#•{kj’s writing}•

[zvdvdlvr]

Simon Riley loves kissing. Or rather, kissing you. 

He loved the way you would smile whenever he pressed his lips to your cheek. He loved the way you would laugh and try to push him away when he occasionally peppered kisses all over your face. He loved the way you would tremble when he kissed the soft skin under your navel as he trailed down even further. 

But most of all, Simon especially loved the way you would look a little dazed after he kisses you on the mouth. Your eyes a little hazy, lips flushed and puffy… You were absolutely picturesque in Simon’s eyes. 

[bubblegumnnebula]

Bro

I’ve just been thinking about Bakugou have a crush on you

And the fact that he’s so. Fucking. Annoying.

He never graduated from the perpetual state of “2nd grade boy crushing on a girl for the first time and not knowing what it is they’re feeling” so he does exactly the things you would expect from an emotionally constipated teenage boy such as:

-Pinching you

-throwing balled up pieces of paper at you from across the room

-calling you an idiot and basically insulting you (it’s all in the name of love)

-clicking his pen during tests because he knows it annoys you

-taking food from your plate

-purposely tripping you while walking in the halls (don’t worry he always catches you)

-calling your name so you turn around but insists he didn’t actually say your name you’re just imagining it

Essentially he just wants your attention but doesn’t know how to ask for it

And when you two finally get together, things don’t change much. He’ll pass you a note and you open it, it just says “you’re ugly ❤️” yes, including the heart. Or he’ll hold things above your head, such as your phone or notebook, just to watch you jump to try to get it for his own amusement. Or he’ll take and hide things from your room and when you ask him where it is, you’ll find him lounging while casually toying with the exact thing you were looking for. And all he has to say is “No babe, I haven’t seen it” with a smug grin on his face

But you know that this is just his way of showing how much he loves you, and trust me, he loves you a lot.

Even if he’s so damn annoying

Read more here

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim x Catharsis - Kane & Luan

K&J chronological masterlist / K&J writing order masterlist

Catharsis masterlist

content: vampire whumpee, escape, begging, starvation, caretaking, dubious caretaker, whumpee turned caretaker, death wish, suicide attempt, recapture, torture, gore, burns, rescue, brief self-harm for vampire feeding purposes, side robot whumpee

Whumpmas in July Day 15: A Soft Reprieve

the first time i've ever done a crossover between two different series of mine! this one's been living in my brain rent-free. massive props to @sowhumpshaped for inspiration!

-

Luan’s heart practically stopped when he looked through the doorbell camera to find a vampire.

The camera  wouldn’t matter if it was a vampire. The door wouldn’t matter if it was a vampire. He would be taken, again, this time manhandled from his own apartment. The fact that he couldn’t sleep all night was the only reason he had this last moment of freedom.

“Stay back,” he said through the speaker, trying not to let his voice shake like his hands as he clumsily looked up the number for the local hunters. There was no way they’d get here in time, not even with their base just down the road. Not with a vampire’s speed.

“Please,” the vampire whimpered, kneeling on his doormat. “Please help me, I beg of you. I’m not a threat, I promise, please don’t call the hunters, I’ll do anything!”

Now that Luan really looked, he could see beyond the bright-red of his eyes and the intimidating fangs: the figure at his door was… not well. Clearly emaciated, a feeling Luan knew all too well. He could see what looked like burns, and what were definitely cuts. Tears tracked from terrified, desperate eyes.

“What do you want?” Luan snapped, thumb hovering over the dial button.

“Please, please, sir, I can’t find anything to end myself, the sun is coming, they’re going to find me, please, mercy, I can’t go back, please help me!” the vampire begged, weeping into his hands. “I can’t use persuasion, I promise, I wouldn’t even if I could!”

It was objectively stupid. It was going to get him killed or worse. If Luan opened this door, that would be the end of it. The vampire would take one look at him, use persuasion, and his freedom would be gone again, just like that.

There was no faking the way his stomach turned inward like that, worse than Luan had ever been. If Luan had ever starved that badly, he suspected he would have died.

Would there be any point to a vampire going to these lengths just to trick him, when he could have just used persuasion from the first moment?

“One minute. Stay there.” He dashed to find something, ending up with a ruler he hasn’t dug out in years. Sawing at it with a kitchen knife made something resembling a stake, though he knew in his heart that it likely wasn’t strong enough to get through flesh. He just had to hope it would be intimidating enough.

Luan hesitated. Was he really going to do this? Let a starving vampire into his home?

He looked through the camera again, at the pitiful man collapsed on his porch.

He opened the door, makeshift stake in hand. “Get inside.”

The vampire scrambled in, crouching like a cornered animal on his floor, panting hard. “Th-thank you, sir. Thank you so much. Please don’t call them, please, I just–”

“You can stay the daytime and that’s it.” It wouldn’t be the first time Luan had stayed awake a full 24 hours. He could do it again. “At sunset, you leave, and you don’t come back. You never take a human. Agreed?” He pointed the stake at the vampire with both hands. “Try anything and it’s the stake.”

What Luan wasn’t expecting was for the vampire to look up at him with utter adoration. “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! I’ll be good, I promise, thank you so much! You can kill me if you’d like, I don’t mind, I won’t resist. Whatever you want.”

Luan slowly lowered the stake. “That’s… probably not necessary.” A look around the room. The sun would start rising in a few minutes, he had to act fast if he was really offering this vampire refuge. “Go wait in the bathroom,” he pointed, “There’s no windows in there.”

“Yes, sir!” The vampire started to run, but tumbled over himself, collapsing to the floor. Before Luan could react, he picked himself up to his hands and knees, crawling quickly to the bathroom and closing the door.

“Jesus,” Luan muttered. The blinds were already closed, always closed, but he knew some light could trickle in through the gaps.

