#not even parents and those come free with your fucking existence
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Y'all I won't lie I be sad asl all the time
#lindsay speaks#// vent#this is the only way i know how to talk about my feelings to get them out of my chest so kindly ignore#i have a bad complicated relationship with my mom. i had an issue that's really be bothering me and can't talk to anyone about#because everyone just thinks I'm weird and brushes me off. so despite knowing better i try to talk to my mom about.#she brushes me off and acts like I'm weird and is like well I'm tired lol goodnight#like I'm sobbing on the phone to you and your my mom....... even if you don't feel like it's a big deal#it's something that's really bothering me. and i feel like you genuinely can't be arsed to say anything but stock#''that's just life'' quotes. like i know that that's why I'm in distres#and the stupid thing is she does this everytime i or my siblings are distressed but fuck i just really needed to talk to somebody#about how I'm feeling and just like every weak person i turned to my mom#i just wish i never said anything.#i know she's going to tell everyone i just i hate all of this and i hate i can't trust anybody to just let me be upset#sorry i didn't want to talk about fucking oatmeal and actually have issues i really need someone maybe MY MOM to just pat my back#being alive sucks so much how tf am i supposed to stay alive for the good things when i have nothing good of my own#i have nothing#not even parents and those come free with your fucking existence#btw I'm fucking stupid because she tells my aunt who thinks I'm a burden by being born every fucking thing because everytime i open up to#her i ''stress her out and she deserves to vent too''#i hate this existence
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Fuck it Friday!
@tizniz @diazsdimples
As they say I did not mean for this to exist and yet here we are 1.3k later. Will put on ao3 later and tag everyone later- in my lunch and running out of time. And I need to set this free so I can know peace.
I got in my Eddie feels - aren’t we all right now, had thought and now… have some pain with a hopeful ending. I’m still sold in eddie being so deep in comphet he has no idea what to do. This is the push he needs. Demi Eddie for the win. No Eddie bashing here! Chris loves his dad and wants to help.
When you walk into your living room and find you parents, your son and your best friend sitting there waiting for you, you know things are bad.
To be honest he should of expected something like this.
Eddie stands frozen, awaiting his fate as his dad speaks first.
“We need to talk son.”
At least that’s true Christopher has barely said a word to him since it happened. Not that he blames him.
“We’re worried about you.”
Buck goes next but those words aren’t new he’s already said that and again Eddie doesn’t blame his friend for his feelings. Like he said last time he’s worried about himself too. It’s hard to get his head around the recent choices he’s made harder to think about the consequences.
It almost like it wasn’t him making the decisions. It’s almost like he doesn’t know who he is anymore but then has he ever?
“I’m going to go to Texas”
The third sentence comes from Christopher and is possibly the worst thing he’s ever had to listen to and Eddie has had to hear heartbreaking words so many times.
“What?”
That’s his voice. the first thing he’s said but it’s a barely a whisper. Surely even with everything that’s happened Chris can’t mean that.
His son looks at him, calm and steady and repeats himself.
“I’m going to Texas with grandma and abuelo.”
Eddie turns to his parents all his hurt and betrayal rushing to the surface, he’d thought… he’d let them back in, trusted them
His voice is louder now, “How could you? Why? Why would you try and take him away from me again. I thought..”
Chris stops him in his tracks
“They didn’t ask me. I asked them.”
There’s no words available to respond to that.
“Dad?”
His heart hurts. His head too, everything hurts. He’s fucked up again. Again, again, again. The worst things he knows he deserved this, he caused this nightmare it’s his fault, his fault every time.
Chris’ voice sounds far away.
“It’s not ‘cos I’m mad.”
Eddie doesn’t even hear him. He’s found words and they sound desperate.
“I’ll come with you.”
If Chris wants to leave he’ll do it. No matter the cost. No matter what he leaves behind.
Then that sacrifice is taken from him too.
“No. I don’t want you to.”
He can’t breathe. He’s dizzy, he can’t think. What has he done?
He can’t hear them when they call him.
“Dad?”
“Eddie?”
“Son? Mijo?”
“Eddie?”
“Dad?!”
He turns from them all and he runs.
An unheard voice chases after him.
“I’ll go.”
*
Standing by his sink trying to breathe like he’s been taught when this happens to him he doesn’t need to know who followed him when the footsteps stop.
Buck. Always Buck.
“He’s not trying to punish you”
He can’t turn around. Can’t look, not yet.
“Feels like it”
Soft and concerned, that’s how he sounds. Buck sounds like that a lot recently.
“He’s not. He wouldn’t. He loves you.”
There’s nothing but bitterness in his own words.
“Does he? Maybe he shouldn’t.”
“Eddie!” There’s censure in that word, Buck obviously disagrees and disapproves of that sentiment.
“He loves you. He’s angry and he’s hurt but he still loves you. You can be upset with someone and still love them. I think you know that better than anyone.”
He does.
“Then why is he going.”
He wishes he didn’t sound as heartbroken as he feels. Wishes he could still manage to hide some of his heart from this man.
“Because you need him to.”
Spinning around he turns on his best friend to challenge the stupidity of those words.
“What? I need him here with me. He has to stay with me.”
“Eddie.” Buck’s face and voice hold nothing but aching sympathy. It’s like a knife cutting him open which isn’t fair he’s already got so many wounds.
Then it gets worse because a new voice enters the kitchen.
“Dad… you always tell me I need to be myself, that that’s good enough.”
Eddie stares at his son standing there, just behind Buck, so tall now, so much older than he is in Eddie’s heart.
“But I don’t think you do that. You should do that if you want me to.”
It’s all to much and even rubbing his face doesn’t stop him feeling tired and defeated.
“Chris what are you talking about?
Buck looks down at Chris who nods. There’s unspoken words flowing between them and it’s obvious they’ve been talking about him.
Chris says “Buck can tell you. He worked it out. And he’s right. I do love you.”
Then he walks away, leaving Eddie staring at his friend and waiting for answers.
“Eddie, its it’s like… well, you were a dad and a solider and a medic and a husband. All before you were 20. Man! That’s a lot!!”
Buck takes a step closer.
“Hell Eddie I was a kid at nineteen, a baby, I had no idea who I was what I wanted, and you had to be all that. And your dad told me you had to “be the man of the house” when you were even younger than that.
So who are you? How can you know?
You’ve been so many things for everyone else. You try so hard to be “normal” I see that and I I know you think you’re broken, but you’re not.
You just haven’t really met you yet. How could you, when did you have the time?
That’s why Chris is going away. Just for the summer. He wants you to have time to be you. Find out who Edmundo Diaz really is.”
Eddie listens stunned and horrified. Are they right? Is that all true. He’s terribly afraid it might be.
Buck smiles soft, eyes still worried.
“It’s ok to go look for him.”
His words get stuck for a moment but this is Buck. He can say this to him.
“What if I don’t like him when I find him? What if he’s … not normal?”
“What’s normal huh? And seems unlikely- I think I know the real Eddie Diaz a little bit at least and he’s pretty great. Always will be.”
Buck’s close enough to touch now. He really wishes he would. He’d like a hug.
“Eddie, your life gave you no room to look for what you truly want for yourself. You have to do that now or I’m scared what might happen to you. You need time and space..”
“I don't want to be alone.”
The words leave his lips scared and true and then he gets something he wants for himself for the first time in a long time as Buck folds him into a hug.
He gets to be held while Buck speaks quietly.
“You won’t be. You got me. You’ll always have me. You told me I could have you back any day, well it’s any day and here I am - I’m not going anywhere.”
It’s a lot to deal with, think about but maybe he can do it with help.
“Promise?”
Buck’s body shakes with a laugh
“Pinky promise and Maddie would kill me if I broke one of those.
“He’ll come back?”
Eddie lets himself be held and given comfort by the only person who could. Which is probably something else he needs to think about.
“Of course he will, this is his home, you’re his Dad.”
He can share his fears with this man, he knows that he has before and he does again now.
“I don’t know if I know how to be anything else.”
Buck’s arms tighten around him.
“I know, but you’ll work it out cos even if you’re not sure who Eddie Diaz is, I am and I know he can do anything.”
Buck sounds so sure, maybe he’s right, maybe with help and time he can work out who he really is and what he really wants and then once he knows that, maybe he can find it.
Buck keeps holding him, keeps believing in him and that he can do anything even find happiness.
Maybe he can and maybe he won’t have to look very far.
#buddie#eddie diaz#911 spoilers#demisexual#demi!eddie#repressed Eddie#evan buckley#buddie fic#911 fic#911fic#spotty scribbles
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carmen berzatto x reader | 3.8k | 18+ minors dni | tw: mentions of death, overdose, shitty behaviour, smut, mostly implied but a little more explicit at the end
Going to bed alone is not ideal when you have someone to share that bed with you, but it's par for the course in certain relationships, such as the one you have with Carmy.
Well, if it can even be called a relationship. From the outside it certainly looks like a relationship, two people who sleep together, eat together, make each other laugh, make out on the couch like horny teenagers and send silly little messages to each other. That's a relationship, right?
Even if you don't technically sleep together, (not always, anyway but usually someone is getting out of bed and picking their clothes up off the floor fifteen minutes later), if you eat leftovers because cooking is too intimate, if the laughter can just as easily turn to empty silence, or frustrated yells. If the messages become less silly and more sparse (you're not quite at "you up?" but you're not far off it) it's still something, right?
Okay, okay, hands up. It's not exactly a relationship, but that's not from lack of want. It's just..Carmy. Fucking Carmy, and his fucking restaurant. Those two are intertwined, bonded for life, never leaving each other.
In an ideal world, Carmy would be intertwined with you, bonded to you, would never leave you. But it's not an ideal world.
If anyone knows that to be true, you certainly do. Ideal worlds don't exist, you learned the hard way. Parents who barely notice you exist because they're caught up in their own shitty behaviours. Those same parents divorcing, one dying of an overdose followed by the other dying in a car accident. Being sent to live with a grandmother you barely knew when you were at the start of your teens.
There were some tiny silver linings, of course. Your grandmother turned out to be the most gentle, loving, compassionate woman with the patience of a saint when it came to you. You were not exactly easy to deal with as a teenager. After growing up around shitty behaviour, it took root in you and you followed suit. After moving to Chicago you started hanging around with the "wrong" crowd, smoking, drinking in abandoned houses, staying out til all hours and no doubt worrying your grandmother sick.
Slowly, though ,she started to get through to you. She never screamed or dished out punishments, never gave you a lecture or told you how disappointed she was, but you could always sense it. You were almost 18 before you realised she waited up every single night, refusing to go to bed until she knew you were home safely.
There was no big emotional sit down, no heart to heart. You just started making small changes, implanting them over time. Coming home at a decent hour, making dinner, watching wheel of fortune.
Not every single night, of course, but you made an effort. One day you happened to pass by a gym and saw an advertisement for a receptionist position, couple of days a week.
To your surprise, you got the job. It was an easy gig, sitting behind a desk and getting to people watch for a couple of hours. There were little bits and pieces of administrative work that you did when you were really bored, but you started to enjoy having a focus, having little achievements.
College was never going to happen, you knew that. "Intelligent, but does not apply herself" was the constant remark from teachers. What was the point of spending endless hours trying to get into college just to spend a fortune dicking around when you could do that for free at home?
But that didn't mean you didn't rule out any further options. You took work more seriously, got more hours when you graduated high school. Applied for community college, got accepted much to your shock.
It wasn't the most amazing student experience, but you made good friends, pushed yourself to apply that Intelligence, and couldn't deny it was an amazing feeling to see your grandmother be so proud, feeling like you weren't disappointing her anymore was the ultimate benefit.
She didn't get to see you graduate, but she did leave you an amazing parting gift, her home became yours. It pushed you to keep going, to not let yourself fall back on old habits. You got a job in an office, got a coffee every day, started going to the gym you used to work in, all in all you were living a perfectly ordinary life.
Nothing to write home about, really, but it meant a lot to you. It meant you being able to say, 'I am not my parents, I am not destined to end up like they did. I am doing good.'
In the relationship department..you always felt like you'd frontloaded all your experience when you were in your teens. You had some fun, did your thing, never really had anything too serious. You dated while in community college, met some nice guys. They bought flowers, made stupid jokes you politely laughed at, got excited talking about craft beer/football/whatever TV show was big that month. One or two relationships, but they didn't really last that long. Still, they made you realise what you wanted, and what you didn't want.
Then..Carmy came into your life.
The funny thing was, you weren't actually looking for anything when you met him. You'd decided to sell your grandmother's place to buy your own apartment, which felt painful but you kept her most precious belongings to make your new place feel more like home while still being a new start. Work wasn't particularly exciting but you were doing well, and one of the girls you'd become close with at college had started working with you, which made it more tolerable.
The last thing you'd expected was to discover that same friend was dating someone, someone you never would have paired her with.
Richie fucking Jerimovich.
You had noticed she'd been smiling at her phone more, had mentioned she was seeing someone, and you were happy for her of course but when she suggested going to the Beef one day for lunch the last thing you expected was that it wasn't for the food.
Of course you'd been to the Beef before, it would be a struggle to find someone who hadn't. But it wasn't exactly close to the office, and you hadn't been for a while. Not out of choice, just..it hadn't been somewhere you'd dropped by.
Still, you figured you were overdue for a sweet beef sandwich, so had agreed to go along. When you'd walked in and Richie had smiled so genuinely at your best friend you immediately knew what the situation was.
"Still the only person who can genuinely surprise me, Rich," You had grinned. "Didn't think you had it in you."
"You know me," Richie shrugged with a grin, flipping a towel over his shoulder. "I always got something up my sleeve."
Fucking Richie.
You'd been there, before. The two of you had been at some house party or other, you couldn't remember why or how you'd even ended up there. But you'd found yourself sitting on a couch with Richie, excitedly telling him you recognised him from your favourite sandwich shop. He'd made you laugh, excitedly telling you his Bill Murray story. He was wearing a nice cologne, and he was actually a good kisser, you would give him that. One thing led to another and you ended up upstairs in whoever's house. It had been fun, you didn't regret it, but it had definitely been a one time only thing.
About a week after you heard Michael had died, you'd bumped into Richie again in the supermarket. He seemed to be his usual self on the outside but the spark was gone from his eyes. You hadn't been by the restaurant much since.
Until you went along with your best friend and apparently Richie's new girlfriend.
You had ordered a sandwich and left them to it while you went to have a cigarette. You'd tried to quit several times, but could never quite do it. And no matter how many times they were suggested, you refused to give in to vapes. So it was out in the breezy air, round the side of the restaurant, searching around in your bag for a lighter.
The cigarette between your lips was begging to be lit, and memories of passing your lighter to Deb from HR that morning hit you. She never had given it back.
You had been about to admit defeat when you heard him.
"Need a light?"
That was it, the most basic question and you could have fallen to your knees with relief. Then you turned and saw him and could have fallen to your knees anyway.
He offered you his lighter, which you took with a grateful nod. You had closed your eyes as you inhaled, letting the smoke fill your lungs before breathing it out. He was looking at you intently when you opened your eyes.
You returned the lighter, offering your thanks. He lit a cigarette himself, and you stood in a strangely comfortable and electric silence for a few moments.
You couldn't really remember what who had spoken first, maybe he had asked you if you were eating at the restaurant, maybe you asked if he was a chef. Either way, conversation was sparked and you felt a growing attraction for him, physically at least. You made him laugh, you knew that. He looked cute when he laughed, you wanted to make him laugh and smile and a whole lot more.
At some point you had both gone back inside, and that was that.
Until the next day, when you went back again for lunch. Richie teased you about being a regular, you gave him the finger as you went to have a cigarette. No sign of life that time, to your disappointment.
