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rosenfey · 7 months

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Hey, I just want to throw in a few cents about my ace experience because your post about your sexual identity crisis really moved something in me.

"I wish I wasn't ace" is a pretty common thought for me to have, although it usually takes form of "I wish people wouldn't be so weird about sex". I know it's shifting the blame, and there shouldn't really be any blame here, but here we are I guess.

Growing up I always had this notion that love is this grand romantic thing we all experience at one point in our lives, the books, the movies, the games - I had no idea how it worked outside of them, so they all built up this expectation I had.

So I waited, and waited, friends from school turned their flings into relationships and I still waited. In the meantime I grew more and more attached to all the fictional people from all sorts of media and decided that this is what makes me the oddball.

So I stopped doing what I loved and went out to people. Threw myself into sexual situations with people I barely knew because... that's how people do it, right? That is what love is about?

Well, turns out it's not, and when having sex turned out to make me miserable I had no idea what's wrong. That was over 15 years ago and the concept of "asexual" didn't even come up. Any queer stuff barely did in my circles. Now I know I just kind of abused myself for trying to be "normal".

I'm well over 12 years in a relationship now, with a man I... care about. I wish I could say it's love, but I'm not sure. We have a child, we share a home, I feel comfortable. But I don't know if it's love because I didn't meet any person in my whole, almost 40yo, life I can say I loved romantically. I feel cared for, my partner doesn't cross any boundaries I don't wish to cross.

Nobody even comes close to how I still feel about those fictional characters from books, movies, games. I don't love them in the "I would marry their plushie at Vegas" kind of way, but they bring me comfort of exploring what I know I'm not capable of in real life. And it makes me happy.

And sometimes, I wish I could do all those things, and cry about it because I feel like a fruad. But what I'm trying to say is... do what makes you comfortable. I'm terrified by the thought of being alone, so I found someone to share my life with even though it's not what I grew up expecting. I love the comfort of it, if not the situation itself.

So...I guess you are not alone in your feelings, because I also sometimes wish for more, but can only play the cards given to me.

Feel free to post it public if you want to have this conversation in the open, or just ignore me, I won't mind, just wanted to share my thoughts.

First of all, thank you so much. This couldn't have been easy to say and the fact you took your time to say it anyway means a lot. ❤️ I often ask myself to what extent I'm disappointed in being ace myself or if the sadness I feel is over the fact that everyone else seems to be so fixated on sex which leads me to believe it's something I should be fixated on and if I'm not I'm missing out or something. Like I wish?? sometimes I wouldn't be into fictional characters and romance because that way my real life wouldn't feel lacking. But then again being into fictional characters and romance is the only way for me to experience these things. Which, in turn, as I said, makes my life feel lacking and lonely despite being in a relationship. My boyfriend is very kind and understanding and I should be grateful. But I can't help but feel sad knowing this is all life has to offer for me. I mean. Honestly. Marrying someone for security and the fact that they understand and support me should be enough. I will never experience that sort of passion and romance with my boyfriend and I think the question I want to answer is basically. Am I really ace or is it just that I am not attracted to my boyfriend? While I would hope that latter is the case and I just need to throw myself into sexual relationships to find the One™ it's also something I did in the past and it made me feel miserable. I'm glad I am not alone in this, at least.

#ask #vitanithepure

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heroicvaliant · 3 months

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@bluestringpuppeteer sent;

Examine! Charles' headset

An over-the-ear headset from your service in the military. These standardized ones always come in green, but you've painted on this one with a bright red. It is yours. It is in perfect condition, despite uninterrupted use. You've connected it to the internal lines with the AIPD and the adventurer's guild for the duration of the current crisis for ease of communication during your volunteering.

- Examine: Paint. - Examine: Condition. - Use.

By sanding the surface, painting the headset was easier than you first would've thought. You didn't damage it at all; even fragile parts such as sound quality were entirely untouched by the modification.

— and yet, you got shit for it. Much more than you would have expected. It was interpreted in ways you'd never dare: disrespect to the government by covering the colours associated with it, and a sign of defiance with the use of a complementary colour. Many didn't want to hear you out, but the General let you keep it. The General was often surprisingly lenient to you in particular: you weren't sure why, you never dwelled on it, never intentionally took advantage of it either.

But now, everytime you'd get a new headset, you'd paint it. While one may assume it's because it's a part of your identity, your primary reason was moreso what it represented to you: it's easy to lose yourself when working as a part of something much bigger than you: but in the end of the day, you're not the ace pilot, not the boot, but just… Charles. That you are your own person wasn't something you wanted to forget.

- Examine: Condition. - Use.

No dents, no wear and tear besides a few recent scratches, no missing pieces, let alone a blown open ear cup— as much as you don't want to admit it, even if it is identical to the headset you know and love, it cannot be the one you had on your last mission in your homeworld.

That headset barely held together for the mission, with the headband thoroughly deformed and the broken ear cup exposing the electrical circuits with its red and black wires, the microphone functioning, but hanging on by a thread at best. Who knows— maybe they repaired it for you, you'd like to rationalize, but considering the fate that headset had, you know that cannot be true.

It exploded alongside you, trapped in space.

…

That's silly. That implies you died, doesn't it? That can't be right. You're right here, breathing and well. All's well that ends well; and that's where you'll leave it.

- Use.

You put on the headset, took a deep breath, and checked your smile in the mirror; it looked fine, one could almost buy the lie that you've had a great dream.

The headset was comfortable: you wear it close to 24/7, so to say that you're accustomed to the pressure against your head would be a wild understatement; it feels incredibly strange when you don't wear it. Like someone took away your nose, or an ear, or your tongue— something missing that should be there. You'd feel anxious without it even if it's only for a few moments, and you just focus and stay calm much better with them on you.

Wearing them also made cacophony less troubling: you could hear everything just fine, you've never had an issue of not hearing something because you wear your headset all the time— it just didn't hurt to hear anymore. Not that you ever told anyone that little detail, though. You didn't know whether anyone would take the noise sensitivity seriously, and really, you weren't about to find out the hard way. You had a really good reason to wear your headset all the time, anyway, what with it offering direct communication in case of emergencies. No one needed to know the secondary reasons.

Besides— it's you! You and your red headset, and the long day ahead.

You got this. You got this!

#check check this is charles! [IC]#all according to plan! [memes]#orders captain? [ask reply]#bluestringpuppeteer #(woah that got long)

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sapphosthoughtsandwritings · 3 years

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if it’s not too much to ask please please please could you write more avengers x teen!reader? I adore the one with fear of the dark and was wondering if you could do something similar? Like either the avengers comforting the reader or just something with lots of hugs and cuddles? Thank you!! <3

Stage Fright - Avengers x anxious!teen!Reader

Summary: When your presentation for class goes terribly wrong, your team mates come to rescue you and take you home.

Warnings: depictions of anxiety, panic attack, a few cuss words

Type: angst, ends with fluff

Word Count: ~2.5k

A/N: MY FIRST REQUEST, very exciting!! I am so so glad you liked my work, and I hope you enjoy this one as well!! <3 I also have quite a few more ideas for teen!Reader fics, so this definitely won't be the last piece like this!

(Y/l/n) = your last name

(f/d) = favorite drink

You’d been dreading this day for weeks now. Clutching the straps of your backpack, you let out a deep sigh, walking up to the doors of your school. You didn’t like school to begin with, but the building seemed much more intimidating today. Making your way through the halls, you were grateful that you got to school early, you hated pushing through crowds of people.

“Hey, hey (Y/n)!”, a voice called from down the hall. You recognized it almost immediately. “Hi Peter, what’s up?”. You were happy to see him, maybe talking out your nervousness would help. “Oh, you know, just the same old stuff. Sure am tired though”. “Well, if you don’t sleep then you will be tired”. “Like you’re one to talk (Y/l/n)”. You only rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue at him, evoking a chuckle from him. “How about you? How are you doing?”. “Ugh, not great. I have to present that project today. Not particularly looking forward to it”, you huffed, looking down to the ground as your anxiety increased at the thought of presenting alone. “Hey, I’m sure you’ll do great. Most people don’t pay attention to presentations anyways”, he assured you. You popped your knuckles, still feeling just as nervous. You knew he was right, but that didn’t stop the fear surging through you. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want to do it. Maybe if I wait long enough, there won’t be any class time left for me to present”, that was your hope, and your only plan to get out of this without panicking in front of the whole class. “Maybe, well regardless, I hope it goes well”, he offered you a sincere smile. “Yeah, I hope so too”. “Well, I should probably head to class, see you at lunch!”. “Right back at ya, Parker”, you waved gently to him as he disappeared down a hallway.

You made your way to your first class, deciding to read a bit before class started. Nothing you did eased the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind though. Your first two classes were easy enough, but it was hard to focus, your mind racing with intrusive thoughts. ‘What if my voice gives out? What happens if I start crying in front of everyone? God, the whole school will hear about it. Everyone will stare at me, whisper about me every time I pass by them. I can’t do this, I just can’t’. By your third class, you’d bitten your nails down to blood, your lips suffering the same fate, cracked and split open. You almost considered skipping, but you’d worked hard on this project, you couldn’t let that go to waste. So, taking your seat in the back of the class, you tried breathing techniques, anything to help calm your senses. Your leg bounced so much, you swore the floor would give out under your foot.

The teacher turned out the lights, letting people present their projects voluntarily. You calmed the tiniest bit. If someone randomly kept volunteering to present, the class time was sure to run out before you even got the chance to stand up. Throughout the class, you were on edge, chanting silent prayers in your head. You weren’t very fortunate though, as everyone presented quickly, making it apparent that you were going to have to present no matter what. “Alright, who hasn’t gone up yet?”, your teacher called out, looking at her grading sheet. ‘Oh my god, please don’t see my name. Please tell me I don’t exist. Let me just disappear. I can’t do this’. “Oh! (Y/n) still hasn’t presented, come on over and I’ll pull up your project”, your teacher chirped.

Your heart pounded painfully hard in your chest, slowly standing up on jelly legs, keeping your gaze down as you walked to the whiteboard. You couldn’t possibly do this. You were going to die. Every mission you’d ever gone on seemed so miniscule in this moment, as you looked out to your peers. It was too dark to see most of their faces, which only made your situation worse. Your teacher pulled up the project on the projector, gesturing to you to start presenting, as she clicked her pen, ready to write down every mistake you made.

Letting out a jittery breath, you clasped your sweaty hands together and began talking. You were shaking so badly, it was like an earthquake had erupted inside of your body. You could feel the tears threatening to spill past your eyes, leaving a hard pain in your throat. Your chest hurt, and your breathing was becoming more erratic. But you had to finish, you had to get this over with. Just as you were on one of the last slides, a voice called from somewhere in the class, “Hey, pipsqueak! Speak up, would ya? We can’t hear you back here!”. The comment elicited a few snickers, which your teacher hushed quietly, but the damage was already done. The room was suddenly shrinking around you, as your chest tightened even further. You bit your lip, trying your best to compose yourself, attempting to push down your anxiety, but it only pushed back up more violently. “(Y/n)? You still have a few slides left”, your teacher said, but you didn’t hear her. Instead, your fight or flight instincts took over, and you raced out of the classroom, tears now breaking free, streaming down your face. You headed to the nearest bathroom, locking yourself in a stall, your whole world crumbling beneath you.

Leaning against the door, you slid down, breath caught in your throat, fighting to get out, but to no avail. Instinctively, you brought your knees up to your chest, clutching at the seams of your pants, letting out choked sobs and broken coughs. There was only one thing you could think of that might help you, and that was your teammates. You pulled your phone out of your pocket, continuing to shake violently, as you clicked the emergency contacts, thumb pressed to the first person, which just so happened to be Bucky. You lifted the phone to your ear, barely hearing the ring, despite your call volume being all the way up.

Bucky saw your name pop up on his phone, panic surging through him. You never called, it made you too anxious. He answered instantly, “(Y/n)? (Y/n), sweetheart, are you okay?”. His sudden panic mixed with your name caused both Steve and Sam to stand by him, all of them mentally preparing for an emergency. You wanted to reply, but all that came out was a squeak, as your fist collided with the tiled floor, your oxygen levels becoming more scarce by the second. Bucky put his phone on speaker, letting all three of them talk to you. “(Y/n), doll, you gotta breathe okay? Through your nose, count on your fingers”, Bucky stated, trying to keep his voice steady for you. “Yep, deep breaths (Y/n), you’ve got this. You’re gonna be okay”, Steve reassured you. After about 10 minutes of the three of them gently coaxing you out of your panic attack, you calmed slightly, leaving you crying quietly.

“We’re almost back at the compound, we’ll come and pick you up in about 20 minutes, okay?”, Steve said, giving no room for protests, although at this point you weren’t going to object. You wanted to go home. “Okay, I guess I should get back to class then”, you murmured, realizing that you’d probably been gone for over 15 minutes now. It was weird no one came to look for you, but you weren’t complaining. “If you aren’t ready to go back kid, that’s fine. We can stay on the call as long as you need”, Sam mentioned, his voice sounded beyond concerned. You had a bad habit of not taking care of yourself, especially in times of crisis. “No, I’ll be fine, gotta go back to get my stuff anyways”, you were dreading going back. The whole class would be focused on you for sure, not to mention the faux sympathy from your teacher, something that would surely cause another flood of tears. You just wanted to go unnoticed, for everyone to ignore your presence. “Alright, if you’re sure”. “I’m sure, I’ll see you guys soon”, you weren’t sure, but you had to convince them, you knew too well that they’d cause a scene at the school if things got worse. “Okay, stay safe sweetheart, we’ll be there as soon as possible”, Steve stated, before Bucky reluctantly hung up the phone.

