#I find it hard to relate to people younger than me.

[imagination-mess]

Reality Show: Pro Heroes Wives (Aizawa Shota Edition)

Reference to Rika from Bakugou and Pro Hero from Kirishima and Midoriya

*mentions you have 3 children (Eri/Shinsou/your own with Aizawa)*

________________________________

There is a reality show where pro heroes' wives are on television and paid to be there. It is filled with juicy gossip and pure drama. There are few wives in this second season who were kept out of the spotlight which adds mystery and theories to be created about who they were married to. 

The same winners who were in the group that couldn’t be identified are back this season as a surprise challenge.  Unlike last season, it wasn’t told in the very  beginning of this reason already revealed which Pro Heroes Wives will be featured

There are only a few left remaining without being matched, which were mostly underground heroes who people don’t typically pay attention to. Half of the cast already knew each other because their spouses have interacted on more than one occasion and are disqualified from participating in the weekend challenge of the show for those spouses. The others who do not know have to identify them, but the others did not spill any things that would clue who their spouse was. 

This weekend's challenge was the ones who didn’t get their rating from the public are put to guess their opponent chosen by the directors of who their spouses are, people are having a hard time guessing at home as well. These wives have pictures of other pro heroes which confuses the public about who their spouses were. It was a friendly picture to professional pictures that had been taken. 

The two members, Rika, and Pro Hero [Blank] who were also voted off from the show by their peers had made their decision. They make this decision based on their friends and notes taken throughout the show. 

 It was you, they had to guess who your spouse is. The two ladies stood on the platform while you were sitting on the red couch seat with a wine glass in your hands. There was a screen behind you with a black box with an enormous question mark. You were confident they wouldn't be able to guess correctly. You have been on the hot seat a few times. You also know they wouldn't be able to because they have very little information about underground heroes, which you have been told by your husbands’ former students' wives. 

“We chose Pro Hero Mindjack,” Rika speaks into the microphone while the screen reveals the pro hero at the latest picture of the Hero Gala beside them. 

There was an immediate reaction from you which was coughing on your wine with eyes widened. Your facial expression shows how shocked you were. and the crowd who were within the circle of the pro hero were screaming “HOW” to cough on their drinks.

“Based on the comment you mentioned this week was that your husband's quirk involves a specific muscle in the body.” Pro Hero [Blank] adding an explanation. 

“What do you say to that? Miss [Former Last Name]?” The host asks for your input. 

“Mindjack is a very handsome man, but he is way too young for me. Here is a clue,  I am a mother of 3. I am confident my oldest son is having some sort of reaction to this but don’t expect a reaction on social media. You are not going to find it. Additionally, my oldest son is around his age.” 

Meanwhile, on social media, people were going crazy about the fact you looked younger than your age to be a mother of three. No one could find the children that related to you, because you never did post them on your social media including your spouse. It was a very professional account which disappointed some fans of the show. They aren’t able to figure out who your spouse is.

Proherofan34 tweeted: All I am hearing is that [Name] is milf. 

Uravityfan89 tweets: I need her skincare routine! *attaches its mighty need. * 

There are videos of you including from seasons 1 and 2 clips of you with the audio sound of Mommy, sorry to step on me. Other videos of being a collaboration of your top moments of being unbothered along with your greatest comebacks from season 1. You humbled certain younger women. There were old videos of you throwing a man twice your size out of a nightclub along with videos of being a momma bear to those who needed help at the nightclub circling the internet. 

There were multiple pictures of you and younger Shinsou with a few others such as Bakugou, and Kaminari at different metal musician group concerts that circled around the interest taken from the Pro Hero Chargebolt account.

The clue you had given to the cast and to the public had narrowed the options to two options the Pro Heroes who have 3 children had mentioned in interviews and such. 

Pro Hero Eraserhead, Pro Hero Hawks, and Pro Hero Gang Orca. 

Meanwhile, Eri is holding out her hand out at Hitoshi who was pulling out his wallet for the money. He has lost the bet. Eri is glued to the show and watching too intensely to the point that she is rambling about her theories with her brother and father. 

Shota is just staring at them silently in disbelief with the toddler sleeping on his lap. 

‘I am not gonna even ask.’

Pro Hero Deku Edition

Pro Hero Dynamight Edition

Pro Hero Shoto Edition

Pro Hero Red Riot Edition

Pro Hero Hellfire (Touya) Edition

Pro Hero Mindjack Edition

Reality Show: Unmasked Pro Heroes

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x reader #shota aizawa x reader #shota x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x y/n #shouta x you #shouta x reader #aizawa x female reader #shouta x fem!reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader

[yamujiburo]

I'm so thankful for you sharing the importance of protecting minors from sexual content. My parents and I didn't have much knowledge back then and I was exposed to this kind of stuff too early. I developed bad habits. I somehow deceived my family into trusting me way too much and, when I saw I had lost control and I asked for help, I saw my family was also hurt and they spent a lot on therapy and my anxiety medication. I have forgiven them for not knowing back them. But I still haven't forgiven myself for getting them through all that stuff. It's important to understand how much we need to protect minors from sexual content. Family members and artists, please pay attention to the content young audience is exposed to.

Of course! I can relate a lot to this. My parents were really good at monitoring what I was doing online for a while but they started trusting me more and I unfortunately started seeing a lot of stuff I shouldn't have but would keep it secret. Gonna talk about my experience a lil bit under the cut just bc I've been reflecting on it a lot recently (tw for grooming)

I gained a following of around 25K on deviantart by the time I was around 15/16. It was in the worst fandom too (mlp). I'd have a lot of much older men talking to me, drawing/writing nsfw of my characters who were underaged (they'd draw nsfw of myself and my sonas as well). It was so normalized for me and I didn't see anything wrong with it at the time.

I'd shipped Spike and Rarity at the time (very much do not anymore) and adult men would use that ship as a basis for trying to talk to me or get in a relationship. "We're just like Sparity! You're young but you're very mature for your age, so it's fine." I remember one guy trying REALLY hard to try and get me to move in with him. I was pretty creeped out then, but like holy shit that's SUPER creepy and I'm fortunate that he didn't keep trying after I gave him a hard "no".

It bled into my real life a bit when I met a 22 y/o man who asked me out when I was just 16 just turning 17. Luckily the relationship was NOT long lasting (I think he realized that I'm a very boring person LMAO) but I think about how I thought that that was a perfectly normal. I'd date go on to date people who were probably too old for me.

Also around when I was 16/17, people started shipping me with another artist in the fandom who was several years older than I was (side note: nothing wrong with an age gap! but it's very not okay when there's "waiting" for someone to be of legal age involved). I did end up dating said artist after I turned 18 and it was fine, I wasn't hurt or anything but I did find weird that we were shipped when I was still a teenager looking back (there was also nsfw drawn of us together before/when we were dating)

I just had such a warped sense of reality for a long because of this shit. I'm glad there's more conversations about this stuff and it's more known that adults should have little to no personal interaction with kids on the internet and vice versa. There's way too many stories of kids getting taken advantage of in fandom spaces. I think I got off fairly lucky all things considered. But bottom line YES kids need to be protected online and their exposure to sexual content/adult spaces should be limited or monitored. It's also really tough though because not all kids have adults in their real life that they can trust or go to to ask questions about sex so they seek solace in adults online and it's just a constant cycle.

I'm honestly unsure of what to do about that and I don't have all the answers but I ultimately just don't want kids online to end up in similar positions I was in when I was younger. I just do my best

#tw grooming #long post

[cripplecharacters]

hello! so, i currently have an oc in the works. i dont have much for his character yet, and hes kind of a blank slate at the moment, however, whilst trying to develop him i had the idea to give him a disability; its something i dont do with my characters very often, and i feel like it could give some depth and realism to his character. however, i..... dont know where to really start with it? i have the vague idea that i think id like him to have crutches, so some sort of leg disability, but just going off that its been hard for me to find any condition that feels quite right. im unsure about making him an amputee either; seemingly the "go to" for anyone who wants to make a physically disabled character. i want to try and represent a disability thats less fetishized by the general public, and looking through this blog here its definitely apparent that a lot of people are tired of seeing basic half amputee characters with overly functional prosthetics; i wanna avoid that. sorry this has gotten a bit rambly, but basically what im asking is,, do you have advice for what i could use as just. a general starting point in this? im terribly uneducated and lost at the moment and id love some help. thank you :]

Hi!

It's great that you're interested in writing a disabled character (with care)! I'm always happy to see more writers/artists/creatives do that.

You mentioned wanting to give him crutches, which is cool! Mobility aid users in media make me happy. However, you mentioned crutches as meaning a leg disability, which isn't always the case — and while I don't have statistics on it, I believe that most crutch users do not use them for leg-only problems, and a lot of them have the not-so-fetishized conditions. Here are some suggestions of what you could give your character, which hopefully gives you some ideas. If you need, you can get back to us with a more specific question after you figure out what exactly your character has! :-) (smile)

Cerebral palsy — probably the most common reason for using crutches in non-elderly people, and the most common (physical) disability in younger people in general. If your character has diplegic (meaning lower limbs affected) CP, he could use crutches and if he has hemiplegic (one arm and one leg affected) CP, then he could use a single crutch or a cane. Cerebral palsy is generally extremely underrepresented when compared to how many people have it IRL! Just be aware that there is a lot of research involved just about the condition itself — multiple types (spastic/ataxic/dyskinetic), different kinds of body involvement, tons of different mobility aids and orthotics to learn about. There is also hereditary spastic paraplegia, which is not the same as CP but similar and progressive.

Spinal cord injury — the general assumption is that all people with spinal cord injuries are fully paralyzed below the neck or waist, and that's not the case. If your character has an incomplete SCI on any level or just a very low level injury, he could be using crutches or switch between a wheelchair and crutches. It's essential to research SCIs to have them be more than “legs don't work, but that's literally it”. SCI can come with severe nerve pain, spasticity, atrophy, and a lot of other things. Worth noting that spinal cord injury could be traumatic, but could also be congenital (spina bifida) or illness related (polio, transverse myelitis, spinal stroke, or cancer, for example). You could think that it's overrepresented in media, but SCI is generally just used as a “default condition” for why a character is in a wheelchair, and a lot of these representations are unfortunately very shallow.

Paralysis — in the monoplegic sense here. Much more rare than the rest of the things here, but your character could have a single paralyzed leg, largely due to nerve damage. Could be traumatic or illness-related (e.g., cancer, infection, or multiple sclerosis).

Stroke (and other traumatic/acquired brain injuries) — stroke can cause a million different symptoms and depending on what happens to your character exactly, he might need crutches! A big portion of stroke survivors deal with hemiplegia and could use a crutch on their non-affected side, for example. Some kinds of stroke might cause your character to have troubles with balance and require a mobility aid to not fall. Of course stroke will also cause other symptoms for your character (it wouldn't be too realistic to only have him have problems with his legs) for example speech issues, headaches, or seizures. Stroke can happen to anyone, and it wouldn't be weird to have a younger character with it. Very common in real life but very rarely represented in fiction.

Limb difference — you can definitely write a character with a limb difference or an amputation without fetishizing it! The main concern with the fetishization is the concept of the robotic limb that works just as well as or even better than a meat leg, and thus the character is “fixed”. But your character could just… not use a prosthetic. A lot of congenital amputees, people with limb differences, or with high level (above knee) amputations might do that. He could also have a leg length difference, which could cause him to need crutches (for example, Morteza Mehrzad has one of his legs significantly shorter after a pelvic injury, and he uses crutches among other mobility aids).

Chronic pain — very broad category for too many specific conditions to count. Neuropathy in the legs and/or lower back could be a reason for using crutches, for example. Unhealed, or poorly healed past injuries. Arthritis in knees or hips. Hypermobility that makes him unsteady or dislocate joints. Pain in bones or muscles where he can't fully weight-bear.

Gait disorders — another broad category (sorry). Your character could have problems with his gait and need aids for that. It could be caused by dyspraxia (I have it), ataxia, progressive muscular dystrophy (there is a lot of different types), Parkinson's disease, or a lot of other things! Could also be injury related.

And of course you could have multiple characters that are disabled to make sure that there is some variety :)

I hope that the above list gave you some ideas for your character :-) (smile) if you have more questions, feel free to send another ask

mod Sasza

#anonymous #mod sasza #mobility aids #crutches #disabled character ideas #writing advice #writing disabled characters

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

Wild Horses

Part 3

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Doctor!Reader, other characters x reader

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 4

A/N: Part 3 is finally here y’all! Sorry it took such a while to finally upload, I have been extremely burnt out and needed some time to recharge after completing my semester. Therefore I have made this chapter extra long! Also sorry if it in any way feels rushed, I tried to get this posted as soon as possible since it has long been due. Let me know if you would like some more dynamics between the reader and the other characters. As always, comments and reblogs are much appreciated, I love hearing y'alls thoughts and things that you enjoyed! (Also this chapter contains a surprise guest!) 💜💜💜

Summary: Imagine being the new physician assigned to the team and a certain masked individual takes a new keen concealed interest in you. The two of you are too awkward to function.

Warnings and notes: language, violence, blood and gore, fluff, angst, slow-burn, slight implication of past abuse.

(Quick Disclaimer: I am not a doctor nor have any professional knowledge or experience involving surgical procedures. I am just a student studying in the medical field who has just started taking courses that are more degree-related. So I apologize if some of the stuff may be inaccurate.)

🍂That night, the same night Ghost saw you on that roof, your face illuminated by the stars and the moon that seemed to pale in comparison to you, he had returned to his own quarters as stealthily as he had came. His presence had always gone unnoticed both to you and the others at this time of night, a time of night when even the nightingales had laid down to rest, exhausted from their song. When he settled himself in bed that night, his torso covered by his blanket and his arm propped up on the pillow to rest under his head, he could not sleep, staring at the ceiling just as he did the night before. His body begged for a moment’s rest, anything to let his consciousness slip away in order to escape the reality of this world in which only sleep could provide. But in spite of the efforts of his nervous system, his mind contested for a few more minutes of wakefulness, moments that would only turn into hours.

🍂There was always this unspoken battle within Simon Riley, a battle of peace and conflict, a constant struggle between giving in to the comforts of life and leaving everything behind, or preoccupying himself with his current line of work that seemed to be the only thing that kept his thoughts at bay. But starting a new life? That was something that was not cut out for him. His past was and will always be his present and his future. Society had no place for people like Simon Riley, and he it. I’m telling you, this man needs therapy, bad. And one hell of a vacation.

Never in a day of his miserable life did he know you would be thrown into the mix. You, a woman of better upbringing, a woman so delicate and blinded with hope, a woman who shared the warmth of her spirit with all whom she knew. And yet, here she was, wasting her time away in a place with the likes of them, where war consumed every living soul that ever crossed its path. God were you naïve, and completely fucking daft, he had thought to himself many times, a doctor like you leaving the hospital in the city for a place like this. Jesus. Either you were a complete fool or the military offered you a shit ton of money. Or perhaps it was your youth. After all, you were younger than the rest of them. He believed a woman of your degree should not be here amongst men like them. You were soft, tried too hard to see the good in people, and one day, one day, that might be your downfall.

Sometimes he’d find himself hoping you would transfer somewhere else. And the more he thought on the subject, the more he came to despise you being here, part of the reason why he avoided you in the first place. And yet, as the days went by, the man had developed a bit of a soft spot for you as they might say. But don’t tell him that or else he might just loose another one of his knives. Truth of the matter was, he had seen what war had done, even to the best of people. And with no disrespect, a young woman like you would get eaten up alive in a place like this.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he did not want to see you wound up in this chaos. So what would he do? He'd often times monitor your activity, and by that I mean he would on some occasions check up on you, in his own avoidant way of course, whether it be making sure you woke up by standing around the corner to see you trudge along to the coffee maker in your white coat, or catching you finish your shift when you left your office in the evening. By this time, you'd be surprised to know that he has grown familiar with part of your schedule, from when you leave your room and make yourself a cup of coffee in the morning before heading into your office, to what time you have your little lunch, down to the hour of the evening when you leave your office after your shift has ended. He calls it "running a constructive operation", but you and I both know what it is. Despite his cold, masked exterior, he's not completely heartless and does want to make sure you're safe, as with the rest of his teammates.

At the same time, your safety also depends on your environment, and there is only so much a few men can do. Perhaps it would be best if you were somehow convinced to go back to the states and leave, lest this place will end up devouring every last bit of vibrancy that radiated in you. And if that meant being callous towards you and making your time here a living hell, as if you did not belong, so be it. I know it sounds like he absolutely loathes you but I promise it only seems that way.

