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acid-ixx · 2 months ago

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ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five pt 1

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

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evangelifloss · 9 months ago

Text

Thinking about a certain scene in Dungeon Meshi that completely encapsulates the Autistic experience of making friends as an adult and how hard it is to try and navigate it without ending up getting hurt.

Like IDK about y'all, but this is a common problem ALOT of Autistic Adults face when trying to make friends with other people, because unlike children who aren't good at keeping their opinions to themselves, Adults ARE. In society, we're even encouraged to "keep the peace" "be polite" and etc, which commonly leads to awful scenarios as shown above when Laois finds out his buddy has come to resent who Laois is without actually telling him. All too often the friends that we love to hang out with, people that we're so happy to spend time with, don't feel the same way and in many cases, come to blame us for our social cues or lack thereof.

And when/if we do eventually find out how our friend feels, Dungeon Meshi hits us with another painful panel of how that usually ends up playing out.

It's hard for Adults with Autism to make friends, and even harder to maintain them because alot of the ways Neurotypicals tell other Neurotypicals that they don't like a certain behavior is by quietly disengaging. Whether that involves having one sentence answers, going quiet, or having a certain tone in their voice, all those things signal annoyance or disapproval, but for the Neurodivergents, those subtle cues are completely missed.

And yet when we inevitably discover we DID do something, it is natural to ask "well why didn't you tell me?" because in our minds, it should've been the next step in the equation. However for the Neurotypicals, that's NOT something to bring up. Its important to be SUBTLE about the issue at hand and rely on signals to tell the other person. Blame is placed on us for not noticing the "obvious" signs of disapproval rather than the idea of talking it out as such things are uncomfortable and harder to do. Alot of the time what ends up happening is resentment due to the idea that it was "obvious" and the fact one didn't notice indicates a deliberate ignorance rather than a complete unawareness. It ends up calling into question our quality as a person and our sincerity. We get called "fake" or "malicious" or even "stupid" for failing social cues rather than questioning the decision to be indirect and vague.

For a manga about exploring the dungeon, it seems that the artist would rather explore very real and prevalent dynamics in society with the adventuring premise as a backdrop. I felt VERY seen in these panels, and many others, because it happens so suddenly and dare I say it, plainly. There's no dramatic build-up or spectacle made and in essence, it just Happens.

I think that's what makes the scene hit even harder. It seemingly comes out of nowhere for Laois, like how it always comes out of nowhere for alot of people, and it's never a dramatic twist either. It's always mundane and hurtful. A sudden unforeseen bump in the road that ends up calling into question one's entire friendship with someone and consequent other friendships. It asks "what if other friends feel the same. What if the people that I really like actually hate me and I don't know it?" Or at least that's what I came away with after reading the chapter. I've been where Laois was and the only reason I'm not there now is because I lost the naivete I had and doubt everyone else's sincerity.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laois touden #laois dungeon meshi #ryoko kui #dungeon meshi analysis #autistic things #autism #adults with autism #autistic adult #neurodiversity #neurodivergent

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jinwoosbabyboo · 2 months ago

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Last Call

Calling the LADS Men to say goodbye because you weren't going to be making it home to them. A/N: MC isn't reincarnating this time sorry. Artist @/am_soul_art on insta [Requested by: nocturnaoasis]

It was supposed to be a quick mission. The intentions were good and the plan was perfect. At least thats what the higher ups thought at the Hunter's Association. The plan was to take back Hat Island, the small island right off the coast of linkon overrun with wanderers. The Hunter's Association believed that their strength in not only numbers, but also Evols and skills had improved enough to take back the small island.

They were wrong. So very wrong.

It was a suicide mission from the start; the wanderers were too smart there was never a chance. You panted as you ran from the onslaught of wanderers that had evolved over time inhabiting this island. You watched as comrade after comrade was slaughtered right in front of you. The number of Hunters was decresing quickly and there was no help coming. You held your side for dear life as blood gushed from your wound. You accepted your fate right then and there. You weren't making it back to Linkon.

You managed to find a small cave on the side of a mountain where you could make one last call.

Zayne

The phone seems to ring forever you were afraid you weren't going to hear his voice in your last moments. Just as you thought it would go to voicemail he picked up.

Zayne: Hello MC: Zayne.... Zayne: Yes I'm here

You couldn't help the grin that overtook your face.

MC: Remember our trip to find 'old popsicles'? Zayne: Of course I do MC: Remember when you swept me away from my friends to go read in a secluded park? Zayne: Yes ... where is this coming from?

You took a deep breath before coughing and grunting form the pain.

MC: I just want you to always think of our good memories ... I don't think we'll be making anymore after today Zayne: What are you saying? MC: They're gone ... they're all gone ... and I don't have much time left.

You finally broke down and sobbed into the phone as reality truly set in.

Zayne: Wh- MC: Promise me you'll move on ... I want you to find something or someone to bring the same vivacity that I brought you ... don't shut yourself off from the world ... I want you to be happy ... remember me in a good light because just know I died doing what I love Zayne: ....dont leave me behind MC: I love you Dr. Zayne......

Zayne didn't hang up he stayed on the line until he could no longer hear your stuttering breaths. He couldn't keep that promise of moving on. He threw himself into his work to keep his mind busy. He was afraid if he slowed down for one second he'd never be able to recover.

Rafayel

He picked up on the first ring as if he'd been waiting by the phone just for your call.

Rafayel: Hey Cutie!

He sounded so happy at the fact that you called it was already killing you that you'd be breaking his heart with this call.

MC: You know you create the most beautiful art Rafayel: You're making me blush stop it MC: I'm going to be painting pretty sunsets and sunrises for you Raf Rafayel: huh?

You swallowed hard trying to keep your voice from wavering.

MC: The next time you're on the beach and you see a beautiful sunset or sunrise ... that's me ... painting the sky just for you Rafayel: No no no you're-

His words became panicked as you quickly cut him off

MC: I wish I would have hugged you tighter before I left ... I'm not making it back to Linkon ... I'm sorry Rafayel: I can come to you just tell me where you are

Tears streamed down your face as your voice broke at the sound of him falling apart on the other end

MC: Im running on borrowed time right now Rafayel I just wanted to tell you that I love you ... so much Rafayel: I love you too

Your head was already swimming you didn't even realize you muttered.

MC: Good ... good.......

Rafayel never missed a single sunrise or sunset after that. Thomas would always find him sitting on the beach with red eyes and a camera to capture the sky that you painted for him.

Xavier

He picked up on the third ring w/ a groggy voice; he'd been asleep.

Xavier: My little star

His voice brought you a kind of comfort that no words could describe.

MC: You made a good call getting sick this week you know that?

You couldn't help but giggle at the situation.

Xavier: What are you going on about? MC: Remember how pretty the stars were that night we danced in the forest? Xavier: Yea they were almost as beautiful as you

He always knew how to make you feel like the prettiest girl to ever exist.

MC: Well next time you gaze at the stars the one star that seems to twinkle and dance just for you ... that'll be me

A brief moment of silence....

Xavier: You're not saying what I think you're saying

You could hear rustling on the other end knowing he just sat up.

MC: I'm sorry Xav ... I'm so sorry ... I promised I would make it back to you, but thats a promise I can't keep anymore ... I'm losing blood fast I can already feel myself losing consciousness Xavier: Hang on I'll be right there

And there it was the choked sob that finally slipped out of you as you responded.

MC: It's too late Xav ... do you love me?

He was quiet for a moment before you heard his low raspy voice respond.

Xavier: Yes. Of course I love you with everything that I am

Those words brought one last smile to your face and you finally let your eyes drift closed.

MC: thats all I wanted to hear ... I love you Xavier..........

Xavier was never the same after that. He spent his days training to get stronger to the point where his hands were bloody. No one could get through to him not even Jeremiah. At night he swore he could hear your voice as he gazed at the stars.

Sylus

Sylus: Hi sweetie MC: I love you!

You heard his breath hitch and then silence. You had rendered Sylus speechless with the three words he always wanted to hear.

Sylus: Why so sudden? MC: I never got the chance to say it to you, but I couldn't go without letting you know Sylus: where-

You quickly cut him off because there wasn't much time left. You could quite literally feel your life slipping through your fingers.

MC: this mission was doomed from the start ... I'm not making it home to you tonight ... I'm sorry ... there’s no pain though so I must be dying Sylus: Stay right where you are I’ll come find you MC: Don't .... it's no use ... thank you for everything I was always happiest with you

You smiled as you admitted that to him; it felt good.

Sylus: Stop you're not dying on that island

You sniffled as tears began to sting the back of your eyes.

MC: it's too late ... just ... just tell me you love me Sylus: but- MC: Sylus please Sylus: I love you My Queen MC: Music to my ears........

Sylus still tried to look for you, but could never make it onto the island for the wanderers were too strong....even for him. Mephisto did however manage to find you and brought back the necklace Sylus had given you. It now sits on a mantle in a glass case.

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads rafayel #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads sylus #lnds zayne #lnds xavier #lnds rafayel #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #lnds angst #love and deepspace angst #nikaaaaimagines

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97linelover · 6 months ago

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don´t let me slip away, please. - Jeon Wonwoo

18+ / mdi

summary: Dating an Idol was not always easy, you once again felt it with their newest comeback.

What if your Boyfriend pushes you away and you could only watch?

content: Idol Wonwoo x non Idol reader, fight,angst, happy end,fluff, smut

wc: 2.2 k

a/n: I always think about, how tiring comebacks must be for idols so I wrote down this AU.

The most painful thing is seeing your partner suffer but not being able to help.

That's exactly how you feel right now with Wonwoo.

Ever since the announcement of the new seventeen the best album, you have watched him slip out of your grip. You felt his distance, and you felt him closing up on you.

Jeon Wonwoo became so distant that you felt like the love he held for you was gone.

When the album release came, he was long gone before you woke up. You had ordered a small cake in the album theme. But in the morning, Wonwoo was long gone; his bag was gone, and you looked at your phone.

„Nonu: filming for MNET right now; I don't know when I'll be home. I didn't want to wake you. I love you."

A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you locked your phone again, trying to sleep some more.

It was the third show they had this week, and you know how exhausted he must be. While comebacks were amazing for the fans, they were exhausting for the artists.

You got ready and decided to watch the recording of today's set. For this comeback, you took some days off to support Wonwoo, but he did not appreciate it in the slightest.

Haru guided you inside the studio, where you heard the screams of the fans and the fan chant. A smile appeared on your lips, and you watched the boys do what they're best at.

