#kinds of moments but Worse and More Often and more regarding his appearance than anything else

[designernishiki]

nishiki 12, 29?? 👀 i want to create chaos -squishy

sorry this was so late aghsdhahdh I always write too much and then have to whittle things down a bit so my thoughts are comprehensible

12. sexuality hc?

wellll I can pretty easily accept either gay or bi, but the way I interpret some of his actions/history/behavior/etc makes my personal view of him lean more towards gay than anything.

he’s never really shown real interest/attraction to women beyond using them as status symbols, and the whole thing with yumi made no sense (for him and kiryu both- you know my opinion on that plotpoint by now) and if I had to explain it rather than ignore it I’d have to say it was a weird half-assed excuse he came up with to explain some of his actions instead of addressing his actual issues at first.

but yeah I mean come on. have you SEEN reina. she’s cool and ridiculously pretty and goes above and beyond to care for him and others in general and etc etc etc, she was interested for YEARS and he never reciprocated At All. to me the Easiest explanation for that, whether he was aware of it or not (probably not), is just. him not really being into women. and possibly (at least at first) respecting reina enough to not fake her out and treat her like the girls that he had hang around him at the bars to look good to his superiors. in fact I think if he were to open up about all this to anyone it would be her (drunk, crying).

idk, a lot about him just sort of makes sense when you consider him to be gay and very repressed. boy’s got identity issues off the SHITS already, so it ties into that quite naturally.

29. how do you think they would be as a parent?

I think it depends on where he is in his recovery (mentally and physically) and the circumstances leading to that parenthood. similar to kiryu, I think he’d connect with orphans well and empathize with them strongly for obvious reasons. if he were to spend time in okinawa, perhaps to help him recover after The Incident, he’d be pretty closed off and prickly with everyone, kids included, at first– but honestly I think they’d help alot to get him to open up, regain trust, and enjoy life again. I don’t think he’d want to do it alone, or trust himself to, but he could end up fitting in pretty naturally as a guardian to them, and on the flip side, he’d benefit from having genuine care and lack of judgment through a tough recovery.

(I think he’d become quickly attached to riona above all else due to them sharing some feelings about their burn scars and how they look, and survivors guilt surrounding their parents)

#nishiki #asks #rambling #this was my only ask from this ask game and I was still ridiculously late agdhdshshshdhd #sorry squishy it’s not u it’s me……….. #I have a LOT of thoughts about that situation of nishiki at morning glory during recovery and all that….a lot of thoughts #I mean shit having to cope with the burns is one thing but getting used to an entire limb missing potentially??? that’s a MAJOR lifestyle #change that everyone would end up helping with at least a little I think #I can just imagine him going to help the kids play baseball on the beach and realizing as soon as he picks up a bat that he doesn’t have #two hands to swing with anymore and that just sorta. breaking him #it’s reminding me of an oc of mine who lost an arm in a train/car collision and afterwards when he was having to return to everyday life #(especially before getting a prosthetic) he goes and tries to cook for his fiancé before he gets home and his fiancé ends up coming home to #find him on the floor on his knees in the kitchen with some stuff knocked over on the ground that he presumably tried to pull from the #cabinet and hold with his arm that isn’t there or something along those lines and he’s just. sobbing. #his fiancé ends up helping him out and holding things for him and all that but yeah point is I feel like nishiki would have alot of these #kinds of moments but Worse and More Often and more regarding his appearance than anything else #cause we know this boy’s already got some major self image issues #it’s very sweet to think about how he’d bond with riona and how she’d help him open up a bit more and come to terms with his physical state #long post

[paper--moons]

Regressor!Kirishima Headcanons

(with cg!Bakugou)

In regards to regression, Eijirou was lucky in that he initially learned about it through the psychology portion of UA's heroics course—really, if he had tried to learn about it online he would have gotten so lost! Or worse, he might never have stumbled across it at all and be left feeling like something was wrong with him. Lots of things start to click into place though as he listens to Aizawa lecture about different coping mechanisms that are prevalent (and often encouraged!) within the industry. It might be a textbook definition, but there's definitely little alarm bells going off in his head that all chime that this is why he feels like he shrinks in on himself when his emotions get too big. Though regression can't really apply to him, can it? Sure, he might have been somewhat of a crybaby before deciding to change but that was it! He had changed! Besides, all the things Aizawa was talking about applied more to the seasoned pros, right? The ones who had been through too much. So regression couldn't possibly apply to rookies like him in the same way.

Eijirou gets a better understanding of just how prevalent this sort of thing is—even for budding heroes—when he is out participating in his work study. It's another patrol that feels like it has gone on forever with incidents overlapping until its all a tangled mess that leaves everyone feeling frayed at the seams by the end of the night. Some more than others it would appear, Eijirou noticing how Amajiki has taken Fatgum's hand and is leaning on him like he's having a hard time standing steady on his own. And he might have chalked it up to the long day they've had, but then he catches the soft words being crooned to the other boy and suddenly he knows. And as he shares an understanding look with him, Eijirou can't help but feel a strange sadness fill him; the kind of sadness of a lonely child that says he wants that too. Wants for someone to hold his hand at the end of the day, to tell him that they are proud of him for doing his best. It is in that moment that he knows he needs to find a cg to help him regress, someone that he really trusts and someone who can see him under the boisterous personality he shows others.

After some awkwardness on both ends, he manages to ask Amajiki how. He doesn't really seem to understand what Eijirou is getting at at first, but the kid is nothing if not persistent. By the time he explains what it is he is wanting to know—how did you get a caregiver, how did you let yourself be so vulnerable, how did you know regression was something you needed, how, how, how—it becomes clear to Amajiki that the first-year isn't trying to be invasive or make fun of him, but is desperately looking for his own way forward. Although he doesn't think he's the best to give this advice or is even offering anything truly helpful, Eijirou listens as if his life depends on it and thanks him profusely for taking the time to help him. Following Amajiki's advice, he does attempt to regress on his own during this period of sorting out who he might be able to tell about the smaller side of him. The operative word being "attempt", because he just can't seem to stay down on his own for very long! Despite regression being something he knows he is allowed to need now, he gets stuck and doesn't allow himself to go down fully. Whether he knew it before or not, Eijirou's heart was telling him something when he saw Amajiki take their mentor's hand; he is the type that really needs the comfort and security of having a cg.

It takes a lot of self-reflection for Eijirou to decide who he wants to approach. Naturally his mind wanders to the people he is already close with, and out of his friends Kaminari is admittedly the first to come to mind. He's easy-going and isn't the type to judge, so it would probably be safe to tell him that he regresses. But Eijirou's mind keeps nudging him towards Bakugou instead. Not only is he the closest with him, but he feels safe with him—the amount of times Eijirou knows he started middlespacing around Katsuki before even knowing what middlespacing was can attest to that. So he decides to swallow his nerves and ask him about it. Before Eijirou can bring it up at their next study session however, Katsuki actually brings it up first. Always beating him to the punch. Although it isn't surprising given that he (once again) starts to regress around him. Not that he could help it. Absolutely does not mean to start slipping, but there is something about the softer tone Katsuki is using that he doesn't often show other people as he explains the math problem to him (for the third time); knowing that he's being patient with him has Eijirou feeling so small. Small enough that he starts chewing on his mechanical pencil as he tries to pay attention to Katsuki talk in spite of the soft cotton feeling invading his brain, the hard plastic soon succumbing to those sharp teeth of his. He only notices because one of the splintered pieces of plastic cuts his lip and, already slipping, results in him crying.

Needless to say, it's pretty apparent what's happening and Katsuki isn't about to pretend it isn't just to spare Eijirou any embarrassment he might be feeling about regressing in front of him. Not when it was clear that he was really small and needed some comfort; he easily pushes aside their homework and maneuvers to pull Eijirou into his lap so that he can get a better look at the cut. Only after letting him know what he was doing first, of course. Because Katsuki paid attention in class, dammit! He knew what he was doing! ...in theory, but with him that's as good as having practical experience. Or so he thinks, but a (perhaps annoying, depending on who you ask) thing about him is that he often excels at something once he puts his mind to it. And he is adamant that he is going to be the best cg Eijirou has ever had since the little guy obviously needs someone. Starting with tending to the baby's booboo and letting him know that all of this wasn't a big deal to him. So what if he was like a little kid sometimes? Just let someone try and say something, because it isn't like they can stand up to his Howitzer like Eijirou can. The reassurance sees that his crying calms down to hiccups, and Katsuki even manages to get a small smile out of him before all is said and done. Though it quickly gets decided that his second order of business? Finding a proper teether for his little anklebiter, who felt comfortable enough to chew on his (newly acquired) bubba's hand.

Later, when he's come back up the idea of a teether seems like too much—don't get him wrong, Eijirou is thrilled that Katsuki wants to take care of him. But he isn't that small, is he? Katsuki insists that he is, and Eijirou finds it difficult to argue. He hadn't ever quite regressed like that before, and things from the past few hours were extremely soft and fuzzy when he tried to recall them. So he figures he'll try the smaller end of the spectrum that Katsuki is suggesting he needs, since it doesn't exactly hurt to try. His assumption that his age range must be on the older end was based on the fact that he always middlespaced; this assumption turns out to be wrong. If anything, after Katsuki gets him some agere gear for the next time he regresses he seems to go just as low, if not lower. The plethora of teethers he has at his disposal proves to be necessary, as many of them can't withstand his pointy little teeths. And they keep him from teething on other things, like his new ultra-soft plush shark, or the sleeve of his new footie pajamas. Or worse, teething someone's hand (either his own or Katsuki's, either way would not end well).

While there are of course more ups and downs as Eijirou figures out his regression and learns more about himself, he's infinitely thankful that he's got Katsuki there to help him navigate everything. Always keeping a protective eye on him, and making sure nobody even tries to say something stupid when Eijirou starts slipping in the common area. He helps him to remember that it's okay to be soft, even when his quirk has (quite literally, as the case might be) dictated that he be tough and hardened to the world around him. He doesn't always need to be at the forefront bulldozing his way through to help people—he also needs to take the time to let others help him! Although most of the time Katsuki "reminds" him of this by slinging him over his shoulder and telling him that they're going to study in his room—only to find that there's no homework, only a baby nest made just for Eijirou, a bottle of warm milk, and episodes of Team Umizoomi ready to play on his laptop.

#sfw agere #bnha #bnha agere #kirishima eijirou #agere kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #agere bakugou katsuki #moons hcs

[reilliane]

Perfect ★ Xiao

— ★ Scry: Solar Umbra + Xiao + Mischief AU — ★ Genre: Romance + Fluff — ★ Concept: Sometimes, all a seasoned warrior needs is reassurance. — ★ Words: 2.4k

What is love to a man saturated of war and violence?

Other than thinking it to be a feeling of complete unfamiliarity, it is something unachievable.

For a warrior who has thoroughly seen all facets of the grim and the macabre, one may therefore deduce that his edges have been roughed and hardened.

Walls of impenetrable defense will have risen and thorns are all that will meet a traveler if they do decide to venture and be acquainted with him.

And it isn’t wrong.

The last standing Yaksha is known to be austere, and he lives up to the description.

Although, one who knows him long enough will easily decipher that this distance he keeps between him and the rest of the world is out of the goodness of his own heart.

A heart darkened by yore and ironed by trauma—yet the fact that it’s still a heart capable of altruism and love remains true.

Even a shield with the highest of defenses can shatter, the same concept applies to the stronghold he built for himself.

And when even the slightest of cracks appear, its future crumbling is inevitable.

Xiao never thought he’d be one to experience the sentiments mortals often are intoxicated with; love.

If he learns of this fall a century back, he’d think it’s an absurd joke.

But here he is standing, admiring that one lady who has gone against the impossible. She needn’t even do anything and still, he’d fall for her a thousand times.

Perhaps it’s the way she holds herself differently from other known Adepti?

Without regard for stern formalities and rigidity? Being carefree and casual yet managing to keep the sense of decorum?

Or maybe it’s the way she smiles?

They’re all such sappy things to consider and the Yaksha cringes at the mere thought of it, but he can never deny the pleasant warmth in his chest that it brings.

But he is a warrior who deals with the profane.

Capable as he may be to actually feel love, who’s to say he has the ability to show it?

Such is the center of his fear, the second the Traveler opens to him about an inkling of [Name]’s feelings towards him.

He can’t show affection of his own will—there always has to be some sort of incentive. Even if he tries to, he’s short-circuiting and backing out.

So the remedy comes in, a proposal of the young exorcist; to split himself in two. To bring out that one part in his psyche that’s perfectly able to show all kinds of love—and bring out they did.

The moment Xiao sees him—that man bearing a similar appearance—something inside hollows out.

‘Alatus’, the name his alter ego decided to take, is the very same persona he once was… thousands of years ago.

He knows the counterpart to be much more capable of everything he’s lacking in.

After a series of events that unfolded one after the other, [Name] is then stuck in between the two.

Xiao, comically enough, didn’t think it’s possible to be jealous of himself whenever he sees that alter—with that grin that’s becoming annoying to see—coming a bit too close to the [c]nette for comfort.

It’s crazy.

And the worse part has to be that Alatus refuses to merge back, but then again, that’d be defeating the purpose of why he had been split from the original body in the first place.

There’s no choice but to suck it up. Besides, [Name] doesn’t seem to mind…

To be frank, it’s only him who minds.

“I’m leaving~”

Thank heavens. Mulls the golden-eyed man.

Alatus must’ve known the thought running in the other Adeptus’ head because he’s pouting and giving a half-hearted side-eye.

Oh, it can’t be helped that the crimson-styled alter is the one scheduled for patrol this week.

After a chaste kiss on the [c]nette’s temple, he darts out of sight with a snicker, evading the smack that’s about to come to his shoulder.

Xiao doesn’t waste any time walking towards the female warrior, hearing her flustered grumbles that morph into hums when she sees him approaching.

In an instant, her demeanor flips and she’s smiling impossibly wide with a call of his name. The Yaksha almost pauses in his steps, his heart leaping at the mere call and he sighs.

He’ll never get used to that…

“I haven’t seen you in two days, where have you been?” he remembers exactly why he can’t stand being around the girl for too long when she all but latches onto him by the waist, murmuring, “Alatus refused to let me go and search for you.”

Touch starved—that’s a way to describe this, right?

Or, well, he knows the [c]nette to be playful and physical in nature.

He’s seen how she vibes with his alter on the same flirty wavelength and heavens know Xiao won’t be able to last in their company because of this.

“Where else?” he huffs, “Scouting, purging, doing my duties—“

“That excuse won’t work on me since I know this week is assigned to Alatus. Goodness, Xiao, were you sulking?”

He splutters, pushing the female Adeptus away with an incredulous look on his face.

He doesn’t even have the time to shoot down her words because all of a sudden, she’s intruding in his space, chin on his chest, frowning as she says, “You always have that look whenever Alatus spends too much time with me.”

The Yaksha scowls.

Caught red-handed.

“Judging by your silence, I’m assuming that I’m correct?”

He turns his eyes elsewhere, offering no confirmation that will sully the last fragments of his pride and honor.

Oh, to think that he has built himself a fortress that lasted millenniums… only for it to crumble so easily facing this woman.

A hand taps him on the shoulder and he glances back, guarded and apprehensive.

[Name] grins cheekily—one won’t think of her as a venerated Adeptus.

“Don’t worry, he won’t return until a few more hours. I’m all yours, Xiao, I’ve always been—haven’t I?”

His face erupts into a shade of crimson before he can even react verbally. His eyes are widening as he grows hot.

Is she even aware of her own phrasing!?

Judging by the smile on her face, he assumes she is.

After all, it’s only [Name] who can utter ambiguous—and lowkey provocative—sentences without losing face.

At least, not when Alatus is in the picture—that man is just as good as she is in being suggestive.

He almost can’t believe that the alter is a part of him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Xiao hisses, fearing he’d turn into mush if he stays a minute longer in the lady warrior’s arms.

[Name] only snuggles into him more with a sigh of content.

The Yaksha stammers in disbelief, questioning almost every known deity in Teyvat why the woman isn’t the least bit concerned about the fact that she’s doing this. In public. For anyone to see.

He’s not even kidding—anyone can walk in on them any moment and he’s stuck in this-

Laughter rings in the air.

“I know what you’re thinking, Xiao. Oh, you’re so adorable.”

Adorable? He scoffs. Out of every possible compliment to raise, this is-

“You’re speaking to the last known Yaksha, and you dare deem me as adorable—!” he realizes that the girl has a knack for inadvertently cutting his responses midway.

The kiss pressed on his cheek takes silences the words that are about to resonate from his throat, and he stands there, frigid and awestruck.

That just happened. It really did just happen.

And he’s suddenly moving an incredible distance away from a still laughing woman, his hand raised over his face as if it’ll hide his red cheeks and shield himself from any more advances.

“Are- are you out of your mind?!” he curses his stammer, “To do such an indecent thing!”

[Name] gasps, her posture becoming stiff as if she’s been dumped with an ice-cold bucket of realization and horror.

If not for the lively gleam in her [c] pools, he’d think he’d have offended her by his statement.

Her parted lips close, tugging down to a conscious frown.

“Indecent? I didn’t think it was wrong to be affectionate towards my lover…”

Nothing can describe the hysteric fluster that flourished in his chest as he zooms forward, hand clamping over the lady’s mouth to prevent her from saying anything else that’s capable of frying his head with fluster.

Xiao takes a wary look around, praying inwardly that no one has heard such things—before sighing, pinks still tinged pink and heart still racing.

“How can you be so forward?”

It’s almost terrifying.

Not to say he isn’t as forward, but to be blunt in the aspect of romance is beyond him.

Aren’t they both, well, new to this? He wonders how the girl has such a capacity to say things without ever faltering.

[Name] blinks, “Are you not my lover?”

Like that!

“I—!”

“Hehe, I’m just teasing you, Xiao. No need to be so worked up over it.”

Worked up is an understatement, though he won’t admit it.

Mildly peeved, Xiao crosses his arms and faces somewhere else.

Towards the marshes, to be specific—as if he’s attempting to divert his attention so that the aftereffect of his fluster can simmer down.

It’s been a long time after stepping into this new chapter of their relationship—well, a long time to the humans, but for them, a blink of an eye has passed—but he’s yet to be used to having a lover.

And experiencing unfiltered love.

“It wasn’t funny.” He mutters.

Maybe it’s because since he thought of love to be impossible for him—yet here he is.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry—I know we’re both new to this, and you’d rather take this slow on your part, and that’s perfectly fine.”

The response has him glancing at his fellow Adeptus in the corner of his eyes, studying the ease on her visage that showed no impatience nor annoyance at all.

Won’t that be unsatisfactory? If you’ve to wait until I’ve adjusted. He thinks.

