#i feel prematurely defeated?

[norrisleclercf1]

It’s Too Early

Pairing: Charles x Pregnant!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Tough pregnancy, premature birth, PCOS (polycystic ovarian syndrome), IVF mentioned, angst, fluff at the end

Synopsis: Being pregnant hasn’t been easy, especially when Charles is away for the season and can’t be with you 24/7 like he wants to be. So what happens when he finds out you went into labor from a reporter? Chaos, utter chaos

A/N: Wrote this morning and I picked PCOS because that's something I suffer with all the time, and felt the need to write a fic about now, everyone's experience with PCOS and the topics discussed in this are different, I did research and put my own hardships and feelings in this, I hope everyone reads with an open mind and enjoys this but also Dad!Charles who could give up Dad!Charles

Charles would kill for you; he really would. And right now, he wanted nothing more than to kill the FIA, who would refuse to let him sit out this season to be with you, his pregnant wife.

Finding out you were pregnant was the happiest day of his life, but soon it turned...not a nightmare, but a living hell. You were classified as a high-risk pregnancy due to polycystic ovarian syndrome, something you let Charles know when you first started dating.

He was there through the painful periods, the cramps that left you defenseless and laying in bed all day, to the doctor visits and the mood swings. Through it all, he was still with you and loved you more and more each day.

When you both married and settled down a bit more, the conversation of becoming pregnant came up. Charles knew the risks and had done research before bringing it up with you; he even explored other ways of having children. But you told him you wanted to try naturally and go from there before discussing different ways and seeing what happens.

After 3 years of trying and doing everything, even trying IVF, that damn stick showed that fucking plus sign. You sat in the bathroom for hours just staring at the positive test, and that's precisely how Charles found you when he came home. On the bathroom floor, staring at the test.

He can still feel the tile on his skin as he hugs and kisses you, calming your fears away from the worst thoughts in your head.

It hasn't been an easy pregnancy, from cramps to horrible morning sickness, to the doctors worried you might give birth way too early, even being put on bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy due to worries of preeclampsia. Charles fought hard with the FIA, saying he needed to be with you, but they refused to listen and told him he needed to race. You talked him off the ledge as he called to quit and stay home.

"Charles stop; this is ridiculous. You love racing; you aren't quitting because of me." You groaned, going in circles with your mess of a husband.

"No! What's ridiculous is that the FIA won't even see why my wife has a high-risk pregnancy and that I'm needed home, not driving in goddamn circles!" He snaps, slamming his phone down and pulling his hair.

"Char, breath." You whisper from the bed, in agony, simply because you can't get up and comfort your husband.

Charles, almost sensing your dilemma moves from the end of the bed to laying down next to you, placing his head on your chest, careful of your swollen breasts, knowing how much they've been hurting lately. No words are said as fingers run through his hair to calm him down and stop him from making a huge mistake.

"Charles, I'll have your mother here with me. Me and the baby are going to be okay. Listen, if anything changes, I will call you immediately. You can't miss this; you have a real chance this year and must show the world that Charles Leclerc will be a World Champion." Your words convince him as he lets off that familiar defeated sigh of his, making your smile grow at this.

"Immediately. Do you understand? I don't care if it's stupid like your back itches you call me." He bargains, making you laugh and nod in agreement.

Pascale has been staying with you for only a month, and you finally reached the safe zone, where if you did go into labor, it wouldn't be so dangerous for you or the baby. It was race day, and Charles was in Silverstone, needing to finish P2 or higher to challenge Max for the title.

It was a typical day as Pascale fixed you a light snack as you weren't feeling well, your lower back was hurting, and it felt like your pelvis had its own heartbeat. You didn't think much of it as it was a hot day in Monte Carlo, and you had read in books that it was customary to feel this, so you didn't say anything to Pascale to not worry her. The race was halfway through when the first real cramp startled you to the point you dropped your cup; thankfully, it was rubber, so it didn't break.

"Y/n? Honey, what's wrong?" Pascale was right there in an instant picking up the cup, looking over you.

"Just...a cramp, it's nothing." You mummer rubbing your stomach but flinch from how much it hurts to touch it.

"Y/n, when did this start?" Pascale asks calmly, knowing it was wise to keep you calm and not start to freak out because you might be in early labor.

"Last night, but it's picked up this morning. It's nothing, Pascale, honestly, just the baby moving." You try to reason, not wanting to jump straight to labor.

"Y/n, I'm calling for an ambulance, okay? I think you might be in early labor, and with you being on bed rest, they need to help me, alright." She mummers pushing your hair back, trying everything to keep you calm.

"Okay, okay." You repeat as the cramp passes, and you hear her on the phone telling them everything as you force yourself to pay attention to the race and not to the growing pit in your stomach that you might be in labor.

They get here fast as you breathe through another cramp. Tears start to flutter down your cheeks, the realization of you possibly in labor while Charles isn't here, but in the UK. They ask you question after question and share a look, a look that sets you off.

"No! No! I'm not in labor, okay? I'm just having some cramps, which is normal; I have PCOS; okay, nope, I'm not." You argue as the medics alert the hospital to your condition.

"Mrs. Leclerc, I understand that you are only 29 weeks and you're scared, but right now, you are in early labor, and we need to get you to the hospital as soon as we can, okay?" The friendly medic tries to reason with you, but you refuse to see reason.

"I'm sorry, but no. Charles isn't here; he should be here; I can't do this alone. I'm sorry, but I'm not going anywhere." You argue as Pascale packs your bags and looks over at you.

"Y/n, I know you are scared, but Charles isn't here right now, but he will be okay. I'll call him when the race is over and let him know immediately what's going on. But, please, if you wait, it'll be worse for you and the baby." She can reason with you, finally getting you to the hospital as you try hard to stay calm and not make things worse.

But of course, Pascale could never make the phone call as everyone was too busy keeping you calm.

Charles was on top of the world. He had won Silverstone and was only 4 points behind Max now. Sticky with champagne, he checks his phone, looking for the standard text from you, but not seeing a text from you, he hits dial, calling you. But, you don't pick up, making him call you again, yet again, you don't pick up.

He reasons you must be asleep, knowing you had been super tired lately, and his mother said everything was fine. You're eating normally and just sleeping or reading. He moves and takes a picture of the trophy, telling you he won it for you and the baby and he couldn't wait to get back home to you both. Sadly, he's pulled away from his phone to go do media even though he wants to head to the airport and go home, but he needs to do this first.

Only 4 more hours before heading to the plane, then another 5 to 6 hours before he's back home to you.

He makes it through all 5 interviews before coming to the last one, Pierre on his right and Carlos on his left as they all give their final interviews.

"Charles, amazing race. I have to say that it was fabulous to see you win this and to have your teammate and your childhood best friend up there. It must've been something." The reporter gushes, making Charles smile at how genuine the reporter is.

"Yes, um, having Carlos and Pierre be there next to me was something. I mean, the Red Bulls put up one hell of a fight, but we know not to get too comfortable and that we really need to start pushing it more and more each day so we can close the gap and pull in front of them." Charles smiles.

"Yes, this must be a wonderful day with you; with what winning Silverstone and your wife going into labor, you must be just on top of the world." Charles freezes, hearing the words come out of the reporter's mouth and let's put a nervous laugh.

"I'm sorry? My wife isn't in labor," he argues, starting to fidget and lick his lips.

''Really? Reports are that she went into labor at the start of lap 23 and has been at the hospital, your mother." Having cut the camera, realizing that Charles honestly had no idea.

"Nope, she's not, okay, she's not in labor. She would've called." he snaps, hands fumbling for his phone, trying to call you again. This time, it goes to voicemail, sending his heart plummeting to his feet.

"Alright, that's enough for today." Pierre voices and grabs Charles leading him away from prying eyes as he keeps calling you repeatedly.

"Charles. Charles, stop!" Pierre yells, snatching the phone away as his friend cries. Fear takes over Charles as he starts to imagine the worst. What if something was seriously wrong, and you went into early labor. You're only 29 weeks. That's 6 months. Yes, the baby would be okay, but would you?

"Come on, let's go to the hotel. Get your stuff, and you and I will fly out and call your mom. Okay, let's go." Pierre reasons, dragging his friend away and to the cars trying to calm down Charles.

'Pierre calls Pascale and puts her on the speaker; thankfully, the woman picks up after 3 rings.

"Why the fuck didn't you call me the moment she went into labor? I wouldn't give a damn if I was still in the car. Why didn't you call!" Charles rips out before Pascale can say anything, and Pierre groans, knowing that if the situation was different, the Ferrari driver's mother would bury his ass in the ground.

"Because Charles, I've been trying to keep her calm. She's freaking out because you're not here, and honestly, honey, I forgot, as I was trying to make sure your wife's blood pressure doesn't get worse; now, get here as fast as you can because she's almost fully dilated and she needs you Charles, and she needs you to be calm and strong for her because right now she's not." Pascale hangs up, leaving the car in a stiff eerie silence.

"Get me to the airport as fast as you can," Charles whispers, making Pierre nod to ensure he'd get there.

"I can't do this, Pascale; nope, I'm sorry, but I can't. It hurts too much, please, make it stop." you cry as your mother-in-law soothes you. She tells you Charles is on the way. But that did nothing to comfort you. It only made you more anxious about the fact that this would happen.

"Y/n, I know you're scared but Charles will be here soon, okay? But you can't stop pushing, okay? All these nurses and doctors are here to help you, ow let them." She urges as you scream out from another contraction.

"I want Charles." You sob, collapsing against the bed from exhaustion. This was too much for you, the pain, Charles, and everyone in the room; you can't do this.

"Baby!" A familiar voice cries out as the door swings open, and Charles runs in. His hair is messy, and he looks so bewildered you could kiss him, but all you can do is scream.

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!" Making Pascale and everyone else jump, Charles just smiles and pushes everyone out of the way to get to your side.

"I'm sorry, I was on a plane, and my phone wasn't working." And lies, not wanting to tell the truth of no one telling him but a reporter that you were in labor.

"You're lucky I'm giving birth right now or so; help me go-" Your words get cut off by another contraction, making you grab Charles's hand and squeeze it so hard he'd thought it'd break.

"Okay, Mrs. Leclerc, we need you to push." the doctor instructs while Pascale slips outside, startled to see half the grid in the hallway.

"Come on, let's give them some privacy." Pascale smiles, wrapping an arm around Pierre as she leads the boys down the hallway.

"I love you," Charles whispers, kissing your forehead, not caring for a minute you are drenched in sweat.

"I love you too, but we're adopting or surrogacy next time." You cry as you get one more contraction, everyone yelling at you to push, and soon your cries are mixed in with smaller ones.

"He's here. He's here." Charles repeats, kissing you all over and making sure you are okay. He wanted to check on his baby, but first, he needed to ensure you were alright.

"It's a boy? We had a little boy." You whimper, leaning into Charles's chest as you cry in relief that everything went as smoothly as possible.

"He's perfect, Y/n, all ten toes and fingers, and god, I love you so much." Charles mummers finally kissing you while the nurse cleans up your son.

"Here you go." the nurse smiles, handing you your son, who cries his little lungs out but soon stops when he's placed on your chest.

"He'll need to go to NICU for just a night so we can go over everything and make sure there are no complications, but after that, he can come down here and stay with you, Momma." the nurse smiles, going back to help make sure your vitals and everything else was good.

'Charles, and you can't help but stare at your little boy while you start to feel that ache and tiredness settle in, but Charles holds you both, his entire world in his arms.

"We need a name," Charles whispers, making you hum in agreement.

"I've got the perfect one. Also, tell Pierre I say thank you for getting you here."

Charles blinks down at you, confused, but you just giggle.

"I can smell his cologne." Making Charles laugh right along with you.

You fell asleep after picking the name, and the nurses follow Charles to the waiting room where everyone is, Pascale the first to see her son.

"Everyone," Charles starts making the others turn their heads, Isa and Carmen gushing at the tiny little baby in Charles's arms.

"Meet Pierre Hervé Jules Leclerc." Charles announces, making everyone laugh as Pierre stands there stunned, looking at his best friend holding his son.

"Really?" Pierre asks, making Charles nod. "Of course, if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have gotten here in one piece. Also, Y/n says thank you." Charles smiles but adds, "she could smell your cologne on my clothes." Making everyone laugh at this.

"Can I hold him?" Pascale asks, but Charles shakes his head no.

"Sorry, but he won't be held by anyone but us and the staff for right now; he's got to go to the NICU overnight, and frankly, I want Y/n to get a say who holds him first after us, Mother." Charles smiles, but Pascale just beams, seeing Charles transform before her.

"Say goodbye to all your uncles and aunts, Pierre," Charles whispers, laying him in the trolly as the nurse reassures him that he'll be fine and he can come up and visit if he'd like.

Everyone watches as the Ferrari driver just smiles at his boy and leans down, whispering something to the baby before pulling away and watching the nurses take him a floor up.

"What did you say?" Pierre asks his friend.

"We'd always love and protect him, and he's only allowed to root for Ferrari." He laughs, making Pascale slap her son on the arm, everyone joining in on the laughter, a memory no one would forget.

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[xxblairexxss]

Duty

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x pregnant!reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

It reached 3.4k before I could even do the climax so I’m just gonna drop this one first or else I’m gonna rush the next part and ended up ruining everything.

Google result! Let’s hope this is accurate. I spent hours on website trying to find this. PROM is a shorten for premature rupture of membranes!

Requested!

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Charles was ecstatically happy to start the new season with the brightest hope because of how he ended the previous one as the second place in the World Driver Championship, even more elated when this was his first time starting the new season as a new father-to-be but it was undeniable that Charles had been struggling since the first race.

He seemed to be developed a new trait as well as upgraded some of his old ones ever since your pregnancy. Your first pregnancy. He had asked you to stop accompanying him to races which resulted to a fight, and you claimed that he didn’t need your support anymore. He eventually gave in but with conditions where you needed to stay by his side all the time or if he was occupied, he would force Joris to stay with you. When you got into your second trimester, he had again, asked you to to stop attending the races but you still wanted to, so he gave in again but only allowed you to attend the qualifying and race day so you started missing his practice day, which caused the media to question about your absence and Charles had to reassure everyone how you had been doing fine, but he had to be stricter on you to avoid any unwanted accidents. When you entered your third trimester, he didn’t allow you to attend any of the races at all and this time, he didn’t give in, no matter what.

Even so, he never allowed you to be left alone. You would either be at his parent’s house, your parents’ house, or he would bring either one to your house.

No matter how much you reassured him.

“Charles, can I just stay here?” Your voice trailed off, already feeling gloomy from what he was gonna say. You were sitting on the bed, looking at your husband going in and out of the room packing his stuffs before his flight in a few hours.

“What was it, baby?” He walked back into the room, placing one of his perfume into the small luggage bag and cocked his brow, waiting for you to repeat what he had missed.

“I don’t want to go to my parents house this weekend.”

He heaved a sigh of defeat and it made you regret for bringing up the topic. “You know I’m doing this for your safety, right? Honey, I won’t be here for a week, that’s long enough. What if something happened?”

“I know but I’m not due for another month.”

He took your hand in his, thumb softly grazing on your knuckles. “You are already 35 weeks. I can’t take the risk of leaving you alone. The doctor told us you need to be careful as they suspected PROM, no?”

“But–“ You jutted your bottom lips, looking away when your husband tilted his head away, eyes squeezing shut when you tried to argue even more.

“But what, honey? Go on, I’m listening.”

“Y/F/N wanted to come over with her little girls this weekend. I just wanted to do a little movie night and bake some cookies with them.” You felt Charles moved his shirts that you were folding in front of you away and skittered closer, seeing how you refused to look at him now.

“Can I see your pretty face?”

He beamed, feeling his heart caught the eternity’s mist as you looked up to him with teary eyes. “My crybaby.” He had realised since you entered your second trimester, your hormones seemed to be ramped up and you had been in a constant mood swings and crying spells, crying at almost everything. He had told his mom, worried about it as he wasn’t sure why. Even after he talked to you a lot about it and she said it was normal, but it sure took him a while to get used to it.

“Charles..” You hit on his arm and he chuckled.

“Alright, alright. Just this one time, okay? Make sure to pick up my call and let me know if it hurts anywhere.”

“I love you!” You exclaimed and threw your arms around his waist, head leaning against his chest.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Let me know if anything happens. Don’t make me regret my decision. Promise?”

“Promise!”

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Few days passed, Charles got the podium for the second time in a row and you had been eagerly waiting for him to walk through the door. It was a shame you weren’t there to hug him as soon as he hopped off the fast car but he’d made sure you didn’t feel left alone as he called you right after, even mentioned you and his unborn daughter in his interviews.

“Congratulations! Two podiums in a row!” You threw you arms in the air and hopped, stopping when Charles held your waist.

“Careful, love.” He brushed his lips on your forehead, letting it linger against your skin. “I missed you, and you too, little one.” He bended down and stroked on your middle.

“I wanted to bake you muffins last night but I fell asleep because your child won’t stop kicking me.”

He placed his arm around waist, pulling you close as much as he could, another hand on the side of your belly. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. We can bake muffins together now that I’m home?”

“Are you tired?”

He pulled a funny expression and nodded impatiently. “I am worn out, baby. Total knocked out.”

“Can you buy me the matcha ice cream?”

“I bought you three tubs before I left, didn’t I?”

“I–“ You were going to tell him your excuse but ended up sucking your lips into a thin line, pulling away to pinch your husband on his arm. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m gonna cry!”

He winced and recoiled, hand leaving your belly to stroke on his waist where you just pinched. “Ow! What did I do?”

“You looked at me as if it was impossible for someone to finish three tubs of ice cream in one week! See? You are doing it again! I hate you.”

“What do you want me to do?” His mouth widen in disbelief and brought his palm up to cover his eyes. “Is this okay now?”

“Better.” You giggled and went back hugging his waist. You definitely missed hugging him without your belling getting in the way but it won’t be that long now. “Can you still get me the ice cream?”

“Of course, love. I’ll be right back.”

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Charles has been home for a week and day by day, you could see how he got progressively quite. He didn’t ignore you, didn’t raise his voice at you, he never did. He was still the husband that you wished every woman would have but he had been looking as if he was keeping a lot to himself.

“Charles?” You heard him hummed in response, his face is buried against your neck, his arm draped on your belly as you played with his hair. “Are you okay?”

“Why did you ask?”

“I feel like you are worrying about something. Talk to me, honey. What’s wrong?” He went silenced, his hand left your belly as he pulled away.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I’m just scared? No– worried. No– I’m not sure. Probably both.”

You placed your under your round middle as you turned, scooted facing your husband who looked like he was in a deep dejection. “Was it because of this weekend?”

“Yeah. I just can’t afford to disappoint them again, love.”

“How do you know you were gonna disappoint them?” You placed your hand on his neck, thumb brushing against his stubble. “Hm?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like it? It’s not the first time, honey.”

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself. It’s not even the race day yet but you are already assuming the worst. Give yourself a chance to prove yourself. I know my husband very well and I know he can ace everything thrown in his face.”

His lips turned into an upwards curve as he bended down to kiss your belly, hand patted on the side of it. “Mommy really knows how to cheer daddy up, doesn’t she? How I wish you could come too, baby.”

“We can come! Right, baby?” You replied, your hand strokes on the other side of your middle, voice filled with a hint of hope.

“No. I didn’t actually mean it, honey. It was hypothetical.” He straighten his body, and you saw the frown he always made whenever you told him you wanted to come to any races.

“But I really want to go..”

“You know what my answer will be, don’t you? I’m not gonna change it this time, Y/N.”

“This could be my last time attending your race before she comes. I don’t want to stay in the house. It’s getting boring and I have nothing to do.” You had been waiting for him to look at you as perhaps, there could be a tiny expectation where he would change his mind but he didn’t. “You’ll never understand.” You pulled your hand away, standing up to leave the living room.

“Baby,” He called out and of course, he got ignored. He knew it and wasn’t even expecting for you to reply. “Hear me out first. Y/N–“ You slammed the door and locked it before he could pushed it back. “Okay, locking the door is not it, honey.” He knocked and waited, but he didn’t hear anything. “Y/N, open the door.” Nothing. “Baby, please.” Still nothing. “Open the door or I’m gonna eat your ice cream. I’m serious.”

“You are mean.” He bit his lips, trying to hold his smile when you opened the door a second after, glaring at him with your arms folded.

“Oh? I’m the mean one when you just slammed the door and locked your husband out of the room? Baby, can you at least hear what I was gonna say?”

“I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t have to say it to my face.” You rolled your eyes and walked back to the bed.

“I thought you know how to read my mind. I was gonna ask you to be my date this Sunday but I think I got rejected.” He was going to stand up, pretending to be walking away but you gripped on his arm.

“Oh my god! Really? Can I really go to the race?”

“Last one before our little girl arrives.”

He gave in, yet again.

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You had been feeling cramps ever since the weekend arrived. Your back had been hurting since your third trimester but it hurt even more these days, especially when you laid down. You could barely fall asleep even when you tried to sleep sitting against the headboard so you always woke up feeling all worn out which caused you to lose appetite. Even your head hurt due to the lack of sleep.

Charles had realised you were somewhat different but every time he asked you, you would just brush it off, saying that it was normal for pregnant women to feel like this nearly the end of the pregnancy. He realised you didn’t ask him to buy anything that you craved for which you used to every single day. You had been really quite. You only took a bite out of your meal only when he caught you but every time he asked if you were fine, you would always say yes, telling him to stop worrying. He had been contemplating if he could skip practice day, in any way possible but you got so mad at him for “being silly”.

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You were sitting in front of your dressing table, contemplating about which scent you should go with when your belly went tight, as if going through another cramp and it made you winced in pain. Your body slightly bended towards your middle.

“Honey? Are you done?”

“Y– yeah, I’m almost done.”

“Hey.” Charles peeked his head and strode to where you were sitting, crouching down so he could see your face. “I know I’ve been asking you this for like the million times but are you really fine? You are worrying me, love. You don’t have to come if you are not feeling well.”

“I am fine! I am just excited. I promise.”

His hand went to your round belly and softly rubbed on it. “I saw your face scrunched up earlier. Is she giving you a hard time?”

“She just has been kicking non stop. She’s probably too excited to see his daddy wins the race.” You placed your hand on his and cackled.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that, baby.”

“You can, honey! We’ll be rooting for you!”

“If that’s what my girls wished for then I guess I could make it comes true. P5 to P1 doesn’t sound hard, does it? We need to go. Are you all set?” He stood up straight and pinched on your cheek. “You look beautiful, baby.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile from the compliments. “Liar. Can you help me up?” You stretched out your arms for him to pull you up.

“Ready? 1, 2, 3!” His body was slightly slanted to give you enough space when you stood up. “I’m not lying. My wife is so beautiful I almost mistook her as an angel.”

“Whatever.”

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They were expecting rain to come since it had been raining during both practice and qualifying round but it felt like the sun was just a hand fist away from your head the moment you stepped out of the car. The media had to make it worse since this was your first appearance in the paddock in your last semester where you looked undeniably pregnant now. They had to block your way when you just wanted to sit down as fast as you can, even after Charles had rejected every request. His arm never left your waist. He even shook his head to people who asked to interview him regarding the race, telling them that he would come back after he sent you to the Ferrari’s hospitality.

“Here’s your drink. Oh, and I also got you some chocolates because it’s hot and you always needed something sweet. Some vitamins which I’m not sure if you ever need them but, you know, just in case. And– “

“Charles, I’m fine. Go and do your duty as a driver, honey.” You held his hand that was halted in the air as he was searching for something else he could give you.

“Are you sure? You were trembling earlier, Y/N.”

“It was just the sun. I’m fine now. See?” You cupped his cheeks and giggled when he shivered, feeling your cold hands against his skin. “Go! Don’t make them wait.”

“I’ll come back to you before I have to get into the car. Don’t be in the garage. Stay in here. It’s more comfortable, alright? I love you.” He leaned in to kiss you and pecked on your shirt covered belly. “And you too, little one. Please be nice on mommy.”

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You were lying through your teeth but Charles didn’t catch any of it. He was probably too nervous for the race as he could usually read you like an open book. Your cramps had been going on recurrently, your belly is hard to touch and it felt heavier. The steps taken from your car to the paddock made you out of breath, your legs were shaking from having to walk through the cramps but your husband knew nothing about any of it. You felt like the weather and the tension from earlier might had something to do with it. You weren’t going to tell him because he had enough on his plate and though you knew he didn’t mind it at all, you didn’t want him to do anything hasty on the race day. He had told you multiple times how he could skip the practice and even the qualifying round if you just told him something was wrong and if he knew about what you had been feeling these past few days, he wouldn’t even be attending this race and you couldn’t afford that. He was a Ferrari driver before he was your husband. This should be his priority, not you. It’s Monaco, he had always been the centre in every Monaco GP, what would the fans say if he, the only Monegasque in the grid was missing on the important day.

You weren’t sure why you had been feeling this way. Your due date was 3 weeks away. That was surely long enough. You even googled if it was possible for women to get Braxton hicks in their 37 weeks into the pregnancy but most of the answers sent you to shiver that you refused to read in detail and tried to hold it off, until the race, at the very least.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Charles couldn’t see you before he got into the car. He had been pushing his schedule back when he chose to stay with you in the hospitality earlier so he had no more gap before he race. He was now in the grid walk, fireproofs suit on as he was putting on the balaclava, the white-coloured open mask while one of his race assistant, Xavi was holding his helmet. “Where’s Joris?”

“He’s there. Joris!”

Joris came running from the side of the grid and Charles turned to look at him. “Please keep an eye on Y/N for me. I have a feeling she’s not telling me something.”

“Got it. You don’t have to worry about her.”

“If, God forbid, something happened to her during the race, please let me know. At any time of the race.” He then took the helmet from Xavi and gripped on Joris’s shoulder as he was about to walk away. “Promise me, Joris. Let me know. No matter what position I am.”

“Nothing will happen to her, Charles. I’ll be by her side. Just focus on your race.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“Ow..” You winced, steps came to a halt as you placed your hand on the wall to hold yourself. The cramp became more and more intense you could barely stand up any longer than 5 minutes. Even a walk to the bathroom took you long enough as you had to keep on stopping or your legs would just give away. “Not too hard, baby..”

“Y/N, you okay?” Joris came and your face instantly became more at ease to hide the pain.