Letting out a deep sigh, you pushed yourself up, groaning slightly as you forced your stiff body to move. You stepped out of the stall, silently thanking the universe for not letting anyone walk in during your breakdown. You looked to one of the mirrors, finding a disheveled figure staring back at you. You grabbed a paper towel, dampening it in the sink, and gently washing the dried tears off your face. You fixed your clothing and washed your hands, before making the godawful trip back to class. There was only 5 minutes left for the class, but that was more than enough time for shit to go wrong. You stood outside the door for a minute, taking a moment to compose yourself.

Turning the handle slowly, you eased your way past the door, the lights now on. Just as you expected, all eyes turned on you, but most turned away quickly, looking back to their friend or their phone. That lifted your nervousness a bit, as you started to head back to your desk, but your teacher had other plans, as she cleared her throat, motioning for you to go and talk to her. You cussed quietly to yourself, could this day get any worse? You dragged your feet over to her desk, biting your now scabbed lip. “So, your project was very good, therefore, I’m going to give you a 90, but I have to dock 10 points for your presentation”, she spoke quietly and sternly. Your face grew hot with her words, tears swelling in your eyes again. She was taking points off for something that you couldn’t control? It pissed you off to say the least. You only looked away from her desk, nodding slightly, knowing better than to open your mouth. “Alright then, you can go and pack up your things”. You walked quickly back to your desk, putting the few things you had taken out back into your backpack, before the bell rang for lunch. Dashing out of the class, you headed straight for the front of the school, more than ready for the day to be over. You’d email your 4th period teacher later on what work you missed out on. On your way, you made sure to text Peter, letting him know everything that happened, and that you wouldn’t be there for lunch.

You only had to wait for a few minutes, as Sam walked through the doors, spotting you quickly and walking over to you. “You alright kid?”. “Yeah, I’ll be fine, jus’ want this day to be done already”. He nodded, following you to the front office, signing everything to excuse you for the day. He kept a close eye on you the whole time, a protective hand placed on your shoulder. Stepping out of the building, he led you to the car where Bucky and Steve awaited. You got into the back seat, Sam sitting in the seat next to you.

“Hey doll, you feeling alright?”, Bucky quizzed, angling his body to look at you. “Yeah, ‘m glad you guys offered to pick me up though. Don’t really think I could’ve lasted another class”, you fidgeted with your hands, you knew your nerves wouldn’t calm for a while, but at least it was manageable now. “We’re always here for you, kid, no matter what”, Sam assured you, patting your shoulder softly. “Mhm, you can always come to us, even if we’re on a mission. Our job can always wait, your well being is more important than anything”, Steve added, looking briefly to you in the rearview mirror. “Thank you for that, you guys are the best”, you smiled bashfully. “No need to thank us, jus’ doing what’s right”, Bucky stated. “So, whatcha feel like doing when we get back?”, Sam asked. You thought for a moment, doing anything social sounded horrible at the moment, and the weighted blanket in your room was calling your name. “How ‘bout a pizza and movie night?”, you inquired, knowing they’d all like the idea, hell the whole team would probably join in. “Sounds good to me”, Steve mused, he always liked time for the team to bond. “Me too”. “Me as well, I’m starving dude”, Sam quipped, causing all of you to chuckle.

It didn’t take long to get back to the tower, all of you heading inside, you going to your room to set your stuff down and to change into something more comfy. After changing, you grabbed your weighted blanket, wrapping it around you, heading back down to the common room. Word must’ve spread fast, cause the whole team was gathered there, everyone sitting in a designated spot, except for Tony, who was currently ordering pizza over the phone. “Hey, there they are, rough day at school?”, Natasha asked, giving you a warm smile. “Yeah, not the greatest”, you huffed out a small laugh. “Well, in that case, you get to choose the first movie draga”, Pietro looked up at you from his spot on the floor. You hummed in response, before placing your decision on one of your favorite comfort movies. Clint started to look it up on the various streaming services, finding it almost instantly. “This one, right?”. You nodded happily, making your way over to sit between Steve and Wanda. “Hey, kiddo, you want a drink? And I’m guessing you want some extra garlic breadsticks too, right?”, Tony asked, holding his phone away from his mouth slightly. “Uhh, I’ll have a (f/d), and duh, of course I want garlic breadsticks”. “Yeah, what type of question is that?”, Pietro chimed in. Tony scoffed at him, rolling his eyes, but continued placing the order.

Wanda opened her arms next to you, allowing you to curl into her side as her arms wrapped softly around you. You stretched your legs out, Steve placed them on his lap, gently rubbing his thumb over your calf. Your nerves were finally winding down, as Clint pressed play on the movie. Wanda kept an arm wrapped around your back, her other hand resting gently on the side of your head, making sure to keep you close. The pizza arrived shortly after the movie had started, and you grabbed as much food as you wanted. You deserved it after the day you had. After the first movie finished, and the team voted on a new movie to watch, you felt yourself begin to drift off. You couldn’t have imagined a more perfect setting, comfort and warmth surrounding you. You didn’t make it far into the second movie before you fell asleep, listening to the sound of Wanda’s heart beating, the events from earlier that day flooding away, leaving you to sleep peacefully, knowing that you were safe and sound.

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mimi-ya · 3 years

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burden ~ trafalgar law x reader

1,400 words | m!reader

a/n: @wheres-mystogan i really hope you enjoy!! your ideas and characteristics for the reader were so fun and unique to write!

masterlist

Trafalgar Law loved his crew. Truly, he did. But sometimes…

“Heh, hey captain!” Your cheeks splits with a smile, “I was hoping you’d show up!”

Law glares down the bridge of his nose. You’re quite happy for someone shackled behind bars.

But let’s round back to how you got into that position.

The Polar Tang had docked at a bustling island that morning. Law had made it very clear the purpose of stopping was only to refill on supplies, and he wanted to be gone by the evening. But that didn’t stop you from stripping out of your jumpsuit the second your feet hit the sand.

“Captain! The water is so warm!” He watches as you dunk your head into the salt water before popping back up, “Come in!”

Law scoffs, not even bothering to comment on the fact he can’t join you before turning to Penguin, “Make sure he doesn’t drown.” Law waves at Bepo, “Let’s go.”

The two make their way into the large city off the coast. It didn’t seem like they were the only pirates in the area, but Law wasn’t looking for trouble. It had already been a long week of dodging Navy ships almost every other day and the last thing he needed was to start something on land.

Bepo was always Law’s first choice for supply runs. The mink had great strength to carry the boxes of medical supplies and bags of food without the complaining he would receive from other crew members. And Law was happy to realize they had crossed off every needed item from their list much earlier than expected.

“Think we have time for a drink?” Law nods at the tavern across the street.

“Please captain.” Bepo says, sweat dampening his fur “I think I’m going to overheat.” Law rolls his eyes fondly at the same excuse the mink always has.

It’s clear the tavern has seen better days, but the crowd seems lively and pleased enough with the service. Finding a table in the back corner, Law and Bepo take a seat, signaling for a couple of drinks from the server.

He had hoped the secluded corner would drive away any unwanted company, but it seemed that didn’t work when people knew your face.

“Trafalgar Law.” The large imposing man cast a shadow over the table, “Thought I could smell trash on this island.”

“Eustass-ya.” Law smirks at the little eye twitch he gets in return for the casual greeting, “Mind fucking off? You’re ruining the taste of my ale.”

Kid growls, hands clenched into fists. It looks like he’s about to lunge over the table but is pulled back by his masked crewmate. Law scoffs, smiling into his drink at the sight.

But a smirk grows on Kid’s face that makes Law a little weary, “Quite comfortable for someone who’s crew was just dragged through town by the Navy.” Kid’s eyes widen with glee when he sees Law’s confused look, “That is unless there’s some other dumbass running around with your shit jolly roger.”

“Captain!” Bepo cries, Law already flying out of his seat and charging towards the door before Kid could finish his taunting.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to find yourself in quite the precarious situations that other Heart Pirates had to help you out of. But Law had explicitly told the rest of the crew to stay out of town. Not to mention he tasked Penguin in looking after you, who will definitely be getting his ass kicked as soon as Law is through with yours.

It wasn’t hard to locate where the Navy was keeping you, especially after spotting Shachi and Penguin in the alley, in what looks to be an intense hand game to decide who would going in to save you.

“It hasn’t even been three hours.” They both freeze at the sound of their captain behind them.

“Captain!” Penguin cries, “It wasn’t my fault, really!”

“Tch. I don’t want to hear it.” Law readjusts his sword slung over his shoulder, “Go help Bepo with the supplies and have the Tang ready to depart when I get there.”

Law doesn’t even bother to wait for their response before he shambles inside. He makes quick work of the marine grunts who are sitting at desks, doesn’t even have to ask for the key when someone is offering it in exchange to be put back together.

Law leaves most of the marines in pieces as he makes his way into the basement. He can’t help but grind his teeth when he hears the familiar humming coming from a cell at the end of the hall.

“Heh, hey captain!” Your cheeks splits with a smile, “I was hoping you’d show up!”

Law glares down the bridge of his nose. You’re quite happy for someone shackled behind bars.

“Care to explain how you found yourself in this mess?”

You scramble to your feet, trying to get closer but are held back by the cuffs connecting you to the wall, “I swear captain! I didn’t leave the beach, I don’t even know how the Navy knew I was with you!”

Law raises a brow, eyes flicking down to your bare chest with the Heart Pirates jolly roger inked into your skin on proud display.

“Oh.” The chains rattle as you rub the back of your neck, embarrassment heating your cheeks, “Guess I forgot about that one.”

“You’re on bathroom duty for a month for this one.” Law mutters, throwing up the blue tint of his room.

A whine escapes your lips, “But that puts me at four months straight now!”

“Then quit getting yourself into shit like this.” And then you feel the familiar woosh accompanied with Law’s ability, the sun’s harsh beams suddenly blinding your eyes as he’s freed you from the cell.

The others were so glad and relieved to see you had been rescued. An overdramatic reunion if you ask Law, but he let them indulge in their hugs and tears for a moment before pulling you into his office.

“You get hurt at all?” Law asks, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Ehh, I might have bumped my head a bit.” You rub the smarting bruise that’s forming on your forehead.

“Sit.” Law directs you to the examination table, finally putting the two of you at eye level. And at this angle, Law can see the slight discoloring. He gently runs a thumb over the tender flesh, “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

You shrug, “Didn’t want to be too much of a bother.” Your eyes follow Law’s form as he grabs a bottle from the cabinet, dipping a finger in and pulling out a dollop of ointment, “Tried to stop the marines.” You mumble, feeling very aware of your presence as Law leans in closer to apply the mixture.

“With what, your head?”

And you think it might be some attempt of a joke from your usually stoic captain, but he isn’t far off, “Heh, well. You know I’m no good with my hands.”

Law pulls back, slight surprise and worry in his eyes, “Don’t do that (Y/N)-ya. You know you’re not a fighter.”

Your shoulders slump slightly, and you stare at the floor, “I just don’t want everyone to think I’m a worthless crewmate or some kind of burden.”

Law places the jar on the table beside you, his free hand gripping your chin to meet his stare, “You’re not worthless, and you’re defiantly not a burden. We all have our strengths.” Before letting go and returning the ointment to the cabinet.

You heart skips a beat at the seriousness of his tone, eyes wide as you watch him pull off his gloves and toss them into the wastebin.

You jump to your feet, coming up behind Law to wrap him in a hug, “You’re the best, Captain!” Before leaning down and planting a kiss on his cheek.

Law barely has time to process it before you’re out the door with that humming echoing down the hall. His hand brushes where your lips burned into his skin, and he’s sure his entire face is flushed red with his mouth hanging open a little.

“Tch.” Law mumbles to himself, praying he’ll have a few minutes of solitude to regain his composure before the next crisis, “I just meant you’re good at cleaning the bathroom.”

#trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law imagine #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #op imagine #op x reader

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bubblyhoney · 3 years

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sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap drabble #sapnap oneshot #bubblyhoneyfics #honey answers #mcyt x reader #🥚except small

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 3 years

Text

The Darkest Timeline, Part 5

"What if you took her home?" Alex asks Kara.

Kara's eyes widen sharply. "Lena's apartment is the first place Lex will look for her!"

Rolling her eyes, Alex huffs. "I meant your home, Kara."

"Oh."

"Think about it," her sister continues. "Lena might be safe here, but she has no connection to this place. If she's going to have any chance of regaining her memories, she needs to be somewhere familiar. Or at the very least, she needs to start making new memories, and she can't do that cooped up on the ship."

Kara's heart starts to pound, and not just at the prospect of spending time with Lena in the comfort of her own home. If Lena does regain her memories... would she still hate Kara?

But in the end, she can only nod.

"Okay."

---

"Here we are," Kara announces, carefully leading Lena into her apartment. Lena's eyes are hidden behind dark sunglasses, her arm linked through Kara's from the slow walk up the stairs. Though her vision slowly improves, navigating the dark stairwell up to Kara's apartment had proven too much for her, so Kara had quietly informed her of each and every step, steadying her as she climbed on hesitant feet.

By now it's late afternoon, and the sunlight spilling in through Kara's windows makes Lena squint, lifting one hand to shade her eyes. "Could you...?"