So you went back again, and again. Sometimes he would be out for a cigarette already, sometimes he would join you.
Carmy, you learned. It suited him, you definitely thought that. He was already in your thoughts, then his name spilled from your lips at night, alone in your room.
After a week, heading into the second, you were surprised that he hadn't asked you out, or even asked for your number. Not that you were being conceited, more..the two of you had developed a flirtation. Eyes lingered, fingers brushed against skin when the lighter was exchanged. Comments were made, bodies moving a little closer together each time.
Yet, nothing.
It was halfway through the third week when you got a message out of the blue from an unknown number. Evidently your bestie had given Richie your number to pass along, because apparently you were all still in high school.
Still, it meant you were invited out for a drink. Late, but you figured he worked late, he would only be free late. You had one drink, maybe a couple of sips of a second before you were walking out of the bar and pulling Carmy into an Uber. Maybe he was pulling you, either way you both knew exactly what you wanted.
It was almost like stress relief for you both. Desperate and hot and messy. Neither of you said much beyond 'fuck', 'harder' and moaning, but it was the best you had had in a very long time.
When you woke up alone the next morning, you couldn't help but feel a little confused, and little cheap. You didn't expect him to be laying there looking at you like a lost puppy but you at least expected him to be there. But he was gone, had he stayed and slipped away early or did he wait until you fell asleep and make a run for it?
You tried not to think about it too much, it was what it was, these things happen. Still, if it was half as good for him as it was for you..he would surely want more.
And, it turned out, he did.
You got a classic late night text, and made your way to his place. You barely saw more than his front door, he pulled you in so quickly. It was even better than the first time, and you knew you were already in danger of becoming addicted.
It took some time to get used to, finding a balance between relationship and fling, but slowly a little routine developed. Not a relationship but..all the elements of one, like a deconstructed sandwich. Which is how it started. He had randomly offered you a PB&J while you were putting your bra back on and you agreed. He didn't have much bread left so you had open faced sandwiches on the couch in your underwear.
Sometimes when he came to your apartment, you would be in the middle of watching something and he would watch it with you, tattooed hand on your thigh waiting patiently til one of you broke and lunged at the other.
So that was it. There was you, there was Carmy. You did things together, but you were not together. It was just how it was.
Probably for the best, you tried to tell yourself. After all, it's not like Carmy was easy to be around constantly. He could drive you crazy, to the point where you would end up screaming in frustration, have him scream right back at you. Doors would slam, days would pass in silence, then one of you would be standing in the other's doorway, profusely apologizing until there was a trail of clothes leading to the bed/kitchen counter/nearest surface.
But..the funniest thing happened, something you never would have expected.
Richie popped the question. For real. And got a yes.
Of course you were thrilled, how could you not be when your best friend in the world was engaged? But..it made you reevaluate your own situation. You didn't want to marry Carmy, but..you at least wanted to eat together at a restaurant, sleep in the same bed, watch a whole fucking movie together.
The engagement party pushed you to the edge. The music was blasting, the food was incredible, you felt great in your dress..but the knot on your stomach wouldn't go away. Here was a couple on the verge of committing themselves to each other forever and you couldn't even get Carmy to commit to sleeping next to you. It was your own doing, you knew. You could have ended it when you started wanting more, but you couldn't do it. And now you had to pay the price.
You picked a fight about something stupid at the party, unable to stop yourself. You suspected Carmy knew what was going on but had the tact not to say it. You almost wished he had. When you felt you were about to get really angry, you'd gone for a cigarette, the lighter shaking in your hands. He'd followed you, and you let it all out at him, feeling like a damned hypocrite but refusing to give in to the feeling.
You went home alone after that, wondering if that was it between you and Carm. If you wanted that to be it. You had been spiteful, petty, but honest.
And now, here you stand in your bathroom doorway, exhausted and emotionally drained.
Sleep is all you want, all you need. So you tell yourself.
The bed feels cold, too big and too small at once. It's a struggle to sleep, and when you do it's restless and plagued with nightmares. You wake up when you hear something from the living room. Too tired to get up and investigate, awake enough to feel nervous.
"It's me," A voice calls, sounding closer. It takes a second to register, but it's Carmy, you know it. You frown, wondering how he even got in. You never gave him a key, figuring he'd run a mile if you did.
"Got a key from the bride to be," Carmy explains as he opens your bedroom door. "Hope you don't mind."
You can barely keep your eyes open, frowning slightly before taking a breath.
"Mm. 'S fine," You murmur, resting your arm over your eyes as you roll onto your back.
You hear his footsteps move closer to the bed.
"Just wanted to check on you."
He keeps talking when you don't respond, takes a step forward.
"I say a lot of shitty things, I know I do. I can't stop myself, though. They just..they come out before I can stop them and I don't want you to think I mean to be such a fucking asshole."
You slowly lower your arm, resting it on your stomach as you let out a breath.
"What is it you want, then?"
He doesn't say anything, and you feel a knot twist in your stomach as you think he'll leave. After a moment he moves closer, carefully sits on the edge of the bed. He smells like cigarettes and grease and cologne. You hate that you love it. That it does it for you every time.
"You," Carmy murmurs after a moment. His hand lightly rests on your arm.
"That's what I want. I want to stop fucking this up, and I don't know how. I'm not the guy who's gonna buy you flowers and write you poetry, I'm gonna plan a date with you and forget to show up, I'm gonna be unreliable and selfish and a pain in the fucking ass and because I'm selfish I want to keep you even though I know I'm fucking it up and screwing you over. But I want to try and be less of a fuck up."
The words hang in the air, your sleep-addled brain tries to make sense of it all.
"You are going to fail horribly," You sigh, reaching out and taking his arm when he moves it away. You can feel the guilt radiating off him.
"But I know that. All I ask is you learn from your mistakes. I don't expect flowers, and I would rather die than have you write me a poem, but I do ask that you spend the rest of the night with me, then in the morning when I wake up you'll be here. We'll eat toast and watch the news and probably have a fight because we're being too fucking domestic too soon but..it will be a start. Okay?"
You slowly open your eyes, seeing a small smile on Carmy's face that grows when his eyes meet yours. "Okay."
"Good," You nod, slowly moving yourself up on your elbows. "Now..since you so rudely woke me up, you can help me go back to sleep."
"Yes ma'am."
He doesn't need to be asked twice, immediately diving in to kiss you and pin you down on the bed. All you want is to fall asleep feeling him deep inside you, but it seems he has different plans.
He takes his time, kissing your neck and peeling back the neck of your pajama top to lightly nip and suck your tired flesh. Your eyes close as his large hand snakes under your top, skilled fingers lavishing attention on your already hardened nipples. You feel like you could fall into the most wonderful sleep but force yourself to stay awake.
“Carmy,” You moan softly, your hand finding his hair on the dark. “Please..’m tired, you know what I want..”
He doesn't stop, and you feel a growing slickness between your legs.
“I know what you need, baby,” He murmurs softly into your neck. “Let me take care of you.”
You don't object as he moves down between your legs. You realize, with a tired smile, that you two have never been this gentle with each other. It feels good.
“Mm..fuck,” You moan as strong hands spread your thighs,hot breath ghosts over your most sensitive parts. He doesn't even have to do all that much to have you melting. “Carmy..”
“I got you,” He murmurs, his hands gripping your thighs. Your hands rise up and under your pillows as the tip of his tongue slowly touches you. “My perfect girl..”
You want to cry and scream and sleep, your body feeling wonderfully weak. He doesn't rush, tasting you slow and delicately, a low heat rising and twisting in your stomach. His hand moves from your thigh as his lips find your clit, your eyes flutter open as warm digits push into you.
“Oh god,” You whisper, closing your eyes and resting your hand in your forehead. “please..please..”
You feel him nod, and answers your request by not speeding up or slowing down, rather continuing to do what he's doing and doing it very fucking well.
It doesn't take long before the law heat in your stomach becomes a raging fire, your heart racing like it will burst from your chest.
“Fuck..’m so close,” You moan, eyes shut tight, hand reaching down to lightly grip Carmy's hair. Part of you wants to pull him away, part of you wants to push him closer. “I..I..”
“Shh,” Carmy whispers, his voice pushing you closer to the edge. “You can..just let go for me darling..”
You come with a soft cry, your whole body feeling like it's about to sink into the mattress, a heavenly feeling. Carmy slowly moves slowly, you open your eyes as he moves on top you of. You crane your neck up to kiss him and he hesitates for a moment.
“Wanna taste myself,” You murmur softly. He lets out a groan and kisses you before you can even breath. Your hands move into his hair as he kisses you slowly and wetly, it's lewd and gentle at once.
Your hand moves between your bodies, lazily palming at Carmy. He pulls back from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.
“We don't have to..”
“I'm still awake,” You murmur softly, tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “don't break your promise..”
He doesn't break it.
You don't have your usual sense of urgency, he keeps his shirt on and your pajama top rides up over your chest. But it feels like a new level of intimacy as you wrap yourself around him, as he whispers in your ear that he needs you, he wants you, he won't ever mess up again.
He will, and you will, but in that moment you let the fantasy breathe.
He moves slowly but deeply, each thrust hitting the spot perfectly. The last thing you remember before falling asleep is the feeling of Carmy's lips against yours, the perfect knot in your stomach that almost unravels, the belief he will stay.
In the morning you don't have toast.
You are surprised with pancakes in bed.
The news is on, but neither you nor Carmy pay attention, the pancakes half-eaten on the bed, a trail of clothes leading to the shower.
#the bear#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto#carmy x reader#carmy x you#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto x you#the bear fic#smut#nonsense#men being shitty#but fucking cute
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Human Packbonding: Spontaneous Adoption
One of my favorite of the HASO tropes (specifically a sub trope of the human packbonding trope) is humans as the ultimate parents, specifically humans having the propensity to adopt random kids from bad situations. I love me some found family, sue me. Here’s a little three part (maybe more) diddy I wrote a while ago with this trope as the base.
Merc and Floof
Six months. I’ve been on this Odin-forsaken planet for six fucking months. It is a miserable existence, hunting monsters in the desert wasteland with no gratitude from the locals. The lords who hired me think their pitiful pay thanks enough, and the common folk resent me for being on the lord’s payroll. Not to mention the sandy terrain, beating heat, and oh yeah, the fucking monsters I’m killing. Once my contract is up, credits be damned, I’m getting out of here. I’d rather sleep on the streets than stay here any longer than physically possible.
… or at least that’s what I’d say if I didn’t have a husband and son to provide for. My mercenary work is the only thing keeping them fed, and as much as I’d like to go home to be with them, I know they can’t live off his teacher’s salary alone. Sometimes I think about abandoning my post and taking the next shuttle off planet, but those are just my intrusive thought speaking. Realistically, I’ll be staying on this planet for a few more years at least. Jesus titty fucking christ, If hell exists I am in it. Now, I know this sounds like I’m throwing myself a pity party here, but I assure you I’m not. I’m just telling it how it is.
The brooding mercenary was roused from his trance when a young Lycan tugged at his cloak. She was small, thin, and would be dangerously fluffy if not for the grime and sand caked into her fur. She was wearing what to any Terran would be easily identified as a potato sack but to the Lycan was a passable dress. She was shivering in the nighttime cold, breath nearly forming into steam before her, and yet, in perfect Terra Communis, she spoke.
“Um, ahem. My master, Lord Mokta, would like to formally invite you and a guest of your choice to dine with him and his wife in his estate in an hour. If you’ll please let me know your plan I’ll run it back to his lordship.”
“Master huh? What are you, some kind of slave?”
“Um no, not really. I’m an indentured servant for his lordship, my parents made the contract. I’ll be free once I can pay out the contract value or when I come of age, which ever comes first.”
“And how much do you get paid?”
“I don’t, I rely on the kindness of strangers like you.”
“That sounds a lot like slavery to me… So then, what’s the contract value?”
At this point, the mercenary’s interest had been piqued. He scarcely knew what he would with the information he would obtain, he only knew that his ravenous curiosity would be stated only once he knew.
“… it’s 50 credits sir.”
50 credits? Did he hear that right? Only 50 measly credits could buy this sweet girl’s freedom? He could afford to not eat for a few days if it meant this girl, whose name he didn’t even know, would get to go free. He pulled out a 50 cred stick and pressed it into the girl’s paws.
“That should cover it then, now how would you like to be my guest to Mokta’s dinner?”
Instead of simply accepting like the stoic mercenary expected, the girl burst into tears and fell to the ground. She sat there on her knees, hyperventilating, sobbing, and thanking the bewildered mercenary profusely. It was a sight to behold, and the mercenary was finding himself increasingly uncomfortable. He tried, unsuccessfully, to use words to quell the girl’s tears. This effort only exacerbated the storm of emotion and in the end, the mercenary wrapped the girl in his arms and let his heartbeat and breathing steady her own. Once she had calmed enough to be spoken to, the mercenary did so.
“So then, what is your answer? Will you or will you not accompany me? If we don’t get going now, we’ll be late.”
“Yes, I’d love to go with you! But are you sure my dress is ok?”
“If it’s good enough for his messenger, it’s good enough for his guest. Let’s get on then.”
It was quite the upset when the cloaked mercenary, sword at waist and ragged girl in tow, strode into the banquet hall. The Lycan with the fanciest robe, Lord Mokta the mercenary assumed, was especially outraged. He shouted to the mercenary.
“Human! Why aren’t you dressed properly?! This kind of disrespect would have you beheaded if you were my subject!”
“Good thing I’m not your subject then. I don’t own one of your fancy robes, nor any Terran formal wear. It was either my day cloak and ceremonial sword or my power armor and machine gun, which would you prefer?”
“I…, you…” he sputtered, “all right, just take your seat here. Messenger girl, get back to the quarters!”
“Wait now, she’s my guest. You did say I could have one guest, right?“
“Guest?! She’s my indenture and she will obey my commands!”
The mercenary patted the girl on her shoulder, encouraging her foreword.”
“Lord Mokta, this is a fifty credit stick.” She held it up to him, “as such, my contract is paid off and I don’t have to do what you say anymore.“
The mercenary cracked a small grin, a rarity for him on this hell world.
“That’s right, and as a free person I’ve chosen her as my guest. Now then, please make a place for my darling girl.”
It was just then that his holo pad pinged with a job offer in his home system for ten times the pay, and he knew everything would be alright.
This girl must be some kind of lucky charm, I should thank her, and probably learn her name as well.
As the unlikely pair strolled through the moonlight, the girl, now well fed, began to shiver again. Taking his responsibility as her father, the mercenary passed her his own cloak.
I’m a hardened soldier, and she’s just a little girl, after all. She needs it much more than I do.
The girl, for her part, began to tear up again and the mercenary knew he needed to nip that in the bud. A constantly crying wolf girl would not fly on earth, he’d be lucky not to find himself in jail. He spoke to the girl, keeping his tone even but serious.
“Hey, is the cloak ok? Are you still cold?”
“N-no I’m warm now. Th-thank y-you so much, f-for everything! For the f-food and for p-paying off-f my contract. I was w-wondering what happens to me now? I mean, I can’t go back to his lordship’s house and I w-wouldn’t want to impose on you b-but…”
“Oh I thought that was obvious, I’m taking you back to my planet and adopting you… That is if you want to of course. I have a husband who will love you, and a son about your age who would be thrilled to have a sister.”
“You’re adopting me?! That’s awesome! And I get two dads and a brother, frick yeah!”
“That’s good, some enthusiasm will serve you well. Oh I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s your name?”