The man obviously has trouble sleeping, which was nothing new to him, a good nights rest was something of a rarity in his case. But now it was you he found inhabiting the walls of his mind, and frankly, he found it to be quite a nuisance. And as if to make matters worse, tonight it was your voice that haunted his thoughts, that siren-like voice that rung out softly underneath the pale moonlight as if he were a sailor awaiting to plummet to his death down into the abyss of the deep indigo waters below.

He needed sleep, desperately, and if he did not get it soon he might just go insane. That’s to say he isn’t already. And despite finding you to be the cause of the whole ordeal behind it, behind him not being able to shut his eyes and fall into a short-lived coma, you were still the only doctor here and just how was he supposed to go about that. Usually people go to doctors if they have trouble sleeping, but how the fuck was he supposed to go to you. He couldn’t just walk in your office and ask if you had anything strong enough to knock him out. Sure there was always alcohol but that meant dealing with a hangover and you most likely sending him a pamphlet about the dangers of alcoholism without even knowing like some kind of psychic. On the other hand, knowing how you were, if he were to mention his symptoms you would just ask him a bunch of questions. And then what was he supposed to say? That he couldn’t sleep because you tormented and occupied his thoughts??? Never. He decides it’s better to just deal with it.

And boy oh boy your singing did not help. You reminded him of the nightingales that used to nest in the tree outside his bedroom window in his childhood home. You and your guitar, singing your song out into the night for someone out there, whomever and wherever they were. The song and your voice an empty promise, a false hope for the things that never were and never might come. And yet, despite his slight demurral towards you, in the days to come, he came to find comfort in your voice, his feet finding their way to the rooftop to see if you would be there.

On the nights that you were there, he would sit against the wall away from your line of sight, hidden in the shadows and listening to your voice, the only thing that kept him sane and dare say, even bring him an ounce of peace. He would say it was to make sure you don’t pull anything stupid or draw unnecessary attention towards yourself. But truth was, though he could not see it within himself, maybe he was watching over you, making sure no harm came your way. Little would he know, that your voice and the serenity of your aura would soon come to remind him of home, of the days where it was just him and his mother and the nightingales perched on the tree outside his bedroom window, the sound of your voice lulling him to a much needed sleep that his body craved.

Now back to the current.

That next morning you had woken up from the sun shining down on your face, its rays hot against your cheeks as you squinted against the bright light, pulling your blanket over your head with a groan before bolting upright, eyes widened with alarm. Oh shit, what time was it? You look at the watch on your wrist, eyes widening even more to see that it was NOON????? It's fucking noon?

"Fucking shit." You let out a string of curses between your teeth, grabbing your things off the floor only to get up with a gasped groan from the sharp needle-like sensations that shot up your spine, your back hunched over like a shrimp with kyphosis. You wince, hissing as you attempt to straighten yourself out, letting out a couple ows from the cracking sound that came out from between your vertebrae. Boy were you an idiot. Never sleep on cement, now your hips and back feel like they were broken in by the Hulk and you're willing to bet there would be bruises.

You could have sworn you looked like one of those grandmas depicted in the cartoons, wincing almost each time you took a step. A frown pulled on your lips as you headed towards the door that led back to the building, opening it up and nearly whining at the sight of the stairs spanning out below you. "Fuck my life."

You make sure to take your time going down, not wanting to tumble down the steps and risk a broken limb or concussion only to have one of the men patch you up and risk getting an infection. It's not that you don't trust their handiwork......but you don’t. And the thought of having your prefrontal cortex accidentally removed shakes you to your core. Don't tell them that though, you'd probably hurt their feelings.

"Y/n." You hear someone calling your name in the distance, turning your head to see Price heading in your direction.

God damn it, out of all the people to see you in this state. Don't tell anyone but Price is your workplace crush. I mean if we're being honest the whole team is fine as hell. But you loved his snarky sense of humor, his kind eyes and smile, and the way his eyes seemed to disappear into these curved crescent-shaped lines whenever he smiled or laughed. And now as he stood in front of you, his bulky frame towering over yours. You're praying there aren’t any spots of snot on your face from the way you bawled your eyes out last night.

"Oh fuck me." You inaudibly curse under your breath, knowing damn well that to hope he doesn't notice how you literally look a sleep-deprived Quasimodo would be damn near impossible.

"Where've you been? I was beginning to get worried." Price asks, looking over your hunched state that oddly paired with your puffy eyes and face. "Jesus Mary Joseph. Are you alright?"

"Yup, it's just allergies." You nod your head with a strained smile. "Perfectly peachy."

"Do you need any help?"

"Nope! I'm fine." You hurry past him. "I'm going to take a shower so whoever is in there right now tell them to hurry up."

Price watches you go with furrowed brows, wondering whatever the hell happened to you before shaking his head with a shrug and heading towards the showers to make sure it was empty for you. During your time there, the team had sorted out to give you a designated time slot for when you preferred to bathe, wanting to ensure that you received your privacy because of there only being shared showers, something which was common with being in the military. They had even given your own designated shower head. But even then, you always went in and came out fully dressed with both your towels and your clothes, terrified with the idea of the men seeing you in nothing but a towel once you stepped out. Luckily for you, no one was in there when you had arrived. When you hurried in there with your fresh pair of clothes and towels bundled in your arms, that had to be the quickest shower you had ever taken, other than the times you almost slept through your alarms and missed your exams back in med school.

So by the time you step out of your room with your white coat, empty coffee mug in hand and your hair barely brushed through looking like Dr. Emmet Brown, you don't even bother to put on any makeup or concealer to hide the fact that you had been crying last night, you already had a late start to the day as it was.

Going over to the kitchen, you groggily place your mug on the counter, staring at the pasty tiles for a good minute to gather your thoughts and remember just what it was your were doing in the first place before turning on the coffee maker only to see that it isn't working. "You have got to be kidding me." Honest to god if I don't have coffee in the morning I will commit a felony.

"There's no use meddling with that." Price comes up beside you, watching the way you moved the small machine around and smacked the sides with your palms. "I'm afraid it's broken."

"Broken?" You turn to the older gentleman, trying your best to mask your annoyance at yet another misfortune to add to your list of shit that happened today so you don't get written up for having an attitude or whatever it is they do here for uncompliant personnel. "What do you mean it's broken?" What you mean to say is, how the hell are you going to get through the day without your daily dose of caffeine? You were not in the mood for a caffeine withdrawal, not now.

"You'll have to blame MacTavish for that." Damn this man just threw him under the bus no hesitation.

"Soap? How?”

"Bloke put the coffee grounds where the water is supposed to go."

"He put the.......what?" You squint with a scrunch of your nose, trying to picture the young Scotsman mixing up the steps for the coffee grounds and water before pinching the bridge of your nose with a shake of your head. It's too damn early for this. Bitch it's literally the afternoon.

“You look like shite.” Price teases you of your completely disheveled appearance. Honestly he thinks you look pretty cute in a I just had 15 shots of espresso and forgone a whole week’s worth of sleep kind of way. Price is the type of man to see you at your worst looking like a corpse from the grave and dig it, with some concern for your overall health and well-being of course.

“Gee thanks.”

“You sure you’re all right?”

“Happier than a kid at Disneyland.” You roll your eyes before slipping out a small groan, burying your head in your arms upon the counter and muttering something along the lines of how you’re going to euthanize yourself.

“Oi. There’ll be none of that, you hear?”

“Wait and see.” You mumble to yourself but Price hears it anyway.

“Cheer up. I got you something.” You hear Price say to you before hearing something being placed on the counter.

"Is it benzoylmethylecgonine?" You mumble out.

"What?"

"Benzoylmethylecgonine." Your voice is louder this time but still muffled from your arms.

"The fuck is that?"

".................cocaine."

"Jesus Mary Joseph." Price rolls his eyes. “You’re a character, you. Why don’t you give it a look eh?”

You slightly lift your head from your arms, peering over to see a cup next to you.

"For ya." Price smiles as he pushes the cup towards you, watching you stare at the thing with skepticism.

"Well. Go on."

"Is that-?"

"Coffee.”

"Yeah I know that but-“ you lift yourself up to stare at the thing with a tilt of your head. “where the hell did you get it?”

"From a small coffee shop down a couple blocks."

Right. "What kind is it?”

"Iced caramel macchiato. Heard you mentioning it the other day."

"Oh. You did?” You blink. "You didn't have to do all that."

"Eh it's nothin, my treat. The men and I needed our caffeine too, and well, since Soap broke the machine, we needed to get it one way or another.” All but Simon of course. Dude hates coffee.

“What, did you tell him he's buying?"

“No.” Price leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares off into the distance in thought. “Now that I think about it I should’ve, aye?”

"Poor Soap." You shake your head with a chuckle, grabbing the cup to take a sip. “Oh......oh that hit the spot.”

Okay remember when the boys were competing with giving you little gifts and I said that Price showed his appreciation for you in other ways? This is what I mean. He makes sure you’re taken care of and that your little needs and requests are met. Though rare as composed to Soap's little visits, he likes to stop in your office at times, peeking his head through your cracked door and asking if there is anything you need. This man’s love language is acts of service, I’m sure of it.

“Proper innit.” Price chuckles at your blissed expression.

“Hm. Chef’s kiss.” You take another sip of your coffee as you lean back against the counter, savoring in the cold, smokey, buttery liquid as it went down your throat.

“The hell is on your feet.” Price nods towards your shoes.

“They’re my crocs.” You give a hurt look, the ends of your lips pulled into a frown.

“They’re downright hideous.”

“They’re comfortable!!!” You defend. “I even put little buttons on it.” You lift one of your feet up to show him.

“Doesn’t make it any less hideous.”

"You should try looking in a mirror first before you come talking to me about what's hideous and what's not." You snark, a teasing tone in your voice that catches the older man off guard.

Price is stunned, mouth slightly agape as he is surprised to see such a statement come from a person as demure as you, and dare say even aroused, at being affronted by someone smaller than him. "You cheeky girl." Price shifts his weight, pressing his tongue against his molars before tightening his jaw. "You've got a sharp tongue on you."

"Don't insult my crocs." You lift your chin with a raised brow, a smug expression on your face as you lift your coffee cup to your lips.

As Price and you talked, Ghost had appeared in the far corner, his eyes lowered to the ground and not a single thought behind them before hearing the sound of Price's voice. Stopping in his tracks, he peers around the corner, not wanting to look conspicuous but also curious to see who it was the captain was speaking to, looking over to see the two of you together engaged in a conversation looking a bit too comfy.

The soldier froze, tensing at the sound of you laughing and Price……flirting? Was the man flirting with you? Ghost watched the way Price leaned in ever so slightly in your direction, a slight yet noticeable shift in his demeanor as he told you a joke, the way your cheeks swelled as you snorted, your smile hidden behind the cup held in your hands in an attempt to hold back a laugh, and the way he reached a hand out to adjust the collar of your white coat. He is not jealous he is not jealous he his not jealous. Once again, HE IS NOT JEALOUS. Looking away from the scene, he turned back around and headed back to where he came. He had no reason to feel threatened by the situation, it’s not like he felt anything towards you or if you meant anything to him. And yet, why did it irk him to see you laughing with Price like that.

That was the first he had heard you laugh, though as light and brief as it was. He could tell it wasn’t your true full-hearted laugh, the ones that left you gasping for air as tears welled up at the corner of your eyes. He had seen those laughs many times at the pub from the groups of friends that gathered together after a long day of work or when they had just left from a futbol match, times when he craved a glass of whisky. The laugh you had let out right now wasn’t one of those full chested laughs, this one was different, more timid, like fresh rain in the middle of spring, where fog blanketed and seeped through the meadows and trees, where dewdrops patterned themselves like mosaics upon the blades of grass and the petals of roses. This laugh was light and airy, crisp to his ears, and it had sent a slight shiver down the stone-hearted soldier that he had never once felt before.

He convinces himself that what he saw between the two of you was none of his concern and that who you fancy is none of his business, and yet why did he find your little interaction with Price to bother him? Better yet, why does he find himself wishing he had made you laugh instead?

It should also be mentioned that Ghost did not fulfill the task he had promised himself when he said he would throw away the Dum Dum lollipops you had given him last night, thinking your little form of bribery to be quite inane. What did you take him for, a child? Regardless of the many times he stared at those two pieces of candy with your little note next to them, your graceful and sophisticated handwriting a strange polarity to the bright and colorful wrapped candy often meant for children, curiosity had gotten the best of him, as well as midnight cravings.

And alas, with numerous stealing glances toward the lollipops and his mouth watering for just a quick sample, the man had given in. And let’s just say, he’s addicted. I mean, I was not lying when I said this man has the sweet tooth of Augustus Gloop. Also, he may or may not have snuck into your office the next morning to steal a lollipop or two, or three, before rushing out the door. So you should probably hide the those things before you walk in on an empty tray one day.

"Also, I wanted to let you know that Alejandro, Ghost, and Soap and I will be heading out on a mission later today. Gaz will be staying behind just to make sure nothing happens here while we're away." Price informs you.

"What time will you be back?"

"Not till late. If everything runs smoothly, there's no need to wait up for us."

“Geez. Will it be dangerous?” Your brows furrow at the center. You knew what their job entailed, but that didn’t stop you from worrying.

“Well that’s part of our job now innit.” Price smirks.

"Just………make sure to come back in one piece alright. I'm not trying to perform any amputations today." You scrunch your nose in a teasing manner, though your words mean more than what your voice gives away.

"Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours. We'll be back like before aye.” Price gives you a comforting smile, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb and forefinger against the bottom of your chin before dropping it back down at his side. Though the action was small and brief, an informal unveiling of the captain’s fondness towards you, that didn’t stop your face from heating up faster than a hot pocket in the microwave. You were sure one would burn their hands if they grazed your cheek.

The others had soon cluttered into the area where you were, chatting amongst themselves before turning towards you and price, the sudden group of movement causing you to clear your throat and step just the slightest inch away.

"Hey doc." The men greeted you, their faces brightening upon seeing you before glancing down at your bright crocs.

"The fuck are those?"

"Oh my god. Don't tell me you guys have never seen crocs before." You exhale, your voice coming out in a scoff.

"Why are they called crocs?" Soap questions, brows furrowed with confusion. You and me both Soap, I don't have a clue either.

"Looks like something my abuela would wear." Alejandro comments, a mischievous glint in his eyes at teasing you.

“Que te folle un pez (get fucked by a fish).”

Alejandra is stunned from the words that just came out from your lips, cocking his head back and tilting it as he looked at you with surprised amusement. He never knew you spoke Spanish. Maybe it came with being a doctor and being around people all the time. On top of that, was this the first time he had heard you curse? Was that a stroke of confidence he heard from your mouth? Was he offended? Was he turned on? He couldn’t tell.

But as Alejandro still stood there, silent against your remark, the others begin to wonder just what it was that you said that had him like this.

“Uh what’d she say?” Soap leans over to whisper to Alejandro, his eyes darting between the two of you as did the other men.

“Ahora, ¿dónde aprendiste una cosa así, eh? (Now where did you learn such a thing, huh?)” Alejandro nods his head towards you, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Conoces gente de todo tipo cuando eres médico. Y además, el idioma era parte de mi plan de estudios de todos modos. (You meet all kinds of people when you're a doctor. And besides, language was part of my curriculum anyway.)” You shrug your shoulders, taking a sip of your coffee as your eyes meet Alejandro’s dark ones over the lid of your cup.

Alejandro chuckles, pointing at you with a smirk. “Bueno, será mejor que tengas cuidado cariño. Palabras como esa pueden meterte en problemas. (Well, you'd better be careful, sweetheart. Words like that can get you in trouble.)”

“No te preocupes por mí. Soy una niña grande Me licencié y todo. (Do not worry about me. I'm a big girl. I’ve got a degree and all.)”

“What are they saying?” Soap asks again, this time to Gaz.

“How would I know?” Gaz hisses, obviously annoyed with not knowing what the two of you were conversing about. Were the two of you planning a date? Were you plotting a scheme? Were you making fun of the rest of the team? The boys definitely didn't like being left out from a conversation, especially from you.

“I didn’t know you can speak Spanish.” Soap turns to you.

“Well it seems here that our little doctora is full of surprises.” Alejandro comments, making you roll your eyes with a shake of your head.

“Right.” Gaz squints at you in a jest, adding on to the men poking fun at you. “Now really doc, what the fuck is on your feet?”

"Oh screw y'all, they're comfy for my feet alright." You roll your eyes at the way they tease you about your choice of footwear, though in all honesty, you're not able to hide the smile that tugs at the ends of your lips, that is until a certain someone appears.