“I’m fine, Joris. I just feel a little hot.” He offered you a hand and as soon as you pulled your hand from the wall, your whole body became wobbly and Joris immediately caught you in his arms.

“Woah, woah, slow down. Let’s walk you back to the lounge area, alright? Just lean on me.”

You felt a chill as you started sweating abnormally though you were in an air-conditioned area. Soon as you took a step forward, everything became a blur and you lost control of yourself, giving in completely.

“Y/N!” You felt Joris’s body against yours as you fell to the ground. Your eyes were heavy that it felt like it required a huge amount of energy to force it opened and you let yourself capiltulated to the darkness.

Joris immediately called for a medic and he was told that you needed to be taken to the emergency room right away, making him even more overwrought as it sounded more serious than he thought. “Can you wait until I informed her husband first?”

“Sir, we are suspecting internal emergency. We can’t wait. Leave us her emergency contact number and we’ll call them to direct to the hospital.”

Internal emergency. Joris could barely think straight and became more perturbed. One because Charles had given him the responsibility to look over you and he thought it was just his friend being overprotective. Second because you had been more like a family, like a little sister to him so he didn’t want anything bad happened to you. He had given Charles’s parent a call, telling Pascale to call your parents as well before he barged into the garage. He couldn’t cross the pit lane due to safety precaution but the group of people who had direct access to the drivers’ radio were all sitting across the pit lane. He ended up grabbing a random engineer to help him passed the words. “Tell them to inform Charles that his wife had been brought to the emergency room.”

He then saw the engineer walked and whispered to the person in charge and felt a little relief because now all he had to do is wait for Charles so he could go to the hospital.

But he didn’t know none of his words were being conveyed.

“Charles,”

Silenced.

“Guys, I’m listening.”

“No, nothing. Just wanted to inform that we are sticking to plan A.”

“Copy that.”

Joris waited, and waited. He was so anxious he couldn’t even stand still. He saw Charles on the final turn and thought to himself that he was gonna came into the pit lane any second,

but he didn’t. His car passed the starting line again as he carried onto the next lap.

✧.* tags! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @aundercover @love4lando @shinrjj

if your usernames were crossed meaning I can’t tag you 😭 let me know if you would like to be removed or added to the taglist! or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader

[wosoamazing]

The Birth

Warnings: Premature, Emergency C-Section, Emergency Hysterectomy, Bleeding, Ambulances, Hospitals, please let me know if anything else.

A/N: This isn't super happy but it has a happy ending (overall). Also decided to release this a bit earlier than tonight…

Katie woke up during the night to an indescribable pain, she felt like her uterus was contracting whilst she also felt a stabbing pain at the same time, and with every beat of her heart it felt like her abdomen was filling up. The pain was something else, it was a new level, if she had to rate it, it would probably sit at a 100/10. She rolled around trying to get comfortable but she couldn’t so she woke Caitlin up. “Cait.” Katie cried out, Caitlin immediately woke to the sound, “Something is wrong. It hurts. Really bad, and it feels like my water broke or something” Katie said out of breath due to the pain. Caitlin pulled back the covers to see a pool of blood between Katie’s legs. “Shit” she mumbled under her breath, not allowing herself to panic. She placed a hand on Katie’s shoulder, and gave her a soft warm smile.

“Babe, I think we should call an ambulance, but first do you want to stay here or move to sit somewhere else?” Caitlin felt her heart rate increase with every millisecond as she tried to suppress her ever growing fear and panic, needing to stay strong for Katie.

“Floor?” “Yeah sure let me just get some towels,” Caitlin replied hoping she suppressed the shakiness of her voice enough, she sprinted down the hall and grabbed some towels, coming back quickly laying them on the floor, before helping Katie out of the bed and onto the floor, practically holding Katies body weight as she slightly swayed. Caitlin began to dial 999 as Katie whimpered out “Cait, I-” “Are you going to be sick? Pass out?” Katie just shrugged in defeat, Caitlin quickly grabbed the bucket just around the corner from the bathroom and placed it in front of Katie, crouching down next to her, wrapping an arm around her body to hold her up and also comfort her. Just as Caitlin connected with a dispatcher, Katie threw up, Caitlin was rubbing Katie’s back as she spoke to the dispatcher.

Not even five minutes after she had connected with the dispatcher the paramedics arrived, there was an emergency response team and a normal team, they worked quickly on Katie, whose condition worsened by the second, whilst all Caitlin could do was stand there and watch, feeling helpless, she couldn't help but let a small amount of the panic and fear to bubble over, causing a few tears to leave her eyes. She knew something was seriously wrong, the towels were drenched in blood after only a few minutes.

One of the paramedics came over to Caitlin “They are going to get her onto the stretcher and you’re going to come with me, so we are ready to leave as soon as they are.” Caitlin nodded, and quickly grabbed their phones from the night stand, as they walked towards the door the paramedic stopped, “are these the house keys?” Caitlin tried to speak but she couldn’t so she just nodded, “I’ll put them in the door, they’ll lock up as they are bringing her out” a pained yelp was heard from the bedroom, causing yet another tear to fall from Caitlin’s eyes, “It’s okay honey, they are taking care of her.”

_____

“What’s happening?” Viv and Beth said as they walked in, Caitlin had called Steph straightaway, and Steph met her at the hospital. She messaged Viv and Beth to cancel their coffee and dog walk tomorrow morning not knowing how long she would be at the hospital for. Beth had been awake and saw message deciding immediately that they would come to the hospital too.

“We don’t know,” Steph replied, looking down at caitlin to check on her, she was resting on Steph’s shoulder, her face was tearstained and her eyes red and puffy, she also had a constant look of panic, concern and terror on her face.

“She woke up and said something was wrong and it hurt and she was bleeding, like heaps, so we called the ambulance and as I connected she threw up, I honestly thought she would pass out, but the ambulance came insanely quickly and they got her loaded up. I sat in the front of the ambulance and when we showed up there were like heaps, I mean heaps of doctors at the door waiting for her, and they took her through immediately. I was directed to wait here and they would come update me, when they had an update, if they had an update” Caitlin said in shock. Both women nodded before moving towards the two Aussies. Beth sat down next to Caitlin, and placed a hand on her thigh, letting her know they were there for her, Viv sat next to Beth. 

A little while later a doctor came in, and took Caitlin to a more private room, before giving her an update.

“Baby is healthy, doing excellently. Due to her prematurity, she is in the NICU, but she is excelling at all the standard tests and exceeding expectations, which is absolutely amazing to see. So she is just in the special care unit. Katie is in recovery she is doing good, she lost a lot of blood so she had to have a transfusion, we also had to do an emergency hysterectomy to stop the bleeding, she will be in the hospital for at least a week but it could be longer,” 

“Can I see her?” “I will get a nurse to take you up to the NICU, yo-” “No Katie, I can’t see our little girl without her, that wouldn’t be right” “I’m sorry but you won't be able to see Katie for another hour or so,” Caitlin nodded glumly before following the nurse up to the NICU.

_____

Caitlin had just finished visiting you, she expected you to be more fragile than you were, she had mentioned to the doctors that throughout the pregnancy everyone was saying you were developing quicker than expected, and whether that was why you looked good for a 32 weeker, the neonatologist informed her that you were in fact 35 weeks not 32 weeks, they had started counting the weeks from the confirmed result not the transfer day. He also informed Caitlin that due to this mistake he had to ‘report’ the clinic, but reassured her that Katie and Caitlin would not be involved in this report in any way, which made Caitlin slightly relieved. She decided to call Jonas quickly before going up to visit Katie.

Caitlin: Jonas I need to take some time off, Kati-

Jonas: Absolutely Caitlin, Steph messaged me, she only told me that something happened and she asked if she could have the day off to be there for you. Please take as much time off as you need, we will work around the both of you, and we will follow your lead. In terms of Katie’s recovery, is that something she will be doing with us?

Caitlin: Um, I haven’t spoken to her yet but I would assume so, if you want we can arrange a meeting for like a week, over the phone obviously, we will know more in a week, in terms of the recommendations for getting back and stuff.

Jonas: Yes of course Caitlin, I can arrange that for you. Also, are both of them okay? You don’t have to say anything if you don't want to.

Caitlin: Yes, they are, she was born, which makes her early, and they actually had to do an emergency hysterectomy on Katie but in the long run they should both be okay, and Katie should have no further complications.

Jonas: Caitlin, I’m so sorry to hear that, please know that the club will be here to support you both if you ever need anything. If you don’t have anything else to say, I’m happy to let you go as I’m sure you want to get back to your family.

Caitlin: Um, just one more thing, because I know Katie will ask, in terms of the fans and the media, um, well-

Jonas: The club is happy to release a statement on behalf of you both, we can just say personal reasons or if you want to say more, it's totally up to you, and no rush to make a decision, if there are questions on Sunday when the game comes around, we can say as little as you weren't available for selection.

Caitlin: Okay thank you Jonas, I’ll talk to you later. Bye

Jonas: Bye

_____

Caitlin walked into Katie’s room, to find her lying in her bed awake, Caitlin’s heart melted, she had not expressed it but she had been so scared of losing Katie, so to see her awake albeit slightly groggy filled her heart. A few soft tears rolled down her face as she walked to sit on the chair that was placed near Katie’s head.

“I love you, Katie, I’m so glad you are still here.” The Australian said as she leant over and placed a soft kiss on her girlfriend's lips.

“Have you seen her?” Caitlin nodded “How is she?”

“She is very cute, looks just like you. Our little girl. They don’t know when she will be allowed to go home but she is doing great, h-” “I’m sorry” Katie cut of Caitlin, the overwhelming feeling of guilt building up inside of her.

“None of this is your fault, you did nothing wrong, okay, you need to understand that. We did, you did everything right, we couldn’t have seen this coming and we couldn’t have done anything to stop it from happening, and I just want you to know that I am going to be by your side every single little step of the way. I told Jonas that I needed some time off and he said that I could take as long as I need. We are going to get through this together, and face any challenges that come our way together, okay. I love you so much” 

“Some of the girls are here by the way, in the waiting room, I told them to go but they insisted on staying.”

“Oh, have they seen her?” Katie’s heart broke a little at the thought of her teammates seeing you before she did.

“No, only I have. Our little lion cub does need a name though.” “Can we think about that tomorrow?” Katie asked as her head dropped back against the bed in exhaustion. 

“Well I was actually thinking about Y/N, I think it suits her well.” Caitlin said smirking as she saw Katie open her eyes, knowing very well she had just caved in, allowing Katie to win the 5 month long fight they had been having, but Katie deserved it, and truth be told you did suit Y/N.

“Really?” “Of course babe, how bout you get some sleep. But just remember I love you” she said, placing a kiss on Katie’s lips, who smiled before quickly falling asleep.

Caitlin sent a message to Steph, before she sent one to Beth and Viv, thanking them for being there, and giving them an update, before she decided to try and get some more sleep herself.

#woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #katie mccabe x reader #caitlin foord x reader

[angsthology]

“oh, god, no...” — or an alt title: three people bonding over random things as alex makes a horrible decision

one of his worst ideas ever. he’s never doing it ever again.

a/n ckckckckcck i love u dino anon but i was a bit stumped on where this could go BUT i give u surprise to make it more fun i love love love alex my i wanna say pookie but i cant take that word seriously. also im guilty of oversharing roolore in these suposedly shorter chapters. and now that im realizing things this kinda suck lawl

THE KANGAROO(KIE) VS. THE WORLD

after a long day of media, roo was finally free to do whatever she pleased (that being going back to her hotel and pass out until whatever time her body wakes up). currently, she’s slipping on her backpack and taking her phone out, scrolling mindlessly on her contacts until she found the right name.

“where the hell are you?” she starts, holding her phone to her face. “alright. you wanna watch a movie ‘til we pass out?” she paused waiting for an answer as she walks out of the building, “‘kay, i’ll meet you out front.”

just as she clicked her phone off, she looked up to be met with a face that just… stood there with a smile—making her jump and scream in surprise, catching the attention of people around.

when she collected all her life (that had been scattered when she got spooked) she took notice of the source of her heart-attack. he smiled innocently still, as if he’s done nothing wrong.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!”

alex, the culprit in question didn’t falter (though he did flinch a little bit at her outburst), he saw this one coming and to be quite frank, he did this to himself.

“i deserved that.” he closed his eyes in acceptance of defeat. alas, he brushed it off, he moved to her side and slung a hand around her shoulder. she was about to shrug him off but decided against it. “how would you feel about helping me pick my next hair color?”

that piqued her interest, she finally looks up to come face-to-face with him again, though now a smile graced her face like a cheshire cat.

his face fell. he was starting to slowly regret his decision.

without another word, a large grin still etching her face, she fished her phone out of her pocket and started scrolling through something. when alex tried to take a peek, she immediately moved away to prevent him from doing so mumbling something along the lines of ‘corporate secrets’.

he made a face at her words. but when she finally showed him her screen, he felt as if the face he made before was a bit premature.

“what the hell is that?!” he exclaimed.

she moved her phone so she could see the picture for herself seeing not what she had opened before but rather a video instead, “oh, sorry, this was from my pitbull concert. he’s great, isn’t he?” she happily showed him the video again.

he gave her another face.

“right, uh, here.” she showed him the correct picture.

he paused. “…what is that supposed to be?”

looking at the picture again, she took a second to think about it then shrug, “neon green/yellow-ish, give or take.”

his mouth drops at her direction. “what do you mean?”

“what do you mean, ‘what do i mean’?” she takes a look at his shocked face then decided to continue, “i mean: neon green/yellow-ish!” pausing, thinking back her words, “give or take!” she pauses again and re-clarified much calmer, “okay, maybe a bit more faded and muted.”

he shook his head, non-verbally ending that part of the discussion.

“where are we even going to get that kind of color?”

she shrugs, “i know a guy.”

the two girls were now currently sitting on the couch, the doberman peacefully laying between them—her eyes too, like theirs, glued to the television playing jurassic park when suddenly a knock came, shifting all three of the girls’ attention towards it.

roo was about to get up to check who it was. being who she was, she had to be extra careful who to let into her living quarters.

“it’s me!” the other side announced.

she looked away from the door and blinked, her brows screwing together in thought until she realized who that voice belonged to.

“alex?” she tested the waters.

“yeah!”

she sighed, her eyes then looking expectantly at the dog that lied beside her, tilting her head as if she were the dog asking their owner for something.

the dog whimpers as if groaning at her request. alas, she jumped off the couch begrudgingly walking towards the door and jumping up to open it.

“he— huh?” alex stopped in his tracks when instead of seeing his friend right behind the door, she was way far sitting on the couch with her friend. she greeted him nonetheless then motioning her hand towards the dog that sat quaintly besides the door, smiling up at him happily.

“oh!” he raised his brows in surprise then bending down to pet the dog who happily accepted, “who’s this fella?” he asked in a high-pitched voice, his accent stronger than usual.

“that’s jet, she’s mine.” roo answered from the couch, jurassic park long forgotten. “what are you doing here?” she asked the brit.

alex then moved his attention away from the dog, his hand still petting her chin, “uhm—i need your help.”

“with what?” her voice slightly gurgling from taking a sip of her drink.

he then holds up the boxes of hair dye with a forced awkward smile.

she gave him a look, “what about your girlfriend?”

“busy today,” he shrugged.

“then do it tomorrow.” she counters.

“okay, fine, i’m bored and alone.” he confessed.

she wanted to help; she really did but—

she groaned loudly; head thrown back to rest on the back of the couch.

“would you believe me if i say my ass is glued and have already morphed into this couch?”

“i would, actually.”

suddenly, from far behind on the other side of the couch—her presence almost forgotten—nika made herself present, “i’ll help. my ass is getting tired of the couch and i’m pretty good with handling people’s hair; i actually spent a summer working in my mom’s salon once.”

roo the gasped, turning around to face her friend with her jaw slack in shock—sarcasm written all over her face—“you had a job? like an actual job? once upon a time?”

“oh shut the fuck up,” she waved off the racing driver and stood up from her seat on the couch over to the other. “now get up, let’s do this.”

about a half an hour into their attempt, nika and alex had set up a mini salon chair using one of the hotel’s dining table chairs with a layer of plastic sitting on the ground. the latter sat on a chair in the middle of the room with a cloth draped over the top of his body. if anyone were to come in through the front door right now, they would assume kidnapping with a side of chemical testing. nika herself had changed into one of her uglier shirts incase they would accidentally get some dye on it.

the alfa romeo driver, on the other hand, still sat where she was the entire time unmoving and un-helping, now having the large dog sat on her lap feeding treats off of her hand while the other scratches the dog between her ears.

“alright. i think that’s all of your hair.” the girl stepped back from her friend’s friend’s hair, admiring the work she’s done. “now we wait. —good luck al,” she said as she took off the plastic gloves that were now mostly green.

alex—whose chair was facing the door for some reason—gripped the chair with his two (clean) hands and moved it around along with himself so he can face the couch. “so…” he looked between his co-worker and her friend, “does she just… go everywhere with you?”

“yeah.” she answered shortly before continuing, “you guys have wags i have… this.”

he looked at nika again, “no offense to you, but—”

“it’s fine, have you met her?” she shrugged pointing at the little shit she unfortunately calls a friend.

he chuckled then continued, “what about daisy-mae? i thought she was your best friend?”

“she is. this one’s just fit baggage claim. plus—daisy’s a serious scholar she’s still very busy getting her degree.”

from the kitchen sink, nika scoffed, “yeah, while she’s stuck with me around the world, mae’s stuck with atticus in college.”

alex the jumped into the conversation at the familiar name, “oh! the drummer, right?”

“yes.”

“oh—hey,” nika turned around from the sink and walked to the closest counter to the two friends, “there’s still quite some left, who wants it?”

as if sensing an idea in the air, jet jumps off roo’s lap and ran into another room.

said girl sighs, “man, knew jet was too smart for trips like this. should’ve known i should’ve brought bennie instead.”

as if the dog heard her, a bark came from the other room.

“whatever. i guess that’s one option out the window,” she turns to nika over the counter, “do me!” she smiles happily.

“alright. your death wish.”

alex, who was momentarily smiling, dropped his previous expression, “wait what—”

te1enoviyuhs

liked by daisymaerose, selvnika, and 836,735 others

tagged: selvnika and lilymhe

te1enoviyuh some notes from yours truly:

lilymhe why did u have to dump babysitting duties

and gooddyeyoung thank u for the hair dye i love hayley williams 🥰

and uh i guess awstenknight thanks for the hookup and free dye

and to everyone else!!!! hey. dump acc just dropped

see all 836 comments.

backbiteroo WHO LET YOU DO THIS

te1enoviyuh backbiteroo myself. i am a grown woman.

selvnika the nika salon is now open for business 🥰

te1enoviyuh selvnika i hope you bankrupt and close

selvnika te1enoviyuh kiss yourself.

norrislftv selvnika ??????

norrislftv OH

alex_albon why was i not tagged 😕 i thought we were twins now

te1enoviyuh alex_albon hm. sure. u wish

daisymaerose hi jet

liked by te1enoviyuh

gaslytv what does... alex mean... when he said... twins...

schupastry this is so random but so cute

awstenknight youre welcome grinch

te1enoviyuh awstenknight 🖕

lilymhe 😬😬 i apologize for having a job

te1enoviyuh lilymhe don’t apologize for that. apologize for not taking ur kid to work.

lilymhe te1enoviyuh that i won’t apologize for.

50kidgaroos BABE WAKE UP NEW DUMP ACCOUNT JUST DROPPED

taglist; @treehouse-mouse @disneyprincemuke @yansbolobao @leilanixx @judespoision @vellicora @bborra

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one x reader #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x female reader #f1 smau #formula 1 smau #formula one smau #formula 1 x oc #tine’s roo vs the world #alex albon x reader #alex albon x you

[gatheringbones]

[“A conservative approach to personal change also means that we proceed slowly—and with the understanding that our moves forward will be accompanied by inevitable frustrations and derailments. Thinking small provides us with the opportunity to observe and check out the impact of each new behavior on a relationship system, and to sit with the benefits and costs of change. It also militates against our natural tendency to move in with a big bang and then drop out entirely when initial responses are not to our liking.

When an acquaintance of mine announced she was going to approach her father during the holiday vacation to try to “get close” to him by “breaking through his brick wall,” I suspected she was doomed to failure. While I didn’t know exactly what “breaking through his brick wall” might entail, I was not surprised when she returned home feeling grumpy and defeated. The outcome might have been different if she had been less ambitious—if she had planned one specific move toward her goal. For example, she might have requested some one-to-one time with her dad, perhaps for coffee or a short walk. Because she and her father never had “alone time” in the midst of family visits, this in itself would have been a significant change, even if they had talked about nothing more than the weather. And had he resisted her efforts, she would then know she needed to begin with a smaller move still. From a more conservative standpoint, it may have been premature for my acquaintance to make any new move until after she had taken time to get a calmer, less blaming perspective on the distance between herself and her dad. Perhaps she set up a confrontation that she unconsciously knew was doomed to fail, because she herself needed to reinforce her own distant position from her father, as well as her perception of herself as the one who could be close. In any case, breaking down someone’s brick wall is hardly an example of moving slow and thinking small.

Substantive change in important relationships rarely comes about through intense confrontation. Rather, it more frequently results from careful thinking and from planning for small, manageable moves based on a solid understanding of the problem, including our own part in it.”]

harriet lerner, from the dance of intimacy: a woman’s guide to courageous acts of change in key relationships

#harriet lerner #brainspace #currently reading

[morganski-19]

For the friends AU - you gotta do the one with the leather pants…I can’t decide who would be that character, but I think it would be hilarious!

I really enjoyed the first snippet. Made me feel like I was watching both Friends & ST! Great job!

I thought about this for so long, and then it just hit me. Eddie and Argyle. Eddie with the leather pants, obviously, and Argyle on the other line. Hope it lives up to expectations, I kind of let it run and they end up having a deeper conversation at the end (for set up purposes). But still funny.

The One with the Leather Pants

(for this one, imagine like a sitcom split screen, switching pov on a phone call type situation)

Eddie sits frantically on the toilet, waiting for Argyle to pick up the phone. He’s wearing nothing by a T-shirt and tight boxers, his leather pants halfway up his calves. It was broiling in the apartment he was in. And, in an attempt to leave silently after his latest hookup, he brought his clothes to the bathroom to clean up and get out. But his pants would not slide up his legs any higher. He can’t exactly walk out of here pants-less in the middle of the night.

“Hey dude,” Argyle says when he picks up the phone. Lounging on his couch in baggy pajamas while watching tv.

“Thank god, I didn’t wake you, did I?” Eddie sighs in relief.

“Nah, dude. I was up watching some tv. What’s up?”

Eddie looks down at his legs, letting out another sigh in premature defeat. “I got a kind of situation.”

Argyle leans his head on his hand. “What kind of situation?”

“You know those leather pants I wear when I go out sometimes. Well, I wore them out tonight, met a guy, we went back to his place to hook up. And his apartment is like a million degrees, and I was sweating a lot. So, to make an already long story short, I can’t get my pants back on.”

Argyle nods, taking in the information. “Huh, that’s rough dude.”

“I’m aware,” Eddie says while raising his eyebrows. “Any idea what to do?”

“I don’t know,” he says while scratching his chin. “Not exactly the best at this stuff. Should have called Nancy. Or Robin, she would know.”

Eddie presses his hand against his forehead. “Yeah, I know, but I didn’t want to get laughed at and humiliated, so I called you.”

“Aww, that’s kind of sweet. Hold on, let me think.”

“I’m up for literally anything right now, I can’t get them past my knees.”

“Is the guy you’re with still up, can you ask him if it’s cool for you to take a shower to cool down and wash the sweat off.”

Eddie glances at the closed door, knowing that the guy is passed out. “Not exactly. And I’ve put on leather pants after a shower before, it’s still not the best.”

Argyle hums. “Ok, so something else to get the sweat off your legs. Is there baby powder there?”

Eddie awkwardly stands up and waddles to get in front of the medicine cabinet. Shaking his head to get rid of the voice in his head saying not to look through someone’s stuff. He opens the cabinet to find a small bottle of baby powder. “Yeah, weirdly enough.”

“Try that.”

It could be worse. Eddie puts his phone on the counter and pours the baby powder into his hand. More comes out that he means to, making it puff into the air when he starts to rub it on his legs. In desperation, he forgets to wash the excess off his hands and tries to pull his pants up. He gets it just past his knees before the leather slips out of his hands. Eddie grabs the counter in order to not fall over.

Now realizing his mistake, Eddie stands and washes the baby powder off his hands and tries again. Still doesn’t work.

“Yeah, that didn’t work,” he says after picking up the phone again.

“Damn, ok. Do you think it has to do with the sweat on your legs or that they widened a bit with the heat?”

Eddie crosses his arm and grabs his elbow, leaning against the sink. “Probably the heat thing, I don’t know,” he says with a tilt to his head.

Argyle hums again. “Lotion to try and slide the pants up your legs?”

“I’m not going to get lotion on my pants, that’s going to be a bitch to clean. How would that even work?”

“Imagine it, dude, a little lube so everything can get to where it needs to go.”

Eddie snorts. “Not imagining what you want, but it made me laugh.”

Argyle takes a second before bursting out laughing through the phone. “Yeah, ok, I see it now. Maybe try wetting a washcloth, or something, with cold water, try to cool your legs down.”

“That’s not a bad idea. Will take a while thought, was trying to leave without the guy noticing.”

“Ohh, one of those types of hookups. You should have at least said goodbye to the guy.”

Eddie finds a spare hand towel and turns on the tap. After the water gets cold, he wets the towel and wrings it out. Sitting back on the toilet, he drapes the towel over his legs and just waits.

“I said goodnight, that’s enough for a lot of people. I just, didn’t want him to get attached. I’m fine with casual stuff, just not ready for something serious yet.”

“I see, still burned from the last one. I got you.”

Eddie leans back on the toilet. “Hard not to be burned when you give three years to someone, move to a new city, leaving everything that you know, and they figure he’s been cheating on you for months.”

Argyle nods his head in understanding. “Yeah, it’s sucks. But you can’t let that hold yourself back, dude. You got so much to give, you’ll find someone else sometime.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs. “I know. I’m just scared to get hurt again.”

“Getting hurt sucks, I know, I’ve been there. But you never know what’s going to happen if you don’t try.”

Eddie makes a thoughtful face, knowing exactly who he’s been running away from. What feelings he’s been trying to avoid.