“… I don’t have one. A name is something to be earned when you pay off your contract or come of age. But I didn’t pay off my own contract, you paid it for me. I guess, if I have to have a name, could you maybe pick one for me?”
“Very well…” The mercenary became pensive, mentally going through a list of names, but none fit the fluffy anomaly at his side. Eventually, his thoughts turned back to the job offer that had came in earlier. Of course he had accepted, he’d be insane not to. Ten times the wages, and within a day’s commute of his family… a true miracle. He knew what name to give her.
“How does Fortuna sound to you? It means good luck where I come from.”
“I love it, cause I’m the luckiest girl alive!”
“No, I am the luckiest man for finding you.”
Merc and Floof: The Gaurdian
I hate spaceports. Between the long lines, the crowds, and always being on security’s radar, they are the worst place ever. That’s what I would say before I traveled with Fortuna anyway. I officially apologize to all parents who travel with kids, my condolences. This is a whole other layer of hell. I have been awake for nearly twenty four hours straight and our flight leaves in two, my daughter is terrified that someone will take her away from me and so she won’t let go of my cloak, and I almost got into a fight with a security agent because the moron tried to take my sacred sword. Do these blockheads not understand the concept of a ceremonial weapon? It hasn’t left the sheath in years and I have proper documentation for it. But no, they had to try to put it in a ‘travel case’ and store in in the plane. Well, the tenets of my oath dictate that my weapon shall not leave my side and so I was prepared to duel for my honor. Luckily, the guy backed off and got his supervisor, who worked everything out, and we got to our flight on time. Gods, I hate spaceports.
The exhausted mercenary was roused from his near coma by his daughter tapping on his shoulder. Towering above him stood two bovid security guards, one tapping his foot impatiently.
“Huh? Oh yes, what seems to be the problem?”
“Sir, we’re going to need to ask this girl some questions. We’ll be just over there, now come with us little girl.” At this, the already quite diminutive lycan shrank back and clung desperately to her father’s cloak. This set off the mercenary’s paternal instincts, who first glared to the security guards, then comforted his daughter.
“It’s ok sweetie, just tell the truth and there shouldn’t be any issues. I’ll be keeping my eyes on you too, so if anything goes wrong I’ll be right here.” With a reassuring headpat, the girl was sent off. The human watched the three like a predator waiting to strike. He gripped his sword so tightly his knuckles ached, ready to launch into a fight at a moment’s notice. Going to jail would be a small price to pay for defending his daughter.
After what seemed like an eternity, but in actuality was only about five minutes, the now teary eyed lycan came scampering back to her father, immediately gripping her tiny paws back onto the mercenary’s cloak. Seeing her distress, the now furious human looked the bovids in the eye and spoke, his voice chilling the room.
“Why is my daughter crying? If you hurt her I will pay you back ten times over.” The guards, in spite of their clear physical advantage, backed down.
“No sir, she was just eager to get back to you. You two are fine, thank you for your patience.”
The mercenary sighed, this was not an uncommon occurrence. At the last spaceport, they’d been stopped no less than three times, each time eager to find some reason to take his daughter away from him. He looked around as he cared for his little girl, acknowledging the disgusted looks from the rest of the people waiting at the gate. Thankfully this was the last leg of their journey, they’d soon be on earth. He couldn’t wait to see the rest of his family again.
Merc and Floof: The Dichotomy of Man
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt
splat
Ka-plunk
boom
“Two down, three to go.”
The mercenary whispered under his breath as he loaded up another shell into his shoulder mounted artillery. Part of him felt good having his power armor on after four days of travel, but the other, much louder part, was getting impatient. All he had to do was kill three more of these buggers and he could get back to the barracks for a video call home. He was anxious to see how Fortuna was adapting to life on Earth, and how his husband and son were adapting to the surprise adoption. He hadn’t exactly had time to call back and check with Elliot and Grayson before bringing home another kid, so when he showed back up out of the blue with a random new daughter in tow, there were shocked looks all around.
Unfortunately for the mercenary, he didn’t exactly have the luxury of time to get everyone used to the new situation, as he had to catch a shuttle to Mars the next morning. He knew that Elliot would never throw Fortuna out, and that Grayson was a good kid who wouldn’t even think of bullying anyone. Still, his upcoming call home would tell him if he’d made a mistake in unilaterally adding Fortuna to the household. He hoped not, but he wasn’t the one who took care of the kids most of the time.
Skreee
“Oh shit!”
The mercenary’s thoughts had wandered, and the last bugger, a massive mantis looking fucker, had managed to sneak up behind him and was now trying to melt his power armor off with its acid spit. The mercenary, liking his power armor unmelted thank you very much, grabbed the bugger by its spikes and ripped it straight in half.
“Well, that’s going to take some buffing out.”
He sighed as he signaled for the cleanup team and began to make his way back to the transport. Soon enough, a smile creeped its way up his lips as he looked forward to his rapidly approaching call home.
… … …
The mercenary, now changed out of his power armor, tapped his foot as he waited for the call to connect. Waiting just seconds was now taking a greater toll than the week of waiting that preceded it.
da-ding!
In an instant, all of the mercenary’s stress melted away as the image of his loved ones sitting together on their familiar blue couch appeared on the screen. As soon as the kids saw their dad, they began to smile, and the mercenary knew everything would be alright.
“Daddy!”
The young kids shouted out in unison, the young wolf girl’s tail smacking against the couch. The simple, oversized clothes scrounged up by the mercenary before their flight from her homeworld had been replaced by a comfy set of pink pajamas.
“Hey kiddos, have you two been good while I’ve been gone?”
The mercenary wasn’t really asking, he knew that his children had been on their best behavior. He just wanted to hear them talk about how they’d been doing, their voices like water to a man dying of thirst.
The young boy spoke first, “Yeah, we’ve been good! I taught Fortuna howda play connect four, she’s really good at it, she even beat me two times inna row.” He mumbled out the last phrase, indignant embarrassment painted in his body language.
“Really? Grayson Constanza, the connect four champion of the world, lost to a newbie?”
The wolf girl piped up, puffing out her chest in pride. “Heck yeah! I beat him good!”
The mercenary smiled with contentment, he’d be home with them next week. All he had to do was wait.
After chatting with the kids for about fifteen minutes, the little ones were sent off to bed and he was alone with his husband.
“Bruno, how have you been? How’s the new job?”
“I’m doing better now that I’ve seen you and the kids. The new job’s alright, much better than the last one, but I can’t wait to come home.”
“And I can’t wait to have you here. I have to admit, I was about ready to pummel you into the ground when you showed up with a random kid, but you made a good choice. Fortuna opened up to me about what she went through growing up on Lycaeus, and it wasn’t pretty. Grayson loves his new sister, even the neighbors think she’s a sweetheart.”
“I’m glad to hear that, and I really am sorry about not being able to be there for you. I miss you guys.”
“I miss you too, love.”
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it is healing to come onto this blog and see basic respect for diasbility after being in other corners of the fandom and reading the words “snowkit could never be a warrior because he wouldnt know what anything is. he wouldnt even know what a clan is because nobody could explain it to him” said in full seriousness
Im..... That statement is so ableist I cannot even imagine the worldview you'd need to have in order to come up with that.
They really think the only way anyone learns anything is through verbal-speaking-words-noises? No one has ever observed something before? Not even once?
This is beyond touching grass, this person just fell out of the fucking Jurassic Period when all they had was ferns and stegosaurs.
I just...
OH YES. I remember my first day of Society Lessons as a hearing person, where the everything was explained to me. Via Audiobook. FIRST they spoke and said, "you are standing on the ground." It was a life changing revelation, and the world began to spin.
But it did not stop.
THEN they said, "there are fingers on your hands." The sensation of flesh and bone crackling into existence is indescribable, but I did not yet know pain, until they told me, "that hurts." I began screaming immediately.
And yet... it continued.
They explained so much. Chairs. Tables. Walls. The sky. Frogs. Ionizing radiation. Breathing. I was told all of it, in one sitting, and only then did I understand. Only when my ears were bursting with normal hearing knowledges, did they begin... my final test.
A strange wall-chair-finger emerged from the sky-of-the-wall, stood on the ground several times, until it was in front of me. A second one came behind it, this one slimmer. The audiobook gave these things names;
Human. Father. Mother. Door. Walking. It was completely impossible to know what these things were until that very moment.
I watch a human dip a hook into water and produce a fish, and I recall my Society Lessons where they called that "fishing." I am decked in the face by a nefarious hooligan, and I have only the audiobook to thank when I know I have been "punched" by a "bad guy." It was only the magic of verbal-speaking-words-noise that made me understand that there are "other people" and that they "do stuff."
Sometimes, even, in "groups."
Before the Society Lessons Audiobook, I knew nothing. I was pure, innocent, uncorrupted by concepts such as "parents" and "door." I am grateful every day that there is no such concept as "being shown things" or "simple logical reasoning" or "looking."
Blessed be those amongst us who escape the horrors of the Society Lessons Audiobook. I pray that you never learn what anything is. Be free! Free as a bird, which also knows nothing and famously cannot learn. 🤗
DEAF/HOH FOLLOWERS I'm losing my mind do you want me to bump a 'Hearing Disabilities Herb Guide' to the top of my priorities? Something you can use to bludgeon whackadoodles like that. This is ridiculous
Obviously not a MEDICINE guide but like; common causes of hearing disability in clan cats. Accommodations for hearing loss vs congenital deafness. Actual difficulties of not having that sense Clan-by-Clan. Debunking of misconceptions like... not being able to learn APPARENTLY.
#bone babble#Fennelposting#Obviously the answer is 'theyre incapable of THINKING' but like... they do know snow has a line right#In the book. He figured out. A word. Through observation.#He says 's'all right' because he knows it calms ppl down#He did not need to hear the magic words 'You can make noises at others to influence them'#Like a fucking tutorial tip#Im going to start keeping a JOURNAL of ''times people have been weird about snowkit specifically''#Ableism#cw ableism#I could also link to the pawspeak thing so it's all in one place#I wrote this last night and put it in the queue and I laid awake thinking of this...#What do they think happens when someone goes to another country where things aren't written/spoken in a language they know?#Do they think they wouldn't be able to figure out anything? Do they think the tourist would just perish#Would they collapse in the streets of Berlin sobbing?#Happened to me. Went to England and they called it a Car Boot Sale instead of a Flea Market and I died to death#AND if I did make that guide please tell me if there's any other weird misconceptions you need to see in it#I know that ONE of them is going to have to be that. like. deaf people make noise.#theyre actually quite loud because they don't know they're making noise#and people with hearing loss do not suddenly forget how to speak.#and people born deaf dont talk like cavemen#cw body horror#tw body horror#EDIT: OOPS sorry I have such an astonishingly tolerance for body horror I did not realize that counted as body horror
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So, it finally clicked that while the average person does in fact broadly comprehend that people are neither good nor evil - they're good and bad, and have free will - they also can't understand why some people would fully commit themselves to completely awful causes or to being a terrible person throughout their entire lives. They can't really picture how this works, because they can't imagine themselves choosing to die on a hill of Being A Terrible Person.
This void in their comprehension is where the myth of the Ontologically Evil Person is very likely to come and settle in sooner or later, because it seems to finally provide an answer that makes sense of otherwise senseless cruelty and violence. Agonizing questions like "Why would my boyfriend spend so much energy on making me feel like shit and breaking me down?" "Why would this historical figure decided to kill all of these people?" and "Why would this guy go start a cult and murder everyone?" are finally given an answer, and the formerly-bewildered person finally has some peace of mind.
Because of this, the myth of the Ontologically Evil Person is incredibly hard to get out of people's minds once it takes root. For one thing, bad ideas are like bad habits; it doesn't really work to tell people to Just Stop With Them, because without something else to take its place? They're going to fall back on it.
And if somebody's been traumatized from abuse? The last thing they want to hear is that they're basically dehumanizing their abuser and that's not cool, because it feels to them like the other person is taking their abuser's side and telling them to get fucked. Even if this not what's happening, the survivor's brain is currently operating on fight/flight/fawn/freeze mode, and a brain operating fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode is keyed to making snap decisions to try and remove you from the danger as soon as possible, which means categorizing everything into black and white. This person couldn't care less about the history of eugenics right now; literally all they care about is being safe.
"Okay, so if the Ontologically Evil Person doesn't exist, how the hell do you explain those fuckers over there?" some of you are probably asking.
Here's the deal. Literally every human being alive can and will do terrible things if they're sufficiently scared and desperate. They're in no position to appreciate that nearly all asshole behavior can be explained by a lack of critical social and self-management skills, or by a lack of access to self-improvement (including being too traumatized to trust means of self-improvement).
People who are scared, insecure, and under high levels of stress will often cling to anything that makes them feel better, because they want to feel safe and secure and not in psychological and/or physical agony. (Stress does an absolute number on your body, too.)
Being reliant on a shitty behavior, belief system, or product for some measure of feeling secure and safe is how you get people saying things like "If I didn't act mean, everyone would just walk all over me!" or "I was really depressed before I found this, so if I gave it up I'm going to get depressed again, and I might hurt myself." (And there might be some truth to this one! This might indeed happen if they give it up cold turkey, and without finding an alternative!) It's how you get people conducting """scientific""" studies to """prove""" that their bigotry is totally justified and not at all irrational. ("Well of course these people are genetically inferior, they wouldn't be poor and disease-ridden if they weren't... what do you mean, systemic inequality and uneven healthcare access? No that's obviously fake and made up by More Bad People.")
People also act in unhealthy ways to deal with personal insecurities implanted by parents or society. You have people out there whose parents drummed it into their heads that second place was for worthless losers, or that no one would love them if they didn't look or act a certain way. You have people who absorbed the idea that acknowledging the basic humanity of shitty people means that they have to forgive them and personally help them get better and just suffer through the abuse in the meantime.
This is how people choose to die on the hill of Being A Terrible Person. They weren't ontologically evil. They were scared, and they thought they saw a fortress on the top of that hill that would keep them (and perhaps also their loved ones) safe.
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Rite of Passage
Lo'ak Sully x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader
The rundown: You and Lo'ak mutually agree to paint each other for your coming of age ceremony. Although you're both growing older, some things never change.
Warnings: language, Reader and Lo'ak being painfully oblivious, Reader swearing up and down that she hates Lo’ak’s hands but she really loves them, just lots of fluff and stupidity, characters are aged up
WC: 5.5k
A/N: This was my attempt at writing a light-hearted lil fic that I don’t feel obligated to stretch out into a series. It's basically word vomit idrk how I feel about it, but anyways!! Another one for the Lo’ak lovers (me) lol <333
The highly anticipated season had finally come around once again—the annual, collective moment in which the entire Omaticaya clan came together to celebrate the time-honored induction of their youth into the world of adulthood. Over the course of several grueling months, the young Na'vi had been put through their paces, overcoming demanding rites of passage and thus earning their coveted standing within the tribe.
The lively and uproarious ceremony was more than just a celebration. It signified a crucial stepping stone in the journey toward becoming accomplished members of the Na'vi society. And this year, Lo’ak found himself among those transitioning from childhood into adulthood, moving one step closer to joining the ranks of his higher-ups.
He’d finally be treated like an adult, he’d finally get to exercise free will outside of his parents' strict and demanding orders. He’d get to celebrate with all of his warrior friends and probably consume way more drinks than he should, but that was all part of the adventure. He’d be a free man, and he couldn’t fucking wait.
But as thrilling as the entire experience was panning out to be, there was this nagging sensation at the back of his mind—something that clouded his thoughts like a veil of unease.
It was customary for each young Na’vi to be adorned with intricate body paint before attending the celebration—a powerful symbol that represented their transformation from childhood into adulthood. It was akin to casting off one’s previous life and stepping into a new, mature version of themselves.