“…”

After a long, grueling experience in the war and having to help humans out of sheer goodwill, the Yaksha wonders if the [c]nette ever thinks about being selfish for once.

He knows he’s not so easy to adjust in these kinds of situations, his background made it incredibly difficult.

He knows he’s not one to show emotion that's so foreign to him—hence why Alatus was split in the first place—and still, she’s willing to wait?

For him?

Feeling his hand be given a gentle squeeze, golden eyes finally move back to settle against [c]s.

“Having you reciprocate my feelings is enough, and waiting is nothing to me. I admire you for who you are. Even if you chose to split Alatus from your psyche, you’re still the man I fell for.”

Although he cannot respond the way he wants to, he’s grateful.

Oh, he’s so grateful and he’s certain it showed in the intensity of his gaze that has [Name] smiling even more.

“You’re perfect to me.”

His heart can burst out of his chest and he frankly wouldn’t mind at all.

The female Adeptus leans against his shoulder with a content sigh and silence reigns free once more.

Xiao didn’t think it’d feel this nice to be, well, graced with love.

The butterflies, the flutters—ah, is this why mortals search for such an emotion?

Mustering courage, he gives [Name]’s hand a squeeze, as well. It’s probably not much, but the growing smile he sees makes it worth it.

No one speaks for a while. It’s just them looking over the entirety of Dihua Marsh in the quietude and solace of a budding love between scarred warriors.

A burst of anemo is seen somewhere far off to the west, near the region of Minlin, and Xiao is reminded of the existence of his literal half. He has slotted in fairly well between the two’s relationship.

He clears his throat before asking, “… Are you implying that he’s just an addition, then?”

“He’s still you in a sense, albeit different—but you can say that,” [Name] starts, a little surprised since this is the first time she’s asked about her stance on the crimson alter.

“Since he refuses to merge, I hope you do not mind that I divide my attention. That’s not an excuse for you to shy away from me to the point of avoidance, though, I swear—”

“What’s this, what’s this? How unfair to coddle her without me!”

And speak of the devil, the aforementioned person’s voice chimes behind them, prompting the two to look back.

Alatus is sheathing back his jade sword, having just finished off patrolling the last of the known hotspots and conquering any rising evil.

It’s like the speck of his presence in the faraway region of Minlin wasn’t a literal minute ago.

He must’ve sensed someone talking about him, after all, he isn’t entirely different from the man he’s split from.

“This is quite a sight, though, isn’t it?” the chartreuse-eyed alter says in bemusement, striking his gaze towards his counterpart, “Never did I thought you’d have the courage to actually initiate things in my absence.”

Xiao’s brow twitches, though he can’t quite refute such an accurate fact. It’s pretty well known that he’s the most reserved one, so initiation is indeed rare.

“You—!”

“Calm down, you’re only insulting and hurting yourself,” [Name] sighs with a chuckle, patting Xiao’s shoulder before the latter can march up to his half and give him a piece of his mind.

Alatus nods eagerly, coming close to the [c]nette with a tap on his cheek, indicating the want to receive something.

“Right! [Name], I hurt myself, I think I may need a kiss.”

The gall of this—seriously, sometimes, Xiao wonders if this alter truly is a part of him.

“There’s no visible bruise.” He deadpans.

Alatus’ response is quick, paired with a mischievous grin that without a doubt will press his buttons for the nth time again—

“Your pride does.”

Verr Goldet can only apologize to the spooked guest for the sudden noise and chaos that erupts in the balcony.

a/n: I don't know- I find it funny that Xiao clashes with Alatus- sajdaidhuaehfa imagine having two of them, though aiyAAA-

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @koi-chairowo @uwu-dreams @yvechu

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

#m-event #xiao x reader #xiao fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #reader insert #female reader #MISCHIEF'S BACK SCREE #alatus x reader #alatus fluff #beta xiao x reader

[winter-turtle]

The Morning Will Come (and the dream stealing your sleep will end)

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

By: @winter-turtle for @superherotiger

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ben Parker & May Parker (past)

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan

Summary: After a tragic incident, Peter Parker is left orphaned for the second time in his life. With no one else to take him in, Peter decided not to take his chance on foster care. Living in an abandoned building and the crows as his only company, the young hero is doing his best to maintain the illusion of a happy kid in front of Mr. Stark - one of the two remaining links to his past, happier life.

Look, technically, Peter wasn’t lying. It was just that Mr. Stark has never asked specifically.

Chapter One:

“Bye. Mr. Stark! Bye, Ms. Potts!” The kid called out as he skipped out of the lab, a smile plastered on his face.

“Bye, Peter!”

“Bye, kid. See you next Friday.”

Once the kid was gone, Tony’s own smile slipped from his face, replaced by a thoughtful frown. He liked it less and less. No, scratch that, he didn’t like it at all. He knew he’d promised everyone around him and himself that he would stay out of the kid’s business, but it was becoming seriously difficult to do so.

A gentle hand touching his shoulder pulled Tony out of his musing. “What’s on your mind?” Pepper asked. “You were all smiles and jokes until a moment ago.��

Tony shook his head. “I don’t like this, Pepper.”

“The meeting?”

“No! Well, yes, that too.” He sighed. “Kid had another bruise today. On his wrist,” he said, pointing to the spot for emphasis. “Second one this month.”

That I’ve seen.

The kid gave him the usual variation of ‘I tripped and hit my arm on the counter’, which, with how frequently it was being used, was losing its credibility faster than Hammer’s stocks before the 2010 Expo. Tony shouldn’t have accepted that answer. He should’ve called out the lie, should’ve pried more—

Except he couldn’t do that, could he? Peter talked about his foster family, the Crows, only when he wanted to. Which… wasn’t that often, to be honest. All Tony gathered were some names, but the mentions were so sporadic that he couldn’t tell who were the parents and who were the kids – biological or former foster.

Peter was doing better than he did months ago, but the subject was still touchy and he was quick to shut down if someone else than him brought it up or inquired further about his passing comments.

He’d learned that the hard way.

Tony couldn’t just walk up to the kid and voice his suspicion on negligence, or worse, abuse. So that’s why he, trying to be as respectful of the kid’s privacy as possible, had Friday take a quick peek at the files regarding the foster family Peter got placed into after the death of his aunt and uncle.

Long history of fostering, good track record. Not a single hint of something shady about the family.

He was worried, yes, and judging by lines on her face, Pepper was too. Peter was a good kid, kind of reminded Tony of his past self. Unfortunately, just like Tony, Peter was stubborn. He would rather bleed out than ask for help.

Where was the line? To what degree was it acceptable to get involved in the kid’s private life? After all, he was just a mentor. Nothing more.

But he’ll keep an eye on the kid while he will be here, looking for anything odd.

Just in case.

***

Peter seamlessly weaved his way through the sea of people as just another face in the faceless crowd.

Another session over. They’ve managed to get quite a lot done for the change actually, and if it wasn’t for Ms. Potts making an appearance to drag Mr. Stark to some meeting, they would’ve done even more.

Throwing the hood of his jacket over his head, Peter blended into the crowd even more. He was close to the alley now. Letting his sense guide him, he gracefully made his way through the seemingly endless stream of people.

Nobody noticed him slipping into the alley.

Quickly changing into his costume, he swung the rest of the way to his destination, stopping a petty crime here and there. The tall buildings of busy city gave way to more quiet, secluded area. Or, to use a better word, abandoned.

With practiced ease, Peter scaled the graffiti-covered wall to enter through the second story window. He stopped. Listened.

Upon no sign of any intruder, Peter walked towards the stairs that only lead up; he’d made sure of that with the impenetrable barricade of concrete and metal junk he’d put there.

The door of the top apartment squeaked as he pushed it open, revealing his humble living space. Slinging the backpack from his shoulders, he deposited it next to the wobbly chair, careful to avoid the pile of increasingly smelly clothes on the other side.

He dropped unceremoniously on his mattress pushed into the corner, the position giving him a clear view of the room. The box of scraps and a metal cabinet with a first-aid kit and his laptop on top in one corner, the water dispenser he’d found and fixed in another.

Peter let out a sigh. His heart sank a bit… like every time he’s made a count of his belongings. Of what remained of his hom-

No.

Peter blinked the tears away before they could fall, choking back a sob. He wouldn’t use that word. He couldn’t use that word. Not with Ben and May gone.

Yeah, it wasn’t the h-word; just a shelter that was made livable.

After the accident, he’d been devastated. Who wouldn’t be after being orphaned twice in fourteen years? There were no other relatives who could taken him in, nor another trusted guardian, which meant only one thing for him.

Foster care.

He’d been in foster care once before. Back when his parents had died, when he’d been nothing but a helpless little boy who didn’t understand why mommy and daddy hadn’t come to pick him up from kindergarten like they’d promised on the call from the day before. He hadn’t known any of those people or why he was in this foreign house. He’d kept asking and asking, growing more and more distressed because he just didn’t understand and nobody would take him in their arms and soothe him—

It had been only one day, but to Peter, it was enough to not want to take a chance on another emotionally unavailable home. That also wasn’t the only reason. Taking into consideration his Spider-Maning and his physical needs, it wouldn’t have taken people all that long to realize that something was wrong with him was reason number two.

Peter was well aware of the steadily rising anti-mutant sentiment. Spider-Man, a hero vigilante, was safe because he was known for using his powers for good. Peter Parker, a regular teen no one knew nothing about, on the other hand…

In Peter’s case, it would be guilty until proven innocent.

There had been only one option.

Run.

To not raise any suspicion, Peter had hacked into the system and faked all necessary documents, assigning himself to a random family in hopes that once the ruse was up, nobody would search for him.

Packing had come next. Old photos and the most valuable mementos into Ben’s old suitcase, summer clothes into one bag, winter clothes into another bag, some money, food, phone, laptop and his suit into his backpack.

And then he’d found this place and has been living here since.

Strangely, his luck was holding up pretty well so far. Hanging around Mr. Stark posed a certain danger to him, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to severe one of the two remaining links to his past, happier life.

True, Ned and MJ used to be there too, but taking into consideration what happened first to his parents and then to his aunt and uncle, Peter had realized what both of those tragedies had in common.

Him.

Both pairs had spent almost every day with him. Both pairs had died. Ned and MJ had spent almost every school day with him. If he’d stayed, it would be only a matter of time before something happened to them. that was reason number three.

And Mr. Stark… well, Mr. Stark was relatively safe since he and Peter met only for a few hours once a week.

Granted, he was all alone, but it was better than having another loved one die or being locked up in some research facility – because that’s where people like him got sent.

Rhythmic tapping on the door leading to the wide balcony penetrated the room. “Oh, right,” Peter nodded to himself. He was almost late. He opened the cabinet where he kept his food supplies and took out the bag of peanuts before heading to the balcony. Two black crows backed away from the door as he opened it.

Whistling, he reached into the bag and threw a fistful of peanuts on the ground. In a flurry, the two crows got joined by several more.

“Hey, guys,” Peter greeted as the crows began to peck on the shells.

Cameron, Christopher, Allison, Trevor, Cathy, Trisha, Ellie… Peter frowned. Where is Russel?

Flapping of wings reached his ears. He looked at the perch above, spotting the latecomer. “Hey, Russel,” Peter smiled. “There you are.”

The crow tilted his head to the side, then released the shiny object in his beak and proceeded to join the others.

The object rolled across the floor, coming to a stop at Peter’s feet. Peter moved his foot. “Nice,” he said as he picked up the coin and pocketed it. A whole quarter.

See, this was the perk of developing a kind of bond with the family of crows living nearby. You help one of the little ones back into the nest after it fell out (and almost get your eyes pecked out), then you regularly feed them some, slowly but steadily getting their trust, they watch you and they eventually pick on the importance of the shiny coins and paper notes.

So, maybe he wasn’t all that alone. Sure, the family he was “staying with” weren’t people, but…

Look, technically, Peter wasn’t lying.It was just that Mr. Stark has never asked specifically. And even when he did, Peter always had an excuse.

“What family are you staying in?”

“With crows.”

“How are they?”

“They’re nice.”

“Why did you stopped going to Midtown?”

“They live too far away, so I’m homeschooled now. Besides, anything I need to learn, I can learn here.”

“Where did you get that bruise?”

“I tripped.”

Which reminded him – Mr. Stark has seen the bruise Peter had gotten earlier on the patrol. He’d decided to limit the patrols on Thursday as much as possible to prevent these exact situations. Unfortunately, he couldn’t just ignore the distressed call when theycame.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Peter quoted under his breath as he watched the crows eat. He couldn’t stop putting himself into danger even if he wanted to. He had to somehow make up for the destruction and suffering his curse had caused.

***

How ironic. When Peter remembered how he and May had used to watch those shows about people bringing couponing to the extreme, he merely shook his head in disbelief, not understanding why anyone would do that. And yet here he was, doing the exact same thing.

Just so he would survive another week.

“Okay,” he hummed himself as he counted the coupons and budgeted the money. Ten dollars to the gym membership so he could keep himself clean for next month were set aside, fifteen dollars for the groceries that wouldn’t be enough to keep him full, which left him with two dollars and seventy-five cents. With the quarter Russel brought him earlier, he had three dollars.

Peter glanced at the mountain of dirty clothes. “Well, looks like I finally have enough to pay a visit to the laundromat.”

***

Living in the building with no electricity or running water wasn’t exactly easy. Yes, it had its perk of safely storing his belongings somewhere where the cover from some elements of nature like rain or wind was provided.

Cold on the other hand…

Spring was creeping in when Peter left, which was bearable. It got warm quickly and he didn’t have to worry about anything during following warm months. Yet the world kept spinning and the cold weather was becoming more and more noticeable.

And Peter wasn’t sure if Ben’s old coat would be enough to keep him alive during the winter.

A presence leaned over his shoulder. “Hey, that look pretty good. What is it?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter leaned into his seat to allow better view of the hologram. “Uh, it’s a heater. Low-cost for homeless people to survive the winter.” Why not help others while he was trying to help himself? “It won’t need electricity to work… for obvious reason,” he added.

Mr. Stark hummed, rubbing his chin. “From scraps?” he asked, pointing to the notes.

“Well,” Peter shrugged, “I said it was low cost.”

“Kid, I’m a billionaire. I know you love dumpster diving for old tech, but I can literally get you all of these.”

Yes, Peter was aware of the fact since Mr. Stark kept reminding him. Despite the continuous assurances, he couldn’t bring himself to just asking for more stuff. He was already taking out chemicals he needed for his web fluid. Mr. Stark wasn’t particularly interested in what Peter was taking out of the lab to continue the experiments at “home”, as long as it wasn’t flagged as potentially dangerous by Friday.

“When will you be done with the prototype?”

“I would like to get it done in two weeks,” the nights becoming more cold kind of pushed him, “then I’ll take it out for a test run to catch any bugs.”

Silence. Peter realized he said something wrong when Mr. Stark’s face set into something unreadable.

“Take it out for the test where?”

“Like,” Peter stammered, gesturing with his hand, “like, I’ll set up a tent outside and see how it goes.” Half-truths weren’t technically lies, right?

“No,” Mr. Stark said firmly. “I’m not letting you test it on yourself. Too many dangers to that.”

Peter frowned. “Didn’t you inject those microchips into yourself a few years ago? You know – those you used to call the suit to you?”

It was Mr. Stark’s turn to stammer. “That- that was different!”

“How?” Peter raised one eyebrow, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Are you really the right person to lecture me about personal safety?”

“Little shit,” the man huffed, playfully shoving Peter���s head to the side. “How about we do some test runs here to make sure it won’t go up in flames and then you can test it yourself. Deal?”

Hm. Now this, Peter could accept. But- “Do you really have that little faith in my creations?”

“Modified coffee machine,” Mr. Stark deadpanned as he placed a pack of crackers next to him.

The reminder of the incident wiped the smile off Peter’s face.

Okay, fair enough.

They fell into their routine after that, some AC/DC song playing in the background. Peter stayed in his corner, working on the blueprints of the heater and eating away at the crackers, while Mr. Stark tinkered with something on his own workstation.

Hmm, maybe if I rewire the circuit and add two more batteries…

“Kid.”

…yeah, that could work without blowing up in my face…

“Kid?”

…well, not like there’s anyone who would miss me since it was his own fault he had no one left…

“Earth to Peter!”

Snapping of fingers brought Peter back to reality. His eyes darted around in search of the source of the snapping.

Mr. Stark was looking at him. “You with me?”

“Uh, y-yeah, yeah,” Peter nodded. “I just… got lost in thoughts for a moment.”

“Good. Now stop being a hoarder and pass me that monkey wrench on your table you’re clearly not using.”

“Right,” Peter said as he grabbed the wrench and stood up. This was an opportunity to gain some credibility for his claims of tripping. He had to make it convincing, but how—

He was on the floor before he could finish the thought.

“Jeez, kid. You’re alright?”

Eh, that works too.

“Ow,” Peter moaned as he pushed himself up. Mr. Stark helped to steady him, his touch sending sparks of electricity down Peter’s spine, though not unpleasant.

It’s been so long since someone held him close—

“Anything hurts?”

Peter ran his hands down his legs, wincing and hissing when his hand brushed over his left knee. “That will leave a bruise.”

“Let me get you an ice pack for that.”

As it turned out, the untied shoelace resulting in his fall was all it took to bring the rare, caring side out of Mr. Stark. Peter resisted the urge to lean further into the touch, reminding himself it was for the best.

He couldn’t allow himself to get too close to Mr. Stark.

Not with his curse.

***

After the kid left, Tony paced his workshop like a caged animal. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was everything, maybe he was seeing red flags where red flags weren’t.

Aside from the typical wolf hunger the kid displayed at lunch, there were no noticeable bruises. Just to be sure, he had Friday secretly scan the kid for any injuries and the results were… not quite what he was expecting. There weren’t any injuries. Still, he couldn’t claim that malnutrition was any better.

Feeding him second whole meal would be too obvious, so Tony had to settle for giving Peter a pack of crackers.

Like he said, it might be nothing and the kid was just still dealing with the loss by not properly eating (which wasn’t making it any better, wasn’t his foster family paying attention?), but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something shady was going on.

He’ll have to keep even closer eye on the kid.

***

Gunshots.

There were gunshots all around him and, oh God- Ben, May! Please, no!

Peter’s eyes snapped open, a cold sweat running down his back. It wasn’t rare for him to have vivid nightmares about the night of the accident, but what was rare was the sounds of gunshot prevailing after he woke up. Why weren’t they fading into echoes retreating back into his memory?

They were still so loud and… wait.

That wasn’t in Peter’s head.

Creeping to the single window, he squinted into the darkness where he spotted a group of teenagers laughing among themselves as they lit up another firecracker.

It wasn’t the robber. Just a group of kids that could be his age, probably looking to stir up some trouble. There was a possibility of new graffiti appearing.