Ghost is the last one to show up, hoping to have avoided your presence. But when he sees you still there leaning against the counter, his eyes lock with yours before looking away as if you had never even existed in the first place.

You're almost sure he hates you, chewing on the inside of your cheek from the way he looked you over like a speck of dirt on his boot before completely ignoring your being. You have no clue why he is the way he is around you, wondering if he had seen the note you left on his door. He has to have seen it right? He’s got to. And then it hits you, at least you think. Maybe your little detail of adding the lollipops had offended him, and you’re almost terrified to think what he thought of them. On top of that, he still had never bothered to show up for his blood results. So he truly was avoiding you on purpose, wasn’t he. You wish you knew the reason behind his avoidant behavior. Did he find you disgusting? Was that a possible reason? Had you somehow at some point offended him? Were you going to end up on his hit list? Maybe. Were you going to die some mysterious death by his hands tonight? Sounds likely.

“Alright you lot. Let’s get moving.” Price gestures the men to follow him before turning back to you. “We won’t be long. Gaz, you know the rules.”

“Yessir.” Gaz nods his head before stepping over to you, looking down at you drinking your coffee with a soft smile on his face. “I’m sure this day will go by smoothly.”

“Oof. Don’t jinx it.”

You wish he had not said those last words.

You had spent most of the day relaxing as Price had suggested when the men left, their gear strapped to their forms and their guns locked and loaded. A strange scene I might add, if one were to walk into the area of the building and see a group of bulky hardened soldiers and then you, a young woman in a white coat and scrubs and her special decorated crocs along with her vintage Donald Duck watch. You almost looked out of place with the war-ridden atmosphere.

When you had stepped into your office the first time that day, you were surprised to see a slight change in your usual environment, the lack of an apple at your desk. This absence, though small and what one might call insignificant, had saddened you to a certain degree. Though at first you found the little act to be annoying, of finding the red fruit there every morning placed upon your desk, as time went by, you had grown accustomed to it a bit. So when you noticed the absence of the apple after expecting to see it just like the days before, it had lowered your spirits. Though you did not know the meaning or intention behind the gesture or the person directly involved behind it, it had come to bring you a sense of security, a slight token of someone’s watchful eye over you. Or at least that’s what you believed it to be. Little did you it was just a simple act involving the confusion of idioms.

But imagine your confusion when in place of the lack of an apple, you instead find your tray of lollipops looking a little less full than it was yesterday. Had someone broken into your office or were you just loosing your mind. And as you inspect the little tray, you're even more surprised to find a distinct black, powdery substance smeared against the side of it, right on the edge. Using your thumb, you wipe it off the side of the tray, raising your hand to further inspect the foreign substance to see that it looks a lot like eyeshadow.

"Huh. That's strange."

Ooooooo someone just got caught.

With the men gone, all except Gaz of course, you went about reading more chapters of your book, lounging about on the couch in the common area before your nerves got the better of you and you decided to do some cleaning around the area, to which Gaz had offered some help, with much eagerness in his end. Gaz of course had kept watch, letting you lead the conversations as the two of you made small talk every once in a while before going back to your little tasks, you with your paperwork and inventory of medical supplies and Gaz with his patrol.

During the moments where the two of you did talk, you began to unravel little details about each other, details mostly involving Gaz since you still preferred to keep your walls up. You called it being professional, but those who were close to you would call it a fear to let others in. Perhaps they were right. After your father’s death, you had rarely let anyone in, sometimes not even your own self. And Gaz, being the sweet soul that he was, never pressured you to reveal anything you did not want to. He wouldn’t ask about your personal life or your past unless you offered to.

The more the two of you talked, the more you learned little things about the soldier that you never knew, like his love of the ocean and how he had wanted to become a marine biologist when he was a little boy, as well as how his favorite sea creatures were, and still are, sea otters and sea turtles. He had even mentioned how his favorite movie was Nemo growing up, with Crush being his favorite character. In fact, the movie was what inspired him to study in that field in the first place. He was extremely almost embarrassed to release that bit of info to you, scared that you might pass it on to the team and that he’d never hear the end of it. When that little bit of information slipped from his tongue, he practically begged you not to tell the others. So imagine his relief when you stick your pinky out in an offer to make a pinky promise on it. You honestly find it kind of cute.

As time dragged on and when the day had become night, when the sun had long passed the horizon to lay to rest, you had grown quite weary waiting for the men to return, and oh was there a sight waiting for them to behold once they did. Your little act of cleaning around the house had drained a good amount of your energy, eventually causing you to crash out on the couch with your head resting against Gaz’s shoulder. Your legs were curled up on the cushion of the sofa, your book placed open on your lap after Gaz had asked if you could read to him, curious about the story within the binding. But the late hour combined with the cleaning around had pulled a yawn from your chest as you read the pages out loud, your voice low and muzzy and your words drawling out as your eyes scanned the printed letters before another yawn escaped your lips, and another, then another, before everything became blurry and you slowly drifted off to a deep sleep.

Even Gaz, who was supposed to stay watch, had fallen asleep beside you, his head thrown back on the back of the couch and his mouth slightly parted as soft little snores escaped it. He was never one to fall asleep on duty, known for his control over his mental fortitude. But the poor soldier had soon followed suit, infected by by your fatigue as he too yawned after each time you did. In that time, he smiled down softly as he watched you grow tired next to him, resting your head unconsciously on his shoulder and chuckling at the sight of the thin line of drool that slipped from the corner of your mouth.

He almost felt relieved, and comforted to see this side of you, after having seen you do nothing but shove your nose into paperwork and files on top of staying on guard to take care of them and make sure no serious injury happens on your watch. And as he watched you, making sure to stay as still as possible as to not wake you, your soft breathing and the warmth radiating off your body had finally pulled him in, until eventually, his state of alertness fell limp, his head rolling back as he too drifted off shortly after you.

You don’t know long you had been asleep, nor did you know you had your face smushed up against Gaz’s shoulder, your lips parted slightly and your drool pooling into a wet spot on the fabric of his jacket. If you did, you don’t think you’d be able to look him in the eye from how embarrassed you’d be. Not only did you most likely cause his arm to cramp up and fall asleep under your weight, but you had also marked his shoulder with your saliva. And if the others were to see this, they would have a kick out of it, with Soap taking multiple pictures at unflattering angles and teasing the two of you for the days to follow. And in a short matter of time, they would have seen it, stumbling upon the scene if they had not burst through the front door like a team of SWAT.

The sound of the door slamming open and their shouts had startled you awake, their voices echoing through the front of the building and making you sit up in your seat.

“What the-“ you mutter out groggily, squinting against the dryness of your eyes and not even paying mind to how you had completely crashed out. Where they back?

“Sounds like trouble.” Gaz had also woken up next to you, quickly getting up from the sofa and rushing towards the commotion as you followed closely behind.

You almost froze at the scene, watching the men come into the area with their faces worn out and beaded with sweat and spots of blood. You knew what they were getting into, what their job required of them, yet seeing them return from the mission first hand had in some way unsettled you. Sure, you had worked in the ER during your residency. You had seen conditions far worse than this, patients suffering from injuries ranging of a varying degree as they were wheeled around, gruesome wounds that still at times scarred your memories till this day. And yet, why did this seem to daunt you far worse than anything you had seen in the emergency department. It's almost as if you forgot these men were killers, and you didn't quite know how to feel about that.

Alejandro had been the first to step into the area, carrying an injured Soap under his arm and helping the Scot walk next to him as he muttered some words of encouragement in Spanish.

“What-what happened?”

“Nada serio querida. No te preocupes. (Nothing serious love. Don't worry.)” Alejandro answers simply, groaning under Soap's weight and from his own injuries.

“Nada serio querida.” Soap copies what Alejandro had said with a limp in each of his steps, his face pale from the loss of blood from his wound as he gives you a smile to assure you that everything was in fact fine, though we all know this isn’t the case.

“Well it sure as damn well looks serious to me Alejandro.” You remark as you hurry over to help the man set Soap down carefully on a chair, your voice slipping the hint of your father’s accent, a small habit that revealed itself whenever you got upset over something. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to tread carefully around me, I'm not made of glass you know."

Alejandro fell quiet as he watched you try to examine Soap, taken aback by this more....authoritative side of you, not that he had any reason to be surprised, you were a physician after all and this sort of conduct was necessary especially since people's lives were in your hands. He had not intended to alarm or offend you, the reason why he said those words in the first place, but the situation itself had managed to speak much louder than his words could ever manage. And in this moment, maybe it's best to let you be in charge.

Your eyes scattered about the area as the others soon came through, focusing on each and every one of them to try to gauge both their mental and physical state. Ghost was the next to enter right after Price, his blackened eyes from behind his mask meeting your concerned ones for a brief and fleeting moment before looking away. The skull-masked soldier was supporting another man, another masked soldier you had not seen before, one whose stature towered over everyone around him, even Simon Riley himself, whom you have thought to be tall enough already. Y'all already know who it is.

“Sir-“ you spoke up to the troubled-looking captain as he walked up to you, your eyes studying the wounded and bloodied scene behind him. You don't know what the hell happened back there, but you didn't need to hear the details to know it wasn't good. “Is everything alright? The hell happened?”

“Y/n.” Price finally stood in front of you, his hand placed on your shoulder as means of reassurance, or even a way to steady his exhausted body as he turned back to his men, running his fingers through his beard before looking you in the eye. “We were ambushed. Suffered a few injuries but we got the most of em.”

“You sure? Y’all look like you took quite the beating.” You state lightheartedly but more so from a place of worry and sympathy. “Listen Captain, if you don't mind, I need to take a look at these men."

“Right. Right.” Price nods his head, breathless from the mission. His countenance was masked behind an aura of composure as he looked over his injured soldiers, but one look at his eyes told you otherwise. He was tense, nonetheless, and you could clearly see the restlessness behind them from the way he held responsibility over the lives of his men, believing himself to be accountable if any harm should come to them.

“Do you have any wounds I need to take a look at sir? Any trauma to the head? Any lacerations or punctures?"

“No. No, I’m fine.”

"It'll be alright." You give the man a comforting smile, placing a hand on his arm to provide the only means of consolation you can give him in a moment like this.

“Thank you.” Price returns your smile, placing his hand over yours and giving it a soft squeeze. Though he felt contrite for throwing such a burden on your shoulders, he knew that you were the only person qualified enough around here given the circumstances, and he could not be more grateful for your presence. "Just....let me know if you need any help."

"Of course."

The men were badly beaten from what you observed as you examined them. A few fresh bruises marked their bodies, nothing terribly serious, but Soap, Alejandro, and the new guy were the only ones who had sustained more serious injuries. MacTavish had taken a bullet to the thigh, but luckily for him, the bullet had missed his femoral artery as well as any major nerves in the area. The poor Scotsman had felt bad for disturbing you at such a late hour such as this. But you had reassured him time and time again that this was part of your job, and that you had read over the part of the contract that said you would mostly be on-call when you signed your name at the bottom.

Soap doesn't know why he was so on edge as you operated on him. He’s nervous, extremely nervous. And what does Soap do when he’s nervous? He talks, like a lot, like a lot a lot and I don’t mean that lightly. I mean this man just talks your ear off while you’re wiping away any excess blood on his thigh and practically knuckles deep into his bullet wound. This man had been shot before so why should this be any different. Was it the local anesthetic you had injected into him? Or was it because you were a practicing physician and therefore would be able to pinpoint the finer details and eventually break some kind of devastating news to him like "I hate to break this to you Soap but I'm afraid I'm going to need to perform an amputation." Also I genuinely believe this man is afraid of needles. Don't ask me how I know. I just know.

"Y/n." Soap speaks up, gulping from the question that is about to spill from his lips as he watches you disinfect his wound.

"Hm?" You hum, focused on cleaning the area where the bullet had lodged itself.

"Am I gonna loose my leg?"

"What?" You stop, raising your head to give him a weird look. "Where'd you get that idea?"

"Don' know. Ye look pretty serious..........................ya sure I'm not gonna loose my leg?" He asks again, the panic in his voice more evident this time as an image is generated in his mind of him having a wooden pegleg like some kind of pirate.

"No. No you're not going to loose your leg Soap. You're just fine.” You go back to mending his bullet wound. “If anything, you're just going to get a few stitches. I am going to have to leave the bullet in place though, so don’t fret.”

"Yer leavin the bullet in there?" Soap's face pales after hearing your statement, eyes wide as he stares at you like you’re some kind of lunatic.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can feel you staring at me like I’m crazy. The reason I’m leaving the bullet in your leg is because it’s not in a fatal area that needs removal, and it's going to do more damage than good if I take it out. And besides, your body will build a sort of......wall of scar tissue around it so you'll be fine.” You try to explain to him in a way he can understand.

“I will?”

"I promise. Now once I’m done here I'm going to prescribe you some antibiotics and pain relievers as well as an ointment to help with the healing process and keeping away infections. Just make sure to get some rest and go easy on that leg of yours and you'll be up and running in no time."

"Oh.....okay."

Poor Soap is still nervous, despite your words of consolation. So in order to ease the tension he decides to crack a few jokes, a trait that has become familiar with his teammates, much to their annoyance, whenever he's out on the field. Whether it's for his own welfare or yours, we may never know. Perhaps it’s for both, but let's just say it’s more so for his own sanity. And the way he jumps from one joke to another only makes you question how the previous medics ever sat through it.

"Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon?"

"No."

"Great food. No atmosphere."

"Jesus."

"..............Hey y/n."

"Yes Soap?" You’re pretty sure this is the 45th joke he’s told you so far and now you’re just concerned for his mental well-being. But you also want to know where the hell he got all of these jokes in the first place.

"Why do seagulls fly over the ocean?"

Oh god. "Why?" You ask, bracing yourself for whatever was about to come next.

"Because if they flew over the bay, we'd call them bagels."

Jesus fucking christ. At this point you're positive your eyes are going to pop out from your sockets from how hard you are trying to stop yourself from rolling them. "Soap-"

"Yeah?"

"Please hold still."

Alejandro on the other hand was especially quiet while you tended to his wound, a gash on the proximal part of his arm on the lateral end, just below the acromial region, left from the bullet that grazed it. If he did speak, it would be small little words of motivation, sprinkled with terms of endearment in Spanish as he told you how good of a job you were doing, which you thought to be a risky thing to do considering you were sticking a needle in his flesh to sew his wound shut. He'd even tell you short little stories about his life before here, some of which may have elicited a soft chuckle from your frowning lips, a stern look that always unconsciously formed on your face whenever you were focused on something. He finds your little look of concentration quite cute honestly, the way you'd sometimes pout and squint your eyes. But most of all, he admired how calm and collected you were at such a task, as if you were doing something as simple as stitching the seams of fabric together.

He tried his best to soothe you, seeing the strained look on your face and imagining the stress you must be under, knowing when it would be best to offer you silence so that you may focus on the work at hand. And when you were done suturing his wound and wrapping fresh gauze around his arm, he pulls you in to give you a warm hug, which catches you off guard since you’re still wearing nitrile surgical gloves spotted with his blood and practically reek of alcohol-based solutions and the bleach-like scent of antiseptics. Regardless of how you look and smell like chemicals, the man only pulls you in tighter, wrapping his uninjured arm around the top of your back with his hand squeezing the back of your shoulder as he thanks you in his native tongue.

The two of you stand there for a moment in this sort of half-embrace, Alejandro with just a single arm around you and you with your hands held out behind him with your face pressed up against his chest. Next thing you know he presses a kiss to the side of your head, which takes you even more by surprise. This man really does not care how you look or smell. You could be covered in saline solution and antibiotic ointment and he’d still think you were the most stunning woman to walk the earth.

Also, speaking of smell, Alejandro smells really good, despite the hint of gunpowder from the mission he just returned from. But to say you are obsessed with his cologne is an understatement. This man smells AMAZING. His scent is woodsy, and spicy, like tequila mixed in with cardamom and bergamot, with sharp hints of clove and peppers balancing over velvety floral notes. He smells like something out one of those cheesy racy romance novels where the romantic interest climbs up your balcony during a hot summer night to hand you a single rose before whisking you away under the stars for a night of passionate-cough cough-you know what I mean. It's almost sinful, erotic, luring you in to perform acts that would make Satan and the Pope seek counsel with each other. This sudden emotion causes this stir in the pit of your stomach, lighting your whole body in flames and you almost feel ashamed for wanting him to stay a while longer just so you can get another and longer whiff of him.

“You know chica, it’s been a long time since I’ve had a really good machaca." Alejandro pulls away from the embrace, looking down at you with a slight smirk.

“Why don’t you go get one?”