What to do next? He knew what he wanted next when he was rescued. To feel safe, to feel free, to feel in control, to know Cyrus couldn’t hurt him anymore. Food, water, blankets, a fucking warm shower. Home.

What had even happened to the vampire to make him like this?

In the end, he gathered up some sweats and sneakers he wouldn’t miss–he wasn’t going to make the vampire run home half-naked and barefoot when sunset came–and a blanket, then knocked on the door, stake stowed in his pocket. “Hey.”

“Yes?” the vampire called back.

Luan opened the door, finding the vampire huddled in the bathtub. “Brought you some stuff. You can use the bath and whatever too if you want, you know.”

The vampire’s eyes widened as Luan set the bundle down on the edge of the sink. “Thank you, sir! That’s so kind of you! Thank you so much!”

“Mm-hm.” It felt good to be the one in control. Safe, somehow, even with a vampire.

He wanted to ask what happened to him, but he hated when people asked for details. Those fucking true crime junkies. If the vampire wanted to talk, he would talk.

“I’m Luan,” he offered. “You?”

“M-my name is Kane. No one’s asked me that in a very long time.” The vampire stared at him like some kind of divine being.

“Alright, Kane. Glad this isn’t going to shit immediately. I’ll be… out there. Knock if you need anything, I guess.”

“Yes, sir!”

With that, Luan let him be. The vampire did not return, staying locked in there well after his shower ended. As the hours ticked by, he couldn’t keep his mind off the vampire in the bathroom. How could he?

Food. He was probably hungry. Starving, if his appearance was anything to go by. Luan knew that feeling, the never-satisfied clawing in his gut.

He pinched at his skin. He had blood to go around, didn’t he? Just once.

Luan knocked at the door. “Kane? You doing okay in there?”

“Yes, sir,” came the vampire’s muffled voice, “Do you need something?”

“You need something,” Luan corrected. “I’m gonna feed you some blood. Open up.”

The door opened fast, Kane’s wide, red eyes greeting him. “You would give me blood?” he asked in a hushed whisper, the blanket still wrapped around him.

“Yeah. Here.” Luan held out his arm. That’s where they did blood draws at the doctor’s, right? “I know you’re hungry. Go ahead.”

Kane burst into a huge, fanged grin. “Thank you, sir!” He took Luan’s arm gingerly, with a gentleness he wouldn’t have expected from a monster of the night. Deciding on the wrist, he bit in slowly, carefully at first.

As soon as he broke the skin, all that gentleness disappeared.

The vampire bit in hard, making Luan wince at the pain of it. But he’d expected pain. It was a goddamn vampire bite, of course it was gonna hurt. He grit his teeth and bore it. He’d had worse.

“Okay, that’s enough,” he announced as he started to feel woozy. “I get you’re hungry, I wanna help, but I’m not a buffet.”

Kane paid him no mind, continuing to gulp down mouthfuls of blood, eyes wild.

Luan’s heart began to race, either from the depleting blood or the sudden terror or both. Suddenly, he wasn’t in control anymore, and that meant the vampire could do anything to him. It wasn’t like with the robot, who had to follow his orders. This was a vampire. What was he in comparison to that? He was powerless. He was–

No. Not again. He would not be that helpless thing again.

Luan hit the vampire as hard as he could, bringing his fist down on the back of his head. “I said stop!”

Kane reeled back, his bloody fangs tearing from skin, the blow jerking him back to reality. Landing clumsily on the floor, he looked up in horror as he realized what he had just done.

“I’m sorry!” he cried. “I’m s-so sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to, I swear, I was just so hungry I couldn’t control myself, I’m sorry!”

His eyes grew watery, his breaths quick and panicked. Kane backed away on the floor, cowering against the tub. “Please just k-kill me, please kill me, I’ll be good, I won’t resist, please, please, I’m sorry, I can’t, please kill me!”

Luan clutched his bleeding arm, staring at the pathetic creature before him. Was that what he’d looked like?

“You’re fine. Just don’t do it again or it’s the stake,” he said firmly. He was in control again. He got to make the rules.

“Please don’t call them,” Kane begged. “I’ll do anything, sir.”

“You’re fine,” Luan repeated. He picked the blanket up off the floor, having fallen in the chaos, and draped it back over the vampire. He instantly clung to it, his shaky hands curling tight in the fabric.

“Th-thank you, sir.” Kane gasped. “Thank you, thank you, I’m sorry.”

“Good.” Luan grabbed a box of bandages out of the cabinet and left, closing the door behind him. He was sure the both of them would feel better that way.

-

Luan woke up to insistent knocking at his door.

He wasn’t supposed to fall asleep. There was a fucking vampire in his apartment. As soon as his head was clear enough to realize, he bolted upright, looking to the still-closed bathroom door, then to the window.

The evening sun still filtered through the blinds: it was still daylight, at least for a few hours more.

“Who is it?” he asked, unlocking his phone. An emergency alert from hours ago plastered the screen before he could check his doorbell camera: VAMPIRE IN AREA.

“I’m with the local vampire hunters. We just wanted to ask some questions,” the man at the door said.

Not a sound came from the bathroom.

It would be more suspicious if he didn’t answer the door, right? Luan opened it. “What questions?”

“We were holding a vampire in the base a few streets down when it escaped last night. This one can’t hypnotize you, and we had it pretty weakened, but it’s still dangerous–caught it before it could take anyone, thankfully. We know it couldn’t have gotten far, already combed outside. It has to have snuck into someone’s home, so we’ve been making the rounds before it can escape come nightfall. Have you seen anything suspicious?”

“...Take anyone?” Luan asked, the floor falling out from under him.

“Yep,” the hunter nodded, “When we caught it, it already had someone. Almost got away with her, too. If that thing managed to get her over the border, that’d be it. Last thing we want is for that to happen again. Luckily, we’ve got the sun on our side.”