Releasing a shuddering breath, Peter unzipped the suitcase with shaking fingers. He fumbled for the plastic bag inside and retreated back to his mattress. He pulled out a lavender-colored sweater, shoved his hands into the sleeves, reached for the coat and threw it over his shoulders before hugging himself.

It still smelled like her.

Closing his eyes, Peter curled into a ball, imagining it was his aunt and uncle hugging him.

He was hungry again. He was cold.

He cried.

#irondad and spiderson #tony stark #peter parker #tony stark and peter parker #fanfiction #exchange fic #friendly neighborhood exchange #homeless peter parker #touch starved peter parker #chapter one

[yesimwriting]

The Promise of Rain, blurb 2

The Promise of Rain (part 2?? technically) 

A/n I was not originally planning a second part for this but some people wanted it and this idea came to me and it works better with the context of ‘The Promise of Rain’ but it can technically be read as a stand alone :))

Anyways this might turn into a small series of kinda connected blurbs that are all kind of canon with each other but aren’t necessarily connected except for the reader’s background (the reader is a very sunshine-y person and knows Kaz bc she’s a runaway princess that he was hired to bring back home but she managed to convince him to let her work for him instead)

--

The night air had left me with a chill that made me want nothing more than to have my covers draped over me as I read. I’m normally more sociable after a job, especially after such a simple and safe ending, but a lot of tonight had left me wanting to be alone. 

Well, not truly alone. The company of my books is always welcomed, but tonight I can’t seem to find much comfort within the pages. After almost every paragraph, I find myself distracted by gusts of wind and thoughts of the heavy, silver clouds that seem to make up tonight. A part of me longs for the rain. I know it’s ridiculous to expect rain each time I desire some sense of comfort, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. Especially when the sky so clearly implies it. 

“This must be the fifth time I’ve come here and you’ve been reading.” Kaz’s sudden appearance is almost enough to shake away my lingering somberness. 

I roll my eyes slightly, turning my attention back to the page in front of me. “That observation is just a testament to how often you come in here.” 

His glare is half hearted, a look I’d find endearing if I was less annoyed. “Where else am I going to find a reminder that good people exist in Ketterdam?” 

I think he may have a sixth sense that warns him when I’m treading the line between being annoyed and displeased. Everytime I find myself mad at him in a way that makes me want to avoid him instead of yell at him, Kaz makes some ridiculously heart-melting comment. He steps further into the room. I don’t miss the way he eyes my stretched out legs. Ever since the conversation we had after he woke up after an injury, we’ve fallen into the unmentioned habit of silently inviting the other to stay by moving to make room for them. 

It had started the day after the conversation in which Kaz had admitted that he wanted me to stay with him. He had been sitting on the small couch while discussing the details of a job. Shortly after I walked in he made a point of shifting so that he was clearly on one side of the couch. I didn’t think much about sitting down, but Inej and Jesper exchanged a look. 

Now, though, I keep my legs stretched out on the bed. He eyes my position on the bed, something grim crossing his features. 

“It might rain tonight.” 

He knows me so damn well. I hate it. “I hope so.”

I turn my head, analyzing the way the world seems to be on the cusp of something. I stare at the silver clouds until I feel something hard tap my leg. The tap is firm but not painful. I’m quick to look at Kaz as he lowers his cane. The mention of rain had been a distraction. 

“You distracted me on purpose.” 

“The first rule of the Barrel is to always be prepared.” There’s a slight uptilt to his lips, something I’ve learned to interpret as a sign of teasing. 

How is he so easy to be around one second and so cold the next? I resist a smile. “I’ll take notes.” 

Kaz ignores my passive aggressive tone. His focus seems to be on my legs that have still not moved to offer him a place next to me. “You wear your emotions too openly.” Great, he’s going to make us talk about it. “What reason could you possibly have to be mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” It’s a partial truth. 

His expression harshens. “Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not thrilled with you, but I don’t think that’s the same as being mad.” 

Kaz lets out a partial sigh. “No, they’re not the same.” Such an early concession feels like a trap. “With you, the first option is worse.” I don’t have anything to say to that. “Is this because of what I said to Jesper?” 

My posture straightens on instinct. “He wants your validation more than he’d ever admit and I understand that expressing praise isn’t exactly something you do, but would it kill you to not actively insult him?” 

“I didn’t say anything that was wrong. He thinks he’s a gambler but he’s just someone born for losses.” The look I give him must mean something to him, because Kaz is quick to tact on, “That doesn’t make him less valuable of an asset or less relatively dependable.” 

I eye him cautiously, the slightest bit of vulnerability playing at his features. “Don’t look at me like that--and don’t tell me that. Jesper’s the one who could use the occasional reminder from you that you hold him to any regard with positive connotations.” His lips press together like he’s thinking about scolding me for scolding him. “It’s only because I know you care more about Jesper than you’d ever let on.” 

“Jesper’s esteem can handle the blow.” The curtness of his voice is a blow in its own sense. “And he didn’t exactly deserve to be in my good graces after what he did tonight.” 

My sigh is not weighted enough to match Kaz’s newfound fountain of emotion. “We were successful--”

“He left you.” I didn’t know Kaz’s voice was capable of such harshness. “I paired him with you, and he left you--and you almost didn’t make it.” I let the weight of his words take up all the available space in the room, keeping the silence that follows them until some of the heaviness has dissipated. “He could have cost me one of my best people.”

Oh. His harshness, his unwarranted coldness, had been a manifestation of his concern. For me. Guilt knots my stomach. Potential words that may offer Kaz some sort of support raise and die back down in my throat. Kaz turns towards the door. 

“Kaz.” He pauses. There’s a long moment in which I think he won’t turn around, but finally, he does. I tuck my legs beneath me, forcing myself to sit up a little straighter. “I told Jesper to leave because I knew the job would have failed if he had been trapped in that room with me.” I drop my gaze towards the window. “I was right, the job was successful, and I got out in time so it was worth it.”

“You risked your safety?” The harsh facet of his being is making its return in full force. 

“For the job,” I’m careful to keep my words factual, “It’s what we’re supposed to do.”

Kaz’s jaw locks. “When I said that keeping you near me would ruin you this is what I meant.” 

Is it really this big of a deal? I made it out. “Kaz.”

“This wasn’t my best idea.” His words are leached of anything. “You’re going back home. Tomorrow I’ll arrange the voyage myse--” 

“Kaz Brekker you may get to live your life doing anything you want but you don’t get to control mine.” My chin raises an inch, an instinctual act of subtle rebellion. “I am not going back there, even if I’m technically indebted to you because you didn’t return me to my father but that does not mean I’ll--”

“I’m not trying to control you.” His words are sharp, boarding on a yell. “A job like that one wasn’t worth you.” 

From Kaz, I know those words are heavy. There’s a lot of things I could say to that. I could tell him that I wanted to do something for him. I could say that I appreciate him telling me that. I could even say that in his own way, Kaz giving Jesper a hard time because he left me, is kind of cute in a misguided way. The thing is I think all of these responses will make things worse. 

“Kaz,” I keep my voice as steady as possible, “I’m fine, you’re fine, it all worked out.” Scratching the back of my arm, I exhale gently. “I’ll be more careful next time, I promise.” 

I watch him carefully, there’s a slight slump to his shoulders as he exhales. Is the fight leaving him so easily? He walks further into the room. “You better.” He sits down in the space I provided for him slowly. “If you’re not you’ll have worse things to worry about than anything that can happen to you on a job.” He moves his cane forward easily, tapping my knee in a swift motion. 

I roll my eyes at the mock threat. “They do say that there’s nothing to fear in the Barrel like the Dirtyhands.” 

“Remember that.” Any edge in his voice is forced. I fight against a smile that seems to always want to break across my face whenever I think I see something resembling lightness in Kaz. 

“I don’t think I could forget anything about you.” 

He turns his head slightly. “You should.” 

“Too bad.” 

Kaz leans his back against the wall, untensing slightly. “I think you just like disagreeing with me.” 

There’s no point in lying about it. “Only because when you argue with me you give me this really particular look.” 

“A look?” 

Adding insult to injury, I smile. “Sometimes you look like you’re too focused on being angry, like you’re compensating for something.” 

Kaz lets out a bitter sigh. “Maybe if you were less of a puppy I wouldn’t have to--”

The laugh that escapes is most definitely a mistake. “Did you just call me a puppy?” I don’t give him a chance to reply, laughter taking over again. “I mean this in the least argumentative way possible--but you’re so weird sometimes.” 

He rolls his eyes, tensing. “I’m leaving.”

I stifle the rest of my laughter. “No. I was--I was kidding!” I keep my eyes on Kaz, expecting some type of annoyed glare, but his expression is a lot more weighted than that. Odd. “Kaz?” 

“You need to be more careful.” I understand Kaz’s pause as something he does before saying something outside of his nature. “I’m not asking you this as a Crow or a Dreg.” 

On instinct, my posture straightens. “I promised and I meant it.” 

“Sometimes I wish I could believe in Saints,” his voice has taken off a distant quality, almost fragile, “That way I could believe something existed to help what matters.” 

Oh. “You never fail, even if I didn’t believe in Saints I’d believe in you.” 

“You’re wasting your faith.” The sound of lightning cracking is almost enough to make me jump. The rain finally came. 

I know I’ll never convince him that that’s not true. “I don’t think so, but that’s why it’s called faith.” 

“I have faith in some things.” His expression is far off. 

“Like what?” 

Kaz’s eyes find the window. “People that find meaning in the rain.” 

Something in my chest swells. “You’re like the rain.”

We sit there in silence, watching raindrops glide down the window. “What were you reading?” 

The question has me dropping my gaze to the forgotten book on my lap. “I stole this book from the palace before I left. It was my mom’s favorite, she’s read it so much the spine’s completely cracked and the cover is practically falling off.” 

“Hm…” He mumbles. “Read some, the books read in a palace must be worthwhile.” 

A part of me wants to tell him that elitism has no place in literature, but his request leaves me frozen. I nod once, turning to the first page of the book. “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife--” 

“Your upbringing makes sense--” 

“You can’t judge it off the first sentence,” he’s insufferable, “It’s setting up irony, and if you’re going to complain--” 

He lets out a conceding sigh. “I’m listening, I’m not interrupting.” 

I keep my eyes on him for a second longer than I should. “Okay.” Dropping my gaze back to the book, I adjust my grip on the worn paperback, “Good.” 

And then I keep reading. 

--

@theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship @mentally-in-northern-italy @uhanddreag 

#six of crows #six of crows x reader #soc #soc imagine #six of crows imagine #six of crows x you #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone netflix #shadow and bone show #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone x you #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #imagines #kaz brekker imagine #my works #blurb #x reader #grishaverse #grisha x reader #grisha #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse imagine

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

Gabriel Agreste: Interesting Villain, Horrible Character (400 Follower Special)

I'm honestly surprised more people didn't want me to talk about Gabriel, especially with how often I rag on how horrible of a person he is. But, three character analysis posts later, and we're going to talk about why the main villain of Miraculous Ladybug is a real letdown.

Gabriel Needs to give the Whining a Rest

The interesting thing is one of the few things I actually liked in Season 3 was Hawkmoth. His plans actually made sense (for the most part), and by playing the long game, he managed to turn Chloe against Ladybug and deprived her of several key allies. Granted, Season 4 immediately undid the latter, but I was still impressed by his strategy.

Generally, one of the better aspects of Gabriel as a character was just how over the top he was as Hawkmoth. Keith Silverstein is clearly giving it his all with his performance, and he is just so enjoyable to watch as a cartoonish supervillain.

And therein lies the first major problem with Gabriel as a character. While he is fun to watch as a simple supervillain, the show tries to give him more depth and unintentionally makes him worse.

In Season 2, when it was revealed that Gabriel was Hawkmoth, many fans speculated on what he needed the Miraculous for, until the Queen Bee Trilogy showed it was to save his possibly dead wife, Emilie. The idea of that is so the show can give more depth to its main villain, and I think it's an interesting idea in concept. After all, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

The problem is just how radically different Gabriel is normally compared to how he is as Hawkmoth. He always goes on about how he's “doing this for Emilie”, but it's hard to really sympathize with him when you consider he constantly gives evil monologues and evil laughs, really getting into the supervillain role. And let's not forget all of the “I'm going to wear Ladybug's skin as a suit” faces he loves to make.

Clearly this man is the picture of mental stability.

Gabriel's motivation for being Hawkmoth when compared to what he actually does as Hawkmoth is shady enough, but the thing is that the writers clearly want the audience to at least feel a little bad for him. They want to make the audience sympathize with him despite the way he acts with or without the mask. Without Miraculous Ladybug, he is routinely putting innocent lives in danger and never once shows regret for his actions. All he talks about is how “he's doing this for Emilie”, or that “he'll get their Miraculous soon”. There's no real reason to feel bad for him other than “because the script says so”.

Let's compare Gabriel to Malcolm Merlyn from Arrow. His big plan in the first season of the show is to create a machine that will cause an earthquake to destroy a crime-infested portion of Starling City, claiming to be trying to help everyone, but it's clear he is only doing it out of revenge for his wife getting killed by a criminal from that part of the city. In addition, throughout that season and future seasons, he always makes sure his plans lead to him benefiting in some way, showing he isn't just some noble man trying to achieve his goals with a less than noble method.

If we got some moments that showed that what Gabriel was doing was selfish, it would make him a more complex villain. But we don't get anything like that. What do we get instead? Well...

I Could Really Care Less About Emilie Agreste

We have known Gabriel's motivation has been to save his wife for a little over two years at this point, but at the same time, it's hard to believe that motivation because of how underdeveloped Emilie is as a character.

There have been a total of two lines in the entirety of the show that explain what happened to Emilie, and they're both vague as hell. One of them was from “Feast” that implied Emilie used the broken Peacock Miraculous.

Adrien: My mom used to have dizzy spells… just like Nathalie.

And the other that outright tells the audience what's happening to her in a clip show that most people will skip.

Nathalie: As I've watched Emilie falling deeper into an endless sleep, my sadness for her has deepened, too

That is literally all we get for an explanation, and nothing else. We have no idea of what she's like as a person or what her relationship with her family was like other than Gabriel and Adrien saying they miss her. Other than the way the narrative says she's important to Gabriel and Adrien, we don't really have a reason to care about her as a character. There have also been some lines that imply she went along with Gabriel's questionable parenting techniques, like how he was apparently only homeschooled as a kid (Origins) and never had a birthday party growing up (The Bubbler), so how do we even know if she's a good person? In fact, why not set up this question as a mystery to make the audience wonder if Gabriel has another reason to bring Emilie back?

It ultimately turns Emilie into a plot device and not a character that Gabriel and Adrien only bring up to make the audience feel bad for them, and meant to justify Gabriel's actions by saying that he's “doing this for his family”.

But hey, if he's doing this all for his family, surely Gabriel's redeeming traits come from his relationship with Adrien, right? Right?

As a Parent, Gabriel is Far From the Best

I've talked about this briefly before, but parenting in Miraculous Ladybug is written in such a black and white way, even by the standards of this show. Parents are portrayed in one of two ways. They're either amazing people who love and support their children unconditionally, or they're awful people who treat their own children like trash. And much like a lot of things in this show, there are times where the latter is treated like the former.

There are so many times where the narrative insists on making you see Gabriel as a troubled, but wellmeaning person who tries his best to be a good parent to Adrien, but it is far from the truth.

I'm not going to beat around the bush. Gabriel is a terrible parent. Like, he is awful at being a parent in so many ways, even before you find out he's Hawkmoth. In his first appearance, “The Bubbler”, he delegates getting Adrien a birthday present to Nathalie, his assistant. He literally can't be bothered to take time out of his schedule to get his own son a present for his birthday. And as the show goes on, he becomes more controlling and forbids Adrien from going out with his friends in other episodes (Captain Hardrock, Silencer). While this could be used to show Gabriel getting worse, it's never acknowledged in-universe, with Adrien continually defending his father essentially keeping him on house arrest.

“But IOTA!” You might say. “Gabriel has made efforts to bond with his son in some episodes.” While that might be true, most of those come right after his Akumas have almost gotten Adrien killed. He only hugged Adrien and made an attempt to learn more about him after Simon Says invaded their home, he only decided to watch that movie Emilie was in with Adrien after Gorizilla nearly dropped him off a building, and he only hugged Adrien again in public after he was turned into a gold statue by Style Queen.

In fact, let's talk about how Gabriel acts in the Queen Bee Trilogy. He actually decides to quit being Hawkmoth, but it's not because he realizes all the damage he's caused. Instead, he gave up because his “magnum opus”, a stronger than usual Akuma that only got the advantage on Ladybug ironically because of dumb luck, failed. Sure, he says he can't keep putting his son in danger, but he rarely ever acknowledges that he does so in the first place. When Riposte wanted to fight Adrien, Hawkmoth did nothing to stop her other than giving her a stern warning earlier on and nothing else. Where was this attitude earlier?

Hell, even then, he immediately goes back to being Hawkmoth as soon as he sees an opportunity, not even a day after his “mAgNuM oPuS” blew up in his face (because I guess Scarletmoth was just Plan B). If he made such a big deal about caring for his son, why didn't he try harder to spend time with him? Has he ever had doubts about what he's doing before? If Chloe didn't show up as Queen Bee, was he going to follow through on his promise and try to be a better father to Adrien instead of trying to get Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous?

And yeah, the whole irony is that Gabriel is doing this for his family when he is unknowingly fighting his own son, which could lead to some interesting drama if done right. The idea of how Gabriel would react to his son being Cat Noir could really lead to some internal struggles for him to go through. But then we got “Cat Blanc”, which shows just how terrible of a character Gabriel is.

In an alternate timeline where he found out his son was Cat Noir, what does Gabriel do? Does he try to steal Adrien's Miraculous while he's sleeping? Does he reconsider his actions or realize he was endangering Adrien's life?

NOPE! He just decides to akumatize him all while emotionally tormenting him, before causing the end of the world.

This is honestly one of the most appalling things I've ever seen in any TV show, because it's basically an abusive father ordering his son to listen to him all while referencing his (kind of) dead mother to back up his point. And rather than use this to show how despicable Gabriel is, the episode decides to blame Marinette for this happening. Yes, according to the show, her present to Adrien caused several events to happen which caused Cat Blanc, but this logic makes no sense. It's like blaming the JFK assassination on the man who sold a gun to Lee Harvey Oswald, instead of, you know, Lee Harvey Oswald.

Not only was this episode yet another excuse to blame Marinette for something that wasn't her fault, it leads into the biggest problem I have with Gabriel as a character.

Sympathize with Gabriel? Surely, You Jest

After everything I've gone over regarding Gabriel as a character, after all the awful things I've talked about, are you really surprised that I don't feel bad for him at all?