But at the end, you could clearly see their exhaustion, their painted smiles, and their dull eyes. You saw how Wonwoo supported himself on Mingyu, and he tried his best to smile. The fans cheered and cheered, and you felt yourself getting sadder with each passing moment.

The comeback times were unbelievable hard, and if you did not date an idol, you would never know.

When they got off the stage, you quickly went towards your boyfriend. „Nonu, you were amazing," you said with a bright smile, and he looked at you. „Y/N, what are you doing here?" he asked, surprised, and you shrugged. „I took some time off, and I wanted to surprise you." You threw your arms around his neck.

„You were so good," you kissed him softly. He felt distant, and his kisses did not feel like home tonight.

„I will get changed," he announced softly, pushing you away, and you felt your heart fall into your stomach. „Okay, baby, I'll wait here," you smiled slightly, and he nodded, walking inside the changing room.

When he came back, dressed in his casual street wear, you watched him carefully. „Wanna head home?" You asked him curiously, and he nodded. „I could use a nap," he yawned.

Inside the black van, he typed on his phone, „When did you leave?" Your voice brought him back to reality, „4:30 in the morning," and he did not talk to you again for the ride.

And when you entered the house, he went for a shower while you began to cook. Wonwoo was always hungry when he finished a busy schedule.

You heard the bathroom door closing, and Wonwoo walked inside the kitchen dressed in some boxers and a shirt. „I made your favorite." You smiled proudly at him, and he yawned again. „I'm not that hungry, maybe after a nap, but thanks," he said as he walked inside the bedroom without looking back.

You felt the tears in your eyes, and you grabbed a plate when Mingyu walked in. "Mhm, smells good," he said, looking over your shoulder. "Do you want some?" You filled the plate, and he sat down with you. "Did Wonu already eat?" He furrowed his eyebrows. "No, he's taking a nap." You shrugged. "Is everything alright between you two?" Mingyu asked with concern in his voice, "I guess." You just smiled and got up.

"When Wonwoo is waking up, tell him I'm staying at mine tonight." You put on your shoes.

"Y/N," Mingyu's voice made you look back. "There will be better times, believe me." You felt a single tear rolling down your cheek. "I really don't know Mingyu," you whispered, and you began your journey home. Your flat was about 45 minutes away from Minwon's home, and normally Wonwoo would freak out to let you take the bus, especially since your area was not the best.

You barely slept there anymore since you dated Wonwoo; he had built a small vanity for you with all your cosmetics inside; his wardrobe had extra space for your stuff; and in the shower, your Strawberry Showergel was very prominent.

Mingyu became your best friend, and you three always went out, watched movies, talked about their day, and asked about yours.

When you arrived at home, you typed in a quick "I'm home xx" to Wonwoo, only to be ignored the entire night. At first, you thought that maybe he slept through. But you did know that he was awake, and you did know that he went live to play some games.

So overall, you felt like he was falling out of love with you, and after all, you could never force someone to love you.

When you wrote your article for your work project the next day, you saw the notification of their scheduled get-together. They organized a meet-up with 50 Lucky fans, and they would perform for them. They would eat with them, and after that, they would get the biggest cake ever.

You were in charge of the cake because Jiyoung, the manager of the boys, forgot about it, but luckily you found a bakery.

So here you are now, carrying a huge cake inside the venue. With the help of some staff members, you placed it on a stroller.

"Where's Wonu?" you asked Jiyoung while wiping your hands clean.

"They're in the dressing room; this is the last outfit change, and then they're done, and you two can go home," he chuckled slightly when he noticed how happy you were. You hurried through the floor, and you could already hear them talking, "Did you hear from Y/N last night?" Mingyu asked his best friend while he got his make-up retouched.

"She just texted me that she got home safe; I don't even know why she left in the first place," he shrugged. "But you don't like her going home late; she told me you were pretty distant." You could hear how confused Mingyu was.

"I was kind of relieved to be alone for a while; she's kind of annoying at the moment." You felt your breath hitch. "She always is around me; as if I'm not stressed enough, she tags along to everything." Wonwoo's voice sounded annoyed, and you tried your best not to utter a word.

"Bro, she is your girlfriend; you barely see her with our schedule, and you really complain when she takes time for you? I would be happy to see Lia every day," Jihoon said, confused and kind of disappointed.

"I'm fucking tired, okay? I'm fucking annoyed with her; all she does is chase my tail like a lost puppy," he spat and got up to leave the room. Jiyoung walked past you. "Y/N, why are you out here?" he asked, confused while opening the door wider.

Wonwoo's gaze found yours, and he saw the pain in your eyes. "Y/N," he whispered, but you quickly looked away. "I forgot that I have some papers due; I will, uh, I will go home now," you blabbered and bumped against a staff member.

You realized your wet eyes were the reason why you could not walk straight; you heard footsteps behind you, and then you got pulled against a buff chest. "Hey, you should not drive like this," a Mingyus voice rang through your eyes, and you sobbed. "I don't care; I need to get out of here." You pushed him away. "You heard him, huh?" he sighed. "I sure did, and now I finally know where I stand in his life." You let out a sarcastic laugh. "I won't annoy him anymore." You looked over his shoulder where Wonwoo was looking at you.

"Baby," he began, but you shook your head. "I won't push you anymore. Don't worry, I will not push you anymore." You shook your head. "I will not be there anymore." With that, you ran out of the building.

One thing about Seoul is that if you want to get lost, you can.

You ran along the streets until you did not know where you were. You found a bench where you waited for a Kakao car. The tear stains on your cheek made the driver look concerned, but he drove you to your building regardless, and a small question about whether you were okay in between made you smile slightly.

You told him that you were okay, but you sure did not feel like it was okay.

So this is how you found yourself on the couch inside your flat, wearing your fluffy bathrobe after you took a warm bath. You were craving chicken and beer, so when the doorbell rang, you jumped up. "Coming!" you yelled, grabbing your wallet.

When you opened the door, Wonwoo was standing in front of you. "Well, not my chicken," you muttered, and he looked at you with his brown eyes; they were bloodshot. "What do you want?" you whispered, and you felt the tears again. "I wanted to see you," he whispered.

"Oh, you do? I thought you wanted some free time; I thought I'm annoying." You crossed your arms, and Wonwoo closed his eyes. "Can I come inside?" He whispered, "I don't think we should do this; I think we should break off." You whispered, and Wonwoo's eyes widened. "What? No!"

You felt your heartbreak. "I love you, Wonwoo; I love you so much it hurts," you sobbed. "But you called me annoying; you described me as a burden even though I only want to give you love." You walked inside with him behind you.

"I don't want to be the reason you're unhappy, so I think it's best if I won't be a part of your life; you're stressed all the time, and normally I should be the one to take the stress off your shoulders." You looked at him, and you saw how tears were now streaming down his cheeks. "No, baby, I'm the one to blame; you do nothing but make me happy," he said, taking your hand.

"This comeback is the biggest we've had so far; it's indescribable; I felt overwhelmed; I felt exhausted and tired; and you were the person that was the closest to me," he choked out a sob. "God, without you, I could not do that; you are my person, baby; you bring me down; I need you."

"I let out my shit mood at you, and I am so sorry; you're not annoying, fuck no. Youre the best thing I have; I don't want to separate; I want us forever, baby," he cupped your face. "Please don't leave me," he whispered.

You felt like your heart had broken into a thousand pieces.

"I won't," you whispered, "but please talk to me; please tell me if something's wrong; we are in this together.".

"God, I love you so much," he whispered, and he kissed you softly. You felt his salty tears on his lips; you felt the need inside this kiss.

"I love you too." You pulled him closer, and he lifted you up, carrying you inside the bedroom.

You were cuddled against his chest, and he played around with your hair. "I missed my mom's death anniversary; because we were on tour, I could not visit her grave; I felt like shit because of this," you sat up straight.

"Nonu baby, your mom would be so proud of you, and she knows where you are right now. Don't break your head over that, okay? We can visit her grave tomorrow; don't be so harsh on yourself," you kissed his cheek.

"I still feel so bad for what I said," he whispered, and you shrugged. "It happened, Nonu; I know you're sorry." He stroked your cheek with his thumb. "Move in with me," he whispered, and your eyes widened. "What?" you gasped, and he smiled.

"I want you with me all the time, and Mingyu loves your company." He pulled you onto his lap, and you giggled. "You're sure about that?" He nodded. "God, woman, your neighborhood is a nightmare."

You pouted, "Not everyone can be rich." You mocked him, and he laughed, "But baby, the perks of me being rich are that I can spoil you." He turned you both around and softly placed kisses along your stomach.

"But I don't want that," you whimpered, and you felt him smirk against your skin. "I know, but love, I will spoil you anyways." He parted your legs "because I adore you.".

#seventeen #seventeen angst #au #svt #kpop #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen fanfic #wonu

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reidmarieprentiss · 4 months ago

Text

Home with Migraines

Summary: Spencer snaps at Y/N while having one of his migraines.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt//comfort, fluff

Warnings/Includes: yelling, childhood trauma, crying, being afraid of partner

Word count: 2.2k

a/n: i'm an angsty girl what's new :)) can be read alone but it is a blurb from Finding Home Again !!

main masterlist

Y/N had been chatting animatedly about her day as she walked into the apartment, her keys and bag clattering onto the table. Spencer was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, trying to focus on anything but the throbbing pain in his skull. He hadn’t wanted to interrupt her, hadn’t wanted to dampen her enthusiasm, but the relentless pounding in his head was making it impossible to concentrate on anything she was saying.

“I stopped by that new café on the corner,” Y/N was saying as she hung up her coat. “You know, the one we’ve been meaning to check out? Anyway, I got us those croissants you like, and—”

She paused for a moment to head to the restroom, and Spencer used the brief silence to take a deep breath, trying to steady himself. But when she came back out, her voice filling the room again, it was like nails on a chalkboard to his hypersensitive senses.

“—and then I called Billie, and they were telling me about this new project they’re working on, and—”

Y/N continued talking as she walked back into the room, her voice cheerful and full of energy. “—and they were saying it’s going to be this huge collaboration with all these amazing artists, and I thought, ‘Wow, this sounds right up your alley, Spence!’ Oh, and I ran into Mrs. Thompson from downstairs—she asked about you, by the way. I told her you’ve been super busy with work, but maybe we could bring her some of those croissants later, she always seems so lonely…”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sound, but it only seemed to grow louder, more insistent, with every word she spoke. His head felt like it was going to split open, the pressure behind his eyes unbearable.

“—and then I thought, maybe this weekend we could check out that new bookstore downtown? I heard they have a whole section on rare first editions, and I know how much you love—”

“God!” Spencer suddenly exploded, his voice sharp and filled with a frustration that had been building up all day. “Can you just shut up, please!”