“When I called you, I didn’t exactly expect a midnight therapy session.”

Argyle snorts. “I am known for my midnight therapy. But seriously though, if you’re not ready to date yet, that’s fine, dude. But, when you are, I think he might be waiting for you too.”

Eddie opens his mouth slightly in shock. “I don’t exactly know who you’re talking about.”

“I have eyes, dude. I see you staring. And I also see him staring back. But no pressure, this is your timetable, not mine.”

“Thank you. Why are you up anyway? Don’t you go to bed at like ten?” Eddie stands, draping the now warm towel up on the towel rack.

“Jonathan’s a chronic insomniac, so I stay up with him sometimes when it gets bad. Sometimes being around someone else helps him fall asleep.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “Has he been there the entire time I’ve been talking to you?”

Argyle turns to face Jonathan, who was sitting next to him the whole time, half asleep. “Yeah, but I’m like ninety percent sure he’s asleep.”

“Ninety percent! Poke him, see if he moves or something.”

“I’m not going to wake him up, dude. What do you not get about chronic insomniac?”

“Fine, I guess that’s fair. Hold on, I’m trying this again.”

It’s a struggle, and Eddie may have hit his head on the counter, but he gets his pants up. Zips them even.

“I got them, thanks for picking up. Mind keeping this between us?

“I can only promise that if Jonathan is actually asleep. He’s a huge gossip when he wants to be.”

“I’m praying that he is. How’s that going, by the way?” Eddie asks, turning the tables back on Argyle.

Argyle stares, a bit longingly, at his best friend sleeping on the couch. A blanket that Argyle draped over him earlier, tucked underneath his chin. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re not the only one I’ve seen staring either. And out of the both of us, your situation is a lot better than mine.”

Argyle smiles. “I don’t believe that but thank you.”

“No problem. Talk to you later. I’ll buy you a drink tomorrow as a thank you.”

“No need, dude. Text me when you get back to your place.”

“Will do,” Eddie hangs up the phone. He cleans up the small mess in the bathroom he made with the baby powder before leaving. Grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter and, successfully, leaves unnoticed.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or taken off) @slowandsteddie, @annieofhearts, @cacdyke, @ubpd, @captain--low, @thespaceantwhowrites, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @lunaticparisianlady, @apomaro-mellow, @dolphincliffs, @dragonmama76, @maggiebug417, @stevesbipanic, @fearieshadow, @mentallyundone, @eightpackdiaz, @au79burger @bookworm0690 , @practicallybegging

#morgan's friends au #stranger things #eddie munson #argyle stranger things #steddie #jargyle #implied #pre relationship #friends au #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #ficlet #steve harrington #jonathan byers #but he's asleep

[theunholyrogue]

how the boys react to you getting injured (bayv tmnt x reader)

18+ drabble on scenarios that just entered mah brain :3 enjoy~

tw: reader injury, stabb!ng/sl!cing skin, po!son!ng, guns/being shot, limbs being broke, bones, gore, blood, brief death, you get the point

🩵Leonardo🩵

You had underestimated the situation as soon as you stepped foot onto the rooftop. You had previously assumed that the Shredder had already been defeated and with good intentions, went to check on your terrapin friends and make sure they were okay. However, flying daggers in every direction caught your attention and led you to dodging them. The adrenaline pumping through your body led you to believe that you were doing an amazing job at avoiding being stabbed by the knives, for the most part. However, the collapse of the tower a-top Sacks laboratory, a quick escape to the previously mutilated lair, and a premature celebration occur before the adrenaline started to wear off and led to pings of pain across your body from various paper-cut like slices on the surface of your skin. You had yet to notice the large, growing, red spot on your shirt until the leader of the team himself look at you with widen eyes.

Stepping closer to you, he calls your name in a calm, yet stern, tone.

“Why are you bleeding?”

The question caused the rest of the brothers to turn their attention towards you. You looked down at your covered abdomen and pulled your shirt up above the level of the fresh stain, revealing a large stab wound. Donatello’s eyes grew twice their size as he rushed over to you. You felt your body shake from the bottoming out of adrenaline, you had finally noticed how pale your skin had become from the blood loss.

“Oh, that’s no good,” you mumbled, remaining as calm as you could be as Donatello grabbed your arm. You started feeling dizzy, experiencing the effects without adrenaline counteracting them. Leonardo noticed your change of expression as stepped forward, sweeping you into his arms.

“Don, you gotta do something!” Leonardo exclaimed, you could hear the worry in his voice as Donatello waved his arm, telling him to follow behind.

Leonardo stayed beside you after laying you down on Donatello’s freshly cleared off desk, allowing him more room to work on you. You didn’t remember much during that point of time, mostly due to the blood loss and fuzzy mind. You had felt Donatello cleaning the wound with an antiseptic and how he had sewed the wound shut, with Leonardo holding your hands the entire time. Once you were awake enough, you found yourself on Donatello’s bed and Leo sitting on the floor beside you.

“What happened?” You asked, sitting up only to grimace from the sharp pain in both your head and your abdomen.

“You were stabbed by the Shredder. Luckily, Don got you patched up before it got really bad.”

“Have you been here this whole time?”

“Yeah.”

“Awe, I knew you cared about me~.”

—

💜Donatello💜

“Chug! Chug! Chug!”

Oh, how peer pressured sucked.

Especially by a bunch of drunken college students.

You were somewhat obsessed with the idea of fitting in with your college crowd, attending all of major sorority and fraternity parties with your room mates, however you were never big on drinking. It had become a big problem across the US with drinks being drugged with a new dangerous party drug so that guys could take girls home and vice versa. So, while your friends drank, you normally just chatted and sipped on drinks that you made yourself, or water.

Tonight, though, you had become the center of attention for the bar in one of the frat parties, all due to peer pressure. You had tried to say no, but nobody was taking it. Regrettably, you drank many of drinks that night and almost instantly felt off. Emotionally screwing your emotions and your ghosts of a roommate, you left the party and went to the closet and safest place you could get to, your home.

Somehow, you knew something about the drinks were off, so as you walked home between the alleyways of New York City, you called your best friend.

“Yello’?”

Donatello answered the phone almost instantly, you weren’t known for calling him so late at night.

“Where are you?” You managed to mutter in your heavily drugged state at this point.

“On patrol— Are you okay?” Donatello asked, the tone in your voice causing him to worry.

Shaking your head, “I think I was roofied. I ain’t feelin’ so hot.”

Donatello nodded, “Alright, I’m on my way.”

He hung up the phone call and quickly tracked your location. You weren’t far, so he darted away from his brothers and in your direction.

You had stopped walking, losing your ability to see straight and leaning against the brick wall next to you for support. You could barely feel your extremities from how numb you were, not to mention that your breathing and heart rate had slowed down beyond the point of okay.

You didn’t realize that you had passed out from lack of oxygen. The drug had caused you to stop breathing, which is how Donatello found you. He called his brothers and alerted them of the situation as he picked you up and rushed to the lair. Dropping you on his bed, he performed chest compressions until you were breathing again, then he hooked you to an IV and ran fluids so that the drug could flush out of your system. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was mortified seeing you dead.

Once your eyes fluttered open, you looked around and found Don sitting at the opposite end of the bed, his knees tucked into his chest. He had looked up when he felt you move and audibly let out a breath of relief.

“Oh, thank the heavens! I thought I had lost you!!”

You smiled, “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Ignoring why you were put into this situation in the first place, Donatello moved and pulled you into a tight hug.

“I love you so much, don’t ever do that again.”

—

❤️Raphael❤️

“Not a damn one of you move!” The man screamed as he pointed a gun around the room at every individual, you included.

You weren’t sure how you pissed off whatever holy entity to have pit you into this situation.

You were just trying to get your new bank account situated when this guy came in demanding money or else he would shoot everybody in the building.

Your heart was pounding, you were in his direct line of sight that you couldn’t even call your guardian and tell them that you loved them, or the turtles and alert them of the situation. You questioned if they would find out through police scanners, or if they would come in time. For now, you stayed standing against the wall with both hands visible to the crazed robber and hoped that any light would shine through.

The robber was getting antsy, impatient, and angry. NYPD had already come onto the scene, leading you to believe that the turtles also knew about the situation. You could hear the police speaking on an intercom, attempting to negotiate with the robber.

The robber, growing angrier and angrier, stomped over to the group of hostages and managed to grab your arm, gripping it tightly and tugging you in front of the glass doors with the gun pressed to your stomach. You felt your heart stop and tears stream down your face, realizing that this might be your last day alive.

“Give me what I want or I start killing these nobodies!!” He screamed, causing you to flinch.

This was the last thing he said before the lights cut off and you felt yourself and the robber being tugged backwards by an unholy force. The robber, shocked, started to fire the rounds from the handgun in all directions. Once the lights cut back on and you saw that the robber was tied up, you ran out of the doors with your arms up, showing the police that you weren’t the robber. They ran up and pulled you aside, away from the scene. Your fight or flight was still activated, causing you to miss the pain in your chest until you collapsed to the ground.

The next thing you knew, you were waking up in a hospital bed. You looked around, immediately grabbing the clear bag with your items in it and checking your phone.

You saw several missed calls and texts from your turtle friends, but mainly from Raphael. You FaceTimed the turtle, with him picking up on the second ring.

“Oh my god, you scared me!”

Raphael answered, sounding furious. In all reality, he was overly worried and fearful that you had been fatally shot by the robber from earlier.

Raphael took your silence as a response and his gaze softened, “Geez, I’m sorry. You had me worried. How are you feeling?”

You nodded, “I doubt I’ll recover mentally from it for a while, although, I didn’t know I got shot,” you grimaced as your chest expanded and collapsed with your breathing. You were shot dead in the sternum, which thankfully didn’t go completely through the bone and puncturing a vital organ of yours.

“You’ll get better. You’re you, you’re tough as nails. Now, get some rest. Love ya,” Raphael stated in a sigh, wishing he could be there for you physically.

“Love ya too,” you replied. “Oh, and thank you,” you continued.

“For what?”

“Saving my life.”

—

🧡Michaelangelo🧡

“Please don’t let me go,” you worriedly spoke as you stood on the orange masked turtle’s hoverboard, griping his shoulder’s tightly while he held your waist loosely.

“Don’t worry, I gotchu!” Mikey exclaimed, attempting to explain to you on how to gain your balance on this thing. However, you were you and you weren’t used to a hoverboard that could actually hover in the air. You barely managed to grasp the classic rolling hoverboards.

Once you felt yourself getting more comfortable with the board, you slowly began to let go of the turtle’s shoulder, allowing more freedom between yourself and the hoverboard. Miley was proud of you and overcoming your subtle fear of his board. However, he wasn’t prepared for the sudden slip up of you losing your balance to the board’s attempt to fly around as it normally does, so Mikey’s arms were no longer and your sides and you slipped into the air.

It wasn’t for long until gravity got the best of you and you slipped off of the board from a pretty good distance. Mikey attempted to catch you and you fell too quickly and landed on your arm, an audible snap booming through the nearest vicinity. You cried out from the sudden striking of pain rushing up and down your arm, all the while Mikey profusely apologized.

Donatello heard your scream and immediately went to examining and working on your broken arm, snapping it back into place before wrapping a makeshift cast around the wound.

You thanked Donnie before walking back into the living area, where Michaelangelo was sobbing and blaming himself. You walked over to him and pulled him into a long and fruitful hug.

“Mikey, dude, I’m okay. See my new cast? You can sign it if ya’ want!”

Michaelangelo gazed up at you and then at the cast. “Really?”

You nodded, holding out your arm while he excitedly ran off and back with a sharpie.

‘I love ya! And I’m your bestie! :p’

Miley wrote before pulling you into the longest and biggest hug he could give.

“You’re the best!”

Mikey’s kinda sucks bc i see him as child and also im like falling asleep so i hope you liked it

#tmnt bayverse #tmnt #bayverse #tmnt leo 2014 #tmnt donnie 2014 #tmnt raph 2014 #tmnt mikey 2014 #tmnt leo 2016 #tmnt raph 2016 #tmnt donnie 2016 #tmnt mikey 2016 #2014/2016 #tmnt leo x reader #raph x reader #tmnt raph x reader #leo x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #donnie x reader #tmnt mikey x reader #mikey x reader #platonic #or #romantic #whatever you want #angst #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtle imagine #18+

[harrygoeswest]

Love Aged Like Fine Wine

Harry is drunk and lost not too far from home, and there's only one person he wants to call to rescue him.

A/N: Hello everyone 👋🏼 it has been a loooong time since I posted anything on Tumblr, and I was admittedly reluctant to do so. However, I reblogged the lovely Sarah's (@harry-on-broadway) fic challenge the other day and it inspired me, and I would be doing a disservice to write the whole thing and never look at it again, especially since I quite like it. SO, I give you my first one shot in over a year. Bear with me, I'm a bit rusty... Special mention as always to Miss Liz (@all-things-fic) for reading and validating me.

I'm using prompts 14 & 19.

Trigger Warnings: Absolutely nothing (apart from the odd f word)