How could he have been so stupid? Of course a vampire wouldn’t be in human territory for any good reason. Kane had already gotten a taste for his blood. He was just a few hours away from being lured into captivity again, and this time, there’d be no one to save him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Luan grit his teeth, chest tight. Cyrus would never let him hear the end of it if he knew. “He–he tricked me,” he mumbled. “He’s in the bathroom.”

“Fuck. Least we caught it before sundown. Read up some on vampire safety,” the hunter instructed him, strolling inside.

The bathroom was no longer silent.

A sob accompanied the frantic scratching of nails against wood for only a moment before the hunter yanked the door open, the shitty lock giving way on only the third try.

“No! No, please, I was out!” Kane screamed, clawing at the sink cabinet ever-harder. “Please, please, mercy! I can’t! I was out!”

“Behave yourself,” the hunter spat, and Kane and Luan both flinched. He grabbed the vampire by the hair. “Come quietly and you get a tarp, not that you deserve that much after the stunt you fucking pulled today. Make a fuss and it’s the sun.”

Kane wailed, a cry of anguish so long and deep Luan thought it might never end. When it did, a shaking Kane wrapped his arms around himself. “I’ll be good, sir,” he whispered, eyes distant.

He offered no resistance as the hunter dragged him away, only tears.

Alone once more, Luan knew he’d made the only choice he could to protect himself, but the tightness in his chest didn’t go away.

-

In the coming weeks, Luan couldn’t get the vampire out of his mind.

Even taking it out on the robot didn’t help, not that it ever really did. He found himself turning it on less and less, leaving it in the closet. Seeing Cyrus’s face just made him feel worse.

The hunters had to have killed Kane, right? That would be fine. Humanity would be safe from him if they did that, and Kane had been begging for it, anyway. What reason would they have to keep him alive?

Luan knew the answer to that better than most.

One call to the hunters confirmed it: the vampire was alive, though they promised ‘improved security’.

“Can I see him?” he blurted out.

It took some convincing, but Luan was able to secure himself an appointment.

-

“Keep away from the bars,” the hunter leading him downstairs instructed. Down, down, down. Concrete walls, concrete floor. Luan fought the urge to run. “You can talk with it for five minutes. Get some closure on whatever it was doing in your place. I’ll escort you back up later.”

“Mm-hm,” Luan agreed.

At the bottom of the stairs was a cell, and in the cell was a metal trunk. Luan dug his nails into his palm.

“It might look a little gnarly, but remember, these things aren’t human. They heal like that.” The hunter snapped his fingers. “Wait here.”

The hunter unlocked the cell, then the trunk. “Out.”

The lid flung open, a skinny, burnt hand retracting as soon as it appeared. Kane climbed out of the trunk, landing in a mess on the floor.

He was much worse-off than Luan remembered him. In only six weeks, the clothes he’d given him had become so torn and bloodstained as to be practically unrecognizable. Nearly all the skin he could see was burnt, his face a mess of severe welts. He looked to Luan with utter terror in his eyes, far more than the robot could ever hope to mimic.

“H-hello, sir,” Kane stammered.

Luan had to run. He knew he was safe, he wasn’t a vampire, but the danger emanating from every crack of this place was far greater than any he’d felt with a vampire cowering in his bathtub.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

“I’m s-sorry,” Kane continued, clutching at his shirt. “Please, please, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Luan asked. “Why are–”

“Please don’t take the clothes away! I’ll do anything!” Kane bowed his head, trembling. “Anything, anything, p-please, I need them, I’m so sorry, please! They’re the only thing protecting me from the silver!”

He picked his head up to look back at the trunk and then Luan with a sob. “Please, I know I don’t d-deserve it, I’m sorry, but please, please, I’m trying. I won’t run again, I’m sorry!”

“They’re yours,” Luan assured him quickly. “I’m not… taking them. That’s not why I’m here.”

Kane let out a massive, shaky exhale, the grip on his shirt still tight. “Thank you for your m-mercy, sir. Thank you for letting me keep them. Thank you for giving me one good day. I treasure it, sir. It–it was the best day I ever had. What can I do for you?” He looked up, eyes shining and watery.

Luan turned and ran.

-

He brought the robot out that night. No one else had the guts to tell him what a piece of shit he was. No one else who wasn’t in prison.

Luan didn’t tell Russ what happened. He didn’t need to. The robot did its job, and by the time he was done, his knuckles hurt. The robot winced as Luan reached down to switch it off, then fell limp.

He called the cops. They didn’t care. It wasn’t a crime to hurt a vampire.

Luan thought about moving, but he didn’t. Instead, he did the opposite, took long walks out to the hunters’ base with his hand on the unused pepper spray in his pocket. It was just a building, as far as he could see, but he knew Kane was in there. Someone had to know.

Until one day, Kane was outside.

He was strapped to a propped-up metal board, baking in the sun, the clothes Luan had given him gone. It was the least human he’d ever looked: his skin boiled like sugar syrup on a stovetop in some places, crisped like burnt marshmallow in others.

There was no one else out there.

He ran home, came back even quicker with his car, and hopped the fence. Barbed wire tore at his skin, but didn’t slow him down. Kane writhed, pulling at his bound wrists.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Luan whispered, taking bolt cutters to his shackles. Kane fell to the ground, letting out a muffled shriek as his yet-untouched back set ablaze.

He didn’t have time to be careful. He hauled Kane up–he hardly weighed anything–and threw him over the fence, following quickly.

Tossing the vampire into his trunk, he added, “Don’t say you’re sorry if you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry. You’re going home.”

Kane’s mangled face was unreadable, but Luan could have swore he saw him relax just a little amid the pain.

-

Luan drove. He couldn’t go home yet, that much he knew. They’d find him in a heartbeat. He drove as far away from that place as he could get, the cargo in his trunk surprisingly quiet.