"Oh, yeah. Yes. Just, stay right here."

Kara carefully withdraws her arm from Lena's before zipping around the room, drawing the curtains closed until the room falls into more comfortable shadows. In a moment, she's back in front of Lena.

"Any better?"

Lena's hand lowers, and she blinks with a relieved nod. "Yes, thank you." She sighs. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," Kara assures her. "I'm glad you're here, and I want you to be comfortable."

Lena hesitantly removes her sunglasses, squinting even in the gloom. Still, she scans the room, taking in the sights around her. Kara isn't sure how much of it Lena can actually see, but that doesn't stop Lena from offering a small smile.

"It's nice," she says.

"Thanks," Kara returns. "Believe it or not, you used to spend almost every Friday night here."

"That seems... hard to believe," Lena says softly. "Last I remember, I didn't have many friends."

An idea sparks in Kara's brain. She smiles broadly, taking Lena's hand and crossing towards the refrigerator. "You don't have to just take my word for it. Here-- careful of the island-- look." She points to the game night scorecard on the door of the fridge. "This is from our last game night. You and Brainy absolutely crushed us at trivial pursuit."

Kara reached up and took down one of the pictures from beneath its magnet, gazing at it for a moment before handing it to Lena.

"Here's a photo of us."

The picture's at least a year old by now, but Kara still remembers the way her and Lena's cheeks had touched as they'd all crowded in for a selfie. It was before James had left for Calvintown-- it was his long arm that had snapped the picture, capturing every single beaming face.

Kara watches as Lena squints, moving the photo closer in an attempt to bring the image into focus. After a moment, Kara takes her by the hand again.

"I have an idea."

An hour later finds them crosslegged on the floor in front of the television, scrolling through Kara's photo reel while her phone projects the images on the widescreen tv, large enough even for Lena to see.

Kara tells the story behind each photo, narrating the circumstances like a tour guide of Lena's missing years. The further they go, the more Lena relaxes, her shoulders losing the tension that's been ever present since she woke up.

When Kara notices tears gathering in Lena's eyes, she stops, setting her phone aside.

"Hey. What's wrong?"

Lena sniffles quietly, wiping at her eyes. "I guess part of me never really believed you," she confesses. "You've been nothing but kind to me, but deep down I wondered if you were trying to manipulate me, telling me we were friends to gain my trust. But seeing all this... it just hit me that there really are years of my life that I can't remember."

Kara reaches out, placing a comforting hand on Lena's knee. "I would have had doubts too. I'm sorry I didn't think of this sooner. I shouldn't have just expected you to believe us."

"Will you--" Lena's voice cracks, and she huffs, rubbing at her cheeks in frustration. "Will you tell me?"

"Lena..."

"I want to know what I lost," Lena insists, her tone edging on bitter. Her jaw tightens, her features hardening even as she reaches for Kara's hand and clasps it tightly.

Finally, Kara nods in agreement. "But you haven't lost everything, okay? Even if you don't remember... you still have us."

---

Kara tells Lena everything. She shares every detail she remembers of the day they met, without glossing over the circumstances of her and Clark's visit, nor the eventual realization that Lena had been the target of the shuttle crash all along.

She shares what she knows of Lena's role in the Daxamite invasion, and her struggles with Morgan Edge the following year. Lena's breaths begin to shake when Kara speaks of Lex and his eventual escape, but she doesn't make any attempt to end the conversation. Lena listens, absorbing every detail in a way she hadn't before.

It takes all night and then some. Kara answers every question Lena has, never once losing patience as she attempts to paint a verbal picture of Lena's life. By the time the sun begins to rise, painting the room a dusky blue through the curtains, Lena's stomach calls an intermission by growling hungrily, reminding them that they'd forgotten dinner the night before.

"Maybe we should pause for some pancakes," Kara laughs, grateful for the reprieve. Lena allows her to help her to her feet, her features heavy and pensive. As they begin mixing the batter for pancakes, Lena seems to process the information she'd been given, casting them in a pall of silence.

It's not until they're tucking into their mountain of pancakes and maple syrup that Lena speaks up again.

"So... I shot my brother."

Kara nods. "That's what you told us. But like I said, he was resurrected to help save the multiverse, so it didn't really stick."

Lena pushes at her breakfast with her fork, her gaze somber. "No wonder he shot me, then."

"You killed him to try and protect others, Lena." Kara shoots her a pointed glance, one that Lena can barely meet before looking away. "You are not the same."

At that, Lena can only shrug, one shoulder lifting as green eyes meet Kara's gaze with a flat expression.

"Maybe we are."

Lena's features remain heavy through the rest of breakfast. As Kara prepares the pullout bed for Lena to sleep on, Lena asks one more question.

"Is there anything else?"

Kara freezes, her heart lodged in her throat. They haven't yet touched on the summer between Lex's death and the crisis event, or the events following Kara's tearful confession at the Pulitzer ceremony. They haven't discussed Mount Norquay, or Myriad, or their fractured friendship.

Kara looks at Lena, with her heavy features and heavier heart, and makes her decision.

"No," she utters. "That's mostly it, really."

#supercorp #darkest timeline #lena starts to trust again #lena needs a hug #kara is put in a difficult position #she makes the best decision she can okay?#they both need a hug #honestly

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saphirered · 3 years

Text

I Don’t Hate You (Vagrant pt3.)

The lady at the front desk gives you a dirty look as you come straggling in, leaving a wet trail behind you, boots sopping with an equally disgruntled expression on your face. You toss her a coin, if only to be done with it all and go back up the stairs. There you see, Fjord is no longer sitting in the hallway and probably either has gotten himself a room of his own or Molly’s taken mercy upon the half-orc and let him sleep peacefully and undisturbed in their shared room. A sense of dread still lingers as you approach your door and you take a sip from the opened bottle in your hand, hoping to find some courage to push you over the edge and just get it over with. You can see the hint of orange light bleeding through the small gap.

When the door opens Caleb looks up from his book, or well, your book. You look like an absolute mess and he knows you know you do. It’s an unspoken agreement to not comment on this fact made in that brief moment of eye contact, for both of your sakes.

“Do not question my terrible life’s choices, Widogast.” You grumble as you let yourself fall backwards on your bed. You don’t even have the energy to magic away the remainders of the rain that kept you company from your soaked person. Well, that or the fact that the droplets rolling down your skin hid the tears from the panic attack and brief existential crisis you had on that rooftop before you came down.

Caleb puts down the book, gets up from the bed and slowly and carefully inches over to your side of the room. He hesitantly sits down on the edge. You have half the mind to kick him off just because but can’t find the energy to do so. Despite your distaste for magic users like him, being alone after your mental breakdown you just experienced, really sucks. Caleb pats your knee awkwardly in an attempt to comfort but not wanting to cross any boundaries. It’s pathetic, he knows because one can hardly fix a stab wound by slapping on a bandaid. His own past experiences have left him a tad bit at a loss when it comes to comforting a person in pain, especially one so stubborn and crass as you have been towards him.

Still, Caleb has figured out your hatred isn’t directed at him personally. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s people with abilities like him that have played a part in your past causing you pain and suffering and the wound is still very fresh, hence your trauma being reflected onto him, despite his complete lack of involvement in your before the moment you met. It may not have helped that your hostility towards him hasn’t exactly encouraged him to try and build a proper relationship with you. He hardly even knows you yet still he feels as if he knows your tells, the things you go through and why you act like you do. He may not know the details of your life but he feels safe to say he knows you better than any of the others.

It’s not his lack of knowledge and insight into your life beyond what’s surface and what he can read off you that holds him back. It’s the fear of what he might find within you that will tear open wounds of his own he’s worked so hard to cover up. It’s the fear you might be one step ahead of him in a similar story and there is no hope for people like you and him after all. It’s the fear those you run from are the same people he has tried so hard to escape. It’s the fear of you, that you might be each others’ salvation, or undoing because he knows what he has the capability to become, what you could become.

But here you lie, upon your bed curled up, traces of tears long since fallen, possibly even ran out, tightness in your throat, indents of your nails in your palms from clenching too much, frustration and anger in your eyes is still overwhelmed by pain and hopelessness and a wish the void would just come and claim you, where you no longer fear the consequences of running and will be able to obliterate those who caused you so much hurt, or die trying in the process. Caleb is reminded of himself in that cell of his own, for years, a broken mind piecing itself together from the shambles it was left in, barely a shell of what it used to be.

When he promised himself he would do anything and everything in his power to take down these tormentors and their accomplices so no one would ever have to suffer like he had, still is suffering, Caleb didn’t expect to find you. He still remembers himself begging, praying, screaming just to not be alone, to have someone tell him there is still hope and not all is lost. There’s still good in this wretched world and if the world turns bleak, it’s up to you to be that good despite everything. Those were the pretty words and empty promises of a dreamer but does that make them a lie?

“Don’t patronise me. I’m not some fragile broken child in need of mothering.” Caleb retreats his hand, clasping them together in his lap as he studies your face. Your eyes are cold, your expression matching. A mask, he knows. A way to protect yourself.

“Good. Because I have no intention of doing so. I want you to be blunt and truthful and I don’t want you to hold back. I want you to humour me and answer some questions.” You raise an eyebrow expecting there to be something behind Caleb’s request but his stare is unreadable, like a practiced mask of his own.

“You want me to be blunt and give you a peace of my mind?” You humour. You’ll tell the asshole okay. You’ll bicker and fight and quarrel if that’s what he wants no problem. Maybe a battle of wits and words will get you back into your groove.

Little do you know that is in fact not what Caleb is looking for. Not exactly. He isn’t looking for a fight. He’s looking for answers, how to help you despite your differences because no one deserves to go through this, especially not alone. So because of that, he will not humour you in turn with his usual reply to your attempts to push him. He doesn’t intend this to end in another futile empty argument. Not now. So he’ll drop the game and go straight for the jugular.

“Why do you hate me?” You freeze at the abrupt and sudden question. Caleb knows you don’t really hate him personally but coddling you won’t work and some things you’ll have to realise by yourself first. Finding the strength to lean up on your elbows you tilt your head at him as a half smirk creeps upon your lips.

“Because you’re an egotistical self-serving bastard who cares for nothing but himself and the people useful to him, until they outlive their usefulness.” The words are meant to cut like knives and usually you’d get a rise out of Caleb by such a statement but when you don’t see any response to your words, nothing but those blue eyes staring into yours so… unbothered, it feels as if those knives are turned onto you instead. You’re not quick enough to get rid of that tiny hint of guilt slithering across your features.

“Why do you hate me?” Caleb asks again, voice still calm like it’s the most unremarkable question ever. He could have asked you about the weather with that tone.

“Because you’re an asshole.”

“Why do you hate me?”

“Seriously? I already gave you an answer. Was I not clear the first time?” That guilt in your stomach starts growing, festering. There’s something in your mind pushing through but you try to fight it off, not liking the thought of being faced with those emotions. You’ve worked too hard to push them away.

“Just answer the question. Why do you hate me?” Caleb sees you struggle. Your first answers where in the blink of an eye, a defence mechanism slipping into place. That works, for a while, until it doesn’t, until you start questioning it and give yourself a moment to think.

“Because…” Because you’re a coward. Because you run from your problems. Because you leave other people to swipe up the mess for you. Because you’re a monster to blame for the pain of others. Because you’re to blame for your own pain. Because you couldn’t save them. Because. Because. Because. Those are not reasons you hate Caleb. You take in a sharp breath, clenching your jaw in anger, nose scrunching holding at bay the curses from passing your lips and the threat of all your emotions from spilling out like a breaking dam.

“Why do you hate me?” The words now, do not sound void of emotion, but instead are filled with a warmth and pity. Damn him! Damn him to the hells and abyss! When you don’t answer he repeats it again. Caleb gives you amicable time to answer, leaving a long silence to give your mind the time and space to think for itself, analyse and process and you hate every second of it because you can’t stop it. The cracks in the walls you’ve tried to hard to build become more apparent by the second. He asks again.

“I don’t bloody hate you!” You shout, pretty sure you may just have woken up the entire floor. The silence after the words leave your lips is deafening.

“Then what do you hate about me that causes you to act the way you do?” Your hands clench back into fists, your nails pressing down again in the still tender skin from but minutes ago. You don’t want to say it. You really don’t but that pain raging through your body wants to get out and you feel the floodgates opening inch by inch despite your efforts to fight it. Then there’s that voice in the back of your mind; maybe speaking the unspoken will give you some peace.

“I don’t hate you! I just hate what your remind me of. It’s like you’re here to personally torture me so please just leave me alone to suffer, get over it and move on.” You don’t want to remember the last time you pleaded for something, and had hoped to never plead for anything again yet here you are.

“I am going to give you a choice and I’ll only offer it once, so listen very carefully.” You’ve never seen Caleb look so intense, so genuine, and so determined. You can’t do anything but listen so you nod, signalling him to continue and that you’re paying attention to his every word and not to twist them for your own amusement for once. Whatever previous relation, or rather lack thereof you’ve had is gone now. There’s only you two, in a place of vulnerability and without judgement.

“You’ve got two options. One; you tell me to piss off, like you usually do. I’ll go back to bed, back to sleep and leave you alone. We will never speak of this again, never mention this and go our separate ways. We will remain cordial when interacting and won’t let our own grievances get in the way of the others.” You take in the words, nodding to confirm you understand.