Gabriel is just an awful character and a despicable human being, but the show just keeps wanting me to feel bad for him. It's just so hard to when you consider everything he's done has made him anything but sympathetic. I'm just saying, it's kind of hard to feel bad for someone who tries to start World War III with the only justification being “i'M dOiNg It FoR mY fAmIlY”, especially when he treats his family like crap.

The writers go out of their way to show how horrible Gabriel is as Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth, but they think because they throw in a few moments where he looks conflicted, we'll immediately feel bad for him. What makes so many people interested in seeing Chloe become a better person is that they can tell she's the victim of a troubled upbringing, and know that because she's only a teenager, she still has room to grow as a person, represented by having more honest moments of vulnerability. Gabriel is a grown man who once caused the apocalypse because of how terrible of a parent he is, and has even fewer sympathetic moments than Chloe does. Which one of these two is supposedly irredeemable? The answer may surprise you.

But the frustrating thing is that this kind of villain could have worked. Instead of making him this mustache-twirling psychopath, show how much Gabriel regrets what he has to do, but keeps pushing onward despite all the lives he's risking if it means that he can save his wife. Instead of making Gabriel like Lex Luthor, make him like Mr. Freeze, who is basic a better written version of him.

But as it stands, there's a good reason why Gabriel gets little to no respect as a character in the Miraculous Ladybug fandom, as a villain, or as a father.

#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #hawk moth #shadowmoth #shadow moth #emilie agreste #adrien agreste #cat noir #chat noir #cat blanc #chat blanc #nathalie sancoeur #mayura #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

[hlizr50]

Leathers (NSFW)

I wanted to have this ready for Gwynriel week, but I haven't written smut in probably 10 years so I was on the struggle bus for a bit.

Read on AO3

Gwyneth Berdara was a devious creature. A true menace.

Everyone thought she was sweet and innocent. But Azriel knew better.

She was cruel and secretive and conniving.

He’d realized her scheme as soon as she entered the High Lord’s study with the other two Valkyrie leaders, all clad in the leathers that marked them as such. And he knew, he knew, that this had been her plan all along.

As he gritted his teeth and worked desperately to quell the heat churning in his gut, his own tightening leathers, and the scent of arousal, he saw her soft pink lips spread into a knowing, satisfied smirk.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

He had seen the leathers before. He remembered the day in the house when Nesta emerged into the dining room with them on, squealing to her mate. The shadowsinger recalled that he always thought white was a terrible color for fighting garments, but even he could admit that the Valkyrie leathers were exquisitely designed and painstakingly constructed. They weren’t so different than the Illyrian leathers, overlapping scales over most of the torso, but the gold accents over the trim and feather-stamped panels over the shoulders made them look less like warriors and more like angels. Angels of death and light.

Azriel had wondered in that instant what Gwyn would look like in hers. He’d fantasized about it, seeing her standing tall and confident, a warrior in all areas of life. But she had never let him see them. She never talked about them, barely acknowledged their existence. She didn’t even keep them in the bedroom they now shared. He’d never mentioned it, never pushed. Perhaps it had been a bit odd, but the female never did anything without a reason.

And now, with his jaw practically on the floor, the musky scent of his arousal filling his nose (luckily he could tell he wasn’t the only one), and shadows twisting and writhing around him, he knew exactly what that reason had been.

Gwyneth Berdara – cruel and calculating and tantalizing Gwyneth Berdara – had waited for this moment, so she could see the practiced calm of the spymaster unravel before her eyes. One of the most powerful males in all of Prythian, absolutely undone, for all the powers of the Night Court to see. Cobalt siphons flickered.

This challenge would not go unanswered.

Luckily for the shadowsinger, this meeting was nothing deeply serious and more of a discussion about expectations for the three as leaders and members of the High Lord and Lady’s inner circle. As if anyone there had any doubts about their capability or dedication. And it was a good thing that his attention wasn’t particularly important, because he could not remove his gaze from the former priestess standing with hands on her hips as she listened intently to Rhys.

He’d always admired her body in leathers, though in the beginning he’d found it a source of shame rather than pride. Gwyn had been through too much for him to be casting lustful glances in her direction. But things had changed quite dramatically since then, in regards to her body and their relationship. Where once stood a relatively scrawny girl, now was a strong woman. The leathers – Azriel thanked the Cauldron for how tailored they were to her – showed off the definition in her arms, the muscled thighs and powerful calves, and the swell of that perfect ass. Every inch of her was sculpted from hours upon hours of training, then extra training, then training to escape nightmares or to work through feelings.

And that process was how their relationship had developed as well. The more time they had spent together, the more the spymaster had craved it. It was always easy with her. She always made him smile and laugh, things he didn’t often let others see. His shadows had been quite taken with her, and she had never shied away from them.

Nor from his hands.

He couldn’t be sure when it had happened, but she had firmly planted herself in his heart. She was beautiful and kind, irreverent, bold, and relentless. He respected the hell out of her, and that only made him want her more. But he hadn’t wanted to make the move, concerned about his own demons, concerned about her comfort and choice.

The Blood Rite had changed everything.

He had been as confident as he could have been, under the circumstances. He’d had to lean into that, keeping Cassian from falling into a pit of despair or, even worse, from doing something incredibly reckless that would’ve resulted in a death warrant on both his and Nesta’s heads. But the storm had raged inside Azriel then, a stark reality settling heavily in his stomach that he may never have another minute with Gwyneth Berdara. And since then he’d never made it a secret what she meant to him.

So he didn’t care that his hazel eyes slowly roamed her body, clad in white leather painted with gold, over and over. Memorizing every rise and fall and curve of her. He didn’t care that it was obvious to everyone in the room that he was immensely distracted. He didn’t care that his eyes had nearly popped out of his head when she walked into the study on swaying hips. He didn’t hear the amused chuckles or see the raised eyebrows when he’d nearly dragged her out through the double doors when their meeting had concluded.

The only thing on his mind now was that she would pay for her scheming.

“You seemed a bit distracted, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn giggled breathlessly, trailing behind him, tethered by his hand on her wrist. He rounded on her, releasing her wrist only long enough to cradle the back of her head as he pushed her against the wall. His body pressed into her, they breathed the same breath, her eyes bore into him with intensity and desire.

“Seems I fell right into your trap,” he whispered gruffly, sliding his cheek down roughly against hers and letting his tongue dart out against her jaw. He felt her inhale against him and he smiled wickedly against her skin. “You’re a menace, Berdara.”

“I won’t forget that look on your face for a long while,” she breathed, her fingers crawling up his chest, around his neck, and planting in the thick dark locks at his nape. It wasn’t a full confession, but it wasn’t a denial. And it sure as hell wasn’t a damned apology.

“You don’t know what you’ve started, lovely Valkyrie. I think you need to be taught a thing or two about decorum.”

Her giggle was more like a shaky rasp. Azriel could feel her heart beating as he dragged his lips down the column of her throat, feel her chest heave as her breathing quickened at his touch. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I was not the one gawking and distracted while the High Lord was speaking.”

A growl rumbled through his chest, and he knew she could feel it reverberate through her, as well. He let his hands slide down the leather scales over her sides and traced them around to her back, fingers trailing ever downward until they cupped the muscled swell of her ass. After a rough squeeze he reached just a little further down to lift her thighs. Gwyn didn’t require much prodding, crossing her ankles behind him and effectively holding herself up against him. The shadowsinger lifted his head from her neck, turning his attention to the roses blooming under those freckles. One might think they made her look innocent, but he was no fool. Those cheeks were flushed with desire and satisfaction, teal pools darkened lustfully. He captured her lips in a demanding kiss as he pulled her from the wall, their grip on each other firm and unyielding. He stalked toward the door, anxious to get outside the wards of the estate so he could winnow them home.

So he could show her exactly what she did to him.

“You’re going to pay for that, Berdara,” he whispered huskily, voice coated in want. He could barely see, barely focus on getting them out into the cobbled street. The only thing in the world was her, the maddening heat of her skin and her warm breath hitching against the shell of his ear. And then he stepped into the darkness, emerging just a few paces outside the door to their seaside home with the conniving Valkyrie and heavy shadows still wrapped around him. The locks and hinges on the door took care of themselves as he stalked into the foyer, finally in the privacy of their home.

And that was all he needed.

Azriel set her down – not as gently as he probably should have – on top of the cabinet in the foyer and crushed his mouth over her soft full lips, long fingers immediately working at the ties of her leather pants. He felt her laugh against his mouth and took the chance to push his tongue between her lips. Gwyn’s fingers curled into his hair, grasping at him desperately. He grinned against her mouth as he loosened her leathers enough to reach a hand down over the lower part of her toned stomach. His Valkyrie’s hands drifted down around his neck and over the front of him. But he knew that her aim was to loosen his now very tight breeches, and there would be none of that. He pulled away for just a moment, grabbing her hands and then forcing them above her head. He covered both of her alabaster, freckle-speckled hands with one of his, holding them against the wall as he looked straight into her eyes and traced his other scarred hand down her front.

“Did you enjoy the sight of me coming undone before your eyes, Gwyneth?” She moaned as his knuckles disappeared beneath the leather, into the heat between her legs. He pushed a finger into her, relishing the wetness that had already built there. Azriel chuckled darkly, leaning in so his lips brushed her jaw. “It appears that you did. Very much.” He dipped a second finger in, his palm rubbing against her clit and eliciting a gasp.

“Az!” Gwyn breathed. His tongue darted out right under her ear before nibbling on her soft skin. “Oh Gods, Azriel.” Her voice, usually strong, was breathy and labored.

“Yes, Love?” His mouth continued to move over her neck, nipping and sucking and licking, as he plunged his fingers into her core. Satisfaction rumbled through his chest as he rubbed the pad of his thumb over that bundle of nerves. Her hips bucked against him. “Tell me, Gwyneth, was it your intention to drive me mad with arousal? In front of the entirety of the High Lord and High Lady’s inner circle?” Her head tipped back, mouth open and gasping, giving him even greater access to that elegant neck of hers. His thumb kept rubbing, fingers pumping, her body writhing under the mastery of his powerful hands.

“Did you want them to scent my need? Even as they could see it plainly on my face? In my fucking pants, stretching and struggling to contain what the sight of you did to me?” He pushed his thumb down and she cried out.

“Gods, Az, please!”

“That’s not an answer, Love,” the shadowsinger crooned against her throat as she bucked and rolled against him. “Tell me, Gwyneth. Yes or no? Ride my fingers and tell me.” He curled the two fingers inside her and pulled them nearly out of her before plunging them back in, pressure ever present on her clit. Her moaning and keening were music to his ears. He loved that he was the one she trusted to give her pleasure, that she would let go for him.

“Y-y-yes! Yes, Azriel!” She was almost there. He could feel it, feel her clenching around his fingers and hear her impending release in the cracking of her voice.

“I’m going to unravel you, lovely Valkyrie. I will undo you with my touch, just as you undo me. Just as you unraveled me in that study. I told you that you had no idea what you started.” He lifted his head and grew impossibly harder as he studied Gwyn’s beautiful face, flushed with pleasure, expressive eyes lidded, strangled cries escaping through parted lips. “Look at me, Gwyn. Look at me when you cum for me.” The wicked smile that curved his lips could not be stopped, not when those clouded teal eyes found his. They were deep as the sea, dark as the night with ecstasy. He curled his fingers inside her again and ground his thumb into that sensitive bud, driving her over the edge. She howled her release, tense muscles firing through her legs and core, making her twitch and buck. His touch was relentless, extending her orgasm as her wetness soaked his hand.

“That’s it, Love,” he praised as he leaned in to press his lips to hers and pulled his hand out from between her legs. He pulled her hands away from the wall above her head and draped her arms over his shoulders. “Hold onto me,” he whispered, kissing her again. He grabbed her thighs, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. Then he pulled her off the cabinet and carried her down the hall, navigating the corridors to their room. Her breathing had only just begun to calm as he stepped into the bedchamber. He released her legs and she allowed them to straighten as he lowered her toes to the ground.

When she looked up at him, arms still around his shoulders, her smile was languid and content. Azriel flashed a crooked grin. “How do you feel?”

“Hmmm,” she murmured. “I feel… very good.” She giggled at her lacking vocabulary. The shadowsinger let his hands slide over her, finding their way to her back – to the buckles of her leathers.

“I think we need to get these off.” He started fingering the buckles, pulling straps with an impatience that wasn’t typically his style. But when it came to Gwyneth Berdara he could never get enough, soon enough. “I am not nearly finished with you yet.”

#gwynriel #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel supremacy #gwyn is a bit of a tease #azriel won't let her get away with it #but he's also a big fan

[mossybank]

Baby You're a Haunted House — W. M.

Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Y/N helps Wanda grieve and gain closure on Pietro's death in their own special way, a perculiar way to flirt in the eyes of others. — au/non-canon accurate timeline

A/N: Baby You're a Haunted House is a song that's been stuck in my head on a loop, and although it was only meant to be a place holder title I've actually become quite fond of it.

semi-proofread

Y/N had been meaning to talk to Wanda for a while, amongst all the chaos of Ultron, they didn't get a proper opportunity to introduce themself; and to do it afterwards, as the girl realised she'd lost her brother, just seemed crass. They thought that maybe now they'd left it too long to introduce themself, coming off as rude and tone deaf for not doing it earlier, but the longer they avoided doing this the worse it would become.

In order to give themself an excuse for waiting so long, Y/N made Wanda a welcome hamper of sorts. They'd scoured the Eastern European aisle at the shop in hopes of finding something Sokovian, hoping it would remind Wanda of what was once her home, but they also feared that would be cruel, they didn't want her to feel anymore homesick than she most likely already did.

Eventually they threw a few things together, mostly sweets and snacks of the sort that they thought she'd enjoy, and anxiously knocked on her door before entering sheepishly.

"Hey, uh, I—" They glanced at Wanda and then at her TV before fixating their gaze to the floor, it was much less intimidating, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no," Wanda shook her head and paused the TV, the laughing track stopping, "Nothing important."

Y/N knew Wanda would have a Sokovian accent, she was from the country for gods sake, but that didn't stop the tips of their ears from heating up at the sound of it. It was typical, but Y/N simply had a thing for accents, and they hoped Wanda hadn't noticed.

"I wanted to introduce myself, I've know we've met before," Y/N cringed, righting a robotic threat to earth seemed like a bit more than just meeting, "But we haven't met-met... I, um, I brought you a gift!" They held the gift basket out awkwardly, a lopsided smile overtaking their face.

Wanda chuckled quietly at Y/N's antics and shuffled from her position of the edge of her bed, making space for Y/N to sit beside her and patting it. Y/N quickly obliged, placing the gift basket between them.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like so it's a bit of everything."

"Thanks.. No one else has done this for me." Wanda said fondly, looking through the basket with a content expression, "You didn't need to do all this."

Y/N looked down at their hands, and shrugged, "I just wanted to make sure you felt welcomed here and stuff, y'know? I know what it's like to be a new Avenger, it's a lot of change at once so I just want to make sure you're doing okay."

After some small talk, the two decided to watch one of Wanda's sitcoms together. Y/N wasn't too sure what it was called, but they'd definitely ask her later in order to binge it themself.

"We used to have movie nights as a child where we'd only be allowed to speak english to help us learn it," Wanda's expression dropped temporarily, gazing to the side. Y/N followed Wanda's gaze, eyes landing on a framed photo of her and Pietro.

"... I'm sorry." Y/N said hesitantly after a second of silence, "If there's anything I c—"

Wanda's expression caused Y/N to stop talking, she'd clearly heard that phrase repetitively from everyone.

"The only thing you could do to make me feel better would be to bring him back." She said bitterly before looking at Y/N, her sour tone dropping off of the end of the sentence as her eyes met their, "I didn't mean that, I shouldn't... It's not your fault."

Y/N shook their head, cutting Wanda's apology short, "No, no! You have every right to be upset and excited, but.." They trailed off, a moment of debate in their brain, "If you, um, really wanted to see him again, I could try help?"

Wanda raised a brow, frowning slightly as if she thought Y/N was making some sick joke.

"The little ghost army thingie back in Sokovia when we were fighting Ultron? That was me! Uh.. Trying to reach Pietro would take time though.. Usually ghosts follow people around but I haven't seen him.."

Wanda sighed and shook her head, "You don't have to do that for me, you looked exhausted from how you used your powers back there."

"But I'd like too! And it'd be a great bit of training even if it didn't work, I've never been able to summon anyone specific before." They tried to reason, but ultimately they wouldn't do anything without Wanda's permission.

"... I'll think about it."

It was a week later when Wanda next spoke to Y/N regarding their conversation about Pietro, they'd spoke in between but dancing around the topic of a dead brother was difficult work. Eventually, they had to discuss it once more.

"I'm willing to try, but if anything goes wrong, that will be it." Wanda comes to the compromise, presenting her deal to Y/N one morning in the kitchen. Y/N looking at Wanda and nodding, zoning out slightly and taking in her features, only snapping back into reality as boiling liquid came into contact with their hand.

They cursed, almost dropping their mug, foiled by the classic sitcom trope of overpouring your coffee and burning yourself as the result of some stupid crush.

"Oh, Y/N! Are you o—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine!" They reassured, shaking their hand dry, ignoring the sting of the burn, "If you give me an hour, we can try immediately!"

Wanda nodded and promptly left, she longed to truly make sure Y/N was okay but held back,she’d dread to come off too doting this eraly in their relationship. Y/N's shoulders slumped and they let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. They'd barely knew Wanda, whatever they were feeling had to go away soon, it was just unprofessional when their whole thing right now was helping the girl talk to her brother one last time!

The medium was pulled out of their deprecating thoughts by a boisterous chuckle, turning their head, they recognised it to be Thor.

"Ah, young love," The god teased, giving Y/N a firm but well-meaning pat on the back, "Good luck, young Y/N."

Y/N blushed and defensively assured Thor that is was 'nothing like that', but it was clear to everyone else that it absolutely was.

Arriving to their semi-impromptu séance, Y/N gave Wanda a run down on what was going to happen. Usually, when summoning a spirit, Y/N only summoned those already around, but it seemed Pietro had already moved on from this world- it made sense, his death was somewhat honourable and he didn't seem to have any unfinished business or grudges- that just meant Y/N's process would be a little more difficult and required a few more attempts. For a summoning like this, they'd have to temporarily leave the mortal realm, appearing to those around them as unconscious. Luckily for Y/N this was something they were particularly good at, often doing so accidently and getting stuck when their powers first manifested as a child.

Laying down on the floor, Wanda knelt beside them with a soft grip on their hands ready to wake them should something go wrong, Y/N closed their eyes, the last thing they felt before slipping away being Wanda tenderly stroking her thumb across their knuckles.

With a start, Y/N woke up, sitting slowly and looking around their surroundings. Blue, everything was blue here and although usually a tranquil colour, here it was chilling and made everything feel off. Standing up, Y/N thought of a game plan, there was no point wandering around the blue plains of this realm, they'd get nowhere; not that there was anywhere to go or find regardless. The best way to find a spirit was to call out to them, and so that's just what they did.

