, who I still want to take and shake because they were the kind of cruelty we’ve all faced.

Voldemort, as the main villain of the story, would have been more powerful if he’d been an amplified version of these people. In fact, the story would have been better in general if Fudge or Dumbledore had been the villain, because the problem with Voldemort is that unlike the good villains in this story, who feel real because we’ve all met people like them, Voldemort is and will always be larger than life.

A genocidal maniac is a villain few of us have faced societally, and one none of us have faced directly.

Also, rather than being a worse version of Umbridge or Fudge, Voldemort is more akin to a worse version of Snape. He’s a tortured soul who does bad things because bad things were done to him, rather than being cruel through his choices, his own agency.

That’s the first reason why “the horrors of war” wasn’t the best choice of a narrative for this world.

The second is that I don’t think JK sees anything wrong with her muggle hating characters.

She clearly thinks killing muggles is wrong, of course. She’s not that bad.

But, well, the muggle characters in Harry Potter are consistently kind of awful.

First there’s the Dursleys, selfish, entitled, egotistical, and cruel to anyone different from them. Then there’s Snape’s muggle father, who was horribly abusive, as well as cruel to anything different from him.

Then there’s the muggle prime minister, who despite being an important figure, is left completely out of the loop for anything concerning wizards, pretty much only used when the ministry needs the muggle news to say or do a certain thing, like when Sirius Black was declared a criminal.

There’s also the family at the quidditch world cup, of whom who only meet the patriarch, a somewhat stupid man who remarks uncomprehendingly on the oddness of wizards trying to assimilate into muggle society, a man who is canonically obliviated ten times a day.

And that’s it, that’s all the muggle characters I can remember. Aside from the Dursleys, none of them are given more than a page or so of screentime, and none of them do anything significant.

No, wait, I did actually forget two.

Hermione’s parents, who are obliviated and sent to Australia when the war starts, because the only thing they could ever do in a war is be victims.

Muggles in Harry Potter are consistently stupid, ineffectual, and cruel to anyone different from them.

Out of the entire massive cast of Harry Potter, there are few enough muggles that I can list them all off the top of my head without googling and the only muggle in the story ever given the all important chance to be kind is Dudley Dursley, who is taken out of the story the moment he stops being an awful person.

I’m sure you see the problem.

The issue with Harry Potter is that JK acts like the problem is solved when muggles are no longer being actively persecuted, when in reality that’s only the beginning of solving the prejudice that plagues her world.

Voldemort is frequently called “wizard Hitler” and I think that’s more accurate than people realize, because as with Hitler, people easily see the problem with Voldemort committing genocide, and they’re fine with working to stop that, but the moment they’re asked to examine their own biases, their own small cruelties and exclusions, the ten thousand cuts they’ve inflicted with their own hands…

The moment people are asked to examine themselves, to look close at the mirror and point to what allowed someone like Voldemort to gain a following in the first place, they turn away and go back to turning a blind eye to the fact that if you don’t address the societal issues that made him gain a following in the first place, there’ll just be another when it’s been a few years and people have forgotten.

In the end, Grindlewald is wizard Hitler. Voldemort and the death eaters are wizard neo nazis.

I’m not Jewish, though, so I’ll let them be the ones to expand further upon this, as many have.

My point here is that JK’s story would have been more powerful if it had been about addressing the issues that underpin the death eaters, rather than killing their leader and acting as if that’ll solve anything.

JK Rowling is antisemetic, racist, and a TERF, among other things, and while I’m glad it shows in her work as little as it does, it does show, and I’m not going to cover that in this because a thousand other people have covered it better than I ever could.

Suffice to say, I’m nonbinary, and I’m glad I was disillusioned with her before I knew she was prejudiced directly against me, because loving her before she said the things she said and did the things she did would have hurt.

The fact that her world shows so clearly the consequences of her beliefs, even in the context of a prejudice that doesn’t exist in our own world…

I guess she’s always been too good a writer for her own good, in the end.

#harry potter #jk rowling #harry potter meta #harry potter criticism #tl;dr i hate harry potter because it came SO CLOSE to greatness and then JK just SQUANDERED it and i'll die angry