“Or two; you and I are going to talk. You are going to tell me what you wish, and can tell me provided it’s the truth and I will listen. If you wish to tell me your life story I will listen. If you wish to tell me all your troubles I will listen. If you wish to share your pain, I will listen. And know that I will help you if you’ll allow me to. Because if you keep doing this on your own, let the guilt and grief and pain swallow you whole, I know exactly where it will lead. Do not allow it to be your undoing, or turn you into a person beyond your recognition.” Midway through his offer your eyes have closed and your brow furrows. You bit your lip and that combined with the movement of your eyes behind your eyelids are the only indication to Caleb you’re still listening to him.

Caleb gives you time. He doesn’t expect an answer right away. That’s not how this works but he does study you, attempting to get an inkling of what’s going through your mind. He feels warmth wrap around his wrist, glancing down to notice your fingers have wrapped around it and hold on tightly. You’re holding onto a lifeline and he knows it.

“Why?” Your, words a pained choke, you don’t dare open your eyes, don’t trust the look in Caleb’s eyes to tear down what last defences you had up and turning you into even more of a broken mess.

“Because despite what people might have you believe, there is still good in this world.” You’re unable to stifle a sob, feeling a tear slide down your cheek.

“I’ve not known much kindness in my life but I feel confident in saying this is the kindest thing anyone has ever offered me. It’s why my pervious actions and words towards you make me feel like an absolute ass even more. I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me.” You release Caleb’s wrist, feeling grounded once more despite the buzzing in your head and twiddle with your fingers awaiting a response, the tense air slowly lifting as you sit in peace and silence.

You nod, wiping at the corners of your eyes before you open them, a bit more red and puffy than they were before you entered the room. You finally look at the wizard and take in a deep breath before nodding again. If it were anyone else, any other moment you might have said no. You’d even have laughed at whoever tried this emotional shit on you. But it’s time. You’re not getting any better nor can you repress everything forever. It’s time to face some of these troubles head on. Luckily you won’t have to do it on your own. It will take time and effort and it’s going to hurt like hell but it has to be done. You have to move on and learn how to live. You owe it to yourself, if not the people you’ve left behind.

“Now this doesn’t mean we’re going to be best friends from now on. You’re still an asshole and so am I so don’t think I’ll let you off easy for your comments and the trouble you cause.” The corner of Caleb’s lips turns up slightly as he speaks and you mimic his expression.

“I don’t think anyone else could handle it, so I’m sorry to disappoint but you’re definitely stuck with me, Widogast.” You muster a smile, exhausted. It’s mutually understood the conversation as per your agreement won’t happen right here, right now but instead when you’re both ready. For now, at least you won’t pretend to hate each other anymore and start over.

“Hey, Caleb?” You ask.

“Yes?” He answers but before he knows it your arms wrap around him and pull him into your embrace. Caleb’s form goes rigid shocked by not only the gesture but by the physical touch itself. After a good few moments he finds himself ease just a little, enough to return the embrace lightly.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader

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beevean · 3 years

Text

Opinion: How could Sonamy progress in IDW?

[note: the original article was written in Spanish by @latin-dr-robotnik]

Today we’re going to discuss a recurring topic on my blog, with a more complete perspective.

Today’s article was inspired by an ask I got a few days ago about my possible perspective on the future of IDW Sonamy. I thought it would be interesting to revisit and expand this topic, because it’s still something of great interest for thousands of fans all around the world, and because SEGA has recently adopted a very peculiar position on the couple and their dynamic. As I detailed on my article SEGA and its most recent Sonamy side – more canon than ever, the dynamic has been going through a shift that can be distinguished into two main parts: 1) the commercial potential of Sonamy as a merchandising and marketing icon; 2) the stability of the interactions in the comics, in the short monthly stories on Sonic Channel, and so on.

That being said, there’s no need to mention that we’re going to focus entirely and nothing more than on this ship. I usually suggest other articles for those who prefer to read on other subjects, but today I will recommend our Discord server [translator’s note: the server is mainly Spanish-speaking], where discussions about ships are limited on their own canal that is separated from other themes: general discussions, music, fangames and mods, fanfics, fanart and even gaming in general. As you know, if you want to bring something else to our community, or just avoid talking about Sonamy, you’re more than welcome to join. Now, back on track.

What’s going on with Sonamy in IDW?

To recap what’s happened in these last months: Sonic and his friends finally got through the nightmare that was the Metal Virus, he and Amy hugged a few times, and since very recently they’ve been involved in a short arc about Chao races in Twinkle Park Zone, with a sinister background. In these last months after the eradication of the virus, there have been much closer and warmer interactions between our two hedgehogs, and I suspect that part of this is what inspired that question in the first place: what’s going on?

As I commented in the article where I proposed that Sonamy is “more canon than ever” (I know that it’s an exaggeration, that was the point), SEGA is treading carefully and the main canon seems to be willing to negotiate a more open representation of the relationship between the two in their different continuities, from best friends to something more. What I did not expect to happen was reading an answer from Evan Stanley (artist and writer that replaces Ian Flynn) about their dynamic, summing it up with “they like each other”.

The redrawing of Sonic’s expression when Amy hugs him in a recent drawing of hers made people wonder if this was yet another example of SEGA’s “censoring” (comparison below), to which Evan answered that it was modified to keep Sonic in character: he’s a guy that does not show much emotional vulnerability or too many negative emotions, and this is why sometimes the artists have to adjust WIPs to keep in line with this official point of view. Evan assured that this is not any kind of confirmation that Sonic does not like Amy, and doubles down by highlighting that in the official material, in the wikis and on Sonic Channel they show that, and I quote: “They like each other, but Sonic just isn’t the kind of guy who is going to make goo-goo eyes at Amy or perform grand acts of romance. If you wanna see that, that’s what fan works are for.”

And Evan’s words are a great way to sum up what’s going on with IDW Sonic right now. When it comes to interactions, they’re working with two characters who deep down “like each other”, but both show it in their own way. Amy is much more proactive when it comes to express her feelings, while Sonic only sometimes shows a glimpse of his feelings, with a smile or a small gesture. But at the end of the day they’re still friends and, depending on the situation, the comic can focus more or less on these details.

Comparison between the first sketch showed by Evan and the final product. The modification of the expression was minimal: Sonic’s slight blush was changed into a smile, maybe being a little overwhelmed by the gesture of affection.

The “progression” of the dynamic in the future

A good part of the answer to this question is based on my idea that right now, when it comes to Sonamy, we reached some kind of comfortable plateau. What am I referring to? To the fact that there have been a lot of varied interactions in these last 3 years of the comic, and they’re everything I could have asked for and then some. When we talk about Sonamy in canon, as Evan said, we don’t tend to hope for great romantic gestures from Sonic, we barely even ask for a look that hints that they understand each other beyond what it seems at first glance, so the fact that the IDW continuity is betting so much on this ship is basically a dream come true. For this reason, I don’t think things will change much in the future.

If I have to make a prediction on Sonamy’s future in IDW, I believe that there are still a lot of possibilities that our known writers (and maybe new writers!) could explore more, to see what makes this dynamic work so well. Actually, about 10 years ago, Ian Flynn wrote that if they could take advantage of the abilities and similarities between the two characters as adventurous spirits and with a strong moral sense, they would be “like poetry in motion”. This largely happens in IDW Sonic if you look carefully, but there are always new stories to tell and opportunities for them to work together and explore a bit more their strong bond, stronger than other friendships that they share. When the next major arc comes (which seems to be getting closer), they could explore aspects of their dynamic that are slightly more experimental, like being separated for extended periods of time and under dangerous situations… as long as they don’t turn it into a painful experience like the Metal Virus arc.

What Ian Flynn wrote about Sonamy, what works and what doesn’t. This was written in 2011, when Archie Sonic was still the major comic continuity, and when, according to Ian, Sonic was still “tied” to Sally Acord, leaving little room to the writers’ opinions.

The reality is that I see a stable future for the dynamic in the IDW universe. Sonamy is not fit for a lot of drama (fights, breaking up, etc.) without feeling forced or completely out of place, and only fanfics and fanart could be capable of capitalizing on this kind of content. On the other hand, for reasons I detailed in past articles, SEGA would not dare to alter the established order of the dynamic, let alone new that they managed to recover and maintain control over the ways Sonamy is being portrayed everywhere. SEGA won’t pull a Dragon Prince, which ended up confirming the main ship and then they made them go through a crisis and break up in a heartwrenching way in the graphic novel that acts as a bridge between season 3 and 4.

In short

The future of IDW Sonamy is looking bright and stable. I don’t think there will be serious changes to what we’re experiencing right now, and this is why both Evan Stanley and Ian Flynn agree that the dynamic is practically in the perfect place, keeping in line to how SEGA wants them to be represented together. This means we won’t see more affectionate gestures than what we’re seeing now (I doubt we’ll ever see again Sonic offering Amy a rose like in Sonic X), but it also means that we have now a solid basis for our expectations. In the now old IDW Sonic #2, Sonic and Amy had the chance of seriously talking a bit about what they thought of each other, with Sonic being determined to keep living life his own way (although he wouldn’t mind Amy to accompany him… or even suggesting himself that she could come), and Amy being determined to respect his way of life, because that’s what she loves about him, and she doesn’t want him to change. Since then, all we have seen and we’ll keep seeing in the comic is a consequence of this key moment; the two philosophies that they have and they share, in a constant back-and-forth with some tense moments and some cute moments.

An interesting detail that wasn’t included in the ask and that makes me think is the possibility that all of this will feature in the games as well. This is a completely different matter for another day, but I like to think that there is the possibility that we’ll see SEGA being more interested in inserting more Sonamy in the games, even if in an indirect way like in Sonic Unleashed and its emotional support, especially if the rumors that we’re about to get a soft-reboot are true. Romance is not something Sonic games are famous for doing well… at all, but that doesn’t mean it would be a bad idea to add a little sprinkle of IDW Sonamy in the mix.

And finally, I think I’ve talked enough about this topic, As you know, we’re waiting for some news, and I hope we’ll see each other again here or on our Discord. We’ll see if on this 25th something interesting happens. In any case, see you next time!

The moment that shaped the present and future of their entire relationship, 3 years ago.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonamy #long post #translation #oh look just in time for that famous thursday 25th #keeping up the chronicles of sonamy's evolution #this was fun to translate lol #it's probably a little clunky in some places but it should be readable enough #anyway now i'm hyped lol

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

Note

for the kiss prompts series? 67+jontim (or really Tim+anyone?) 🥺

67 - When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

i stuck with jontim! takes place pre-canon when jon and tim worked together in research, featuring mutual pining <3

cw for alcohol

“Okay, that was hands down the worst holiday party I’ve ever been to,” Tim says as soon as they’re outside the Institute, tugging on the tie around his neck to loosen it. It’s adorned with little reindeer and it lights up. As Tim had so eagerly demonstrated the moment he’d met up with Sasha and Jon.

Jon doesn’t like parties in general, so he doesn’t think he’s the best judge of what makes a party good or bad. He takes a guess. “Because of the alcohol?”

“More like the lack thereof,” Tim grumbles as they start toward the tube station. “I know it’s a work party, but come on. Not even spiked eggnog? Not even wine? What kind of person has a party without wine?”

“Elias, apparently.”

Tim groans. “Don’t know what I was expecting, really. The man looks like he’s never had fun in his life, ever.” Tim slings an arm around Jon’s shoulder and pulls him into his side as he walks, and Jon tries to pretend like his heart rate doesn’t skyrocket at the contact. He’s just glad it’s dark enough out that Tim can’t see the flush of heat across his cheeks. “So, then. Back to mine?”

Jon’s heart rate has, apparently, not yet reached maximum speed. “What?” he manages to say, his pulse hammering in his ears. He’s just glad that the word comes out mostly normal, if a bit choked.

“The night’s still young,” Tim says, oblivious to Jon’s internal turmoil, “and I’m still in need of a drink or three, especially after all of that. I’ve got a batch of eggnog in the fridge. I’ve also got a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon—that fancy brand you like.”

Tim knows what brand of wine you like, one part of Jon’s mind supplies. The other part says, Of course he knows what you like; you’ve been friends for a year and a half. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Oh,” Jon says. “Yes, I’d love to- er, that- that sounds… nice?”

He barely holds back a wince. Very smooth, Jonathan.

“Great!” Tim says, unbothered. He pulls Jon a little tighter against his side, and when Jon shivers, it’s not just from the chill of the night air.

In the time it takes them to get to Tim’s house, Jon has relaxed a bit, settling into a comfortable rhythm of laughing at Tim’s jokes, offering his own awkward attempts in return, and letting the warmth of Tim’s laughter soak into him like the summer sun. It’s fine, he tells himself as Tim puts a hand on his shoulder, lingering just long enough that Jon can still feel the weight of it when Tim pulls away. It’s the same as always, he tells himself as Tim grabs his hand on their way off the tube, gently guiding him through the late-night crowds and into the bite of the open air. (Tim doesn’t let go until they get to his house, which Jon tries very hard not to have a minor crisis about.) It’s just Tim, he tells himself as Tim places a hand on the small of his back as he reaches around him to grab the glasses from his kitchen cabinet. (Jon almost drops the bottle of wine he’s holding. Which would have been quite embarrassing.)

It’s not even like this is new. This tightness in his chest, the way his breath catches a bit every time Tim smiles at him, the way he sometimes finds himself staring at Tim’s lips and wondering if they’re as soft as they look. And Jon’s not naïve. As much as he despises the word itself, he knows that at some point, he’d developed quite a potent crush. He just tries very, very hard to ignore it.