If they steadied their breathing and kept quiet enough, they could make out distance conversations in hushed tones, they sounded like gibberish to them though— whether they were speaking English or not, they didn't want Y/N to know what was being said, and so that's how it stayed.

Their first few attempts at summoning were futile, each time they'd wake up with a start, taking a surprisingly deep breath and breaking out in a coughing fit, Wanda vigilantly by their side to help them through it, always offering a glass of water or a cough drop. 

The pair began to hang out outside of Y/N’s attempts to contact Pietro, by now the two both knew they most likely wouldn’t find his spirit, but neither of them mentioned this, thinking giving up on the summoning would mean they’d stop hanging out. Of course this likely wasn’t the case, but anxieties between the two certainly made it seem so.

One thing the two seemed to bond over a lot was food; it was what Y/N used to introduce themself to her and now Wanda was teaching Y/N a childhood recipe, opening herself up to them. There were little things the two did that everyone on the team seemed to notice except for them; for example, when telling Y/N to stir the food, she place her hands softly over their own to show them how to do it, her touch lingering longer than it should have. Occasionally other avengers would point this out, only being met with blushes by the two of them and various statements of denial, but with those statements of denial came coy but questioning looks from one to another as if to ask if they really meant that.

“It’s always best to try summoning on a full stomach, you never know how long it’s going to take so you should always be in good condition.” Y/N explains, cleaning the plates they’d just used to eat.

“How did you get your powers?” Wanda asked, warily, getting her powers wasn’t the best experience of her life and she’d hate to know something similar had happened to Y/N.

Drying up the plates, Y/N leans against the counter and faces her, “They run in the family.. sort of .. I mean, everyone on my mums side has some kind of fascination with the supernatural, but I’ve by far shown the most power in generations, apparently.”

Hearing that put a smile on Wanda’s face, she was glad it was something that came naturally to Y/N and that they could so easily embrace it.

Done with the washing, Y/N held an arm out for Wanda, her gladly taking it, and the two walked side by side ready for another attempt.

Y/N found themself once again in the place they'd now dubbed their own personal blue hell. They shivered, fiddling with the fraying hem of their sleeves and looked around. It was empty, of course, it always was. Occasionally they'd accidentally summon someone, but sensing that they weren't wanted, they often left quickly.

"Pietro?" Y/N yells, cupping their mouth to try enhance the sound of their voice, it was no use, "Wanda misses you.."

They were yet to find a buzz word to pique the spirits attention.

After a few more minutes of waiting, Y/N sat down, they sighed exaggeratedly,

"Quick bastard, powers probably made him move realms quicker too.." They muttered angrily in defeat, about to begin their process to return back to Wanda.

Just as they closed their eyes, Y/N felt a sudden gush of air pass them, jumping, they looked around. Nothing.

Groaning, Y/N put their head in their hands, at this point they were just being teased.

Another gush of wind went by and Y/N swore.

There was one final gush, stopping when a bright light stood in front of Y/N. It was impossible to make out what, or rather who, it was, no features discernable through the blue light that shone out the figure, so bright Y/N had to cover their eyes.

After a few seconds, Y/N knew they needed to question it, ".. Pietro..?"

The figure moved, tilting its head and trying to speak back, but just like everyone else here, it was distorted and hard to make out.

The longer Y/N looked at the figure, the less it began to shine, features becoming more readable.

Just as its face was finally revealed, Y/N only just catching a glimpse of its face, they awoke back in Wanda's room, the red-head leaning over them with a worried expression.

"Y/N!" She exclaimed, helping them sit up and handing them tissues, it was only then that they realised their nose had been bleeding, "I was so worried." She kept her hands on their shoulders.

Y/N looked at her confused, tilting their head in question.

"I—.. You, you starting shaking and mumbling something, then your nose started bleeding," She looked down nervously, "I've been trying to wake you up for ages, nothing was working.."

She was clearly distressed, her hair a mess from running her hands through it and tears brimming her eyes.

"Wanda..." Y/N pulled the girl into a tight hug, "it's okay, I'm fine," They reassured.

Wanda sniffled and pulled back, "We.. We should stop trying to do this.. I don't want it to hurt you." She says sternly after calming down.

Though disheartened by the comment, Y/N knew it was coming, Wanda’s one condition from the start had been that they stop immediately should something go wrong.

As Wanda and Y/N had feared in their heads, they didn’t seem to speak as much since stopping the seances. It was weird, like something had changed, Y/N would try make conversation with Wanda but she’d only give them a guilty sort of look and make an excuse to leave the interaction.

It started to frustrate Y/N after a while but they didn’t want to push her, they knew they never should of suggested summoning Pietro, it would only bound to cause more heartbreak for the poor girl. Knowing this, they wanted nothing more to fix it; they never wanted to go against Wanda’s wishes, but they were just so close the last time they tried and knew that they couldn’t give up till they succeeded.

A week later, Y/N was content, but clearly exhausted, they would try summon Pietro’s spirit often, thinking that they could surprise Wanda, but they’d gotten so used to trying with her by their side offering comfort that it know became difficult to carry out this ritual alone. By now they'd accepted that perhaps this one spirit was just too far gone to bring back.

Reluctantly, contradictory to their original plan of letting Wanda approach them first, Y/N decided they needed to say something. They refused to go see her empty handed though, they made her an overly extravagant mug of hot chocolate in order to satiate her sweet tooth. Besides, it was much better to talk over a drink.

Opening her door after knocking was awkward, making a mug for themself too, the whip cream and marshmallows piled high, Y/N had no hands free. This caused them to need to do an awkward elbow maneuver with the door handle, the drinks threatening to spill. Wanda gave Y/N a funny look for a second, questioning their difficulty to open the door, before noticing the two mugs in their hands and quickly made her way over to them to take them.

“It’s just the way you like it..!” Y/N says, looking down at the floor and grimacing at where some of the hot chocolate had stained right outside of Wanda’s room; they’d have to remember to clean that up later if a janitor didn't get to it first.

Wanda smiles, humming, she thanks Y/N and puts the drinks down. The two sip on them awkwardly for a minute, unsure of what to talk about without addressing the elephant in the room. The two of them seemed to think alike, breaking the silence in unison,

“I missed you.”

Both seemed shocked by the others words, eyes widening and cheeks dusting a warm hue, before laughing. 

Wanda held her hand out for Y/N and they took it, hands resting intertwined on the coffee table, “I’m sorry for avoiding you, I just... seeing you like that.. I felt like it was my fault.”

Guilt pang in Y/N’s chest and they shook their head, giving Wanda’s hand a comforting squeeze, “It’s my fault, I should know my limits, I do know my limits, but I decided to exceed them anyway. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Maybe,” Wanda starts, a teasing undertone in her voice which lightens the mood, “You could take me out to apologies?” 

The suggestion alone was enough to knock the wind out of Y/N, they did a double take before finally bringing themself to respond, “Like a.. like a date..?”

“If that’s what you want.” God, this girl could be the death of Y/N.

“You know, this whole time I’ve been berating myself in my head for liking you.” Y/N chuckles, letting Wanda in on the secret, knowing from her amused expression that she had been doing the same, “so, its a date then?”

A wide smile spread across their face being able to say that, widening further as Wanda nods in confirmation. This whole time Y/N had thought the only way they’d be able to get to Wanda’s heart was to bring her brother back, that ended up not being the case at all. 

They realised when thinking this, zoning out, they’d been staring at Wanda this whole time, who looked back at them with a bright red blush across her face, the sight was almost too adorable for Y/N to handle.

Wanda looked at her and Y/N’s joined hands and then back to their eyes, “Could I.. kiss you?” she asks catching Y/N off guard, “To seal the agreement to our date!” She adds on flustered, the line sounding much smoother in her head than it did aloud.

Y/N didn’t seem to catch the awkwardness in her words, nodding enthusiastically, then toning it down quickly thinking that it was too much, and lent forwards, Wanda doing the same.

They closed their eyes, tilting their head to the side in order to not ruin the moment by accidently bumping noses or heads.

As their lips touched, everything felt just right, it was like electricity and fireworks, like the perfect first kiss every book seemed to describe. It was like a gush of fresh air, and as the two pulled away they gave each other matching coy smiles. Fully invested in each other, it was like nothing else existed around them. Maybe that’s why they failed to notice a new addition to the room.

A fake gagging sounds comes from behind the two, causing them to jump and quickly look for the source of it. Like the realm Y/N had traveled to many times before, this figure was blue, but now in the realm of the living it wasn’t as bright nor did it sound so distorted. It took a second, but the two finally realised what, or rather who, was in Wanda’s room; Pietro.

Wanda gasped, letting go of Y/N’s hand and standing up, hesitantly approaching Pietro who gave her a smug smile. The two looked at each other for a while before going in for a hug, Pietro spinning Wanda around. Y/N’s heart warmed at the sight , though it also frustrated them a bit, if they’d known all it would take to summon him was to get with Wanda, they would have made a move much sooner.

Y/N got up and nervously stood behind Wanda, not wanting to say anything and ruin their reunion. Tears brimmed in Wanda’s eyes, but this time they could tell they were from happiness. She stepped away from Pietro and put a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm.

“So you two are a thing now?” Pietro questions, crossing his arms and giving Y/N the classic look of an over protective brother who would kill them should they hurt Wanda. Looking back at Pietro, Y/N noticed he was still slightly transparent, he wouldn’t be able to keep up a physical form in this realm for long.

Wanda looked down, blinking away her tears and looking back up with a smile on her face, corners of her mouth quivering slightly, “You didn’t see that coming?” She uses Pietro’s catchphrase against him, voice wavering slightly as she does so. Hand still on Y/’N’s arm, she lead them and Pietro back over to the table, the three would have a lot to talk about till Pietro had to leave once again.

Taglists;

Wanda Maximoff Taglist — @tatesimper

#wanda maximoff x reader #Marvel x reader #Scarlet witch x reader #Wandavision #Mcu #Avengers #Pietro Maximoff #Quicksilver #One shot #Headcanon #Imagine #Drable #Elizabeth olsen x reader #Gender neutral reader #Male reader

[kyuuppi]

Personal Duties

Pairing: Xiao x Reader (gn)

Contents: ...fluff ig?

Word Count: 2.8k

The morning had begun uneventfully, giving no hint to how strange of a day it would inevitably become.

You had risen with the sun, as usual, and taken the time to double check the contents of your inventory before leaving for Liyue harbor. On the way you stopped by Wanmin restaurant for a simple skewer, returning Chef Mao’s enthusiastic greetings as you indulged in the quick breakfast. He rattled on about a few new recipes he wanted to try, insisting that you would be the one to sample them before they became an official part of the menu, and his beloved daughter’s latest adventures in Springvale. Chef Mao was always rather talkative but he was kind and one of the first locals you had become friends with when you first arrived in Liyue.

You finish the meal quickly and thank him before continuing your short journey. As you walked through the open streets of the harbor you breathed in the freshness of the sea, salty and foreign but comforting in the way only a land as mysterious as Liyue could feel. Despite having only lived in the city for a few months, you feel at peace here, safely cradled between mountains tall enough to break through the clouds, dotted by qingxin flowers that seemed to sparkle in the evenings after a good rainfall. The first day you arrived in Liyue you were left speechless, awestruck by both the vastness of the natural valleys and mountain ranges as well as the crumbling ancient ruins scattered across the lands, telling of a time you had only read about as a child in your faded copy of Records of Jueyen. The locals immediately recognized you as an outsider but offered nothing but hospitality, providing useful advice or large discounts on some of their finest products. Thoroughly enamored, you had immediately decided you would stay in Liyue for as long as you could. That same night you had rented a modest room at the highly regarded Wangshu Inn, a decision that cascaded into several life-changing events, including the meeting of a certain long-term resident and fabled legend of the inn: adeptus Xiao.

Meeting and then even befriending Xiao could be described as nothing short of a miracle. Meeting him has been unexpected—an accident really—in which you foolishly ventured to the vacant top floor of the inn in the middle of the night and nearly fell to your death trying to lean over the railing for a better view. Xiao had, very reluctantly, saved your life in that moment, gripping your upper arm firmly the second you realized your weight was tipping forwards. When you looked back to meet his gaze he had advised you, quite harshly, not to be so careless before vanishing without another word.

Naturally, your interests were immediately piqued and you sought out more information about the mystery man on the top floor of Wangshu Inn who could conveniently blip in and out of existence.

Most of the locals provided minimal information aside from a few rumors and the story of a masked figure told by the owner of Second Life. Piecing together snippets of information from locals and a few of the tales you remember from books, you were able to conclude that the man who saved you was not a man at all and rather the revered conqueror of demons and vigilant yaksha, Xiao.

The most useful source of information, however, turned out to be Wangshu’s very own boss, Verr Goldet. While the woman was hesitant to reveal anything at first, she eventually opened up at your persistence to the point it almost felt as if she wanted you to make progress with the adeptus more than you did.

“Rumor has it he becomes a little more friendly when he is presented with a fresh helping of almond tofu,” she had suggested not so subtly one evening.

You had happily taken the hint, pestering Smiley Yanxiao to teach you how to make the delicate dish before taking said dish to the top balcony as an offering of thanks to Xiao.

Expectedly, Xiao did not appear at all that night but you were nothing if not persistent. You returned with a fresh plate of almond tofu every night that week until on the seventh day, as you were nearly dozing off while leaning on the rail, Xiao finally revealed himself to you, if only to ask if you were trying to make a repeat of your near death experience from last time. He claimed he wouldn’t save you a second time but the way his eyes sparkled when he finally received your plate of almond tofu made you think he was bluffing.

After that night, your relationship with the adeptus rapidly developed. You found yourself on the top floor of Wangshu Inn every night, Xiao obediently appearing a safe distance beside you even if he liked to pretend you didn’t exist or that your presence annoyed him. The fact he still showed up and, as evident by the occasional question he would ask in the midst of your chattering, actually listened , was enough for you. He did not share much about himself but you understood well enough that his life was not without significant hardship or suffering and, if nothing else, you liked to think you could at least offer a small distraction to the hardworking yaksha.

“Ad astra abyssosque! Welcome to the Adventurers' Guild,” Katheryne greets as you finally arrive at her desk.

You return your own greeting before discussing the details of the day’s commissions.

It would be an uneventful day, you quickly gather. Two of your assignments are merely deliveries: a mother near Dongsheng’s general good shop needs her daughter to take her medicine but the little girl refuses unless there is a fresh plate of almond tofu to eat it with and a letter addressed to Granny Chu in Gulli Plains that need to be delivered. The third assignment is a complaint about a particularly rowdy group of hilichurls close to the main road. Lastly, a small clan of treasure hoarders seem to have stolen one of Jifang’s most prized artifacts.

Reasoning to yourself that a day of boring commissions is likely better than a day of dangerous commissions, you set off.

You finish the first two assignments rather quickly, as expected. The little girl had excitedly complimented your almond tofu several times, swearing it to be the best thing she had ever eaten while her mother profusely thanked you for getting the girl to finally take her medicine. Likewise, Granny Chu had immediately brightened the second you handed her the small envelope, explaining it was a message from her grandchildren who seemed too busy with their own families to stay in contact very often. The elderly woman insisted you took a couple of ripe sunsettia as thanks for delivering the letter before you were once more setting off, prepared to face the rambunctious cluster of Hilichurls.

It is then that your uneventful day takes a turn.

While hiking through the marsh on the way, you quickly notice how disturbed the land looks, barren of the common lizards, loaches, and small mammals that usually occupy the lands, scurrying away the moment you step too close. Instead, patches of bare land break up the once lush and seamless grass, jagged cuts along the blades as if a strong force had ripped through them. Evidence of chipped cobblestone and patchy grass seem to only get worse as you approach your destination and a small part of you feels anxious, wondering if the camp of hilichurls will be much more powerful than you had expected. Subconsciously, you grip your claymore a little tighter as you walk, glancing around cautiously as if you could be ambushed at any moment.

Instead of a rowdy group of fearsome monsters, you are met with empty space when you reach the location Katheryne had described. The air is eerily quiet aside from the soft chirps of distant cricadas, not a hilichurl in sight as you slowly survey the area. You almost would have assumed you had misheard and went to the wrong place if it were not for the obvious evidence of a large group of hilichurls once residing there. Shoddily built wooden huts and tilted towers surround the open space, the structures seeming barely able to support themselves as half of them had been caved in or ripped apart as if by a tornado. Strewn across the ground near the unlit campfires lie various meats, vegetables, and wheat. A few water pots and cauldrons lay tipped over but still partially filled with water as if they were being used mere hours ago.

Someone had clearly exterminated this hilichurl camp before your arrival, not even bothering to rummage through the chests, undoubtedly filled with valuable treasures, sitting in the far corner of the camp.

You are far from the only adventurer in Liyue. There are others, many of which are stronger and more skilled than you, who are assigned similar and even more dangerous commissions, taking down hilichurl camps like this on the daily. However, Katheryne always keeps meticulous records of who the guild assigns to do what and, in your five years as an adventurer, mistakes made by the adventure guild are almost unheard of. Surely Katheryne didn’t assign you to a task someone else was already assigned to—but then, who would complete something as tedious as clearing a hilichurl camp without seeking the rewards the adventure guild offers, or even the unguarded chests around the camp?

None of it makes sense to you but the sun is already beginning to set and you still have an assignment to deal with treasure hoarders on the opposite side one the city. Reluctantly, you take advantage of the untouched chests and pick up anything of value you find among the wreckage of the camp, not a single hilichurl body in sight.

The oddity of your last commission is nearly forgotten by the time you reach the treasure hoarders’ hideout, chest slightly heaving and thighs burning from hours of hiking through the uneven terrain. Above you, the sky has already turned a deep lavender, a speckle of stars glittering above the mountain peaks. You lean against a large rock at the entrance of the valley, too tired to even consider the glittering tangerine of cor lapis peeking out between the rocks. It is in that moment, as you are catching your breath, that you catch the murmurs of male voices carried with the wind.

“Look—I think that’s them…!”

“A-are you sure? If we mess this up that m-masked man might come back and…”

You abruptly straighten up, brows furrowing at the words and fearful tone of the voices. Why did they sound so afraid? Was it because of this “masked man?” The only masked man you can think of is...

“Just hurry up and give it to them so we can get the hell out of here!”

You are startled into a fighting stance at the sound of footsteps coming towards you.

Finally, a small group of burly men round the corner of the large rock you were just resting against, all wearing the familiar variations of martial arts or farming clothing and masks synonymous with treasure hoarders in Liyue. To your surprise however, rather than angry or smug as the hoarders usually looked, the men before you all appear disheveled and wide eyed, some even visibly trembling as if they’d seen a ghost. All look at you with wide eyes, as if you personally had struck the fear of the archons within them. The largest man, who you presume to be their leader, steps forward and you take a cautious step back, raising your blade in defense.