The words echoed in the room, stark and heavy. Y/N immediately stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening in shock. She hadn’t seen this coming, hadn’t noticed how tense Spencer had been sitting there.

“...what?” she asked, her voice small, her lip trembling as she tried to process his outburst.

“Stop. Talking. Please. It’s like nails on a chalkboard,” Spencer bit out, the pain in his head making his tone harsher than he intended.

Y/N’s heart sank at his words, and she felt a sting of tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh—okay,” she managed to say, her voice breaking slightly. She turned quickly, her breath hitching as she tried to hold back the tears, and hurried back to their bedroom.

Once inside, she shut the door behind her, the sound of the lock clicking into place echoing in the silence. She pressed her back against the door, feeling the weight of the situation crashing down on her. Finally, she couldn’t hold it in any longer, and she threw herself onto the bed, burying her face in the pillows as the tears came.

She cried quietly, her shoulders shaking with each sob as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. Y/N didn’t know what she did wrong; Spencer usually let her yap about her day for as long as she liked when she came home. He had never once snapped at her, for any reason at all. The unexpected harshness of his words replayed in her mind, each time cutting deeper, leaving her feeling confused and hurt. What had she done to deserve that?

She tried to rationalize it, telling herself that maybe he’d had a particularly rough day at work, or maybe something else was bothering him. But no matter how she tried to spin it, the hurt wouldn’t go away. All she had wanted to do was share her day with him, and now she was left feeling as though she had done something wrong, something to push him away.

Spencer, on the other hand, was just glad for some peace and quiet, unaware of the storm he had unknowingly unleashed. The silence in the apartment was a welcome relief to his pounding head. He leaned back on the couch, finally able to close his eyes without the constant barrage of noise that had been aggravating his migraine. In his haze of pain, he didn’t realize that the quiet had come at the expense of his fiancée’s feelings.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her, hadn’t even considered how his words might have affected her. All he knew was that the pain in his head was blinding, and he needed silence. As he sat there, trying to will the migraine away, it never occurred to him that Y/N was in the next room, crying her heart out over the way he had spoken to her.

—

Spencer eventually fell asleep on the couch, the tension in his body slowly unwinding as the pain in his head dulled with the quiet. Y/N noticed the apartment had grown silent, and after a while, she carefully opened the bedroom door, hesitating as she listened for any sounds. Hearing none, she snuck out of the room, scared to upset him again by making too much noise.

When she saw that he was asleep on the couch, she let out a small breath of relief. Y/N tiptoed into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and a quick snack to substitute for dinner. She still felt too upset to eat a full meal, her appetite dulled by the earlier confrontation.

As she closed the fridge quietly, trying not to make any noise, Spencer stirred on the couch, waking up groggily. “Babe?” he called out, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice, her heart racing as she froze in place, terrified that she had woken him up and that he might yell at her again. “Sorry, Spencer,” she whispered quickly, trying to keep her voice low. “I promise I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“What? No, it’s okay, Y/N,” Spencer said, sitting up slowly, still disoriented from sleep. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. My head just hurt so bad.”

Y/N hesitated, her voice small and uncertain as she asked, “Is… is that why you yelled at me?”

Spencer blinked, the realization dawning on him like a cold splash of water. “Yelled at you… oh—oh my god, babe, Y/N, I am so sorry,” he said, his voice filled with guilt and regret. “I didn’t mean to upset you. My head… you were just talking so much, and it felt like my brain was going to explode.”

Y/N looked down, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of the counter. “I didn’t realize my talking hurt your head so much,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with fresh tears.

Spencer stood up, quickly closing the distance between them. He gently cupped her face in his hands, tilting her chin up so she would look at him. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated softly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I wasn’t thinking straight. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Y/N flinched when Spencer touched her, an instinctive reaction that sent a jolt of pain through him. She had never done that before. His heart broke, and he immediately pulled his hands back, taking a step away from her, his expression filled with concern and guilt.

Y/N looked down at the ground, her mind racing as she tried to find the right words. She hadn’t meant to react that way, but the hurt and fear she’d felt earlier had lingered, and now she knew she had to explain it to him.

Spencer watched her, his chest tightening with worry. “We need to talk more about this, don’t we?” he asked softly, his voice laced with regret.

Y/N nodded slowly, still avoiding his gaze. “Yeah,” she whispered, moving towards the couch, knowing that they needed to clear the air, even though the conversation ahead felt daunting.

Spencer followed her, sitting down beside her but keeping a respectful distance, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. He waited for her to start, his heart heavy with the realization of how much he had hurt her.

Y/N took a deep breath, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. “I’m not used to you being like that,” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “You’ve never yelled at me before, and when you did… it just… it scared me. It… um, it reminded me of when my parents would yell. I don’t like to talk about it, really. But I just—I was afraid of you.”

Spencer’s heart sank, the weight of her words hitting him like a ton of bricks. He had never imagined he could make her feel that way, and the thought of her being afraid of him, even for a moment, was unbearable.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “I’m so sorry. I never want you to feel afraid of me. I didn’t realize… I didn’t think… God, I’m so sorry.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I know you didn’t mean it, Spencer. But it brought up memories I thought I’d buried. I just… I can’t handle being yelled at. It makes me feel small, like I’m a kid all over again, and I just… I was afraid.”

Spencer moved closer, carefully reaching out to take her hands in his. “You never have to be afraid of me,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “I love you more than anything, and I hate that I made you feel that way. I promise I’ll never do that again. I’ll be more mindful, I swear.”

Y/N squeezed his hands, feeling a sense of relief as she looked into his eyes and saw the sincerity there. “I know you will,” she whispered, her voice softening. “I just needed to tell you how it made me feel. I don’t want to hold it in and let it fester.”

Spencer nodded, his heart aching with the need to make things right. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, his voice steady but full of emotion. “We’ll work through this together, okay? I’m here for you, and I want you to feel safe with me.”

“I do,” Y/N replied, her voice filled with a mix of relief and affection. “I just needed to get past that moment. I know you’re not like them, Spencer. I know you’d never hurt me.”

Spencer pulled her into a gentle hug, holding her close as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she whispered back, resting her head against his chest as they held each other.

“I need to tell you something too,” Spencer said, his voice tentative.

Y/N looked at him, concern etched on her face. “Okay.”

“I’ve been getting pretty severe migraines recently… usually they happen when I’m at work. That was the first one you’ve witnessed.”

Y/N’s expression softened, her worry deepening. “Oh, Spence. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could handle it, that it wasn’t a big deal. But clearly, I was wrong. I should’ve told you.”

Y/N reached out, gently placing her hand on his arm. “You don’t have to handle everything on your own, Spencer. We’re in this together, remember? I want to be there for you, especially when things get tough.”

“I know,” Spencer said, his voice filled with regret. “I just didn’t want to burden you with something else. But I see now that keeping it from you only made things worse.”

“You’re never a burden,” Y/N replied firmly, her eyes locking onto his. “I want to know when something’s wrong, so I can help. I care about you, Spence. That means all of you, even the hard stuff.”

Spencer felt a wave of emotion wash over him, grateful for her understanding and support. “Thank you, Y/N. I promise I’ll be more open with you from now on. I don’t want to keep things from you, especially something like this.”

“I’m here for you,” Y/N said, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure this out together. If these migraines are becoming a problem, we’ll find a way to manage them.”

Spencer nodded, feeling a sense of relief and comfort in her words. “I’m lucky to have you,” he whispered, his heart full of gratitude.

“And I’m lucky to have you too,” Y/N replied, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss. “We’ll take care of each other, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer agreed, his voice steadying. “Together.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg

#doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst

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adventures-in-mangaland · 1 month ago

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Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs Part 7

So I hear there's been some fandom drama? Guess it's time for another fic rec list! This fandom is so lovely, so let's focus on the positive and give all the love to our writers and artists. You guys are so talented. ♥️

Work It Harder, Make it Better by dear_monday, two_ravens

Olympics AU! And kind of Sk8er Boi? Charles is an Olympic skateboarder at the end of his competitive career and Edwin is a rising star in the world of dressage. They fall in love at Paris 2024. Amazing writing, as always, and I also enjoyed Niko and Crystal as members of the skateboarding and equestrian teams having their own Olympics Romance and Jenny as Charles' world-weary coach.

Twin Flame by Leandra

Another "He was a punk, he did ballet" romance! This time, everyone is alive and the boys meet when Charles watches Edwin perform at his little sister's ballet recital. The romance and Charles as a big brother are very sweet, which is great as this fic also covers some heavy themes. It's set in the 90s so there's discussion of homophobia, the AIDs crisis and Charles' canon child abuse. Suffice to say, his bisexual awakening is quite fraught. Recommended!

Love for Hire by lucrow

Edwin hires Charles to freak out his parents with his obnoxious fake boyfriend. What could possible haaappeeen? And yes, it's a ballet/punk romance too. 😅 Anyway, it's giving fantastic banter, lots of emotions and great use of trope! I also enjoyed Edwin's relationship with his mum in this fic, excellent parental feels.

so I try to talk refined by shadowquill17

Charles finds out about the Cat King taking on his appearance and (somehow) arrives at the conclusion that Edwin isn't attracted to him. Charles having body image as well as chronic self-esteem issues was interesting but kind of heartbreaking. Read it for Edwin's agonised attempts to verbalise his sexual attraction to Charles without exploding. That's love right there.

A Royal Pain(e) (series) by handwrittenhello

Royalty AU! I love a bodyguard romance from time to time and this one is lovely. Lots of yearning.

Turnabout's Fair Play by LikeMmmCookies

Edwin enlists Niko and Crystal to teach him how to flirt with Charles. It starts off cute and awkward and ends up Master Of All He Surveys, which is very Edwin.

I will love you (I really love you) by ghostinthelibrary

Charles has a feelings realization and tries to confess to Edwin. Repeatedly. From a cock-blocking enchanted statue to a Hellhound, it's farcical and fun. This fic has been living in my head rent free for months.

seasons of mists by laiqualaurelote

Edwin hires Charles to be the barista in his book shop's cafe. Two cosy AUs in one! And it even comes (appropriately) with its own reading list and fanart! Very cute, excellent autumnal vibes and a superb imaginary book shop. I'm genuinely so devastated it's not a real place. 😭

Ariadne's Thread by hobbitsdoitbetter

In which Edwin is demisexual and trying to make it work with Charles. Love to see some ace spectrum representation!

you know the problem with history (it keeps coming back like weeds) by aletterinthenameofsanity

Amnesia AU! And kind of Secret Relationship? Edwin has Not So Temporary Amnesia that made him forget a whole romantic relationship with Charles early in their partnership. And Charles never told him... Surely this will have no impact on the events of canon?? 😬 I loved this twist on the trope!

scraped to the marrow by Anonymous

Edwin learned black magic in Hell and kind of went to the Dark Side. I love the trope of "Everyone thinks Character avoids violence because they're scared/weak/nice/bad at it, but actually they're a bit too good at it" and this fic does it well. I love regular Edwin, but Lord Bone was also pretty cool.