Because, well. He hasn’t been in a relationship since Georgie, and while their breakup had been unspectacular by most standards, it still ate a hole in his chest filled with a nagging certainty that if they’d remained just friends, he wouldn’t have had to go through the pain of falling slowly out of contact with her. And he doesn’t want that to happen with Tim. So it doesn’t matter how badly Jon wants to hold Tim’s hand and curl up into his side and kiss him. He’ll ignore it like he’s been doing for the past three months, and it’ll be fine.

But it’s getting harder and harder. Especially at moments like this one, with Tim pressed up against Jon’s side on the couch and his voice right next to Jon’s ear as he points out his favorite parts in the movie they’d put on. Jon’s unsure if the heat in his cheeks is from the proximity or from the three glasses of wine he’s consumed, and he’s fairly certain that Tim’s on his fourth glass of eggnog. Tim’s glass is shaped like a little reindeer head, which he thinks Tim had said is a reference to something. He’d been too busy looking at the way Tim’s rolled-up shirt sleeves showed his forearms to process what, exactly, it was a reference to.

“You know,” Tim says, cutting through Jon’s train of thought, “I never really understood the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing.”

Jon’s heart jumps into his throat. “Sorry, what?”

“You know,” Tim says, shifting from his position against Jon’s side so he can set his glass on the table before propping his feet up next to it. His socks have felt reindeer antlers on the sides of them. Jon’s beginning to notice a theme. “One person lays eyes on the other and boom. They’re in love.” He gestures toward the screen, which is currently displaying a quite detailed kissing scene. Jon looks away, face burning. “Do people really do that? Just know that they love someone with- without knowing anything about them? Feels a bit shallow, if you ask me. You’ve got to just go based on- on physical appearance or something.”

At a loss, Jon says, slowly, “Yes, I… I suppose?”

“Right.” Tim nods once, like he’s settled something. “Me, though, I need to know somebody first, you know? Always used to get me in a bit of trouble in uni, falling in love with my best friends and all that. But isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? Your partner is your partner, yeah, but they’re also your friend.”

“Right,” Jon says faintly. His heartbeat is hummingbird-fast, and he thinks his hands might be shaking just a bit. “Tim, what—?”

“It just- it doesn’t make any sense!” Tim turns to face Jon then, his cheeks flushed and his hair a bit messy from where he’d tugged some of it free from its bun. “It’s like- like, I love the way you look, yeah, but also- also the way you laugh and the way you take your tea and the types of books you read as a child. You know, the things that make you you. I fall in love with all of the little things, piece by piece, and then I’m just- just in love. Full stop.”

Jon thinks he might actually be dreaming right now. Or dying. One of the two. “Um,” he says, the word choked by the lump in his throat. “Are- are you using the universal ‘you,’ or…?”

Tim is quiet for a moment. His eyes are heavy on Jon’s face, as if searching for something. Then, sounding very much like a man who’s just decided to jump off a cliff and hope that there’s something below to catch him, he says, “You, Jon. And I promise that it’s not the rum talking.”

“Oh,” Jon says quietly. “I… I see.”

He realizes a beat later, when Tim’s face has folded ever so slightly inward and he’s begun to move away, how dismissive that had sounded. Quickly, and a bit panicked, Jon reaches out and wraps a hand firmly around Tim’s upper arm, like if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough Tim will slip away. “No, it’s- I’m, sorry, I just- I didn’t—”

Jon makes a noise of frustration, because of course, now that he needs them, the words won’t come easily. His eyes find Tim’s face—the gentle slope of his nose, the small birthmark by the corner of his eye, the five o’clock shadow across his jaw—before settling on his lips. And before Jon makes the conscious decision to do so, he leans forward and kisses him.

Tim makes a surprised noise against Jon’s mouth, something low and breathy. After a moment, Tim pulls back, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry,” he says, more hesitantly than Jon’s ever heard him before. “Are- are you sure you—?”

Yes, Jon wants to say. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I’m sure about this. I’m sure about you.

Instead, he leans forward and captures the rest of Tim’s sentence with his lips. After a moment, Tim’s hands go to Jon’s waist, pulling him close, and Jon slips his hands up to the sides of Tim’s face, feeling the heat of Tim’s skin against his as he kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

At some point, weeks later, Tim will joke that they have Elias to thank for them finally putting an end to the mutual pining, and Jon will give a full-body shudder and say that he would rather not think of Elias when remembering their first kiss, thank you very much. But for now, Jon holds Tim close and kisses him and lets the light, giddy feeling in his chest overtake him until it feels like he’s weightless and floating, grounded only by the feeling of Tim’s hands on his hips and the way Tim smiles against his lips and whispers, softly and reverently, I love you.

I love you too, Jon says, resting his head against Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile and to try to breathe around the affection blossoming in his chest. I love you, I love you, I love you.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #my writing #my fic #ft. some demiromantic tim!#anyone who guesses what the glasses reference is gets a gold star #on that note: this is my last kiss prompt!!! i've done it lads

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awhitehead17 · 2 years

Text

Batfam Alphabet: N - Nightmares

Summary: Upon returning to the Manor after his patrol, Dick’s trip to his bedroom is waylaid when screaming could be heard coming from Jason’s room. Without thinking about it he rushes in and is quick to offer his brother some comfort despite how much Jason tries to refuse it.

A/N: Story Warning, this contains talk about deaths of children. Also this has been completed for months, I just completely forgot to upload it, sorry about that.

Enjoy! :D

It’s early morning by the time Dick arrives back at the Manor after patrol that night. Instead of crashing at his own apartment in the city Dick’s chosen to return to the Manor, he has to be there the next day anyway so he’s making it a little easier for himself, plus this way he can have a lie in the next morning which is a bonus.

After changing out of his suit and showering Dick heads for his bedroom. He takes the elevator from the cave up to the Manor before walking through the maze of corridors to get to his room. He barely has to think about where he has to go, after years and years of roaming these corridors Dick has them all memorized by now, it’s all autopilot at this point.

When he reaches the wing where the bedrooms are all located, Dick takes care to be quiet as he walks towards his own. Most of the family who are currently staying at the Manor are already home from patrol and considering the time it is they all should be asleep by now, he doesn’t want to accidently wake anyone up.

Thankfully it’s been a fairly inactive night in the city, no major crisis happened and thankfully no injuries were reported. It simply means they all get to rest somewhat easily that night until it all starts up again the next day.

Just as he’s passing a door a scream sounds out from inside the room. Without even thinking about it Dick darts to the door, throws it open before lunging inside in order to find out what’s wrong. The room is dark when he enters and Dick has no idea what he’s expecting, he has no weapons on him and it’s currently early morning so what kind of trouble could be getting stirred up at this time?

Another scream rings out in the darkness and his attention is directed to the left where the bed is located and suddenly it all becomes clear. Jason is there thrashing on the bed with all the bed covers tangled around his limbs, his mind caught up in a nightmare. Another yell tears out of his throat and this time Dick is quick to act.

He approaches the bed and attempts to pull away the sheets that are now tangled around Jason’s limbs. Avoiding being hit from jerking limbs Dick calls out to his brother, trying to get his attention, but his calls fall onto deaf ears. “Jason wake up, it’s just a nightmare! Jason!”

Once he’s got the sheets away Dick places a hand on his bare leg and it’s like the touch snaps Jason out of his dream. The younger man gasps awake and bolts up right, he kicks Dick’s hand off his leg and scrambles backwards until his back hits the headboard.

Dick freezes on the spot, not daring to move as Jason fully wakes up. He knows from experience that it can be rather disorienting after waking up from a nightmare. His brother is breathing heavily and Dick could tell that he was surveying his surroundings, allowing his mind to observe where he is and what seems to be happening.

Once Dick hears his breathing slow down, he risks speaking. “Jason, you okay?”

“Fine.” Jason clears his throat. “I’m fine.”

Dick stays where he is and looks at Jason’s figure in the dark, he can’t see his expression but Dick doesn’t want to leave him alone just yet. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Why are you here Dick? Why do you care? Just – just go. I’m fine.”

Jason’s sharp jabs make Dick wince. He knows being a defensive asshole is Jason’s way of coping in emotional scenarios. He doesn’t take any offense from it. Instead of leaving like Jason would like him too, Dick carefully sits on the edge of the bed facing him.

Jason isn’t amused by his decision to stay and shifts awkwardly on the bed. “What are you doing Dick? Get lost!”

Dick could hear how full of emotion Jason’s voice is and he knows Jason is on the edge of breaking point. He’s simply waiting for Dick to leave to have his breakdown, where he could do so silently and alone. Whatever the nightmare was it��s certainly having quite an impact on him now. Dick isn’t leaving him alone.

Wordlessly Dick shuffles up the bed and reaches out, as accurately as he could he grabs hold of Jason’s arms, ignoring his brothers attempts to push him away, and draws him into an awkward angled hug. Jason protests for several moments but soon quietens down after Dick wraps his arms securely around his shoulders and cups his head, running his fingers through his hair comfortingly. Jason sags into the hold and loosely wraps his arms around Dick, finally giving into the comfort being provided.

Dick presses a kiss to his temple. “You don’t have to talk about it little wing but do know that I do care. I care because I’m your brother. If you’re hurting I want to know, I want to try and make things better even if I can’t. There's no shame in being comforted.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, not that Dick had been expecting him too. It’s amazing that he’s even responded to the hug. Despite feeling exhausted and wanting nothing more than to sleep, Dick will make sure his brother is okay before doing anything else because he comes first no matter what.

They stay pressed together for several more beats until Dick feels Jason pulling away, he lets Jason go and then even shuffles away a couple spaces after Jason pushes him aside. He doesn’t say anything about it, just allowing the younger man to do as he pleases.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dick repeats his earlier question, once again allowing Jason to take the opening if he wants to.

The silence stretches on for long enough that Dick’s beginning to think that Jason won’t answer but he’s surprised when his brother speaks up into the stillness of the room. His voice is soft yet heavy, the weight of what is on his mind clearly weighing him down.

“It was the kids again.” Jason sighs. “I couldn’t save them. Got there a fraction of a second to late, again. God, all I can picture is their faces going up in flames, their high pitched voices screaming, begging for help. How I couldn’t do anything to save them, that I wasn’t good enough to save them.”

Jason trails off but Dick already knows all about it. About two weeks ago a new mob boss came into town and he stupidly decided to go for Red Hood’s territory. They got into a scrap and while Jason came out on top the new guy wasn’t having it, in retaliation to his loss he targeted the warehouse Jason had set up as a safe space for homeless kids to go as an alternative to the harsh streets.

Having got the message of what the mob boss had planned too late, Jason couldn’t save all the kids that were in the warehouse at the time and as a result he only got a small number of them out before the place blew up. The loss weighed heavily on all of them but Jason bares the most guilt of what happened. Understandably what happened plays repeatedly on his mind and therefore in his subconscious even when he’s sleeping.

Dick takes a deep breath. He knows there isn’t anything he could say that will change the situation and any attempts to console Jason will be rejected. Instead he simply reaches out and places a hand on Jason’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze in reassurance, letting his brother know he’s there.

Besides him, Jason scoffs. “It’s so stupid.”

Dick immediately shakes his head. “No it’s not. None of what happened is stupid. Your feelings aren’t stupid. You’re allowed to feel Jason, there’s no shame in that, it’s completely normal.”

He hears Jason scoff again but this time Dick doesn’t comment on it. There’s only so many times he can repeat the same things before they lose their meanings. For a moment he debates about what to do, while Jason seems calmer than before Dick still feels reluctant to leave him alone.

Glancing at the clock on Jason’s bedside table Dick makes a decision on what to do. It’s still early morning and he feels beyond tired but his need to make sure Jason is going to be okay currently outweighs his own needs.

Climbing off the bed he stretches before holding a handout for his brother to take. “C’mon.”

Jason sounds baffled as he questions Dick’s actions. “What?”

Rolling his eyes Dick bends forward and grabs Jason’s arm, yanking him up and off the bed in one swift movement. “C’mon. Neither of us will be going to sleep any time soon so I propose we go grab a snack.”

Jason either decides it isn’t worth arguing against him or doesn’t know what to make of the sudden change in topic because he allows Dick to drag him out of his bedroom and down the corridor towards the kitchen.

Minutes later, Dick pushes Jason down onto a stall at the kitchen island while he flutters about looking at what he could whip up for them. It’s silent in the kitchen for a long while as Dick prepares some food for them and it’s only broken after Dick has placed a bowl containing a warm brownie topped with ice cream in front of Jason.

“Hey Dick,” Jason calls as Dick turns away from him to grab his own bowl. Dick turns his attention back to Jason, raising his eyebrows to show he’s listening. Jason smiles almost shyly, “thanks.”

Dick gets the meaning behind the word, Jason isn’t thanking him for the food but in fact for everything else. Smiling back Dick simply nods his head in acknowledgement, not making a big deal out of it because he knows Jason wouldn’t like that.

He’s the big brother of the family, after all it’s his job to look out for them all no matter how deranged or dysfunctional they could be at times.

#batfam alphabet #dick grayson #Jason Todd #nightmares #hurt and comfort #fluff #big brother dick #talk of death #batfamily #sibling relationship #i genuinely forgot #this has been completed since last year #whoops #fanfiction

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madhyanas · 3 years

Text

a place at the table

Pairing: Din Djarin x gender-neutral!Reader

Rating: T/PG-13 [mild]

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Spoilers for s2ep3, Chapter 11! Reader uses they/them pronouns. References to drowning, not explicit. Descriptions of freezing/extreme cold. One reference to Chapter 9 (s2ep1). Din being as self-sacrificing as always. Din’s particular brand of Mandalorian family values. Pining, yearning, affection - just think soft.