“Only if you agree to come along.”

You’re stunned, caught off guard, and you better come quick with a witty response or else you’re just going to look like a fool standing there blinking at him. "Are you asking me out on a date Vargas?" Wow. I haven’t heard that one before.

"Mm, maybe. There'll be good food."

Speak no more. I am bringing the church and a marriage license. “You know, now that you've mentioned it, I suppose I have been craving some spicy food for a while."

The new guy, who’s name you found to be König, was surprisingly polite, despite his intimidating size and aura. He was a bit reserved around you at first, the blues of his eyes from behind the loose fabric of his mask studying your features to try to get a sense of your character as a person. He had heard quite a lot about you from the others, mostly the way you were gentle and kind in nature. Yet he had trouble understanding how a person could be capable of providing peace, as the others explained it, but one word from your lips and a benevolent smile in his direction was enough to convince him.

Telling from his body language, you made sure to inform him about every measure you were going to perform for the procedure, wanting to ensure he was as relaxed as possible with what you were doing, something you took seriously with every one of the patients you ever had. And the more you spoke, asking him simple questions like beginning with his name and asking where he was from and what his hometown was like and how he was currently feeling, he eventually warmed up to you, partly because he thought you were really pretty, but also because you made him feel comfortable in a place he usually did not find comfort in. I mean this man is still a killing machine despite his social anxiety. Not to mention, this was the first time he had met you. So the fact that you look out for his own wellness first really puts him at ease.

The tall Austrian had suffered a gunshot wound to his abdomen, an area that would usually require more serious care. But thanks to his bulletproof vest, the bullet was prevented from puncturing any organs or cavities or any major blood vessels or nerves, passing through his layers of skin and reaching the adipose tissue and barely imbedding into the muscle of his abdomen. You of course were able to extract the piece of metal, injecting some anesthetic for the pain and disinfecting the area beforehand before using a pair of forceps to carefully pull the bullet out.

Though the man was slightly anxious around you, he didn’t want to pry to much on your behalf and end up offending you in any manner, especially with how quiet you were, minus the little questions you’d ask him of course. Instead, he is fascinated by your steady hands and your precision, wondering how hands as small and delicate as yours were capable of performing such complex labor as he asks questions about every step that you take into the procedure and every tool that you have laid out on your table. By the end, he is completely starstruck by just how much you know. He even may have slipped a little compliment on how wise and pretty your eyes were. You’ve never heard anyone compliment your eyes as being wise, but you like it, not being able to hold back the small smile that pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Thank you for your help……..liebling.”

“It’s no problem.” You smile. You had heard that German term once before, a word once exchanged between an elderly couple that were once under your care. And the fact of knowing the meaning behind it warms your heart.

“Du hast sehr schöne kluge augen. (You have very beautiful, intelligent eyes)." The soldier mutters under his breath, nearly catching himself at the end of the sentence and praying you had not heard nor understood what he said.

“Sorry?”

“Oh um…….." König gulps, thinking of how to respond and deciding whether he should just lie or tell the truth to behind the meaning of his words. "It means you have really pretty wise eyes.”

“Oh……..why thank you. That's really sweet."

After handing König a bag containing his antibiotics, pain killers, and a tube of ointment, you also hand him a couple Dum-Dum lollipops to go with it. The Austrian doesn’t know how to react at first. Did you just give him a candy? Was this a common practice of doctors in your country? When he finally realizes this was just your way of showing kindness, he is more than delighted and thanks you for them in German, grasping both of your hands as he does so. Don’t ask me why or how but I just feel like he likes to hold both of your hands whenever he thanks you for something. Also the more eager he is, the more he shakes your hands in his.

This man’s crush on you has just went to the next level. König likes to collect whatever catches his attention, something he had done since he was a child from time mostly spent by himself. And it’s almost as if he has an eye for these things, picking out whatever has unique colors or patterns. So when you find some wildflowers or interesting looking leaves or a variety of colorful bird feathers or butterfly wings that had fallen to the dirt on your desk one day, just know he picked them out for you whenever he goes on a mission.

Believe it or not, the Austrian also has a secret talent of wood carving and is actually very skilled at it. During the days where his anxiety seems to overwhelm and suffocate him, he likes to sit outside in the grass surrounded by nature, covered in wood shavings with a knife in hand as he makes little wooden figurines of animals that he sees, whether it be birds, deer, foxes, bunnies, squirrels or skunks. It’s the only thing that he can fixate on that brings him total serenity and nirvana, sitting amongst the grass with his back up against the trunk of a tree, where there isn’t a single soul in sight except for himself and the ones that belong in the woods, where the only things that can judge him are the tall ancient trees and the creatures that walk it. But I won’t get further into this till later. Just know that he’s working on one especially for you.

Now, moving on.

By the time you were finished patching the three men up, you cleaned up the area and your tools, taking off your bloody gloves and throwing them into the biohazard container until you see Ghost stumble by in the corner of your eye. Little did you know he had been watching you from afar, not in a creepy way but in a ‘just want to make sure my teammates are alright’ kind of way. Not that he doubts your expertise of course. The lieutenant had not expected the mission to go sideways as it did, even though it was somewhat accomplished in the end. And seeing his team get wounded had unlocked this new fear in him that, to some degree, had always been there.

So when he stood there in the corner, leaning against the wall and hidden in the shadows like typical old Ghost, he found a sense of relief in watching how quickly and proficiently you moved about and just how composed you were, especially under the pace and pressure. Maybe it’s how quiet you are when you get really focused on something, maybe it’s how calm you are throughout it, or maybe it’s the amount of caution and supervision you take towards making sure the others are treated with the utmost care. Truth be told, you are like a remedy to Ghost, to the Simon Riley underneath, to the troubles and trauma that mold the broken man beneath the mask. If only the big dummy were to realize this instead of treating you like as if you were the plague itself.

When you lift your head towards the sound of slight shuffling in the corner, you catch him moving out of the shadows and sneaking away from the area. Usually you wouldn’t think anything of it, thinking he was just overseeing your work like a supervisor. But as you watch him walk off, you notice that something is off about him, something not quite right, and this intuition only builds this deep and heavy bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

“Ghost?”

Ghost stops abruptly at the sound of your voice, his head ever so slightly tilted to the side as he was not expecting you to have seen him, much less even say something.

“Is everything alright?”

Goddamn you and your manners. The masked soldier moves away with the slightest huff, not wanting to answer your question but you call out once more.

“You’re not hurt are you?”

“Negative.” He begins to walk off, not even looking in your direction to acknowledge you.

“Lieutenant, could I please see you for a minute?”

“Another time.”

“I insist.” Your voice is more firm this time and it catches him by surprise.

He had not heard this tone from you before, and yet, he can sense the shakiness behind it, the uncertainty. The more there is silence on his end, the more you are sure that you have reached the expiration date of your life, terrified that you had officially provoked the stone-cold soldier and that he is about to march over here and stab you in the neck with your own scalpel any second now. And as he stands there, debating on whether he should just leave, he hears your voice once again, a faint ‘please’. Heaving out a heavy sigh, the man shuts his eyes for a brief moment before turning back around and heading in your direction.

You’re not sure if you should freeze up like the fresh-caught fish on a bed of ice at the supermarket or run in the opposite direction as this man walks towards you, his mask not helping in making him look any less more pissed off than usual. When he finally stands in front of you, his bulky form towering over yours, you can only do the first thing that comes to mind, freeze up. At first the masked soldier glares down at you, the irises of his eyes only darkened by the grooves of his mask as he waits for you to speak, wishing you were the first to say something, anything, but instead you’re staring at him like a deer caught in front of headlights. Don’t worry babes, I would too.

“Well? Whadya want?”

“I just want to check to make sure you’re not injured-“

“I feel fine.” Ghost narrows his eyes at you, slowly becoming irked by your constant need to monitor his well-being and wishing you would just take his word and leave. But he knows better than to argue with someone that was literally tasked by the government to manage the sanity and wellness of task force 141. Was your etiquette a part of the job requirements as well?

“You don’t look fine.” You snark.

“Yeh?” Ghost sneers. “And who the hell are you to say that?”

“I’m a doctor.” You blink. “Or if you wanna be more specific, I'm technically your doctor. It’s my job. And telling from the dampness of the blood on your mask there that still has not dried since the moment you stepped trough the doors and god knows how long since before,” you point to the area near the bottom of the left side of his neck, more so near his shoulder. “I’m guessing it’s yours and not someone else’s.”

“The fuck are you on about? Listen here princess, there’s no-“ Ghost pulls his hand up to his neck only to feel the exact same dampness you had just mentioned. Fuck. He had been so caught up with everything around him that he had not even been aware that he had been injured. When he finally pressed his fingers to the area there, tensing from the pain, that was when he was finally able to register through that thick and stubborn skull of his that he had in fact been injured this whole time. This man probably takes the phrase ‘mind over matter’ quite literally.

“Now can I please take a look at you?” You quirk a brow up at him, waiting for a response and knowing better than to expect a quick answer. But if there’s one thing you know, if you just slightly annoy and pester him enough, he might just eventually cave in, that is if he doesn't add you to his hit list. “Look, if you wait any longer you might pass out and go into hemorrhagic shock. And depending on the class, you can suffer from organ damage and even death. So unless you want that to happen-“

Well when you put it like that- “Fine. Get on with it.” Ghost growls as he sits himself down on the chair. Bloody fucking hell you talk way more than he had ever expected from you. But you sure can keep your ground, he'll give you that. He’s just glad that none of the others are here to see him being bossed around by someone almost half his size and about a foot shorter than him.

"Thank you for cooperating." You give a short and quick smile. You may or may not have exaggerated about the last part to get him to comply. Well…….that is.........depending on the exact location of injury and the amount of blood loss of course.

Thank you for cooperating. Ghost scoffs at your statement.

“You know……I wish you wouldn’t avoid me like I were a crackhead outside your local 7-eleven.”

A what? Ghost gives you a weird look, wondering if he had heard you correctly as you go over to the sink, rolling the white sleeves of your lab coat up and turning on the faucet. The shit that comes out of your mouth, he swears makes him question your license. Then again, he’s not sure how to respond to what you had just said. It's no lie that he has indeed been going out of his way to avoid you at all costs. But the idea of you even noticing his absence had never even crossed his mind, much so that you would come to be offended by it. Noticing your lack of pressing further on the matter, he shifts in his seat, watching you wash your hands in a methodical series of steps until he notices a small marking on your inner right wrist, a small and delicate tattoo of a heartagram. It can't be.......can it? He had never listened to much of their music but.......were you a HIM fan? If so, this is certainly a detail he had never expected from you and he almost doesn't know what to think of it. What other tattoos do you have?

Once he sees you turn off the faucet, he quickly returns to his original position on the chair, not wanting to make it seem like he was watching you.

"Now I’m just going to take a quick look here." You head over to where he sat, pulling the nitrile gloves over your hands as you look down at him, reaching out towards the bottom of his balaclava before feeling him swat your hand away.

“Hey!” You yelp, more so from being startled than the actual impact. “The hell was that for?” No way in hell he just did that.

“…………….”

"I promise I won't sneak a peak at your face if that's what you're afraid of."

“……………………..”

“Listen lieutenant. I can’t check to see if you’re okay if you won’t let me.” You sigh, reaching out once more, but this time you feel his hand grab yours, his gloved fingers wrapping around the bare skin of your wrist as he eyes the ground at his feet. The loud beating in your chest reaches your ears, deafening you as you stare at the soldier who could practically fracture your wrist if he tightened his grip. At this point most would be petrified, bracing themselves for the number of possibilities that can take place just from under his control. Most would either try not to glance over at the scalpel that lays out on the table just beside within arms reach, not wanting to instigate anything further in fear of the soldier catching the movement of their eyes, or some would dare to do so anyways as part of their fight or flight response.

Maybe you should be scared of him, of this soldier who has more blood on his hands than you can count. And yet, somehow, as you finally regain control of your thoughts after being startled from the sudden motion, you can’t seem to find yourself to. If he wanted to kill you, you’d already have been dead, you tell yourself, because here you are, well and unharmed. Despite the calloused disposition of the man notorious for his ruthlessness and merciless on the field and just the sheer size of his hand around your wrist, you’re surprised at the gentleness he handles you with, the carefulness of his hold a stark contrast to the rough fabric of his gloves that rub against the sensitive skin there.

Ghost can feel you tremble ever so slightly under his grasp, feeling your racing pulse through his gloves from under his palm, not to mention the peculiar coldness of your limb, but he can also feel the severity behind your eyes as you stare him down, as if you were just waiting for him to meet them. For a flicker of a moment, you have him wondering just how much more there is to you than the Dr. Y/n y/l/n that you put on stage only for others to see. Just what else lies beyond the pristine white lab coat, those neatly pressed scrubs and your observant orbs.

“Ghost-“ Your voice is firm but heedful. “Please let go of my wri-“

"I'll do it."

“What-“

“I said I’ll do it. You’re not touching the mask.”

“Alrigh-”

“I mean it.” He lets go of your wrist as quickly as he grabbed it.

"Okay." You throw your hands up in defeat, taking a step back to give him some room. "Fine by me."

Ghost can't help but huff at your behavior, hesitating for a moment before finally lifting the bottom of his balaclava, peeling away the fabric that had become sticky with blood to expose his neck. Damn you.

"Let's see here." You lean in closer to inspect the area before cursing under your breath. “Jesus fucking christ.”

Ghost side-eyes you with a raised brow at the words that came out of your mouth. Did he just hear you cuss? Better yet, just what the hell did you see to make you say those words. You almost don’t even have to hear him say anything to know what he is thinking.

“See this is why it’s important you come to me.” There’s that same strictness in your voice, and yet, this one is different. Is that a slight hint of genuine concern he hears? Realizing how you might have sounded to a man who has probably dealt with far worse, you straighten up, clearing your throat as you did so and fluttering your eyes away from his forbidding gaze. Pushing away whatever emotions that managed to rile you up like that, you clear your throat once more. “So, looks like there’s a laceration, along the inferior portion of your neck here, proximal to your acromial region. But lucky for you, your brachial plexus is still intact. The bullet, or whatever the hell you've been hit by, narrowly missed your suprascapular artery and nerve. Though I will have to perform some sutures to reconstruct your trapezius muscle."

"English, for fucks sake." Ghost grumbles at your rapid speech involving words he finds incoherent. But you and I both know it’s only because he finds it to be a turn on. That's why he let you ramble on in the first place.

"What I meant was, good news is, your nerves and blood vessels are okay. Bad news is, your trapezius muscle, which is the muscle that runs along the curve of your neck here and a portion of your back has a slight gash here at the top. So you are going to need stitches. And a lot of rest afterwards of course, to make sure it's properly healed."

"Fuckin hell." Ghost mutters under his breath.

"Now if you'll let me-"

"Yeh yeh. Just make it quick."

What had been a short amount of time had instead felt like hours for the masked soldier, for Ghost, for the wounded Simon Riley beneath all those layers as he remained in his seat like a statue, ensuring that he stayed as still as possible while you worked on him. He had not uttered a single word during the whole duration, not even the slightest grunt. And if it hadn't been for his steady breathing, you would have presumed him to be dead. He had to be the quietest patient you have ever dealt with, not to mention the most stubborn, and you found yourself wishing he would say something, anything. But to expect such from a man such as him would be a fool's errand, a fruitless endeavor.

And even if he chose to speak, what the hell would he even talk about? His fucking trauma?The man wouldn't even look at you, his eyes wandering everywhere but your face. In spite of his grievances towards you, his reluctance to ever establish any form of association with you, he'd find himself slowly stealing glances in your direction from time to time when you weren't looking directly at him. He'd find himself studying your features as he once did the first time he met you. You were wearing that same perfume, that deep woodsy and floral perfume that reminded him of an old bookstore, of one of those metaphysical shops scattered with different fragrances of the smokey incense, the unmistakable scent of you that had been ingrained in his mind ever since.

"So, what kind of a name is Ghost anyways?"

".................."

"Right. I forget you don't speak."

Ghost gives you a quick and sharp glare before staring straight ahead. Damn that sharp tongue of yours.

"You seem tired." You remark, picking on him just a tad bit to make a reference to when he commented on your dark circles, but also because he actually did genuinely seem tired.

"............."

A cock-up, no thanks to you, Ghost thinks to himself, knowing damn well the only reason he could not sleep was because of you, though he senses the only reason you said that was because he had mentioned to you how you looked tired.

More minutes pass, and he has yet to even snide at you. You'd almost prefer a huff of irritation directed at you over nothing.

"You know," you utter, "I went to medical school with an incredibly ambitious guy who was obsessed with collecting skulls. He'd do anything to get a head."