Word Count: 6533

~~~

“What do you want, Harry?”

An offended scoff was his initial response. “Not a very nice way t’greet y’best friend.”

He was right, it wasn’t. “You’re not my best friend.”

“Ouch. Though’ we were besties ‘n now y’makin’ me feel sad.”

Harry was slurring more than he usually did. I feared if he tried to say obviously, ‘overshly’ would turn into a soft, deep single syllable alike to the word ‘shush’. It wasn’t particularly late to warrant his level of drunkenness. Especially on a Tuesday evening. Chewsday, if you will.

“Harsh truths are easier to take when you’re drunk.” I said, shrugging as if he could see the action.

“Why’re y’bein’ so ‘orrible?” He whined.

“Why are you calling me pissed as a fart at 8:45 on a Tuesday night and ruining my bath time?”

“‘S there some space lef’ in the bathtub?”

“Don’t make it weird.” I grimaced. “What’s going on?”

He produced an incoherent mumble. I heard the rain get heavier, both on the phone call and outside my house.

“What was that?”

“M’st…”

“Aye?” I asked, my face surely a bewildered picture.

“I’m lost.” He huffed, agitated.

I sat up in the bath, water and suds sloshing around me. “Lost?”

“Yes.”

“W-,” words failed me, and I barked out a sharp laugh. “How are you lost?”

“How does anyone else get lost?” He said, stroppy.

“Wow, you really are drunk.”

He hummed, but it was a defeated noise. “C’ya come ‘n get me?”

“How am I supposed to come and get you if you don’t know where you are?”

“Well I was only at The Holly Bush.”

I laughed twice as hard that time. Put in perspective, The Holly Bush is no more than a ten minute walk from Harry’s house. “How long have you been walking?”

“‘Bout ‘alf an hour.” He muttered.

Now I was really howling, like a hyena on laughing gas. “Jesus Christ, Harry!”

“‘S not funny!”

“On the contrary, years of comedy begs to differ.”

He practically cried my name down the phone. “‘M really tired ‘n cold ‘n… weh,” I think he meant wet, “please come get me.”

I took a deep breath and mourned my premature bath. “Fine. But do not move from wherever you are.”

“Won’t.”

I stood up and watched water and soap suds cascade down my body with a pout. “What can you see?”

“Er…” a pause followed, I assumed for his vacant thoughts. “‘S like a lot of trees.”

I rolled my eyes. “That could literally be any part of the Heath, mate. Say more words.”

“I can’t see shit! It’s dark and it’s pissing it down!”

“Don’t get arsey or you can stay there and drown in rain water.” I warned him. “Find a road sign. Or a street name.”

He grunted. After no more than fifteen seconds he produced, “Platt’s Lane.”

“Alright, I know where that is. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Thank you.” He said. At least I think that’s what he said.

I murmured a little, “Sure,” and then hung up. 

I dressed quickly in the easiest clothes I could find - a pair of tie-dye jogging bottoms, an old t-shirt and a crewneck over the top. I pulled on the first pair of trainers I could find and ran out to my car whilst fighting the rain. I also took a towel with me. My hair was still in the bun I’d put it up in for my bath.

It was really battering it down now - it was loud inside the car and the windows were steamed up. It was even louder when I turned the air conditioning on to defog the windows.

Once I could see outside the front and back windows I finally made my way to find Harry. I still mourned my bath as I drove - I missed how warm it was and how comfortable I had been. Now I was out in the cold and wet to rescue my drunken idiot friend.

It didn’t take me very long to find said drunken idiotic friend. He was sitting on a yellow grit box under some trees at the junction of Platt’s Lane and West Heath Road. He was soaking, shoulders slumped and looking at the floor. I pulled up as close to him as possible and leaned over to push the door open.

“Get in, you moron!” I called.

Harry looked up at the sound of my voice. He leapt to his feet almost immediately after, and staggered his way over to my little car. He nearly tripped over twice on his way, and he hit his head as he sat down.

“Fucking hell.” I muttered. “Look at the state of you.”

He grumbled, readjusting his sodden jacket, and then looked right at me. His hair was drenched, water dripping from his neck down his arms and chest, and his forehead down his nose and cheeks.

“Here,” I threw the towel at him. “You’re gonna make my car smell.”

“‘S tha’ the wors’ a’ya problems?” He asked, a snide tone laced in his mushy words.

“I wish it was.”

I pulled off again as Harry began to attempt to dry himself off, although I feared a towel would do very little to help him. Fortunately we were only a mere five minute drive from his house anyway. He probably could have walked home faster if he were sober. 

It was a relatively quiet drive since Harry spent most of it rubbing my towel over every available inch of his body. He did however sing along to the one song he heard playing, but he didn’t quite have the same masterful tone as usual. He even seemed quite timid.

I parked as close as possible to his front door and shut the engine off.

“Where are your keys, H?”

He gave me a dopey blink and then looked down at himself, double chin appearing accompanied with a pouty lower lip. “Dunno. On me somewhere.”

I sighed and unclipped my seatbelt, then reached over to him to feel through each of his pockets for his house keys. Of course I found them in the hardest one to reach on the inside of his jacket. He giggled while I did, like a child being tickled. I smacked him on the arm before I got out of the car.

I ran up to the front door and unlocked it, opening it so that my paralytic companion could be jettisoned inside his home as quickly as possible without getting more wet.

“Come on, then,” I said as I opened the passenger door, my shoulders hunched because the rain felt weird on my neck.

Harry practically fell out of the car at my instruction, so I lifted him up and placed his arm around my shoulder so I could manage his weight better. I kicked the car door shut behind us and walked him to the door. I realised on our little walk how unfit I was.

“‘M sorry.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine.” I said, my voice tight. It was only strained because he was heavy and I was weak.

“Didn’t even think I drank tha’ much, was only few whiskeys.”

Only a few could range anything between 3 and 30. I didn’t chide him for that. “It’s alright, Harry. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.” I meant that genuinely and not as a threat I’d be getting that level of drunk in the future just to call him to rescue me.

“Would.” He insisted.

I awkwardly held onto him as we got inside, twisting at an awkward angle to close the door and keep any more rain from getting in. Harry felt like dead weight against me.

“Ready to get upstairs?”

His affirming nod was the surest action I’d seen from him this far.

“Alright,” I took a deep breath, “let’s go.”

I made sure we navigated the stairs one at a time, because I had visions of him tripping up and cracking his head open if he tried to do anything by himself. And now, in the warmth of his massive home and up this close to him, the boy reeked of stale beer and sweat. I didn’t want to ask what he’d been doing in The Holly Bush for him to get that bad. I hadn’t seen him that wasted in a very long time.

“Meant it, y’know.” He slurred.

We were only halfway up the stairs and all I could hear was my own panting. Admittedly I was surprised he hadn’t passed out yet. 

“Meant what?” I heaved, and pushed him up the next step.

“I w’ do the same f’you.”

“I know you would.”

“Don’t even have t’ be drunk.”

“Right.”

We stopped for a minute, not at anyone’s request but Harry didn’t seem to want to move. I looked at him as he did me, and he produced this hazy-eyed, closed-lip smile. 

His woolly but content expression made me laugh. “I think it’s bed time for you, mate.”

He groaned. “Don’t call me ‘mate’.”

I frowned. “Alright. Sorry.”

When we finally reached the top of the stairs, Harry collapsed on me by way of a hug. We were standing in the middle of the hallway, his entire body somehow wrapped around mine. I was suffocating in the smell of a brewery.

“Don’t leave me.” He begged.

“I’m not… Need to get you to bed somehow.”

He pulled his head back to look at me, eyes heavy. “You can take me to bed.”

“That’s what I just said.”

He nodded repeatedly like a bobble-head figure. 

I made a face, perturbed, and nudged him in the direction of his bedroom. He nearly fell over as he turned around, and ended up palming the wall the rest of the way. I kept a hand on his back just in case.

As soon as he saw his bed he was climbing onto it, still fully clothed and in his muddy trainers.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, reaching after him like he was a toddler, “Harry, take your shoes off.”

He laughed maniacally into his bed sheets, the muffled sound disturbing.

I huffed with a scowl and did it myself. His vans were dripping wet so I took them to the radiator and left them on top to dry. I made sure the radiator was turned on, too. The last thing Harry Styles needed was the flu again.

He was sitting up now, watching me with a warm expression. I ignored it.

“Need to take your clothes off or you’ll get a cold.”

“Yes, Miss.” He was beaming now.

The attempt at taking his t-shirt off was painful, and I ended up having to help him.

“Jeans too.”

I knew that would be more agonising to watch than the t-shirt, and I didn’t want to have to look at his bare chest for too long, so I went for a walk to the closest bathroom to get another towel. His jeans were still around his knees when I got back.

“Jesus Christ.” I said through gritted teeth, and freed his jeans from around his ankles. They were a heavy kind of damp and thudded when I put them on the floor.

“‘S cold.” He commented, staring up at me.

“I’ve just put the radiator on.” I told him, and handed him the towel. “I’ll find you some clean pants.”

I left him to dry his no doubt tacky chest and legs while I searched through his drawers for some clean underwear. I threw them at him once I’d located them.

“Where’s your laundry basket?”

“Wardrobe.” He said, voice getting gruff.

I collected his dirty clothes from off the floor again and wandered into the walk-in wardrobe attached to his bedroom. I stared at it for a while, not just because it was ginormous but also because I couldn’t believe the amount of crap in it. It was bulging with clothes - some I hadn’t seen him wear for years and others I hadn’t seen him wear at all. Ever. 

I dropped the clothes in my hand onto the overflowing basket in one of the cupboards, hating to do so because it was just adding to more chores. And then I realised that this was not my house and I would not be responsible for washing any of his clothes.

“Harry, do you want something to wear in bed if you’re cold?”

He never answered.

I peered into the bedroom to see he’d already tucked himself into bed.

“I guess not.” I muttered.

I stood next to his bed and watched him for a minute. His eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly but I couldn’t work out if he was actually asleep or just pretending to be. His eyelids looked shiny and delicate and his cheeks were dusted pink - a combination of his inebriation and being outside in the cold for so long. I could hear the radiator chugging and it was definitely warmer than it had been when we arrived.

Without thinking, still staring at him while possibly passed out like a lunatic creep, I wrapped my index finger around one of his curls and moved it out of his face.

He giggled suddenly, catching my wrist. “That tickled.”

I smacked his hand away. “I thought you were asleep, you absolute git!”

“Not yet.”

I rolled my eyes and scowled at him. “I’m goin’ home. Seeing you in bed is making me want mine.”

“Can always share mine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I scoffed, and made a move to leave. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

“Aye, wait!” He shouted at me.

“What?”

“I don’t want you t’ leave yet.”

“Well, I’m exhausted, and you’re about to pass out on me anyway.”

He said something that was complete and utter incoherent nonsense.

“I don’t know what you just said but I’m not changing my mind.”

He whined my name again and reached for my hand. “Please stay bit longer? Like havin’ y’here, havin’ y’around.”

“Well, that’s nice of you to say, but I still want my own bed.”

“Please?”

“No.” I stood my ground, but I took a step closer and pinched his cheek. “But I’ll come back tomorrow after work if that makes you feel better.”

“Feel better if y’stayed wi’ me now.”

“Well that’s not going to happen. Just call me if you need anything.”

“Need y’now. Need y’all the time.”

“Stop being daft.”

“‘M not bein’ daft - I mean it.”

“You are being daft. Just go to sleep - I’ll come back tomorrow. I promise.”

He stressed my name and sat up. “Y’not listenin’ to me. ‘M bein’ proper serious - I want ya t’ stay wi’ me. I need y’here.”

“No, what you need is sleep.”

He scowled at me.

“I’m going to go and get you a pint of water and a paracetamol and then I’m going home. And that’s the last we’re gonna say on this, end of.”

I left the room and  found my way to the kitchen, though admittedly I did get lost on my way there since I’d only been here once before and it was a considerable amount of time ago. I did as promised and got him a pint of water and found some paracetamol in a drawer full of miscellaneous items close to the sink.

I couldn’t fathom why Harry was so needy, insobriety aside. We were friends, yes, and had been for some time, but we weren’t that close. Or perhaps we were and I just refused to admit it due to his increasing popularity and the fact that being perceived near him in the public eye terrified me. I was perfectly happy with my mundane job and my mundane life. I appreciated Harry for what he was - a friend -, and didn’t expect anything more or less from that level of our relationship. Nor had I ever, and it surprised me that he suddenly did.

Perhaps I was overthinking it all. That was likely.

I returned to Harry’s room to find him out of bed in just his pants.

“What are you doing?” I asked, putting the water and the tablets on his bedside table, trying to avoid looking at his chest.

“Need the loo.” He said without hesitation, and marched past me.

I sighed, watching after him until he was safely in the bathroom with the door closed, and then I perched on the edge of his bed with my head in my hands.

I was irritated, yes. I knew I shouldn’t be as irritated as I was, but I couldn’t help it. This was not the evening I had planned for myself. I was supposed to have an early night and go to work in the morning with a clear head and no bags under my eyes. Now I was going to look like the walking dead, and feel like it too.

I stood up again when Harry reappeared. I watched him stagger and sway across the corridor and it made me nervous. He tripped once and nearly smacked his face against the doorframe.

“Fucking hell, Harry.” I said, panicked, and reached forward to steady him.

He laughed, more a giggle of that from a small girl. “I’m so drunk.”

“I know you are. That’s why you need to get into bed.”

“I will, jus’ one more thing before I do,”

I thought he was going to start running riot around the house and I was going to have to chase after him, like a dog owner with a tyrannical pooch. But instead, he just wrapped his arms around my middle and shoved his face into the crook of my neck. His body was warm and it felt strange being this close to him when he had so little clothes on.

I let out a long breath, reciprocating it this time. “You’re a twat.”

He hummed when I stroked my hand over his damp hair. “Not very nice.”

“And yet still true.”

He grunted, but never moved a muscle. A moment of silence passed before he said anything else. “Thank you f’ comin’ to rescue me.”

“Sure, anytime.” I didn’t mean that. Or maybe I did, but I’d be bitter about it if it became a recurrence because I couldn’t stand to disappoint people who meant a lot to me.

He let me go, and I thought that was finally going to be the end of it. Instead, he took my face, quite harshly, between both of his hands until my cheeks squished. His gaze was dopey and warm again, but somehow different to last time. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Harry, that hurts.”

He ignored me. “I love you.” It sounded more like ‘ah luff you’ but that wasn’t relevant in the moment.

“Yeah, I love you too, now let go.” I was trying to pull his hands away but apparently he was still physically stronger than me even that drunk.

“No,” he shook his head at me and then brought what felt like my entire body against his chest. “I mean I really love you.”

I couldn’t see anything. I felt us begin to fall sideways, but with his strength I had absolutely no control over where we were going.

“Harry!” I screamed, still trying to fight him with no luck.

I think we hit the bed because the landing was softer than anticipated and Harry didn’t wince or flinch. That could also be attributed to the levels of alcohol in his body. He was probably majoritively quite numb.

“Y’like, my favourite person.” He said, voice much quieter now, and I could feel his nose in my hair. My face was pushed into his chest. “Want y’around all time. Rubbish a’ showin’ it but I miss y’when ‘m nor’ at home. ‘N I don’t mean everyone, I mean jus’ you.”

I was listening to him with baited breath. I’d never really been on the receiving end of ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’ - I was usually the one talking and making a fool of myself. Once I told my sister’s boyfriend (at the time) what I really thought of him in front of our entire family after keeping my mouth shut for so long. They broke up the next day and she came to live with me for a month. I felt almost paralysed now listening to Harry.

“Mus’ think ‘m nuts ‘cause I’ve never said anythin’ before, bur’m scared. You’re a scary woman.”

I tried not to take offence to that, even though it was likely true. I had tried for the longest time to give off a very ambiguous aura. I didn’t want anyone to know me, least not the real me. I liked the illusion of being dead inside even if I was far from it.

“Loved y’ for so long now I can’ ‘ide it anymore.” He was really slurring now and words were about to fail him. Somehow, he was still holding onto me. “‘M like tha’ 1975 song.” I wanted to ask which one, but I didn’t have to. He proceeded to sing the words, “I’m in love with you.”

Just once he sang them, maybe slightly off pitch but it still sounded good. Not sure it would hold up to any of his previous performances, but I’d take it.

I didn’t know what to say. I was in a state of shock to be honest and the thought of moving terrified me. But then his grip around me loosened, and he let out a singular loud snore.

I pulled back, horrified, to see his sleeping face - mouth wide open. Another snore was released. “You are fucking joking.”

I sat up, his limp body falling away from me. I smacked his arm in the hopes of waking him, but he never flinched. “Harry,” I said, hitting him again.

Still no movement.

“Oi.” Smack.

Nothing.

I didn’t know what to do. Who does that? Who makes an admission like that and then falls asleep? And why did it have to be this boy? I was speechless, and when I finally managed to clamber off the bed I was also useless.

I stared at him with a look of bewilderment, as he lay there passed out on his unmade bed, mouth agape and naked besides his white y-fronts. It was then that the reality of what he’d said hit me, and I started to cry.

I wasn’t angry or upset - I was overwhelmed. Drunkenly, Harry had just told me he loved me. Then immediately passed out. Now I was left with my own feelings and his and no one to talk to about it. What was I supposed to do?

I desperately wanted to leave and get some sleep, but I also couldn’t help but think that would be morally inappropriate. Leaving a friend alone while dangerously intoxicated was how 50% of all murder documentaries started. Not that Harry was likely to get killed by an intruder in his mansion complete with security fortress. But he might accidentally fall down the stairs or choke on his own vomit.

And yet, the idea of staying in this massive and unfamiliar house to process all those thoughts made me even more hysterical. The idea alone provoked a loud sob, and I quickly covered my mouth because it was such a horrendous sound.

I made my decision that instant. I put Harry properly into bed with all of my remaining strength, covered him with his duvet, and then I fled from his house like a bat out of hell. On my way out, I took his spare keys with me.

I barely slept that night. My head was swimming and even though I couldn’t keep my eyes open, my brain was in overdrive. That, and the cat was sleeping on my chest and purring right in my face. His whiskers tickled my nose.

I found myself thinking about the early stages of mine and Harry’s association. 

I couldn’t have called him a friend when we first met because I hated him. I don’t think that feeling was ever reciprocated on his part but I couldn’t ever stand to be in the same room as him. Why? Because I felt the need to constantly contradict societal comments and beliefs. The world - at least people in my world - deemed him a golden boy who never did any wrong. I was convinced it wasn’t the case. My downfall was my lack of determination to prove it.

We met through mutual friends, as these things always seemed to happen. I couldn’t even remember which friend it was - neither me nor Harry talked to them anymore. But one day he was just there, and periodically from then onward he continued to show up. I couldn’t even remember when it was, but it was before he cut all his hair off. One Direction’s last few remaining days, perhaps? Anyway, he was suddenly omnipresent and came with an abundance of attention and it infuriated me.

I remember once, Harry confronted me on my obvious dislike for him. That was our first encounter collectively with ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’. I can’t remember exactly what I said but I wasn’t very nice and I remember the Bambi look in his eyes when I walked away from him. After that he was notably absent for some time. If I asked him about it now I’m not sure how honest he’d be about it. He was lucky enough to be able to claim work absences for long periods of time - I imagined he’d use that excuse. How truthful that would be, I didn’t know.

Our reconciliation came after that. He saw me alone in the nearby shop and asked me to join him for a coffee. I couldn’t really say no - it was a Sunday afternoon and I was only going back home to vegetate for the rest of the day. I think it was spring - I probably would’ve just read a book and gone to bed early. We spent the next 3 hours in Ginger & White, and after we got kicked out of there we went up to The Holly Bush, ironically.

I saw a different side to Harry that night, and I always put it down to having him to myself. There was no one else there with us apart from the locals in the pub who wouldn’t bat an eyelid. It was just us, and he was unapologetically himself, as was I.  We suddenly had an entirely new perception of one another - a higher level of understanding. On that random Sunday evening alone, I came to appreciate Harry for just being Harry. I saw who he really was, and I liked him.

From then on, I enjoyed his company. It became a regular thing - an afternoon doing something random together, just the two of us. And it ranged from simple coffee shop talks to entire day trips out of London. I realised then that what we’d basically been doing was dating for about 5 years with no physical contact.

I laughed out loud, disturbing the cat. He ran off and left me alone. 

We’d had our own intimate relationships with other people outside of our friendship, which I guess is why I’d never thought about it that way before. He also seemed to do that with multiple other people - I wasn’t the only one. Was I?

I never had to apologise for the night I was rude to him. I always wondered why, and I always berated myself for not saying I was sorry. I’d admitted I was wrong about him a long time ago, but only to myself. It seemed a bit too late to do it now, but I assumed he’d forgiven me. I could’ve been wrong.

I think I finally fell asleep around 4am. My alarm for work went off just 3 hours later and I burst into tears as soon as I realised the situation I was in. I called into work sick and went straight back to sleep.

How much more sleep I had was uncertain. It felt like only 2 hours, but it could’ve been more. Since I wasn’t working, I decided to get a McDonald’s after showering. Mostly for Harry rather than me, although I’m sure he’d make a comment about it.

I used the key I’d stolen last night to let myself in and went straight up to his bedroom with the McDonald’s in my right hand. Except I didn’t make it to his bedroom, because I found him on the bathroom floor next to the toilet, on his front with his cheek pressed to the tile floor.

“Harry…?”

He moaned, limply raising his hand and dropping it again immediately.

I moved into the room, leaving the McDonald’s in the hall because the smell would not go well with the pre-existing one in the room. It seemed Harry had vomited since I left. I sat on my knees beside him and stroked a finger through his curls, similar to how I had done last night.

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.” He said, voice whiny.

“No, I’m not surprised. I brought you some breakfast.”

He managed to lift his head and look towards me. I pointed at the hallway and he followed where my finger suggested.

“What is it?”

“McDonald’s.”

He screwed his face up. “You know I don’t eat meat.”

“Yes, that’s why I got you a Fillet-O-Fish. And mozzarella sticks.”

“Not very healthy.”

“Well, boiled eggs and avocado doesn’t make for very exciting hangover food if you ask me.”

He blew a breath out so that his lips wobbled. “True.”

“You gonna sit up and eat it?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Come on, then,”

I took his arm and helped pull him to a sitting position. He sat against the bathtub and rolled his head back, mouth open and breathing heavy. I left his food in his lap and sat opposite him with my back against the wall.

“This is probably one of the worst hangovers I’ve had in a long time.” He said, grimacing into the paper bag. At least he could form complete words this morning.

“How much do you remember?”

He laughed once. “Not much. I remember calling you, and waiting for you to come get me. I remember when you turned up, but that’s about it. I don’t remember getting home.”

I swallowed thickly. That meant he probably didn’t remember telling me he was in love with me. Or rather, singing it.

“Next thing I’ve woke up in my pants about to vomit.”

“I think you were the most drunk I’ve ever seen you.”

He paused before he took a bite out of his fillet burger. “Really?”

“Hands down. You fell over nearly three times. And you wouldn’t let me go home.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised by that. I’m a very clingy drunk.”

“I was aware of that before last night.” I muttered. “Who were you with?”

“Tom and Tyler.”

“Ah, one of those evenings, was it?

“Yeah, didn’t expect it to be quite that bad, though. Was only going for one.”

“That’s how they all start.”

“Mm, I should know better.”

“Yes you should.”

He laughed around his mouthful and then swallowed it. “This was a good call, thank you.”

“No problem. Although I have to say I did not expect to watch you eat it on the bathroom floor.”

“I know. Feel like a uni student.”

“I don’t think uni students have bathrooms this big.”

He smiled, but didn’t say anything while his mouth was full. “Think I’m gonna have a shower, if you don’t mind?”

I shrugged. “Your house.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes in jest. “Will you hang around a bit while I do?”

“Sure. I’ll put some coffee on.”

“Cool.” He grinned. 

He shoved the empty box into the paper bag and screwed it up. I took the rubbish off him once we were standing again and left him alone to shower.

I did as I said I would and made him a coffee, and then helped myself to a glass of water and an apple out of the fruit bowl on his counter. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen now. He seemed to be behaving normally, so I was certain he’d forgotten his admission, but that worried me because I was now going to have to admit that I knew. And I still wasn’t entirely sure how I felt.

When Harry did reappear he was fully clothed and looked a lot fresher than he had done before. His hair was damp but beginning to curl and his complexion had a bit more life to it.

“Feel better?”

“Loads better, thank you.”

“That’s good.” I said with a pressed smile. I pushed his coffee towards him.

“Cheers. Where’s yours?” He asked with a subtle frown as he took a sip out of his mug. He made an approving sound. “That’s good.”

“You know, I don’t actually like coffee.”

His frown deepened. “You have coffee all the time.”

“No, I have a mocha.”

“That’s still got coffee in it.”

“Yes, but the hot chocolate kind of makes it a fake coffee. A coffee for people who don’t like coffee.”

“Right.” He chuckled. “I had a thought upstairs just now… why aren’t you at work?”

“Because I barely slept.”

He looked concerned. “You better not have stayed really late because of me. Should’ve kicked me in the crotch and told me to get over myself.”

“Oh believe me, I tried to leave you here to go to bed, H. But I actually got back at an acceptable hour, that wasn’t the problem.”

“Just a bad night?”

I hummed. “No, I still blame you.”

“Why?” He asked, leaning his hip against the counter side.

I looked at the kitchen top and pursed my lips. “You… you told me something that gave me a lot to think about.”

“I didn’t give you some rubbish music samples, did I?”

I snorted. “I wish. Might’ve helped me sleep.”

“What then? I can’t remember anything.”

After a charged silence, I let out a long sigh. “You told me you love me. You said you love me, and then gave this little speech about missing me. And not just as friends - you said like The 1975’s song, I’m in love with you. But you sang that part, and then immediately fell asleep.”

When I met Harry’s gaze again he was staring at me, and biting his cheek. Neither of us said anything for a while. I was hoping he’d say something. Or perhaps me repeating what he said last night meant he felt like he didn’t need to say anymore.

I cocked my head. “Did you mean it?”

He stood taller, inhaling as his gaze became glassy. “Yeah. Yeah of course I did. Well, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, obviously. But I meant it, although I didn’t mean to tell you in that way… you know, while utterly shit faced.”

“You were completely shit faced.”

“Yeah… no, that’s not how I planned on telling you.”

“Was there a different plan?”

“Maybe…” He turned his nose up and scratched the back of his head. “If I told you what it was you’d hate it-,”

“You don’t know that.” I retorted.

He raised a judgemental brow at me. “Er, yes I do.”

I laughed and put my head on the table. “Whatever.”

“Anyway,” he huffed, but it had a lightheartedness to it, “of course I fucking meant it. Been living with it for ages - it’s all had time to brew. Aged like a fine wine.”

I started laughing, and then I felt his arms wrap around my chest. I was pulled up by him to stand straighter, and he rested his chin on my shoulder. His back was against my front and it felt quite nice. I don’t think we’d ever stood like that before.

“Your love has aged like a fine wine?”

“Sounds right cheap when you say it like that.” 

“You said it. That is literally what you said.” I was still laughing.

“I know.” He whimpered.

I twisted my head to look at him, but he’d hidden his face. “You’re gonna have to bear with me.”

“In what way?”

“Well, this is a lot for me. I’m still… processing it, and I don’t know how I feel. You’re my friend and I love you, of course I do. Just…”

“Not in love with me yet.” He concluded.

“Yet.” I sniggered.

“I’ll remain optimistic, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

He giggled, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Take your time. Preferably not forever though, ‘cause… the biological clock is ticking.”

I snorted again. “Reel it in.”

“Sorry.” He hummed and squeezed my shoulders tightly. “I am going to have a movie day on the sofa. Do you want to stay?”

“For that I do, fuck yeah.”

“Sweet… go and make yourself comfy. I’ll get the snacks.”

He bumped my hip with his when I passed him so I kicked him back. He gave a childish laugh, and I shook my head at him, but I found as I wandered into his overcompensating living room that I had this giddy feeling in my stomach I’d never felt with him before.

What was I, the most stubborn woman on Earth, going to do?

~

“What d’you want, H?”

“Not a very charming greeting.” He groused.

I pouted. “You’re interrupting my bath time.”

“Is there some space left in the bathtub?”

I smirked and sank lower into the water. “For you? Never.”

“Hey!”

“Always,” I laughed around my correction, “I meant always.”

“That’s more like it.” He chuckled. “I was calling because I think it might be my turn to get dinner. So what do you fancy?”

“Well, you, obviously.”

“Obviously.” His matter-of-fact tone matched mine. I could imagine him nodding his head. “How about a chippy?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. My usual please.”

“Curry sauce too?”

“Wouldn’t be my usual without it.”

“Just checking. So, I will be knocking on your door within the next hour. Make the most of that bath ‘cause I’m coming.”

“Cool. See you in a bit.”

“Bye-bye.”

“Love you!” I shouted before he could put the phone down.

He was quiet for a minute. “Blimey. Don’t need to shout it, darlin’.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Just in case you forgot.”

“I could never. But I love you more. See you shortly.”

“Okay, bye-bye. Love you most.”

“No!” He shouted, but I cut him off before he could refute it more.

I felt smug. I let out a satisfied sigh and laid my head back against the edge of the tub. 

I had taken my time in coming around to Harry’s admission, but he was incredibly patient with me and I was always grateful for that. It had been little over a year since his little bender, and I felt really good about everything. We felt really good about everything.

Our relationship seemed to only be moving up at a pace we were both happy with, and I couldn’t ask for anything more. All we had to do was keep it that way, and I had every confidence we could.

~~~

If you read this far, thank you <3

Come Talk To Me

#harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harryonbroadwayficchallenge #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles ff #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst imagine #harry styles angst imagines #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles fluff imagines #i forgot how much i fucking hate writing tags on the bottom of posts #this is endless

[mediocre-daydreams]

𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐬𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲: send me a character and “opposites attract” duo (ex. grumpy x sunshine, loner x popular) for a blurb!

finnick odair (popular/shy) please! i think it'd be so sweet :)

ok so i just started typing and this emerged and i'm not sure how well this fits the request or if it makes sense but you've got me in my finnick feels and now i have this urge to write for him but bro i have so many WIPs how could u do this to me :(((((

finnick odair x reader // 1.2k

you have an odd relationship with finnick. are you acquaintances? begrudging friends? enemies just for the sake of having someone to squabble with? in any other situation, you’d want a definitive answer. but it’s the 75th hunger games, and in all honesty, you couldn’t give less of a damn about finnick odair.

you’ve only met him a few times, when the capitol invites all the victors for some frivolous celebration for anniversary of a glorified massacre. it’s horrible, you’re more than aware. but some part of you feels a little better that you get to see finnick, because as much as he is confusing and for reasons unbeknownst to you, he seems to have your back.

the parade is twice as busy this year but the capitol spectators seem thrice as enthusiastic. you silently thank your designer for prematurely accepting your death, because it means he didn’t bother to design something extravagant (by capitol standards) and embarrassing (by your standards).

“well, don’t you just look ravishing?” a male voice sounds near your ear and you feel a warm breath tickle the side of your face.

you fight the urge to grab the nearest sharp object and stab your opponent. you turn your head, slowly and intentionally, to the source of the noise and are unsurprised at who you find. “finnick?” it sounds more like a statement than a question.

“surprised to see me?” finnick grins, flashing you those teeth that must’ve been capitol-modified. they aren’t, of course. finnick hates everything capitol, and that’s the only reason you let him stick around. there are no other reasons.

“um, no.” you wish you could come up with a better, wittier, cleverer, flirtier response, but there’s something about the way he smells—luxurious and a little briny and so fresh it’s almost cold, but the heat from his bare chest says otherwise… “no, i’m not surprised. i saw your reaping.”

you cringed, remembering how he’d volunteered for annie and how defeated he’d looked on that stage, standing next to his old mentor and trying to avoid eye contact with his crying ex-lover. annie had never been the same after her games. perhaps you shouldn’t have brought that up.

“i’m flattered,” finnick grins at you again, pinching his lower lip between his teeth. he’s got one elbow on a table and even though his free arm hangs loosely by his side, you feel trapped where you are. or at least you’re in no rush to get away from him.

“okay, well… that’s good?” you mumble, not sure where he gets his endless chain of banter from but wishing you could have some.

“it’s good,” finnick repeats, shaking his head in amusement. he runs his hands through golden curls, meticulously styled and sprayed to look effortlessly tousled, and you’re sure his styling team is somewhere nearby wishing death upon you for being the reason their pretty boy has (god forbid) a strand of hair out of place.

finnick calling your name with that lovely voice of his snaps you out of a daze you hadn’t realized you were in. you blink, slightly caught off guard. “sorry, what was that?”

“i said, see something you like?” finnick’s grin is more smug now, almost feline. he looks like he’s about to pounce and ruin your life with those damn eyes. or, spear you with his trident in the quarter quell. neither seem particularly appealing.

“no!” you deny. “no- i mean, that’s not what i meant-” you stammer, eyes jumping everywhere but his polished chest. had his team rubbed him down in baby oil? he was glowing, all tan skin and smooth planes and well defined ridges and-

“no, you don’t like me? i’ve gotta say, i’m a little hurt,” finnick teases. “and here i thought we had something going on.”

“gah, i didn’t mean that! i’m not ogling you, is all. ‘course i like you, as long as you’re not going to kill me on the first day,” you manage to get out.

“hey, your words, not mine.” finnick shrugs, a smirk gracing his lips. “but just for the record, i am ogling you.”

your eyes narrow in confusion.

“i mean it,” finnick continues, swallowing, and you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker away yours for a moment. almost like he’s nervous. “you look nice. you look really… pretty.”

it’s not a groundbreaking or particularly romantic statement, but it’s the most sincere you’ve ever seen finnick around someone who isn’t mags, and that means something to you. “i think you’re pretty too, finnick.”

his confidence returns. “y’know, i’m told that quite a bit. but it means a lot more coming from you, sweetheart.”

you purse your lips. “don’t get cocky, or i’ll take it back.”

“no take backs!” finnick sighs and licks his lips thoughtfully. you’re not sure if he’s trying to entice you on purpose, but either way, you’re enticed.

the conversation is lulling and it’s really finnick’s fault. you’re not much of a conversationalist. “uh,” you begin, not sure why you opened your mouth when you had nothing to say. “um, your horse is… well groomed. and- uh, your chariot- yeah.” you want to kill yourself. you’re going to die in a few days anyway, so you might as well die before you lose all your dignity to the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

finnick snorts, unattractively horse-like, and you’re only a little comforted to know he’s not as perfect as he seems. “well, i’m sure the gamemakers will be pleased to hear that the procession is up to your standards.” he turns away from you to pat the side of his horse’s face and you get a good look at his high cheekbones and impossibly sharp jawline. you hate this man. 

the horse doesn’t seem to like finnick much. it flares its nostrils and finnick is forced to retreat, taking a step back and finding himself against a small table, useless and meant for decoration. atop it rests a bowl of sugar cubes, which are also useless and probably meant for decoration. you want to scoff at how dedicated the capitol is to performing false hospitality down to the last detail.

finnick turns to see what he bumped into and his eyes light up. he pinches a cube of sugar between his pointer finger and thumb and rolls it around, pretending to examine it. he returns his gaze to you. “some sugar for my sugar?”

you want to gag. finnick is so disgusting and you can’t imagine who would fall for his cheesy pick-up lines. not you, that’s for sure. “no thanks. i’m… allergic.”

“allergic to sugar? really?” finnick frowns, tossing the sugar cube in the air and catching it in his palm easily. “i’ve never met someone with a sugar allergy before.”

you shrug, caught up in your lie and grateful that finnick didn’t call you out on it. you didn’t know if you’d be able to survive the embarrassment of your verbal slip.

the sugar cube really is for show. he places it on the table with disinterest and curls his lip mischievously. “well, i suppose it doesn’t matter. you’re sweet enough to give me a cavity as it is.”

you can’t help yourself. “are you flirting with me?” your mind runs faster than your mouth, it seems, and now you’re pretty sure you’ve screwed up the chance to talk to this man ever again.

finnick looks at you oddly, raises his eyebrows, and purses his lips to hide what would probably be a stupidly smug smile. “no, with the horse.”

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #1.5k celebration

[superluver]

hiiii hope ur having a good day there, if ur requests are open, can i request suguru (suguru after premature death) with non sorcerer reader, she thought he saved her but he just wanted to get a curse from her, but then he falls for her

basically geto falling for ‘monkey’ reader ^^^ and him having an(other) existential crisis,

hope this makes sense T.T and thank u!! <3

Geto. S. - Cursed

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Reader

SORRY FOR THE WAIT ☹️☹️ If this wasn't what u were looking for (which i feel it isnt) message me again and i'll do it again, 🙏🙏

Cw: angst-ish to fluff, Mentions of murder, mental health, FEMreader, Mimiko and Nanako, a lot of monkey calling, domestic suguru

Wc: 1.6k

Description: You're cursed and Suguru wants it. Suguru having internal conflict

BEFORE YOU READ: this doesnt pertain to the story but i swearrrrr in the gojo x reader following a lot of spam has been posted please dont forget to report it

“If you’re trying to enter the building, you have to go through the back.”

Your voice is bland, tired, uninterested.. Suguru can go on and on about the monkey’s voice in front of him. He was still staring at you, though his line of vision was more like what was beside you, something that you couldn’t see. You were leaning onto a fence in an alleyway that connected your office building to the next one over, elbow and forearm holding your balance.

He stays unchanging, smiling while staring you down. It was seemingly innocent, with a hint of menacing. Suguru wanted to kill you, he thought about it really hard; The guy had been watching you for weeks now.

It was hard to not notice the curse attached to you, any sorcerer could feel its cursed energy from all of Japan. It was intense, and rightfully so.

This was a special grade, and he had to be the one to have it.

You never even glanced at him, a burning cigarette in between your lips. Hey, maybe you’d get murdered by some handsome weirdo.. that wouldn’t be so bad, right?

“Hey, if you’re going to kill me can you hurry up with it.”

Again, your voice is so tired.

This time, you finally turn your head to face him, and he finds his smile faltering. So similar to his when he was younger. Defeated, tired, and no one knew.

No one cared to find out further, and who could he even talk to? Shoko was out practicing her Reversal Cursed Technique, his juniors were still experiencing the world, and Satoru has become the strongest on his own.

So he was on his own, until he finally broke.

But, you were a monkey. What would you know about hard work. What would you know about sacrifice?

Afterall, you’re just a monkey.

Yet, he finds himself faltering. He just couldn’t kill you, and the curse beside you began pulsating. Not to mention the fact that you never questioned his monk attire.

“What,” he stutters, throat going dry. His voice is cracking, so he pauses , licking his lips before resuming. Was is always this hard to talk with a monkey? “What’s your name?” He asked you.

Your eyes inspected him, and he takes note that you haven't puffed the cigarette yet.

“You gonna smoke that?”

He doesn't know why, but the anger wells up inside of him once more. Maybe the two of you weren’t so similar after all. Smoking was something he did to cope, and now look at you, doing it for show.

“I don’t wanna smoke when someone’s talking to me, ‘s rude..” you slur, pulling out the half burned cig and pressing it down on the ash tray.

He feels his heart pang, and a mixture of emotions flood through him. How unusual, he’s never felt like this before, not even in his Highschool years.

“It’s (L/N), (Y/N). By the way.” You inform, the last but coming out weakly in whisper.

“Is that so?” He mumbles, watching you fumble into your jacket, pulling out a half empty box and flicking it open. You extend your arm out, holding the box open, and he feels his world become distorted.