Each unique design would act as a shroud, allowing the individual to leave behind their former innocence and emerge reborn, strong and prepared for all of life’s challenges.
While most of his peers had already secured mentors, close friends, or even lovers to skillfully adorn their bodies with intricately painted designs for the ceremony weeks before its commencement, Lo’ak had nothing. Despite all his accomplishments thus far, he’d yet to find someone to help him present himself in a manner conducive to the age-old tradition. Which was a big problem.
Lo’ak had been struggling with the idea of asking you to paint him for the upcoming ceremony for weeks on end. It was something that weighed heavily on his mind, but he just couldn’t figure out how to approach such a delicate yet meaningful conversation with you. Embarrassingly, he found himself losing sleep over it all, tossing and turning in his hammock, replaying scenarios in his head, trying to find the right words that didn't seem to exist.
You and Lo’ak shared practically every experience and milestone throughout your lives together. You went through the same rites of passage as Lo’ak to be welcomed into the tribe as warriors. Given your close bond, it was natural that Lo’ak would want to be the one to paint you for the ceremony as well. Unfortunately, just as with asking you, he stumbled when it came to bringing up the actual topic. It was going beyond the casual interaction of friends—this was a formal event, steeped in tradition and significance. The whole situation left him feeling overwhelmed with stress and anxiety.
But still, Lo’ak understood the weight of the tradition: it was all about deep connections and honoring those who had played an essential role in your life. Last year, he recalled watching Kiri as she painted Neteyam for his coming-of-age ceremony. As per tradition, this year Neteyam painted Kiri, a symbol of their familial bond and reciprocal support. It made sense, but at the same time, there went two of his potential options. Tuk was way too young to know what she was doing, and it’d just be straight-up embarrassing to have to ask either of his parents to do it for him. That would defeat the purpose of the entire ceremony; he was supposed to be an adult now, no longer reliant on his parents.
There was no doubt in Lo’ak’s mind that you’d be the perfect partner for the adornment process. You weren’t just a passing acquaintance; you were one of Lo’ak’s closest friends. Your friendship was strong enough to withstand the toughest storms. But still, Lo'ak couldn't shake the feeling that asking to paint each other would somehow cross a line between friendship and something much more intimate. It’d be embarrassing. And what if you had chosen someone else already? What if it was some other guy? Lo’ak’s stomach dropped at the thought.
And now, as the day of the ceremony had arrived, Lo’ak found that he still hadn’t mustered up the courage to ask you about the painting ritual. His anxiety mounted as time slipped through his fingers like sand. He was so screwed.
As you approached the Sully family’s tent, the faint sound of metal slicing through the air caught your attention. A knot of unease tightened in your chest as you hesitantly pulled back the tent’s entrance, revealing Lo’ak sitting alone in the dimly lit space. He was cross-legged on the ground, wholly engrossed in spinning his dagger in circles on the floor, his quick fingers directing its every move. As used to his stupidly reckless behavior as you were from years of friendship, your eyes still narrowed at the sight. You swore he was two seconds away from slicing his finger off and bleeding out right there in front of you before the ceremony even began.
So much for his adulthood.
Lo’ak’s ears twitched, and his trance-like concentration suddenly broke as he sensed your presence, his focused expression softening as he turned his gaze to meet yours. Momentarily distracted from his dagger, he rose to greet you, meeting your eyes with a look of genuine confusion.
Lo’ak eyed you up and down before stating matter-of-factly, “You’re not painted for the ceremony yet?” He didn’t phrase it like a question—more like an observation. And that was a little unfair, because it wasn’t like he was dressed in his body paint either.
Feeling a tad defensive, you retorted, “Neither are you,” as you made your way deeper into the heart of the tent. As much as his words had sparked annoyance in you, a secret wave of relief washed over you as you realized that Lo’ak wasn’t ready for the ceremony either. That could mean good news: maybe he hadn’t found a partner for the painting ritual yet.
There was still hope.
For days, you’d been meaning to ask Lo’ak about the whole rite of passage painting thing, but every time an opportunity presented itself, you’d back out like a little bitch. You honestly didn’t even know why you hesitated. It shouldn’t have been difficult to approach him about it. Lo’ak had always been your closest friend—you’d trained together, learned to tame your ikran together, and even completed your Uniltaron one after the other. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d agree to be your partner for the significant culmination of everything you’d accomplished together. It was just that the entire ordeal of getting someone—a good friend or otherwise—to meticulously rub paint all over your body felt so… affectionate. You and Lo’ak weren’t affectionate. Just thinking about it made you feel like there was a cascade of woodsprites flurrying around in your stomach.
You shook your head, trying to get rid of those persistent thoughts, when Lo’ak’s voice invaded your musings.
“Yeah, I don’t know who’s gonna paint me. Haven’t had time to ask anyone yet,” he said nonchalantly while reaching down to retrieve and re-stow his dagger.
He was avoiding eye contact, his yellow eyes aimlessly darting around the tent. You found it hard not to roll your eyes at him because it was so obvious he was lying about being too busy. You’d literally just caught him goofing around with an entire weapon moments ago. However, it didn’t really come as a shock that Lo’ak hadn’t approached anyone about it yet. Social graces weren’t his strong suit, and mustering up the courage to ask anyone to play such a role in his rite of passage couldn’t have been easy for him.
But still. Either way, you made up your mind; it was clear that things needed to move forward somehow. Regardless of the situation and awkward challenges it presented, you couldn’t sit idly by anymore; both of you were running out of time, and it’d be stupid to continue dancing around the matter at hand.
Resolutely, you decided it was best just to be upfront about it and get the whole thing settled once and for all—for both of your sakes and for the sake of friendship. Maybe it wouldn’t be as awkward as it seemed.
“Okay. I’ll do you, and then you can do me,” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips without any real finesse. It was as if the sooner you could get those words out, the sooner you could escape the oncoming wave of embarrassment threatening to wash over you.
However, Lo’ak’s reaction caught you off guard.
His eyes widened in surprise and his eyebrows shot upward as he averted his gaze from yours. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his attention inexplicably drawn to an unremarkable spot on the ground near your feet. You scrunched your face up in confusion as you tried to make sense of his bizarre reaction. It wasn’t until you gave yourself a moment to process and then reprocess the words that had spilled from your lips, that you realized how they might have sounded to Lo’ak’s stupid teenage boy brain.
Trying to push away your own mortification and distract the both of you from the burning color that you were sure was spreading across your face, you acted on instinct, reaching over and smacking Lo’ak upside the back of his head. It was a necessary move to kill the dreadful silence that engulfed the tent.
“Ow! The fuck?” Lo’ak screeched, nursing the spot where you struck him as if he had genuinely been injured. He had always been overly dramatic.
“Just sit down,” you told him, trying your best to maintain a casual demeanor.
Despite the twinge of awkwardness still lingering in the air between both of you, you firmly gripped Lo’ak’s arm and pulled him back down into a sitting position on the floor. With Lo’ak seated and somewhat calmer now—even if he was still rubbing at the supposed wound on his head—you made your way deeper into the tent to rummage for the supplies needed for the body paint.
Jake and Neytiri were always well-prepared, making sure they had an ample supply of materials for when the time came to don their traditional war paint. Thanks to the countless hours you spent with the Sully children, navigating their tent was like second nature to you, and locating the necessary items was a breeze.
With a mortar and pestle full of bright white pigment in one hand and a bowl of water in the other, you re-approached Lo’ak, who was sitting patiently, waiting for your return. As you stood there, you studied Lo’ak’s face and allowed your gaze to wander down his frame, trying to visualize the patterns and symbols that’d complement his warrior spirit. Eventually, feeling inspired, you took your place in front of him.
Making yourself comfortable, you positioned yourself on your knees, making use of the extra bit of height, before you reached for the mortar and pestle and meticulously ground the white pigment into a fine powder. You drizzled in a small amount of water to create a smooth paste that would soon adorn Lo’ak’s face and body.
As you mixed the paste, your thoughts began to wander. Despite your focus on the task at hand, you couldn’t ignore Lo’ak’s piercing gaze. It seemed to bore right through you.
It still baffled you just how much Lo’ak had grown in such a short amount of time—it seemed almost sudden. For as long as you could remember, you and Lo’ak had been virtually the same height. There was even a brief period during your early childhood when you stood a bit taller than him, and you never let him forget it, teasing him about it every chance you got. But now? Things were so different.
It was like Lo’ak had shot up overnight. Not only was he growing taller by the day, but he was growing stronger as well. There was no denying the obvious changes in his physique. And it wasn’t like you were trying to notice the changes. It was impossible not to see the way his arms had filled out, the way his shoulders had broadened, the way in which even the slightest movement would cause the muscles in his stomach to ripple.
Just like they were at that very moment, as Lo’ak nervously shifted under your intense scrutiny, self-consciously crossing his arms over his chest.
Right, because you were definitely staring at him. You mentally chided yourself for letting your focus wander so far off course.
Swallowing hard, you turned your focus back to the task at hand. As you stirred the paint, pouring all your effort into getting the consistency just right, you tried to ignore the fact that the once-casual atmosphere between you and Lo’ak was now laced with an undeniable undercurrent of tension.
Out of nowhere, Lo’ak abruptly asked, “Is it gonna be cold?” His question caught your attention, and in a way, you were grateful for the sudden interruption. Your mind had been racing with thoughts of how you’d manage to paint any area below Lo’ak’s shoulders. But you decided to cross that bridge when you reached it.
“You tell me,” you quipped in response, placing the mortar filled with paint on the ground beside you. You dipped each of the fingers on your left hand into the paint, discovering that it was indeed really cold. You did the same with your right hand before lifting both sets of paint-covered fingers toward Lo’ak’s waiting face, wondering how the hell you were supposed to begin.
Truthfully, you hadn’t come up with any elaborate painting patterns or designs in preparation for the moment, which was somewhat concerning. The entire ceremony was meant to be personal and special, something that required contemplation and reflection for at least a few days before actually starting the painting process. Yet there you were, just 30 minutes away from the start of the ceremony, and not a single thought in your brain.
Despite your lack of planning, Lo’ak was calmly sitting right in front of you with his full trust placed squarely in your hands. So, without any further hesitation or delay, you decided to just dive in and let inspiration (and the trust of Eywa) guide your hands.
Taking a deep breath, you gently pressed your fingers to the edges of Lo’ak’s eyebrows before slowly trailing them across his forehead and then swooping them down along the bridge of his nose. You tried very hard not to laugh at the way Lo’ak flinched from the sensation of the cold paint touching his skin.
Momentarily, you took a step back to assess your progress and decided that it didn’t look half bad. The realization fueled your enthusiasm enough to continue painting. Coating your fingers in the paint once more, you continued to glide them confidently over the smooth contours of Lo’ak’s cheeks in swift strokes.
As you neared completion, you observed that all that remained unpainted on his face were his lips. They looked strangely bare. You weren’t really sure whether they were supposed to be painted or not. But the idea of touching Lo’ak’s lips, even just with your fingers, caused your heart to pound erratically within your chest. It was so bad that you were contemplating just backing out and moving on to the next part.
But just when you were about to give up and move on, unintentionally, your eyes met Lo’ak’s. It seemed as though he was reading your mind; he knew exactly what you were thinking as he studied you intently. There was no turning back; he had already noticed your hesitation.
Trying to maintain focus on the art and not let yourself become overwhelmed by how close you were seated across from Lo’ak proved challenging. You could practically feel the soft warmth of his exhaled breaths as they caressed your face. It made your spine tingle and caused goosebumps to rise across your arms.
“Close your mouth,” you ordered firmly, hoping to alleviate some of the tension in the air. He obeyed, immediately pressing his lips together with exaggerated swiftness. With a soft smile, you slowly raised both of your hands to his mouth. You gently placed two painted fingers on his mouth and traced them down his lips. From there, your fingers continued their journey along the curve of his jawline.
Taking another dip in the paint, you allowed your gaze to wander across the entirety of Lo’ak’s unpainted body. With your internal pep talk in place, you decided to just dive in. Maybe if you did it casually enough, everything would be fine. You softly nudged Lo’ak’s crossed arms apart with the backs of your hands. Your fingertips began their descent from the sides of his neck and moved deliberately across the broad expanse of his shoulders.
Silently reassuring yourself that it was nothing more than your overactive imagination when Lo’ak ever-so-slightly shivered under your touch, you diligently tried to make things move along as quickly as possible. Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you adorned his shoulders with bold, white swirls that seemed to dance and move on their own.
Gradually moving further along his muscular form, you traced delicate lines that wrapped around each sculpted bulge of his biceps and along the contours of his forearms.
As your focus moved even lower, you took note of your favorite part of his body: Lo’ak’s uniquely impressive four-fingered hands. Upon reaching each digit one at a time, you spread long white lines down their length with seemingly natural precision. You let your instincts take over as you continued to create patterns and shapes on his skin, fully immersed in the fluidity of your motions.
You decided to save his chest for the very end, knowing just how awkward that part of the process was going to be—and truth be told, you really wanted to delay the moment for as long as possible. The silence within the tent was almost deafening, and you couldn’t help but send a silent prayer to Eywa, hoping with all your might that your hands would remain steady and not betray your mounting anxiety.
Dipping your fingers into the paint once more, you hesitantly approached Lo’ak’s chest. You were doing everything in your power to avoid making eye contact and ignore how tense his entire body was. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves, you quickly drew a series of intricate loops across each of his pectorals and then traced symmetrical lines down the center of his chest. Those lines continued, gracefully curving around the sides of his ribcage.
With every passing moment, it felt like the two of you were collectively holding your breath, neither wanting to break the fragile bubble of silence that had formed around you.
Concerned for both your well-being and your sanity, you decided it’d be best to wrap up that part of the painting process as quickly as possible. It wasn’t until then that you finally allowed yourself to exhale. You exchanged an awkward glance with Lo’ak, silently affirming the palpable tension surrounding you.
“Okay. I’m done,” you announced, gently sliding the container of paint toward Lo’ak. You dipped your fingers into the nearby bowl of water, absentmindedly scrubbing away traces of the drying paint, which turned the water a cloudy shade of white. Your words acted like an instant wake-up call, abruptly jolting Lo’ak back to reality from his trance.
His focus had been so intense while you painted patterns across his chest that he inadvertently stopped breathing altogether. The sudden, sharp inhale that followed the sound of your voice served as evidence of that fact. That realization was enough to make you lose your own composure—just a tad.
You made a half-assed attempt at suppressing the grin that threatened to break past your lips, so you weren’t really surprised when Lo’ak extended his arm and slowly began to tug the bowl of paint toward him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
The seemingly innocent yet still very suspicious act instantly put you on high alert. All you could do was watch in horror as Lo’ak suddenly immersed his entire hand into the paint. Your eyes widened in fear as he slowly lifted his paint-covered hand and began to edge closer to you, moving the dripping monstrosity in the direction of your face.
“Wait. Lo’ak, wait!” you warned, frantically shaking your head in an attempt to dissuade him from what you already knew would be an outrageously idiotic plan.
A glob of paint dripped from his saturated hand onto the floor between the two of you. You warily watched its continued pooling descent, leaving a bright splatter of paint on the ground that Neytiri would definitely kill you both for making.
“Just trust me, y/n,” Lo’ak insisted, the stupid grin on his face somehow both charming and alarming at the same time. It was more of the latter. You absolutely didn’t trust him.
“Lo’ak. Don’t you dare...” you began, your voice wavering and your ears flattening against your skull in weary anticipation.