A/N: well then. first time posting for din! this has been cooking since ep3 came out, i’m just slow. it’s soft!! and worried!! and din severely procrastinating his own identity crisis!! they’re really fuckin married, guys. lovely stuff. also, if you can’t tell, i adore frog lady. and bo-katan. mwah.

BIG thank you to @justrunamok, @pettyprocrastination and @generaldamneron for beta-reading <33

gif credit: @captrex - from the post here. thanks!

masterlist

You thought you knew cold.

Days and nights in the Crest have acquainted you with it. A hollow metal hull in the depths of the galaxy, surrounded on all sides by a vast expanse of nothing. Keeping the heater on burns fuel that you can’t afford, not with three mouths to feed. Space is cold, as cold as it could get.

And then you nearly drowned.

The briny depths of Trask are frigid, you’ve come to realise. Logically, you know it’s nowhere near the freezing vacuum of space. That’s real cold; true, absolute zero. But the thing about water is that it gets everywhere. The searing, ferocious chill of it had slammed all mental processes to a halt, petrifying your rationality before all else. It drenched your clothes, your hair. Snaked into your nose and seeped into your lungs. Rushed you as a swarm; no other sensation was relevant.

At the time — scrabbling at a grate hanging overhead, right there but always just out of reach — it’s what you imagined carbonite to feel like. Conscious but consumed.

Space is cold from a distance. Water freezes from the inside, cracked and jagged and burning.

So you should be grateful for your saviours. Mandalorians, unlike any you’ve ever seen before.

Which is to say, unlike Din.

There’s a lot to think about. So many things have happened in the span of a day that you can barely keep track. And beyond all else, you want to ask how Din’s coping—

“Trask is a black market port. They’re staging weapons that have been bought and sold with the plunders of our planet. We’re seizing those weapons and using them to retake our homeworld.”

—but there are more important things to deal with at the moment.

“Once we’ve done that, we’ll seat a new Mandalore on the throne,” the red-headed woman explains.

Bo-Katan. She speaks regally, like she’s been on that very throne before. More importantly — like she’d earned it. In truth, she scares you. All three of them do, these new Mandalorians who show their faces — they scare you in the way Din did back when he was just a gruff, faceless employer. A tinge of instinct; a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

What she’s saying is important, you know that, and you can’t place the onus on Din to handle it after the day he’s had. But you can’t bring yourself to focus either. You’re barely holding it together as it is, taking mild, balmy comfort in his and the baby’s presence on either side.

The three of you, together. Right now, at this table, that’s the only thing keeping you from splintering right down the middle.

Even with a steaming bowl of broth in your hands, your fingers ache with the chill. It hurts, regaining body heat. Hurts as feeling returns to your toes. Hurts to clench your jaw, to stop it from chattering. Hurts the delicate skin of your face, thousands of icy needles jabbing into the nerves. There’s a pounding between your ears and behind your eyes. You’re tired, and you suspect Din is, too.

You really do want to ask how he’s dealing with…this. The Way has been part of his life — and part of yours, in as much of a lifetime as you’ve known him — for many, many years. An oak tree, offering security and strength to the garden. How must he feel, stoic at your side, to see these three fell theirs so easily?

An identity crisis is the last thing Din needs.

What he needs is a break. You need him to want a break.

A coo at your elbow catches your attention. The baby — safe and warm, thank the Maker — seems fascinated with the water dripping from your hair, patting his hands into the small puddles forming on his high chair and giggling at the splashes. It’s as if he was never swallowed whole in the first place; that’s another thing you’re going to recall decidedly later. Nonetheless, he bounces back fast, your child.

You smile, hearing your teeth click, and pet the sensitive spot between his ears. He blinks at you sweetly.

Someone clears their throat.

You look up, startled, to find three pairs of eyes on you. Expecting. None of them saying… anything.

The other woman, the one with braids on her forehead, slurps her slithering noodles without blinking. Unnerving, to say the least.

“Sorry,” you blurt, more on reflex than anything else. “Did I… miss something?” The uncertainty in your voice doesn’t escape anyone’s notice.

Beneath the table, a broad thighs shifts to press against yours. Comforting. You glance at its owner.

“It’s… Mandalorian business.” Bo-Katan tilts her head. Her gaze flits between you and Din, polite and clear. “I’m sure you understand.”

You blink, bemused. “Oh?”

And then you realise.

She’s asking you to leave.

“Oh!” Your brows shoot up. One of her partners smiles ruefully in your periphery, and you are struck with the distinct feeling of being other. “Of course.”

That’s… well. It’s justified, is what it is. She’s right. You aren’t Mandalorian.

You stand quickly, and the chair grates against the floor unpleasantly. You manage not to cringe, somehow.

There’s a free table on the other side of the cantina, you think you saw it as you entered. Should you take the baby? No, Din’s never liked being away from him, even if you’re there. But they’re armed, all three of them, and you don’t know them, even if they did save your life, saved the baby’s, saved Din’s—

There’s a hand at your elbow.

“They stay.”

Din’s voice is unyielding. He hasn’t moved at all besides his grip on your arm, keeping his visor trained on Bo-Katan, who raises a brow.

No one says anything for a long, tense beat. Until—

“They’re not Mandalorian,” Bo-Katan says bluntly. It’s something you don’t have the nerve to state aloud. Something Din is apparently ignoring, however much you’d never believe it.

He stays silent.

“It’s okay,” your murmur, and the silver helmet you know turns to you fractionally. Barely anything, and you know you’re heard. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s still staring Bo-Katan down. “I don’t mind.”

There are three sharp, foreign gazes on you, and your newly-rejuvenated toes curl in your boots. After so many days bundled up in the Crest, you’d forgotten what it felt like to be watched and unwanted. The company inside had never made you feel that way.

“They stay,” he insists, making you jolt. “As is their right.”

Bo-Katan’s half-smile is faintly amused. “And which right is that?” she asks, like she already knows the answer. It seems like they all do, daring Din to state this mysterious ‘right’ that you’re in the dark about.

“It is their right as a member of my clan.”

The gloved fingers on your elbow tighten, leather creaking ever so slightly but just enough to remind you to breathe.

You blink at the silver helm dumbly, forgetting your onlookers for the time being.

He’s— He means that. Din doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean. Every word is measured, deliberate. He chooses his words like he chooses his weapons; they’re specific, well-cared for. Only to be used when necessary. Which suggests that—

Well. Maybe you should sit down.

As you do so, the woman opposite Din releases a slow, steady breath — Maker, you’d almost forgotten she was here — and squares her shoulders.

“Very well,” she says coolly. Her eyes flit to you, appraising, searching, before returning to Din. “As I was saying…”

And then you tune out again, ever so slightly. The information is going in, but you’re not truly registering its significance. Stupid, really, considering Din’s quite literally just fought for your place at the table. But you do.

You stare at the chipped, stained wood as if it holds the answers to questions you don’t know how to phrase. The baby babbles something incoherent, trying to get your attention, so unjustly denied to him, and you offer a finger for him to hold.

Clan. As in, part of. It’s new.

It feels like a small, three-fingered hand, gravelly warmth next to your thigh, and a hand pulling you back to the table.

———

Tracking down the Frog Woman and her husband isn’t too tedious. Trask’s daylight hours are long, for a moon, so even after Din’s aside with Bo-Katan and her people, it’s barely dark as you make your way to the inn.

“It won’t be long,” Din had assured you. “I go with them, assist with their mission, and come back within a day. Routine transport raid.”

Them. Their. It didn’t bode well that his so-called brethren are this… dissimilar.

“Last time you helped someone out, you got swallowed by a desert dragon.”

“That wasn’t last time.”

“Still counts.”

Childish, perhaps. Petulant. But correct.

The problem was, so was he. There was no choice.

Now, Din leads your party of three briskly down the street.

Since his father had manually adjusted the drift range on the crib beforehand, the child has no issue being carted along express-style, making curious noises at the various fishing apparatus he sees scattered around the port.

You don’t have such luxuries as the little womp rat, so you’re left to frantically try and match your Mandalorian’s pace. The lingering shivers wracking your frame are shoved aside for the wheezing burn beginning to creep up your sides.

“Hey, uh, Mando?” you ask, somewhat out of breath. “You think you could slow down? You’re going a little fast—”

Your shoulder clips a passing Quarren roughly, spinning you round with the force of the collision. The point of impact throbs unpleasantly, painful but superficial. Stunned, you can only blink as the tentacled man snaps something unintelligible in your face. An apology sits ready on your tongue and you open your mouth to speak, before a solid wall appears between you.

A breathing, unyielding wall of leather and beskar, glowering at the Quarren silently as you’re turned away, closer into the gentle bend of his hold. Quietly surrounding, protecting. Something else you’re not used to, from when it was just the three of you in the ship. But this feels… good. It feels like it’s yours.

The other man balks, and leaves with a grumble under his breath.

Din glances around above your head, ever aware, ever cautious. “Stay close,” he murmurs and—

You could probably pinpoint the exact moment your body temperature spikes, as a large, gloved hand comes to rest on your lower back. “Oh. Okay.”

The rest of the walk passes you by.

“I wasn’t trying to rush you,” he says tersely, having slowed his pace considerably. There’s an apology in there somewhere; you can hear it. “But you’re soaked, and you’re cold. You need to get warmed up.”

You smile. It’s really not the time, but— “Are you offering?”

A huff from the modulator, and he shakes his head silently. Less rejection, rather than fond exasperation.

“You must be cold, too.” The realisation dawns on you in an instant. Oh, Maker. He’s been freezing for just as long as you, now. If not more, since he hasn’t eaten anything warm.

The next shake of the helmet is more insistent, purposeful. “No. I wear more layers than you do.”

“You dived into the ocean, Din.” His name is hushed, spoken after a quick look to confirm that no one can hear you.

“So did you.”

“I was pushed, that’s not the same thing.”

Din doesn’t respond, and your smile dims. He seems to hesitate for a moment, before pressing a button on his vambrace, and the baby’s crib floats a little closer.

Oh.

He doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the walk. You regret bringing it up.

But his hand doesn’t stray from your back.

——

The building is small, cozy. Barely a couple of stories tall. And, to your delight, it’s warm.

“Thank you for having us,” you tell the Frog Woman gratefully. One of their towels is wrapped around your shoulders; a placeholder until you can find a clean, dry change of clothes. You feel better already. “We’re sorry to impose like this.”

She croaks something vaguely welcoming and you smile, keeping a shrewd, wary eye on the baby — now staring at the egg canister with wondrous intent, reaching his stubby little hands out from his place clutched to your chest. Now there’s something to keep you occupied for the evening.

A hand on your shoulder, warm and light, and you turn around. Din tilts his head towards the door. “I’ll be going,” he says, barely a whisper past the lip of the helmet.

“What? Uh, Mando, hold on!” Halfway out of the chair already, you stare at him incredulously, before turning back to the expecting parents. “Just— Just a second, please. Could you take the baby?”

However disinclined she may be to your carnivorous terror, the Frog Woman takes him into her hands gently. She’s sweet, kind. You hope she understands the depths of your appreciation.

A polite nod from Din to the couple. “I’ll be back for them soon.”

He follows you into the narrow corridor. The door slides shut behind you both.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You stare at him for a moment, tugging the edge of the towel at your shoulders. Your mouth opens and closes, faltering around words that don’t have the courage to form.

“I…” You deflate. “I just— I wanted to ask you that. Before you left.” It’s a foolish question. What’s wrong, like his entire way of life hasn’t been upended in a heartbeat by a careless show of face. Like the Way hasn’t just crumbled at his feet like wet sand, trodden on by three strange pairs of boots, scorched by familiar jetpack fuel.

He doesn’t say anything. No tilt of the helmet, no sinking shoulders. Nothing. Just keeps looking at you, visor tilted down to your face.

There’s a reasonable distance between you. Not professional by any stretch of the imagination, but enough for him to be comfortable in semi-public. The corridor is empty, and you can’t hear any footsteps.

Except Din’s, when he steps forward.

You feel your features soften in time with the pounding of your heart. “Din, love, please—”

He pulls you into his chest, plucking the wind from your lungs in a surprised, candied puff into the worn fabric of his cowl. His arms snake around you, securing you to his sturdy frame, and by reflex, yours mirror the movement on him. The helm’s hard, flat surface presses against the side of your head tightly; an anchor tugging on the seabed.

You feel him inhale, a ragged, rattling thing that has your stomach sinking. You only hear that sound when he’s injured, stumbling back to you with a bounty and a nasty, jagged stab wound or two. Only when he’s injured but oh, isn’t he?

It’s hard to tell how long you remain like that. Wrapped around and in between each other. Feeling each other breathe in and out, like the push and pull of the tides. It’s worth it, for the fading of tension in Din’s shoulders. Not removal. But an ebb for the flow. You’ll take it.

“There is a lot,” he rasps, modulated into your hairline. “You know that. And I can’t focus on what needs to be done if I think about it.” You feel him sigh, draping into your arms even further. “I can’t afford that.”

You try to keep your voice calm, soothing. To avoid the hot press of tears threatening to clog your throat. “Okay. That’s, that’s— Okay.”