You what? Ghost looks at you just the slightest with a single blink. What the bloody fuck are you talking about? Oh wait.

“What is a sleeping brain’s favorite rock band?”

“……………….”

Oh no. It looks like Soap’s habit has taken hold of you.

“REM.”

“……………….”

Okay maybe that was a bad idea. The look that Ghost just gave you makes you want to never say another joke again. He actually thinks the first one wasn't too bad.

“You know, you’re lucky the bullet grazed you where it did.” You lean in a bit closer as you suture his wound. “Any more to the left and you would’ve have been in some serious shit.”

Your little movement manages to catch Ghost’s attention, and if you weren’t shoving a needle through his flesh he would have moved away. Instead he glances just the slightest over in your direction, his breath hitching in his throat at the close proximity between you both. His eyes trace over the details of your face as if he were studying a map, going over every one of the little characteristics that make you you. If only you could see the way he looked at you, you would have been able to see the subtlest change, the tiniest, sliver of a crack in the hardened shell that surrounded Simon Riley, of that shell that is Ghost.

There is a moment when your thigh brushes against the side of his as you turn away to move on to the next step after stitching his wound, a moment that goes by unnoticed to you, but not to him. The small contact, though brief, had managed to send a jolt of warmth through the soldier’s body, a feeling that is completely foreign to him, prompting him to tense up and bury whatever it is that has him reacting this way. It isn’t until you sense him shift beside you that you turn back to him, gauze and ointment in hand just as you catch him transfer his line of focus somewhere else. The faint alter of movement had you raising your brow, knowing well what you saw but unsure of the motive behind it.

While you went over to him, studying whatever you could gather from his body language and just his eyes due to the obstruction of his face, you noticed that his eyes were quite expressive for a man known for lacking any basic human emotion. While dressing his wound, you picked out the way his blonde lashes fluttered against his deep mahogany irises as they focused on anything but you, the black color smeared around the exposed area of his balaclava accentuating the blondes of his hairs. This had to be the first time you had actually taken a good look at him.

You would have complimented him on his eyes and lashes, but you thought against it, not wanting to embarrass yourself, or more importantly, the last thing you needed was to dig yourself deeper on his bad side and end up as a dusty file to be brushed under the rug. Speaking of. Now that you mention it, the stuff he wore around his eyes looked awfully similar to the stuff you found on your candy tray. Couldn’t be him could it? No, it can’t possibly be. The man avoids you way too much to even think about taking something that is even associated with you. Maybe you’re just overthinking like you always do and what you found was just from your own eyeshadow palette. After all, this wouldn’t be the first time you’ve accidentally smeared remnants of eyeshadow from your fingers to other things. If only you could ask him, but this man hates you enough as it is. You could casually bring it up one day, although now definitely isn’t the time.

When you were finally finished tending to him, getting up to gather some pain relievers, antibiotics, and some ointment for him to take with him, Ghost had noticed something that he had not spotted before, a small pitted and circular mark that sat at the left side of your neck. As he stared at it, trying to decipher just what it could be, it looked to be a scar of some sort, though a bit faded with time, it’s shade slightly darker than your skin tone. Where had he seen a mark like that before? And then it hit him.

“There you go.” You came back around to hand him his treatments in a brown paper bag, your voice causing him to quickly avert his gaze. “You’re all set.”

Taking the brown paper bag from your hands, Ghost couldn’t stop thinking about what it is that he saw marking the skin of your neck. Something in the back of his mind knew just exactly what that scar belonged to, what it meant. But Ghost, or Simon Riley, knew better than to delve into something that wasn’t his business, knowing well the cost. He could just be over-analyzing it all, mistaking it for something completely different. But why was he even bothering to do so in the first place. He had better things to do, duties that were assigned specifically to him, and trying to figure out that mark on your neck wasn’t one of them.

Ghost is quick to get up from his seat as he ushers you a quick thanks, the hardened wall once again building up to the masked soldier who had dared to even let it down just the slightest around you.

“Ghost wait.” You call out to him as he walks away, watching him stop in his tracks. “……before you go………next time you’re injured………promise you’ll at least come to me.”

“….I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Look,” you sigh, “I get it if you think I’m annoying……..or if you hate my guts, whatever, I don’t care. Just….at least let me help you.”

“Don' bother.” Ghost tightens his jaw as he tilts his head towards you, the brusque in his deep voice evident before he regains his steps, disappearing from your line of sight.

“What an asshole.” You breathe out with a shake of your head. You swear this man has you testing your Hippocratic Oath. You don’t know what it is that makes him despise you. Maybe it’s just him and that’s just the way he is, something you might have to ask the others about. Usually words like that would have you lying in bed awake thinking what you did wrong, but you are much too tired for that.

As Ghost went back to his room, shutting the door behind him, he opened up the paper bag you had given him, spilling out the pill bottles and ointment tube onto the table until he heard something roll off the edge of the table and fall onto the floor. Furrowing his brows, the soldier looked at the ground at his feet to where the mysterious item had fallen only to see a single Dum-Dum lollipop, sour apple flavor. Bloody fuckin hell.

Part 4

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#simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x oc #simon riley angst #simon ghost riley x you #soap x reader #soap x you #soap x oc #soap mactavish #soap imagine #john mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #john price x reader #gaz x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #konig x reader #konig x y/n #john price x y/n #john price x you #gaz x you #konig x oc

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for ditching adults to hang out with children?

Pretty much what the title says. I (26F) enjoy the company of children more than adults. I find it hard to talk to adults. I'm always not talkative in their company. That's why, I only managed to keep only 2 of my friends that I grew up with, I feel as if people grow up and leaving me behind, and relate more to children. The only friendship I had at work quickly fell apart for many reasons, but the person being older than me and me not knowing how to talk to her was a big factor.

In family reunions that we have twice weekly, I tend to prefer running around and playing hide and seek with children and toddlers, or talking about their day, their favorite colors, making silly faces at babies, teaching kids how to write and draw etc etc. I'm able to pass this off as "babysitting" because "I love children but have none of my own", so no one found it weird yet and they can have time without having to keep an eye on their children, even in parties and weddings, I grab the nearest baby relative so no one will talk to me and potential suitors would assume I'm married, but the truth, I just find the things children talk about more interesting than adults and they understand me better. They are easier to talk to. I have better relationships with the younger relatives aged 0-16 but the more they grow up I start talking to them less and less. The cousins that are around my age and used to be my best friends growing up are now very distant to me because I don't know how to talk to them anymore, and I get along with their kids instead. They do often comment on this part though. "Why don't you talk with us" and stuff like that.

Specially oneday, my cousin (13F) had her friends over in the same time as we were gathered in their house. I went in her room to say hi and intended to leave immediately, but I saw they were playing a fun card game and ended up joining them. We were talking and laughing a lot for a while, until they asked me what grade I was in. My cousin laughed and told them, "she has a full time job!" And all of them were shocked but asked about my job and stuff. Thank God they weren't uncomfortable with it or anything, but my sister (33F) saw me and gave me a weird look that prompted me to leave. She exasperatedly asked my why was I doing that, since it was clear what I was doing doesn't count as babysitting.

I do think it's a non issue for adults to be friends with minors, however I question myself because 1. I'm sorta lying about the babysitting thing 2. I'm mainly friends with minors. I keep reading about how that's a red flag if an adult only interacts which children and I keep feeling like an AH for it. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[yourclumsyguardianangel]

the seven + a few others future headcanons

percy:

becomes a high school teacher

teaches high school marine biology (idk how it is in other schools but when we hit sophomore year we got to choose different bio classes ie: marine bio, ag bio, med bio + regular bio)

also teaches the mythology elective and is the swim team coach

annabeth:

we already know this queen is an architect with obvious inspiration from greek architecture

learns how to make blue food for percy and their kids from sally

has traveled all over the world looking at different architecture

learns the basics of many languages so shes able to communicate with the locals

her and leo team up to build a small school near camp half-blood for year rounders so everyone can learn consistently but dw they get summers off

piper:

love her but shes a nepo baby

she doesnt act like it tho

”are you tristan mcleans daughter?” “who?”

loves her dad to bits but does not like being seen out in public by the paparazzi

marries shel, they dont have kids tho, neither of them want to bring any into the world especially with america’s downfall and the government erasing women and poc rights

is basically leos big sister atp

leo:

him and calypso dont last, maybe a year and a half in they split bc calypso wants to explore the world and leo is very emotionally unstable and calypso has a hard time understanding

they end on good terms but dont ever talk unless its with a group of friends

he goes into a trade to become a mechanic and owns his own shop

starts smoking cigarettes/vaping

his friends dont really approve but they understand he cant quit just yet as hes not in a mental space to do so

goes to therapy with a psychologist whos a demigod that specializes in grieving and war trauma

they all go to therapy but hes the last one to do it

he’s still the ‘happy go lucky’ guy hes always been but as he gets closer w the others they start to see the true sadness in him

piper and him grow a lot closer after jason died and have a big sister little brother relationship

hazel:

my girl stays at camp jupiter

takes nicos place at camp

horse trainer

her and frank also dont work out as a romantic relationship, they felt that the age gap was too much after frank turned 18 and hazel was 15 theyre still friends tho

hazel often visits leo in his shop

as much as leo reminds her of sammy, through therapy she has recognized that theyre separate people and to not push all her past feelings for sammy onto leo

not only does she train horses but she also teaches little kids basic math, science, and history to the younger kids

they all call her ms. hazel

she prefers to teach the really young kids (age 4-7)

wears her hair in different braid styles after BOO

frank:

my friggin HOMIE

i relate to frank a lot personality wise

therefore i think hed be a 4/20 fanatic after BOO

hes not stoned during training or during important camp duties

but otherwise you try talkin to him and you dont really notice until you look and see the far off look and red eyes and he just goes “huh?”

other than that hes a great leader

after he gets his cool new look from mars he takes really good care of his body including consistent exercise and eating really healthily (maybe he has a soft spot for fast food when hes hi)

him joining the military does not make sense to me

he lost his mom to war, and he was in one himself, idk about you but i would not wanna join the military after being the main character in a war

he studies to be a veterinarian for exotic animals

when no one is around he shifts into the animal to find out whats wrong

”dr. zhang prefers to work by himself” “why” “idk but hes always right, if it aint broke dont fix it”

jason:

rip home-slice

nico:

my other homie

my guy does not get taller than 5’8

stays at camp during the summer to train the new and old kids

him and will get a house together

teaches history at the camp school

cat dad (5 cats and counting)

will:

takes nicos last name when they marry bc its cooler

him being a doctor doesnt click w me i more picture him being an EMT

EMTs are hotter anyways

does med training with new apollo kids whenever he gets time

if he’s not busy during working hours he drops by nicos classroom w his fav drink from dutch bros (starbucks is MID) and hangs out with him and his students

#percy jackson #pjo #jason grace #hazel levesque #frank zhang #leo valdez #piper mclean #annabeth chase #nico di angelo #will solace #heroes of olympus #solangelo #percabeth

[takeme-totheworld]

Aziraphale and Forgiveness, Pt 1: Not Just A Word

This series is now complete! Here's where you can find the other parts.

Part 2 here. Part 3 here. Part 4 here.

There are a lot of aspects to Aziraphale’s character that, when I first watched the show, I vibed with immediately without really thinking too hard about why. He just made deep emotional sense to me as a character. It wasn’t until I waded into the fandom that I realized how much metaphorical ink was being spilled over the question “Why does Aziraphale do the things he does?”

I would always think, “Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it?” but then find that I didn’t really have the words to explain why I thought it was obvious. It was just this ongoing feeling of “Well sure, that’s exactly the kind of thing I did/would have done as a born-and-raised evangelical teenager.” But then I would try to articulate the actual reasons younger-me would have had for doing the thing (and by extension, what I assumed Aziraphale’s reasons were) and immediately fumble because I hadn’t thought it through that far.

One of these elements of his character is his whole deal about forgiveness. Why is he always telling Crowley he forgives him or wishing for God to forgive him? Why is forgiveness one of his favorite things? Why is this such a prominent theme with his character?

(Me: Well, that’s obvious, isn’t it? Everyone else: What do you mean? Me: …uhhh well I definitely mean something, but yes, good question!)

So here’s my attempt at actually using my words to explain why I find this aspect of his character extremely relatable and realistic from an ex-religious-fundie perspective. And it's going to be in multiple parts because I have way too much to say.

The main point I want to make in this first part is that Aziraphale, like Crowley, has a ton of emotional baggage around the subject of forgiveness.

I see a lot of people ask things like "Why isn't Aziraphale more sensitive to the fact that forgiveness is an emotional hot button for Crowley, who fell?" And that's a fair question! But it's very clear to me whenever I watch the show that forgiveness is also an emotional hot button for Aziraphale, or else he wouldn't keep bringing it up. As with many of the things both characters have issues around, though, with Aziraphale it's less straightforward and less on the surface because of the amount of denial and rationalization his character runs on.

I think it's important to start here, because I firmly believe that when he expresses forgiveness:

He's not saying it glibly or meaninglessly.

He's not saying it because he's an angel and it's part of the brand/that's what angels are "supposed" to say.

He's not saying it because he's feeling smug and self-satisfied*.

He's not saying it because he's trying to put himself above the person he's forgiving.

He's saying it because forgiveness means something important to him, something very emotionally loaded and complicated.

*For the record, Aziraphale is 100% a smug, self-satisfied, holier-than-thou bastard sometimes. Exhibit A:

Seriously. Look at how pleased with himself he is while he gives Crowley that little speech about evil containing the seeds of its own destruction. This is Aziraphale being a smug bastard. (I say that with affection. It's one of my favorite Aziraphale moments. But he's totally talking shit here.)

But compare that to these:

Look at his face. He is not feeling pleased with himself (or anything) in these moments. I'm too low-tech to mess with video clips but it's the same with his tone of voice, which ranges from somber to devastated depending on the specific scene. Aziraphale brings up forgiveness when he's experiencing significant emotional distress.

This is already super long so I'm going to end this part here and start digging into what I think his specific damage is about forgiveness in the next post. But I wanted to start here because I've seen the take "Aziraphale is being a superior holier-than-thou prick when he forgives Crowley" several times.

(ETA: I’ve also seen the more positive take, “Aziraphale is just saying I love you the way an angel would,” and I also disagree with this because I don’t think it’s anywhere near that simple. But I digress.)

On the “superior holier-than-thou prick” interpretation: (1) Michael Sheen's acting choices in these scenes don't bear that out at all, and (2) as someone who was raised in a very toxic religious community from which I inherited a lot of Extremely Complicated Feelings about forgiveness that I'm still grappling with...I immediately saw a kindred spirit in Aziraphale in these moments.

Is it an ill-advised thing to say to Crowley of all people, especially that last time? Obviously. But is he being purposely cutting with his words when he says it? I think not.

Stay tuned for Part 2! I plan to write the next part about divine punishment and mercy in Good Omens, how powerless all the angels and demons in this world really are, and the beliefs Aziraphale has developed (especially about forgiveness) to cope with it all.

#good omens #good omens meta #character analysis #aziraphale #forgiveness #i forgive you

[despairots]

#A NIGHT TO REMEMBER, o. dazai!

a special oneshot!

description, it’s special to know how the other feels. to communicate is the best, though, dazai isn’t one for words but it’s fine, you’re the same. neither of you can put the feelings you have into words.

— story contains, angst, established relationship, swearing, suicide mentions, depressing talks, “no longer human” connections i think?, r! psychoanalysis’s i guess?, mental health, trauma talking, character deaths, if i missed anything let me know! gender neutral! reader.