“No, wait—we don’t want to fight you,” the man quickly says, causing you to furrow your brows in skepticism.

“H-here, this is all of it, we swear!”

You fumble when the man throws a large bag at you, nearly dropping your sword to catch it. The bag itself is unassuming, a brown and slightly stained burlap sack, but you can already guess the contents based on the weight and clunky shape. Glancing up you find the men all staring at you expectantly, seemingly awaiting your approval as if their life depended on it.

Cautiously, you open the bag, finding a single blue and silver goblet inside along with a few bird’s feathers and a silver cricket lined with jewels—Jifang’s stolen artifacts.

“Y-ya see? It’s all there! We learned our lesson—we promise we’ll never steal again,” one of the men stammers, the group already stepping back as if ready to bolt.

“Wait a second—” you try, stepping forward.

To your shock the men startle like wild animals, recoiling from you as if you’ll attack them at any moment.

“H-here, take these too,” one of the men in the back shouts, throwing down a bronze coin. You immediately recognize it as a treasure hoarder’s insignia—something a hoarder only gives up if they have been defeated in battle. And yet, soon all of the men are throwing their own down as well, letting them land around your feet like an offering before the men all turn heel and abruptly book it, running down hill as if an evil spirit were hot on their tails despite your calls.

Thoroughly baffled by the whole exchange you crouch down to pick up the tokens—that is when you realize the land looks familiar. The same patchiness and jagged cuts plague the grass here as it did the hilichurl camp you had seen earlier. In fact, the pattern felt familiar to something you had seen only a few times before: the aftermath of a particularly powerful anemo used by a particularly powerful masked “man”...

“Xiao!”

Your voice echoes slightly around the wooden hallway as you stumble your way to the top balcony, eager to confront the adeptus. Your chest is heaving as you attempt to catch your breath, having practically ran all the way to Wangshu Inn from Liyue harbor after hastily collecting your commission rewards.

The air is silent for a few moments, the only sound coming from your own harsh breaths before a calm, deep voice startles you from behind.

You whip around to face him.

“You’re so noisy, ” Xiao complains, arms crossed and expression mildly annoyed.

While the greeting would be hardly encouraging under any normal circumstance, you feel you have grown close enough to Xiao to understand his words hold no true malice—or perhaps you’re just really good at ignoring it.

“Xiao,” you repeat much more calmly than before. You eye him cautiously as you speak your next words, trying to gauge his reaction.

“What did you do today?”

His expression gives nothing away, remaining neutral and closed off—unreadable—as he replies monotonously.

“The work of the adepti is not something mortals could ever understand nor need to know.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the typical, very Xiao-like response.

“Well did you happen to decimate any hilichurl camps in the Dihua Marsh? Or mentally scar any treasure hoarders around Jueyen Karst? The hilichurl camp I was supposed to take down was already gone when I got there and the treasure hoarders I talked to were acting really weird—there was also a lot of collateral damage. It almost felt like someone was sabotaging my commissions…”

Xiao’s expression promptly sours, seeming slightly offended by your unspoken accusation.

“I have no interest in the work of an adventurer, ” he spits out, the word itself seeming to leave a bad taste in his mouth, “I am dedicated to my adept duties, nothing more and nothing less.”

Xiao speaks in a way that leaves no room for protest and you finally give up with a small sigh, turning away from him to gaze over the view from the balcony instead. It was true—there would be no reason for Xiao to trouble himself with doing your dumb little daily commissions when he faces much larger, more powerful monsters on the daily. Moreover, why would Xiao target you specifically? As much as you like to think you’re special, you’re really just one of many humans and Xiao does not seem like the type to hold personal vendettas or enjoy watching people suffer. It was foolish to even think he had anything to do with what happened today, you mentally scold yourself.

Despite the summer season, a cool breeze rustles through your hair and clothing, encouraging your shoulders to release a tension you didn’t even realize you had. Your smile at the calmness of the night, oblivious to the watchful eye of the adeptus next to you.

His duty as an adeptus is to defend the people of Liyue but somehow along the way ensuring your protection has become a personal duty he takes very seriously.

#Xiao #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #xiao imagine #xiao scenario #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact scenario

[petals-and-bullets]

Monarch

Pairing: Izzy Stradlin x Reader

Word Count: 732

Info: Partner fic to this moodboard! King Jeffrey was the Tyrant King. He had no claim to the throne aside from his desire to own what was coveted by many others - and alongside it came with the desire for blood. A summons certainly meant death; or so it was believed.

Many a great monarch had taken their throne through blood. Of course, they were known more as a usurper than a monarch, but it made little difference. A crown was a crown, and whoever wore that crown ruled the country. It was just the way it worked.

Of course, that was how it was meant to be. Often, several claims to the throne would be announced - be it through someone who claimed to be a distant nephew or cousin of some long-dead royal, or someone who was promised the throne by a royal who had no son to carry on the line.

King Jeffrey was not one of those men.

Rather, he was the kind of man who saw something that others coveted, and he took it, as though it was as simple as that. He had no claim aside from his desire for the control, and his determination to win a war that had caused five years of bloodshed since he landed on the soil.

The screams of the widowers and the dying soldiers had haunted his dreams following that moment, and yet Jeffrey – or rather Izzy, as he was known to his closest advisors – had held his tongue, and had acted like it was part of common life. As if he had done that every day since he could walk.

And perhaps that was true. Nobody really knew.

So, whenever a summons was issued, for this person or that person to be presented in front of him, it would be presumed that they’d never be seen again. Wills were written, families were given final goodbyes, and they were off. It was rare for them to return, and your heart dropped when one of those familiar wax-sealed letters had been delivered to you. You wanted, with all your heart, to avoid visiting the King, but you knew that the second summons would come with an armed guard to escort you fully to the palace.

You weren’t prepared to be forced to your knees in the shadow-filled throne room, the only visible part of the king that you could see where his feet, the dark leather of his boot tapping against the marble floor. Though he had yet to speak, you knew that there was something that had displeased him – if anything, his silence spoke more than any words would have done. A quick glance around the room allowed you to see the rest of his inner circle; the tall blonde who was part of his personal guard, the curly haired man who had seemingly appeared from nowhere who was supposedly his own doctor. Though you’d heard enough to suspect that he did more than heal, but there was no evidence to prove otherwise.

The echoed sound of the boot tapping against the floor rang through your ears, and your heart leaped into your throat as the man before you stood. The lack of words between you were deafening, but the utter silence was even worse; even the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears was ignored as the King – the man who would most certainly demand your head, for some reason or another – stepped off the dais and into the light, his hazel eyes glinting in the dying sunlight that had pierced the room through the stained glass windows. Images of Christ and other biblical features cast coloured streams across the floor, and you watched as the brown leather of his boots approached you.

A finger under your chin guided you to look up at him, and you struggled to swallow the whimper that threatened to claw out from under your throat as he regarded you with that cool gaze. As he opened his mouth, you closed your eyes and braced yourself for the death sentence to be uttered, only to have your breath caught in your throat as he spoke the exact opposite of what you expected.

“You will be a good spouse. I expect you to understand your duties, hm?” He released your chin and left you kneeling in the centre of the room, the oak doors slamming behind him as the rest of his court watched you almost eagerly, as if they expected you to jump from joy and pure excitement at the thought you were to be married to the Tyrant King.

They obviously weren’t expecting the scream of terror that left your throat.

#izzy stradlin #izzy stradlin x reader smut #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses au #gnr fic #guns n roses fanfiction #tudor guns series #i'm back baby

[ladyfogg]

Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary:  After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist. 

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater​ and @kitwalker02​. 

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve. 

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is. 

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one. 

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better. 

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked. 

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask. 

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds. 

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient. 

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you. 

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face. 

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death. 

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop. 

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages. 

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk. 

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return. 

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away.  He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head.  “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair. 

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers. 

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk. 

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon. 

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell. 

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet. 

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders. 

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back. 

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon. 

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.  

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

#kit walker #evan peters #ahs asylum #kit walker x reader #kit walker x you

[itsclydebitches]

so ironwood was confirmed to be dead by Miles in a $42 cameo session, where the person who bought it had asked for "comforting words to soothe our anguished souls" bc she was an ironwood fan and wanted a pick-me-up after that devastating finale. miles' response was to essentially mock his fans (it really sounded like that, especially since he ended with "thank you jimmy, may you rest in pieces, crushed beneath the weight of the kingdom you tried so hard to hold up above your head."

apparently the VA, jason rose, confirmed it in DMs w the same fan who sent in the cameo ask. so like, quite apart from how rude and disrespectful it was of miles to make a mockery of james in a cameo where he'd been specifically asked for comforting words regarding the character, ngl but i think that if you have to confirm a MAJOR CHARACTER is dead outside of canon bc you failed to actually show it on screen.....you've failed as a writer. and also that kind of thing shouldn't be confirmed in an expensive and exclusive interview lmao like how hard would it have been to just talk about good aspects to james' character instead of calling him a dickbag and saying 'don't do a genocide, guys!!'

it reeks of unprofessionalism and also it just makes everything surrounding ironwood's character arc even worse since apparently 'his fate was sealed' from the moment he was introduced to the show.

Me, who received the first Moderna shot yesterday (🎉 🎉 🎉 ): Ugh I feel too crappy to answer asks today

Me, upon hearing this news: You know, I have suddenly found an untapped source of energy

Okay, all joking aside, I watched the vid and it’s definitely a lot. I don’t have any information about the request itself except for what Miles mentions in the recording, so I can’t speak to what the fan may have been looking for outside of that, but some highlights include: 

“This is for the filth in my degenerate discord server” - Yeah, that’s how a lot of us (fans) talk about ourselves. It sounds like someone who really enjoys Ironwood and makes joking, self-deprecating comments about their love of a character. That’s familiar to me and speaks to the expectation that they hoped for something other than what they got. At least, if I’d sent in a request like that I wouldn’t be happy with the vid, but that’s obviously my own perspective and not this fan’s. I’d be very curious to know their own thoughts though... 

“Sometimes a character we like doesn’t make it, does something we don’t agree with... or both!” - That is indeed how characters work! The real question is whether their death/actions make sense within the story, which is not addressed here. Many fans who enjoyed Ironwood don’t have a problem with him dying or turning into a villain  — I’ve been honest about my acceptance of either/both, regardless of personal preference, provided it was written well  — and that was always the issue. Not what happened to Ironwood, but how it happened. 

“James Ironwood’s fate was sealed the moment his character was conceived many years ago.” - Personally, I don’t believe this. RT makes a lot of grand, sweeping statements about what’s been planned “for years” or “since the beginning” and too often we’re faced with writing that directly contradicts that. Though it’s unlikely we’ll ever know the truth, neither option paints the writing team in a good light. Either they’re straight up lying about what’s been planned (or twisting tossed out possibilities into assurances after the fact. For example, someone once suggested Ironwood might become a villain somehow at some point and now that’s presented as, ‘We’ve deliberately been working towards this specific ending for years’), or they’re being truthful and just... can’t write what they want to write. It doesn’t sound good when a writer says, ‘I’ve planned this the whole time’ and a good chunk of the fandom responds, ‘Then why couldn’t we see that planning this whole time?’ 

“When James was introduced we intentionally made him look like kind of a big dickbag, but then we realized that dickbag had a heart and was also half metal, and that was pretty cool!” - I don’t even know what to make of this. I’ve deconstructed his introduction before, but to summarize here, he’s presented as no more of a “dickbag” than Ozpin who may not be doing enough to protect the people, Winter who allowed herself to get taunted into a fight on campus, or Qrow who deliberately started that fight while drunk. Glynda is the only one who is arguably innocent here. The implication seems to be that obviously Ironwood became a villain because “we intentionally made him look like kind of a big dickbag” but then... does that mean Qrow will become a villain too someday?? 

The comments about them realizing he had a heart and was half metal just speak to that lack of planning. No, you obviously didn’t plan this downfall from the start if you “realized” something as basic as him caring for others partway through writing him and then allowed that care to drive his character for so long that the decent into villainy read as OOC, rather than inevitable. You obviously weren’t writing him with a backstory that influenced his character  — of which his semblance is a major part  — if you “realized” he was half-metal... whenever that happened. The fact that we never saw that backstory, or the semblance on screen, or returned to his half-metal nature outside of a ‘That’s coding for evilness’ theme again speaks to the fact that either a) none of this was actually planned or b) the execution is seriously lacking here. 

“Let us all take a moment to thank General James Ironwood for his service to the Kingdom of Atlas, but... at the end of the day, don’t do a genocide [laughs]” - I’m having trouble articulating why I dislike this. I’m really too tired to be unpacking this right now (lol), but it has something to do with  — as you say, anon  — that mocking tone. Something else to do with the surge of purity culture in recent years. The tone feels like it’s tied up in an unsaid, ‘You like the character who tried to commit genocide?’ accusation when, you know, he’s a fictional character. People can like characters who do bad things. More significantly, he’s a fictional character Miles wrote. There’s something particularly distasteful about writers who feel like they’re laughing at fans for liking something when they created the thing with the intent that we would like it. And many did. So they gave attention, time, money, passion, etc. to the work and then when that part of the work finished, the creator appears to make light of that investment? Idk, I’m speaking about more than just this one line  — the tone of the vid as a whole, really — but it feels much less like “You enjoy Ironwood! 😄” and more “You enjoy Ironwood...  😬” Like yeah, fans enjoyed the character that you wanted them to enjoy who you wrote to have a heart and then suddenly commit genocide instead. There’s definitely nothing complicated in all that. 

“Thank you, Jimmy. May you rest in pieces crushed beneath the weight of the kingdom you tried so hard to hold above your head. Amen.” - All of the above x2 with the added issue that this was never shown on screen. Miles presents Ironwood’s arc like this seven year long plan when in fact they couldn’t even manage the basic move of telling the audience what happened to the character in his final hour. The fact that a fan had to pay to find out whether Ironwood is dead is not a gold star for the writing. 

Every time the RWBY crew speaks about the story in supplementary material the canon itself gets worse. Hyping Clover/Qrow on social media pushes the canon closer to queerbaiting. We’re way closer to that with them hyping Blake/Yang. Long ago comments about Ozpin’s cane suddenly make Volume 8 a retcon. A Q&A about Ironwood’s semblance makes his arc a thousand times more confusing about how we’re supposed to read his character  — to name just a few. Now this. When a friend first told me this info had dropped I thought, “Thank god. He’s not coming back then. I don’t want them writing Ironwood’s character anymore,” but really... can we believe anything the crew says? “Crushed beneath the weight of his kingdom” doesn’t mean Ironwood won’t show up in Volume 9 if it’s a spirit world type adventure. It doesn’t mean he won’t show up three years from now with even more metal in his body and a, “We said he was crushed, not that he was dead ;)” explanation. Hell, it doesn’t even mean he won’t show up with no explanation at all because, as established, what’s said in supplementary works and what happens on screen are two entirely separate things. Iffy as the vid may come across to those who did like Ironwood, I was initially happy that it at least gave us some closure... but now I’m not even sure about that. 

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #Anonymous

[breathlessmorro]

*emerging from the depths of hiatus to get a sip of that destiNY* oo how about college AU shenanigans? i'm not good at prompts sorry >.<

You ask - you shall receive!

Synopsis - For years, Morro has been forced to put up with Kai's annoying antics in class, leaving him with a bad permanent record and even worse temper. However, things aren't exactly how they appear.

College Isn't Easy, They Said.

Morro grinded his teeth together as he fought to keep quiet, diligently taking his notes and trying to remember what his professor was saying. His handwriting may have been more harsh than it usually was, but at least he was managing to stay calm and collected. Already, he had half of Professor Chen's lecture condensed into clear and concise notes that could make a PowerPoint Presentation beam with pride. Not as easy a task as it might seem with the idiot next to him. 

Kai Smith - as always - had his earbuds in and was completely ignoring the lesson. Not that the earbuds did much to silence the irritatingly loud and obnoxious music blaring from the mini-speakers. In fact, Morro often wondered if Kai had such a big listening problem because of the volume in the first place. The aggressive tempo of drums and guitar were grating on Morro's nerves every single day, and he had to fight to keep his cool. He wasn't even sure why Kai was taking a psychology class in the first place when his major wasn't even related to it. It seemed Kai's presence served no purpose other than to annoy; and annoy it did. 

Things had been like this for years now. Morro would find out he had a class with Kai, and of course was forced to sit next to him. Showing even an ounce of distaste meant that Kai would take it as an invitation to try and distract Morro in any way possible. Whether it be tapping a pencil, playing footsie, or like now, listening to deafening metal music that he didn't even like, Kai was determined to get Morro in trouble. He took every single opportunity to try and make him look bad. The amount of times where he succeeded didn't matter, only that Morro's hatred for the smug grin that followed worsened with every passing day. 

This year, Morro had sworn it wasn't going to happen. Freshmen in college did not shout at their classmates in the middle of a lecture, and Morro couldn't afford to look bad in front of the faculty here. Not while his father was the dean of the university. 

So once again, he gathered his steely resolve, and brought his attention back to Chen's lecture about Elemental Envy, a condition where a person became obsessed with elemental powers to the point of violence. An ironic subject for him to teach about, Morro had once thought. Though any logical thinking had left him once he'd seen Kai make a beeline for him that morning. It had of course returned with the lecture regarding jealousy over a certain elemental ability leading some to aggression. 

Sensing that Morro was gaining some moral high ground, Kai decided that right then was an appropriate moment to lean over and whisper to him. 

"Sound like someone we know?" he snickered, causing Morro to shoot a nasty glare at him before turning back to his notes.

Clearly unsatisfied with the reaction, he tried again. 

"C'mon, that was funny." Morro didn't think it was. "Lighten up."

Morro felt his eyebrow twitch. He was fairly certain that meant he was stressed. 

He counted the seconds of sweet and glorious silence before he could hear Kai scoot closer again. Without the earbud in his ear, the music was slightly louder than before. Not that it was catching Chen's attention yet of course. 

He made it five seconds even. "Think there's some kind of green ninja envy?"

Oh. Low blow. 

"You're one to talk," Morro hissed at him, keeping his eyes firmly on his notes. It wasn't lashing out if it was just one statement, he reasoned with himself. "You were obsessed at one point too."

He quickly cursed himself for humoring Kai's jab once he saw the beaming grin across his face. On a good day, that kind of comment would have ticked Kai off to where he would be the one to cause a disturbance, but it seemed Kai came to class armed with patience today. A rare feat. Morro vaguely considered congratulating him. 

Shrugging nonchalantly, Kai leaned back in his seat. "At least I didn't bully my own cousin." Of course, this argument again. 