But Lo’ak was undeterred by your protests. They only motivated him further. Barely giving you enough time to shut your eyes and mouth, he guided his entire paint-coated hand onto your face. The combination of the cold paint and the warmth from his hand sent shivers down your spine. Instinctively, you pressed your hands on the ground beside you, every fiber of your being screaming for you to get up and run. Far, far away from him.
However, Lo’ak wasn’t about to let that happen so easily. Somehow anticipating your attempt to recoil away from him, he brought up his other hand to secure the back of your head, making sure that you weren’t going anywhere. You sputtered loudly at the sensation of being literally smothered, and of course, nothing on Pandora could’ve stopped Lo’ak from laughing uproariously at your suffering.
“Stop moving! You’re gonna ruin it,” Lo’ak tried to sternly warn you while unsuccessfully stifling his laughter. He clearly found it all very amusing.
You couldn’t fucking breathe. You tried to communicate as much to Lo’ak, but you were sure your words sounded like nothing more than a strangled garble of sounds.
Eventually, Lo’ak seemed to take pity on you and lifted his paint-covered hand away from your face. You instantly gasped for air, finally unencumbered by his prolonged attempt at suffocating you to death. However, your relief was short-lived as you tasted the bitter, acrid flavor of paint on your tongue.
“You got it in my mouth, dumbass!” You complained with a groan, making sure not to swallow anything. Your disdainful tone only seemed to delight Lo’ak further.
“No one told you to eat it,” Lo’ak retorted with a dismissive snort. He was walking that thin line between playful banter and genuine ire. You could seriously kill him.
You narrowed your eyes at the little shit in front of you and desperately tried to rid yourself of the unpleasant taste by frantically licking at your arm. You probably looked completely unhinged, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Lo’ak made a face at your display, crinkling his nose in disgust.
Left with no other option, you did what any sane person who was minutes away from being welcomed into adulthood would do—stick your now paint-covered and saliva-slicked arm out toward Lo’ak’s incredulous face. His shock and horror at the development were priceless.
Lo’ak barely had time to react as you swiftly thrust your arm toward him, but his lightning-fast reflexes won out in the end. Always one step ahead, Lo’ak knew you and all of your little tricks too well. It was like he could read your mind. In the blink of an eye, he was already crossing half of the tent in a mad dash. He backed away from you with his hands raised defensively in front of him, like someone facing an untamed beast.
“Chill…we don’t have to do this,” Lo’ak cautiously pleaded with a slow shake of his head, his tone dripping in a mix of seriousness and amusement.
But you were undeterred. “Yes we do,” you deadpanned determinedly and slowly continued advancing on Lo’ak, coercing him to move toward the back of the tent. Your eyes never left his, maintaining a fierce stare as the situation continued to escalate.
Without warning, you lunged at him like a predator going for its prey, stretching your arm out in eager anticipation. It was so close—just inches away from Lo’ak’s face—but he was quick to react once more. He grabbed hold of your biceps with an iron grip, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You couldn’t help but hiss at him in frustration, feeling utterly defeated by the massive strength disparity between the two of you.
Lo’ak’s eyes locked onto yours for a split second before focusing on another target: your mouth. His expression changed from one of caution to sheer amusement as he caught sight of something peculiar—and apparently hilarious—about the sight.
His grin stretched ear to ear, nearly swallowing his entire face, as he blurted out, “Oh shit. Your entire tongue is white!”
His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and your eyes immediately widened with alarm. Because it definitely couldn’t be safe to consume paint. There could’ve been poison coursing through your veins at that very moment, making every passing second one closer to your tragic demise, all thanks to Lo’ak and his stupid hand.
But despite your mounting panic, Lo'ak remained utterly unfazed. He obviously found the situation amusing, as evidenced by the way he wasn’t even trying to suppress his unbridled laughter.
“One night,” you vowed through gritted teeth, “I swear I’m going to sneak into your tent and cut every single braid off of your head in your sleep.” The more you thought about it, the more serious the idea became in your mind.
Lo’ak merely tilted his head, and an annoyingly attractive grin stretched across his face. “Oh, yeah?” He taunted, vehemently nodding his head along with what he knew was just another one of your faux threats. “And then what are you gonna do?”
As he spoke, Lo’ak tightened his grip on your arms—a bittersweet reminder that he was well aware you weren’t going to do shit to him in his sleep.
You eyed the unpainted underside of Lo’ak’s forearm, which rested directly in front of your face, and a childishly impulsive urge overwhelmed you. Without giving it much thought, you leaned in and licked a long, wet, white stripe along the length of his arm. The unexpected action elicited a shrieked “Bro!” from Lo’ak, who could only blink at the sight of your tongue, still pressed to his now-slobbery arm, in disbelief. You reveled in his reaction to your sudden move, despite how immature it might’ve been. He deserved it, and you had no regrets.
However, as fate would have it, the impromptu moment coincided precisely with the return of the entire Sully family to their home as they prepared for the upcoming ceremony. Jake and Neytiri led the way in, followed closely by Neteyam, Kiri, and Tuk. All of them. The five family members entered the tent one by one, each grinding to a halt as they caught sight of you and Lo’ak’s odd exchange in the far corner.
A few beats passed as everyone’s eyes darted back and forth between you two. The silence was palpable, and the tension continued to rise like an invisible fog that filled every corner of the tent. It finally dawned on you that it'd probably be a good idea to remove your tongue from Lo’ak’s arm.
Taking matters into your own hands—or, more accurately, your tongue—you gingerly began to distance yourself from Lo’ak. You took a cautious step sideways, followed by another one, making sure there was a healthy amount of space between you both. You hoped that would somewhat defuse the situation while also giving off the impression that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired—though it was clear you weren’t fooling anyone present.
The awkwardness still hung heavily in the air as each second felt like an eternity passing by. You could only imagine what thoughts and judgments must be running through everyone’s minds.
The silence in the tent was so profound that you could probably make out the gentle sound of a leaf falling from a tree outside if you really tried. The quiet was unsettling. It made your fingers itch. You found yourself tucking your hair behind your ears, trying to find some purpose for your idle hands instead of having them dangle awkwardly at your sides.
Opposite you, Kiri tried to conceal her knowing grin behind one of her hands. As to what she knew that you didn’t, you were utterly clueless. Regardless, you couldn’t help but feel unnerved by her expression. Similarly, Neteyam chewing on the inside of his cheek in an uncharacteristic effort to maintain his composure did little to alleviate your discomfort.
It wasn’t long before Tuk broke the silence with a question, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. “Is that a handprint on your face?” she innocently asked, pointing a tiny finger at what was definitely a handprint on your face.
Five sets of curious yellow eyes darted back and forth between your face, Lo’ak’s conspicuously stained white hand, and the matching white handprint wrapped entirely around your arm. Feeling their collective gaze upon you, you decided that you weren’t even going to try to talk your way out of the situation. “Yeah. It is.”
Without missing a beat, Neytiri swiftly turned her attention towards her youngest son as she hissed out his name: “Lo’ak.”
And thank Eywa for that. At least somebody had your back.
Lo’ak’s voice tended to reach an almost comical high-pitched tone whenever he was aware that he had done something wrong, and this occasion proved to be no exception. He glanced over at you with equal parts guilt and defensiveness in his wide eyes.
“It looks cool, though!” He insisted, trying to justify his actions. He waved his hand close to your face, as if the gesture held the power to magnify his point and erase any doubt you might have had. You squinted at the offending white hand hovering in front of your face before hastily swatting it away as if it were an annoying little bug.
Lo’ak grinned in delight at your visibly pissed-off demeanor, which only seemed to fuel his determination to get under your skin. He appeared to forget all about the looming presence of his entire family as he defiantly stuck his hand back in front of your face. And you were not about to let that happen again. You were probably going to have nightmares about his hand. Pivoting toward Lo’ak, you shoved him away from you, probably a little harder than necessary, judging by the way he stumbled a few steps to the side from the force of it all. But he was laughing as he re-straightened, not at all deterred by your outward hostility.
It was mostly feigned, anyway.
Neytiri watched the exchange between you two with amused exasperation, her eyes twinkling despite her best efforts to remain stern. She let out a soft ‘tsk’ as she shook her head, unable to fully suppress the tiny smile that crept onto her face. She reached down to gently grasp Tuk’s hand before leading the child further into the tent.
“Jesus,” Jake muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly struggling to maintain what little patience he had left. Jake would always throw that foreign word around whenever you and Lo’ak were together, but you still had no idea what it actually meant. “Just—finish up, alright?” He threw an exasperated look toward you and Lo’ak. “No more shenanigans. We’re leaving in ten.”
“Yes sir,” Lo’ak mumbled, his expression a mixture of mischief and feigned seriousness. He waited until Jake and the rest of his family were out of earshot before turning back to you.
“It looks cool,” he said again, his face breaking into a genuine, broad smile as he stepped back to take in the masterpiece he had just created. He couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the intricate design of his handprint that adorned your face. Giving himself a little nod of satisfaction, he crouched down to pick up the paint once more, eager to continue where he had left off.
You couldn’t see your own face, of course. But secretly, you had to agree that it probably did look kind of cool. You’d never openly admit that to him, though. There was no need to inflate his ego any further. Still, deep down, you knew you'd be proudly sporting your best friend's four-fingered handprint at the coming-of-age ceremony that evening. To you, it symbolized the unbreakable bond you both shared.
From his seated position on the floor, Lo’ak’s eyes rose to your face, a single brow raising in amused confusion at your idle form. Dismissing his reaction with a shake of your head, you couldn't prevent the warm smile from stretching across your lips as you settled back down in front of Lo'ak.
end
#teyamskxawng#teyamskxawng’s fics#lo'ak x reader#lo’ak x reader#lo’ak fluff#lo'ak fluff#avatar the way of water#avatar#avatar 2022#atwow#lo'ak x y/n#lo’ak x y/n#lo'ak sully#lo’ak#lo'ak fanfiction#avatar fanfiction#james cameron avatar
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🥺 so um for your dad blurbs, what about like a lil ‘meet cute’ sitch with singledad!eddie x singlemom!reader. maybe their lil toddlers become friends on the playground or somethin’?? idk idk feel free to ignore me!! 💗
cece um what? why why why would I ignore you or this?! Sorry this one too got away from me, I can't seem to write teeny tiny blurbs guys. Thank you so much for requesting and I hope you like it! 💛dad blurbs
summary: see above Eddie deals with his daughter throwing a tantrum but - this is fluff warnings: single mom reader, descriptions of wiggling worms and reader touching them so if you ain't into bugs sorry | even if a fic is not marked 18+, my blog is - please respect this
1.5k words
Why Do Worms Exist?
singledad!eddie munson x singlemom!reader
Hands tugging at his curls in impatience as he juggles the backpack, the keys, the twelve leaves left in his custody and the angry toddler in his arms.
“Down!” she tugs harsher and he huffs.
Haircuts and baths seemed to be the only time his kid felt like reminding him that she was in fact his kid. Squirming and wrestling and shrieking loud enough the glass on the apartment windows could pop. He was grateful for his daughter, don’t get him wrong. Reminding himself whenever the demon possessed her during those moments that she’d be his quiet and wonderful kid again soon.
But no one could have predicted that walking and exploring and learning would hit around the same time as Autumn in Hawkins - well okay, maybe someone else could have other than him. But no one, including Eddie could have foreseen that his unique and already quirky baby girl would be fascinated by any and everything that season had to offer her. And, really, how could he have predicted the meltdowns about these things when he told her she couldn’t take them all home with her?
Fucking leaves.
And worms. Why’d his kid have to like worms?
Maybe that was his own fault for calling her Bug. Were worms bugs? Were they their own…species? Jesus Christ he barely got his diploma and now here he is with a kid having a level thirteen meltdown about leaves. What happened when she got older and had questions about these things she found fascinating and he had nothing to offer her? Maybe Dustin would have a book on it. Or Robin. She’s into weird stuff and random facts.
Eddie sucks in his breath as Sam yanks one curl particularly hard and realizes that if it’s bad now, the very near future of Spring would be even worse. And oh god, the rain and the mud and even more worms and his heart starts racing faster as he thinks about how much bigger she’d be come then. She’d put up even more of a fight.
He finally gets the pack over his shoulder, the keys tucked safely in a pocket. Sammy’s butt supported under his arm and his hand with the leaves wrapped around her back. Twelve leaves - they’d barely made it down the sidewalk.
She pushes against his chest, cheeks red and flushed to match her bright red rain boots dangling and kicking dangerously close to unwanted territory and he winces, “Hey, hey, watch it Bug. Getting too close for comfort there.”
Eddie knows she didn’t catch any of that and her tiny hands wind fists into his hair and her chin wobbles as he prepares for the wail to come and he squeezes his eyes shut. Only to be met with fiercer squirming and a head butt to his jaw that makes his ears ring, “Ouch! Sammy, come on, you can get down soon!”
He didn’t yell, but he definitely raised his voice more than he meant to. Sam cries and cries like he’d seen other kids do when heading in the opposite direction of the park. As they round the corner he can see the bright reds, yellows, and blues of the slides and jungle gym.
“Look, Bug, swings,” trying and failing to calm her down with a favorite word and activity. He sighs as other parents look his way as he gets closer. Sure, his kids shrieking was disturbing the peace but theirs screaming on the playground was fine. Gossiping and judging girls from high school who grew up into moms but didn’t outgrow anything else.
He sits on the bench as Sammy pulls and yanks more, closing his eyes again. Eddie presses his forehead to hers, wincing every time she hits against it. He speaks quietly, “Bug, come on, listen to daddy. Calm down.”
He sets the leaves on the bench and the crying stops almost instantly. He opens his eyes, Sam’s temple to his nose, crocodile tears trailing down her cheeks and tiny chubby hands reaching towards the pile.
“Leeb,” she hiccups and grabs at the pile.
Eddie holds her in a firm lock, hand rubbing soothing circles up and down her back, “Leaf?”
She grunts, trying to squirm away again and she whines, “Pwease!”
Heart aching because she’s trying to say please, and she knows that’s the nice way to ask as she calms down. But god, he can’t have her bringing home every leaf from the park.
“Bug,” he taps the pile, “Leaves stay here. Not coming home with us. Leaves stay outside.”
She huffs and he watches in wonder and awe as she nods and whispers, “Owside leebs.”
He grins. He did it. He dealt with a tantrum while judgey moms watched and his daughter is smart. She understood so much and she was probably gonna be a scientist or some crazy awesome shit he couldn’t even come up with.
Eddie kisses her nose and wipes her cheeks with his thumbs, body relaxing, “Right. Outside leaves. Ready to go play?”
She shimmies out of his grasp, legs dangling until her boots hit the ground and she wanders toward the playground only to pick up a stick. Poking at the dirt and he covers his smile when she sits. Her plaid jumper and tights dragging and collecting all the dirt and leaves they can manage.
A little boy sits next to her and she smiles at him, a dimple popping out and extending a stick to him like Eddie had taught her to share. He swallows harshly when she grabs his hand and they waddle to a particularly muddy puddle.
Oh fuck. She’s gonna get even older and the meltdowns aren’t gonna be about fucking worms they’re gonna be about boys or drinking or-
“You look like you’re dealing with some extreme and sudden realizations right now.”
Eddie glances up to see you standing near his bench, smiling kindly and a cup of coffee in your hands. He’s taken aback one because an adult is talking to him instead of standing off to the side and judging and two because holy shit were you pretty.
He gulps audibly, “I-uh,” he glances back at his daughter who’s fully laying in the dirt on her stomach now and he smiles, “Yeah, uh I guess you could say that.”
Gesturing to his kid and the little boy, “I see yours is corrupting mine. Believe it or not we’d managed to stay away from dirt until today.”