When he’d gotten a few hours away, he found a secluded corner of a parking garage and popped the trunk.

“Easy, it’s me,” Luan shushed when Kane started to cower. “We’re far away. Here.”

Kane’s mouth was sealed shut, his lips fused together by the heat of the sun. It took some prying, but he managed to get them unfused. Kane didn’t seem to mind, not even when his skin tore and bled.

There were no fangs in his mouth.

Whatever. That wouldn’t stop him. He grabbed his pocketknife from the glove compartment and slashed his palm open. Kane writhed again, a desperate whine dragged from his throat, but stopped when Luan made a fist over his waiting mouth and squeezed.

“Drink up,” he encouraged. He kept going for a while, eventually bringing his hand to Kane’s mouth to let him lick the excess blood from it. His hand left scabbed over, as if it had been healing for hours rather than minutes.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Kane rasped, his voice hoarse. “Thank you, I’ll b-be good this time. Thank you for giving me another chance.”

Oh, he’d screwed this guy up bad. Another achievement in his worthless fucking life.

“Who should I contact about getting you home?” he asked. Time to get straight to the point. “Any vampire who could come here when it’s night and get you?”

Kane was silent for a moment. “Bellamy Verta,” he said eventually. “S-safe. Safe for humans.”

The guy wasn’t hard to find, and from what his profile said, he sure seemed to live up to safe for humans. His profile linked to a website that looked like PETA for vampires.

“I’m sending a DM. He’s probably asleep right now, but he’ll probably see it when he wakes up,” Luan reported.

Kane wept, blubbering gratitudes.

-

Luan cleared the area an hour before Verta was set to arrive. No matter how innocent his page looked, he wasn’t taking any chances. He left the trunk closed so no one would find Kane besides the one who was supposed to, not that he expected vampire hunters to be prowling an unpopulated parking garage in the middle of the night. Not exactly prime vampire ground. He was sure Verta would be able to figure out opening it.

He didn’t go back to the car until he got an emoji-filled DM back from Verta with a picture of what looked like Kane’s attempt at a smile.

His trunk had a hand-shaped dent in it, not that he really gave a shit. By the time he got home, it was almost sunrise. He really had to do something about his sleeping before Monday.

Luan stared blearily at the closet.

He opened it, turned on the robot. Russ flinched back at his touch, looking up at him with a harsh glare. “What?” he spat.

Luan unplugged the charger and shoved it into Russ’s hands before backing away. “You can go.”

Russ opened his mouth, then closed it, the glare melting from his face. He turned and ran through the door without a word, off into the sunrise.

It felt better than any time Luan had hit him.

taglist in reblogs

event: @whumpmasinjuly

[wolffnichols]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by my beloveds @honestlydarkprincess and @watchyourbuck thank you so much babes!!

Here's some of the eddiejosh chapter of Eddie's Hot Girl Summer Fic

One by one everybody eventually leaves until it’s just Eddie and Josh remaining. They're quiet for a while, Josh still drinking wine like it’s his solace from the breakup while Eddie ends up getting a beer. Putting his lips to the bottle and holding it just right reminds him of Chuck and the other night.  “I think I'm into guys.” Eddie blurts out not thinking.  Josh snorts. “No shit.”  He glares at him. “What do you mean by that?”  Josh seems to sober up when his eyes grow into saucers and he straightens in his seat. “Holy shit, sorry! Is this you actually coming out?” Eddie shifts into his seat. “I guess so.” “What…brought this on?” There's something in his face that makes it seem like he has some theories. He hesitates for a moment. “Well, I sorta fucked a guy. Wait more like he fucked me.”  Josh smiles like the Cheshire cat. “And did you like it?” “Obviously.”  “Did you plan on fucking a guy?” “No, that's the thing. I mean I always thought I was straight.” Josh gives him a pointed look. “Okay maybe I had some non-straight thoughts but I always pushed them aside. However, now that I’ve had sex with a guy it’s like it's open this whole can of worms. But I can't stop thinking that maybe it's just this one guy one time thing.” “Well, do you wanna try it with someone else?”  Eddie sighs. “I really do. But I just don't wanna hookup with a random stranger. With Chuck we connected first and now I don't know if I can just connect with every stranger I meet. I wish it was with someone I knew.” “I’d fuck you.” Josh blurts out and then puts his hand over his mouth.

Tagging:

@bidisasterevankinard @evanbi-ckley @buddiekinard @monsterrae1 @dorkydiaz and anyone else who wants to do this!

[kj-yikes]

10. Heroic

(on ao3 here)

Rating: Mature (Content warnings for major character death [Lena], implied suicidal thoughts, brief mentions of a panic attack.)

Kara chooses, and she chooses wrong. Then, her world collapses.

The scenario was simple, inevitable: save the world from Lex's usual antics or save Lena from her brother. Kara, always the optimist, consults with Alex and comes up with a plan. She only has a few seconds, but she thinks it's enough time. Supergirl will fly and intercept the Claymore missile, ensuring it detonates a safe distance into Earth's atmosphere so it doesn't take out all of National City. That's what Supergirl's good at, anyway. No one else can do what she can, so despite every fiber in her being screaming at her to rescue Lena, she flies towards the rocket.

Alex will portal to Lena and save her. She's prepared, with a bulletproof vest and more guns strapped to her body than even Kara can count. At the look on Kara's face before the part ways, Alex grabs her sister's arm and presses her forehead to Kara's. "I will save her. I promise you."

Kara does her thing. She shoots off into the sky and finds the missile, carrying it up to the highest point in Earth's atmosphere. With a mighty heave, she throws it into space. A few seconds later, it explodes, shrapnel floating in the lack of gravity.