“why are you writing this?” bc dazai is one of the characters i heavily relate to on another level. hes so much different from mizuki akiyama and satoru gojo. and this is just me talking a lot about dazai’s character and analyzing him… btw, r! wears a black blazer (or leather jacket) white button up with a black waist coat, either brown shorts or pants (maybe black of u want), underneath the shorts or pants are like black tights and slip on penny loafers.

long before you started dating dazai, there was an obvious connection that you only saw and felt. obviously, you were friends during those time periods because you worked in the same place, everyone there were friends.

though, the friendship you two had were entirely different from the rest, had the same humour but showing it differently. you wouldn’t lie and say that dazai flirting with you just to ask for a double suicide didn’t concern you, because it did. there’s no doubt that he’ll try and eventually succeed (although, death doesn’t accept him).

there’s nothing that can kill this man, no matter how hard he tries. you picked that up during one of his failed attempts, it almost succeeded if kunikida wasn’t there, you thanked him a ton. all he said in response is that; “i have to look over that idiot one way or another.” no matter how much dazai annoys his coworkers, they still care.

when dazai tries to commit and somewhat fails, it’s almost like he’s punishing himself for still being alive. you know his past, after all, you were in port mafia with him, even though you two didn’t work together or how he didn’t know you during that time, you sure knew him.

he was surrounded by death, in the port mafia and the ada, it follows him yet never accepts it’s his time to come to the afterlife. he makes these plans that somewhat end up succeeding though he hurts himself in the process, always worrying you. what if eventually death actually accepts him at some point?

dazai has been extraordinarily smart every since he was a kid to the point where he’s been dehumanized by dubbing him; “the demon prodigy”. you didn’t know anything about his parents, you did know what drove him to be tired of living. he’s tired living, bored by life and the people around him, to him, they are easily predictable and manipulated that nothing can surprise him.

he can’t find sense to the world but most importantly, he doesn’t find sense in life, he ends up reverting to extensional depression, continuing the cycle he lives in.

dazai has been exploited ever since he was 14 and taken into the port mafia by mori. he was kept alive by mori, by chuuya, by everyone. he was used until there was nothing left. he never had any love nor hope (that he’d ever have someone to understand him) until a friend he later brought up to you, oda.

he truly believed he deserved everything that happened to him in the port mafia.

you believe that younger dazai never believed that he could be better, but if he’s changing now than he always had the ability to change, just never tried. he was sure the mafia was the only fate he had and the only place to escape of living.

then oda died. dazai was free, with ango’s help of wiping his criminal records. without ango’s help, he would’ve never been free from mafia, though he knows his past will always haunt him, he’s accepted that. he also knows that his indebted to ango, he knows he owes him.

since oda’s death, dazai’s trust had ran thin and he’s always on guard, his ability to open up to anyone had been cut off because he can not lose anyone again. the things he cares about and didn’t wanna lose, is lost the moment he gains it.

his plans always evolve other people, rather to manipulate or exploit. you don’t blame him, if it meant surviving, you would do it too.

he is someone who jokes but never opens up nor can be his true self. he’s a wreck who will drag anyone else down with him, that was a price you had to pay for dating him. he repulsed the idea of love and being in a relationship with you because of how he’ll be afraid of losing you.

dazai dated you as a joke, to see how thing will end, until he realized that you were somewhat different. you were always one step of ahead, had almost the same ability that involved contact, and you had this missing glint in your eyes. that’s just the surface though.

dazai knows there’s more to you— he doesn’t know about your connections to the port mafia though— but he doesn’t bother bringing the topic up to you though nor does he like talking about it.

at nights like this, where he’s staring aimlessly somewhere and devoid of emotion, he’s completely vulnerable in your shared dorm. sitting on the couch, cheek on the palm of his hand as the other searches the cold touch of your hand, seeking for some company.

—and you’re there. sitting on the couch with him and a book discarded in your lap, only staring at dazai with a look of curiosity and content, he looks peaceful despite the war going on in his head.

(you were memorized by the destruction he creates and has, it was peaceful to know what beautiful destruction that dazai carries with him).

when dazai feels the cold skin of your hand, he could feel his ability cancelling yours out as your hand covers his, holding it tightly yet so soft that he wonders if you’re even there. dazai finally looks at you, face still devoid of emotion, watching you reopen your book.

“morning, sleeping beauty.” you hummed softly, an amused tone with your words. dazai groaned and knocked your book off your lap, kicking his legs up into your lap and laying down, now staring up at the ceiling.

hearing dazai go silent wasn’t rare, it was rather common when you two are in your shared dorm, but not hearing him say something stupid back confused you.

you turned your head to dazai, taking notice of his eyes that threatened to pour tears in front of you, “you okay, ‘samu?” knowing him for a while now, he wouldn’t open up and talk about his feelings. it’s fine though, you’re like that too, and you wouldn’t mind waiting forever even if it didn’t come.

dazai didn’t respond.

he never did.

he closed his eyes and if you listened closer, you could hear the shaky breath that he exhaled. taking his hand in yours, you placed a chaste kiss to his palm, the contact making dazai open his eyes slowly and sit up on his elbows.

“when are you gonna leave?” he’s says stupid shit all the time, it doesn’t effect you, none of his words effect you. it should’ve effected you but it didn’t, and dazai could tell by the unamused look on your face, “when are you gonna take your life seriously?” you lightly jabbed at him, hearing him scoff and mutter ‘hypocrite’ underneath his breath.

dazai sat up properly, scooting closer to you and grabbing your hand, setting his head on your shoulder. dazai’s touch starved but refuses any contact that doesn’t involve him initiating it, you’re an expectation, you’ve always been every since the relationship started.

silence took over you, the fan in the background aswell as dazai’s calming breath stirring you into a tired state, laying your head on dazai’s head (knowing the neck pain wouldn’t be worth it tomorrow).

“y’know i’d wait, right?” dazai hums underneath his breath as a response, “how do i know you’re not lying?” and you scoff. rolling your tired eyes, for a guy like him to ask you that question is amusing. “we’ve been lying to eachother for a while but i’m not lying about this, ‘samu.”

the former executive makes himself more comfortable in the crook of your neck, forcing you to lay down and keep him close, “i know.” the words came out muffled, and alas, his eyes are shut again and his sleeping in your arms that are now warm.

with him being asleep, you could pick out the smallest details about the boy in your arms. in your arms, he isn’t the former demon prodigy, in your arms, he isn’t a former port mafia member, in your arms, he isn’t a dehumanized person.

he’s just a boy.

osamu dazai isn’t one for words, but it’s okay, because you’re not one for words either. it’s gonna be like that for awhile, or forever, only time could tell. dazai knows this; you know this. and since dazai’s betrayal to the port mafia, he’s changing, but if he’s changing now, he was always capable of changing, he just never cared enough to try.

osamu dazai isn’t one for words, neither are you.

tick.

#⑴ kaz’s written works! #bsd #bungou stray dogs #osamu dazai bsd #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x gender neutral reader #dazai x female reader #dazai x male reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #dazai bsd #bungou stray dogs dazai #angst #dazai angst #bsd x gender neutral reader #bsd x male reader #bsd x you #bsd x female reader #studio bones

[chernabogs]

if you're still taking requests, can you maybe do "You're lucky you're cute" with either Malleus or Sebek? (and reader) You can choose one of them and have fun!!

Thank youuuu this is just a glorified excuse for me to info dump about etiquette with Fae interactions LMAO (also I need to work more on my Sebek down the line... my boy...I will write him soon)

CAVEATS

Inc: Malleus, GN!Reader (referred to as Prefect once) Warnings: None! Except the ominous undercurrent of danger through words at the amusement of a Fae WC: 2.5k! Excerpt: Truthfully, many of the things he’s saying are things humans should know—but the crevice between the sharing of information from Fae to humans means many of the modern humans don’t.  He’s granting you a one up by doing this—at his own entertainment. 

People find it hard to speak of things with him sometimes. Exulansis, Malleus learns it’s called. A resignation to stop talking about an experience because the other cannot relate. When the other House wardens speak of motor vehicles, of vacations, of the latest tech and similar topics he finds his mind turning in circles as he puzzles over what that experience is like. What is a vacation to the Tropical Isles like? What benefits does a magic-powered vehicle have over a gas-consuming one? 

Perhaps he has a face when they speak of this. A furrow in his brow, a darkening of his gaze. He doesn’t mean it in hostility—it’s all coming from a purely clinical stance. He’s tried so many times just to get his older flip phone model to work that he’s entirely given up comprehending what this ‘widget’ is, or the benefits of ‘bio-metrics’, which sounds like some poison you’d feed someone in his opinion. 

Maybe this is why he finds somewhat of a solace in your company at times like this. Even though you seem to know all about most of the things the others speak of, you’re still clueless about the magic aspects, and that gives him something of a purpose—explaining those to you. 

“What if you mix it?” 

You’re lying back on the stones of a cottage that once stood proudly in the forest surrounding Night Raven College. It’s since been reduced to nothing more but a few bits of the foundation and a lot of rotting wood. He raises an incredulous eyebrow at your words. 

“No, I would not recommend combining any fire magic with any form of wind magic. Most think it would just blow the fire out, but you are more apt to end up with an inferno than a resolution. Fire magic is measurably different from your flint and stick type, after all.” His gaze travels over your form as your expression shifts to one of intense thought. It reminds him of the one he wears when speaking with Shroud about his broke phone (again)—and it feels wonderful to be on the receiving end. 

“Grim and Ace did that once, you know. Combined Grims fire with wind magic Ace summoned. I probably should have thought of that before asking you.” You sit up with a groan and rub your face. “What about water magic, then?” 

“It depends on if the mage has used a sub-spell when summoning their fire spell. If a sub-spell was used with the intent of permitting the flames to burn more intensely, such as an oil or metal, then the water would simply feed the flames more. Hence why it’s quite important to pay attention to what your opponent’s actions are.” You remind him a little of Sebek and Silver when they were younger and just trying to master their own magic. You have the same curious disposition—and frustration about things just not being concise. 

You give him another look as you pick up the book you had tossed aside earlier. When he had invited you for a walk with him, he hadn’t anticipated it becoming a late-night study session. It was a refreshing experience, though—an opportunity for a ‘school-life’ moment that Lilia always pushed him to have. Midnight cramming. 

“When fighting someone, aren’t there a whole ton of other things to worry about beyond whether a sub-spell was used or not?” You sigh as you begin flipping through the pages. He notes that your writing gets rather chaotic at some points, and figures these are the things you’re picking his brain over. 

“Not every incidence of magic is for combat purposes. Why, in Briar Valley, magic is used for the most basic of tasks—such as cooking. That ties in with the fire information I just disclosed, no?” His lips quirk into the faintest of smiles. “It would be in poor taste if the cooks at the Palace were to mix magic with the wrong sub-spell by mistake.” 

“Have you ever barbecued something before? It’s practically combat.” 

Barbecue. Malleus remembers the first time he tried grilled meat, when he was younger, and Lilia had enough with the raw diet the prince had been kept on for the majority. The food had tasted like charred wood and from that point on Malleus had deliberately minimized his requests for it. “I am… not experienced at the barbecue, no.” 

“The barbecue.” You repeat, glancing at him with a smirk. “So, Briar Valley doesn’t have any fun cookouts? No throwing something on the BBQ and having a night of it?” 

“This is getting off topic.” He stands from where he was sitting on the foundation next to you and waves a hand. “Perhaps you should return to your dorm and study there. We can reconvene another time.”

Your expression shifts to surprise and you’re quick to protest his words. “No, no, I’d rather we stay. Besides, I’m not going to do anything if I go back, and you’re probably not going to do anything if you go back, so…”

“So?” He repeats with a raised eyebrow as a bright grin appears on your face. 

“Is it not better to do something together then nothing on our own?” 

Ah, you’re trying to work a strange sort of logic to your argument here. His arms cross over his chest as he looks from where you sit and out to the dark woods that surround you. It’s a quiet night, with a few fireflies flashing amongst the trees that loom like dark figures just beyond. Their towering presence ignites a sense of occhiolism that has him moving just a few steps closer to you.  

“Do you desire my company so much? All I’ve done is give you answers to your homework woes.” He gives a pointed look to the pen and book you have in hand as a flash of embarrassment crosses your face. You shift uncomfortably and close the book. 

“Well, I do want to say thank you for all that you’ve done so far…” You mumble. Your comment strikes a thought in his mind as he observes you a bit closer. “I guess I don’t really need to keep bugging you with questions.” 

“Did I ever imply it was a bother?” He moves through the grass to sit back down next to you. The lack of sound that his motions make would be unsettling to most, but your blindness to the unusual and the strange makes you seem entirely unaffected. “Do not read things that aren’t there.” 

“I… sorry?” He can see you struggling a little to navigate the right thing to say, and this brings a sense of amusement to him. Your confusion about this discussion may be mean on his part, but it’s only temporary. 

Malleus may not know much in terms of technology, or the best place for a vacation, or whether a gas-car is a better deal—but he does know magic. And he is feeling rather playful this evening as he watches your panicked gaze dart around his features. 

“Do your studies incorporate learning of magical beings, by chance?” He begins to lay the foundations for his plan as your shoulders relax at his question. You hum and flip around the book. 

“I mean, vaguely? There’s a bit about dwarves, and elves, and a very small paragraph on the Fae… but not much else.”

He clicks his tongue as his pale fingers reach out to touch the edges of the pages. “Oh, that won’t do. You can be forgiven for not understanding magical spells should you ever visit Briar Valley, but to not understand the Fae? You might find yourself in conflict.”

Then he makes his expression light up. “I would feel terrible should that happen, knowing I could prevent it, so I ask now—would you like to know more about my species?” 

It’s like dangling a forbidden fruit in front of a starving soul. He rarely shares anything about himself or his thoughts, even though you’ve both been attending these walks together for a few weeks now. You close the book again and nod, and that’s all he needs you to do. “Sure, thank you!” 

Your politeness is quaint—but he knows such an approach may not last once he begins talking. He smiles a little more, and it’s an expression to hide how eager he feels about this.

“To begin, you may find that while all of us have a degree of pride, some of us are more prideful than others. You are very generous with your thankfulness and apologetic responses, and although I appreciate the words and the acts as I know they come from a place of good intent… this is not the case for all my kind.” He hums thoughtfully. “In fact, some may think your thanks imply that they are subservient or—even worse—that you are now in debt to them.” 

He pauses and lets his words linger as they run through your mind. Your eyes widen slightly. “Subservient? I don’t want anyone thinking that whenever I just say thanks.” 

“I know that, and so does Lilia, but that’s because we’ve interacted with humans a great deal. Some Fae have very little interaction, and with that, hold very old beliefs. One should simply be… cautious. Express gratitude for what they have done, but do not say thanks.” 

Malleus feels his amusement grow as your expression becomes solemn at his words. He takes it as a sign to continue as he taps his nails against his thigh. 

Truthfully, many of the things he’s saying are things humans should know—but the crevice between the sharing of information from Fae to humans means many of the modern humans don’t. 

He’s granting you a one up by doing this—at his own entertainment. 

“We also value honesty immensely. Have I ever lied to you?” He asks, and when you shake your head with confidence, he chuckles. “No, and so I would hope that sentiment would be reciprocated. Lying or deliberately keeping information from me is something I don’t appreciate, but I will not curse you over it like some may.” 

“This makes me feel like I’m in politics instead of a conversation,” you mumble, resting your chin in your palm. He hums and nods. 

“In a sense, it is like politics. Be cautious of what you say, and if you don’t know what to say, say nothing at all. The same applies to accepting gifts—both obvious and not. Accept what you trust, but if you have a bad feeling, decline and simply do so in a way that is not apologetic.” 

“How do I know if something is being given as a gift?” There’s concern in your tone as you ask this. It makes Malleus smile wider—a sharp flash of white fangs in the dark—and he shrugs. 

“You don’t always. For example, you were quick to accept my offer of this information, even though this information itself is a gift. But we have a rapport; I trust you, as you trust me.” He stops tapping his thigh. “It’s the same for how willing you and the others have been at granting me and Lilia your names. There’s a great deal of magic tied into a person's name.”

Malleus notes that flash of unease in your gaze again as you grip your book a bit tighter. Perhaps this is unsettling to you. Perhaps the reminder of just how different the two of you are is throwing you into a perilous loop; you became comfortable enough with him that you began to see him as equal, and the reminder that you aren’t is jarring. 

 He doesn’t want to scare you too terribly, though. This isn’t what these lures of information were meant to do. It was meant to amuse him with your expressions and awe at these simple rules of etiquette, but also to guarantee your safety if—well, when—he asks you delicately to visit Briar Valley soon. Plus, you are the one consistent person outside of his close family who has bothered to hold extended conversations with him. 

“What can you do with my name?” You ask slowly. It’s a valid question. What can he do with your name?

“Oh, one can do many things with a name. Take it as their own, bend it out of shape, lock it in a box or toss it into the sea. A Fae can wipe it from your mind and put it in their pocket should they be so inclined. They can make you do whatever it is they please.” Not that many would anymore. Perhaps in the days when humans and Fae were at war the notoriety of name-theft was known throughout the Valley, but in these recent days of languid peace, name-theft is more apt to find the Fae imprisoned than anything else. 

“And will you?” You ask, catching him off guard for a moment. When he looks at you again, you look nervous as you stare back. “Take my name, or anyone else's?” 

Malleus blinks slowly as he processes your words. Ah… maybe this has gone too far now. He softens his expression and watches as this mirrors on your own. Then he warms his smile to grant some reassurance as he laughs softly. “Oh, no, no. You have my name as well—we are equal, in a sense. I don’t have power over you or anyone else in this school beyond what any other mage may hold.” 