Almost like a lullaby, feeling like a kid again. The world he sees is full of color, then dark, only in black and white, then nothing at all, and now he’a seeing you, the only thing with color in this monkey-ridden world. And now, back to all black and white, execpt you, now full of color.

He wonders if this has something to due with the curse on you. It’s hugging you hightly, like a snake. It’s thin, hugging your breasts, wrapped around your neck, ready to kill you, but he doesn’t want that.

Suguru blinks, time resuming as normal as he utters a thanks, taking it and using the lighter you hand out right after.

“I haven’t smoked since I was a teenager,” he confesses, and he doesn’t know why he felt the need to say that, to a monkey at that.

“Really? How’d you stop?” You ask, genuinely curious. You’d been trying to quit for years, but with the things life has been throwing at you, you think you’d end up smoking yourself to death.

Suguru glances around, thinking hard, “I decided to do what I wanted to do.” And it’s true, he decided to follow his heart and exterminate monkeys for a living. It brings him joy.

“And what’s that?” You ask him, fully intrigued with he’s talking about. He gulps, staring down at you, biting his tongue he furrows his eyebrows ag you. The damn curse, it’s doing this to him.

He grabs your wrist, staring at you darkly, and you think this is where he’ll kill you.

But he doesn't.

He covers your eyes with his large palm, and it’s unusually calloused, more than the average worker. He does it gently, despite his dark expression. Your line of sight is completely darkened, and suddenly, you feel weightless.

He didn’t kill you— he wouldn’t kill you.

“Ge— Suguru. Suguru, could you help me here?” You call him from the bedroom.

He’s 22 years old and has been living with you for two. Peering his head in, he watches you struggle in holding the matress cover down to pull it over on the other side.

“It won’t stay!” You groan, watching the other side pop out. He chuckles, walking to the opposite corner of the bed and pulling it down under it.

It feels oddly domestic when he’s with you.

When the four of you hang out, you holding the girls hands while he walks behind you three, it feels like he’s with his family.

Though sometimes he feels like he sees Satoru—

“Suguru?” You call him, your face close to his own. He catches himself holding his breath when you near, ‘monkey’ he finds his mind calling you.

His hands go to your cheeks, thumbs stroking your cheeks. Your lips part, observing his solemn facial expression. His eyes seem so.. so lonely. “What’s wrong?”

His rough hands trail down your face now, loosely around your neck. Thumb stroking your throat, applying small pressure. “I could kill you right now.” He mumbles, and the voice in his head is shouting at him, manipulating him.

All monkeys.

That’s right. When did he stray so far off from his goal? When did he stop trying to fulfill his dream?

The perfect world he was going to create, just for sorcerers. A world where his best friend didn’t have to work like a dog, a work where they could just be people. A world where peace was the only way.

It was probably when he met you.

“But you won't. Well, I hope you won't!” You chuckle sheepishly. Your fingers taking his from your neck, holding them to your lips. “You saved me in ways that you could never even imagine.” You murmur, his half lidded eyes staring down at you, at that curse he still hasn't stolen.

He didn’t save you. He stole you. Suguru Geto is a selfish man, and no better than Gojo, he’ll do whatever he can to have something. That something is you.

The curse doesn't matter to him anymore, he just wants you. He wants to rid you of this curse that hangs on you.

He’s tried, but it seems to be feeding off of you. He would have to kill you to get it, but he can't, he won't, he refuses.

He finds the words slipping out of his mouth, he can't control himself anymore.

“I love you.”

You blink, eyes wide as you replay his words.

Those three words.

“Ah..”

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m sorry.. I’m sorry..” he confesses, enveloping you in a hug. You don't need to be a rocket scientist to feel that he’s crying. The way his large back trembles in your hold. “It’s alright, don’t cry now.” You whisper, stroking his hair. “I love you very much.”

Your voice feels so quiet, and you don't think your words even reached him but when he squeezes you, pulling you even closer to him, trying to become one, you know he got it.

“Thank you, Suguru.” You thank gratefully, chin on his shoulder. “Thank you for giving me a family, thank you for giving me somewhere to belong.”

“Thank you.”

You don't even remember how the two of you ended up on the floor, holding each other while the bed stays unmade. A single pillow the both of you shared while snoozing on the ground.

Nanako and Mimiko peer into the room, heads poking in to see your laying figures. How scared they got when they grew near, thinking something happened to the two of you. But when they see your chests rise and fall, they rest easy.

Though, their gazes stayed more with your figure. Your curse was gone, no longer attached to you.

Nanako grabs her phone, a limited one only for phone calls and photos(given to her by Suguru) and snaps a couple photos of you, some serious, and some zoomed in on your faces.

Mimiko returns back, dragging a blanket from the couch and draping it over the two of you, giving you both a kiss on the cheek.

“C’mon, Nana.” Mimiko says, taking hold of her twin's hand and walking out the dimly lit room.

They should be the one’s thanking the two of you, for giving them parents that they never had.

#geto x y/n #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #getou suguru #geto suguru #getou x reader #suguru x you #suguru x reader #jjk suguru #getou suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #domestic suguru

[mrskokushibo]

Kokushibo - Less known facts

Headcanons

Requested by Anonymous

Masterlist

Let us imagine a few more or less hypothetical facts about the impressive Upper Moon One. I did include a few manga spoilers and established facts to make things more interesting.

As portrayed in his final fight, he sees himself as a samurai until the very end, until he doubts himself upon seeing his terrifying ultimate form in the reflection in the blade of a sword. Therefore, I have a hard time believing that he kills women and children. I choose to believe that, just like Akaza, he only goes after men.

And maybe that is one of the reasons he does harbour some positive feelings toward Akaza.

They are both specialised in their respective martial arts and Kokushibo respects that type of commitment and professionalism. So, despite Akaza having already challenged him to a blood battle and doing so again, it has not managed to make Kokushibo hostile toward him.

Just like Akaza, he is loyal to Muzan and takes his quests seriously, displaying high level of demonic professionalism.

Unlike Akaza, he is more of a business partner to Muzan.

But going back to eating habits. He is known to absorb his victims and that is how I picture him roll. I simply cannot imagine him actually eating a human. It would be beneath him.

He goes after strong opponents. Rich, powerful, skilled in battle, predominantly egotistic, and ruthless people. He draws his immense strength from theirs, defeating countless of them through centuries.

He is known as the Hashira killer, as singlehandedly, he contributed to the highest loss of lives among their ranks in his long demonic career.

Now to another mystery: as a human, his eyes and hair were purple, right? But as a demon, it all turned red. Some kind of attempt to be more like Yoriichi, maybe?

I also do not believe, that the sole reason for him turning into a demon and becoming Kokushibo was to avoid dying prematurely as caused by the manifestation of the demon slayer mark. No, I believe he was also driven by his ambitions and a quest for power.

Overshadowed by his ultra-talented brother, in a sense, he achieved more in terms of status and position. Because, let's face it, it would take some serious leadership skills to remain the enforcer of the Twelve Kizuki for nearly five centuries.

So… he is a baddie (his human form, Michikatsu Tsugikuni) cos he left his wife and kids, right? Wrong... This was an arranged marriage and the wife did not care about him other than his status and the comforts he could provide. I believe he left her in a good financial situation, making sure both she and the children would be well looked after for the rest of their lives.

What about his love life? We all have fantasized about this male on numerous occasions, right? Well, I would say he does have a rich love life, but he is very secretive about it.

His ladies are predominantly human…yes, you heard me right. Most often wives of abusive and powerful husbands that he has dispatched to the afterlife, thus causing the ladies to have a deep running urge to express their gratitude to the exotic rescuer… How many does he have? Many… And wouldn’t we wish to be able to show our gratitude too….?

Haircare. He has so much hair, seriously… I think he spends a good hour brushing his hair every day. The recommended 100 brush strokes simply will not do. Make it like a 1000. There.

Body hair. This guy would be quite hairy in his human form. As a demon, Kokushibo possesses a fiery, dark aura. Hence, I kinda think he burns off his facial- and probably chest hair every morning. Would be quite cool to see him with a stubble or a hairy chest.

Last, but not least: his eyes. He can blink all of them independently, thus confusing his opponents and conversation partners alike.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

#kokushibo #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny fanfic #demon slayer kokushibo #kokushibou #kny kokushibo #demon slayer imagine #kny imagines #kny #kny headcanons #kokushibo headcanons #demon slayer headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba headcanons #kny spoilers #kimetsu no yaiba kokushibo #kimetsu no yaiba anime #demon slayer anime #akaza headcanons

[latelyanobsession]

She's A Runner - Part Eight

summary your relationship with billy has taken its largest step by far but in the grander scheme of things, that never seems to mean much. he leaves far too quickly after your first night together leaving you questioning his intentions. and now he's got questions about yours as well. in a last-ditch effort billy brings you over to his house to iron things out, but things go awry. will things ever go well for the two of you? or are you just as star-crossed as those teens shakespeare wrote about?

warnings references to past sexual assault, chronic abuse/homelife situation, cursing, trauma response behavior, angst, relationship drama, smut, fluff, problematic parents, whump, hurt/comfort

word count 5,309

note this one has been in drafts for quite some time but i hadn't been able to get it out until now due to my schedule and the school year. hope you guys enjoy it! Inspired by Billy Squier’s She’s A Runner

Part Six / Part Seven

As always any feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Billy didn't stay long, leaving shortly after you both had gotten dressed. He kissed you briefly before walking out the door with a fresh cigarette twirling between his fingers.

You slept poorly that night, tossing and turning before admitting defeat, your eyes glowering at the ceiling.

He left so fast... was that all he wanted? Is that all this is?

You groaned, knocking yourself thickly on the forehead with a fist. You shouldn't think like that.

"He's a man... that's all they ever want! They only ever want one thing!" Your mother's voice rang through your head.

What else are damaged goods, good for?

The thought sat bitterly at the front of your mind as you rolled to the other side of the mattress, roughly kneading the lump in your pillow.

He's gonna leave you. You're damaged. Unfixable. Used. Disgusting. ... Worthless.

When you arrived at school that morning, a lump formed in your throat when you saw Billy's car. It was stupid, really. You felt foolish but kept driving and parked by Allison Krupp's Volkswagen. How were you going to face him in class?

Entering the building, you headed to your locker hoping that Billy would be elsewhere.

"Hey," a familiar voice sounded, startling you, the book dropping from your hands. You whipped around to face him, your voice tense. "Hey... morning."

Billy looked at you suspiciously and then at the book on the floor. "You ok?" he asked, leaning down and getting it for you.

You nodded strongly, "Yeah, I'm good."

He wasn't convinced, his hand lingering over yours as he handed the book over. "You sure?" he pressed.

You took your book, placing it in your backpack, and shouldering it. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" you lied, a half-hearted smile creasing your lips.

He was about to answer when the bell rang. A wave of relief rushing through your features.

"Class," you stated dumbly, pointing at the ceiling before turning on your heels and walking away quickly. Billy stood a moment in the hall watching you, his brow wrinkling in worry before he followed you into the classroom.

Settling into your seats, you could feel his eyes on you, making you shiver. You pulled out your notebook, loudly flipping through the pages, attempting to distract yourself.

The whole period he kept looking over, with you catching him turning his head out of the corner of your eye. You didn't want to look at him. Didn't want him to read you like the ridiculous open book that you were. Your face would betray you if he caught you.

And you weren't ready for that.

Today was going to end badly, you were certain of it. But you would be damned if you helped yourself to that conclusion any faster than necessary.

The period bell rang and you skittered away, ignoring his calls after you.

"Y/N, hey! Where're you going!?"

The rest of the day was no better. You had barely started eating when Billy began walking toward you in the cafeteria at lunchtime. You panicked, picked up your tray, and prematurely dumped it before running to hide in the girl's bathroom.

He's gonna do it. You're such an idiot. He's gonna leave you.

When Chemistry finally came around, he caught you, seating himself in the lab chair next to yours. You peeked over at him but said nothing. You were boxed in. He finally had you.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" he sniffed in irritation as you looked straight ahead. "Nothing." you lied quickly.

Sarah Lindsor waved at you as she came through the door, maybe she'd save you? Grabbing your bag, you rose from your seat to join her, but a hand wrapped around your wrist, locking you in place.

You looked back at him testily, before sinking back down into your chair. He leaned in, speaking barely above a whisper. "You're jerking me around, and I'm gonna find out why," he growled low, his hand dropping its hold on you.

You shivered, pulling your hand back into your lap. "You already know why..." you muttered under your breath as Ms. Decker began taking role.

It was suddenly becoming too much for you. The inevitable was right beside you and waiting. You couldn't take it any longer and snatched up your backpack, running from the room. The other students mumbled in disbelief looking at Billy suspiciously.

"Billy, what did you say to her?" Ms. Decker chastised him. He quickly followed you out the door, ignoring the teacher's call, "Billy, get back here!"

You hastily tossed open your locker and shoved what you needed into your backpack, peering around the metal door. Billy was watching you with keen eyes as he stomped down the hall towards you.

"I don't wanna talk about it," you warned, voice fracturing. "About what?" Billy pushed, his temper beginning to surface. He was close on your heels as you slammed your locker closed and tried to break for the school exits.

You had barely squeezed yourself through the first set of doors into the breezeway before he stopped you, wrapping you up in his arms. "Y/N stop running!" he huffed aggressively, his breath starting to shorten with all the games you'd been playing.

You froze in his arms, unable to fight, your brain too slow to process.

Run you, idiot! He's gonna do it! He's gonna say it! Fucking run!

You nearly buckled, your shoulders heaving as you began to sob in his hold. Tears poured from your eyes, as the weight of the day's stress finally surged through you; the levies failing. "It's over isn't it?"

Billy tensed up, "What?"

Flipping you over in his grasp, he turned you to face him, "What the hell're you talking about?" He asked, his voice thick with annoyance.

"It's over...!" you hiccuped, "That's what's going to happen, huh?" you sobbed.

Billy searched your face, "Are you fucking serious?" You couldn't tell if he was more hurt or angry with you at that moment.

"Because you left... and that's what happens," you reasoned, "it ends..."

"Jesus...," Billy moaned, "you're such an idiot sometimes," He shook you lightly by the arms, and you immediately snapped a glare up at him.

"Am not!" you retorted, fidgeting in his grasp, "You're gonna do it!" you accused him.

Billy rolled his eyes dramatically, letting go of you. He pushed passed you, walking out the school doors toward the parking lot. Pulling the cigarette carton from his jacket breast pocket, he tapped out one cancer stick and the lighter with it. Striking up, he took a deep inhale as you followed him out.

"I wasn't..." he stated, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. "Did you want me to?" He looked over at you with what seemed to be a brief specter of hesitation before quickly looking away.

You sniffled loudly, wiping your nose against the back of your sleeve, "No... but –!"

"Then I won't," he cut you short, walking towards the rows of cars. You exhaled fragilely, calm uneasily resettling over your frame as you followed behind him. "O-ok..." you reasoned, weakly. "I kinda overreacted, huh?"

Billy ignored the question as he unlocked the camaro, he was suddenly preoccupied with clearing out the backseat. Wondering if he was going to offer you a make-up session, he cut your thoughts short. "You should come over," he stated to the open air, taking another deep inhale, the taught irritation now waning from his voice.

"Really?" you brightened, a small smile growing on your lips. Billy nodded like it was nothing, tucking the cig between his lips as he rolled back his jacket sleeve to check the time, the end-of-day bell was ringing.

"Just come home with me," he added, nodding his head toward the camaro as you both watched your classmates pour out of the building.

"Billy I gotta get Petey home first..." you motioned towards your own car.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, flipping the cuff of his jacket back over and fastening it. "Can't that brat walk?"

"Course he can," you said, folding your arms. "But the last time I made him walk, he ratted me out. I didn't hear the end of it for two whole months," you emphasized painfully.

He chewed on the filter in thought for a moment, "I'll pick you up then."

Coming to stand beside him, you wiped your eyes, the drying saline trails on your face beginning to itch. "Are you sure you don't just want to hang at mine? That's always easy," you offered.

"No," Billy shook his head, taking a deep drag, the cigarette growing short as he held up a new one to its dwindling embers for ignition. "B'sides. You're gonna need to get familiar with my bed at some point..." He looked over at you slyly, lips upturned with delight.

Your cheeks reddened, as the comment struck you. "Christ, Billy! It hasn't even been a week!" You gave him a light shove. Billy clicked his tongue with indifference, his shoulders shrugging off your weak assault. "So?"

You didn't have a good comeback, as you sheepishly rubbed your arm and dropped your eyes to your shoes. Billy chuckled triumphantly, "You wanna?" Your answer lodged itself in your throat as you looked up at him.

Max was zipping her way down the road toward the pair of you on her skateboard. Petey was not far off behind, some sort of bulky school project in his arms. You were sure you'd hear about it in just a few minutes' time. "Won't Max be home with you?" You asked bashfully.

Billy flicked his head with an uncaring shrug, "Maybe. She's been going with those loser friends of hers to the arcade a lot lately." Sliding a hand around your waist, he drew you in as each of your siblings approached. "You can always pretend she's not there..." he drawled, dipping his head down and kissing you.

"Gross!" Max and Petey spat in unison as they arrived.

You held the kiss two beats longer than it probably should have been, your stomach fluttering as he pulled away, blue eyes closely watching yours through heavy lashes. "I'll get you in half an hour," he concluded, kissing you once more to audible protests from both of your siblings.

"Y/N come on!" "Really Billy!?"

Parting ways, you drove home with Petey groaning all the way about the scars you had caused him. "My eyes! I'll never be able to unsee it!" he whined as you pulled into your driveway. You huffed, engaging the emergency brake and turning off the engine.

"For hell's sake Petey, will you give it a rest already? Not like I won't be suffering when you're sucking some girl's face off in another two years..." You moaned, the both of you getting out of the car.

Petey whipped his head around, a blush blooming across his freckled face. "That's never gonna happen!" he promised. "Yeah... right." you mused sarcastically, as you helped him pull the monstrosity of a box he brought home from the trunk of your car. The science fair was approaching, and Petey was going big on ambition this year.

Handing Petey your keys, you let him unlock the front door as you two brought everything inside. "Petes... what is all this stuff anyways?" you huffed, unloading the box onto the table, casually fishing a random cut of PVC pipe out. Your brother looked at you warily, "It's top secret..." he stated, snatching the plastic out of your hand. "Mr. Clarke is helping me. We're going to State this year," he concluded proudly as he arranged some of the disorganized pieces together.

"Uh... huh." You said with the blandest of interest. "Just don't let Mr. Clarke do all the heavy lifting." The doorbell rang before you could make an even snider comment, saving Petey's ego.

Opening the door, you smiled. Billy was casually waiting, leaning on the doorframe, an arm raised beside his head. "You ready?" he asked, charmingly. "Yeah," You nodded happily, calling over your shoulder, "Be back later, ok?!"

"Yeah, whatever," Petey dismissed loudly. Pulling the door behind you, you poked your head in one last time, before locking it. "Oh, and don't touch the Krazy Glue until I get back. Capiche?" You pointed a knowing finger at your brother. He threw his hands up in defeat, "Sheesh, alright! Leave already!"

Heading down the front steps, you headed for the camaro, Billy opening the passenger door for you. "What's your brother up to?" he asked casually, helping you into your seat. "It's some secret nerd scheme to get him to the State competitions of this year's science fair," you replied. Billy nodded, closing your door and coming around to his own.

"His solar-powered battery wasn't good enough last year to beat some girl from Terre Haute. So now he's out for blood..." you concluded, clicking your seatbelt. Billy laughed, "Is it really that serious?" You looked at him with mockingly wide eyes, "Are you questioning the importance of bragging rights and a huge-ass ribbon?" Billy chuckled, keying the ignition. "Really? Not even a cash prize?" You shook your head, "I think they might get a restaurant voucher or something... the real money's for the high schoolers. Scholarship stuff..."

Tossing an arm behind your headrest, he turned to look and backed down the driveway. Pausing to shift, Billy leaned in and stole a kiss.

The drive was short and sweet. Billy had a cassette in, the volume cranked high, and the windows rolled down as you made the five-block ride to his house. You had the sense he didn't want to talk, his grip on the steering wheel was tight.

Pulling in front of 4819 Cherry Lane, Billy killed the engine.

His gaze was fixed on the front door as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, lost in thought. "Is everything alright?" you asked, watching him curiously from your seat.

He looked over at you hesitantly, "Yeah, why?" he nodded, before getting out of the car. "I dunno," you reasoned, exiting and following him from the curb to the front porch.

His hands fumbled with the keys, trying to find the correct one as he cursed under his breath. The key stuck, unbudging in the keyhole, jamming up. Rocking back and forth on your heels, you busied yourself looking out at the hushed street, not wanting to breathe down his neck.

The deadbolt clicked out of place, a relieved mumble of "finally," leaving him as Billy opened the front door. Holding it wide for you, he stood aside. "Welcome to my hacienda..." he said in a sarcastic tone.

Stepping over the threshold, you smiled politely. "Thanks." Your eyes wandered over the simple furniture in the living room as he shut the door behind you. The room contained a large, grey corduroy sofa set against the left wall. Along the house's front wall was a pair of matching pink pinstriped armchairs, an end table in between them, and a cream-pink lamp on its top. The tropical-print curtains and the green-painted brick fireplace depicted the whole room as one large, clashing, still-life picture.

"Gimme a sec," Billy said, leaving you by the door as he walked off toward what appeared to be the dining room, disappearing. Reappearing briefly, he crossed from one end of the back room to the other, looking out the window. "Billy?" You called.

"Yeah." He answered, coming back through the house to you. "What?" He was acting strangely, his shoulders tense. His eyes weren't on you. They were unfocused, flitting from one part of the house to the next every few seconds.

Rubbing his hands up the lengths of your arms, he gave you a hard-pressed smile. "You wanna take off your jacket?" he asked. You arched an eyebrow, "Billy." He looked at you awkwardly, leaning in, he kissed your jaw. Trailing his lips across your cheek, he encased your lips with his.

"Bi-mmy!" you mumbled in protest. "Mhm?" Billy asked, slyness slipping into his tone. Your mind was blanking on what you were trying to ask.

"What? What is it?" Billy asked, nipping at your lower lip goading you. You whined as he pulled away, your eyelids heavy as your gaze locked on his. "I... Are you...?" Billy chuckled as you stumbled over your words.

Licking his lips, he watched your lust-blown expression. "You got it bad... Real bad," he teased you, thumb swiping across your lip as he cupped your face in his hand. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

"You want me, Baby?" He asked, stroking your cheek. You nodded, breathing deep, as a shiver ran down your spine. You wanted him. All of him, that very second. "How bad?" he asked.

You looked up at him, blue eyes staring at yours. Watching. You didn't answer, already beginning to lose yourself. Billy's hand gripped you lightly by the cheeks, shaking you. "How badly, Baby?" He laughed, watching your eyes widen in surprise and resettle as you came back down to earth.

"Reawwy bad," you puffed out between pinched cheeks. Loosening his grip, his hand lowered off your face, lingering around your collarbone, his index and forefinger tickling at your skin. He eyed you up and down, pausing before locking eyes with you again.

"Wanna fuck me?" he flirted, lips parted in anticipation. You nodded thickly as Billy cocked an eyebrow. "Say it like y-" You cut him off, lunging and kissing him roughly. He responded, shoving you against the front door with a loud thud. His grip was fixed snugly around your neck as his other hand drew you in by the waist.

Your fingers dug into him, nails tugging harshly at his cotton-clad torso, making the threads creak. Billy groaned out a loud moan of appreciation. You wanted him and he knew it. It felt damn good to be wanted as his hand pulled you by the neck deeper into the kiss.

He was rutting against you, his hips grinding in evenly-paced undulations. Rising and falling. Opposite in rhythm to the hurried breaths between wrestled kisses, driving up the desire in both your bellies. His tongue bullied its way into your mouth, tasting every proclaimed whimper you had. His deft hands crawled beneath your shirt, exposing soft skin to the open air as he continued this assault. Your jaw was beginning to tire, but you weren't about to give up when you knew this was only the beginning.

"Billy?!"

The sound of a door opening near the back of the house brought everything to a screeching halt. Billy reflexively took his hands off you, immediately taking a full step back.

"Billy, where the hell are you?! Are you deaf?" The man's voice grew louder as he entered further into the house. Gruff and demanding.

You peered around Billy's shoulder, the man's shadow beginning to form across the wood floor.

"Dammit Billy, I know you're home!"

Billy shoved you back in front of him, blocking your view. "Just a minute!" Billy shouted. His posture was rigid, stiffer than a board. You were about to speak when he cut you off, his hand over your mouth. "Outside. I'll meet you at the car," he whispered harshly.

Stepping backward with you in his hold, Billy wrenched the front door open and pushed you out. "But -!" You protested. "Wait by the car!" He urged, before walking out of sight back into the house.

You hurried out to the camaro. You didn't like this. Something about the way Billy looked seemed off. The way he had been acting since he brought you over seemed odd. You really didn't like this. But Billy told you to wait, and you didn't want to make him mad.

So you waited.

And you waited.

You swore you'd been waiting ten minutes. The front door was ajar, but Billy still wasn't coming. This didn't feel right.

Looking around at the quiet neighborhood, you weighed your options.

He said wait by the car. I know, I know, I know! But something's wrong! I can feel it!

Stamping your foot, you made your decision.

Dammit, let him be mad at me.

Approaching the house, noises hit your ears. Three thuds and the muffled sound of an argument. You froze, a cold chill running down your spine. Something was wrong.

As you crept up the steps, the man's voice leeched out onto the porch. Your heart was pounding. Thundering so strongly that your skin was rippling with each rapid beat.

"Think you run this house? Huh?!" The man demanded. "Dad, I though-" Billy pled. He let out a choked yelp, falling quiet as he hit the floor.

Peering in, you pushed the door open, tears catching at the corners of your eyes.

Billy was crouched against the wall opposite the front door. He was attempting to pull in on himself, his arms covering his face. Above him, the man stood, belt clenched in his fist.

Your eyes widened in sheer panic as the man's arm drew back, belt raised high. You crossed the threshold without thinking.

"You never think Billy, you just do. Stupid things. All the time." He spat.

The belt was coming down. Billy ducked his head, wrapping his arms around himself as best he could.

CRASH!

The belt and the man dropped to the floor in a sudden collapse.

Billy looked up, his tear-stained face meeting yours in absolute shock. The silence in the room was deafening as you stared at one another.