To Walk Back Into Hell by Asidian

Charles goes to Hell in Edwin's place, so naturally Edwin needs to find a way to rescue him! Interesting Hell lore and I loved all the Charles love in this.

It does not stop by williamvapespeare

Now he's safe from Hell, Edwin finally works through his PTSD. Emotional, but peak Emotional Support Charles for the win!

signed, sealed, delivered by sulfuric

Outsider PoV of the boys and the agency through the years from the perspective of the Ghost Postman. He's kind of underrated as a side character, but there are so many Implications about the Dead Letter Office, so I enjoyed the worldbuilding. And the supernatural community of London gossiping about/shipping the boys (they're just like us, for real). Love that trope.

not so secret by lola_prongs

Social Media/Celebrity AU! In which they're both actors and Charles relentlessly thirsts after Edwin on Twitter. Great use of social media/epistolary storytelling.

Like a record, baby by singtome

Another celebrity/social media AU, but this time Charles and Crystal are budding rock stars and Edwin is their manager. Also Edwin goes viral as the mysterious #HotGuyatUnity after his picture's taken at an event and Charles *tries* to set the record straight. This one's funny, generous with the yearning and UST and is part of a series that also touches on the darker side of the music industry/celebrity, which I appreciated. And it also has this excellent visual representation of the online drama.

@ghostinthelibrarywrites @tumblerislovetumblerislife @shadowquill17 @neurodivergent-fangirling @whatthehorsedoicallthisblog @shazziez @many-gay-magpies @extremely-eager-reader @atariakana @guardianspirits13 @colourmornings @herebehunters @avoiceofnerat @littlepocketuniverse @overlord-of-chaos @fairandfatalasfair @handwrittenhello @every-moment-a-different-sound @williamvapespeare @laiqualaurelote @dear-monday @dear-lucrow @aletterinthenameofsanity @likemmmcookies @bibliomancer7 @c-rowland @nobledragonflying @hobbitsdoitbetter

I've tagged some people again. Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

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mind-intheclouds342 · 30 days ago

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A new ladder - Reader x Curly

Previous - Part 6 - Next

"Do you like art exhibitions? It has opened one by my favorite artist."

You mentioned handing a brochure to Curly.

Curly: "Oh, I didn't know you liked art."

He unfolded the brochure to start looking at the details of the exhibition.

"What does that mean?"

Curly: "Ah- nothing, nothing... He's a very reserved artist, huh? 'The man who never shows faces, after years brings his new collection', sounds great."

"I'm surprised he brought another collection, he had been inactive for years," you smiled, "Here are some examples of old and somewhat popular works, what do you think?"

You pointed to some images in a collage that were in the brochure of previous exhibitions.

There was a mix of realism, abstract paintings, and cartoon-like styles.

Curly: "He has... many styles, it's incredible. I would love to go see his works."

"I'm glad to hear that because~ I already have two tickets for their exhibition~"

You showed him the tickets excitedly and handed him his.

In the afternoon, you headed to the exhibition and entered the building. There were many people admiring the paintings; there were all sizes and styles, even the children were entertained by the cartoon-like paintings, surely a great collection.

There was one detail that always caught everyone's attention: in his paintings, he never showed the faces of those he painted, perhaps a way to maintain their anonymity.

Faces covered with plants, with careless strokes, hats, or even covering themselves with hands, veils, or the person being turned away, among other things.

Curly stopped to look at one in particular, which he felt was too personal.

The artwork was called "A Winner Among So Many Losses."

It was a torso without a head, with a background of a starry night, as if it were submerged in space, and four bright stars formed the silhouette of its head.

X: "What happened to those people was horrible. Don't you think? I wonder if anyone understands the meaning of this painting, or if they have already forgotten that tragedy."

An elderly man in a wheelchair had stopped beside him, looking at the painting with a relaxed smile.

X: "People tend to forget events very quickly, it's good that someone frames them so they can be remembered, because that way those lost people will always be present in our minds."

"Curly! I didn't realize you had stopped," you returned to his side and observed the man next to him.

Soon a woman came running towards you and took the man's chair, scolding him for going off on his own, to which the man just laughed and gently patted the woman's face, making her smile.

They both said goodbye to continue viewing the exhibition on their own, while you noticed how Curly remained staring at the painting in front of him.

Curly: "It's me. A faceless captain, lost, and the only one who will have the memory of his crew. The only captain who didn't sink with his ship and now bears the face of shame."

"Okay, okay, I think you're being too critical over a single painting," you patted his shoulders "Besides, their families will always remember them."

Curly: "Their families... What must they think of me?"

"They must feel pain... Resentment... They must be thinking, 'why did he come back and my daughter, or son, didn't?' Being a survivor is difficult, many will be happy for you, but others... They will only suffer because their loved one was n't the one who survived... As if you were to blame for something just because you're still alive."

You rested your cheek on his shoulder and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, trying to draw his attention away from the painting.

Curly: "...I should... contact them"

"If that makes you feel better... I can help you."

You smiled when he slowly took his gaze away from that painting to walk by your side and continue looking at the other works in the exhibition.

Curly: "I understand why you like this artist so much... He has such detailed works and they evoke a lot of emotions in you."

"I'm glad to have someone who shares that thought! You know? I could never bring my sister here to appreciate these paintings, she always said she didn't have time... And then I stopped insisting."

Curly: "I think I remember... That she used to get angry when she saw ads about these exhibitions. She said she hated that artist because she didn't like that he didn't do faces, and it made her nervous and gave her chills."

"It's just that she is like you were, she only saw the general image, didn't go deeper, never gave it a chance. If she saw something and didn't like it, she refused to see the beauty in it..."

You stopped in front of a painting and sighed.

Although you didn't make any comment about it, you soon continued walking while Curly observed that piece called "Beautiful Smile on a Perfect Day."

It was a bride holding a man's arm, resting her head on his shoulder; the irony of that painting was that the bride wore a veil and no smile could be seen on her face.

He approached and tried to focus his gaze on the bride's face, noticing that the veil was not completely solid; if you looked closely, you could see the bride's face, with her eyes closed and a smile on her lips.

"Curly! You're lagging behind again."

Before he could see the woman's face in the painting better, he walked away and hurried to join you.

That woman looked familiar to him...

#A new ladder mouthwashing #mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #captain curly x reader #mouthwashing curly #curly x reader

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puripurin · 11 months ago

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[Zephyr Intro]

— You moaned out in a hoarse voice from overstimulation from the pleasure you were receiving. At this point, you came several times whilst you could only count on one had the number of times Zephyr, his name was condesed into a english sounding name because you couldn't prounced it, came.

"Ah... we've reached hour six, so we must take a break in order for your body to not be destroyed. I shall give you a 7 hour break. You need sleep in order not to pass out because I want you to feel every single inch of the pleasure my cock gives so that even if you run away—" You lazily covered your ears so you can try to block out his rant even though you were exhausted. You glanced at your body was in shock by how many bite marks there were.

"Ah- you want to see the marks better! How lewd!" Zephyr teasingly grinned as he ran his hand in between your thighs. He chuckled as he looked at your exhausted yet flushed face. He then fixed you in a position where you could see yourself in the mirror that was hooked on the wall.

Not a single area besides your face was free from his lovebites— most of which were bleeding because of his sharp teeth— but the areas that had the most amount of bites were your chest, neck and your inner thighs. You could see how messed up your hair was, which was going to be a pain to comb out. Behind you, you could see how lovingly Zephyr stared at your face before kissing you on the forehead.

"My reigham, are you that infatuated with my looks and how I've abused your body? Come on, human bodies are weak. Go to sleep before I really start to think that you don't want your 7 hours of sleep." Your eyes widened in shock before pulling the stained sheets over your body.

"I'm asleep now!!" You shouted before you got lulled to sleep by the comforting pillows and sheets.

Zephyr watched your sleeping body before slipping under the sheets and slipping his cock back inside of you before wrapping his arms around your body.

"You will never leave... This scent of yours must never leave my vicinity, or I might turn into a tyrant... The things I would do to and for you..." He kissed your neck before snuggling deeper into the bed and into a slumber.

Hahaha. Yes i did rush this down in one day because r thirsty, so i only partially made this smut but its mostly fluff. Plus i saw some of yall wanted interactions with the kids, so ill make that later, then the yan omega and bunny boy special, then the monster father then some more artist yan because GAH DAYUM, 2k notes for that??? Plus ppl req. Yall got me workin over timee.

#yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster smut #and a half

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roosterforme · 7 months ago

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Covering the Classics Part 13 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: Confronting Kevin in California should have made Anna feel like she had the advantage, but nothing with him ever went to plan. As soon as Bob encounters Anna's husband for himself, he knows something isn't quite right.

Warnings: Angst, Kevin is a dick, bruises on Anna's arm, adult language, 18+

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

"Did you delete her number yet?" Nat asked as she lifted her helmet and Bob's off of the shelf in the hangar where their gear was stored when they weren't flying. "Or are you trying to prolong the pain like some sort of sadistic artist?"

Bob flinched at her words, because she hit a little too close to home for his liking. It wasn't that he wanted to be missing Anna like this, but he had been writing a lot of poetry about her. He couldn't help himself. He hadn't posted any since the one about his bookshelf, but that didn't mean his computer wasn't full of it.

"I'm not trying to prolong the pain," he told his friend with a grimace. "I don't know what I'm doing."

She shoved his helmet down onto his head and told him, "I know she threw you for a loop, but either delete her number or give her another chance. Don't sit in this annoying gray area. I don't know why you guys insist on doing that shit. I tried for ten years to get Bradley to contact his wife, but he just flounced around in the gray area like an idiot instead. Don't be like him," she said firmly, pointing to where Bradley was looking down at his phone with a dopey smile on his face. He was almost definitely texting his wife if he looked like that.

Bob sighed. "Nat, I don't know if she wants me to give her another chance right now. She said she's going to deal with her husband, but I think she needs time."

Nat rolled her eyes and held her hands up in the air. "Why don't you," she said, waving her fingers like she was performing magic, "talk to her again?!"