You exhale slowly and relax your shoulders. His words have put you at ease and this pleases him before your expression takes a sharp turn into a scowl.

“Thanks for instilling all this paranoia in me. You know, when I finally visit you in Briar Valley, I’m going to be triple thinking everything that comes out of my mouth now.” 

“When?” He jumps on that word really quick as his expression shifts to one of smug delight. He didn’t even need to push the topic—you just dove headfirst into it yourself. He hears you clear your throat loudly as you yank open your book again. 

“Don’t. I’m going to write this all down in the margins before I forget,” you grumble as he chuckles softly again. 

“Ah, you’re lucky you’re cute, Prefect.” He hums as he returns his attention to the treeline beyond. The fireflies continue to lazily flash in the night, and the silence of the forest brings a sense of peace. There’s solace in your company—and he looks forward to experiencing it more in the future. 

So long as you don’t agitate another Fae. He can’t help you with everything. 

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #malleus draconia

[lurkdragonstuff]

I'm an atheist and a philosophical materialist. I don't think there's anything more to the universe than what can be observed and measured. Disagree if you want, that's fine, but take as read that this is where I'm coming from.

As you can imagine, this makes it very strange to me that my brain thinks I'm a dragon.

I have been trying to square this circle for years. Since around the 2000's, when I first made contact with the Internet, I would look in on the otherkin community, and the draconic community nested inside it, and I would think, man. I wish I could believe that. I wish I could believe that souls were real, and that I had one, and that it was a dragon, and that's why I was so odd. For quite a while, I just explained it as a furry fandom thing. Sure, yes, my fursona is feral, but ferals are furries, too. This is still true! I'm still in furry fandom, and my dragonself still acts as my fursona. But they are also, in a deeper sense, me.

I'm a secular pagan. I don't think gods exist, and I don't think magic is literally real. I can't really cast a curse on shitty charities. The moon's a big shiny rock. It doesn't care if I roar at it when the sun reflects off it just so and I can see the whole of its tidally locked face.

But my dragon brain doesn't know that. It likes the big shiny rock. It likes little shiny rocks, too. It likes to light things on fire, and considers this a sacred act, both bringing destruction to noxious things and bringing honour to things worthy of it. It likes to growl and hiss when things annoy it. It likes to collect things, to have a hoard. It likes to range around its territory, keeping an eye on what's around in what season. It finds it frustrating that its wings don't seem to work at all, and its other limbs barely better. It wants its tail back. It wants its fire breath.

I'm autistic. Sometimes speaking is hard, and I growl and hiss when things annoy me. I like to collect things related to my special interests; I have a sprawling collection of cetacean, Nintendo, and SEGA figurines, as well as lots of little animal figures. Plushies, too, and videogames, and books. I do wildlife photography, as well, marking who's around in what seasons. This is, to my frustration, limited a lot by waning energy because of chronic health problems.

If backed into a corner, to say what I really believe, of course I'm a human. It is in my DNA, expressed in a bipedal body plan, five fingers on the forelimbs only, nails and not claws, no wings, no muzzle, no tail, short neck, skin and fur instead of scales. Not even any horns. I find this frustrating, but it is what it is. I also find it frustrating when people call me 'she' and not 'they', and that really there is no feasible gender presentation that would guarantee that strangers would use the right word. The best I can hope for is that people will read the 'they/them' button on my hat, or otherwise call me 'he'. Still wrong, but at least novel.

I honestly think my draconic identity developed when I was younger as a way to explain why I was so weird. I have never been normal. I will never be normal. As an adult, I have fancy words like "autism" and "anxiety and depression secondary to post-traumatic stress disorder" and "seasonal affective disorder" to explain why I'm abnormal.

But a part of my brain, I think the same one that still believes in magic and deities even though I don't, tilts its head, then grins a sharp grin and says, "Cool story, bro. I'm still a dragon."

I generally have, for any given of my eccentricities, the philosophical materialist explanation (generally that I am either brainweird in some way or another or am playing pretend for placebo purposes to manage executive function etc.) and the dragon explanation (generally what the pretend play revolves around). But - and this is hard to explain - it isn't exactly playing pretend, either. It's me.

When I'm pretending to be Link, either playing a Zelda game or writing Zelda fanfic, Link isn't me. I might be inhabiting him as an actor, but he isn't me. When I play Animal Crossing, and I'm playing a character named after me, that's closer. It's me but greater. Me but more. Me existing in a life I wish I could have.

When I put on my mask, when I sit and daydream about the multiverse-hopping shenanigans I get up to, when I hiss at someone startling me by getting into my space, that's me. I'm not a dragon, I'm a human wearing a mask, daydreaming, hissing because "back the fuck off!" isn't allowed in the workplace.

Yeah. Cool story, bro.

I am still a dragon.

#original posts #stream of consciousness #perhaps you can catch my vibes #so to speak #dragonkin #otherkin #secular paganism #musings #original writing #psychological otherkin

[agirlwithglam]

Hi!! I hope I'm not disturbing you but I wanted to ask how do I work hard. Because when I was younger I got really good marks without trying and now the subjects are hard and social media is distracting but I can't seem to delete it. This is also why my grades are even low then before and I'm really afraid to disappoint my parents (being the eldest daughter doesn't help). So can you please just give me some pointers on how can I actually study and not just cry because I don't know how to. Have a great day!! <3

literally omg. is this past me asking me a question?? like actually u have no idea how much i relate and understand this. the "gifted child" who always got good grades without needing to study now finds things more difficult. i know many people have said this, but i actually have been through this not too long ago. i hope these tips help <3

how to work hard + actually study (realistic)

forget hard work. at least do the work! (its so funny because i literally had a post about this all ready in my drafts about to get posted, so i'll keep this short and link the post.) stop focussing on doing hard work like studying 24/7. just put in the basic necessities you need to get a better grade. hard work post link

use the disappointment and embarrassment as fuel. (basically find a very strong why) (mini story-ish thing coming up, skip to the blue text for the actual advice) i still remember the day i got such a bad score on my math and science test, i was FURIOUS at myself and i cried about it! telling it to my parents was one of the hardest things i had to do and feeling their disappointment was even worse. but that became my turning point. i was so ashamed of myself and i resented me so much that i basically just told myself "i dont freaking care what you feel *with distaste*. you brought this on yourself you failure" (a bit very harsh, yes i know) but the way i studied that week- i studied more than i every had before! also doing this doesnt really lower my self esteem a whole lot, but if it does with you, please be gentle with yourself. : so what i'm trying to say it; use that feeling of shame and disapointment as a fuel, a motivation. The big “why”.

ALTER EGOOOSSSS. this helps SOOOO MUCH its so underrated. embody the energy of your fav people who are the academic inspiration you wanna be! example: rory gilmore, paris geller, elle woods, blair waldorf, etc etc! not only is this so helpful but it also makes it so much more fun and easier!!

parent yourself. i used to tell myself to do stuff like "go study now!" or "get up lazy-butt" but in my mind. but what if you tried to say those stuff out loud to yourself? it just creates a whole new level of real. So start telling yourself to do stuff out loud.

honestly just start. stop letting yourself think about how "uncomfortable" and how "annoying" it will be. All you need to know is that you need to get it done. Right? Ok. So now what’s the next smallest step you can take to getting to do the unwanted task? It may be taking out your material, opening your book, etc.

( !! tough love, but very important rant coming up)

You privileged brat. Your parents gave up EVERYTHING so you could have the education that you are having. They worked so so hard for YOU. So YOU can have the life you want. And all for what? Just for you to throw it all away and say “oh im lazy”. HELL NAH.

And also, do you realise how fortunate you are to be even living in such a time/ era where you have access to basically EVERYTHING? You’re stuck on something? You could easily search it up!! And whats more is that you can further learn. You can search up and find out more about the thing that you’re studying, become the smartest person in your class, get so ahead in life. I hope you realise that if you do use all the resources and materials and help that’s been given to you, just imagine how far you could go! Further than Albert Einstine, Elon Musk, etc. you may be like “what! No that’s gonna be too hard!” But did they have the tools that you have right at your hand? No! They made it all the way with just simple stuff and having to work super hard. But you live in a time where you can do TWICE as much without working as hard!!

And one more thing, QUIT WHINING. “Oh school is so hard!” “Oh school is so boring!” Like whattt???? You are so FORTUNATE and LUCKY to be even getting access to such education! MILLIONS of kids out there would kill to be able to learn what you are so easily dismissing right now. So TAKE ADVANTAGE OF WHAT YOU HAVE. Put your ALL, your very BEST into studying and getting good grades because THAT is whats gonna take you so SO far in life.

Thank you very much, *mic drop*. (i still ly pookie)

dealing with social media:

put the screen time widget on your phone home screen. i did this, and i became so embarrassed by the amount of screen time i had in one day (*cough* 12 hours *cough*) that i made certain to stop using it as much.

screen time limits. this may or may not help you, bc i know that when i knew the screen time password, it didn't do a lot of help but when someone else did (like parents or someone you trust), then it definitely worked. this is probably only best if you're a child around under 14 ish bc thats around the age when most parents put screen time limits + after that age you're gonna be a lot more independent.

more *extremely* helpful resourses:

tips to decrease your phone screen time by @imbusystudying

how to reduce your screen time in the digital age? (an article)

studying tips from a straight-A student by @universalitgirlsblog2

how to study like paris geller by @4theitgirls

more blogs i recomend:

@elonomhblog @mindfulstudyquest @study-diaries @thatbitchery

xoxo, vanilla

#agirlwithglam🎀✨ #vanilla's pookies💌 #vanilla studies📚 #vanilla self improvement⭐️ #my darling angels #self improve #self improvement #it girl energy #becoming that girl #self development #it girl #academia #studying #studyblr #study motivation #study tips #study aesthetic #how to study #how to work hard #working hard #hard work #girlboss #girlblog #girlblogging #girlblogger #gaslight gatekeep girlblog #asks #vanilla asks #ask #that girl

[sm-baby]

Able strikes me as… the kind of person that does things right naturally. Like for the carnival AU, I bet in real life he was just good at everything without even trying. Everyone likes him, he’s just great in his own, I bet him and Caine even look similar, like the kind where the real only difference is maybe height, and style.

Caine is the younger brother that is jealous, he is extremely jealous even if he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be content with himself, but it is so damn hard with a sibling that even unintentionally looms over you. Getting mistaken for them at places, and when people meet you it’s always “Oh you’re Able’s brother” or “oh I hope you’ll be like him” and it’s a little flattering but mostly discouraging mentally. He wants to be like Able, but he knows he can’t.

Like a couple years back when my sister graduated a year early in high school, literally a cyber expert by the time she got out, and already years in on collage work, meanwhile I was your average struggling student, so even though she’s my favorite older sibling, we look similar, sound similar, hell, some people have mistaken me for her but with shorter hair. I know that having someone loom over you like that, someone everyone likes, everyone loves, and is just better in every way, it makes you go to the darkest places at times.

And that’s just me— from what you’ve said of Caine’s family, they just seem toxic. Caine if five times better than me and even my older sister who’s amazing, he knows so many languages and is so awesome in general, yet his parents have the nerve to do his. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a fucked up yin-yang sibling story, so I can really sort of relate to what u assume Caine is going through. It’s hard when you have similar interests, looks, and so much more with someone, yet everyone just loves them, and not you, and you have no clue why. And you want to be proud, you are proud, you’re happy, but some part of you deep inside just wishes you didn’t exist, or that the person you’re always compared to didn’t exist, so then no one would be able to compare you. Sometimes it’s obvious, people saying the differences, other times it’s fully a mental thing, I never was compared to my older sister by parents, but it’s a like a part of me knew that I was insignificant.

If it’s anything like the personal relationship I have with this person in my life, Caine and Able are close, but there are moments where it just bubbles through, the destain and/or harsh thoughts finally get to the surface of the water. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was an argument because Caine snapped at Able and started talking about how damn great Able is to everyone. My older sibling seems a bit like Able, and she never was forced into being perfect, it’s just natural for them. It’s a rocky relationship, when you know you love that person, that sibling means the world to you, but there’s that envy in part of you. I would sort of like it if this is expanded on more, maybe just a bit because I find it somewhat personal, you don’t have to, but I think it would be interesting if this was specifically shown somewhere. Siblings relationships are tough, but I personally know that… this particular style, the kind of sibling relationship I have with that one older sibling and the relationship Caine and Able have, is extremely hard. Because it never goes away, that spite and the small bit of hatred, but you just have to live with it, you blame yourself for your shortcomings, it never leaves, but you still stay close. They’re still your favorite person, still someone that you feel like you can share everything with, and you learn that you can’t get over those bad feeling, they just exist.

…I really need to stop writing when I’m half asleep. Might continue on how Carnival Pomni is similar to me, next time I’m half asleep and typing/j

*pat pat* it will definitely be touched upon... Im too proud of Caine's writing to leave him in the dark... Im so happy you relate to him that way, and Im sorry to hear how rocky your relationship is with your sister. Best of luck to both of you <3

[nottoxicfr]

This is, tentatively, Rize.

She is the combination of Nagoryuki (Guilty Gear) and Rachel Alucard (Blazblue). Relating to the concept of a data-Backyard, she has the role of a program meant to ensure the integrity of the physical world through Intervention. However, overuse of Intervention causes cracks in reality, therefore its use is controlled strictly.

This relates to the thematic idea of her character as “the Observer Who Averts Her Eyes." Nago's long meditation after the events of the Crusades combined with Rachel's nature as an Onlooker, cursed not to intervene in events, resulted in Rize's fitfully slumbering nature. Rather than Observe the events of the world, she wishes to sleep until the world has no need of her and is cursed by nightmares of terrible memories and future possibilities. Her story is about finding meaning in Observing individuals, rather than viewing the world as a single disastrous story.

(I'll talk more about her personality and her design below the cut)

I had a really hard time creating her! Honestly, I really didn't want to anything mess up. I feel happy with this art, but I want to draw her more and really get a grip on who she is. She looks really elegant, but I think there's more to her than that!

I mentioned before that fighting game characters are adjective filled, with Nago and Rachel being no exceptions! Rize is more focused on Rachel's style than I originally intended, but I hope parts of Nago still shine through. His older appearance is why I designed her around the age of 20, rather than sticking with Rachel's younger look. I'm not super comfortable with the type of character that is very old, but still looks young!

She's a gothic, lolita-inspired vampire, but I had more of Nagoryuki's "noble" personality in mind when I drew her. I imagine that she would offer advice to the people she meets, but sometimes the advice might be, "Don't wake me up from a nap." She can be a bit thorny, which draws on Rachel's "rose with thorns" tsundere motif to reshape the kindness both vampires possess.

There are parts of her that seem very childish in my mind, like the idea that she can sleep until the world ends or her grumpy reactions to others, but her deeper personality indicates that she's incredibly guilty about the events she witnessed and simply at a loss in what else she can do. It seems most of her childishness comes from a lack of sleep more than anything else. Her eyes are Nago's Blood-Rage mode, which implies she's also pretty hungry.

Originally, she was going to be named Arisu (Alice), with Bloodedge (Baiken x Ragna) being a Cheshire leading her to the source of the plot's problems. If this was a real game, I think that would still be the case as a relationship. However, with a different name, the allusion isn't nearly as prevalent...

Instead, Rize comes from Riza, from E-riza-besu, an homage to Elizabeth Bathory. It's supposed to be from romanji so it calls to mind the idea that it might be a translation she preferred. That’s not how you convert Eliz-a-beth into romanji, but I thought it was an acceptable break from reality for style. That’s the running idea for ArcSys, generally.

Rachel has servants named Nago- which was ironic- and Gii, who frequently take her wrath. Rize's servants are Tama (Ms. Umbrella in the art) and Chester (Mr Plushy next to her). Chester is a stuffed creature in the form of a Jester, meant to put her in a better mood after a nightmare. Tama, as mentioned in another post, is a joke about how you can take the first syllable of Excalibur, Ex, and say it as Eggs (Tamago). It's a really stupid joke, but it indicates that Tama is actually the sword of myth simply transformed and given sentience via old age. I don't think she takes her short temper out on either of them, but if she does then it's probably Chester. Lots of people punch pillows to feel better, so I don't think Chester minds as long as someone fixes him should he be damaged. She also has another servant, but they aren't created yet.