Breathless, your shoulders heaving, you dropped the shattered remnants of the lamp. Petal-pink ceramic shattered all over the floor.

Billy was trembling as he pushed himself to stand against the wall. "We... we gotta get the fuck outta here." His voice was trembling. You didn't answer, your gaze on the man splayed out on the floor. A large wound on his head was steadily weeping, dripping onto the floor.

Billy grabbed you roughly by the shoulder, making you wince. "Y/N?!" You looked up at him, speechless. How could you even say anything?

Billy went to grab your hand, and you grimaced, pulling back. Grabbing your hand, he looked at your right palm, a lengthy gash spanned the length of your hand. "Fucking Christ," Billy cursed, leaving the room.

Returning, he shoved a white undershirt into your grasp. "Here. We gotta go," he pressed, wrapping a hand around your wrist and pulling you out the front door.

He dragged you down the sidewalk and nearly threw you into the car as he started the engine and flew off down the street. Wrapping the shirt around your hand, you half-hazardly buckled yourself in as Billy made a sharp turn out of the neighborhood, the tires screeching burnt rubber thick in the air.

The camaro's engine revved, doubling down as it picked up speed. The world outside was blurring by too fast. "Billy," you looked over at him cautiously. His gaze was glassy and unfocused, his mouth set in a hard line, his face unreadable. He took another sharp turn. He was driving so fast you couldn't tell where you were.

"Billy, slow down, you're scaring me," your voice sounded distant and quiet. Not like yours at all. Billy's grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles were turning white. His brows knitted together as he inhaled deeply, "Why the hell did you do that?" His voice was biting, a sharp cutting slice through the camaro's silent atmosphere. "Billy, please...," you pled as your hand gripped the door's handle, "slow down."

The camaro lurched as Billy's foot pushed the accelerator to the floor, the car straining to accommodate. "Tell me..." he warned, his voice was flat and uncaring. He wouldn't look at you, as he wrenched the steering wheel harshly. "Billy, please! You're scaring me!" His face was red, eyes tear-stained, as he sniffed back a sob and made a hairpin turn off the paved roads of Hawkins towards the Quarry. "WHY!?!" he barked. You jumped, tears were forming in your eyes.

The car veered onto the road's shoulder as he glared down on you, demanding your answer. "Jesus, Billy! Watch the road!" You begged, grabbing onto the steering wheel, and pushing it in the opposite direction. Billy swatted your hands away, swerving the car to correct, the camaro jumping as it hit a wallow in the gravel road. "–I ...." you swallowed, your heart was pounding so loudly you could hear it. "I couldn't just let him do that to you!" you concluded. Billy downshifted, missing the turnoff and sending the car into a spin. "Not your fuckin' business," he spat at you, as he overcorrected fishtailing onto the road up the Quarry bend.

You looked at him with wide eyes, "Billy he could've killed you!" Billy lolled his head over to look at you, before tossing his head back laughing maniacally. It was horrendous and obnoxious. "Billy, this is serious!" you pressed. He fixed his eyes back on the road, "Yah?" He mocked, "Well maybe he should've this time." Tears were falling from your eyes at this point. Did Billy really believe that? That just wasn't possible in your mind.

"Don't say that!" your voice was quivering in emotion. "I don't want your fucking pity Y/N," Billy ground out. You couldn't believe what your ears were hearing. Your own temper was rising. Emotions flooded through every pore of your being. "It's not pity," you bit back. "The fuck it's not," Billy replied.

"It's cuz I love you, jackass!" you yelled, your foot kicking the floorboard in frustration. "Stop the damn car! You're gonna kill us!" He slammed the brakes, both of you lurching forward and straining against your seatbelts. Crossing your arms, you turned away from him sniffling. You didn't catch the astonished look on his face. The way it melted through the tension in his body and settled deep into his chest as he looked at you. He was truly shocked.

"Take me home," you mumbled at the door after a long silence. Billy said nothing but started the engine.

The drive was wordless, only interrupted when Billy occasionally cleared his throat or you sniffed as the tears dried. Pulling up to your house, you sat up straight. Both you and Billy swore. "Shit."

Your mother was in the driveway, staring at you.

Slamming shut the passenger door to her station wagon, she pointed at you and then pointed at the ground. Her voice was muffled by the distance but her mouth made the words clear. "Get out here. Now." You and Billy looked at each other solemnly. "You should go," Billy stated. You looked at your mother's waiting face, "just give me a minute ok? Don't go anywhere?" Billy raised an eyebrow, "Why?" You squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Just, please?" He looked at your mother, and then at you before nodding. "Ok."

Getting out of the camaro, you walked up the driveway to your mother, your head dipped low. "Hey, mom." She didn't even greet you, "Y/N, what did I say about that boy?" You looked up at her from the corner of your eye, hands behind your back. "Mom... I –" She cut you off, pointing a finger at the camaro, "I told you I never wanted to see that boy at this house ever again." "Mom! I told you he's not like that!" arguing back you gestured, forgetting about your hand. Your mother noticed right away, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling your hand to eye level. The undershirt had stained through. "What is this?" your mother asked, waving your hand limply in front of your face. "Is this what he's getting you into?" "Mom it's complicated," you argued. "No, he didn't!" you pushed back, trying to pry yourself away.

She was dragging you up the driveway, "Not another word. Inside." You dug your heels into the concrete, "Mom it wasn't him!" you begged, "Please, he needs help! Someone hurt him!" Your mother stopped, looking you hard in the eyes. "I was trying to stop them, Mom! I promise it wasn't him!" your voice cracked. "Please!"

She studied your face, then looked out at the camaro. "You sure?" You nodded furiously. "He'd never hurt me, Mom, please he needs help!" Your mother gave a deep resounding sigh. "Alright, bring him inside I'll see what I can do." She let you go and walked into the house.

You quickly ran down the driveway to the camaro, Billy's hand was on the ignition as you tapped on the window. Rolling down the window he looked at you hesitantly, "I should go," he stated, avoiding your eyes. You scoffed, "Billy where the hell're you gonna go?" He shifted his shoulders in a non-committal shrug, "–'ll figure something out. Always do." You reached into the car for the keys, falling halfway inside. "What the hell're you doing?!" Billy looked at you with amused bewilderment. "Get out of the car," you grunted, propping yourself upright, "you're staying here tonight." "She's gonna let me stay?" Billy asked. You started wiggling yourself back out of the window, "I'm gonna make her let you stay," you stated with conviction. Billy snorted, "Ok." "Now get out and come inside."

Coming into the house, your mother immediately seized Billy and hauled him to the bathroom. You sat on the living room couch, fiddling with the undershirt over your injured hand while you waited. You couldn't hear what was being said upstairs, but you could definitely tell that your mother was doing most of the talking. After a while, Billy finally came downstairs and quietly sat on the couch as your mother beckoned you to come up.

Shutting the bathroom door behind you, she cornered you against the counter. "I don't like this Y/N," your mother warned you as she grabbed your injured hand and began unwrapping your makeshift bandage. You winced as she plucked the fabric free from your palm and ripped open the drying wound. You gritted your teeth as the searing cold sting of rubbing alcohol washed over your hand, clouding your head. "I'm ok, Mom," you mumbled weakly. Your mother gently placed a medicated gauze pad on your palm as she started wrapping your hand. "Y/N... you need to stop seeing this boy." You looked at your mother with watery eyes, "I can't, Mom, I love him too much." Your mother's lip quivered, shifting from a stern expression to a sympathetic pout. "Honey, he's only going to hurt you in the end," she reasoned.

You shook your head, "He won't. I know it."

"I want you to be safe." "I am, Mom. I am."

You both returned downstairs, Billy standing as you came to rest by his side. "One night," your mother stated, pointing at the pair of you, "And absolutely no funny business you hear me?" You both agreed in unison under her accusatory gaze. "School in the morning. No excuses." You nodded and gave your mother a hug, following her to the front door. Before getting in her car, she yelled, "behave!" You nodded and waved from the doorway until she drove out of sight. Shutting the door, you leaned up against it and looked at Billy.

"What did my mom say to you?" you asked. Billy tilted his head thoughtfully and answered, "She said she'd cut my dick off if I ever touched you." Your face dropped into a concerned frown as his perked into a delighted smirk. "Billy, that's not funny," you chastised him. Prowling across the space, Billy closed the gap between you, "It is." "No, it isn't!" you whined, shoving on his shoulder as he boxed you in.

Leaning in, he tucked your hair behind your ear, "So.... what're we gonna do tonight?" Your face flushed as his hot breath washed over your skin. "Uh, movie night?" you asked coyly.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to my tags list for this series please interact with the separate tag post I have HERE.

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[puella-1n-somn10]

⚔️Puella Magi Madoka Magica x Pokemon Sword/Shield: Hop and his Witch Form⚔️

Word count w/o intro: 11,703

Look, I know that the Traveler from Genshin won that poll, but...if I may be honest, I am not ready for what concept I had for them to completely topple apart all thanks to a single shred of lore being aimed at my head at mach speed. Trust me, fellas, I saw the roller coaster that is the Fontaine chapter; if shit is that crazy while we are halfway through the main story, then I dread the revelations that will befall us all when SNEZHNAYA rolls around-!

With all that being said...welcome back, ladies, gents, and those who have casted the dreaded concept of gender out of their lives! For those who are unaware, we are here today to witness what would happen if I were to take the worldbuilding of Puella Magi Madoka Magica and apply them to other media. Today's unfortunate guest for today is none other than the goat himself, Hop!

...Not funny? Ah, alright-

Yes, I am aware that Hop's reputation amongst the fanbase is...controversial at best. Generally speaking, I've noticed that the negative image of this character was formed by the fans prematurely judging him based on his initial lines of dialogue, passionate (which is often mischaracterized as cheerful) attitude, and, I shit you all not, animations (which is more of a fault caused by tight release schedules and the developers being rushed than that of the character himself). From these alone, he tends to be placed on tiers lower than the fucking Gen 6 rivals (no hate towards them, promise, I just wish they were fleshed out more)- which proves to me that not only are those types of Pokemon fans purely visual beings, but that media literacy is dead, rotting, and its tombstone has been Hyper Beamed to Hell and back-

BUT we're not here to rant now, aren't we? My...personal, burning distaste towards those who call him a Hau clone aside, we are here to dissect his character- in more literal ways than one! If I may be honest, this analysis post thinly disguised as a silly, crossover ficlet was created as a thought and writing exercise for myself, and it was quite fun, if I must admit! So I hope from the bottom of my heart that you guys find as much joy in Hop's pain and suffering as I did while writing it!

Just a few quick warnings, this post will contain mentions of child neglect and favoritism, implications of social ostracization and public shaming, and, I cannot stress this enough, mentions of self destruction/S-H/su-c-de. If any of these themes are too triggering, especially that last one, please, please click away! I am being serious here- take the utmost care, and be safe!

Of course, spoilers for Madoka Magica, Magia Record (Anime ver.), and Pokemon SWSH are right up ahead! If I may be honest, I haven't touched upon the DLCs yet, so spoilers regarding them will be minimal at most. There will also be shades of PostwickShipping (Hop <3 Gloria) present, so if that isn't your cup of tea, I sincerely apologize.

It would also be fitting to play some Decretum on the side, too, especially when we get to the despair bit- God damn, he and Sayaka need to be buddies.

-The Wish, Possible Powers, and Soul Gem-

"Before we ever started out on this journey… I remember watching Lee on the telly. He was like a bright star, so strong I could hardly bear to look right at him. But now, I can tell just how strong he really is… And what he's got that I haven't…"

Now, I could go the easy way and say that he'd wish to be as great as Leon- to become as strong as the champion and equally undefeatable, but, honestly, not only does this feel cheap, it feels so...unlike Hop as a character. He doesn't just want to defeat Leon- he wants to prove his worth and make his mark as a trainer. Hop, like the rest of Galar, idolizes his brother- so much so that he copied his strategies and every move; a mistake that had gotten him to lose the fight in the Circhester stadium even after facing off against so many trials and tribulations-

After all, as Bede said it in his own...brutish way, if people looked down on Hop, they will do the same to Leon - the man who Hop looks up to as not just an older sibling, but as a symbol- as an unshakable LEGEND, and not just as a human being -. So if the perception of the man who Hop saw as a hero was to shake all thanks to him...it'd be quite devastating, to say the least. It was this possibility that hit him the most- where his worth and identity came into question.

Hop may dislike losing - a sentiment that grows stronger every time you defeat him -, but what he fears even more is disappointing others; lowering his and his brother's worth in their eyes. He wanted to be number #1 because it was expected of him to do so, by himself, by the public, and, when you think about it, even by his family - whether consciously or not -...

After all, just look at his home- do you see any pictures of Hop around? Left and right you find memorabilia and trophies belonging to Leon, but how much mementos of Hop can you find? Whether or not he was aware of it, Hop craved not just the glory of his brother, but also the validation and positive attention.

This was his path in life- no, this was his destiny, as he'd put it; to become as strong as his hero and receive that blazing torch after living in his shadow for so long. To live up to his splendor, to inspire others to get up and take a stance, and to make something out of himself. His brother was a hero- so it makes sense to imitate someone as amazing and strong as him.

So, after analyzing his character for a bit, his wish could go along the lines of wanting to be by his brother's side, or, more appropriately, to make an impact on the world and the lives of others like he did. After all, we are assuming that he made the contract a bit before his constant losses began to fuck with him; he had confidence in his abilities at least during the beginning, and was certain that he was going to emerge from the final battle victorious.

The powers resulting from this wish could go in a lot of different ways; after all, wishing to make an impact is quite abstract. It isn't like he wished for someone else to get healed or to win on a lottery; so trying to make powers based on that would be tricky. My best guess is that his powers are associated with memories and legacies, which, once more, also fits in really well with how he documented and tried to mimic Leon's strategies and actions.

Now, before we focus on his soul gem and witness it crumble along with his self-esteem, we're going to take a good look at his attire upon transformation into his Magical Boy form- an aspect that, regrettably, I've forgotten to cover back while I was analyzing Medic. Now, this part may be a little unclear to some upon first reviewing the designs present in PMMM, but a pattern is there- and one of the most common reasons behind a magi's design is the intent behind their wish and their desires before or after taking on the contract. In order to prove my point, I'm gonna list some examples:

Sayaka Miki is a knight in shining armor; she wanted to uphold the ideal of a magical girl and fight for what's right

Homura Akemi's outfit is rather...funerary, for lack of a better term; she made her wish as result of her losing Madoka, and had more or less doomed herself to watching the demise of her beloved over and over again

Nagisa's outfit looks like an everyday, ordinary outfit for someone her age; she craved a normal life where she was able to be just like the other kids around her- not having to worry about living in a dump and caring for an unstable parent

Iroha's design invokes the idea of a ranger or even a mercenary; she is dedicated to finding her sister at what cost, even if most of the evidence (or lack there-of) pointed towards Ui not existing in the first place

Being in the spotlight of someone else's life, looking up to his brother, and making said champion an example on how he should lead his life...I think a stereotypical, legendary hero might do it; the main protagonist of tales like Beowulf or even your everyday JRPGs. Hop often made references to him 'weaving his own legend', so this would make perfect sense!

Speaking of-

Regarding his soul gem's shape, simple- upon transformation, it would look just like a small flame placed on his solar plexus like a brooch or button. Comparisons to Leon's charizard aside, it is a simple and straightforward symbol representing his personality; passionate, competitive, hot-headed, and bright- but all flames are prone to dying out one way or another. Hop's association with fire is also presented to us in-canon in his second league card, with him pulling off Leon's signature pose as flames wildly danced around him.

This also brings the idea of him burning himself away to fit into his ideal of a champion to mind, or literally burning himself out. A raging fire ready to render all that is in its path into ash- including himself.

The emblem on the middle of its egg form is a little harder for me to interpret fully. I could go with the easy way and say that it's probably the same as its form upon his Puer Magi transformation, but we all know that my perfectionist ass would not just simply settle with that. The options on our hands are as follows;

The easy option, the Hop flower (symbolizing how becoming a professor is his true calling in life)

A coat of arms (royalty themes- also, a pun on Eternatus' eternamax form, coat of ARMS, heheh)

A spiral (symbol of futility, continuation, cycles, and a downward spiral)

A coat of arms WITH a spiral in the middle (look at the above two points)

A flag (him wishing to create his own legend, and how he was initially a foot ahead of us during the start of our journey together)

A windmill (...we'll get to that, but let's assume it's because of Postwick for now- I personally prefer this one)

A shield with two crossed swords (again, royalty and hero themes)

As for its color, here is where things get interesting; I already spoke about how most soul gems correspond with the eye color of their respective magi, since "eyes are the windows to a person's soul", so a brilliant gold would fit both with this unwritten rule and thematically. However, then I got thinking- Red is also an applicable color, right? It fits his personality, and would clash really well with the cool purples and blues...until I realized that not only is red already going to be present as a sort of secondary (if not primary) color to go along with the existing cool palette in mind, but the added gold highlights would embolden it and make sure this design really pops.

Besides, making red a central color for his magi outfit also adds in to the idea of him still mimicking Leon, whose associated colors are purple, gold, and, of course, the reds of his cape! We aren't completely sure as to how much control a magi has over the outfit they'll don upon transformation, but we do know that Madoka actually designed her own magical clothing, so some input from the magi themselves, whether consciously or not, does contribute to the matter. This would also make a cute little homage to his champion outfit in Pokemon Masters EX!

One last point before we get to the part you've all been waiting for, we have to look at his weapon; yes, his powers are probably associated with memories or even perception, but, according to my research, one's weapon doesn't necessarily have to be tied to the wish. As a matter of fact, aside from Mami's ribbons (symbolizing her being tied to the life of a magical girl and her capturing others in this web of malice whether consciously or not- a literal lifeline), most of the cast's weapons are unrelated to the wishes made, and, like the aforementioned outfits, are more tied to the magi's intents or even personalities;

Nagisa's is a trumpet that blows out bubbles. She wanted her mother to hear her, but she's only ever able to let out little squeaks; the dichotomy between her desire to be acknowledged and wanting to be a decent daughter to a horrible person like her mother.

Homura's is a shield; she wishes to protect Madoka, but a shield alone cannot deflect everything threatening her sweet rose. There's also the symbolism of her hiding behind a shield, both as Moemura (shy and reserved) and Cool Homu (covering her emotions with an aloof exterior); in both cases, she's hiding herself away from the world.

Sayaka's is a cutlass sword. Go figure.

I am not completely sure on Madoka's; she dislikes brutal fighting, so it would make sense for her to use a long-range weapon that she's able to use to snipe enemies from a safe-enough distance. I also heard that a bow and arrow have some sort of significance in Christian lore, but, to be frank, I am not completely sure about this; this section requires further study.

Again, I gotta thank @bluethepearldiver for saving my butt here and on the upcoming natures section! According to them, since I had already removed swords and shields from the equation in order to make space for both Gloria and Victor, a polearm type of weapon would fit him the most! In their own, brilliant words, it is "representing how unattainable his goal ultimately is", and, in my opinion, it is a mid-range weapon- when utilized correctly, Hop would be able to conquer battles that would require either long or short ranged attacks to clear! Also, personally, it brings the image of a sheep herder to mind.

As for the specific type of polearm, that one would require a lot more creativity, but, since Hop comes from Postwick, a weapon that originates from Europe would be fitting. After thinking about it, I believe his weapon is probably a Halberd, due to how it can pierce, chop, or slash depending on the situation. It would also symbolize poor, bright-eyed Hop constantly changing his strategies and teams in order to catch up to us- to finally match us in strength. Every time we met him, he would have different strategies, a different team, a different outlook- he tried every viable, effective strategy, tearing apart the aspects of himself that were deemed roadblocks, pushing himself until he was burning himself way too brightly for his own good, yet...

-Descent Into Despair-

He lost. He had lost yet again, hasn't he?

His grip on the pokeball was shaky. The eyes of the crowd fixated on him as the last of his pokemon fell to the ground. Frozen air filled his lungs; his eyes felt like they were turned to stone, as did the veins in his arms.

The whispers grew louder; the crowd's collective judgement was being passed from one attendant to another. His teeth were about to shatter from the pressure around him alone. Not even Melony's concerns were registered on his mind; all the words around him amalgamated into a brute cacophony that choked all the will and rationality out of him.

His heart was on fire. His lips were dried as he stared at the nothingness before him. It was so hard to continue standing up- fucking impossible to focus on anything but this blunder forged by his own hands- which he now sees as nothing but useless vestiges. His heart was a war drum in the midst of conflict; beating as though the drummer's life was on the line if they were to dare and drop the pace. How he wanted to gouge his own eyes out and rip those ears out...

"Pitiful."

What on Earth was he missing?

He tried to change his strategies, he really did. The sad look on his pokemon’s eyes broke him every time, but they just couldn’t be of good help…he had to be a better trainer.

That’s what good trainers do, right? They make sure their teams were optimal. After all, strategy came first; that was what he learned from all these battles that long moved his heart.

"Foolish."

Another loss.

He looked down at his final, fallen comrade, not taking his shaking hands into account. Was it the cold? The stress? The sheer disbelief of what was before him?

Or was it frustration? A poison seeping between his clenched teeth- ready to curse out himself and direct his anger to the world? Readying him to pound against the earth beneath him until his knuckles were mangled and bloody?

No...no, this can't be it. He had to push himself further- he had to be better. Not a single Pokemon of his would listen to someone as fragile as he was; he had to make an example out of himself if he had to be a strong leader- a hero to them...

"Hypocrite."

Wooloo...

You promised, didn't you?

He stifled his own sobs. Oh, how could you have done this to them, Hop? They were the closest thing you had to a childhood friend! They were right by your side to the very end! All you had to do was to keep their head up, tell them it wasn't their fault, and that you would still enter the league together if you both focused! All you had to do was stay strong-

But you couldn't. You just had to up and leave them; cast them to the dirt where you dragged his good name through.

In the end, he couldn't even uphold that.

"Pathetic."

Over and over...over and over, he had repeated this fruitless, pitiful endeavor- all to no avail.

Finding himself floating adrift, Hop feels as though his very existence was slowly slipping from his fingers; becoming one with the very void surrounding him. He couldn't even feel his limbs, much less his face.

No matter how much he had stretched himself so thin, it just wouldn't work. The evidence was there before him, for all of Galar to see- his true rival and his brother on that field together, the latter holding the other's hand and raising it up in the air...that no matter what he did, all the sacrifices he had made, it was all up there in the air like smoke. His dreams, hopes, and ambitions- gone with what shine in his eyes that were left.

Oh, little sheep...do you not realize that you have tangled yourself within this spider web- the very definition of insanity?

"Worthless."

He's tired.

With each loss, it got a lot harder for him to get up and walk away.

His legs were shaking, and not just due to the harsh winds around him. The winds were picking up their pace, but the eyes, the eyes, the eyes-

Why must you insist on further embarrassing yourself, young man? Can't you tell when it's the time for you to just drop everything and move on with something better for everyone else's sake?

You're just embarrassing yourself at this point- nothing more than a clown attracting disrespect and shame like flies to a rotting carcass much like yourself.

...

Yeah...

What if...it was him?

He couldn't take the watchful gazes of the crowded streets anymore. Oh, how he wanted to hide away in the corners of the world- render his own face into nothing but a crimson pulp just so their judgemental glares, mocking smiles, and whispers would finally leave him alone and hollow.

His heart was racing- his veins were on fire, and his arms were about to burst.

It was too much... Upon stumbling upon a silent, empty, dirty alleyway, he slumped onto his knees as he shook from both the cold and pressure of all the bottled up frustrations in him. At long last, the waterworks finally broke out. Only the night sky and howling winds were his current company; doing little to distract him from his pained heartbeats and dried up throat.

He couldn't hold on to his victories, no matter how feeble or small. It didn't matter what he did or how much he tried, all that he's tried holding on to will just slip away from his fingers, like the breaths of fresh, cold air escaping him; inhaling just enough as to not allow him to pass out on the spot, but it was only that much.

The sound of metal clanging on the ground escaped his ears. It was only when he was finally slumped on the ground that he had noticed the fading luminescence just before his reach. Even as his body shook from the mental strain and the cold, he still recognized the jewel that was on the dirtied ground. Hands shaking, he slowly picked up the once brilliant object...

Through jittering teeth, he just couldn't help but sob whilst instinctively smiling; the sound coming out like a sort of soft giggle...

Hahahah...oh, don't tell him- don't tell him he couldn't...

What a mockery- look at him, everyone! Not only had he failed the challenges before him, but, oh, this poor damn pest- he couldn't even look after his own damn soul gem! The very thing he had traded away what was left of his identity outside of the league for- and even then, with his wish, it only made sure that his mistakes would return to him in even stronger, more merciless manners. Was it due to him being unable to focus on both perfecting his strategies and his duties as a puer magi?

For all Hop cared at that moment, it was just another sign of his pathetic, useless existence. Worthlessness- no, he was way beneath that; he had failed. He had failed, he had failed, he had failed, he lost, he had motherfucking lost.

Answer yourself this, Hop- Do tell how you expected to come so far like this! How you have managed to shamble and shuffle through the league challenge like the worm you are, with nothing but another's achievements to your name- and you couldn't even take good care of that!

"...Useless..."

Hop shakily breathed out.

"Hah...if only I wasn't born so useless..."

His grip on both sides of his head grew tighter. As he gritted his teeth and his eyes twitched, one last thought flashed in his mind-

"There's...nowhere left for me..."

"Everyone else is moving on without someone...some pest like I am..."

With all the air that was left in his lungs, Hop roared into the night and unleashed all the grief in his heart. His anguished wail was interrupted by a sudden crash, and all that was left were the howling, autumnal winds...

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Word of the contestants' escalating behaviors grew amongst the people of Galar.

At first, it manifested as deepened anxieties; competitors being so overwhelmed by the upcoming events that it caused them to hyperventilate, shake uncontrollably in between sobs and unintelligible screams, or, at worst, completely melt down; faces reddened by tears as they were unable to remove themselves from the ground due to the paralyzing nervousness and hysteria. Initially, these incidents were brushed off as being related to the individuals' worries over the nature of the Gym Challenge, on top of the resulting trauma caused by the Darkest Day; even after the region was granted another chance at seeing the bright, blue skies, tensions were still at an all-time high, so, at the time, this appeared to have been the most rational conclusion.