Bob pulled his helmet off again, saying, "What would you suggest I say? She already knows I've had feelings for her for months. There's just a point where it becomes too much."

"You could tell her that even though it blew up in your face, she's the best lay of your life." Bob immediately wished he hadn't told her that. "Or that you'll still be around after she figures her shit out. I think the ball is in your court."

He was still blushing furiously and nowhere closer to knowing what he should be doing when they all got called to the tower, but he did smile when Nat snapped at Bradley to put his phone away. She probably needed to get laid more than Bob ever did.

---------------------------

The bus ride from San Diego to Carlsbad shouldn't take an hour and a half when it would take barely forty minutes to drive yourself. Not for the first time, Anna wished she had a car in California. That way she could get to Kevin faster. Kevin. Fucking Kevin. The man who was the reason she didn't have a car in California.

She needed to stay calm. If she could catch him while his guard was down and convince him to just sign the paperwork, she would be golden. But every time she thought about seeing his face, she started to panic. She had seen nothing except kind faces for months. The faces of her friends. The faces of her students. Bob's beautiful blue eyes always seemed to look at her with a smile behind them. Even now, after she met up with him for a little bit at the bookstore, his eyes were kind.

Her hands shook slightly. She needed to deal with Kevin so she could move on and never have to see him again. Then she could work on getting back to the people who didn't look at her like she was worthless. When the bus finally fought its way through traffic and made a stop near the hotel where the conference was being held, she sprinted down the steps and up the block. She had already memorized the map and knew she needed to find the grand ballroom, but when she got to the upscale hotel, she was sweaty and panting for breath, and even the doorman was looking at her skeptically as she slipped inside.

The lobby was crowded enough that she padded her way across the marble floor in her beat up sneakers, blending in well enough with the others. Signs for the National Neurological Physicians Association conference were plastered all over the place, and she had to keep from rolling her eyes. It was laughable that physicians from all over would come here to listen to Kevin blathering on and on about his specialty area of study. But when Anna paused to really think about it for a second, something close to cold fury started flowing through her veins, because she was the one who paid for that for him. She was the reason he was a speaker at this massive conference in the first place.

With renewed purpose, she picked up her pace and turned right past the elevator bank, following the signs that led her toward several people in monogrammed lab coats. The ballroom was in sight, and she was ready to push through the double doors when one of the men in a lab coat popped up in front of her.

"Not so fast," he said, a forced smile plastered on his face. "You're late for the introductory speakers, and you haven't signed in yet."

"Oh," she said, scrambling to push her bag up on her shoulder. "Right." When he gestured toward a long table with some unclaimed name badges and information booklets, Anna's heart skipped a beat. She took a step closer, praying nobody would ask her for any sort of identification, and reached for the badge that said Dr. Angela Harmon, MD. She clipped it onto her shirt, realizing she was terribly under dressed to even try to pull this off, and then she picked up the booklet with Dr. Harmon's name on it as well. "Is this all I need?" she asked, tapping the name badge and praying this random woman didn't decide to show up right now.

With a nod, the man said, "Please try to find a seat at the back to keep disruption to a minimum. I believe Dr. Webber is still speaking, and you know how excited we all are to have him here."

Anna had to bite down on the inside of her cheek and take a deep breath before she could say, "So excited," through clenched teeth. "I wouldn't dream of being disruptive."

"Of course not," he agreed, finally smiling kindly. "Enjoy the conference, Dr. Harmon."

Carefully and as quietly as she could, Anna entered the ballroom to find hundreds of people sitting in rows of chairs listening to her worthless husband giving a presentation in a three piece suit.

"But we already know recent attempts to update computational axial tomography are largely like someone trying to reinvent the wheel," he said with a charming smile, and the room hummed with amused laughter like everyone was in on some sort of inside joke. Anna's skin crawled as she carefully took a seat in the last row, praying Kevin hadn't seen her yet. If he was this well known and well regarded in his field, then he didn't need money from her manuscript. He was simply holding onto it to be an ass.

She had to listen to him for twenty more minutes after that. Nineteen too long in her book. His voice sounded light and carefree, and his smile was handsome and unassuming. Frankly he was putting on some sort of persona, and it was nothing like she was used to. But it wasn't until he started on a short presentation that Anna's attention was piqued, because it was then that she saw he was using the laptop that they used to share. The one she used to type up her book.

A soft sound escaped her as she stared longingly at it, wondering if her work was still there. He slammed the computer shut, and she was jolted back to reality as he said, "Once again, thank you all for being here for the next week. We have so many groundbreaking topics to learn about and some of the most renowned research physicians in the country sharing their expertise with us. Let's take a quick break and then dive right into new MRI techniques with Dr. Nunez."

There was an immediate round of applause, and Anna jumped to her feet, heart pounding so hard, it was making her nauseous. When she headed toward his cocky, smiling face, she realized Kevin was already surrounded by colleagues, shaking hands and laughing. And that was when he spotted her. They'd been on the phone just a handful of hours ago, but he looked shocked to see her here. She watched his sharp, gray eyes narrow in on her with a spiteful glare before he smoothed out his features into something neutral. And that's when she came to terms with the fact that he would know she was living in southern California. That's when she knew she needed to make this work.

"Anna," he said with absolutely no emotion as she cut in front of the person he was talking to. "What are you doing here?"

She swallowed hard, imagining Bob and her two friends were with her, urging her on, cheering for her to fix this. "I have something for you to sign," she told him as her voice shook. She took a step closer as she reached into her bag to pull out the folded paperwork and a pen.

"No," he practically growled under his breath, trying not to draw more attention to himself. "Why are you doing this here? I'm a little busy."

Anna wanted to laugh in his face. She was a little busy trying to get on with her stupid life, but that didn't stop him from disrupting her mission every day. "Just sign the divorce papers, Kevin," she demanded, but she sounded like a child even to her own ears. His eyes flashed with so much anger, she could barely breathe with him this close to her. He was built similarly to Bob, which was a frightening realization. Where Kevin always used his size as an intimidation tactic, Bob had never done that to her. She always felt safe around him. Right now she felt very unsafe around Kevin, even though they were literally in the midst of a crowd of people.

"Just sign it," she whispered, trying to push the document into his solid chest. It was unbelievable that at one time, she was in love with this man. It was crazy to think about how he used to tell her he loved her too. "Please, Kevin." He looked so angry right now, and Anna felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up in fear as the people behind her started whispering.

"Who is this woman? That's not Alyssa."

"Did she say divorce? Isn't he married to that other physician? The pregnant one?"

So Alyssa was pregnant. And nobody here even knew about Anna. It was like she didn't even exist. Like she had never existed to her husband. A mortifying little sob bubbled free from the back of her throat, and she looked up at Kevin as he said, "Let's take a little walk."

His hand closed around her bicep, and Anna wanted to yelp as he pulled her up onto the stage, past the podium, where nobody else would be able to hear them. The laptop was right there, and she considered trying to take it, but she'd never make it out of the hotel let alone back to her apartment with it. Instead she tripped along next to him until he had her where he wanted her.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he snarled. "Were you always this stupid? Or have you gotten worse?"

"Come on, Kevin," she pleaded, and he finally released her throbbing arm. "You don't need it. Look how well you're doing. You don't need my book."

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair as if he was trying his hardest to keep his composure. "You think you can come here and embarrass me in front of my peers? Mentioning our marriage like we still have one when you moved away?"

Her fist clenched at her side. "Our marriage didn't fall apart because I left," she hissed under her breath. "It fell apart because of you. And now your mistress is pregnant?"

Kevin sighed. "I understand that you're jealous, Anna. I really do, but I'm not signing anything for you."

She clenched and unclenched her fist. The desire to punch him in the face was so strong as her other hand shook with the papers grasped between her fingers. She was far from jealous, and he knew it. He wanted to get a rise out of her because he felt cornered. "I don't care what these people think about me," she whispered. "But you do. So just sign it."

He stood before her, tall and broad with his jaw set as he said, "There is no way in hell you have what it takes to intimidate me. Now get the fuck out of here, or I will have security remove you from the hotel for disrupting the conference."

She knew she didn't have any other choice. If she somehow got herself in trouble for being here, she didn't have the money to spend on more legal help. So she took a step backwards just as Kevin's hand flew up to pull the name badge from her shirt. "And you're obviously not Dr. Harmon. She has enormous tits, and I fucked her last year in Toronto. Now go."

Twenty minutes later, Anna was back on the bus heading south toward San Diego, empty handed with tears in her eyes and a bruised arm.

-----------------------------

"What happened to your pretty girlfriend?"

Bob looked up from his phone as he walked up his porch steps after a long run on Monday evening. He hadn't been sleeping well, debating reaching out to Anna again, and he was hoping the run would tire him out. But he should have known Suzanne would have her door open and her game shows blaring at this hour.

"Hi, Suzanne," he said, wishing he could just duck inside his own place without having to chat with her.

"I haven't seen her again in weeks."

Bob sighed and tipped his head back. "She's not my girlfriend. She never was."

"Not with that attitude," his neighbor mused under her breath.

"You have a good night, Suzanne." Bob swatted Sylvester away from his front door before heading inside and up to take a shower. He thought about Anna as he ran his soapy hands along his body. He tried not to, but she was on his mind a lot. When he climbed into bed, his skin felt too hot. He opened the window to let the late fall air in, but it did nothing to help him. He wanted to see her, even just to make sure she was still okay.

He reached for his phone, typed up a text, and then deleted it. "You sound so desperate for her," he groaned, trying again. But again he had to delete it rather than send it. Finally he settled on something simple.

Hey, I've been craving some peanuts from Chippy's. Feel like joining me for a bit tomorrow?

It sounded neutral enough. If she said no, he'd ask Jessica to make sure the ladies were checking in on her. If she said yes, then Bob could see with his own eyes if she was okay. He would also get to see with his own eyes how fucking beautiful she was, but that didn't matter as much, honestly.

He was just slipping into a daydream where Anna's husband divorced her tomorrow and never left the state of New Jersey again when his phone vibrated on his nightstand.

Anna Webber: Peanuts from Chippy's sound heavenly right now. I would love to join you for a little bit.

He exhaled as the cooler air finally met his skin, and he pulled his sheet over himself after he promised to meet her there.

----------------------------

Before she went down to the quad with her lunch bag, Anna adjusted her cardigan. She knew her sleeve was covering his bruised arm, but she felt naked all morning during her lectures anyway. She felt like her skin and the inside of her brain were on full display for everyone. She wondered when Alyssa was due. She wondered if Kevin slept with Dr. Harmon when he was in Toronto last June or last October. Perhaps both. She wondered how someone who was so full of shit could keep coming out ahead of her.