Kara closes her eyes, relieved, and sighs. She opens up her hearing, searching for the sound she needs to hear. She hears Alex's heartbeat, pulsing steadily.

But she can't find Lena's.

Panicked, she nearly breaks the sound barrier flying to where she hears Alex. Glass shatters as she breaks through the window and lands.

A sight that pummels her to her very soul: Lena, laying on the ground, Alex holding her wrist to check her pulse.

Everything stills. Kara is frozen in the moment, her worst nightmare. Lena's bruised and purple face is motionless. She's there, right in front of Kara, and yet Kara can't hear her heartbeat.

She screams. Or she thinks she does. She hears a scream. It's probably hers.

Tears stream down Alex's face. "Kara, I'm so sorry. I — I tried. I'm so, so sorry."

Kara doesn't hear. For once, the entire world is silent, because so is Lena's heart.

"No. No. No no no no," Kara can't stop repeating the word. Thoughts jumble in her head, but her mouth just moves and utters the same syllable over and over. She's suddenly kneeling, roughly yanking Lena's hand from Alex. She's not sure how she got here.

Lena's hand is warm. It smells like the spicy-sweet perfume she always wears. There's no pulse.

Lena is—

No.

It's not possible.

"Lena, come on. Lena," Kara pleads, grasping her limp hand and pulling it up to her mouth. Lena's hand is wet. Kara hadn't realized she was crying.

"Kara—"

"NO!" She shrugs away a hand from her back. "Don't touch me. Lena, wake up." She thinks she hears someone portal behind them. Someone is retching. Kara doesn't think it's her.

"Lena," Kara pleads. This time, her voice breaks. She wails. She presses kisses to Lena's hand, which grows colder by the minute.

Kara collapses into Lena's still chest. Time passes, or it doesn't. Kara can't tell. Her sobs are endless. Her mind is blank with grief and shock. She thinks someone is pulling her up. She refuses to let go of Lena, and the hands leave Kara's shoulders.

Her tears have dried up. It's too quiet, without Lena's heartbeat. She feels hands at her back again.

"Kara," J'onn says softly. "We need to move her."

Kara shuts her eyes. "I'll do it." She gathers Lena's body into her arms and stands. Nia, J'onn, and Alex are gathered at the edge of the room. Kara says nothing as she shoots into the sky.

----------

Alex has come to her apartment four separate times. It's probably been four days. Kara's not sure. She doesn't care. Alex sits in front of her. She's speaking. Kara can't make out the words.

"Leave me alone, Alex."

Alex's brow furrows. "Kara, please, talk to me. Let me help you."

"There's nothing to say, Alex. I failed. I failed her. I chose wrong." Kara's voice is robotic, void of emotion. She's already said these things to Alex, and yet.

"Kara, there was no way to win. You did what you thought was best," Alex says quietly.

No, Kara thinks. She didn't do what she thought was best. And that was the problem. She did what was expected of her. She did what she was supposed to do. She didn't do what she wanted to do. And now, Lena's—

"I chose wrong, Alex! I chose wrong!" Kara screams, exploding. She thinks, if she can scream loud enough, perhaps someone will actually listen. Perhaps Rao will hear her sacred prayer and bring Lena back.

He doesn't. No one listens. Kara's here, and Lena's —

Kara squeezes her eyes shut.

What good is having superpowers if you can't save the ones you love? What good is being a hero if you can't be a hero to the woman you loved more than anyone? More than life itself? What good is being the survivor when you can't die for those you love?

Kara would die to bring Lena back.

It didn't matter that they hadn't spoken in months. It didn't matter that Lena had broken her heart by stealing Myriad and encasing Kara in kryptonite. It didn't matter that Lena had been working with Lex.

Because this scenario — Lena, not here anymore — is so much worse than Lena making bad decisions.

"Kara. Kara, listen to me," Alex says softly. "You saved millions of lives. You did that."

"I wish I hadn't. The only person I should have saved is Lena." Alex pulls her head back, shocked.

"You don't know what you're saying, Kara. The grief—"

"I know exactly what I'm saying, Alex. Two options: save National City or save Lena. I chose wrong." Kara bites out. She registers that Alex is staring at her, dumbstruck. "Oh, is that not what Supergirl would do?" she says darkly, sarcastically.

"Kara, Lena was working with Lex. She made her choice," Alex reasons.

"No!" Kara shouts, standing up and balling her hands into fists. "She shouldn't die because of a mistake. She shouldn't die because of my mistake." Her chest heaves. Too fast. She can't catch her breath. The room is spinning. Her pod is spinning. Bright lights are flashing, explosions. She can't move, she can't breathe, she can't do anything. Lena is… Lena is… and she couldn't save her. Didn't save her.

"Kara, hey, look at me. Right here," Alex's face swims in front of her. Kara's sobbing, gasping for breath. "I'm going to breathe in for four, out for four. You don't have to match me, just pay attention to my breath." Alex breathes in, out.

Kara listens, feels Alex's chest move. Slowly, her breath evens to match Alex's. She feels Alex wrapped around her. She sniffles into Alex's shoulder.

"I didn't get to tell her, Alex." Her voice is as fractured as her soul.

"That you're sorry?"

"That I love her."

----------

Two months later.

Lena is gone.

Kara can think the words now, even if she can't say them out loud still.

Kara decides to visit Argo. Alex thinks a change of scenery will help. Kara thinks the only change of scenery she needs is Lena, standing in front of her.

She arrives on Argo, welcomed by her mother and Kal. It's only when they round the corner of the plaza that Kara sees it, and she collapses on the spot.

A statue. Lena.

"She's the hero of Argo," Alura tells her daughter softly, stroking her hair. "Without the recipe for harun-el, we couldn't survive. She saved us." Kara looks up, and even Kal is looking down at her with a sorrowful expression. Kal, the nemesis of Lex Luthor, mourning his sister.