It was when they've descended into thrashing bitterness and violence, however, that concern was finally demanded and raised- and, along with them, a whole basket of questions that craved all the answers in the world; anything to make sense of what was unraveling. Many a stadium had to close down - some even in the midst of these breakouts - for investigation purposes in order to get to the bottom of this anomaly.

Before long, rumors began to spread amongst the Galarian public- both on the streets and on social media; ranging from a contamination of sorts, to possible side effects of the Darkest Day that the current chairman was uninformed of. In the end, one by one, the majority of the gym leaders had to step forward admit that they knew as much as the rest did regarding the matter, but that did little to help stop the creation and spread of conspiracy theories, and they soon devolved into a competition of its own; on whose hypothesis is the most click-worthy and attention-grabbing.

Nothing was stacking up; everything had been tested - the water, the air, the soil, and especially the power spots -, the stadiums were inspected from top to bottom, and even the gym leaders were interviewed; it all came back negative.

The chairman himself had gone dark.

In the midst of the mass hysteria, right everyone's noses, the range of whatever was influencing these stadiums, the...being that has sending all these people into these frenzies...was growing.

Violent breakouts and missing persons reports spiked without ever showing a sign of slowing down. Nay, not even the gym leaders were spared- with Bea finally coming to her senses while Allister tried to subdue her and not hurt the rest around her, and Milo's herd of Wooloo going completely berserk and in complete panic not unlike the contestants and their own pokemon.

It was at its assumed worst when it had finally reached Postwick Town. Most of Galar had succumbed to what was engulfing it with its malice and twisted hopes, and, according to theorists, they doubted it would stop there. The people residing in the Isle of Armor and Crown Tundra were given the order to lock down and cease all functions until further information's released, in the vain hopes of preventing the spread of its influence.

And then-

Silence.

Everything around them was completely dim, with nothing but small flickers of flame and their own eyes' adaptation to help traverse them through what became of the region; a dim, cold land with ashy skies overhead, overrun with scared wildlife and...monsters- beasts you have never seen the likes of before. Perhaps staying still while you're able to recognize Galar while you could would be the wisest choice; stray far enough, and the world around you will fade, shift, and turn, until you find yourself not outdoors anymore, but in a dingy, suffocating hallway filled with cracks and little to no light-

and, soon enough, you will realize that you are not alone.

To the most fortunate (or unlucky, depending on the perspective), the sight of the missing people was there for them to see; lined up for their next battles and subsequent executions. Days of being trapped, fought, beaten up, and isolated in pain did a number on their psyches, and that is without mentioning the existing effects that have already engulfed Galar; plunging them into insanity.

By the braver and most informed few, most of the missing people have currently been accounted for- most, had it not been for the unfortunate casualties resulting from...all that has been unfolding around them, whether they were still yet to be found, were done in by beasts swarming through these twisting tunnels, condemned by whatever's waiting for them at the center of this cursed maze, or...just couldn't take it anymore, is still up in the air. Those whose statuses have not yet been confirmed included the younger brother of the former champion himself- who, quite possibly, may have been one of the earliest victims, if the timeline was to serve them right-

Oh, but if only they knew better- that the bright-eyed, enthusiastic Hop was right back to where it all started; watching the competition from atop the stage, waiting for the next match to begin. The empty husk that was once "Hop" was silent; slumped to the back to his seat with his dull, milky eyes staring into the distance, as the crowds roared once the hero and his new challenger entered the fray.

Yes...yes! Cheer for him! ONLY HIM!

Shaking from the cold and the tension of her surroundings, Gloria's attention darted from the armored monstrosity to her unconscious rival amongst the masses. His colors all but completely desaturated- it was nothing short of a miracle seeing his body still somewhat intact, though his sunken face and sloughing skin - some even falling as soon as she grabbed on to him; revealing pale bone -...without thinking, the armored girl screamed.

Contrasting Gloria's priority shifting from grabbing on to Hop's corpse and make a break for it to taking down that thing who must have caused it, Leon was...silent. His heart sank as he fell on his knees- his eyes shook as he fixated on the monster before them. His blood ran ice cold; it was so hard to breathe without sobbing...

Gloria and the gym leaders who have finally located the arena - those who have and haven't contracted - deemed that being a monster- Hop's God damned murderer, but Leon knew better.

The gold hues that were pooling from what's assumed to be the monster's eyes were unmistakable.

His own little brother was right before him, waiting to fight him in the middle of this arena-

Just like how he had promised- like how he had always wished for...

-The Witch's Nature-

Ah, the most unpredictable section of this post- the one where yours truly is expected to agonize and sob over all the options before me. Character complexities are complex! Multiple reasons behind despair! Oh, how is your truly ever going to choose the perfect nature for a warlock that would not only encompass the magi's goals and history with only a few words, but one that would also feel fitting for a spooky being like a witch?!

Welp- once more, I have thank Blue for their brilliant input once more! They've decided that his nature would be Admiration, and, honestly, it's genius! It not only fits his overall character, goals, and what caused his sanity to go downhill with the brakes cut off, but it has the right amount of dissonance that the witches of PMMM are known for! Again, this has been your reminder to support them- c'mon, chop chop, that's an order.

Of course, nothing wrong with mentioning all the other, though scrapped, natures. Again, you're all free to reinterpret the warlock to your hearts' content, and if you do have any other suggestion that would fit, please let me know! I not only want to understand Hop's character better, but I do wish to improve my character-deciphering and writing skills. Once more, I encourage all sorts of fair criticism heading my way, and, with all that being said, here's the losers' club:

Reflective

Smitten

Idolizing/Idolization

Competitive (decided that this one might fit Nemona better if I ever got into ScaVio and made a witch for her. Later. Inshallah.)

Self-abandonment (look at the above, but with Bede instead)

Self-immolation

Guilty

To yearn/Yearning (again, Nemona)

-The Witch's Appearance-

"It's not enough! I've got to try harder! And harder and harder till no one's laughing!"

Alright, first thing's first, before we dive into ANYTHING, we need to touch upon Hop's self-image and how it transforms through the course of the game. From the beginning, he is just so confident in his abilities and goals; it wasn't just a desire, it's a goal- he will beat Leon! He will become champion! One day, he's going to be on that stage; he WILL fight Leon, and he WILL beat him- just we wait!

And 'wait' we didn't.

For all his talk about creating his own legend, of taking up the mantle, we have done nothing but drag his face through the dirt without failure.

The more we beat that poor fella up, the more...desperate he became, and it gets cranked up to 11 once Bede humiliated him; calling him a waste of space, and that all he is doing is tainting his brother's legacy by trying, so it would be best for all parties involved he should just stop that. If he just stopped trying at all. If he just gave up at once. He still tries to maintain the spirit of friendly competition between the main character and himself, but the constant humiliation has been getting to him, and the talons that are digging in to his mind are sharp.

It is then that we finally realize that the once-confident trainer who initially accompanied us is no more. This hatred towards himself only grew with time, and, even when he had reintegrated Wooloo/Dubwool into his team, his self-worth was still nigh-non existent; he dared not accompany us during even the post-game story, believing that he would just be slowing us all down, and how we would fare and be better without someone like him around.

In Hop's eyes, he was a burden; a waste of space, and, no matter how much he tried to fight it, those words would persistently repeat in his mind. His constant defeats didn't help, either, whether it was by our or any other trainer's hands-

Hell, it can be argued that Hop's earlier confidence and passion were nothing but "fronts"; he had always cheered Leon on and idealized (dare I say even worshiped) him to no end, but, aside from the promise that he would, one day, defeat his brother and become a champion, what other positive things did he say about himself? What other dreams did he hold? He owed so much of his own knowledge about Pokemon battles to Leon, after all. This can be seen in the third episode of Pokemon: Twilight Wings, if we choose to interpret Wooloo's actions as reflective of Hop's- trying to be something it is not, and, ultimately, causing it to stray far from "home".

He wanted to be the hero of his own story. That's all he wished for. Instead, we've shoved him into the sidelines- face first on the dirt, without even realizing our strengths.

History repeats once more- the tale of Leon and Sonia all over again.

The image of a knight, a warrior, a hero is definitely a strong base to start it all off. The ideal knight in shining armor, he who stands up for everything right- the unbeatable champion of the people. Not just a person to look up to, but a symbol- that's all he wanted to become; just like how he saw his brother.

When he realized that his current tactics didn't work, everything had to go out the window. We aren't saying this lightly- everything. His plans, his . He had to change everything about himself- until he realized that the problem weren't his teams or his plans...it was him. It has always been his fault- he was just weak, nothing more than a pathetic worm.

The armor is scraping every fiber of his being. No matter what, he still cannot attain the strength and glory of a champion- so he has to keep doing this; break and melt himself. It isn't right, it hurts, but he deserves that pain- he deserves the agony and so much worse for the sin of his existence.

But it's not enough. It's not enough, and it will never be enough. Flaming hot, red daggers will forever pierce through his flesh and skin; melting and reshaping him not necessarily just to fit his desired goal, but as punishment.

It doesn't matter, though. It doesn't change his sheer, fucking incompetence. He'd bash himself against the wall, turn his knuckles bloody, and have his howls of torment be drowned out by his observers' whispers and harsh judgements, but it doesn't change the fact that he deserved every second of it. He had to keep molding himself, he had to suffer, he had to pay for being such a pest to everyone's lives and for being so weak...

No matter how much he tried, it doesn't change the truth that he is no damn hero; he is here as a prisoner, present to repent for his crimes of his pathetic existence...

Oh, yeah. Futility is not just a present theme, but we are running to the HILLS with it.

Next up, we look at his actions- the "spice" and depth this brings to his warlock's design.

Let's retrace our steps a bit and look at Hop's character before and after the main story; as soon as we boot up the game for the first time, there we see Hop being so excited over his brother finally coming home- he was practically shaking and jumping by the news of it alone! He just couldn't wait to see him again, much less what he must have brought back with him- and, when he laid his eyes on the starters and chose his, he was over the moon and the sun; this was the beginning of his legacy! Ah, even his own mother said that he had to learn some patience.

Compare and contrast to his attitude in postgame- he's a lot more mellowed out, but that can be better described as him finally being burnt out. He had nowhere to go, no goal to attain, and not a single strength to his name. Bede and Marnie are training to become gym leaders, Leon's the new chairman of the Galar league, Sonia is on the way to become the new regional professor, but Hop? There was nothing left for him. There isn't anything he was able to do that others could do even better- all that was left for him was to rot in the fields, forgotten and cast away like the object of shame he was.

"I don't know how much I can really help... If I come along, I might just end up slowing the rest of you down..."

I've already established how the warlock might be imprisoned in a sense; all to symbolize how he must have felt during his downfall and the lengths he went through in order to become someone worthy of becoming champion- of sharing his brother's legacy, but we should also take how he first started off into account. We already have the pain, but where is the tragedy in it all? The downfall of his confidence? The fall of Hop, the once bright-eyed, confident, and proud young man? How could we symbolize the face that we have flicked his passion and convictions away with the push of our buttons?

Passion...glory...destruction...hotheadedness...Lee...Charizard...

"Fire- and lots of it!"

Yeah, this should not come off as a surprise - given how I have already mentioned it dozens of times already -, but, hey, if Ophelia has a lot of flames in her design to symbolize the tragic end of her family and her own hotheadedness, then I can't see why the same cannot be applicable to our uncrowned prince of Galar. Truth be told, I think the fire is burning at him to this day; as I already mentioned, he is in a constant state of melting down and reshaping himself to no end to fit an ideal that is so far away from him, and what better way to do so than by forcing himself to endure these flames to no end- not just to burn away all his mistakes, but to subject himself to what rage and disappointment he believes Leon must be feeling? You cannot ask for a more fitting punishment, no? Quite ironic as well, if you'd ask me.

Plus, as a warlock, he wants the people to cheer for him- only him! What better way is there to grab their attention and love than by becoming the brightest thing on the battlefield?! Yes, it's all worth it in the end, hearing the people of Galar scream just for him alone- oh, he couldn't be happier! That is all he desires! If we thought Oktavia craved attention, think again.

Speaking of lengths he went through to become someone he is not, let's talk about him changing his teams; this is his point of transformation as a character, where the cracks in his confidence begin to grow alongside his desperation. At this stage, Hop was willing to make any sacrifice necessary to meet that goal of his- if he fails, not only were his dreams on the line, but so was Leon's reputation. The only constant between these teams is the starter Leon gave him- with teary eyes and a regretful heart, he had damned the experiences and memories he shared with the 'mons he caught along the way, for all that mattered at that moment, all that was worth keeping, was the one thing that held any sort of direct connection to his future glory; the very gift his brother gave him. It should be worth it though, right? He's only becoming better, becoming stronger, becoming the best trainer he could be-

Isn't that right, Wooloo?

Oh, man, wooloo. What kind of Hop-centric design would this be if I didn't incorporate this cute little sheep in some form or another? If not the sheer GUILT he must be feeling? Since I already covered how the warlock would be forever unsatisfied with his form, let us talk about the promise he made with Wooloo, and how him breaking it must be haunting him. Just up and abandoning them, his lifelong partner pokemon must hate him for such a cowardly decision- it should hate him; he had backed out of such an important vow between them, and implied that it was their fault that he was unable to reach his goals. Ultimately, it is his guilt and self-hatred that got him here; whenever he wasn't melting down and reforging himself, he was always fighting for the audience's attention- a whole herd of sheep who constantly demand a spectacular show. It felt right for his first partner pokemon to judge him, after all- he must be condemned for his disloyalty...

Building upon the last point- since Wooloo, his very first pokemon, was also removed from the team, this would translate beautifully into him removing parts of himself to fit that perfect mold, and what better way than to add in sheep elements to his design? The warlock having hooves as dark as obsidian for feet? Broken horns that might be mistaken for parts of his armor? Heck, even the gnarly skeletal system resulting from us combining that of a human's and a sheep's? While I am not too sure about what exactly is going on underneath his helmet, I will just assume that at least its base form resembles a mutilated black sheep's face, because of, well, Hop seeing himself as the black sheep of the family. Combined with his halberd, which I am certain would carry on from his last form to this one, this would bring the idea of a twisted sheep herder of sorts, on top of the existing themes of sacrifice that are already associated with cattle in multiple religions.

Of course, we can't go wrong with referencing him copying Leon's tactics in battle and said worship! This, too, will be a source of pain to his warlock; not only does his armor resemble draconic scales (again, Charizard), but the base of his helmet would bear the shape of Leon's beard. This also ties in to the above point of him trying to reshape his form to that of the champion's in order to achieve prestige and victory by following in his hero's footsteps, but its ultimate purpose in the end is the further erasure his form and himself; all that made Hop 'Hop'. He is constantly slicing away at his being just to fit that mold....

Yes, he also gets to keep the cape; much like his halberd, I can't see why this element of his magical boy form would not get carried over here, as it also assists with establishing the theme and desire to be like a big shot like his brother. Its red coloring would also be of nice contrast to the ashen grey or deep darkness of his armor, although it is tattered and not as magnificent as it used to be in his eyes. The armor already boosts the idea of a hero, but, combined with all of the elements from above and Hop himself going down the slippery slope, this monster right here invokes the idea of a fallen hero; bright-eyed protagonists who have become jaded over the course of their journeys or have decided to outright give up on their ideals and goals- some even opting to join the opposing side of the narrative outright.

I should also mention his inability to look at Leon in the face and how he didn't want negative attention to be drawn towards him in spite of Hop's desire to face off against his brother- some eye trauma, maybe? Would the mementos of Leon in his barrier bring him pain? Or...would the warlock be unable to see past the "glory" of the champion and his dreams? How his mistakes are blinding him? Maybe what he saw was so bright, so brilliant, that it blinded him to everything else; turning his eyes into burning pools of blood resembling molten steel?

Now, we calculate his karmic potential, his emotional volatility, and how they contribute to his warlock's strength.

While I was first working on this post, I thought that maybe he would have cracked after he had lost against the gym leader of Circhester Stadium - Melony -; after all, he must have been devastated, with all these eyes watching him as his final pokemon fell, but then I remembered two key details-

His self-esteem did not get any better by the end of the game's main storyline. In fact, it was at its lowest during postgame- and he even brought a comically large shovel to dig wayyyyy deeper, courtesy of Sordward and Shielbert!

His karmic potential not only stems from him being the champion's little brother, but his role in stopping the second Darkest Day.

So, in a way, that loss would be considered to be more of a catalyst for his despair rather than the straw that broke the camel's back, not unlike Sayaka learning the truth behind the soul gems or Hitomi's confession to Kyosuke. He may have brought Dubwool back to his party, he may have appeared okay-ish after we've defeated him in the semi-finals, he may have helped us save the day, but his internal conflict didn't dissolve just like that- you cannot erase all these years of constant comparisons, long-standing dreams, horrible impostor syndrome, and such an inferiority complex just like that with the snap of one's fingers.

Truth be told, he was supposed to finally give in after said semi-finals, but, out of urgency, he held on just for a little while- for just enough time to assist us with finding Leon and stopping Rose's plans. Now that everything was said and done - now that everything was laid to rest -, the eyes just wouldn't stop staring at him, the whispers didn't cease, and Hop...he was tired- he was oh so tired. Falling on his shaky legs and the harsh thoughts in his heads still not slowing down, Hop had finally closed his eyes and gave out his final farewell...

Also, Sordward and Shielbert will die by my hands for making his self esteem go further down the toilet in postgame, I swear to Allah-

From all that, we can see that not only are legends, prophecies, and destinies HUGE themes for when it comes to the design of his barrier, but that his warlock is gonna be powerful. Now, I don't wanna be redundant by saying that he, too, would be as tough as Walpurgisnacht (we've already done that with Medic, though, after thinking about it, he'd be more comparable to Hyades Daybreak), but saving an entire region is, putting it lightly, a huge feat, and that's without us touching upon his supposed connection with the legendary pokemon, one of Galar's heroes of myth, Zacian. In between being tied to almost a hundred destinies (Madoka) and saving the entirety of France (Tart), putting an end to the apocalypse - The Darkest Day - has got to be up there.

I know this sounds like a sort of repetition on my end, but remember what Homura said back during episode 9; "from here on, for every person (one) has saved, (they) will curse another". So, while Medic got his powers thanks of a combination of his own karma and how he had fused 8 other souls into him, Hop's karma was all his. In short, by this logic, Galar is beyond fucked.

Oh, and, y'know, the whole deal with him being the champion's little brother and Gloria's childhood friend. With all that in mind, bro's warlock is not just stupidly powerful, but outright broken. Not at Ultimate!Kriemhild levels, but that's still not good news in of itself, isn't it?

In the end, whether he had completely given up after he had lost to Melony or during some time between the events of the main story and postgame is up to you and your interpretation of Hop as a character. For the sake of this segment alone, I will just go with the idea that, if he despairs before the climax of the main story, his warlock would be a formidable foe, but not yet a world-ending threat like either Walpurgisnacht or Crépuscule de La Reine.

For comparison's sake (and to paint a clearer picture), I'd say that he could be as powerful as Gisela, if not moreso. From the PSP games, we can see how resilient and tough that witch is - so much so that she is tied to both Mami's and Kyoko's backstories -, so surpassing her strength is still a commendable feat. Much like his depiction in the section above, the warlock would still be capable of cursing many stadiums at once and cause such intense panic in order to take the league challenge down with him by making the contestants to go completely berserk, and, if he so wishes, he could render an entire village into ash.

However, if you guys wouldn't mind, I'll still be running with the idea that, thanks to the player, Bede, Sordward, Shieldbert, his family, and Galar's corrupted celebrity culture, the entire region has yet another apocalyptic event to go through, and only Arceus could save them now- basically what happens during the above despair segment. Good job, everyone! Enjoy listening to Grass Skirt Chase while ya could! /j

Now that we got the basic picture of the warlock down, let's cut to the chase and dive in to his barrier. I've had a lot of fun with this one, so buckle up!

As I already mentioned in my previous Medic post, a witch's labyrinth is stated to be the "mental landscape of the magi before they turned into a witch". From analyzing the barriers of the Holy Quintet and the other existing witches from the original anime, I've already deduced that they must be tied to either core memories, coping mechanisms, or desires-

HOWEVER,

A more simplistic take on all that would be "a place that rubs salt on the magi's/witch's wounds"; makes more sense, no? Candeloro is forever alone in her little tea party, Charlotte is in a silent conversation with another doll- unable to speak about what's on her mind, and, for goodness' sake, Ophelia's barrier is underwater. It is just logical to see that a labyrinth is designed to keep the witch miserable; specifically made to remind them of their own shortcomings, mistakes, broken hopes and dreams, and all that they've lost by the act of contracting with an uncaring trickster like Kyubey.

Unsurprisingly, with this idea in mind, I think the barrier would be a twisted version of a stadium, lit up by raging fire. The audience is present; their eyes ever-staring at you as their yells echo throughout the arena. You just know that your actions and failures will be recorded for future generations to see, mock, and spit at- after all, you are now trapped in a legend that is yet to be completed! Yes, even the style of your surroundings looks like it could fit right in an old storybook or any of the murals present across the region. Not too far away from this labyrinth's center, you are able to find multiple cages housing the victims he had captured; fighters worthy enough for him to test his skills on or put on a spectacle for all the audience to see.

In the middle of the battlefield, in the shadow of a large statue behind him, lies the warlock; broken, battered, burnt, and practically melting, but his duty remains clear as daylight- bound to his punishment and his own selfish desires, it has become his goal to defeat you before the audience. It is his destiny to be bound to this stage, having to pay for the sin of his existence.

The trinkets of Leon - or a silhouette that resembles him - that surrounded him in his own house are also present; after all, they are tied to his motivation, admiration towards Lee, and his wish to become champion. Even until now, the warlock and his familiars take good care of them, though he despises the reflection cast by them.

I should also make a quiiiiiiick note Pokemon Masters EX; you see, upon activating a character's sync move, they are displayed in front of locations present in the canon of Pokemon known as their "mindscapes", and, fellas, upon finding out that said places are significant to each person's story and life one way or another, I've realized that I have stumbled upon a hail Mary for PMMM/Pokemon crossover fanatics out there, myself included. Of course, I wouldn't recommend using these mindscapes alone as a sort of easy way to make barriers, but they do act as nifty, optional blueprints or spices to make those labyrinths look more colorful or representative of these characters.

When it comes to Hop, his mindscape, unsurprisingly, depicts Postwick Town. The location doesn't change when he becomes a Neo Champion, with the only alterations made to the artwork is that it is now nighttime and the presence of small flickers of flames dancing around; burning as brightly as the stars above - one more point towards fire being a persistent theme here -. Perhaps if you've gained enough of an upper hand and luck in battle to grant you some time to look at the ground, you can see that there's specks of white paint that faded away with time; the surface still resembling that of a soccer field's to this day, not unlike the one in his backyard.

To reflect his mental state and emotions of worthlessness and futility prior to him crossing over the point of no return, well, here's where the fun and pain come in-

The halls of the labyrinth are...suffocating; as soon as you enter, you realize that the area is only wide enough for a single person to traverse through. It's so dark, too; only the oil lamps and unmaintained lanterns present provide any form of luminescence, and even then, you have to be careful; one small misstep, and it is you who will be up in flames.

You also get the sinking feeling that you are being watched through the cracks and holes of suffocating halls; a feeling exemplified by the sounds of rain and howling winds just outside. The oil lamps do nothing to alleviate the bone-biting cold around you- the warmth provided is minimal at best. Not too far away, peculiarly enough, you can hear what must sound like...a radio; the details of what is being said is unclear, but the language is actually understandable if you happen to know Arabic. Through static and compressed sounds, you can hear that the voice on the radio is...reciting a nasheed; one chanting about the light of honor, victory, and divine heroism in the face of adversity, with determination being a repeated theme peppered in. No matter which hallway you turn towards, you cannot seem to get any closer to the source of the sound.

As you make your way to the center of the barrier, in spite of the lack of windows present, you decide to be a little brave and take a peak through the torn cloth or any of the cracks on the wall; you find that not only are you not at all far away from the hallway you've already visited, but that you appear to be going down a spiral- but this can't be possible! It is like you've done nothing but repeating the same steps over and over, only for your determination and desires to bring you down...

The winds have gotten louder - clashing with the noise present in the halls -, and your legs feel so tired...

You cannot take it anymore. You finally deduce that, if you want to face off against the warlock right then and there, then you better take a nosedive; break through the halls and descend further and further until you reach the arena, and face off against a furious gladiator- angered and heartbroken by the prospect of you destroying these mementos. How could you?! Such an act is beyond heinous in his eyes! You are no honorable opponent like the rest of them- nay, he is here to strike you down, to restore and clear the champion's name...

To rub salt on his wound a little more, let's add in more references to the people who affected Hop's life- those who have sent him down a spiral, whether consciously or not.

At the end of some of these hallways, you can find shrines that are clearly meant for worship; moreso than the memorabilia that are already present. A large statue rests in the middle of it, surrounded by worn pictures depicting a silhouette of a man and damaged, worn-out books and scrolls. The scent of smoke is present, alongside ashes on the ground; the warlock or one of his familiars must have been near the shrine not too long ago.

Some parts of the halls, namely what items made of organic material like cloth, are clearly damaged- whether caused by burns, cuts, or, most strangely of all, moths. The bothersome nature of these little creatures not only represent Bede tearing apart at his self-worth, but also his reliance on Chairman Rose- such a depiction may symbolize his actions and words' effects on Hop's self-image and life, but it also acts as a subconscious, final "fuck you" to white-haired youth; at the end of the day, Bede is just an unwanted, insignificant insect who gravitates towards any source of light while causing great disaster to others, even at the detriment of his own life.

...but...isn't that what you have cursed yourself into, Hop? Having to prove yourself to someone who is so far away for all eternity? To mimic them? All for a part of their attention and approval- much less a sliver?

They have both locked themselves in a cycle of attempting to appease to someone in their lives at the detriment of their own health...

Upon his defeat, once the crowd cheers at his defeat, the walls will crumble, and the debris will crush and pierce the warlock - whether he was still alive or dead by then - as you finally get a look at the outside world... Rolling hills that span for miles greet your vision as the grey, rainy skies conceal the afternoon sunlight- but it still is brighter than the suffocating arena and its connected halls. Not too far away, you are able to spot a windmill, still going on for what seems like several vicious years, if its poor state was any sign. Ah, if not for the chaos around you, the flickering silhouettes of round sheep in the distance and the smell of grass and rain really makes it feel like you're right back home...back in Postwick...