You sound like a fool, parroting your own words. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay,” Din agrees. There is something shaky in his voice, and you would give anything to wrench it from his chest and throw it into that Maker-forsaken ocean. Let it drown for all you care.

For now, though, this is enough.

You move to step back, just a palm’s breadth away, and his arms unlock to let you do so immediately. His gloved hands slide down to nestle in the dip of your waist.

You look at Din consideringly, wondering if you could push for later. Later, to discuss the revelations he’s been bombarded with. Later, to talk about what you’re doing to do. Later, to finally get him to rest his weary bones.

Urgent, but. You decide to let him be. For now.

There’s something else you’ve been meaning to ask about anyway.

“So.” You smile wanly, treasuring the jewelled glint of beskar through the thinnest film of tears. “As a member of your clan, huh?”

Din sighs. Bracing, grounding. Returning to the present, where you’re just here to see him off. Where you have a baby waiting inside to keep from snacking on your hosts, and he has a hijacking to initiate. His fingers press tighter into your skin.

He appreciates the subject change.

“You already know my name,” he says quietly. Shrugs. “I’d say you know more about me than anyone else.”

You take a second to mull that over. Enjoy the taste of it in your mouth, the weight of it in your heart. He is such a precious thing to know.

Without thinking, the word leaves your lips in a bright gust of affection. “Same.” The helm tilts. “You know more about me than anyone else, too.”

He nods, a small, barely-there movement. More to himself than to you, you suspect.

“Good.”

Elastically, achingly slow, Din leans his head down. You lift yours up. When your warmed forehead meets beskar, a kiss from which you feel deprived, yet glutted, you’re inclined to agree.

“Stay safe,” you whisper. Your heart fogs and clouds on the metal, right above where his lips would be.

His thumb strokes across your waist. And you know he will.

——

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #star wars fic #reader-insert #gn!reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian season 2 #the mandalorian chapter 11 #gender neutral #gender neutral reader #the heiress #my writing #sw #bit nervous about this one #we'll see how it goes huh

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Text

the last of my thoughts on the homecoming au, the au where maedhros and maglor are taken back to tirion at the end of the war of wrath and proceed to be relentlessly abused by elves more interested in them being ‘normal’ than happy. it’s pretty much exactly as dark as you’d expect from that description, lots of medical/caretaker abuse towards the mentally ill, just a horrible situation in general. one last time, @sunflowersupremes wrote the original au this is an extrapolation from, and @outofangband listened to me blather on about this for ages and contributed lots of ideas of their own. part 1 is here, part 2 is here. this the last part, it isn’t quite as intense as part 2, but it’s a lot more hopeless. also there’s some off-screen torture

on the first post i made about this au, i got some comments to the effect of ‘oh this will only last until person x bails them out’

there were several suggestions - fingon, nerdanel, any of the ainur. it seems like there are a lot of people who’d want to get maedhros and maglor out of this nightmare

seems. these aren’t necessarily my usual interpretations of their characters, but for the purposes of this au i can easily imagine a finrod who already bore a grudge over the whole letting-their-younger-brothers-steal-his-kingdom incident and subsequently heard the version of the nirnaeth where the fëanorians left everyone else to die. he is the only other person in the palace who knew beleriand, and he loathes them so viciously he can barely stand to look at them. they’re lucky he doesn’t do worse

i can easily imagine a nerdanel who was already having trouble processing what her husband and sons did at alqualondë when eärendil and elwing told her every awful thing they’d done since in the span of half an hour. she smashed all their statues, burned all their gifts, and curled up sobbing in a ruined house, wondering why she was such a terrible mother her children grew into demons

and this isn’t long after that, that wound is still fresh. whatever vain hopes she held that the boys she loved were somewhere in there are shattered when she sees them, and they’re talking and laughing just like they did when they were young

like nothing had happened. like nothing had changed. like the monsters had always been waiting patiently for their chance to strike

(they just didn’t want her to see the things they’d become)

i can easily imagine a fingon who is blazingly furious with maedhros over the later kinslayings. he spends most of their only meeting railing at maedhros, and the apologia his caretakers offer up only makes him angrier

so does the fact that maedhros won’t defend himself, won’t even raise his voice. does none of this matter to him? did it ever?

(it does. but maedhros knows what will happen if he yells at his cousin, and he is just so exhausted)

fingon is eventually asked to leave. maedhros’ minders tell him that if he can’t keep his temper around their patient, they’re going to have to cut off contact until maedhros is in a better mental state. fingon snaps that that’s just fine by him, and storms off into the city, trying to hold back his tears

the ainur, now, the ainur would definitely drag them out of the palace and haul them up to the máhanaxar. finarfin’s managed to get as much out of eönwë

what would happen to them after that, eönwë refuses to say. finarfin suspects he doesn’t know, and none of the valar will until they’ve had a chance to actually, like, hold a trial

even so, it becomes pretty obvious to finarfin fairly early on that the noldor simply can’t give the brothers the help they need. it’s plain to see that they’re very unhappy and they’re recovering slowly if at all. whatever the valar decide to do with them, odds are good they’d end up in some permutation of elf afterlife therapy, with well-practiced carers and the family they’ve lost. for their sake, and the sake of the people around them, handing them over to the valar would clearly be the best option

except finarfin doesn’t. he keeps his nephews in his palace, where they break things and make messes and generally give their caretakers constant headaches. when asked why, he always talks about the soul-deep terror on maglor’s face when he asked him not to give them to the valar

he’s not lying about that. but he does have other motives

there’s lots of suppositions in finarfin’s reasoning. there’s every chance the valar would throw them into the deepest depths of mandos until the second music. there’s every chance maedhros would choose to disappear into the woods and never trouble court again

but if the valar do decide to send them to lórien with no limits on their movement, and if maedhros does still harbour nelyafinwë’s political ambitions...

the closest finarfin has gotten to admitting it, even to himself, is saying that the noldor have enough problems right now, they don’t need a succession crisis on top of everything else. sometimes he’ll joke about not wanting maedhros to set up another functionally autonomous military government out in the wilderness

but it’s hard to deny that a maedhros, free to act, with his head screwed on straight, could potentially be the single biggest threat to finarfin’s crown

not that he doesn’t want his nephews to get better! it’s heartrending to see the pain they’re in, he sincerely wants to see them happy

he’d just prefer them to be happy in a way that's... convenient

maedhros and maglor’s contact with the outside world is kept to a strict minimum and heavily monitored when it does happen. they’re only allowed to visit the public parts of the palace when their caretakers know exactly who’s going to be there and if they can be trusted to not make a fuss about the brothers’ presence

it’s all in the interest of keeping the peace, you understand. maedhros’ followers are difficult to handle at the best of times, if they somehow got it into their heads that the last of their lords were being held captive in the palace...

well, finarfin says over tea. maitimo can see the wisdom in not provoking a civil war, can he not?

(he will not bring death to the blessed realm again. not even if his last baby brother is rotting away to a shell, not even if he’s being smothered to death from the inside out. he will not, he must not)

(if he did, there would truly be nothing left but the monster)

and then, one day, maglor gets the chance to escape

his minders aren’t paying much attention to him, he’s been a lot quieter since they put the gag on him. he’s small and fast and good at sneaking around, by the time they notice he’s missing he’s already found a way out of the palace

he jumps out of a third-floor window, bites down the pain, and runs. he clears the grounds and disappears into the city

he makes for - he doesn’t know where. subconsciously, he navigates towards the craft guild districts, where his family’s staunchest supporters always were

except the city’s changed a lot since he was last loose in it, and before he knows it, he’s completely lost. he wanders the streets half in a daze, his raw nerves unused to the bustle and noise of it all. wherever he goes, people stop and start and turn away

finally someone calls him over. ‘hey, you want that collar off your neck?’

it’s a smith of some sort, he can tell that much. they’re smiling, welcomingly and without pity. he’s rushing over to them, nodding his head, before he can even think about

the trouble is, maglor doesn’t remember the faces of most of the people he saw in beleriand, but they all remember him

the trouble is, this smith was at sirion

back in the palace, who gets access to the brothers is very strictly controlled. which isn’t to say that nobody tries to hurt them; finrod tends to put the worst spin on things when he’s asked for advice, there’s all kinds of minor acts of sabotage, and they come across innocuous-seeming harmful objects more often than mere chance would seem to allow

but even their caretakers can tell that letting desperate revenge-seekers get near the brothers wouldn’t be particularly conducive to whatever recovery they’re hoping for. anyone who might randomly come across maedhros or maglor in a hallway is intensely vetted for ulterior motives, and while this process isn’t airtight it does filter out the most obviously malicious

and outside of that bubble, none of that applies. the smith does take maglor’s gag off, purely to hear him scream

soon enough, the palace guard tracks him down. they take him back to the palace, where he’s bandaged up and comforted and then, as a special treat, allowed to see his brother

(they’re kept apart more often than not these days. being around maglor makes maedhros agitated, being around maedhros makes maglor sullen. they’re just more cooperative when they’re alone)

maglor does the same thing he’s done every time he’s seen his brother for the past year, which is immediately bury his face in maedhros’ chest and shudder. it takes him a moment to remember he can speak now

‘we’re trapped’ he whispers. ‘we’re trapped’

because he was screaming for what felt like hours, and nobody came to help. as he was being carried back to the palace, he saw the scorn and the disgust in the passers-by’s eyes

there’s nobody who will shelter them outside the palace. there’s nowhere on this continent they can go

and that - that’s the end, in a way. maedhros remains stubborn and ill-tempered, never quite letting them forget he doesn’t want to be here and doesn’t like what they’re doing, but the fight goes out of him. he does what they tell him just as biddably as he did before they took his brother’s voice

maglor, surprisingly, takes a turn for the better. he starts acting cheerful again, doing everything that’s asked of him with a smile and a wink. he’s making excellent progress, his minders tell finarfin

(they don’t tell him what maglor looks like when the mask starts to crack)

finarfin is very pleased to hear that one of his nephews is finally starting to recover! it’s been a long, painful journey, but it looks like it’s all at long last working out

to celebrate, he decides to give maglor a gift he’s been holding onto for a while

he calls maglor into his office. the tension in his posture is a bit worrying, but his expression is all makalaurë, a casual, mildly disrespectful grin. he swans into the room, flounces into a chair, and asks what his uncle wants

finarfin praises him for all the progress he’s been making, and hands him a letter

it’s from elros

the first line is ‘how are you doing, you old bastard?’ it calls him a kinslayer six different ways in the first three paragraphs. it asks him how many people he’s stabbed since he got back. it closes off by wishing him some fun loud arguments with maedhros

finarfin was a little concerned maglor still not might be in the right emotional state for it, but the tightness bleeds out of his nephew’s frame as he reads. a couple of times he even bursts into snickering that sounds more genuine than any sound he makes in court

he finishes reading with a truly relaxed smile on his face. then he freezes, and looks up at finarfin

in a tiny, quiet voice, so unlike the way he talks nowadays, he asks, ‘may i write a reply?’

finarfin hates to take the wind out of his sails, but maglor deserves to know. ‘that letter is centuries old. i’ve been holding onto it until you were ready to read it.’ he shuts his eyes. ‘i’m afraid elros passed some time ago’

maglor’s head drops. the letter in his hands begins to shake. little whimpers escape his trembling body. finarfin walks over, places a hand on his shoulder. ‘i’m sorry, we -’

that’s not whimpering, finarfin realises. those are growls. his nephew’s head snaps up, face twisted with rage

maglor tries to tear finarfin’s face off -

and that’s all i have. these headcanons have been exhausting to write, i’ll clean them up and put them on ao3 in a bit, but not now, if for no other reason than it’s 3am. again. i hope these weren’t too incoherent. going to try to unbanjax my sleep schedule now

#homecoming au #maedhros #maglor #finarfin #fingon #abuse //#mental health issues ///#torture ///#my terrible fic #it is done. at last i am done #this is the most depressing thing i've ever written #i was kind of trying to get it all out in one go #or as close as i could get with how long it turned out #i wrote most of these at ass o'clock in the morning when i really should have been asleep #i'll try to make them less midnight ramble-y for ao3 #gah. i hope the characterisation is at least functional #these feel more disconnected than i'd like but this ain't a story it's a collection of headcanons #brain has nominated my maglor's wife oc for person who could actually get them out #kidnapping one's evil husband for fun and spite!#it's either that or elrond #or they fade first #or maglor attacking finarfin spells the end of everything #... if it does i don't want to write it right now #i've thought about this au too much #please come quick with the serotonin pokemon gold for the 3ds virtual console

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4stars-uswnt · 4 years

Text

To Be in Love With Your Best Friend [Kelley O’Hara]

requested by @13uswntimagines: Prequel to “What a Night Out Can Lead To”… one of them kissing the other and that’s how they officially start dating

A/N: this is a PREQUEL to What a Night Out Can Lead To, but you don’t need to read it to understand this one (but you definitely should ;)). ok i actually really enjoy writing this universe and so expect to see a sequel of sorts (which comes from another brilliant idea from @13uswntimagines) also....i think this might be my longest imagine yet but idk

You slide into your bus seat after training and wait for your best friend to join you. This was your fourth national team camp, so although you had some experience and were a seasoned soccer player, having played in high school and at Stanford, you were still somewhat new on the USWNT.

“Hey loser.” Kelley smiles, plopping down in the seat next to you.

“Hey, Kel.” You return a smile, leaning your head on your best friend’s shoulder.