Kara studies the statue. Lena's not posed with her hands on her hips in a superhero stance. No, she's standing with a curious expression on her face, wearing a lab coat and holding a test tube and a piece of harun-el. She's in her lab, working out a puzzle, as she always wanted to be. It's perfect.

Lena was always heroic, but she never wanted to be a hero. Kara's not sure if Lena would have liked that a statue stands memorializing her heroics. She didn't care to be in the spotlight. She cared about doing good.

Kara likes it though. It means Lena will be remembered for something different here. She'll be remembered as she deserves to be.

Kara thinks she's the only person on Earth who saw Lena for who she really was. But on Argo, they do too.

The corner of Kara's mouth turn up in the smallest hint of a smile through the tears.

[hussyknee]

Lmaoooooo

[pluggedintosaverockandroll]

Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty: Blackout Poetry Version

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I loved you that hurt let me see your lips pressed close True blue prince of a failing empire drive through the night Drive back home Things aren't the same I sleep with your old shirts it's strange I'm supposed to love you I've given up time is caution your shadows on the wall, I kiss them Things get so bad pick up the phone walk through this house you saved my life my heart my eye Photo-proofed kisses I remember it's strange I know to love you repeat

[finnlongman]

Keep thinking about that one KJ Charles interview where she's talking about the challenges of being a historical romance novelist when you sort of believe the whole aristocracy should've been executed, and the delicate balancing act of writing historically accurate and interesting characters who don't have awful politics and values. And, crucially, she challenged the typical rich love interest idea by asking, "But where does the money come from?"

Once you think about it, you can't stop thinking about it. Every historical romance I read now, I can tell whether the author has thought about it. Sometimes they've thought about it but tried not to deal with it and hoped we wouldn't notice that the rich aristocrat probably owns a plantation. Sometimes they've actually dealt with it. And sometimes they have not considered it and It Shows.

But I also don't want historical novels where characters have modern sensibilities! I want them to feel historical... I just also want the "desirable" characters to not be, you know, involved in the slave trade or whatever, because that seriously undermines everything the book is doing to make them seem attractive. (One does not generally read this flavour of historical romance for morally grey antiheroes, and even if you did, that would be a fairly tasteless way of developing such a character, imo.)

I really enjoyed a detail in one of Cat Sebastian's books where the love interest is a Quaker, and he refuses dessert because he's boycotting sugar. It's a way of signalling to us that this character has particular values, but one that's rooted in the historical context and doesn't feel like a modern character wearing period clothing. His Quakerism also influences a few other details – his use of first names rather than titles, for example – but it's not a major plot point and he's no intense political campaigner. It's just one facet of his character, and one that made me like him more.

This sort of thing becomes a problem, too, with medieval settings and retellings and anything where you start having to deal with kings. A king of some tiny little pseudohistorical country whose major concerns revolve around not getting invaded and ensuring his people survive the winter is a very different prospect from a king intent on conquering his neighbours and expanding his glorious kingdom, of course. Still a king, though. What do you do with that, if you're someone who doesn't approve of kings?

I ran into this problem with a book I was working on a few years back, and it's one of the reasons I shelved it. I was trying to write a book about community and friendship. I was also trying to write an Arthurian retelling. And while a brotherhood of knights is a great starting point for a story about community and friendship, in order to have knights, you need to have a king for them to pledge fealty to. Problematic. My Arthur figure did not believe in hierarchy, but the story demanded that he perpetuated one anyway, because it was baked into the building blocks of story I was using to build mine. Eventually I realised I could not write that story as an Arthurian retelling without stripping it of everything recognisably Arthurian, and set it aside to be remade into something else.

I still think about this, though. I think about my Bisclavret retelling, which by necessity has a king in it. Bisclavret is a story about feudal loyalty, about oaths, about hierarchies. Take that away and you no longer have Bisclavret; it is a story that cannot exist without a king for the knight-wolf to be loyal to. Does that mean that as a story it always inherently supports a monarchist ideal, though? Or is its portrayal of kingship (a relationship that is, crucially, reciprocal) sufficiently detached from colonialist systems of monarchy to be distinct from those?

What systems and ideals form the assumptions a story is rested on? What happens once you start to question them? Can you still tell the same stories once you ask where the money comes from, or why the king is owed loyalty? Or does there come a point where you realise there are ideas woven into the very fabric of those narratives that you can't see past?

I don't have answers. I'm just thinking aloud. Thinking about having written a book with a king who isn't the bad guy, and what that means when I approve of neither kings nor hierarchies in general. Thinking about writing the past with the eyes of the present. Thinking about the unexamined assumptions in so many historical novels I've read, and how it feels as a reader not to be able to stop examining them.

(I have also read a number of contemporary romance novels where, after working my way through half an author's backlist, I've been forced to acknowledge that despite everything, the author does in fact think rich people are inherently attractive. Not sure what the solution to that one is, but it's certainly a different, if related, problem.)

[freezing-kaiju]

Femslash Fmarch to Femslash Fapril; It’s becoming Femslash Forevuary, but i have another for you all!

Minifemslashfeb prompt 18, once upon a time! It’s old woman x ghost yuri, it’s Farcille and a history of several more!

Some Dungeon Meshi spoilers, and a fun warning: contains Fate Style Wizardry.

[k-she-rambles]

Peer Review

An old friend of the Drs Fenton eviscerates a draft of their latest paper. It's an extremely effective wake-up call.

Part Two | Part One

Jack's turn. Something he writes gets compared to an IRL evil scientist. He's not having a good time.

•

Jonathan Fenton was, by his own admission, not the most observant man.

He'd be the first to tell you that "doing a Fenton" was slang in his mother's family for tripping over air, missing something obvious, making a mess, and other avoidable, mildly embarrassing mistakes.