Gameplay wise, she'd be difficult to balance. Every small movement would inch her closer to a true Blood-Rage, which would significantly drain her health. To get around this, the player would have to use Rachel's Wind Drive to maneuver either Rize or her opponent into her range. To offset the difficulty of that, she has quite a lot of power. It might actually end up making her a grappler-type of character. Rize is the kind of character who changes the color palette of an anime when she shows up. Super strong, y'know?

Anyway, this is probably my favorite of the "ArcSys Singularity designs" that I made. I also tried out Slayer and Rachel as a combination, but it wasn't quite as fun. I feel very excited with Rize! I wanna draw her more.

#toxic talks about #guilty gear #Blazblue #Rachel Alucard #nagoryuki #rize

[words-of-wolf]

Content warning: this post contains mentions of wolves hunting other animals, and some thoughts on the subject. Nothing I'd consider graphic, but I know it can be sensitive for some folks so I thought I'd warn beforehand!

Hhh, it's a bit hard to know where to start with getting back into writing about my experiences.

It's not that I don't have anything to say - it's the opposite! There's so much I'd like to share. I've always loved talking about my experiences... maybe a bit self-indulgent, but I like to think it can help other folks too, and I've gotten many interesting conversations out of it in the past, so no regrets!

Can't imagine I'll be posting big things like this frequently, but I'll happily answer questions and chat too. ^u^

So... right now, what I've decided I'd like to write about is some of the, I guess kinda fundamental aspects of my identity as a wolf therian.

It's interesting in a way, because there are so many wolves around - there's a lot of people to compare experiences against! I guess, if you have a rare kintype, or a kintype that's varied enough that your individual variation of it is rare (like dragons) - it might be hard to imagine that a wolf would struggle to find other people they relate to. But then, well: there's me.

I don't think anyone's nonhuman experiences are wrong. I don't think anyones' are "superior" either; it's just about who you are as an individual, what feels right and comfortable to you. I just wanted to get that across! Cause what I'd like to talk about does involve some comparison between my feelings and the things I've seen expressed by other wolf therians, and I wouldn't want it to be read as me saying my way of being as any better than anyone elses' (it's not).

During my time in the kin and therian communities (which, I first encountered over ten years ago now, but my activity has been very on-and-off since I reached adulthood) I've met so, so many wolf therians. It's... hmm, complicated for me, in a way? Because I felt very isolated, especially when I was younger, and I felt like wolf therians were supposed to be "my people". But really, I could count on both hands how many wolves I've met that I really related to on any level.

And the reason for that is the same now as it's always been: for a lot of wolf therians, being a wolf seems to be a kind of violent, bloodthirsty identity. The "predator" feeling is strong; there's some affinity for the thrill of the kill, the violence of it all.

That's not a bad thing. It's not wrong! But my experience has been... very different from that.

My perception of wolfhood isn't really "red in tooth and claw" like that. It's more... simple. Not peaceful really - life as a wolf is full of trials and strife - but the violence never felt defining for me. In terms of personal importance, the feelings of wanting to hunt, to fight, to bite and maim... I'd be lying if I said they were entirely absent, but they were always tertiary to things that seemed far more present and central.

I think a big part of that is... well, for context, I believe my wolf identity is linked to a past life. Yeah, stereotypical, I know! But it's genuinely what I experience; I do remember that life, or at least aspects of it. And those memories influence a lot of my experiences in my current life as a wolf-person.

The thing that strikes me most when I compare my own perspective on wolfhood to the ideas often expressed by other wolf therians, is that to me, hunting wasn't violence. It couldn't be violence.

Why? Because I just plain didn't realise that the deer and other animals we killed were living things.

There was no... room to even consider that idea. I didn't know that the deer I drove to exhaustion felt pain and terror, same as I did. I just knew I was hungry and it was food.

It's a strange thing to consider, isn't it? People talk a lot about "what makes us human". I don't think there's any one thing that does. But if I were to point to one of the most jarring, and one of the most utterly sacred parts of being human to me, it would be the ability to connect emotionally with other species.

Humans are not unique for doing that. And maybe there's some animals a wolf could come to see as an individual, in the way I would've seen another wolf. But a deer would never be that. Which contrasts strangely with me, now, as a human: where I can love pigs, and care about their welfare and treatment, but still enjoy some bacon or a porkchop. That can conflict, sometimes, yeah - but from a wolf perspective, that would be incomprehensible. At least, from my experiences it would be.

And if you remove the idea of violence from hunting, suddenly a wolf's life doesn't seem very violent at all. The act of hunting and killing prey animals felt no more violent to me, than when I cook up a steak for myself now. To someone, that would be violent, but to me it's just a steak - y'know? I know the steak comes from a cow, but that fact brings me neither grief nor pleasure. It's just kinda how the world is and I'm mostly okay with that.

The act of hunting was, I'd say, something I enjoyed as a wolf. I loved the chase. It was fun. Taking down prey could be scary; even a deer is dangerous when cornered and desperate. But the thing with nature is that it makes what you have to do to survive feel desirable: so risking my life for a meal felt thrilling, in a way, and a full belly afterwards was satisfying, and comforting, and a relief from the usual gnaw of hunger.

Hunting's only a small part of being a wolf, though. Even setting aside all the attempted hunts that fall through before you even get into a full sprint.

A lot of wolf life focuses on territory. In some places, it's a very intense, almost war-like conflict; constant, bloody, often fatal. Not always, though. It depends a lot on the intensity of the ecosystem you live in: a place with lots of prey attracts lots of wolves, who then compete for access. If the prey's more spread out, the wolves are more spread out too... and an area of land feels less worth dying for when you've got so many others to search.

Me and my pack were one of the latter varieties. Territorial conflicts were rare, for us; I don't recall any specifically. We patrolled, we marked our space. Territorial disputes were something I was aware of, I think - if I saw a trespasser I certainly would've acted with aggression - but it just wasn't a common occurrence.

So my experience of being a wolf didn't feel like it was defined by violence much. It didn't feel bloody and raw. I could see myself in the image of a wolf that snarls, maybe, but moreso I see myself in the image of the wolf that sleeps, or - perhaps most of all - the wolf that wanders.

And that's what existence as a wolf was, and is for me! It's wandering. It is the neverending search. Even when you find what you need, the relief can't last long - you need to move on soon, you need to seek again soon, because it won't be long before your empty belly's gnawing at your insides again. It wasn't ever a life of violence, it was a life of travel, for the good and the bad of it: for the new sights and new smells and new opportunities; for the exhaustion, the uncertainty, the sore paws and aching muscles.

And the restlessness. The need to keep moving. Keep going. Keep searching, always searching.

But, of course, that's still not the centre piece of the puzzle. Because that could only ever, of course, be the pack.

This is something I'll probably dedicate time to writing about all on its own, because I have such deep feelings about "the pack" as a concept, and also about my pack, who I lived for in my last life.

But I will say that all of my deepest, most vivid, and most impactful memories... they're not of the hunt, they're not about territory or conflict or hunger. What I remember most richly is the love I felt for my pack. It's a feeling I can't quite find it in me to explain; sometimes I wonder if the reason I identify as loveless in this life, is simply because no love I've ever felt as a human could compare to what I felt as a wolf.

I think there's a kind of synergy between the simple mind of a wolf, and the feelings a wolf experiences: in the quiet of an animal's mind, emotions seem so much stronger, so much more vivid somehow. I feel that even now, when I have a mental shift, and the logic and reason falls away - all that's left is emotion and physical senses, and they paint a picture so, so bright.

And those past life memories that I hold dearest, they have a similar quality to them... to curl up with my family after a long day of travel. Or listen to their happy snores as we all sleep off a full belly. And playing with the pups... I was a very fun wolf-uncle. And those pups were my joy, light of my whole life! <3

So... yeah. That's what being a wolf is to me.

It's not the only way to be a wolf. It's not the "right" was vs anyone else's "wrong". This is just what wolfhood is to me personally. Maybe other wolves will see something of themselves in this, maybe not! Either way, I appreciate the time you took to read my rambling. It feels nice to carve out a place in my life again where I can really talk about this stuff. c:

#therianthropy #wolf therian #wolfkin #past life #spiritual therian #spiritual kin #tw animal death

[letters2won]

Hi may I ask for an idolNiki x black reader fiction Where she's one year younger than him and is really scared to admit her feelings/confess because of fans who say that he doesn't like black people /black girls soo she starts to try and give him space so she doesn't come off as clingy/pushy and he tells her that their just stupid obviously and that he loves her too but she so convinced that the fans are right

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. LETTER TO MY 13 YR OLD SELF

pairing: idol!niki x black!reader ⋆ genre: hurt/comfort ⋆ warnings: self doubt, harmful comments, let me know if i missed anything!

1.2k wc

⤷ i hope this was to your liking :( it’s my first time trying hurt/comfort but this was nice to write so thank you for requesting

did i get emotional writing this? yes because i related to this a lil tee much 🤏

¡ requests: open !

Everyone could see the love seeping out of you for Niki. You knew what you were getting into the moment you felt these feelings starting to rise.

They were only getting stronger and stronger day by day, it was hard trying to not spill out a monologue to him on what was stirring inside of you.

But lately, you realized how out of reach he is. Noticing all the beautiful fair skinned girlies surround him caused you to spend time staring at your own reflection. You started to softly touch your cheeks and hair, furrowing your eyebrows at the thought of him not wanting to date someone like you.

You rubbed your face tiredly as you walked out your bathroom and into your dorm room.

“Hey yn! Hope you don’t mind that I used your spare key..”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, holding your chest before going to hit him with your pillow. “Niki! You should’ve at least texted me, someone could’ve seen you, you know!” and in response he just rolled his eyes playfully.

“How was your fansign today?” you asked as you got up to grab some clothes he left over to change in knowing his current clothes were too hot. You didn’t notice him staring at your every movement before he hummed to himself.

“Tiring… but it was funny! Heeseung-” he then proceeded to go into detail about everything that went down. You gave him reassuring hums and smiles to let him know you’re still listening even with you back turned.

You eventually felt your heart drop at a mention of a fan. “And there was a pretty engene today! She was so charming and funny, definitely had a way with her words” he chuckled lightly to himself.

Biting the inside of your cheek, now you know you definitely can’t confess anything to him.

“You must be tired, yea? Are you staying the night?”

He frowned slightly, “Can’t, I have practice all day tomorrow so you probably won’t hear from me.” You sighed and gave him a reassuring smile.

“That’s fine, text me when you're free, ‘kay?” and he nodded. You walked him to the door and gave him a big hug finding comfort in the warmth radiating off of him. He softly kissed your forehead before letting go, causing you to stare in awe.

“See you later pretty!” he cheekily stated before closing the door. Oh boy, you were in trouble, the pounding of your heart being living proof of it.

That night you tossed and turned, missing having his head on your chest through the night. You gave up trying to sleep and went to twitter, the bright screen causing you to squint a bit to adjust. Scrolling mindlessly on twitter until you came across a tweet that had your eyes watering a little.

“Niki wouldn’t date a black girl in my opinion, he probably also likes experienced girls too!”

Hurriedly, you look through the comments to see people agreeing with her. Yea a few comments were disagreeing but that didn’t make you feel better. You honestly felt sick to your stomach.

You sat up quickly to read more. “He definitely doesn't like them clingy, he enjoys personal space.” That’s how you found yourself going through a loophole on twitter feeling even more shitty about yourself.

Why did it have to be like this? Was that how he really feels? You know you could ask him, I mean he’s literally your best friend! But you felt too embarrassed to even ask him how he felt dating girls like you. Did he believe the stereotypes surrounding black girls?

Your heart started to ache. You already felt self conscious about your skin, but this just made you feel 10x shittier. You got up to stare at yourself again. Eyes tearing up as you start to wish your hair weren't so kinky and how you would love to have long blonde hair or blue eyes. Wishing you weren’t so different.

That night you went to bed with a heavy heart.

The next morning you saw Niki messages but you were still hurting and decided to avoid him. You can't handle looking at him or speaking to him knowing you’ll break down in front of him.

Niki on the other hand was worried that the forehead kiss is why you’re so distant. He could barely concentrate at practice. The boys noticed it, giving him concerned glances.

“Good work today boys! Niki you’re normally on your A-game but today you were so off. Work harder okay? Get some rest everyone, see you tomorrow,” the dance coach let out.

Niki was too spaced out to even care about what he had to say. He was in a rush to see you. He needed to make sure he didn’t break any boundaries. He couldn’t lose you like this, he thought to himself as he rushed out the dance studio.

He knew it was risky to be at your dorm without any disguise but he pushed it to the back of his mind as soon as he saw your door come into view.

Knocking anxiously but you didn’t move an inch. Not wanting to get bothered right now as you cuddle up with your blanket and comfort cartoon show playing in the background.

Niki checked his pockets hoping he brought the spare key with him.

Sighing in relief, he quietly opened your door. Your dimly lit up living room welcomed him in as he closed the door softly. He could already tell something was wrong as he recognized your comfort show playing which made him even more anxious.

“Yn…can we talk?”

Your saddened eyes turned to look at him and he felt like he was shot in the heart seeing you look like this. He cautiously sat on your bed as he heard the soft sobs echo through the room.

“I just wish I could be what you wanted, Niki. You are so close but so out of reach from me. If I was pale skinned would it be different, I wonder? Would you feel less ashamed knowing I fit in with you?”

Niki pulled you closer to him, rocking back and forth. “Is that why you've been ignoring me? Because of those stupid opinionated comments?”

“Yn, I liked you for you. I love how we are different from each other. Being able to learn from you and see things from your point of view helped me grow as a person. It helped me learn to love you.”

Your head shot up, scanning his face to see if you heard wrong. “Yn you didn’t hear wrong, i meant it.”

“You’re so beautiful to me and I want you to allow me to show you that” Niki finished up.

Eyes tearing up as you sense his sincerity, you pushed your forehead against his. “Sorry for making you worry.. I was already embarrassed.”

He rubbed you back comfortingly, “Don’t be embarrassed, you’re allowed to feel like this, just communicate with me, yea?” and you nodded in agreement.

You looked up at him and saw his eyes flicker to your lips, “can i?” he asked. You smiled and leaned your forehead against his again feeling his soft lips fit with your perfectly.

Sighing in content, he leaned back and you two stayed like that for the night. Holding on so dearly as if you might vanish in thin air.

#/ᐠ. .ᐟ\ฅ — asks ! #૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა — works ! #enhypen #niki nishimura #niki x reader #niki x you #black reader #nishimura niki #enhypen riki x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen niki x reader #enha niki #enha angst #enha fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #riki nishimura x reader #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #kpop x black reader #enha texts #enha jungwon #kpop x reader #kpop icons #nishimura riki #enhypen riki #riki x reader

[theashesofthefirststar]

This weeks adventuring party fully framed Trackers phone call as “words Kristen needed to hear” Which I find pretty hard to stomach seeing that, if you changed a few key words, this is the same exact lecture that most people with adhd have gotten at some point in their life. You’re so talented, but you don’t want to work for it. If only you put in the effort, you expect things to be easy/handed to you and on and on it goes. I fully admit that I may be projecting, and that my interpretation of Kristen may not align with Ally and Brennans vision, but Kristien’s struggles with executive dysfunction are so clear in everything she does that they can hardly be labeled as subtext at this point.

When I was younger, back before I understood my adhd for what it is, I was known amongst my friends as being clumsy, chaotic, and constantly making small mistakes with big cascading consequences. This behavior was so infamous that anytime a friend did something similar, the rest of the group would call them out for “pulling a Xander.” At the time it was funny and mostly harmless, but as I got older and those consequences caught up with me, as I tried desperately to change, I realized I didn’t know how. I remember sobbing in frustration after I missed the deadline of another assignment, because I couldn’t understand why I was making the same mistakes over and over again. It felt like there was something fundamentally wrong with me.

Now at nearly 30, I understand what was wrong with me. I have a neurodevelopmental condition, that’s associated with life-enduring cognitive dysfunction, and it is a fundamental part of me. It will always be an immense challenge for me to exist in a regimented world, let alone thrive in one. When Tracker said Kristen thinks she deserves for it to be easy on some level, my immediate thought was ‘yeah of course she does’. Because executive dysfunction makes everything hard, even the things you love, and what’s more relatable than wishing that just this once, life will be fair. That just this once, your mind will stop working against you.

As someone who’s gotten much better at living with adhd and who also currently on track to get a masters degree in clinical social work, Kristen should be framed as someone who needs support instead of someone who needs to simply stop being so chaotic and start putting in the hard work. It would empower her to work with her executive dysfunction instead of working against it. It would allow her to find sustainable coping mechanisms that utilize her skills and goals.

#kristen applebees #dimension 20 #fantasy high #fhjy #junior year #adhd #neurodivergent