Eddie grins widely, “Well wait till he finds all the things crawling around in the dirt and wants to take them home.”
Your gloved hand presses to your cheek, dragging it down as you groan loudly, “Why do worms exist?”
He watches you watch the kids, your face melting into warmth and that sappy wow that’s mine look he knows he gets with Sammy all the time. He’s a goner if you’re single.
Gesturing to the bench and scooting over he sighs, “Pretty sure only to torture parents.”
“Great. Can’t wait,” you deadpan and sit, removing your gloves and extending a hand to him and introducing yourself.
Just because there isn’t a ring doesn’t mean anything. He shakes it back, “Eddie.”
Nodding your head to the little boy who’s flinging dirt around wildly with his stick, “That’s Parker. My right hand guy.”
Eddie straightens and sees the webs across the backpack you’re stuffing the gloves in and smirks, “As in Peter?”
Clearing your throat and taking a sip of your coffee before continuing, “Yeah, I’m shameless. I named my kid after my favorite superhero, okay? I was alone and drugged up on all the painkillers they could legally give me.”
Alone.
He waves his hand, “It’s okay, mine's after a Lord of the Rings character.”
You smile at him, shy and sweet. He should just ask right? Or offer up his own information. Is it like just sharing your phone number with a girl? Hey, I’m Eddie, I’m a single parent are you? Not sure what’s about to come out of his mouth, but he’s stopped as his daughter decides she wants to be the worst wingwoman on planet earth right at that moment.
“Hole pwease,” her tiny voice brings his attention down, extending her dirt smothered hands out to you.
Your mom instincts kick in, holding out your hands like it’s nothing but Eddie knows exactly what Sammy is about to drop in your hands. He’s not quick enough when he leans forward though,
“No, Bug, don’t-”
Several squirming worms drop down into your palms and he watches your eyes go wide. You don’t freak out or grimace though, instead you smile and extend your hands out further when your son drops more into the pile.
Your smile is bright, cheeks popping and eyes shimmering and your laugh swirls around his heart as you speak to them in a way that makes his stomach flutter, “Woah you guys! Look at all these awesome worms!”
He watches in awe as you ask their names and sit patiently with wiggling worms in your hands as they point and poke at them and his daughter holds one up closer to your face and your eyes go wide and she giggles.
He’s a total and absolute goner.
#eddie munson#singledad!eddie munson#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n
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Hello! I have a bit of an embarrassing question to ask you, and you don't have to respond if it's too uncomfortable a topic to discuss. I've been struggling with my family's annual re-watch of Harry Potter this year (something I can’t avoid without upsetting and/or offending my parents), and it's made me think a lot about fandom and my place in it, though I haven’t been active with HP for many years. I had, recently, and briefly, considered doing a podfic of one of the fics I most loved when I was still in fandom, and have since concluded that no matter how far removed from the source material (as an early Marauders fic with M/M and significant deviations from the source material) it just isn’t appropriate anymore.
As to the other fics (written, not pod’ed) still existent on my account, I haven’t quite decided what to do about them yet. I guess my question is: how did you come to the decision to orphan your HP fics, rather than delete them; and would you still make the same decision now, as her tailspin into fascism has worsened?
I'd orphan again, no question.
We are deeply fucking unfortunate that the Rowling situation is one of the worst cases of "I don't think death of the author (the concept, not actual death) will fix this for me."
And, so, I had to decide for myself how I felt about being connected even tangentially to that fucking asshole. And I realized I wanted no connection at all.
But.
And this is the important part.
But. There are people who find comfort and enjoyment in MY stories from HER book series. Yeah, I'm using characters she created, but I'm putting them into different stories than she ever did. I wrote a series about Percy during the war where he was running a safehouse, and I wrote it because I was mad at how little actual war made it into the final book. And people like it BECAUSE it's a much more honest look at war (and that it's Percy/Oliver, but duh).
It turned out, for me, that the answer wasn't to delete everything I'd written and take stories away from people because the originator is a fucking asshole. The answer was to complete the death of the author. Me. By taking my name off my stories.
I assume my stories are still getting read and enjoyed. I hope so, at least. But more importantly to me, I didn't take away something I created to be shared because the original creator is a bad person.
I can't control what Rowling does. I can't control all the people who continue to justify why they continue to give her money while saying out of the other side of their mouth that they know she's a bad person, but Harry Potter means sooooo much to them, so they're just sort of stuck (no, you just want official merch).
I can control my own decision and be happy with it. If someone finds comfort in those stories I wrote, they'll be on AO3 whenever they need them. And setting them free from me and my complicated feelings on all of it was the right decision. I hope they're enjoyed, and I'm glad I left them to be found.
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WAAH Joseph Russell streamed on YouTube and talked about Lucien and all the stuff he plans to add! I'm so excited!! What he has currently has always felt like, incomplete, so I'm so fucking happy there's going to be another arch of story for him.
I'll type down things I find interesting towards Lucien below! Feel free to watch his VOD here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFd9rDW87HY
Three things he mentioned that most people won't know about Lucien:
He has an aunt named Silvia that he does not get on with; they have a hostile relationship. His Discord came up with a funny headcanon that he enjoys that Lucien's mom, Lyra, thinks she's Lucien's father's sister, and his father, Davidicus, thinks she's Lyra's sister, and it's just never come up in conversation. She's actually just some super natural entity that's wormed her way into their life. (The fuck??? LMAO)
Lucien's cat is inspired by Joseph's cat, Gray, who is very small and fluffy and sometimes cameos in his videos. Unfortunately we will never meet Lucien's cat. ("Probably.") He hasn't decided on the cat's name! ("Sorry! Wish I could tell you.")
And the third fact is that he once set fire to his shoes trying to boil potatoes. ("And that speaks for itself.") This white boy cannot cook!! But he can make tea.
He confirms that Lucien is 21 (lmfao knew it) and that he doesn't have a canon birthdate despite Lucien saying he thinks he's under the sign of the Lady ("thinks" being a big if) because Joseph wants to wait to see if wants to set in a particular date at a later time in case it is useful. So headcanon to your hearts content!
"Probably won't ever get to meet Lucien's parents because it's a lot of effort- but never say never."
He'll make Serana comments some point in the future HALLELUJAH It felt so bland without Lucien asking her anything because I know he would pick her brain!!!!!!*
*Expanded further down the video: someone asks what Lucien would ask Serana (THANK YOU CHATTER).
Joseph: He would ask what it's like to live as a vampire, and also the past, the experience of the time before he grew up when Serana existed.
He wants people to tweet him art of Lucien or post it in his Discord, he never gets art sent his way anymore on twitter (cause modding scene from Skyrim is kinda old hat but we're essentially reviving it I think lmao) but if you have art and you've never shown him, do it!!!
KJHASKDJAH okay so for those who have child dragonborn, Joseph says Lucien would be virtually useless aksjdhask he'd want to be supportive and teach them everything. He'd want to take them under his wing and teach them the signs and everything- but he'd be really irresponsible and bad at parenting. But he'd mean really well. So there ya go.
Dawnguard support for Lucien is very high on his list!! Let's goooo!!!
Lucien canonically does not being called Lucy. (Stares at my fanfiction with a snicker. It's okay, I call him Lu-Lu more often than not.) Davidicus would not like being called Dave, and Lyra would not like being called Ly-Ly.
We'll find out what Lucien wanted to see in the Elder Scroll in his third quest 👀👀👀👀 Staring so hard. GIMME.
He doesn't want to turn the resonant sphere into a teleport system, but rather make it something more lore friendly for you to call Lucien to you. I look forward to that because I actually planned something similar in my story too!
Someone asked Joseph if he thinks Dumzbthar could abandoned his aggressive side and live without the restrictions Lucien gives him and Joseph replies with, "No he's a demon. He's a Daedra. Don't forget that."
Chat: "Will Inigo ever let Lucien ever have a sweetroll?"
Joseph: "No. Not without a fight."
Lucien would like black tea. But Joseph himself likes various other teas. (That's... so many teas my guy.)
He enjoys filling out Lucien's spell list when he plays with / tests Lucien. Lucien's favourite spell would be something having to do with restoration; maybe Healing Hands to heal others. Even if he gets super excited about Sparks, lol.
Something that raised an eyebrow from me; chat: "Will we ever find out what Clive really is and where he came from?"
Joseph: "Yes... but probably not in the Skyrim mod."
Lucien was first more as a bard when he was created, and was originally going to be captured by a group of bandits. The scientist side of him wasn't so much of a facet at the start but built up over time. Joseph finds it that he became more interesting versus him remaining as a bard in his first instance of creation. I do too!
Chat: If Lucien could time travel to any point back in time, where would he end up and why?
Joseph: He would go back as far as he could to the very point of creation- he wants the secrets of the cosmos, he wants to know everything he could possibly know. He'd go to the very start to possibly see the world be made and then go to the end to see how it finishes. He needs those questions answered.
Joseph himself is unsure in his memory for which Dwemer ruin he's thinking of, but chat and he tentatively think he's thinking of Mzulft for Lucien's favourite Dwemer ruin in Skyrim!
Lucien doesn't worship any Aedra or Daedra, despite his awareness of their existence, and doesn't have any favourites.
Lucien isn't really embarrassed by much outside of when he puts his foot in his mouth, says something he doesn't mean, and then gets all flustered. He also is not embarrassed about his love and affection for his parents- he's quite proud of them and is happy to share that. :) Joseph likes the idea of him getting letters from his parents over time, and hopes to put that in in the future.
Lucien would ask Sheogorath many questions the Daedric Prince would probably not answer. (That's hilarious.)
Joseph has mentioned that he plans to bring Lucien into Starfield as an older version and vaguely mention the Dragonborn but he isn't certain how he'll go about it. He was asked by chat if Clive will be in Starfield (and subsequently how he would design a spacesuit for a horse). Joseph says probably not, as Starfield likely won't support horses.
Chat: What does Lucien do when he's in Falkreath and not with the LDB?
Joseph: He leads a double life... as an... assassin wizard.... squirrel trainer..........
Chat: Who would win in a fight, Lucien or Lydia?
Joseph: Lydia. She would destroy him. She'd snap him like a twig.
Lucien has probably never had chocolate, but if he did, he'd love it! (Stares lovingly at my Valentine episode)
Lucien is not afraid of average sized spiders! Just the bigger ones that try to eat him.
Chat: Has Lucien ever had fear overrule his curiosity and make him back down from adventure, or is he always the type to overlook danger in favor of knowledge?
Joseph: Hmm... probably not so much as fear as caution. There's a lot of knowledge related to the Daedric Princes' that he has been cautious enough not to indulge in; however I think that's always a danger for him. I think if he were ever to- you know- to have a flaw, I think it would be to... pursue knowledge too much and he might not consider the consequences as much as he should. I think that is his biggest temptation in that regard. So perhaps fear and caution should make him back down more often than it would.
(Staring HARD at that and wondering if that'll play a big part in his third arc)
His third personal quest is hoping to be released later this year!!! Big year for soft wet sock of a man!!! (I hope!! No pressure Joseph!!!)
Lucien has absolutely no want to be a werewolf or vampire because of the implications of selling his soul, but he is interested in immortality because "think of the amount of knowledge he could get."
BOY. You're gonna get conned one of these days...
Joseph is learning the guitar, and says whenever he feels he's good enough and can play the Skyrim songs on guitar, he'll record them and have Lucien be able to play them on the lute!!! Exciting!!!
Lucien isn't keen on the Thalmor but is aware of the politic need to make niceties with them.
Pretty much the end of it! I'm so excited for the third arc!! YIPPEE!
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Hello, on behalf of my friend who doesn't have a Tumblr account \•<•/, could you write about an Eddie x Male Reader? Where reader is bisexual but before going out with Eddie he had a girlfriend who left and no one knew where he was not even her parents, a while later he begins to date Eddie but the Ex returns with a baby (who is the son of a reader) he is fascinated with the news since he always wanted a family and with several children, so he begins to give all his attention to the The baby, reader doesn't know what to do, he loves his baby more than anything in the world but he also loves Eddie and feels confused with the return of his Ex. That's the context of everything, I hope you like the idea!
Co-parenting Requires Effort
Eddie Munson x Reader
I really tried to get to this request but I feel like I really only did half of your request so of course I apologize for that but writer's block has been fucking me over so I hope you are satisfied with what I got
Y/N's ex comes back after struggling with raising their baby and Y/N needs to figure out how to tell his boyfriend, Eddie
Warnings: swearing, not much else I don't think, not proofread
Eddie was amazing, he was perfect compared to anyone else Y/N had ever dated. I mean sure there were a few people that came close, but that didn't matter. Eddie was his present, his now, and the past didn't matter. He'd been getting more serious as his relationships went on. Y/N just guessed that he was finally getting ready to settle down.
Last relationship he was in was good, well great actually, but they just didn't really see eye to eye. The sex was amazing, he treated her well and they always made sure to make time for each other. But then she decided out of the blue that they were better apart, so there wasn't much he could do. For the first few weeks he racked his brain trying to figure out what went wrong, but then he started feeling things for Eddie, so it didn't matter anymore.
Y/N was content with his sexuality, so what if he liked guys and chicks, whatever he did in his free time was his time. Most of his partners knew that, and those that didn't had a good reason not to know. Since Eddie was flagging in a small town he figured it was fine to tell him, and then the two started to become friends. After awhile they got closer, and closer, and close enough that one time they were hitting a blunt, they kissed. It didn't mean anything at the time, but it was hard to believe that with where they'd gotten.
Eddie was always fine with Y/N dating girls in the past, it didn't make him any less gay or lessen how he felt for him.
Almost a year ago, Y/N's now-ex-girlfriend broke up with him for reasons she didn't tell him. But now, 2:45 pm on a Sunday, she was back. Before he could even greet her or ask why she was there she spoke suddenly.
"I have a kid." She was blunt and dead serious, her voice seemed like it could stop working at any moment, "well a baby, and she's yours, I wasn't with anyone else so,"
Y/N was curious and caught off guard, so he invited her inside, once they made it to the couch he took her hand as a form of comforting her. It was like instinct.
He'd waited until she pulled herself together a little more. "Listen, I know that you moved on but I don't think I can do this on my own," Her voice started to wobble again as her eyes watered. "And I'm not asking to get back together with you-"
"We can co-parent, between the two of us we can work something out, It's gonna be fine," the words flew out of his mouth before he could think of anything else. If he really had a kid of course he'd wanna be present, what other reason would she come here for?
"Yeah, yeah we could work that out," She wiped the tears from her eyes, Y/N brought her into his arms. Who the hell cared that they were over, she needed him.
-------------------------------------------------------
It was Y/N's week with Alessandra, but Eddie had no idea about her existence, so he had to deal with that. As he put her down for her afternoon nap he heard the door unlock. Of course this was the time he came over unannounced.
After making sure she was all swaddled up and sleeping soundly he went downstairs, taking a few extra breaths. Eddie hadn't been over in awhile since Y/N had been working and preparing for his daughter to be a part of his life and that preparation was more exhausting then the average day at work. When he got to the last step he watched Eddie's face turn for his usual excitedness to confusion.
"Y/N are you babysitting or something?" He looked between the various baby toys to the little play mat.
Y/N sucked in a breath of air before going over to the couch and patting at the cushion beside him. "Well, no actually I... I have a kid now."
Brief panic flashed across Eddie's features "When? Is there someone else?" His tone was hurried.