Still, Jack knew something was wrong as soon as he entered the kitchen.

Maddie had been crying.

They'd seen each other through some tough things. Maddie's father's dementia. The loss of Jack's Grannie, who'd helped his mother raise him. It was, thankfully, a rare thing to see her so...drawn, as if all the color had gone from her world.

Jack sat down across from her at the table and searched her face.

"No one's dying," said Maddie. "It's this."

She pushed a stack of paper across the table at him.

"Ray sent back our paper? Then what --" That sure was a lot of red ink. It got his hackles up, but...he trusted Rachel's academic rigor. It wouldn't be the first time a collegue shredded something he wrote in the interest of making it better, and it wouldn't be the last. They were in that kind of field. He bent to read.

Oh well that...huh.

Here was something he hadn't truly considered before: while he and Maddie knew that the reason their experiments were truncated was ghost interference, to everyone else it would just look like sloppy work. It was a fair point. And since ghosts were what they were studying, why hadn't they used the observations from the various catastrophes in the paper as well? Found a way to make it work without resorting to...well, she wasn't wrong that this looked like bad methodology. They were out of practice. They could have changed the paper. Changed the thesis. Allowed their field failures to BE the paper and let other scientists learn from their challenges.

Rachel was tearing this apart as the work of amateurs.

He'd been pretty proud of it, but would they have produced something like this twenty years ago? Were they that out of practice? Had they been deluding themselves, stuck in their own heads the entire time they'd lived in Amity Park?

Then Rachel started tearing into the ethics of the paper.

Jack almost rolled his eyes. Look, ghosts weren't alive, they were a natural phenomenon and --

--and she was right. They couldn't have it both ways. If ghosts were, say, animal at all their methodology was suspect in terms of harm to the natural world and simple mean-spirited cruelty. If they were beings, implied by his assumption that they were capable of emotions like malice, it was even worse. If they were just a phenomenon, this still was no way for a dispassionate researcher to act.

They'd been studying ghosts for more than two decades.

Was all their data tainted?

And.

Jack stood and left the room.

There was a glass of water waiting for his return.

"I wondered when you would get to that part."

Jack only shook his head. His hands were numb.

Maddie held his hand as he grimly set himself to keep reading.

Jack finished the last page, and wiped a hand over his mouth.

Faulty premises, dangerous methodology, ethically suspect conclusions.

Since...since when exactly, they'd have to review all of it, but all that work.

All that work.

"I never thought I'd say this, Jack, but we may be bad scientists."

"Scientists wasn't the word I was going to use," said Jack. "What have we been teaching the kids?"

[zvdvdlvr]

on tv!?

“you were on t.v.!?” kyle asked in disbelief. his jaw was basically on the floor as you just shrugged.

“only for like a year or two… until i transferred schools,” you casually said, still reading your book. simon, kyle, johnny, and price all stared at you in different levels of shock.

you attended an ivy league school for volleyball. and. you didnt tell anyone. until now.

soap’s eyebrows reached his hairline. “an’ yeh didn’ think ta tell us, ey? we had teh find out frommuh old video? i thought we were a team, lass. we tell each other everythin’!”

you laughed. “everything? i don’t think so, johnny-boy. beside the fact i shattered my wrist and broke my ankle like three times, i rode the bench most the time-“

“but you were on the fookin’ telly!” ghost protests.

price opened his mouth.

“don’t start, price,” you said.

price closed his mouth.

as soap and gaz bickered about your skill level and your old teammates, ghost and price still watched you read.

“and they wonder why i don’t tell them anything,” you mumbled to yourself.

[bubblegumnnebula]

Poke & Slip | A Satoru Gojo x Reader Drabble

summary: you help gojo in more ways that you realize

a/n: it’s December 24th in Japan and twitter is wreck right now so I wrote this to cheer (myself) everyone up. don’t go on there unless you want to have an emotional breakdown

Satoru hadn’t thought it would come to this.

As is the lifestyle he lived, Satoru Gojo had a duty all his life to prepare for the most dire of circumstances. World is suddenly taken over by curses? He must be ready to destroy them all to reinstate balance. Sukuna finds a way to completely take over Yuuji? He must find the strength to fight and defeat his vessel, a student who he has come to cherish. Aliens randomly decide invade Jujutsu Tech? Weirder things have happened and the six-eyes bearer will not pass up the opportunity to be the first person to defeat an alien race.

However, there is one singular thing that Satoru Gojo did not even fathom to encounter, let alone prepare for. One circumstance that was so unforeseen, and one that scared him colossally more than the aforementioned events ever could.

That one thing, is you.

Ever since the departure and subsequent death of his closest ally, Gojo had become content with notion that he will never have someone understand him like Geto did ever again. That bond of friendship, partnership, took time and vulnerability to create and nourish, a vulnerability that Gojo could longer extend. He was the strongest, he was the one everyone relied on, he cannot falter, for the consequences of that would be catastrophic.

So when you came along, all sass and determination, he at first not thought much of you. Sure, you were cute and you were cheeky. You played into his antics but never bludgeoned into submission. He liked that about you, but anyone could be that, you weren’t special.

Except you see him. God, you see him and drives him to near insanity. You know when there’s something off; you know when he’s apprehensive, when he’s uneasy, restless, annoyed, or angry. On the third day of February, after half a day of studying lesson plans, you pointed out how Gojo wasn’t as jovial as he normally is. At first he waved you off, but you pressed further, asking if today marked a day that Gojo would rather wish to forget.

His emotions had overwhelmed him and his blood ran cold, so he abruptly left the classroom you two had been situated in. You went to follow him; however, upon chasing after his figure, he was gone. Probably teleported. You were left alone wondering if you overstepped his boundaries.

Meanwhile, Gojo had indeed teleported, to his luxury penthouse apartment, still in a near neurotic state. You had hit it perfectly on the unstable head, you knew exactly what was amiss with him. And it scared him.