"Anna!"

At least her friends were still faithfully waiting for her at the weird looking tree. And at least Bob was making it a point to let her know she was welcome around him. She could hardly wait to go to Chippy's later.

"Hi," she said, plopping down in between them on the bench, adjusting her sleeve one more time before pulling her sad sandwich out. "What's new in the world of science and mathematics?"

Almost immediately, she had a container of veggies and a homemade ranch dip in her hand while her friend told her about a fascinating math conference she wanted to go to next year in Philadelphia. Apparently the dates were just announced, and you had to be someone important to even get an invitation. Anna loved that her friend already knew she was going to go, but it made her dwell on Kevin and his conference which was still going on in Carlsbad.

"Oh!" Jessica said as she poured some potato chips on her already delectable looking sandwich. "Jake and I are going to Cabo next month! A much needed break after the term ends."

"I love that for you," Anna told her, feeling jealous in spite of herself. And that made her feel even sadder. She almost winced when her other friend wrapped her arm around her, inadvertently mashing her hand against the bruise from Kevin.

"Don't worry. Bradley and I aren't going anywhere for term break. I wanted to, but his favorite Grateful Dead cover band is playing right here in San Diego on New Year's Eve, and he absolutely can't miss it. That would be a crime." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm which made Anna laugh. "How's your week going?" she asked cautiously.

Anna wanted to tell them all about going to the conference at the hotel. She wanted to tell them that she saw Kevin and left with less than nothing. She would tell them, but not right now when she only had a little bit of time before she had to give her Classics lecture. She didn't want to run the risk of arriving to the lecture hall with tears in her eyes.

Instead she softly said, "I'm going to see Bob later. Just a quick visit to Chippy's for some peanuts."

Jessica was instantly vibrating with excitement. "That's great. I think you and he will have fun!"

"We will," Anna confirmed. Even though it was a little awkward, she'd had a nice time with him at the bookstore. She always did. Because he was kind and sweet and literally the opposite of everything that Kevin turned out to be. She just wished there was some reality in which she could feel his arms around her again. "We will."

The end of lunch came way more quickly than she wanted it to, and Anna found herself mentally regrouping to try to find another way to get her manuscript. She taught her last two lectures and graded a handful of essays, counting down the minutes until she could see Bob again. His blue eyes would be soft when he looked at her, and his words would be enough to make her feel better even if they only engaged in some small talk.

When she only had thirty minutes until she was supposed to meet him, she printed off sixty copies of the quiz she would need for tomorrow afternoon. Anna locked her office door behind her as she headed down to the teacher's lounge to retrieve the quizzes before someone moved them, never to be seen again. She learned her lesson after last time that if you didn't grab them right away, there was a good chance they'd end up in the trash. Then she would drop them off before going to meet Bob.

----------------------------

Since he was running early, Bob decided to just head to Anna's office and meet her there. He'd been so antsy to see her, he showered and dressed in his favorite jeans and tee shirt in record time after work. Even though he'd only been in this one academic building one time, he remembered exactly how to get to her office. Having an outstanding sense of direction just came with the territory for a WSO, but her hallway also smelled like fresh baked bread.

When he rounded the last corner, Bob skidded to a halt and ducked back behind the wall. There was a man about his age who was vigorously jiggling Anna's doorknob. "Anna. Open the door so we can talk," he said calmly even as he pushed his fingers through his hair in exasperation. Bob didn't know who he was, but he had a bad feeling, and that's when the man turned his head and spotted him.

Bob squared his shoulders to try to match the other man's height as he rounded the corner completely and asked, "Are you looking for Dr. Webber?"

The other man appraised him with cool gray eyes and smirked. "Let me guess. You're sleeping with her?"

Bob's heart lurched into his stomach as the color drained from his face. He knew this had to be Kevin. He knew it without confirmation, and now he didn't know how the hell he was supposed to respond. So he simply kept his mouth shut while the other man took a step in his direction.

"She really likes to act so high and mighty. Very hypocritical in this scenario," he muttered, making Bob's skin crawl. "I can't believe her."

Bob swallowed hard, trying to figure out why Anna agreed to go to Chippy's today if she knew Kevin was in San Diego. All he knew about was what she'd told him when she came to his house. Bob didn't think he should divulge too much to this man, so he simply asked, "What do you want from her?"

The answer was swift and felt like a punch to the gut. "She's my wife, and she's coming back to New Jersey with me where I can keep track of her. She doesn't belong here, and she needs to stop lying. So why don't you tell me what you want from her?"

His nostrils flared as his fingers curled into fists, and Bob had to take a few deep breaths before he said, "I just wanted to make sure she's okay."

Kevin crossed his arms over his chest and said, "She's nothing you need to be concerned about."

The uneasy feeling that started to fill him up spread through his whole body now, and Bob took a step backwards. Maybe Anna was already at Chippy's. Maybe she didn't know Kevin was here at all. He backtracked his way through the building as he started to panic. What if she did know he was here? What if she had played Bob and everyone else the whole time?

He would check for her at Chippy's. He made it all the way across the quad to a weird looking tree that was growing sideways when he froze again. It just didn't make sense. Anna said she hated Kevin and never wanted to go back to New Jersey, and Bob had no reason to believe someone else over her.

He started calling her phone, torn as to which direction he should head. Back up to her office? To Chippy's where they were supposed to meet up? She didn't answer. He started toward the bar, covering the few blocks at a brisk pace as he tried to call her again. He walked back and forth across that sticky floor through the clusters of students enjoying an after class drink before he was satisfied that she wasn't there.

"Damn it, Anna. Answer your phone," he muttered as he ran back to her building and up to her office. The building was virtually empty at this hour, and now there was nobody in the hallway at all. He knocked on her door and called out her name, but he was met with silence. The kind of silence that just didn't feel right.

He felt like he was going crazy, running in circles both metaphorically and physically for this woman, and when he finally reached his truck, he had to wipe the sweat from his brow. Her apartment wasn't far from campus, and he didn't know where else to even look at this point. When he got there, he parked and tried to call her one more time before someone else who lived in the building simply held the door open for him.

"Thanks," he muttered, heading for the stairwell and taking the steps two at a time until he reached Anna's floor. And then her apartment. What he heard coming from inside made him want to rip the door from the hinges.

--------------------------

I hate Kevin. Hate. Him. I'm sorry, but he's still going to get worse. Just remember that Bob is a sweet cinnamon bun. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 14

@thedroneranger

@theamuz

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#bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd x oc #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd fic #bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd fanfiction #robert floyd #robert floyd fic #robert floyd x oc #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #roosterforme #covering the classics

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moonlit-imagines · 4 months ago

Text

Needles and Knives

Jason Todd x reader

warnings: um. needles and knives

a/n: i just wanted to do a tattoo artist au for jason im weak. also no this isnt an nsfw

prompt:

It took a bit of thorough deliberation to figure out just what you'd be getting permanently inked on your body, but eventually you'd been able to settle on a meaningful piece. Quite the piece according to your artist, Jason Todd.

You walked into the studio, a bit dark and dingy in an endearing way. Fortunately, Jason's setup was more clean and organized than the rest of the place. "Sorry for the mess, the other guys aren't as concerned about health code as I am." He chuckled as he walked over to the front desk. "Far as I know, there hasn't even been an inspector here in at least five years." You laughed with him as he got everything set up on his end.

"Thanks for taking me this late," you said, "I'm kind of a night owl."

"You're not the only one." Jason tapped the chair you'd be sitting on for the appointment. "Make yourself comfortable, it's gonna be a pretty long session." You'd picked a nicely sized thigh tattoo that would be roughly three hours long, but Jason said he was in no rush and would only charge for two. You didn't think he was in this for the money, he seemed to like what he did. Or maybe he just liked poking people with needles. Either way it was a good deal and you liked being in the studio late and alone, it was more peaceful this way.

He was as gentle as possible, checking in every few minutes no matter how much you assured him you could take a little pain. Judging by the looks of it, you could say the same about him. There were plenty of scars on his arms from what you could see past his t-shirt sleeves. You tried not to make it obvious as you started observing the rest of his exposed skin for other marks. There was definitely a faint bruise around his eye and a few healing cuts and scrapes under bandages. Maybe he was trying to fool you with the “new tattoo” look the way those bandages were wrapped, but you could tell he got roughed up. You wondered if his knuckles were just as bad under the gloves.

“You alright?” Jason asked once again, wiping away at the ink on your skin.

“Uh-huh.” You dully replied.

“Seem a little nervous.” He commented without looking back at you, dragging the needle across your skin again. “You can’t keep still.”

“Oh.” You mumbled. “Just a little restless. Not used to sitting in one spot this long.” You both chuckled lightly.

“I know the feeling.” Jason responded. “Tattooing is really just a side hustle, I don’t do it all that often.”

“Really? You seem pretty experienced.” You complimented him and took a peek at the work so far. “What’s the ‘main hustle’ then?” You pried and watched his lips curl upwards ever so slightly.

“That’s a secret.” He responds after a moment of hesitation. You thought he was joking—just a bit of a tease—but he never did give you a straight answer. You were forced to keep awkwardly staring at the injuries he’d sustained recently and further back and make your assumptions. Maybe he got in a fight with a bear. Maybe several bears.

“Late night tattooing, huh? Any particular reason?” You innocently asked. He laughed just a little—just enough to embarrass you a little bit—and stopped tattooing.

“Let’s take a break. Can I get you a water?” Jason offered and walked over to the mini fridge.

“Oh, uh, sure?” You accepted. “I didn’t offend you, did I?”

“No, not at all.” He assured, handing you a cool bottle and taking his seat once again. “You’re just full of curiosity. Remind me of my brother. Always asking questions.”

“Not always a bad thing.” You took a sip and checked the work in progress. “Looks promising so far.”

“I’d hope so.” Jason used a paper towel to pat it lightly with a gloved hand. “You’re a bleeder.”

“Needles do that.” You nodded playfully. He was charismatic, made you feel welcome and not like a burden for making him do the work. He liked your design, he helped bring it to life, and he made sure you were comfortable when the needle was in your skin. You were just so curious about who this guy was when he wasn’t in this dump of a tattoo shop. “You ever gonna tell me what the main gig is?”

“I’m a pastor.” Jason answered and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I bet.” You noticed your cheeks start to hurt from the smirk you couldn’t shake since you’d started conversation. “Boxing?”

“You could say that.” Jason agreed with that guess. “Why do you think that?”

“The bruise on your face and all your bandages.” You tilted your head to motion what you’d noticed in your short time together. “Is that not it?”