“You had a great practice today. I’m sure you’ll be getting regular call ups now.” She wraps her arm around your body and runs her hand through your hair.

“You think so?” You look up, with eager eyes.

“Mhm. You’ve been playing great, like always.” Kelley affirms, squeezing your shoulder. “Probably because you’ve been playing with me for the past nine years.” She adds, smirking.

You scoff, picking your head up to scoff at your best friend. “Yeah right. If anything that’s why I didn’t get called up before.” You tease her, sticking your tongue out.

“Oh? Is that right?” Kelley raises her eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye, one that you were all too familiar with.

“No, Kelley, don’t!” You put your hands up and move back against the window, trying to put as much distance as possible between the two of you.

“You asked for it…” Kelley sings, as she reaches for your sides and starts to tickle you.

“Ah, Kel, stop!” You gasp between giggles. “I can’t breath, ahhh stop!”

“Say ‘Kelley is awesome and the best friend ever’ and I’ll stop.” The freckled woman bargains, still tickling you.

You could barely speak, as you were laughing so hard, but you manage to breath out the sentence. “You’re awesome and the best friend ever!”

With that, Kelley retracts her hands, and you catch your breath. “See, now was that so hard?” She jests.

“I hate you.” You scowl and pout, crossing your arms.

“No you don’t.” She sings, placing a sloppy kiss onto your cheek.

You feel your face warm at the gesture, as you playfully roll your eyes at your best friend. For the rest of the bus ride, the two of you make small conversation, just enjoying each other’s presence.

—————

Later that evening, as you were finishing up dinner, you hear a chime from your phone, and a text from your mom pops up on your screen.

Reading what your mom had sent you, you can’t help but chuckle. You reach out to nudge Kelley, who’s leaning over to ask Tobin something. As the defender is finishing her conversation, you continue to poke her side, wanting her attention.

“What do you want?” Kelley light-heartedly snaps, slapping your hands away.

“My mom texted. She’s gonna call me later and wants to talk to you.” You explain, waving your phone for her to see.

“Hah!” Kelley laughs, throwing her head back. “I knew I was (Y/M/N)’s favorite.”

“Shut up, Kel.” You roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at your best friend. “So, stop by around 8?” You look up and ask, as Kelley gets up from the table.

“I’ll be there.” She softly smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head before leaving the room with Alex, Allie, Tobin, and Christen.

You go to finish your dinner, but before you could take another bite, you notice Julie smirking at you from across the table.

“What?” You tilt your head and put your fork down.

“You and Kelley are so cute.” She coos.

“Uh…thanks?” You furrow your eyebrows, taking a bite of your food.

“Have you two been dating since college or like when did you start dating?”

At that, you choke on your food. You cough and take a sip of water, as you try to regain your composure. “Kelley and I aren’t dating.” You sputter out.

“You’re not?” Julie frowns, and you shake your head. “Oh, sorry. I just assumed, seeing the way the two of you interact and how you look at each other.”

You feel a blush creeping up your neck and flushing your face. As you think back to the past several years of your friendship with Kelley, you couldn’t help but as yourself: did you have feelings for your best friend?

Noticing your silence and anxiousness, Julie softly speaks up. “(Y/N), I’m sorry. I did’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, J, you’re good.” You give her a small smile. “I think I’m gonna head up.” You stand up to clear your plate, your appetite suddenly gone.

“(Y/N/N),” The blonde midfielder calls after you, “you sure you’re good?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me, J.” You nod, before you make your way up to your hotel room.

—————

You spend the next couple hours surfing the TV channels, overthinking, and pacing your room. Thank goodness Crystal was in Julie’s room, or else she’d definitely think you were having a mental crisis, which in a way you were. As you were scrolling through your Instagram feed, trying to distract yourself from your consuming thoughts, you hear a knock on your door. You glance at the clock and realize it’s almost 8 o’clock, meaning that that is probably Kelley.

Making your way to open the door, you hear a muffled shout from the other woman. “Hurry up, (Y/N/N)!” She knocks a couple more times.

“I’m coming, chill.” You mutter under your breath and swing open the door.

Kelley bursts through and skips right past you, jumping onto your bed. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Get your dirty feet off my bed.” You swat her legs, and she slips her shoes off. “Nothing much. Just been relaxing.”

“Chill.” She hums. “So, when’s your mom calling?”

You open your mouth, but before you could respond, your phone starts ringing. “Now, I guess.”

You tap the screen and put her on speaker phone. “Hey mom.”

“Hi, sweetie!” Your mom’s cheerful voice echos through the phone. “How’d the first day of camp go?”

“Pretty good. We had training earlier and some fitness testing.”

“Well, that’s fun.” You could practically hear your mom’s smile. Your parents had always been supportive of your decision to pursue soccer as a full time career, and you were extremely grateful. They would always come to your games and cheer you on, being the loudest ones in the stands. “Your father wanted me to tell you that he sent you some stuff for your apartment, and it should be arriving in Utah in a week or so.”

“Awesome, thanks. I’ll be sure to text him.”

“Is Kelley there?”

“Hey Mama (Y/L/N)!” Kelley exclaims, leaning closer to your phone. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well, sweetie. How’ve you been?” Your mom coos.

“Good, good. Camps have been much better now that your daughter’s making a regular appearance.” The defender smirks, nudging you, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Aw, Kel, you’re too sweet.” Your mom lets out a loud laugh. “Oh yeah! I wanted to tell you: my Beat Everybody sweatshirt came! I’ll have to send you a picture.”

You find yourself intently observing the freckled woman, as you listen to Kelley and your mom have a conversation, and it hits you like a truck. You were in love with your best friend.

Crap.

—————

The next day, you did your best avoiding Kelley, choosing a different passing partner and even going as far as switching bus seats. To say Kelley was utterly confused would be a massive understatement.

As she watches you slide into the seat next to Allie, she frowns and her brows furrow.

Alex sits down next to Kelley and pulls her earbud out. “Wanna tell me why (Y/N) asked me to switch seats with her? Did you two have a fight?”

“I don’t know! She’s been avoiding pretty much all day. She switched seats with Crystal on the way to training, didn’t talk to me at all during practice, and now this. I don’t know what happened or what I did.” Kelley whines, rubbing her forehead.

“Hmmm, I don’t know, Worms.” Alex frowns sympathetically at her friend and offers a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Maybe she just had a bad day or something, and doesn’t wanna talk about?” The forward offers.

“Maybe, but I’m her best friend. Why wouldn’t she come to me?”

“I couldn’t tell you, Kel. Just give her some space and let her come to you.” Alex suggests, and the defender nods.

“Yeah, alright. I can do that.” She whispers to herself. “Time and space.”

—————

Kelley had given you your time and space for the rest of yesterday and all morning, but she was starting to get anxious and frustrated. You were still avoiding her and didn’t even come to her room for your pregame ritual that you’d done for every game since you were in college.

You had once again asked one of your teammates to switch seats on the bus ride over to the stadium. Seeing you sitting with Julie just made Kelley angry, her patience worn thin. But she didn’t have time to grovel, as there was a game to be played, an important one at that versus Spain.

—————

It was about the 86th minute, and the game was tied 1-1, Alex scoring off an assist from Christen in the first half, and Jenni coming back early in the second half for an equalizer.

You watch, as Lindsey plays a diagonal ball out wide to Tobin, and you make a run to the top of the 18. Tobin does what she does best, splitting two defenders, and sends a high cross into the box. You sprint onto ball, the change of speed losing your defender. Jumping in the air, you connect your head with the ball and nod it down into the lower left-hand corner.

You throw your hands up, as Christen crashes into you for a bone crushing hug. Alex and Tobin join in for the group hug, patting you on the head. As you make your way up the field, back to center, your other teammates give you high-fives and side hugs.

You see Kelley approaching you, ready to do your traditional goal celebration. You give her a small smile, and the two of you do your secret handshake. No matter how confused or angry you were or if you were avoiding her, you would always do your secret handshake goal celebration, as it was a representation of your long lasting friendship and constancy in each other’s lives.

The game restarts, and for the last four minutes, plus two minutes of extra time, Spain frantically tries to score another equalizer. But they come up short, as the referee blows her whistle, signaling the end of the match and another USWNT victory.

The team crowds you, the subs sprinting from the sidelines, and celebrates with a giant group hug. A huge grin breaks out on your face, as Megan picks you up from behind.

“What a goal, (Y/N)! That’s what I’m talking about.” She exclaims, putting you down on the ground.

“Thanks, Megan.” You turn around, smiling.

After the team huddle, where Vlatko congratulates everybody on the win, you all head back to the locker room to shower and pack up.

Making your way onto the bus, you notice Kelley already sitting in her seat, occupied by something on her phone. You walk down the aisle and apprehensively take your place in your usual seat. Sensing your presence, Kelley looks up, surprised to see you seating next to her.

“Hey.” You say, nervousness leaking through your voice.

“Hi.” She whispers.

The two of you sit in an uncomfortable and unfamiliar silence between you, before Kelley breaks it.

“Can we talk when we get back to the hotel?”

You nod, not trusting words to come out of your mouth, and you go back to sitting in silence, the only noise coming from the rest of your teammates.

—————

Once you get back to the hotel, you follow Kelley up to her room. You each set down your bags and take a seat across from each other, one of you sitting on each bed.

“So what do you wanna talk about?” You ask, fidgeting with the hems of your sleeves.

“Really?” Kelley looks at you disbelievingly.

“What?”

“You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Talking about? Kel, you haven’t said anything. Why are you so upset?”

“I haven’t said anything?!” Kelley stands up, waving her hands in the air frustratedly. “You’ve barley spoken to me for the past two days. It’s like you’ve been avoiding me. My best friend ignores pretty much my entire existence for two days, so yeah, that’s why I’m upset.”

You hang your head, ashamed of your actions, knowing there’s no way you could possibly explain your actions to her.

“You still have nothing to say?” Kelley laughs sarcastically. “Like what the hell, (Y/N)? You don’t talk to me, you ask our teammates to switch seats with you on the bus, and you just completely avoid me. Is this because I hogged your conversation with your mom? Because if it is, I’m sorry, but you could’ve just told me. Like what did I do wrong? Just tell me, (Y/N), because I can’t go any longer with you—”

You stand up and place both your hands on her cheeks, bringing her in for a kiss, effectively cutting off her rambling. Kelley doesn’t kiss back, too shocked by your actions, so you pull away, regret and embarrassment written across your face.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll just go.” You turn to leave and save yourself from embarrassing yourself even further, but Kelley grabs your wrist, pulling you back into her body, connecting your lips again.

You feel yourself melt into the kiss, as your lips move languidly against each other. Pulling away, you rest your forehead against hers and let out a watery laugh.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for almost eight years.”

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I took a body shot off of you at that frat party our sophomore year.” Kelley confesses.

“I really love you, Kel. Like I’m in love with you.” You whisper, a tear leaking down your cheek.

“I really love you, too, (Y/N/N).” She gently wipes the wetness from your face, as you move your hands to play with the baby hairs on the back of her neck. “Is that why you were avoiding me?”

“Mhm.” You nod, biting your lip. “And I am so sorry for doing that.” You remove yourself from her embrace, frustrated with yourself. “It’s just— Julie had assumed we were dating after watching us interact a couple of days ago at dinner, and it just made me think about my feelings. And I realized that I’m in love with you and have been for years, but you’re my best friend, so I was scared I was gonna lose you.” You look down at your feet, unable to meet the other woman’s eyes.

Kelley takes a few steps, so she’s now standing in front of you. “(Y/N), will you please look at me?”

You still refuse to look up, so Kelley puts her finger under your chin, lifting your head, your eyes meeting her green orbs.

“There she is.” The defender smiles, taking your hand in hers. “(Y/N), I understand, I really do, because I’ve felt the same way. I’ve loved you for so long, but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, so I didn’t say anything. But I’m so glad that we’re here now because I can finally express all my love for you.” She kisses your forehead, and you close your eyes, wrapping your arms around her body.

“And I hope you know,” Kelley adds, “you’re never going to lose me, no matter what.”

“I love you, Kel.” Your eyes soft and full of love.

“I love you too, loser.” She pulls you closer into her body, as the two of you enjoy each other’s embrace.

Leaning your head against Kelley’s chest, you feel her chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Your mom is gonna have a field day.”

You giggle, a blush creeping up onto your cheeks. “Yeahhh, she’s been bugging and teasing me about my crush for years.”

“Ah, so that’s why I’m her favorite.” Kelley playfully boasts, and you slap her shoulder.

“Hey!” She grabs where you hit her. “That hurt!”

“No it didn’t.” You roll your eyes, as Kelley pouts with her best puppy-dog eyes. “Oh, stop it. You’re a big baby.”

“Yeah, but I’m your big baby?” She says hopefully.

“Hmmm,” you pretend to think, “only if you take me out on a proper date. Tomorrow after the match? Say, 8?”

“I think I can do that.” Kelley smirks, leaning down to kiss you, but you stop her with your finger against her lips.

“Hey, there. I don’t kiss before the first date.” You turn and grab your stuff.

“But—But what about before?” The freckled defender fumbles.

Now, it’s your turn to smirk. “Just think of that as making up for lost time. But no more freebies” You give her a wink. “See you later, Kel.”

You shut the door, leaving behind a stunned love-struck Kelley O’Hara. Before heading back to your own hotel room, you lean back against the door, soaking in all that just happened. You smile, feeling your heart explode.

How lucky you were to fall in love with your best friend.

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