"Can't you leave it alone?" Morro bit back, glancing in Kai's direction before looking back to his notes. "That was in high school. I don't even-"

"What was that, Morro?" Ah shit. "Do you have something you want to share?"

Chen's high-pitched voice was tolerable when it wasn't directed at anyone specific, but the way Chen's said someone's name made it a thousand times more irritating. Seriously, did he just hate his students or something? Why even become a professor? 

Meeting his eyes, Morro shook his head, leaning back into his seat. "No, sorry," he answered. "Just thinking out loud."

Chen raised a brow at the excuse. Clearly he hadn't bought it. Especially not when Kai had already scooted back into his own seat, pretending to be writing his own notes. 

What a guy. 

"Well keep the thinking to a minimum. Others would like peace and quiet."

No fucking shit, Morro thought to himself as he nodded. One Chen's back was turned, he glared at Kai again, before looking to see how many notes he'd missed. 

Seriously, this couldn't be allowed to go on much longer. Morro had to change classes. 

***

"Seriously?! There's no other -"

"If you want to stay in psychology, that is the only available class."

"But he's -"

"In the same study program as you are."

"Ugh!" Morro slumped in his seat, covering his face with his hands. He'd thought complaining to Wu would be enough to convince him to get out of the class, but apparently none of Chen's other periods had room for another elemental master. The Elemental Study Program was created for elemental masters across Ninjago who wished to learn more about their abilities. It offered an advanced learning course for those enlisted, and also kept them in classes together. Which meant there was also a limit on how many were placed in a class to, "keep other students safe." As if they were a threat. The program had become a lot less separate from other students once When had taken over, but there was still a lot to be improved on. 

Wu gave Morro a sympathetic look before clearing his throat. "I understand why you have your reservations about Kai, but surely he's not distracting you too much." Morro pulled his hands away from his eyes to see Wu typing something on his computer. Leaning over the desk to see what it was, he narrowed his brows when he noticed his grade book being pulled up on the monitor. "Your grades are as excellent as ever."

Morro huffed as he sat back in his seat, crossing his arms and blowing a strand of hair from his face. "My permanent record isn't," he grumbled. "Any shot I have at a future job could be completely erased once people hear about how, 'disruptive,' and, 'disrespectful,' I am in a formal setting. You don't understand how frustrating it is to have a professor automatically hate you when you haven't even done anything wrong yet."

"You're right, I don't." Wu set his elbows down on the desk, resting his chin on his hands and gazing over Morro thoughtfully. "But have you ever considered asking Kai why he likes to antagonize you?"

"I think it's obvious," Morro scoffed. He averted his eyes from Wu and uncrossed his arms, swallowing hard when he spoke again. "It's because of how I treated Lloyd in high school. I know it wasn't right, but I stopped, didn't I? And I apologized. But Kai just wants to get me in trouble."

Wu hummed, a consideration sound before setting his hands down. "Well if Lloyd has already forgiven, why would Kai continue to seek you out?"

"I don't know, probably because he hates me?"

"Now don't jump to conclusions," Wu chuckled, shaking his fondly at Morro's pout. "How about you ask him yourself? I know your next class isn't for a few hours. Surely you could track him down and confront him."

Morro thought it over. Sure, confronting Kai would give Morro the chance he needed to speak his mind without reprimand, but it could also mean making things worse between them. Morro's relationship with Lloyd was rocky enough as it was, and that was mostly because of how he and Kai were always at each other's throats. He didn't need to make it worse. Then again, he could also find a way to get Kai to stop for good, and his permanent record could have a chance to recover. 

He groaned, dropping his head against the back of the chair before meeting Wu's gaze again. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll try to talk to him. But," he narrowed his eyes at Wu and pointed at him, "don't think it's gonna magically fix things. He's stubborn and an ass."

"That's two things you have in common already." Wu smiled at him. "Now go on, shoo. I have some papers to file and unless you want to help me-"

Morro was already out the door. 

***

He found Kai sitting with two other students in the courtyard, their elements on display for all to see. At first, he wasn't sure who the other two were, before recognizing them as Jay and Nya. Morro didn't talk to Nya that much, but he was all too familiar with his cousin, Jay. Their delightful family reunion hadn't been that delightful, and so they barely spoke to each other. 

Taking a deep breath in through his nose, Morro gathered the remnants of his courage and patience before stepping towards them. He stopped right behind Kai, and cleared his throat to get his attention. 

Kai turned around with a gleeful expression, which quickly morphed into something more smug. "What's up, breezy?"

Morro rolled his eyes, and caught Nya doing the same before he opened his mouth. "Hi. Jay, Nya, can I borrow him for a moment?"

"I dunno," Jay squinted at him. "You gonna bring him back?"

"Only if I want to."

"Ha!" Kai grinned at him, extinguishing the small flame in his hand. "Like you're gonna get the chance. Be back in a sec, guys."

Brushing off his pants, he rose to his feet, meeting Morro's gaze. As always, Kai met his stare with defiance and smugness. Morro hated it, but he had to get this over with sooner or later. His reputation seriously depended on it. His sanity too. Morro gestured for Kai to follow him, and started walking away from the crowded campus grounds. 

"So what's so urgent you just had to pull me away from my friends, huh?" Kai asked as they made their way through the crowd of students. Morro's brow quirked upwards at the laid back question, as if Kai really had no idea why Morro would want to talk to him. 

Exhaling through his nose, Morro rolled his eyes. "What do you think, Kai?" he scoffed at him. "I need you to stop annoying me during class. It's distracting and I can't afford that."

Morro winced as Kai barked out a laugh. "Seriously dude?" The latter shook his head, his entire body shaking with uncontained amusement. "That's it? I thought it was something important, like Wu needed my help with something."

"If he needed your help, why wouldn't he just tell you himself?"

"I don't know," Kai shrugged. "I don't understand anything he does, honestly."

Morro glanced over his shoulder to give Kai a dirty look. "So you think he'd just ask me, when he knows I literally hate everything about you, to tell you about some important mission?"

Again, Kai's shoulders shrugged. "Wouldn't be the weirdest - wait." Kai stopped walking, prompting Morro to stop as well. He turned around, fully prepared to snap at Kai for stopping when he caught his expression. "You hate me?"

Kai's normally mischievous and vibrant brown eyes were suddenly clouded with - well, Morro didn't know what. His smug little grin was gone, and his shoulders had gone completely tense. Any biting comeback Morro could have come up with died on his tongue, and he hesitated before answering. 

"Well, I guess it's a pretty strong word for it, but I don't exactly like you." Morro shifted slightly, suddenly feeling uneasy. "All you do is annoy me and get in trouble. We're not friends, and we don't talk outside of classes or the program."

The uneasy feeling crawled up Morro's throat as Kai's shoulders fell, his eyes downcast and melancholy. "Right. Sorry about that." He rubbed at his arm awkwardly before walking again. "Is that what you wanted to talk about then?"

Taken aback by the sudden change in atmosphere, it took Morro a second before he too started moving. The crowd of students had decreased rapidly, leaving them alone at the edge of campus grounds. He considered Kai's words before answering them, careful not to set him off. 

"Kind of, I guess." He sighed, before shaking his head. "I just want you to stop, okay? I know you're only doing it because of how I used to treat Lloyd, but I'm not like that anymore. We made up and moved on." He met Kai's gaze firmly, ignoring the warning bells that were ringing in the back of his head once he saw the disappointment reflected back at him. "So why didn't you?"

Kai sputtered for a moment, shaking his head. "What? No, I - Okay, sure. That might have been how it started, but I thought that…" He trailed off, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck and averting his eyes. "Once you apologized, I thought we were just fighting for fun. I didn't know you were still taking it personally."

"Personally?" Morro raised a brow at him. "How could I not? Every single day, it's always, 'remember when you did this?' and just constant jabs from you. What else could it have been?"

"I don't know, maybe - " Kai cut himself off before shaking his head. "No, forget it. I'm sorry, I should have been paying more attention. That's my fault."

"A little bit," Morro deadpanned. 

Kai winced at that, and Morro could tell that it had stung. Maybe he should have been more careful, but Kai was confusing him now, and he didn't like being confused. He stayed quiet as Kai stared into space for a moment, considering leaving when Kai spoke again. 

"Listen; after you and Lloyd made up, I realized I kind of like messing with you," he said softly, crossing his arms and refusing to meet Morro's eyes again. "I mean, you never just let me, so it kind of felt like a fun game. Everything I threw at you, you just matched super easily. I really liked messing with you, and I thought that…"

As Kai trailed off once again, Morro finally caught a glimpse of his face. A bright red blush spread from Kai's nose and cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. His stance was awkward and nervous, shoulders tense and head down. At first, Morro thought that this was the beginning to a very good apology, but now it was starting to seem like something else entirely. 

Taking a deep breath in, Kai finally met Morro's eyes, with enough conviction in them to make the latter freeze in place. 

"I thought that you liked me too."

Oh. Oh. 

Thinking back to every conversation they'd ever had, yeah. It was easy for Morro to see how Kai had come to that conclusion. All those attempts at getting each other's attention, the games to test each other's patience until one of them snapped. Of course Kai liked him. That was how every guy acted around their crush. Morro couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. 

Guys were stupid. 

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Morro could see Kai staring at him almost nervously, like he was waiting for someone to shout at him. Clearing his throat, Morro opened his mouth. 

"I…" Very articulate. "Oh. I didn't think of it like that I guess," he shrugged, not really knowing how to respond. "I was so busy getting mad at you, I thought… Well, you know what I thought."

"Yeah," Kai sighed, shaking his head. "I do. I'm sorry, I should have - "

"Wait!" Morro couldn't let Kai finish, not with the way this conversation appeared to be heading. "I never once said that I was against it."

That took Kai by surprise, and it showed. His shoulders dropped, his eyes went wide, and he stared at Morro for a moment before shaking his head. "But you said you hated me!"

"I also said that was a really strong word."

"So you do like me?"

Morro held up his hands. "I didn't say that either," he said, a small smile sneaking its way into his expression. Knowing that Kai had actually been crushing on him this whole wasn't an entirely unpleasant thing, actually. Morro had eyes. He knew Kai was a real piece of work when he wasn't busy being annoying. "But… I don't think I'd be opposed to trying something new."

Kai's grin practically swallowed his face, and Morro could only imagine how sore it must have made his cheeks. "Alright, something new." He hesitantly stepped closer, the blush returning in full force. "I can work with that."

"Good." Morro stepped closer to him as well, before his smile turned serious. "But don't think you can get away with annoying me every day now. Being cute is only going to get you so fa - "

Kai cut him off, pressing his lips gently to Morro's before pulling away with a smile. 

"You talk too much."

Morro grinned, before pulling Kai back into another kiss. 

Yeah, he could work with this. 

#kai smith #morro #kai x morro #morro ninjago #kai ninjago #destinyshipping ninjago #firestorm ninjago #windflame #sensei wu #master wu #college!au #breathless writes

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue pt.2

Tag List: @jinxqsu​ @cakesarecute @naps-and-lemons​ @mainlynonsense @riddles-wifey​ 

He’s looking at you as though he knows you, as though he sees something familiar in you. The thought makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand on end. He reaches out, cups your cheek gently and then lets his hand drop to his side. “Show me the spell.”

You spend the next week swinging wildly between panic and resignation. You can’t figure out why Riddle wouldn’t go to the Headmaster - he’s Head Boy. As far as you’re aware, he’s never broken a rule in his entire academic career and it’s no secret the kind of company he keeps. So why on earth would he allow you to get away with what you’ve done? It’s this question that sends you half-mad with paranoia and anxiety. You see Lestrange glowering at you whenever you pass him and there’s a large part of you that’s beginning to suspect that Riddle hasn’t told any of the professors because he and Lestrange are planning something far worse than expulsion for you. Revenge is the only explanation you can think of.

 Melanie, bless her, remains blissfully unaware of the fact that you’re spiralling into a vortex of paranoia and worry. She chats happily to you over breakfast on Thursday morning about George Warrington, about how he’s been a perfect gentleman so far. He pulls her chair out for her in the lessons they share together, offers her his cloak when she complains about the cold, laughs at her jokes even when they’re not funny. You smile and nod and hum your happiness for her in all the right places but your eyes remain fixed on the Slytherin table across from you. 

You absently take a sip of your tea and almost spit it back out when Riddle suddenly looks up from his breakfast and meets your eye, as though he knew you’d been watching him this whole time. He cocks his head to the side and even from this distance you can see the amused smirk playing on his lips. He raises his glass up and inclines his head slightly in a mock toast. A toast to what? Your idiocy for cursing Lestrange in public? The knowledge he has over you? Your impending demise? He takes a long sip of his drink and you don’t want to notice (but do anyway) the elegant column of his neck, the shift in his throat as he swallows. He maintains eye contact and smirks, a thumb rising to dab at his mouth. You’re gaze snaps to your porridge in front of you and ignore the way your cheeks feel suddenly hot.

“Are you alright? You look rather flushed,” Melanie asks, finally halting her increasingly giddy descriptions of George’s skill with his broom to look at you quizzically.  

“Mmm, fine. Just, you know tired. Dreading Herbology. The usual.” She purses her lips in a way that suggests she doesn’t quite believe you but you’re saved from having to answer any of her questions when George makes an appearance next to him. She beams up at him and you watch with mild nausea as he kisses her on the mouth. You’re no prude by any means, but watching your best friend and her new beau learn the crevices of each others’ mouths before nine o’clock is a little much. You cough a little pointedly but Melanie is evidently too distracted to notice so, with a roll of your eyes, you grab your satchel and head for the exit. 

You’ve still got another half an hour before Herbology starts but it’s a nice day so you settle down on one of the stone benches by the greenhouses and pull out the book you’ve been reading. It’s a deceptively thin, nondescript text and you’ve read it cover-to-cover at least three times already. Still, it’s one of the most useful books you’ve found on breaking down spell components to their most fundamental parts. You’re so engrossed in your reading that you don’t acknowledge the person who has just sat down beside you. 

A flash of gold and onyx obscures the print and Riddle is plucking the book from your hands. “Excuse me, I was reading that,” You squawk, making a grabbing motion to retrieve your book. Riddle looks entirely unperturbed, he’s lounging out on the stone bench, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks positively regal. He ignores you as his eyes flick rapidly over the page you’d just been reading. “Do you mind?” And maybe it isn’t particularly smart of you to snap at him the way you are. He has more than enough ammunition against you to ruin your life and the fact that he hasn’t yet only serves to make you warier of him. But you hate people touching your things. It reminds you too much of all the times in your first few years at Hogwarts when little snot-nosed purebloods had taunted you by messing with your things. 

“Not particularly, no,” He says at last and you don’t like the amusement that laces his voice. You don’t like it one bit. It reminds you that when you peel back the layers of good manners and cultivated gentility, Tom Riddle is just as snakelike as the rest of his house. “This is an interesting choice,” He continues as if he’s oblivious to your less than charitable feelings towards him. “Though perhaps less surprising considering your, ah, extracurricular pursuits, no?” He hums in amusement at the shuddering sigh that escapes you. 

“Speaking of those pursuits, I’d like it if you would meet me after dinner tonight. Eight o’clock by the statue of Artemisia Lufkin.” The way he says it, you can tell it’s more of a demand than anything else, but something that looks suspiciously like uncertainty flickers across his expression before he can hide it. Despite yourself, you find yourself oddly endeared.

Part of you (the sensible part of you that you should really start listening to more often) wants to protest and make an excuse but you remember the position you’re in - the position you only have yourself to blame for - and are forced to swallow your reservations. At your very small, very reluctant nod, Riddle smiles widely, eyes gleaming with unspoken triumph. “Lovely, I look forward to it.” 

When he hands your book back to you, his fingers brush yours and linger for just a moment too long.

***

“What? No. No, absolutely not.” You’re staring in horror at the cage that Riddle has placed on the desk in front of you. Inside the cage, there’s a large fluffy cottontail rabbit. It’s nose twitches. It’s very cute. From somewhere behind you, Riddle sighs in exasperation.

“You realise that to demonstrate your spell for me, there will have to be a living target?” You wrinkle your nose at the patronising tone he uses. “And whilst I appreciate you might favour practising on Slytherins, I cannot in good conscience allow a repeat performance.”

“That was different,” You say and wince internally at the slight whine audible in your voice. “I’m not a sadist-”

“No, you’re not. That’s hardly what I was trying to say,” He cuts in, still amused, still pleasant, still utterly in control. He moves to your side, close enough that your arm brushes his, close enough to tell that despite the deceptive pleasantness, there's an undeniable air of excitement clinging to him. “Forgive me, but I’m finding it difficult to understand why you, a muggleborn, would spend time inventing such a spell and then test it out on a pureblood unless it was because there is a part of you that really does wish to inflict pain on those you deem worthy of it. Tell me, what got you interested in such dark magic to begin with? It’s hardly an interest commonly pursued by people of your status.”

You feel decidedly out of sorts at his appraisal of you. You don’t like to think of yourself as a violent person and you certainly don’t like that other people might see you as one. But it’s difficult to deny the obvious logic behind his questioning: you’d known exactly what that spell would do to Lestrange and you’d known that there would be a chance that it would do more damage than you’d intended. You just… hadn’t cared. You’d wanted him to suffer, to hurt, to feel fear as intimately as you have for years. You’d wanted him to look at you and know that he was lucky to be alive. “An interest in dark magic is hardly a statement of intent.” You say, at last, determinedly ignoring the fact that almost draining a man of all their blood in an abandoned dungeon probably is. He raises an eyebrow to let you know that the irony is hardly lost on him either and you sigh. 

“Magic is… You know the first time I performed accidental magic it was to smash my teacher’s favourite paperweight?” You can’t help but laugh at the memory. At the time you had been so angry over some perceived injustice that you can’t even remember anymore. She’d been so upset and seven year old you had been so pleased with yourself. “I think the second time I did the opposite - fixed a vase my mother had dropped. My point being, magic is about-”

“Intent,” He summarises softly, watching you with unabashed interest. “You don’t think there’s a distinction between light and dark magic.”

It’s not a question. You nod slowly in agreement anyway.“That spell could easily be used in conjunction with a blood replenishing potion as cure for blood diseases. And...” You trail off uncertainty setting in as you regard the boy in front of you. Riddle hasn’t shown you any animosity, on the contrary, he acts as though he wants to know you, as though he’s seen something in you that he likes. You feel like you could maybe trust him. “And I don’t feel guilty for defending myself against someone who’s told me that they want me dead just because of my heritage.”

You’re not sure what you’re expecting from Riddle, but it certainly isn’t the glint of recognition that sparks in his eyes. He’s looking at you as though he knows you, as though he sees something familiar in you. The thought makes the hairs on the back of your arms stand on end. Riddle fixes you with a look of such intensity that you can’t bare to look away. His eyes never leave yours as he reaches out and cups your cheek gently and you have to fight to keep your breathing steady. “You should never feel guilty for demonstrating your power against those weaker than you.”