Y/N was quick to shuffle closer to his boyfriend, pulling him into his arms. "Baby no, no she was from my last relationship I swear. My ex came by around a week ago and she said Aless was mine and that she needed me." There was a moment of silence before he continued going on, "Eddie listen I love you but I understand if you want to leave or-"
"Y/N, sweetheart I never wanna break up it's just gonna be hard with the kid and your ex but I swear I don't want anything other than to be with you and I'll try to help as much as I can."
"No Eddie if you wanna leave you can, it's fine I understand with all of the bullshit with your dad and all of that."
Eddie grabbed his face so he could try to get his point across, "I am never going to leave you as long as I have a choice in the matter, yeah my dad was a piece of shit but I'm not gonna let that affect this." He paused, just gazing into Y/N's eyes, "I mean, if you want me to help you parent."
"Yeah, that'd be amazing,"
#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie munson stranger things#eddie munson x male reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie x male reader
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King and Eda are Bad Characters
Specifically because of the show they’re in.
Conceptually, in isolation, neither is actually that bad or that great. Eda is just a grouchy mentor character and King is... Okay, King is a bad character because he’s comic relief until his character entirely inverts itself but any of the concepts present with him, being a disaffected young adult, being a megalomaniac child or even just being a lost kid trying to find his place without his birth parents are all good concepts that you can get a lot of fun or narrative use out of.
The problem comes that they’re in a comedy adventure and both have this very peculiar and unique trait that does make them different from most fictional characters in that NEITHER WANTS TO DO LITERALLY FUCKING ANYTHING. Both are lazy assholes who don’t actually care about anything and don’t want to do anything. They are entirely content with just existing.
Which is kind of a problem for your main cast of an isekai. Luz literally doesn’t know enough about the world to self motivate. She literally blindly walks to Hexide and it’s a good thing that happened instead of falling into a pit or monster’s mouth, etc. like that. And Luz does that because Eda isn’t interested in actually teaching, she just wants free labor and King sure as fuck isn’t going to do anything when S1 King wants everyone to just give him things without ever trying. That’s part of his one joke.
It’s why the found family aspect in S1 is actually as bad as it is. Most of the time the two of them are entirely dismissive of Luz so Luz either has to find a way to blackmail/bribe them into doing something with her or fuck off and do her own thing without them. When they are together, they’re making fun of Luz and her beliefs and not in a “We’re good friends who have this back and forth” but instead a “Look! This fucker cares about anything!” This is still true all the way to GROM! Three quarters of the way into S1. And it’s only a third of the way through S2 when Eda calls Luz and King her kids!
It’s why S1 is dominated by Hexide and S2 is dominated by other characters than the main trio telling them going “Do this.” I’ve railed against proactive protagonists but this isn’t just not being proactive. This is actively being against being in the VERY STORY YOU’RE IN.
Which is part of the point to TOH because I imagine they think they’re clever with this. That they’re being ‘subversive’. After all, fantasy shows have mentors who immediately start teaching their youths, Their mentors truly love their subject and so even while grouchy do relish in being able to pass on those skills. Fantasy characters don’t care about danger because part of the granduer of the world they live in is the possibility mixed with danger that is around every corner. You never know what will happen if you just point in a direction and go.
But Eda and King are both characters who would go “You get eaten, the end, I’m gonna go take a nap.” In S2 this evolves a little towards the Hop Pop side of it where “Everything is so dangerous and these are kids,” but one of those people you’re talking about is literally one of the strongest witches in the Isles because glyphs are busted and the other is someone you have code names for crimes with and in this very season have gone out and done highly dangerous crimes with to get Palistrom wood. Remember: Eda ives so few shits about the dangers of her world that when the EC head and a squad of soldiers comes, Eda just keeps knitting Luz’s cloak while Hooty makes a literal joke out of them.
That gets into just how incompatible the 2 seasons are though and I have an ask lined up inquiring about how detrimental the shit treatment of the EC is.
But yeah, when 2/3s of your main cast are like this... How are you supposed to tell adventure stories? Easy: You don’t. They’re characters that feel directly out of something like Community, Always Sunny or even Family Guy (to the point where the playground B plot for King where he uses Eda’s monster form feels like its directly inspired by the episode Stewie meets Bertrum) so their plots are those. So many of them are in town or cleaning up messes of their past or really just exceptionally mundane because they’re NEVER going to go do something actually adventurous. Luz always has to go off on her own for that.
But that’s the problem isn’t it: In something like Family Guy, they would be entirely forgettable. Very basic and not even that funny or that ripe for jokes so they wouldn’t be great for that show but they would be compatible. For a KID’S SHOW... Why are they here? The only argument for them is the case of “Fantasy versus Reality.” They are the reality that crashes against Luz but they barely do that because they’re not nearly as much of the show as one would expect. Not only that but eventually they change to never question Luz and coddle her like the rest of the cast so now they’re not even working for thematic purposes AND they’re boring.
And you can do this better. Karate Kid, Ranger’s Apprentice, a billion other stories have done grouchy mentors who still do things and still work for their stories but they’re usually at least enthusiastic about the thing they teach. The apprentice opens them up to grow and the like because they get a chance to see their lighter side through the joy they find in their passion.
Eda fails at even this. Being a wild witch is important to Eda but we’re never given the impression Eda prefers it for a specific reason other than getting to be more free than other witches. Her freedom to do fuck all though because why should she bother? So she isn’t even excited about magic and her freedom barely matters to even her because it’s just so she can go “Yeah, you have to report to your coven head and all the friends you have at your coven while I get to go home whenever I want to a bird tube I actively dislike and a roommate I mock constantly!”
Yeah... Keep winning Queen. I just wish you were winning somewhere else.
======+++++======
I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!
I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past.
I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead.
If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.
A Twitter you can follow too
And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.
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Por la vida que soy libre
Chapter: Prologue
Total chapters: 10
Pairing: Matt Murdock x black widow! reader x Frank Castle soulmate au!
A/N: ¡Hola, Isabel aquí! I finally got the ovaries to actually write something and not only that but post it :D I really hope you enjoy this and that at least I don't unalive myself under the pressure of wanting to keep writing, I will love to know what you think tho and English is not my first language so please excuse the mistakes I could have made.
This work will be a multichapter one. It wont be longer than 10 chapters. I hope.
Warnings: angst ( i think all of my works have angst fuck) / fluff and fluff / enemies to friends to lovers (kinda) / violence, torture ( not that graphic) / character death / happy ending / drama
Summary: everyone is born with a soulmate (a/n: wouldn't that be mental?) Soulmates can hear their thoughts since childhood, some others up until they're older. This connection only becomes stable when soulmates meet, but as it can be nourished to bloom into something solid it can also be stopped. Soulmates come with a free choice, you don't die without them, you can learn to live with the one of your choice, free will no matter what. Although those who chose their destined ones can coincide in one thing: "You could never regret it".
But when you are raised like a puppet of violence, your free will in every aspect of your life seems to have never existed. Along with your chance of meeting the ones destined for you.
.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·
When you were little, you remembered every time your mom and dad will cackle out of nowhere or share secret looks when you where excited. Sometimes they would stare at each other with a certain glint right before they attacked you with kisses or loving hugs.
They had a connection you could almost touch if you but tried to reach it and it was so, so magical to witness.
As a five year old it was your first contact with the "weird" things of this planet. Your mom told you about this magic, with the simplicity of those who have time to explain it in the years to come and along your dad, they really thought they had enough time to tell you all about soulmates.
Turns out the clock was already ticking against them.
It happened at your childhood during a Christmas morning. The tree was incredible big for your little stature and the fairy lights that were around your living room made it seem like you where in a kingdom of princesses and knights in golden armour.
The king and the queen were watching you, their little princess, swelling of childlike happiness with every present you opened.
At the fourth discarded wrapping the lights of your home went out, making you cry and your mom to pick you up while your father made the first mistake of the night. He opened the curtain just to take a little peek. What you remember after that where just glimpses of what could have been or could have not.
Glass shattering, your mom screaming, white blinding lights, one more enraged scream and then... then nothing.
When you woke up you where surrounded by other girls, some a little older than you.
You cried, cried so hard until your throat was raw and this time there where no warm arms to pick you up or soft voices with loving looks. You were alone and confused and so tired.
Without your parents suspecting it your future was settled and every thought of a soulmate wouldn't be touched up until you arrived at your new jail. And even then, there was no much to hope from it.
/////////////uwu///////////
With the passing years and as you became a Widow you tried to find yourself in the middle of women who were trained for the same as you: lying, killing, surviving. Hating.
You didn't let your ward down during the missions and the only kind of friendship you knew was the weird interactions you had with Natasha and Yelena –who seemed to sometimes hate their guts out– you could catalogue them as family and as the only ones who shared their memories with you and you with them. So, you decided that, yes, you could do it, you could trust them.
First it was Nat, the oldest of the three. She told you about a woman's voice speaking in her mind. At the beginning she thought was going crazy. Nat didn't even know if she should trust her or not and decided to confide in you.
This voice belonged to a beautiful name. "You don't get it dipshits, her voice is so soothing and calm and oh, so relaxing, she appeases me and is so gentle and lulling" she told you, Yelena and you shared a look. "You just said the same thing six times Natalia" when she didn't reply to the absurd name you always called her when she was being a pain in the ass, Yelena and you knew that Yes, indeed, she is fucked.
At first, this voice thought that Nat was joking with her when she told her that she never heard such a thing as a soulmate before. To say that the girls voice was confused and hurt was an understatement, but she was patient and alongside her — even though was harder— Natasha learned from her too.
You and Yelena really thought that Nat was going crazy.
"I tell you Romanoff, every day you worry me a little more." You said, teasing and concern stressing in your voice. "First it was you blaming me for your lost set of pocket knives from El Cairo and now this... how did you described it? Honey like, softly woman voice?"
"Do not forget the "Heavenly and sexy like" Yelena joined your teasing.
Even if you two enjoyed the talks, something that was the only normality you ever lived, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was indeed not normal for someone to hear out of the blue a voice.
"Perhaps, she is starting to develop the first symptoms." Natasha looked at both of you unamused. She let you two talk and bicker, she knew by experience that with her talking it would only get worse.
"Ah, yes. A very sad illness if may I say so, many people in here seem to have it." you added, Yelena send you a very much sad puppy eyes kinda look.
"You two are insufferable." the red head said while rolling her eyes and getting ready for the last chores of the day: moping the bathroom floor.
"When are you gonna tell the Master about it anyways?" asked Yelena while trying to squish the mop with her bare hands.
It was a simple question. Every decision you all made, without doubt, had to be supervised by the Master of the place. Your mentor. It was a conditioned thinking that you all learned since childhood and now even now almost in adulthood you had to make sure to let her know every little aspect. The Master had a schedule for your health status: the food you ate, the time of training, sleeping, practice, hell even the period and bath. You all learned that it really wasn't necessary to let your Master know when and where, but you had to if you didn't want to get punished for your lack of communication.
That's why even if you all had to obey and inform everything Natasha felt, this was hers, it was her voice, it was her friend. Her soulmate. No one in the jail seem to know about soulmates, not Yelena or you, not her other fellow widows. And Natasha wanted to keep it that way.
"I will not."
The conversation died there and for at least two weeks Nat kept talking with her soulmate and she told you and Yelena that it was warmer inside her, in her chest, that her mind wasn't clouded as before. And it was beautiful, a beautiful sight seeing Nat brighten after a tough mission.
You and your blonde sister agreed that whatever kind of madness was in Nat's head it was a beautiful sight to witness.
The third month though, everything went to shit. Natasha was going to have her birthday, and like every year, with every birthday between you three, you managed to get new weaponry for each other. Something that had relevance from your missions. Nat was supposedly turning seventeen, a year away from the graduation and she was scared. You all were.
As you were changing in your room from your last mission –with Nat's birthday present hidden in your stuff– Yelena burst in the four simple walls that was your bedroom, door slamming so hard against the grey concrete that it almost tore apart the door handle. You were about to scream some obscenity to her but the terrified look on her eyes stopped you.
"Natasha is on the med bay." That was enough for you two to run directly to see her. Your own tiredness didn't matter as well as your injuries, all of it was now in second place.
As you approached, the screams and pledges of Natasha promising, no, swearing death to all those who dare touch her became more and more loud.
"Romanoff!" If Nat was enraged, she became livid at the sight of Yelena bursting into the room only to be stopped by electro shocks directly on her head.
"Let her fucking go!" you got into action before Yelena's unconscious body touched the ground and managed to knock at least three of the massive guards that were trying to retain you and take Yelena.
The room became chaos between Natasha screams and your grunts of pain with every punch that got to you. But the fight was lost when a lighting pierced your skull and your body was immobilised as well.
They managed to tie Nat and they hoisted your body to a table seemingly like you sister's.
"The soulmates are something dangerous that cannot be taken to consideration." Your Master spoke. From you peripheral Nat was struggling against the restraints, but the sedative they gave her was already making effect. "You are made for the greatness of our nation and nothing more. You belong to us. Your mind. Your thoughts. Your emotions. Your death."
Your clothes were discarded and substituted by a hospital gown. The cold warmed your bones and drops of sweat formed in your forehead. She knows about soulmates, she knows about Nat's Soulmate.
You wondered what was Natasha thinking, what was her soulmate listening to, telling her. Was she saying goodbye? Was she trying to calm her down?
"We are going to fix you. We will make you to perfection. Our perfect girls." from the corner of your eye you watched as the Master was looking at Yelena. "Today is the day you will graduate from being apprentice and you will become Masters. You will become Black Widows."
Your Master looked around and you let out an strangled sound. Your very soul was screaming and in the bottom of your mind something deep and cold was pushing.
You barely felt the pinching on your left arm and the mask with sedative covering your nose and mouth. The heaviness in your lungs didn't help with tears that ran freely across your cheeks and the wailings of Yelena were thrumming around your mind.
A black tunnel started to form in your eyes and the voices got muffled. Again that pushing feeling pulled from some corner deep inside your mind, like screaming, pleading.
Before you lost consciousness you could swear that they were voices screaming around you in agony.
/////////////uwu////////////
Matt knew that his soulmate was out there, and like him was waiting.
When his father explained to him the concept of someone else being able to hear his thoughts, it frightened him. It felt wrong, him as a child couldn't really comprehend why will someone be okay with that? It was a total injustice! Not that child Matt knew very well about justice to talk about it, but the idea was totally mental.
His father just laughed at him with a bloody nose and hissing at every pad Matt gave him with the cotton ball.
After he lost his eyesight he became wary of the world. He became angry with his father for his choices and when he lost his father, he became angry with himself. With the men that killed his dad. With the world.
The idea of a soulmate didn't even crossed his mind. Not when he became an orphan and not when he started the training with Stick. He was angry and tired as hell. He didn't really give a shit for something he couldn't fully understand.
But his world started changing through a lot of suffering and consideration, some broken bones and bleeding noses and the nagging memory of his father taking the choice he believed in at the end, the justice is blind after all. And like that, slowly, it changed. First with his objectives in life.
His bitterness for the last years morphed with the more he became more like himself. With the freedom he found alongside the hearing, the new kind of sight he had, the enhanced abilities he got. And then came the voice of a man asking him nicely to shut the fuck up so I can get some sleep.
At that time he had already met Foggy and their shared dreams to become avocados at law made the friendship blossom. Matt didn't even need to hear his heartbeat to know the passion Foggy carried with him. The rightness he was unconsciously searching for.
One of those study nights until three in the morning the voice of a very tired and annoyed man came into his mind and he was so startled that he took a swing with his cane hitting Foggy on the temple and crashing the only lamp they could afford against the window.
"Matt! What the actual fuck!" Groaned Foggy while checking for no signs of blood in his head.
"I heard a man's voice just..."