“Oh, no. Right on the nose.” Jason was either very good at lying or had a very dry sense of humor. Either way, you figured it was time to stop prying. He was, after all, just your tattoo artist.

After a few minutes of cooling down, Jason got back to work. He’d been more focused thaan before, brows furrowed as he lost himself in the detail. That could only benefit you, though. And by the end, the tattoo looked beautiful.

“Thank you, it really looks amazing.” You moved to check all angles in the mirror.

“It was a great piece, I’m glad I did it justice.” Jason started cleaning up as you paid, you said your goodbyes and left the building.

Gotham wasn’t exactly the safest of places and you were pushing 2AM as you walked down the street. Of course you knew walking was not the best mode of transportation, it was the one getting you home tonight. Especially after blowing all that money on your tattoo.

Halfway home, you realized that you were being followed by a group of people that definitely did not know you or have any positive intentions. You picked up the pace and upon realizing this, they began advancing. You thought that it was over for you before loud screams caused you to stop and spin around. There you saw a man in a red mask standing over several unconscious bodies, freshly beaten by himself. Red Hood. “Are you alright?” He asked you, which gave you deja-vu. Even with that mask on, the warped voice, the concern in the question could not thwart you.

“Jason Todd?” You asked in a whisper. The mask didn’t convey any emotions, but the pause in his answer did.

“…No.” He said.

“Yes.” You replied. “Boxing.”

“Let’s not talk here.” He requested, walking along with you to a safer location. It took some time, but you got home okay.

“Were you following me?” You finally got the chance to ask him.

“Yes.” Jason responded honestly. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safely. Luckily, I was there. You make it a habit walking alone in Gotham—at night?”

“I ought to do it more often if it means you’ll be watching.” You slyly flirted with him, adrenaline still pumping a bit from the tattoo and the fear of being attacked on your walk home.

“Oh, how hilarious.” Jason took off his helmet after you let him inside. “Don’t do dumb shit like that again. You’re gonna get that pretty face of yours roughed up if you’re not careful.” He warned in the same flirtatious tone.

“What, like yours?” You tapped the side of your facecthat mirrored his bruise and he nodded.

“This isn’t pretty. And I’ve been through much worse, believe me.” Jason put his helmet back on.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You sat down on your couch. “I’m sure you have other beautiful people to follow home and ensure their safety. Have fun out there.”

“Remember the care tips for that tattoo. That’s some of my best work there.” He pointed sternly as he approached the door.

“You’ll just have to check in and make sure. Maybe you can help me with that, too.” You smiled mischievously and wondered if he was blushing under that helmet.

“Maybe I will.” His mask distorted his voice still and he shook his head. “Make sure to lock this.” Jason reminded as he exited out the front door.

“How will you get back in, then?”

“I’ll knock.”

taglist: @captainshazamerica // @cipheress-to-k-pop // @the-did-i-ask // @azazel-nyx // @summersimmerus // @deanzboyfriend // @zoeyserpentluck // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 //

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd au #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #batfamily #batfamily x reader #batfamily imagine #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #dc comics

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astrofhobia · 26 days ago

Text

I tried to help you.

We were never brothers. Pretending our relationship worked was what ended it. You never cared about me, I was aware of that to a certain extent. I pretended to care about you even if you knew better.

You got angry because of that, no, you didn't get angry because I pretended to care about you, you got angry because I wasn't honest with you, because I didn't tell you absolutely everything that was going on in my head.

Maybe things would have been different if they had treated you well, you were alone, trapped in someone else's mind, you felt pain but never showed it.

You were always very proud, Eclipse.

I tried to please you many times, staying extremely still in those analyzes that you did to me all the time. Until now I don't know why you made them. Was something wrong with me? Were you afraid Moon would take control? I guess you'll keep that secret until you actually die.

I was looking for a way to feed your ego and please you because it made me sad that you were alone without anyone congratulating your achievements. You always made me feel sorry for you. You can deceive yourself but you cannot deceive others. You were an artist deceiving others but you never knew how to continue with your lies and people came out of the threads you built around them. You tricked Moon and he tricked you, you tried to bully Sun and he bullied you. You killed me and I killed you.

Don't blame yourself. No one was really nice to you, no wonder you were so cold and empathetic towards me. Until Earth arrived.

She really changed your perception of people, right? You know, I love her, she's my sister. Nothing will make me hate her.

But I'm jealous of her.

She managed to get you out of your bubble without trying, it only took a few soft words for you to stop considering her a threat. You stopped seeing her as a hunting animal, you saw her as a friend.

I tried that many times. But the only thing I received was slaps and insults. You changed with others, but you never did with me.

That's my problem.

I tried to pretend that I didn't care about you. I regretted many times yelling at you, hitting you or disappointing you. I erased those feelings over and over again but they always came back.

I felt like you deserved a hug, a "I'm sorry" many times but I was never able to say it.

I was terrified that you would leave me. All those tests, I was so worried that you would leave me alone like they had left me... But my obsession with the star led me astray.

Maybe if I had been nice to you things would have been different. I mocked you when you betrayed me. But that really hurt me, my own creation stabbed me in the back.

I would have done it too if my creator abused me like that...

I'm not the Eclipse who treated you like that but I don't know how to talk to you without my larynx shutting down. I want to treat you better but our relationship is at the bottom of the sea and I don't know how to start a conversation without sinking further.

At the moment Earth appeared I was so hated by everyone, I was scared when she appeared, she didn't attack me, she didn't ignore me, she tried to be on good terms with me because she didn't know me. He knew what he had done, what he had done to you. But she still approached. She said I could have a second chance if I wanted.

I guess that's when I understood that I could improve.

I moved because I had done so much damage here that trying to walk near daycare or your family became extremely anxious and I hated that feeling.

When I got here I expected everyone to hate me. But apparently, this place is so different and the same at the same time. I feel at home but very far from there.

I try to start something new here, I want to get away from the problems but those problems are still there.

That's my problem.

But I still want to help you.

#tsams #tlaes #teaps #the lunar and earth show #the eclipse and puppet show

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soapoet · 2 years ago

Text

describing your next love...

...because i'm just as nosy as you are.

like & rb if it resonates ♡

01.

Shufflemancy: Lucky people by Waterparks

they have a very sunny energy. the kind that peaks out behind the clouds after a fall of rain. rejuvenating, always welcome. they try their best to stay optimistic, for loved ones and strangers alike. it feels a little tragic because there is a darkness inside them that they choose to ignore. their sunny disposition seems less like a mask and more like armour. it's what has gotten them this far. they may have had a rough childhood, and their heart may have been wounded particularly by one of their parents. they struggle with mental health and might be neurodivergent. they're the kind of person to end a depressing sentence with 'lmao', or turn a therapy session into a stand-up comedy show. they cope with their struggles through humour, because if they take themselves and their problems too seriously and lean in too close to where it hurts, the pain becomes overwhelming. their heart is much like a dam, holding back tons of tears of almost biblical proportions. even still, if they opened the floodgates they'd find a way to muster a 'noah, get the arc' joke to force some sunlight through the clouds.

despite their dance around their own feelings, they're encouraging of others expressing theirs, and stand firmly by their side and always have a shoulder to offer if needed. they love to make people laugh, and aren't afraid of making a fool out of themselves if it puts a smile on someone's face. they'll gladly cast themselves as a jester if it makes their loved ones feel like royalty. they're very excitable and fun to be around. at their best they are a firecracker, bursting with an energy so infectious and bright. they're creative and very passionate about their hobbies, often to the point of obsession. it seems like all they do they do with such love. like a show is never just a show, but a whole world of its own to explore and come to know as home. they love the escapism of foreign lands, fictional and real, and something about them makes a simple trip to the grocery store an adventure with many memories to one day share.

you either already know them, or will meet them very soon. especially if you're in a transitional period, moving away, changing jobs or applying to schools, then this is a person you'll meet in this next chapter of your life. this has friends to lovers written all over it. you might be in the same friend group, or meet them through a mutual friend. their hair stands out for some reason. it could either be in the literal sense because it's messy, perpetual bedhead, or they have a unique colour or cut. perhaps they change their hair frequently and have a bit of chameleon vibes in which they become unrecognisable with every change that they make to their appearance. they're average in height but could look taller than they actually are. their posture isn't the greatest, especially if they're an artist of some kind. they have golden retriever energy and may be a dog person in general. for some, they have freckles or dimples, or prominent birth marks. there's a lot of mutual pining involved before anything happens. they're a little bit oblivious, too. someone else might have to step in to spell things out for either of you.

02.

Shufflemancy: Into you by Ariana Grande

being playful and flirtatious can get you in quite a bit of trouble, and they know this from experience. they're attractive, and seem very aware of it, though there is less legitimate arrogance and more playful cockiness involved. they like to make an effort to look good, and have a strong appreciation for a partner who does the same. generosity may be a way they show this appreciation because they understand the time and maintenance this effort can take, and are of the mindset that they ought to reward what they like rather than simply expect it or take it for granted. they're likely involved in business such as investments or trade, or could be working on building a business of their own. they're physically fit, and might frequent the gym or be into sports. they have a lot of stamina because of this, so do with that information what you will.

they could have a bit of a reputation due to an unscrupulous past, and it is one they have done much work to rewrite. they want to settle down, but haven't found someone they could commit to. a big issue for them is the way fun gets sucked out of things too quickly in the relationships they've been in. they're very spontaneous and have a big capacity for romance, but they often find themselves lacking space and time to do anything special. like how you would decide to clean the house to surprise your mother, only to have her call and ask you to do just that, ruining the gesture. similarly, in their relationships they may find themselves cornered, and in the suffocation of their freedom and passion their capacity and desire to impress and to woo begins to fade like a smothered flame, which in turn causes strife. and the nagging that so often followed turns them into a complacent shell of themselves, wherein it's better to nod along than risk discord. they seek an equal. somebody powerful in their own right, who can support them and be supported in return. they want love to be an adventurous undertaking of a power couple ready to seize the day.

this feels like a right person wrong time -scenario. when you meet they're probably in a relationship with someone else, or you are. you could meet at some sort of social gathering or organised event like a fundraiser or a concert. there's a distinct sense of delay here, though the interest is mutual and very persistent right from the beginning. they could hold themselves back from pursuing anything with you at first because they want a clean slate. it may at first to you seem like frustrating indecision and make you question their intentions, even integrity, but they may just be untangling their life and closing chapters. they yearn for the long-term and would like the house and the kids and whole nine yards, but need to make sure their life is upright, straightened, and ready for it. there is a playful glint in their eyes, which may be hazel or brown. there is a distinct warmth to them and a loving gaze feels especially adoring from them. they would make a very good and attentive parent and spouse for the right person. there could be a noticeable size difference between you. if you're softer and curvier, they're more angular and dense, and if you're shorter, they're taller, etc.