To end all this on a high note, let's touch upon his witch's kiss/warlock's whisper/evil cutie mark. Thankfully, I got it as soon as I could; one of those old emblems that acted as tickets to a gladiator match depicting a simplified sheep's head! To add some freakiness, the sheep face is stripped to the bone on one half, and glaring right at the person looking at it on the other. A circle of hop flowers surround the disfigured head, and the emblem itself appears to be half-melting.

-Witch Card-

Sayf Al-Muharib. The Gladiator warlock, whose nature is admiration. The light of an old hero's glory - eternally out of his reach - had caused his sight to turn into searing, painful ichor; blinding him to all but his own failures and shortcomings. As penance for the sin of his existence and weakness, the warlock is in a constant state of breaking down, melting, and reforging himself whilst in preparation for his next battle in the hopes of searing away all the flaws in him - all that lead him to his incriminating mistakes - and achieve a perfect form. He is unable to recognize the being beneath his armor anymore, nor could he remember the vision he had prior to his entrancement.

The cries and cheers of his familiars herald another chance for the warlock to prove himself and absolve the legacy of his hero once and for all- but, no matter what, the crowd is never satisfied, and neither will he ever feel proud of himself for the victory. He will never be an inch closer to the light of legend he craves so badly. To emerge from the battlefield victorious, one must not lose sight of their promise in the midst of battle.

(His name is inspired by Sayf bin Omar/سيف بن عمر, a Muslim historian and compiler. It should also be of note that the reliability of Sayf's ahadeeth have been a point of controversy to this day. When translated, the warlock's full name means "The warrior's sword".)

(The fact that his first name literally means "sword" bears two meanings depending on the protagonist- if it's Gloria, then it reflects how he tags along with and respects her though he is seen as incomplete without her presence in the eyes of the rest; while if it's Victor, then it's the clash between their friendly rivalry and his growing respect towards him. Either way, it also symbolizes how the MC stole his spotlight and destiny, and how they broke him and his dream apart throughout their journey.)

(Also, Homura fits the criteria needed to defeat him, let's GOOOOOOO-)

-Familiars-

Batel (plural form: Abatil). The gladiator warlock's minion, whose duty is preservation. A scholar at heart, the warlock analyzes the actions of the hero of legend to learn from them for future endeavors. Prioritizing the opulence and safety of these treasures, these small followers of his are on constant lookout for anything that would posses a danger to these sacred masterpieces while archiving the feats of the champion for future re-readings.

Unfortunately, their master despises the reflection cast on the memorabilia; forever reminding him of what he will never become. He will hang his head down in their presence out of both respect and shame, lest the sight of the failure he had become shatter what was left of his original heart once more.

(Symbolizing Hop's knowledge of battling in general; jokes about type advantages aside, he was always analyzing Lee's battles and was eager to use his knowledge during battles. It's also one of the key reasons as to why he chose to become a professor in the end.)

(Yes, the warlock himself also does his job at chronicling the feats of Leon - even going as far as to imitate them to this day -, but not only are the Batels there to assist him (I mean, they are his familiars), but they also sort of symbolize how...exaggerated Leon's achievements can get, especially in the eyes of others- including Hop's.)

(Its name is a play on words in Arabic; "Batal/بطل" means "Hero", but "Batil/باطل" can either mean "of no good use" or "useless". Leon was the hero, his hero, his ideal- Hop, on the other hand, was just dead weight to him.)

(Another note to add is that Hop's uniform number is 189, which, when read in Japanese, can mean "Hiyaku"; leaping. While the warlock himself would be struggling to walk with these hooves of his and his mutilated form melting and meshing with the armor, I can also see that the Abatil's only way of moving around is through leaping, since they would probably have only one leg to stand on. Ah, I love the smell of symbolism in the morning.)

-

Al-Daja (plural form: Al-Dajij). The gladiator warlock's minion, whose duty is to uphold competition. Ever-so excited for the upcoming battle, the crowd will explode into applauds whenever a new victim enters the stadium and comes face-to-face with their master. Their never-ceasing cheers always demand for more, and, not wanting their wide, unblinking eyes to stare at all his faults and mistakes, the warlock complies.

The warlock will try and not show a sign of degradation to his opponent- he'll hold out until they sing songs of his glory and his story gets passed down from generation to generation. However, these minions will often times become so entranced with the relics and spectacle that they would forget the identity of their master altogether, and even start cheering for the new challenger once the warlock is thrown into a corner.

(Based on Hop's personal drive - to become as glorious and powerful as the unbeatable champion himself -, how the losses have been affecting him, and him not wanting what negative attention he garnered along the way to affect Leon directly. The audience can be quite the chatterboxes; all it takes is one small piece of gossip for everything to go out of control. Its name, ألضجة, means "The Noise".)

(They also symbolize how everyone else already act around him all thanks to his brother's legacy- looking down on him for every little mistake he makes, while each victory earns him another comparison to Leon. He doesn't want to disappoint them- not the crowds, not his friends, not his family, and not himself, so he carries on with his useless endeavor; constantly chasing after a dream that is so far from his reach. The fact that this familiar is prone to forgetting who they are serving exactly is indicative of Hop forgetting himself.)

-Inspirations-

In-canon:

Sacrificing aspects of himself just to come close to that aforementioned ideal; going as far as to remove his lifelong friend, Wooloo, from his team

Trophies and other memorabilia of his brother being found in their home- almost no mementos of Hop being found there

Corviknight, one of the 'mons he gigantamaxes upon the release of the DLCs (the other is his starter pokemon, which I will assume is Scorbunny)

The fact that he is evidently Arab/Muslim-coded, especially in the French translation of the games where his name is Nabil (fun fact, Raihan is also an already-Arab name)

The third episode of Pokemon: Twilight Wings

Dubwool being able to learn a fuck ton of self-destructive moves

The statue of the Hero of Galar in Wyndon (Motostoke in the anime)

Outside Influences:

The Sealed Vessel from Hollow Knight and their theme; actually, wanna bet that he is trapped in a similar manner as they were if we were to assume that his power is equal to Isabeau's? That he has been gathering power from the mass hysteria resulting from his influence over the stadiums?

How sheep, lambs, and goats are associated with sacrifice, slaughter, deceit, and rituals (to tie the aforementioned wooloo/dubwool and self-abandonment points mentioned earlier)

The golden calf

The fact that some gladiators were prisoners and had to fight and put on a spectacle in order to regain their freedom

nana825763's "My house walk-through"

That one segment from Valle Verde part 2 which starts at around the 3:58 mark

The Devil Within by Digital Daggers (not my dumb ass imagining an animatic in which Bede is this warlock's first victim)

Cause of my Death by Itoki Hana

Dolus Vel Pedica, Area Strigae, and Delusio Summa from the Madoka Magica PSP game

The concept of living armor, but with added body horror

-Closing Statements-

Phew! Well, thank GOD this didn't take as much time as Medic's warlock did! (unless if we count my sick days- then yeah, it took just as much) To say that this was a WILD ride would be the understatement of the century!

I wanted to nail the vibe the witches had before we, as the audience, learned the truth about their origins - that he must have been born out of competition and the impostor syndrome that comes with such high-stakes contests -, and the idea that he, Sayf, was vengeful not just towards the leagues and the people who had beaten Hop while he was down, but also towards himself. I am unsure of whether or not I've completely succeeded on that front, but, if you guys have better ideas and/or criticisms, please do let me know! I aim to improve my writing in general and my abilities to break down character motivations and symbolize their actions in more abstract manners.

Being Bede is suffering; his ass is getting haunted on one hand, and Leon is able to smell his fear from a mile away on the other. He's not fucking winning this, lads :'3

...With all that being said, there is one shred of information that I've been withholding until now- the final piece of the puzzle that, once we step back, paints a rather grim image of what would occur if we were to combine the worlds of Pokemon SWSH and PMMM...

Outside the league challenge, the story of SWSH tackles the eldritch origins of Dynamax/Gigantamax; that the very vessels that allowed the people of Galar to utilize it must come from the remains of the invading Pokemon, Eternatus. Its initial awakening from its 17,000 year slumber heralded the event known as the Darkest Day; in which it had absorbed so much of Galar's energy that it caused its form to change and a dark storm to envelope the region, causing the pokemon to dynamax/gigantamax and go berserk. With the emergence of said storm come what is now known as "Galar Particles"; other sources of energy that, after the defeat of this threat, were utilized by humans for generations to come; rebuilding Galar from the ground up to the region we know today.

Now, a theme that both medias apparently share here from this fact alone is "energy". In a sense, you could say that Eternatus itself acts very much like a living grief seed; absorbing "impurities" in order for its true form to "hatch" and release boundless amounts of concentrated energy that can be used in a useful manner later down the line.

So....what gives? Why is Eternatus such a key element to this concept if the focus of this post is Hop? What does that creature beyond out comprehension have to do with the one we currently have in our hands right now?

See, not only does Hop's karmic potential stem from his destiny to stop the second Darkest Day alongside the main character, but his brother was also tasked by Chairman Rose with capturing the beast and delivering it to him; this was planned out in order to solve Galar's energy crisis that was going to unfold in the next several years or so, and, though it was a hard decision, the Chairman believed that now was a better time than never. The future of Galar, in his eyes, relied on him...

Obviously, Rose's entire plan fell flat on its face, so it was up to us, our bestie, and a very gud boi an' gorl (Pokedex entries confirm Zacian is Zamazenta's older sister) to save an entire region's ass from a wicked, unfathomable threat once more, but what if things went a little differently in this timeline? Obviously, one of the heroes who was supposed to assist/had assisted Gloria fell into despair and became the next world-ending threat she's going to have to put down, but what if this wasn't the only deviation from the norm here?

After all, Rose wasn't the only one who had sought out the means to prevent and remedy a sort of entropy issue at any cost necessary...

#Pokemon #madoka magica #puella magi madoka magica #mahou shoujo madoka magica #Pokemon SWSH #Pokemon Sword and Shield #Hop #Rival Hop #Postwickshipping #Madoka Witches #madoka magica witch #Madoka witch #SWSH Hop #fanmade witches #Pokemon Sword #Pokemon Shield #Hop Pokemon #Pokemon Hop #Witching hours #witch archives #Crossover witches #TW: Mentions of self harm #TW: Child neglect #TW: Public shaming #TW: Mentions of self mutilation #TW: Gore #TW: Body horror #Sayf al-Muharib

[neonscandal]

So I found this on bird app :

"i only like ge/go when it’s doomed and they have no longterm future

same with go/ge. they’re about the same to me but i think gojo bottomed more and was a total pillow princess about it in their teens. as adults they probably switched equally. i can see gojo developing his experience more with topping as an adult

either way they’re better as exes. gojo deserves more from a partner than someone who would leave him to start a cult "

Can I ask your thoughts, please?

Hello, hello. Considering, canonically, they are very doomed, I suppose OP found a solid pairing? I'm starting to understand the idea of doomed toxic yaoi a lot more because who says that with their whole chest? I don't feel like I'm on my A game today but let's see if I can adequately convey my thoughts.

I think it's kinda funny, the sentiment that "Gojo deserves more from a partner than someone who would leave him to start a cult,". As if Gojo didn't play some part in his motivation for defection, as if to say this defection, too, did not reek of affection. Don't get me wrong, Geto's hard right was also a great deal of ego. But, foundationally, his departure was sparked by an inability to stand shoulder to shoulder with Gojo, power wise.

Toji got the drop on Gojo which sent Geto on the offensive. After being reassured he was fine, Gojo encouraged him to press forward with the mission. Just short of extending protection to their charge to follow her own wishes, Toji violently extinguishes the life of Riko Amanai before his eyes. An opportunity that was only made possible by besting Gojo, killing him even. Geto loses his composure with this realization and is summarily and disrespectfully embarrassed and defeated. Left alive with the knowledge that he wasn't deemed enough of a threat to kill. This is on the tail end of all of Gojo's reassurances that he was fine, that they could even take on Tengen because he had Geto to rely on. But this series of events, this cocoon of hubris, challenges Geto's ability to protect anyone at all. From this he determines the best way to circumvent premature losses like Gojo, Riko and Haibara are simply to eradicate the population they're forced to put themselves on the line for.

Armies were roused to reclaim Helen of Troy and return her divine beauty back to Sparta, causing the Trojan War. Six people died, including the eponymous lovers Romeo and Juliet, due to a series of compounding events for a romance that lasted 3 days. Orpheus braved the Underworld at the chance to retrieve Eurydice. Geto betrayed himself and everything he'd stood for previously for a chance to create a world where Gojo wouldn't have to sacrifice himself for the greater good. He walked away from Gojo knowing the path he walked was twisted and, in his mind, did so irrevocably even though I know Gojo would have followed him if asked. So why didn't he ask?

The man who had been the moral compass for The Strongest Sorcerer did not abuse that influence. Even knowing he was doomed to fail in his endeavor. Even recognizing that with Gojo's power, it'd be possible. But he never asked, never chose to lead him astray. So, yes, they're tragic but does the copium not encourage us to seek out AU's where they are free of the burden of their fates and are just happy?

RE: everything else, maybe I'm an anomaly but I don't really care about people or characters' positions in relationships so I don't know that I'm someone you want chiming in on that. Like, I get people assume that positions present different archetypes that they choose to align characters with but... that pragmatism ignores a lot of nuance. I also inherently know that people use different names for ships based on this but I don't nor do I see them as having different relationship dynamics, per se, in referring to them as gego vs goge. I just look at their canonical dynamic and tend to use the more popular ship name.

Even if I agree that I could see Gojo as a pillow princess, it's less to do with the "physicality" of it and more to do with his personality. He is princess just as much as Geto is babygirl and the girls who get it, get it.

#neon asks #anon asks #we are the strongest #satosugu #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #suguru geto #geto suguru #stsg #jjk #jjk meta #jujutsu kaisen #twitter discourse #satosugu meta #satosugu brainrot #jjk geto #character analysis #jjk characters #jjk gojo #anime #manga

[empresskylo]

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | no plot, just smut. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | billy hargrove x afab!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut— unprotected sex, sub!billy, forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, dominant!reader. 𝐰𝐜 | 1.2k+ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | sub billy, sub billy, sub billy, sub billy….

*•.¸♡masterlist *•.¸♡ao3 *•.¸♡twt

“Please…” Billy whined at you. 

Your fingers trailed down his exposed chest and hovered at the waist of his jeans. “Please, what?” You said feigning stupidity. 

He looked up at you as you looked over him, your hands feathering along his exposed tummy. Your fingers tickled as you grazed his happy trail. You saw the goosebumps form on his arm at your touch. 

“Please, let me touch you.” You could see his hands squeezing together in a fist, trying to contain himself. 

You straddled his waist in a quick, rough move, making him grunt. You reached down and grabbed his wrists and guided his hands to your hips. He sighed in relief as he traced his hands along your curves, feeling your warm skin under his fingertips. 

You rocked your hips against him, teasing his already painful erection hidden within his tight jeans. “Baby,” he cooed, his eyes closing for a moment. 

“Hm?” You hummed, halting your movement again. You wanted him to beg for it. “Did you want something more?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Billy’s hands tightened on your hips. He tried to pull you down to rub against him again but you fought him. You slid off of him and he threw his head back in frustration. “Baby…” But this time he said it in a more defeated tone. 

You clawed at the hem of his jeans and decided to take them off, giving him a bit of relief. You shimmied them down his hips and thighs and he sat up on his elbows to watch you. His eyes locked on your frame as you slowly stood back up, your hands trailing on his legs as you did. “I need you so bad,” he mumbled. 

“Hm? I Didn’t quite catch that,” you taunted. You grabbed the waistband of his underwear and pulled it down just enough to free his hard length. A loud breath escaped Billy’s mouth, his cheeks growing hot at the anticipation.

“I need you,” he said, louder than before. You eyed him, cocking a brow. “Please,” he added softly. He was getting desperate. 

You smiled, slipping your panties off before straddling again. Billy’s hands came up instinctively to your hips again, but you pushed them away. “Ah, I didn’t say you could touch me.”

He whined in response but it was quickly converted into a groan when you grabbed his cock in your hands. 

Billy’s forehead began to sweat as he concentrated on you. You rubbed up and down his shaft a few times before resting your hands against his toned chest. Billy withered beneath you, his eyes dark with lust. You sat down slowly so your slit was pressed up against his throbbing cock. Billy grunted in response. “Oh, did you like that?” You asked. Billy nodded his head profusely making you smirk, drunk with power. Agonizingly slow, you slid up and down him, your juices leaving a trail. Billy’s hands dug into his mattress, he wanted to touch you so desperately. 

In a few more sways of your hips, Billy groaned loudly as he prematurely expelled himself all over his chest and stomach. His hips bucked up into you as he came, his fingers almost tearing holes in his bedsheets. 

You watched him, your mouth almost drooling at the sight in front of you. His cock throbbed against your clit as you stayed pressed against him. Billy looked up at you in newfound relief, but he knew this wasn’t over. Your hands trailed his abs, your fingers swiping up the warm white liquid he just spewed. Your hands came up to his mouth and you motioned for him to open it. He did. He accepted your fingers, your own lips parting as he sucked on them, cleaning them off for you. “Good boy,” you mumbled, slipping your fingers away. Billy’s face was bright red and dewy as he panted, watching you now as you bent over his chest and used your tongue to clean him up. You felt him squirm beneath you as your hot tongue danced across his stomach. 

You sat back up and licked your lips, your finger wiping at the corner of your mouth. You felt Billy begin to harden again. “Are you going to be good and let me use you? It’s not fair if only you get to finish,” you hummed, grabbing his cock in your hands. Billy’s length completely hardened again, his face contorting in pain. He nodded, his lips parting as you slowly lined him up with your entrance, swiping his tip along your slit a few times. Billy moaned loudly, he was already dripping in precum again. 

“Beg for it,” you said quietly, but you were no less demanding.

Billy could barely think as he spewed out a string of words. “Baby, please. Please, please, I need you. I want you so fucking bad it hurts.”

“Well, since you asked nicely,” you said smiling, and sat down on him, letting his length fill you up in one swift motion. You both gasped loudly, your walls clung to Billy, his length always bigger than you anticipated. 

Billy’s nails were digging into your thigh as he shut his eyes, his chest rising and falling in deep movements. You began to bounce up and down, Billy’s thighs were dripping in cum and your juices, the area between you two slick and slippery. 

Your hands found Billy’s, interlocking them so you had better leverage to ride him. His eyes were fluttering shut, little cries leaving his lips as you rode him up and down. You could tell he was trying to restrain himself, he knew he had to let you finish first. 

You felt yourself getting close, your movements getting lazy. Billy’s hips instinctively bucked up to meet yours, compensating for your wearying movements, making his tip hit you as deep as it could. You moaned in response, your walls tightening around him. Billy’s face scrunched up as he tried to steady his breathing. 

You swore, your walls beginning to flutter. “Come in me,” you demanded. Billy’s eyes opened as he watched you, your face showing how cockdrunk you currently were. He couldn’t hold it in any longer and he came inside you, his hips bucking up awkwardly against you. He cried in what sounded like pain as your walls squeezed him heavily, riding out your own high along with him. 

White liquid seeped out around him and onto his thighs as you slowed your pace. Your clit rubbed against Billy’s body as you sank completely into him. Your legs shook around Billy, trying your best to balance yourself. You mewled, quietly drowning in pleasure.

You stilled, catching your breath, your eyes closed. You held his torso tightly in your hands, your nails brushing against his skin. Billy’s loud breathing filled the quiet room. You felt him begin to soften inside you. You slowly slid off of him, making him mewl under you. You crawled up to his face and placed delicate kisses along his forehead, then cheeks, then his lips. He hummed into the kiss as your nails dragged through his long hair. “You did so good, baby,” you cooed before curling up next to him. His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you as close as he could. Your fingers continued to brush through his hair and his eyes closed in bliss. You’d clean yourselves up in a minute, but right now, Billy just wanted to hold you against him. “I love you,” he mumbled softly.

#billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove smut #smut #stranger things #billy smut #hargrove #billy #stranger things smut #sub billy hargrove #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fic

[vaporwavebeach-writes]

Kinktober Day 11 (Humiliation)

Kevin Moskowitz (The Deep) x Reader (NSFW)

(1,127 Words)

Summary: the one where you peg him

Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, strap-on, oral (on the strap), humiliation (duh), degradation, dom/sub, dom!reader, hair pulling, premature orgasm, pegging

Notes: I love bullying him LMAO this can be read as a sequel to this or a standalone, anyway enjoy the fic!!!

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“God, you’re so fucking pathetic.” You grit out. Your words are cruel and disgusted, but your mind certainly feels the opposite way. In front of you is a beautiful sight: The Deep- Kevin, on his knees taking your strap in his mouth. He sucks on the artificial cock throughly, gingerly sucking just past the tip. “Make sure you suck it real good,” you grip his hair firmly, “get it all nice and wet, since you’re the one who’s going to be taking it up the ass.”

You can hear his pitiful whimpering around the silicone cock. His oceanic eyes slam shut as he swallows the strap further down his throat. He’s slow with it, but that’s to be expected. As he gets further down the base, you can hear him gag around you. Barking out a spiteful laugh, your hands continue to grip at his chestnut hair.

“Good job, Kevin!” You praise, voice laced with a mocking cruelty. “Make sure you really get every, single…” you thrust into his mouth, causing a mixture of a moan and a gag to erupt from his throat. “…Inch.” You chuckle as The Deep writhes below you. Saliva trickles down the corner of his mouth.

Looking down, you spy his massive cock, erect and practically aching through the spandex of his supe costume. It was utterly gratifying to Kevin in a position as compromising as this. In the public eye, he could talk the talk, but behind clothes doors? He was nothing but talk, and in your mind, someone who talks should probably be putting their mouth to other uses; especially when the mouth they have spouts arrogant and douchey remarks.

“Please,” Kevin asks imploringly, “can we just, um, rip off the band aid?” You roll your eyes, deciding to play dumb.

“What do you mean, Kevin?” You ask, playfully. “There is no band aid.”

“Oh come on!” He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “You know what I mean.” It was almost embarrassing to see how badly The Deep wanted you to fuck him. Unfortunately for him, you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction so easily.

“I know, but I want you to say it.”

“God,” he sighs, “this is so-”

“Humiliating? Yeah that’s kinda the point, you fucking idiot.” You grin, sadism dripping from your voice.

Kevin lets out a defeated sigh. His eyes refuse to meet yours as he mumbles his wish.

“Can you, p-please…”

“What was that, Kevin?” You reply, thoroughly enjoying his torment. “I don’t think I caught that.”

The Deep says nothing in reply.

“Aw Kevin, that really is a shame,” you pout mockingly. “I thought you would be more confident in your sexuality, you know, since you didn’t have a problem with humiliating those women.” You jab venomously. “But really?” You make your way around him, bringing a hand to pat on his shoulder, where The Deep tenses almost immediately. “Is it because you have no control?”

“Okay, now wait a-”

“It’s because of those, huh?” Your head is in the crook of his neck, staring at his gills. “Are you really that insecure of them, that you feel the need to have so much control?” You turn your head to Kevin’s, staring intensely, waiting for a reply.

Kevin stammers, completely taken aback. A bewildered expression is splashed across his face when he realizes that you’re right. Swallowing his pride, the sweet words you’ve been waiting to hear finally make their way out of his lips with a grunt of desperation.

“Please just fuck me already.”

You clap your hands together, with a wicked chuckle. The Deep stands there, stupidly and full of anticipation.

“Oh wow,” you push him forward onto the bed. He flips himself around, leaning on his arms to face you, reverently. “If only I knew that’s all it took.” Your eyes glaze up and down Kevin’s chiseled body, practically eye-fucking his gills. Clearing your throat, you lift the strap for emphasis. “Ass up, Kevin.”

He obeys quickly. Pulling down the bottom half of his spandex and tossing it to the side, Kevin is nude, bending over to give you access to his ass. Giving it a quick slap, he flinches. You snicker before easing the strap inside of him. He lets out a guttural exhale as you begin thrusting into him at a steady pace.

As he gets used to the feeling of being fucked in the ass, you decided to test ho much more he can take. Raising an arm to steady yourself on him, Kevin arches his back so he can feel the strap with every thrust.

“God, look at you,” you chuckle barbarously. Shameless moans erupt from Kevin’s throat. “Taking me like the bitch that you are.”

“I-I, please…” is all that he manages to stammer out in his amorous state.

“C’mon, you can get the words out,” you drawl, voice tarnished with cruelty, as you push into him harder, making it more difficult for him to get the words out.

“Please… I want, I-”

“You can do it, Kevin,” you taunt in his ear. “Tell me what you want or you’re only gonna make it worse for yourself.”

“I w-want to come, so f-fucking bad,” he groans wantonly.

“You do?” You ask playfully. You bring your mouth to his neck, biting gently. He whimpers in reply. “You can come when I tell you to.”

“F-fuck, you,” he mutters.

“What was that?” You ask, voice dripping poisonously.

“Nothing, I-”

“No, no I heard you,” your hand snakes it’s way through The Deep’s hair, and like a serpent, you strike, grabbing a fistful of it to pull him back. “No way you’re that fucking stupid, talking back to me. I think this behavior is deserving of a punishment, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Not wanting to make it worse by defying you, Kevin whimpers pathetically. You can’t tell if it was out of fear or pleasure, but you continue with your threat.

“I swear to you,” you continue thrusting roughly, “I’m going to make your life a living hell, fucking you so stupid, so rough, you won’t even be able to-”

You soon get your answer to Kevin’s response as he finishes all over the bed, coming in thick white ropes. You pull out and pull back, shocked. He turns around in shame, eyes doe-like. Your anger soon dissipates into a sadistic chuckle and evolves into uproarious laughter.

“Holy shit, looks like you couldn’t hold it all together, huh?” you giggle venomously, putting your hands on your hips. “Oh well, looks like we’re gonna have to train up this little pain slut before any real damage can be done, right?” Kevin says nothing, breathing heavily. He’s embarrassed, utterly exhausted. He sighs, ready to face the music.

“Right.”

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #the deep x reader #kevin moskowitz x reader #the deep smut #the deep imagine #the deep x you #the boys smut #the boys imagine #the boys x reader #mia writes the boys!!!