"Really dear Matty, shut up or I'll do something that most likely will keep ya awake for the entire fucking year."
"Did you hear...!"
"Matt, that's your soulmate!"
"My WHAT?" now, even if Matt knew about this specific detail of life, he never really acknowledged it will happen to him one day. The poor guy was between confessing his sins and making more along the way to heaven, adding a little bit of semester finals and probably in search of a lawyer firm in which he could associate alongside Foggs. All of that barely surviving with almost six cups of coffee a day, and the stress that comes with being him.
"I did warn ya, boy."
To say Matt wasn't in the verge of a mental breakdown after hearing "Everybody" from Backstreet boys on repeat for a month on his head was like telling someone that indeed you don't need lungs to breath while running. His soulmate was a son of a bitch, and he would gladly trade him for whomever wanted to trade someone like the little bitch that now lived rent free on his mind.
It was hard to keep his mind in blank for the time that came knowing Frank. He was a difficult man, with a big purpose in his life. He had interests that where not at all like the ones Matt would suspect his soulmate to have. They were more like each others pain in the ass and they were fine with that.
After all, soulmates can choose who to spend their lives with.
When they talked it was almost to make the other mad, to get a reaction, and it was always out of the blue. Then they would start to bicker without end until one decided that was enough and cut the connection. Matt had to accept that Frank had some charisma behind all of that "glass half empty" thinking and even if he suppressed his emotions he could hint that the times they argued for useless shit like songs the other didn't like or dreams the other had and were bizarre and Matt would tell him that he was an hypocrite, after all "You dream with fucking jello guns that beg you to eat them Frank!" "Well yeah, but my mind doesn't dream with having to choose between a red or pink tie when I am fucking blind, boy!" Where conversations Frank needed to ground him in the reality, that outside of whatever fucking thing he was living, there was some other reality where he could get a future.
It wasn't like they didn't care for each other. It was like they were more soulmates that supported each other and at the same time hated each others guts out but in a friendly manner.
Now for Frank Castle, life was never really easy. He might have been part of the marines and tried to get along with his destined one. But every little thing from of the idealised future he made before shutting his mind off of Matt was heaven compared with what he had to endure from the moment he accepted that everything good would likely be taken from him.
And it all started with his family.
Matt knew of Maria. He would never admit that he was a little bit jealous, but Frank was happy. So, so happy that even Matt started to live his day to day with ease. The conversations had to stop, for the well being of both of them. And they agreed to close the soulmate bound for a time.
They both became invested in their own world, their own goals and achievements. And it wasn't until one December that something made their almost perfect worlds crumble.
It was cold and both of them in their respective places where enjoying a different type of Holidays. Matt was surely coming back from a party where Foggy had told him that he really shouldn't have drank that much but Matt being the stubborn little puppy he was just kept on doing that very thing until Foggy had to drag him back to their shared room.
"You're sush a nice frend Fogs, like you and... yeah..." giggly Matt talked and an amused Foggy listened. "Yeah, I know I'm a great catch Murdock just please, don't puke all over me"
There was really no other problem at hand than the feeling that something was wrong. A so common insistence in the back of Matt's mind that it was weird when he didn't have that permanent shape hunting him. That's the first reason why he didn't notice at first.
The fear was barely kept but it wasn't what got him to wake up from a drunken state. The agonising pain that came after was what took him from the very real moment in his room, laying on the couch.
He swore for a moment he wasn't in his place anymore, his eyes weren't looking at the end of the open living room where he slept but at a messy bloodied room with bodies scattered all around and the smell of black powder. Someone was screaming, begging and Matt knew it was Franks', this wasn't a dream. The emotion was so strong that his mind took him away from his reality, dragging his subconscious to the moment in Frank's life that will shape his entire world from then on.
The moment lasted two minutes before Frank mind shut him out.
Then, hell broke loose.
Months and months after were a chaos for Matt and Frank, between the pain and the unconscious rejection.
The future that Frank had built with Maria became a beautiful dream, a dream he started forgetting the moment his children took their last breath, the moment his wife, his Maria closed her eyes to never open them again. They would never return to him and in his pain, even if Matt would never blame him, he cut the soulmate connection for good.
Matthew Murdock became a hollow of himself, both for the pain that caused the lost of Frank and his own grieving. He got stuck as well in his nightmare when all he could do was remember those times where Frank was a friend on his day to day, when he gave him for granted. Now that was all he could do. Remember.
He went so deep on his own grieve that the hunt for the right people became his exit. The only way he could feel that after all, he could change the world even if it was in the most minimal way. Fisk was one of those.
Destiny has a variety of funny was of showing you the amount of choices you have. All the options can be display in front of you and its up to you if you want to see them, each one of them, or only one or two. But there are always options. Always.
That's why is so curious when Frank and Matt, even after years of being unable to talk to each other, suddenly didn't recognise themselves, not even in front of each other. With an almost kicked to death Matt sitting on front of a furious Frank.
Indeed, destiny has a very curious way of showing the path, for it wasn't at that moment when they figured out they were each others soulmates. Not even when they knew each others names or what they did for a living. Even if that part of their lives was the most important for both of them.
It actually was time after, when their worlds came crashing down for a second time, unbeknownst to them, a third soulmate that hadn't make an act of presence until a very much similar pain got them off guard.
/////////////////////// uwu /////////////////////////////
Now here's a very important detail about soulmates.
As you can see, Matt and Frank minds connection only came up years after they turned 18, Natasha's was there even before turning 17. This all is very confusing sometimes. But the connection is still there, you can feel it, sense it when you meet someone or... you can ignore it even if that One is standing in front of you kissing the breath out your lungs. This is because the soul is not ready.
One can love with all his heart, can be there for you or care for everyone else in a very selfish way. But that doesn't mean the person is ready to meet the One. Sometimes, the time is not right. And that's okay. Because having the chance to choose is what really matters. The fact that you are free to fall in love with someone without really caring if they were made for you or not.
This is a fact that many ignore, that every romantic wants to put aside and say you can't possibly love anybody else but your soulmates. And that's why Matt and Frank where so fucking weirded out and almost had a heart attack when it was your mind opening up to them, begging with your subconsciousness to the ones made for you for help.
Having gone through a very similar scenery, Matt left everything he was doing, a fucking interrogation for god's sake, and ran like never in his life, screaming in his head at Frank.
Murdock! Are you okay?
Frank! What's going on?
They asked at the same time.
Wait...
Hang on...
IT'S NOT YOU?!
#frank castle x reader#matt murdock x reader#daredevil fanfiction#frank castle x matt murdock#matt murdock x frank castle#soulmate#soulmate au#daredevil fanfic#frank castle x reader x matt murdock#natasha romanoff#yelena belova
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How they react when they realize they've fallen in love pt. 1
Taeil: It's comfortably gradual. He feels it when he's leaning back against you in the bathtub while you're gently washing his hair. The tour took everything out of him and the basic needs that he effortlessly manages on his own have fallen to the wayside. He hates that he regresses so much when he's drained but he's grateful that you love him enough to allow him to fall apart however he needs to so that you love him back to life in your own gentle way. Free of judgment and expectations. He's never felt like more of a man than he has when he's with you; being gentle, vulnerable, and protected. He's always had his own illusions of what it meant to be a man and a partner but meeting you made him realize that sometimes the best way to be a man is to show you that he can simply exist around you and be comfortable. "I love you." He whispers as he closes his eyes. "I love you too." You tell him back.
Jaehyun: It hits him when he looks at himself in the mirror and sees how effortlessly you've done his makeup. "Yo, I'm fuckin' hot." He says with a nod, "You did a really good job, miss girl. Wow." You cackle, "Miss girl?" You repeat joyfully. He's even picked up on your regular lingo; no longer cringing when you call him "sis" or "girl". "Yeah... like... damn. You've gotten a lot better." He says as he turns to look at you. You were an alien to him when the two of you first met. Your parents were strict helicopter parents who believed that makeup and nail polish was for women who had no life's purpose and only desired male attention so when you finally told him about your younger years; his heart broke a little. "Thank you, Yunho." You say sincerely. "This is nothing. Little y/n should've gotten to play and have fun like this. You deserve it. I absolutely thought this was a stupid idea before but look at how far you've come. It's extra special because I got to be a part of this." He turns back to look in the mirror, "I'm just really proud of you and I'm really happy that you trusted me enough to ask me." You nod and he reaches out and places a hand on your leg. He doesn't have to say it. You already know.
Xiaojun: He watches you put a box of cereal in the wagon he's pushing and he smiles for no reason. "Oh shit." He groans. "What?" You ask. "You ever fall in love with someone and then realize that you might outlive them?" He asks peevishly. "No... why?" You say as you stop and look at him. "Because like... what if you die first?" He says as he cringes, "That would suck." "You love me?" You say as you ignore one if his regularly occurring word vomit and existential crisis combos. "Well yeah but now I gotta carry this shit around with me all day every day- we could step outside and a car could hop the fucking curb and kill you- you could fall in the shower while I'm working and since you don't have one of those old people emergency necklaces, you could die." He says and shakes his head. You laugh, "We need milk, dude." "I need to get back into therapy." He mumbles. "Yes, you do." You agree.
#wayv#wayv fluff#xiaojun fluff#nct 127#nct 127 fluff#nct fluff#jaehyun fluff#taeil fluff#xiaojun#jaehyun#taeil#kpop fluff#nct drabbles#wayv drabbles#nct fanfic#wayv fanfic#jaehyun fanfic#taeil fanfic#xiaojun fanfic#kpop drabbles#neoculturecollectives#ambw nct#nct ambw#wayv ambw#ambw wayv#kpop x black reader#ambw kpop#kpop ambw#ambw
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A reminder for people regarding current events
(source: I am a political science and history major specializing in extremism, radicalism, and conflict and Ive also worked at museums for many years)
You can support Palestine WITHOUT being anti-Semitic. Not only do Palestinian Jews exist, but Israel also isn't Judaism, its a country. Judaism isn't a massive monolith and not all Jewish people are connected with Israel. Critiquing the actions of a government and military does not mean targeting random Jewish people in the name of the Palestinian people. Being angry at and harassing random people does not help solve the issue. In fact, it compromises the cause because this isn't a "Muslim good Jew bad" issue.
Do not just blindly support every single thing relating to Palestine you see. Make sure what you are donating to and who you are following are truthful. At the moment not only have Neo-Nazis hijacked the "free Palestine" movement simply to have an excuse to harass Jewish people more openly, but a lot of those donation links being posted are NOT going to aid people in Gaza or being displaced by the shellings. They are scams. That money is going to a scammer's bank account The same thing happened when the war in Ukraine kicked into full swing and when the protests in Iran broke out. VERIFY WHO YOU ARE DONATING TO AND WHO YOU ARE FOLLOWING. MAKE SURE WHO YOU ARE SUPPORTING IS BEING HONEST WITH THEIR INTENTIONS. PEOPLE LIE. Nazis only care about Palestine because they want an excuse to be anti-Semitic. As soon as this is over they will go back to being Islamophobic. Palestine is a means to an end for them. And scammers will always scam no matter how tasteless it is.
It is ok to take a break from the doomscrolling. I am specifically talking to those from Western countries who have gotten extremely invested in this conflict despite having no personal or cultural ties to it whatsoever. This is a complex conflict that has been going on for longer than some of your parents have been alive. Does this make it good? Hell no. And yes, people are suffering. They will be even when you turn your phone off. But doomscrolling and driving yourself to the point of crippling depression watching war footage and reading what is going on will not help them or you. You alone cannot and will not fix this. Support how you can, but remember that it is not up to you to fight all of the worlds battles and shoulder that weight. You do not have to constantly be engaging with this subject in order to help.
Do not talk over people living in these areas because you feel passionate about what is going on. You are not them. You do not know more than a Palestinian person about what is going on in Gaza. It is not up to you to constantly be inserting yourself in the conversation and saying what should or should not be done.
Do not shame people for saying they don't know enough to comment on what is going on right now. Not everyone is a terrorism expert. Not everyone is proficient in Middle Eastern studies or the history of Israel and Palestine as nations. You probably are not either if your only real engagement with this topic comes from the last month or so. Its ok not to know what is going on. Its ok not to fully understand. Not having a comment does not equate to lack of support or empathy.
None of those other news worthy social issues have stopped. The protests in Iran are still going on, the Uyghurs are still being oppressed, Ukraine is still being shelled and invaded, those at the US border with Mexico are still being horrifically mistreated. What is going on in Palestine does not replace those issues. And when the next event comes along, whats going on in Palestine wont magically just stop. All social issues are important. This isn't a game of which group is being shat upon worse.
Tiktok is also, just universally, a horrible place to be getting info from. It is brain rot the app.
This issue has been so greatly bastardized in the West its fucking exhausting. None of this slacktivism on behalf of photo edits and really stupid discourse is helpful or healthy for those engaging in it. Palestine needs freed, but a 13 year old from Wyoming isn't going to do that by calling a random Jewish person a slur or by spamming comment sections. This isn't a simple issue. People simply living in an area are not inherently evil. State actors are. Governments are. Support how you can and listen, I mean truly listen, to Palestinian people when they tell you how they are feeling and what they need.
And for the love of all that is holy and just in this world: put down your phone and stop doomscrolling.
You cannot be an effective agent of change if you spend more hours a day engaging with internet discourse on a subject you know little about and or watching horrifying war footage and making yourself severely depressed than you do sleeping or conducting your own personal responsibilities you have. Yeah, you are privileged by the fact you are not in that situation. Yes, those people are suffering. But making yourself suffer in kind isn't being productive or helping them. Comparative suffering is stupid and not helpful either.
Thank you.
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You all act like Loki had a terrible time for thousand years on Asgard, as if he is not a menace himself. I don't care about Frigga and Odin but stop blaming everything on Thor, he is fucking not responsible for Loki, never was and never will be, yet he is the only one cared. 'Thor courted war, Thor this, Thor that....... That's why Loki is what he is' put your opinion inside your ass and move on. At least Thor had duties and responsibilities as the heir, what did Loki do other than causing trouble for Thor and others. He literally had little to no responsibility, of course he would develop stupid ass ideas in his head with all that free time. DO NOT FUCKING PREACH THAT LOKI WAS POWERLESS AGAINST ALL THE 'atrocities' "COMMITTED AGAINST HIM(WHATEVER THE FUCK THOSE WHERE). He was a prince and if he suffered being mocked by others in silence than it's his fault. You see Thor was not gonna protect him all the time you know.
You midgardian queens are going nowhere with that attitude about Thor. Loki is such an annoying fucking bastard like ugh I feel bad for those who had to bear with him for thousand years because he's a prince. Poor Thor, loki ruined his life to dust, killed his parents, led to destruction of Asgard and what not. He should have died when Laufey discarded him. I guess Laufey is the smartest person around who got rid of a demon.
'uwu loki is so innocent, he's so cute, he's done nothing wrong, he was forced... He was forced to live, he was forced to live in luxury, he was forced to live with Thor uwu. What a terrible life being the Prince of the realm eternal. Thor's existence made life so difficult for him.'
It's like you don't know how is it to grow up with siblings, it's not a big deal and very common to have different mindset and one often takes part in their siblings bs even though they are least interested in it or don't agree with. One gets jealous of the sibling but with Loki, it was to to the point of killing Thor to the destroyer (don't come up with the lame excuse of how it helped Thor to be worthy again) Shut the fuck up.
This is so funny im just going to not touch it
#Language!#L!#counting off things wack in your ask and ticking them off like#victim blaming ✔️#uwu meow meowification mention ✔️#loki should have died ✔️#you midgardian QUEENS ✔️#stop blaming Thor for things Thor did in canon ✔️
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