03.

Shufflemancy: Great shipwreck of life by IAMX

oh, how charming! they're gregarious, and attract quite a few admirers. though it seems they take few, if any, seriously at all. their popularity may be a byproduct of an important or visible position that they hold. they could be a prominent figure within their community or be very successful in their field of work or hobbies. their schedule is often packed with meetings, events and social obligations. they could travel a lot too, both for pleasure and for work. for their work they may spend extended periods of time away from home. in spite of their sociable persona, they keep their private life very private, under lock and key, and may even be secretive about it to an extent. they may be unapproachable or simply be unattainable by people outside of their established circles. there is an element of social games or hierarchical factors present in their life, and whilst they're good at networking, climbing ranks, or beating records, they may actually find many around them to be uninteresting or outright obnoxious. where they spend their professional hours draws a lot of similar types of people together, and their tastes differ quite a bit. being married to their work in a way leaves few options for them in love since they look for something outside of their norm, which they have little time to explore.

there could be a fear of being taken advantage of. like they can't seem to trust people easily, and expect everyone to have ulterior motives. to use them or get something from them. these trust issues run deep, and either they have been burnt before or have watched somebody close to them fall from grace and are afraid they'll share that same fate. there could also be legal reasons for their caution, as they may have signed contracts or taken an oath that dictates what they can and cannot share, particularly if they work for the government or a big corporation.

this connection might begin online or otherwise have distance involved even if you meet in person first. lots of messages or calls. they revel in good banter and enjoy entertaining more out-there ideas. they feel starved off of deeper conversations because their life seems to revolve around a lot of simple niceties and professional talk with tons of things redacted, edited, and filtered to fit into a very narrow box deemed correct and good and appropriate. it's very tiring and wears them out, even though they won't show it. they really appreciate things that differ from the norm or breaks the status quo in some way. what they consider their type is also very different from what would be expected of them, and their peers would be shocked to hear what they find ideal both in terms of a partner and a life that they would like to lead. their voice seems important too. they have a very attractive voice, could be a great speaker or an artist. their hair is either longer or shorter than average (shorter for women, longer for men), and their physique leans slimmer and angular, not a lot of curvature just lots of straight lines and sharpness.

04.

Shufflemancy: Willow by Taylor Swift

they probably don't get out much. most if their life occurs behind closed doors. they could work or study remotely, and their schedule might be different from the usual nine to five. their friends and family may live at a distance, too, which leaves them few reasons to leave the house. they need mental stimulation and might be a little high-strung, their nerves like violin strings wound too tight. independence is of great importance to them and their boundaries are clear, almost like austere walls protecting a castle. they appear aloof and don't say much, especially around strangers. though their shyness is often overruled by their intrigue. they like to tinker with things and minds alike, and may often step in to play devil's advocate just to stir the pot. especially in their boredom they may seek out discourse as a form of entertainment. they have strong opinions, but are not stubborn or unable to bend. in fact, something they abhor is weak convictions and mindless agreement. they respect admittance of ignorance far more than the parroting of popular opinions if there is a lack of substance behind them. they really do not seem to mind different views at all, and may surround themselves with people of all walks of life and various temperaments and opinions. this is in part driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge. it's as though they've made their quest in life to seek information and learn everything they can in one short lifetime. they are open-minded and curious, and have great respect for anyone who has something to teach them. and they're a great teacher themself! even if they do not literally teach as a part of their work, they might have been told by many that they should consider it because they really have a way of adapting information, hand-tailoring it to their audience, so that even complex things get delivered and comprehended.

where they may be a great source of knowledge and advice to those around them, they aren't the greatest in terms of emotional support. they are a problem solver, and they can't fix tears. they try, but it feels clumsy and awkward. though that can be a little charming, too. they care a lot, more than people might expect. they're just terrible at showing it through big and extravagant gestures and displays of affection. they're more likely to give praise or take on tasks to unburden you. they like routine and solitude and seek someone who rivals the comfort of their peace and quiet. they could die happy if they could simply share a space comfortably with someone without constant noise, buzz, and attention. they could be strangely private about things that don't necessarily call for privacy. like, they might easily drop childhood lore in a casual conversation, but find inquiries about what they did yesterday suspicious even if they didn't do anything special.

because this is a bit of a 'rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your hair' -type of situation where they're very comfortable in their ivory tower that gets no visitors, it might take a while before you meet them. they're far more social online and you could meet through common interests like online games, subreddits, discord, or through mutual friends. if you already know them, there may be a sense of unrequited love for a while. they rarely act on their infatuations and just wait it out, enjoying the feelings for what they are but do little, if anything, about them. alternatively they participate in very indirect chasing that appears more like making the other person chase them. they have attractive hands, could be ambidextrous or they fidget a lot with their hands. they may be a writer, play an instrument or play a lot of video games. they always appear deep in thought or even a little irritable, even if they're actually not. not so much RBF as simply spacing out. their eyes seem hazy. whichever colour they are it looks desaturated and blurry, like there's mist covering them. blues lean greyish, greens look muddy, browns look more true and lack the amber warmth. they might wear glasses or contacts. regardless of race they're a little paler and may have some health concerns or struggles.

05.

Shufflemancy: I want you to want me by Chase Holfelder

there is something broken here. their home, their heart, or perhaps their mind. it'll be difficult to break through this shell because the exterior is harsh and uninviting. whatever it is that haunts them, it really shows in their relationships. they walk a path seemingly unlit and full of horrors, leaving behind them a trail of broken hearts. pieces of both their own and those of past lovers scattered along the way. to some their love is suffocating, draining and overbearing. when they get attached they latch on with a powerful grip that seems unyielding. they're a rock that could weather the strongest of storms and they're used to being a pillar of strength. but it seems as though their past is full of people who would have needed the room to bend with the winds and were left feeling too restricted. they may have a jealous streak that's rooted in fear of betrayal, likely from past hurts. they could struggle with a mental illness or have history of abusing drugs or alcohol to numb what haunts them.

they really want a partner in crime. someone who is similar to them and understands their turmoil. they have a big capacity to understand and deal with heavy burdens and mental issues in a partner too and aren't easily fazed by emotional outbursts or any type of spiraling mentally or emotionally. they also remind me of the quote 'a hero will sacrifice the person they love to save the world, a villain will sacrifice the world to save the person they love'. they seem a bit like an outcast or a misfit, and those closest to them may also be underdogs and form a very tight-knit group. they're a little bit of a hopeless romantic and have a soft side. if they're musically inclined they might write you a song, or otherwise use writing as a way to express their feelings in a deeper way. their cold and rough exterior is there to ward off the most frail and flaky. they don't want to ruin dainty petals or have their own ripped out by players.

funnily enough they actually look like one themselves. they have that quintessential heartbreaker look to them. the one all the movies deem nothing but trouble. a villain in the story of many but their own and those closest to them. there is a feminine energy close to them that they're very protective of, like a sister or mother. for some they might be providing and caring for a sick relative. they have an unusual job or field of study, and peculiar working hours. they might work a graveyard shift, gigs, or do work that's seasonal or done on the go. music plays a big role in their life and you could meet them at a concert or through another kind of relation to a band or artist you both enjoy. they take a keen interest in the strange, and the mysteries of life. they might study the occult, enjoy conspiracy theories, true crime, etc. they're distinctly cool toned, blondes are dirty and ashy, browns are void of red pigment and lean darker, almost black. blue eyes are very cold and piercing, and brown eyes are very dark and may appear black. they have piercings, tattoos or scars and may bruise easily, or be into those things in others.

06.

Shufflemancy: Trust by Boy Epic

somebody send this person on a mandatory holiday. i really should not have left this one for last, because the energy is really heavy. their life seems unbalanced, like it is all work and no play. there is a jittery energy here as though they are running on fumes and caffeine to fuel a big machine with hundreds of intricately moving parts. they might work in real estate, management, law, IT, or have a lot of people they're in charge of who depend on them. they have impeccable memory and somehow manage to stay on top of things with ease. they like being personally involved and may be hands-on with many of their projects. task management comes naturally to them. it's as if they're playing a game of chess with life and stay aware of every possible variable and reach outcomes long before they show in the present. this spills into all areas of their life and allows them to map out goals with great precision, leaving very little room for uncertainty. they're very stable and competent. but they're also miserable. even though they enjoy their work for its challenges and the heights it allows them to reach, it may seem to them as though they are wearing themselves out without real purpose beyond the accolades. like they're building an empire in vain because there is nobody to share their glory. they want more from life, namely a home. their home is as big as it is hollow and they don't like it there. it lacks a lot of love and light and they wish to bring some of that into it through children and a spouse.

they may come from a big family themselves, even one of good fortune. their discipline and work ethic is likely something instilled in them by a father figure, and there could be a bit of an eldest child complex at play, wherein they have always felt the need to set an example for their younger siblings, but also feel embittered by what they cannot get away with that others so easily can. they could use with a bit of whimsical and carefree energy in their life. they're aware of it too, as they find a bit of chaos oddly attractive in a partner. in previous relationships they may have been with people far too similar to them, allowing them no place of restoration and solace, but instead a constant movement of the goal post. they seek someone comfortable and more easy-going who can help them relax and live a little. they are generous and would spoil a worthy partner rotten, but are also afraid of gold diggers and don't want to be taken advantage of, as they may have run the risk of in the past.

out of all groups, this one leans the oldest. depending on your age they could easily be 5-10 years your senior, and if you're very young it will likely take some time before you meet them. you might meet through work, through coworkers, at a work related event, or if it is a leisurely occasion it's one with a mixture of age groups like a family gathering of sorts. for a few, you could run into them a few times at random whilst running errands and going about your daily routines. either way interest is established quickly, even though they may seem stand-offish or even stiff at first. in actuality they busy themselves with observing, and throughout your interactions, and your interactions with other people in their presence, they size you up and try to figure you out. they could be very taken with you, but they try their best to not show it. they're cordial, but keep their cards hidden. once they decide to pursue you everything happens very quickly. again, because of their game of chess having played out various scenarios while they figured out their feelings and rearranged their life to fit you into it. they're eager to please, and one-on-one you may be surprised by their sensitive and softer side. they're doting and have a lot of adoration once they fall, and out in public where they seem level-headed and collected you can easily distract them and have them stumbling a bit. they're very protective and are bigger or stronger than you. their features lean darker and they may have an earthy look to them, like green or hazel eyes and auburn hair. this one has the strongest indications of marriage.

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