It’s a visceral fear, steady and unchanging, stubborn and firm. A fear of having someone witness the fragility of the strongest, and having them poke at it, until the structure has fallen and the mask has slipped.

Don’t let the mask slip don’t let the mask slip don’t let the mask slip don’t let the mask slip

That became Satoru Gojo’s mantra the proceeding months after the little incident during the cold winter of February.

Except you kept poking. You weren’t deliberate in actions, but it very much affected Satoru as if you were. Every time you pointed out something off about him, every time you offered a smile and a ‘You doing alright? Need to talk?’, every time you brought him a gift because you were worried about him, the persistent leech of fear kept digging it’s grubby claws into Satoru’s brain. You kept poking, his mask kept slipping. And a mantra isn’t a mantra if there’s no purpose behind it, it’s just an anxiety.

One day, news broke of a family member of yours being diagnosed with an illness, and Satoru had found you in the steps leading to Jujutsu Tech in tears. He was conflicted, he didn’t want to leave you alone, that’s an asshole thing to do, but he never was outstanding at comforting people. Especially crying people.

So he sat next to you and waited for your tears to come to halt.

“Thanks Gojo, I like having someone close to me when I cry. Makes me feel less alone.”

He wanted to ask you, but mumbled simply with a ‘you’re welcome.’ However, the question nagged at his consciousness even as he escorted you into the school to begin a day of teaching, and the urge was too much, so he gave in:

“Do you always cry in front of people?”

Gojo cringes immediately, noting how easily that could be taken offensively, but you surprised him with a giggle.

“Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. I guess it depends on where I am. Being sad is normal and suppressing stuff is unhealthy, so I let it out. I learned how to not be embarrassed of my feelings.”

Poke, slip.

From then on, Gojo begin to notice just how unguarded you were. When he shared a dessert with you, you were candid about your gratitude and how joyous you were when you tasted the sweet sugar. When Gojo said something out-of-pocket, you were immediate to show your dislike of the comment. Before a mission, you expressed your nervousness and dread. He has given you a cocky smile and had said ‘don’t worry you’re with the strongest!’ but deep down, he kept noting how he was always the one saying ‘don’t worry’ and how much he wished someone would say it to him.

Poke, slip.

Gojo had once looked down on your defenselessness. Now, it was something he admired greatly about you. He’d venture to say he was envious of you but his pride would never admit to feeling such a feeling.

After months of spending time together, you began to invite Gojo over. He had a sneaking suspicion it was because you believed he was lonely (he was) but agreed nonetheless. Quickly learning you were a fellow media buff, movie nights become frequent in both of your routines.

The two of began to watch an anime about superheroes and Gojo expressed his immediate dislike for the main character. Satoru called him a ‘crybaby’ and you retaliated with

“I am too!”

“Well, you’re endearing when you cry, but you expect me to believe the greatest hero is crybaby?” He responded.

Then you hit him with

“Vulnerability will always exist within strength, but more importantly, there is strength in vulnerability.”

Poke, slip.

A year passes of Gojo knowing you, a year of you unknowingly influencing Satoru Gojo’s life. And when a year of knowing you passes, your influence permeates Satoru Gojo the most it has ever and his vulnerability peaks beneath the mask he has so desperately attempted to not let slip.

Satoru Gojo confesses that you have done more than just poke, you have crawled into the crevices of his once-shielded heart, chipping away at the armor. He expresses his desire for you and his desire for your continuous influence, to remain vulnerable to you, for you are the only one to see him for who he truly is.

As he expected, tears fall from your eyes, and when he presses his mouth into yours, he welcomes the salty taste. He welcomes it because it is a physical manifestation of your requited love, just as strong and powerful as your vulnerability.

And when Satoru Gojo gazes lovingly at your sleeping form, right next to him in his bed, he knows of the strength in vulnerability you once spoke of. For it is the 24th night of December, a day he once dreaded, but no such feelings are present. Instead, there is feelings of love and adoration for the person next to him and feelings of excitement and restlessness for the future you two will mold together, the reminder of said future gleaming on your left hand.

Yes, you were the one to poke at Satoru Gojo’s mask. And now, you are the one who gently pries it off, and when it’s time for the mask to be put on, you leave a lingering kiss to the forehead. Selflessly loving the person underneath it, and selflessly loving the person he is when it’s on.

And for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo is happy he wasn’t prepared.

Don’t forget to like and reblog! And let me know your thoughts 😝

[patchodraws]

kj confirmed bad cook, erin confirmed sheet hogger, mac confirmed starfish. what will he learn about tiff? 👀

posting chapter 1 of this fic hopefully tomorrow night, working on chapter 2 as i post this !!

[wolffnichols]

Okay so crack theory time.

It looks like there's a chair in the bag which kinda looks like a hospital waiting room. So what if they're there waiting for Bobby, Athena, or both, and Eddie says something about hating hospitals and mentions the last time they were in one (okay the lightning strike) and Chimney asks if he's still not over it and Eddie just stares somewhere else in silence but nods. But then maybe, just maybe, Eddie says in a low voice "I love him" which shocks Chimney that he's actually admitting it. And then later when everything is better, Chimney tells Eddie the "tomorrow isn't promised to anyone" line.

And yes, I am very much back on my clown bullshit *HONK HONK*

[kj-bishop]

Deep Time

Time counts, and keeps counting. Swiftly fly the years.

People, empires, species, come and go.

Continents drown, rise, dry out, drown again. Rinse, repeat.

The sun grows old and ill,

the great-grandcopies of our children’s children

play bingo in the last airdome,

waving their cilia, getting sillier.

Hell freezes over, the stars come right, the cows come home.

Your call has advanced in the queue

and will be answered, yea I say unto you,

by the next available service consultant.