He drops his hand and moves to stand behind you, closer than is strictly necessary. Leaning forward slightly, he murmurs in your ear, “Please, show me the spell.”

And this time, god help you, you do.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

#tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle imagines #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfic #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle fic #minific #jinxqsu

[firelxdykatara]

Re: your excellent recent metas on stanning Mako and semi-comparing/contrasting him with Katara, do you think Mako should have ever gotten his own TSR-style arc of seeking revenge on his parents’ killer? It’s something I’ve been thinking about ever since re-entering the ATLA/LOK fandom last year. Just, UGH, the wasted potential to use such an arc to really dig into Mako’s psyche and all the hardship he’s endured, and also make said hardship more front-and-center to his audience of antis who unfairly reduce him to a standoffish, philandering asshole. I understand not wanting to re-do TSR in LOK, but Mako deserved SOMETHING of that calibur for a character arc. What are your thoughts?

Oooooh this is a really good question, and it's something I hadn't really thought of before--which, I think, is part of the issue with LoK as a whole. If you'll forgive a bit of a tangent--in atla, we are constantly reminded about the losses that Sokka and Katara have suffered--not in any kind of heavy-handed way (no matter how much the Katara haters will whine about her mentioning their mother, even though they usually won't say boo about Sokka despite him mentioning their father at least as often)--because the narrative makes it very clear that it's something on their minds through everything else that happens. It shapes who they are, and informs a lot of the decisions they make. You can see this with Zuko, too, and the abuse he suffered from his father--even before it is revealed in The Storm, you know that something happened, and that maybe it's not such a great thing that he is desperate to 'regain' his honor and return home. And even Aang, though he only rarely is shown to actually grapple with it on screen, is a constant reminder to the world, as well as to the audience, of the consequences of the war, simply by virtue of being an airbender and the last living remnant of the Air Nomads.

By contrast, LoK doesn't do much with the traumas any of the main cast suffered, particularly not anything that happened prior to the start of the series. Mako has a deeply emotional conversation early on in the show about what happened to his parents, and what he witnessed as a small child, but nothing is ever made of this information. It provides a bit of context, and it allows fans like me who are dissatisfied with the way the show and fandom proceeded to treat him to dig deep and realize just how much he suffered and how much better he deserved--but as far as the show itself is concerned, that conversation was essentially flavortext. It doesn't mean much, the show doesn't seem interested in having Mako or Bolin reflect on their lives or even be shown to visibly mourn their parents (who never show up in so much as a single flashback). Even when they meet their paternal grandmother in book 3, nothing much is made of the connection (and when Bolin has to forcibly evacuate Yin from Ba Sing Se, she makes him wait for her to grab..... the picture of the dead Earth Queen, rather than the picture of her son and his family), other than Yin telling them why their father severed connection with his family and Mako choosing to give her his one memento of his parents.

And like... I get that was meant to be an emotional moment, but... his father chose to cut off all contact with his family. Whatever the reasons might have been, whether he might have changed his mind had he lived, the fact was that what he wanted from his life was to look to the future--to his wife (who he never bothered taking home to meet his parents) and to his children. I really don't think he would have wanted his mother to have his scarf instead of his son--especially not when she had memories of his entire life (adult memories!) to hold onto, while Mako only had the hazy memories of childhood and one physical token to cling to when those might not be enough.

Bolin is glad to suddenly have a huge family, when they meet their grandmother, but again... nothing really comes of this. At some point Bolin mentions that he used to dig through literal garbage for food, and this is played for laughs rather than taken as any kind of serious examination of his life before things changed. The show just doesn't care about the krew as individual characters, not really--they are moved about as needed for the Plot, jokes are occasionally made about their backgrounds, sometimes something is pulled out for an emotional tearjerker moment before never being referenced again (I mean, really, Grandma Yin is around for multiple episodes in book 3 and book 4, and neither Mako nor Bolin spend an episode just begging to hear about their father's childhood?), and... that's about it.

All of which is a very long-winded way of saying yes, I absolutely think that Mako should've gotten his own TSR-like episode. Obviously it shouldn't have been just a carbon-copy, or even necessarily occupy a similar niche in the show--while TSR is very much a Katara episode, it is also a Zuko and Katara episode, because whether you ship them or not, the episode is explicitly about not only Katara gaining closure for here mother's murder, but also about Katara working through her feelings regarding Zuko and choosing to forgive him. However, I absolutely believe that Mako should have been given a chance to confront his parents' murderer, and I think it's a crying shame that this never actually happened.

And the thing is, they wouldn't have even had to 'redo' TSR, any more than you consider Mako as a character to be a 'redo' of Katara just because they have similar childhood traumas--but what they very easily could have done is shown how that trauma lingers. Show Mako's complicated relationship with firebending (he really has no thoughts about his own element, when it is what killed his parents???) and with the Triads that he had to do work for to make ends meet as a teenager so that he could keep Bolin fed. Maybe he knows exactly which of the Triads was responsible for his parents' death--maybe the man's face is burned into his mind, appearing in his own nightmares so frequently he couldn't forget it if he tried.

Maybe he had to do a job for the man who killed his parents, and only the thought of Bolin going hungry or worse if Mako never came home kept him from attacking. Maybe that night, when he got home, after he made sure Bolin had something to eat and went to sleep, he threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach and then he kept retching, throat raw and eyes stinging, because every time he closed his eyes he saw that man's face and felt the hand that killed his parents clapping him on the back for a job well done.

Maybe the man who killed his parents is one of Amon's Triad victims, loses his bending and is pathetic and weak, and Mako struggles against the urge to roast him alive without a second thought. Maybe Korra is there, slowly putting the pieces together, wanting to speak up but knowing that this is Mako's pain and it's something she could never fully understand, believing with all her heart that he'll make the right choice... but still sighing with relief when Mako's shoulders slump, the fire goes out of his hands, and the man who killed his parents runs away.

Maybe, at the end of the book when she is restoring everyone's powers, the man who killed Mako's parents gets to the head of the line... and she refuses. Maybe that's ultimately his punishment. And maybe Mako is standing there, fists clenched against the still-simmering rage in his gut, teeth clenched against the urge to vomit, relaxing only when the man leaves--dejected, rejected and powerless--and smiling, because he can finally begin to heal and move on from the scars left behind by his parents' deaths, but the man who killed them will have to remember every single day for the rest of his life exactly why he's powerless.

Idk, I just think... it would really be neat if Mako had been allowed to get closure for what happened to his parents. It would be... neat. I'm not crying at all shut up.

#atla #lok #mako #mako meta #mako getting his own 'version' of tsr would honestly have been so good though #long post #devildogdemon #asked #lok critical

[satanwithboobs]

self-care | GN!MC x OM brothers

tw: mentions of reckless behavior, the brothers are demons so they essentially roofie MC but.. for their own good...? it’s not okay and I’m pretty sure Beel is the only one who feels like they did something wrong.

a/n: okay so this is really long (nearly 2,400 words), and it just sort of happened. mainly inspired by my history of reckless behavior when it comes to my health and my resolve not to let the stress of my upcoming week make me resort to bad habits. and before anyone wonders... the anecdote in the story? yeah that really happened. I gave myself stomach ulcers because I kept taking ibuprofen (it was for a horrible tooth ache) and I didn’t eat anything but saltines for days while I finished up a final project. word to the wise: don’t be like me. I’m dumb.

self care is important, everyone! I know a lot of people are starting school again, so please!!! take!! care!! of!!! yourselves!!

—

Lucifer was the first to notice something was up with MC, though initially he paid it no heed.

Naturally, he had always prided himself (of course) on his superior attention to detail, and

He had noticed them drinking cups of coffee and energy drinks a whole lot more often than usual, but given that finals were coming up, he figured they were simply trying to keep more awake for the sake of their studies.

None of this was healthy, of course, but he’d wait to scold them if it truly became worth his while to do so.

And so, he went on with his business, offering them advice as he had on many occasions before. He had even been kind enough to tutor them without the aid of his whip or his fire, something he would never do with any of his brothers. At one point he even let a snide comment under their breath go with just a stern warning.

He truly had gone soft, but he supposed it was best if he didn’t traumatize the human he and his brothers had formed such a strong bond with just for the sake of grades.

And while he had been the first to notice their new habits - all of his brothers had eventually caught on to what was going on.

It was the Saturday before finals that they all finally acknowledged that something needed to be done.

—

“They’re looking truly frightening!” Asmo exclaimed, and while typically his statements were brushed off by the rest as pure hyperbole, they all had to agree with this one. “They’ll get wrinkles in no time if they keep this up...”

“Yeah, somethin’ needs to be done,” Mammon commented, earning nods from his brothers — a truly rare occurrence in the House of Lamentation.

“Maybe I can plan a spa day!” Asmo interjected, an excited expression on his face.

“I don’t think havin’ ya feel ‘em up all day would help anythin,” Mammon grumbled, earning a scowl from the fifth-born in return.

“Perhaps...” Satan started.

“No,” Lucifer retorted, earning a look from the wrathful fourth-born.

He simply continued as if daggers weren’t being glared in his direction, “I don’t care how many times you try and paint it as a benefit for us all, you will not get a cat.”

Satan muttered something that sounded a lot like, “dammit,” under his breath, along with a couple of choice words that Lucifer ignored for the sake of pushing the conversation forward.

“I know! There’s this new TSL ultra-special extended-cut series box set that we can marathon! It has never-before-heard director commentary, along with a limited edition SIGNED replica of the—”

“That’s just gonna wind ‘em up even more!” The second-born responded, getting fed up with this already.

In truth, he was mainly irritated at himself for failing to notice that MC had gotten so bad. He was their first guy, he should’ve known!

“For once, I have to agree with Mammon,” the Avatar of Pride earned six dumbfounded looks with that, with Belphegor actually opening his eyes and Beelzebub nearly choking on the bite of food in his mouth.

“MC needs sleep, not distractions,” he went on without missing a beat, “I very much doubt they’ve had more than four hours of sleep in the last five days, so that must be our first priority.”

“How do you suggest we do that? It isn’t like MC will concede easy, we all know how stubborn they are,” Satan asked.

“Simple,” Lucifer proclaimed, as his gaze fell upon the youngest brother, who had already fallen into a deep slumber once again. “We use force.”

Upon feeling the eyes of all his brothers fall on him, Belphegor stirred, a single violet eye opening. He grumbled, not bothering to sit up properly as he regarded the eldest with a tired expression.

“What?”

—

Lucifer had explained the very simple two-step ‘plan’ to Belphegor (step no. 1, corner the human so they can’t slip away - step no. 2, Belphie makes them sleep), and they were about to begin discussing when to put their plan into motion when footsteps echoed outside the common room.

MC walked in, looking a bit more than a little worse for wear (while their clothes and hair looked fine given the circumstances, the bags under their eyes had become so prominent that they were basically their own entity at this point).

“Oh, that’s where you guys were. I was wondering why the place was so quiet,” they tried to joke, but it came out in such a monotone way that it just sounded more like a simple statement.

Their brow furrowed a bit when they got no response from the seven demons, but they shrugged it off and put their bag down on the table, beginning to take out the many books they were going to need. They’d been barricaded in their room for quite some time, but they had needed a change of scenery. Not to mention, their bed had been way too tempting...

The silence in the room was deafening - even in their bleary state they could tell something was off - so eventually they turned around to see six pairs of eyes scrutinizing their every move (Belphegor was asleep, which didn’t surprise them.

“You guys are starting to freak me out,” they stifled a yawn and moved to grab their coffee, in desperate need of another pick-me-up.

If they had any hope of grasping the concepts in Devildom Law, they’d need it—

They were confused when they didn’t find it where they had left it - on the table, two seconds earlier - but not so when they noticed that Lucifer had suddenly appeared right next to them, their coffee in hand.

“Uhh, Luci? Kinda need that,” they let out a laugh and outstretched their hand, silently asking for it back.

“No, you’re cut off,” he declared, earning a sigh from MC. It wasn’t like they had been caught dancing on the tables after a few too many shots of Demonus. It was just coffee.

“You guys are worried, aren’t you? Well, don’t be. It’s not like I haven’t done this sort of thing dozens of times before, I’ll be fine,” they tried to reassure, though in truth they had never been forced to study nearly as hard as they had for the classes at RAD.

“No, what yer gonna do is let us take care of ya’. Don’t ya trust us?” Mammon said gruffly, earning a look from the human.

“Yeah... you’re really fragile, being a human, and..” Beelzebub started, before trailing off with a frown, remembering they didn’t particularly like being told that. Even if it was objectively true.

“Seriously? I’m being lectured by a bunch of demons on healthy lifestyle choices?” They said, exasperated. “I already said, I’ve done so much worse before. Not sure if I ever mentioned it, but this one time I was up for three nights straight in college.. Gave myself stomach ulcers during finals week because all I had to eat was a sleeve of saltines and some ibuprofen—” they laughed a bit before realizing - upon seeing everyone’s concern only increase - maybe that particular story wasn’t the best one to tell right at that very moment.

MC turned back to Lucifer, shooting him a pleading look. “I need to do well on these finals, Lucifer. I’m not going to make you guys look bad by completely bombing them all.”

The look in his eyes softened for a moment, before he sent someone behind them a terse nod.

Of course, they figured out just a little too late that this was far more than simply a discussion about their unhealthy sleeping habits.

They didn’t even need to look behind them to feel the overwhelming presence of the youngest brother weighing down on them.

While Belphie had done this sort of thing to them once or twice on accident while taking a nap nearby, it had never felt this.. overpowering.

They shot Lucifer a look, and he responded with a somewhat sympathetic look of his own.

“You can’t be serious about...” they trailed off, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. “About.. this....”

MC soon fell into the waiting arms of the eldest, out like a light.

Lucifer let out a soft chuckle as he scooped them up bridal-style, giving a quick nod to Beelzebub who had picked up his twin the same way.

It was a side-effect of the youngest’s ability; he could make someone of his choosing fall into a deep sleep if he wanted, but he’d always do the same.

It was kind of annoying, but it wasn’t like he didn’t spend most of the time sleeping anyway. At least he had full control over how long the other person slept and would always wake at the same time they did.

Now that he thought about it, he’d have to find an excuse to do this again sometime. Naps were way less fun when the person you’re napping with insists on getting up before you wanted them to.

“Pretty sure that’s a record for Belphie,” Satan mused, “I’ve never seen someone pass out like that in less than 10 seconds.”

—

Beelzebub happily chomped down on the many food items he had been supplied with as he waited for his twin and MC to awaken.

The rest of his brothers would have hated having to wait so long, but as long as he had food and his two favorite people in front of him....

Beel looked up from his snack when he heard the pair stir.

An annoyed expression settled on MC’s face as they opened their eyes, completely erasing the peaceful look they held moments before.

Beel frowned, knowing they had a reason to be annoyed, but also knowing that this was all for their own good.

Their face softened ever-so-slightly when they noticed Beelzebub, the one brother they could never stay mad at.

They were about to sit up when they realized there was an arm loosely caged around their waist. Behind them, they could feel the soft and slow breathing of the youngest demon brother, as if he wasn’t already awake.

They attempted to move away, but the loose grip quickly tightened, pushing them flush against Belphegor’s chest.

A satisfied hum escaped their ‘captor’ when MC gave up and sighed.

“You’re welcome,” Belphegor said tiredly, nuzzling his face in their neck, much to their chagrin.

“I can’t believe you guys...” they finally said, their voice still rough from sleep. “How long?”

Beelzebub frowned again, knowing they wouldn’t like the answer. “18 hours,” he finally said, bracing for the response.

“Wait, 18 hours?!” MC rolled their eyes when the demon behind them groaned at the exclamation. “I’m going to miss—”

“I arranged for your deadlines to be extended, don’t worry,” MC stiffened when they heard the eldest’s voice, knowing their inevitable lecture was likely to come sooner rather than later.

They moved to sit up again, though this time their living restraint let it happen, turning over to hopefully get just 5 more minutes of sleep...

The human winced upon seeing the stern gaze Lucifer was giving them, though his eyes were notably softer than usual.

“While I appreciate the unwavering dedication to your studies,” he started, moving to sit on the edge of the bed near the two former sleeping beauties, “you do need to take care of yourself.”

“Achievement means nothing if you end up comatose before you reach the finish line.”

MC looked down, guilt settling on their face. Fair point from the Avatar of Pride.

“I—” they tried to start, but a gloved finger pressed against their lips before they could get anywhere.

“No arguments.”

MC sighed, tossing a defeated look to the eldest. All they got in response was a chuckle and his signature smug look.

Silence permeated the room for a moment before Lucifer spoke up again.

“You will report to my study promptly after dinner every night without exception until you are finished with everything,” he said, the edge in his voice coming back in full force. “Understand?”

MC nodded in response. Figures he’d implement something like this.

“Good. I will help you study a portion of the time, while Satan will help with the rest.”

The human resisted the urge to groan at this. Great, two drill sergeants for the price of one. Literally.

They felt their cheeks flare with heat when they felt Lucifer’s gloved hand cup their cheek as he leaned in to place a soft kiss on their forehead.

“Your well-being is important to all of us,” he said, pulling back. “Never forget that.”

“Lucifer is—” Beel interjected mid-bite before he quickly swallowed. “—right.”

“Won’t hear me arguin’ on that!” Mammon piped up as he filed into the room with the four brothers who weren’t already in there to begin with.

“Lucifer said I could plan a spa day when you finish up! Just you and me... sounds heavenly, doesn’t it?” Asmodeus announced, tossing a wink toward MC.

“Oi! If you think I’m gonna let that happen, you got another thing comin’, Asmo!” Mammon growled, earning an eye roll from the Avatar of Lust.

“You have nothing to worry about, as long as I’m your tutor,” Satan interjected before a true fight could break out.

“You better finish up quickly, because there’s this new game is coming out—!” Leviathan practically vibrated with excitement before letting out a terrified sound.

“Don’t put too much stress on them,” Lucifer’s aura flared.

“Oh, uh...” Levi corrected, looking a bit like a wounded puppy. “T-take all the time you n-need...”

MC couldn’t help but crack a smile at the brothers’ antics, their previous annoyance at the unexpected 18-hour nap all but gone (though they would have to speak to Lucifer about boundaries.. while they agreed that their health was important, essentially supernaturally drugging someone still wasn’t okay).

“You guys are too much,” they said, their cheeks flaring. “Just how did I end up stuck with all of you?”

Silence fell upon the room for a very brief moment at the question, before chaos (naturally) resumed its regularly scheduled programming.

#obey me shall we date #obey me x mc #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me leviathan x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphegor x reader #oh my god so many tags