#LIKE LITTERALLY BAWLING MY EYES OUT

[sargent-venom1926]

A BAGEL.

genuinely cannot believe that the two best multiverse movies of the year both had the main villain’s motivation be a BAGEL

[your-local-uwu-artist]

HOLY SHIT WAIT I AM EXPERIANCING EMOTIONS

"FAIR ISNT A WORD WHERE I COME FROM"

[catch1ngmoths]

Hi ok so I was wondering if you can do a comfort fic with joost? Like joost sees readers past SH scars and reader really hates them and finds them disgusting but joost just kisses readers wrist and reader just starts bawling 😔🫶 if this makes u uncomfortable you don’t have to write it I won’t be upset! 🫶🫶🫶

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ STRAWBERRY GASHES⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝄞⨾“Watch me falter, Your living like a disaster. She said kill me faster with strawberry gashes all over” - jack off Jill𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋

Summary: you have self harm scars but you’ve never told your boyfriend, Joost. One day you forget about the scars and wear somthing that reveals them. Much to your surprise Joost isn’t as disgusted in them as you are.

Note: thank you for all the love on my last fic, I am currently running on….0 hours of sleep and it’s like 1pm where I live so I’m pretty exhausted so this will probably be my last fic for today unless I get bored! Also!! I see all y’all’s requests and even though I don’t respond right away doesn’t mean I’m ignoring them or don’t see them! I like to respond to the request with the fic so you won’t know I saw it until the actual fic comes out! ^_^

Warnings: SELF HARM TW!! other then that just comfort and fluff >~<

༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚ ༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚ ༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚

You and Joost had been together for a few months and everything was going great! He loved you more than anyone else ever could, even if they tried. He held you when you felt anxious or upset. Felt excited with you when you were happy and made sure you were always take care of. Always.

But there was one thing you hid from him, something that ate you alive every single day. Joost always questioned with a chuckle why you wore long sleeves in 90 degree weather but you just shrugged it off, saying you were always cold. That was a lie, you were sweating but you were also hiding something that’d hurt you a little more than a little sweat.

Your old sh scars. You struggled with it on a daily basis, sure they were old but they still managed to haunt you. You felt disgusted by yourself everytime you caught glimpses of them and you were sure Joost would too. I mean…who would want a partner that has scars like that.?

Today was the day you find out because being to caught up in excitement to hang out with Joost you forgot about the scars that littered your arms (or anywhere else, so so sorry to be so an inclusive ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀)) you put on a pair of your favorite shorts and shirt and head out the door to joosts place, not even looking twice.

Once you arrive, an equally excited Joost greats you and drags you to his room. You weren’t even thinking about it, so in love with your boyfriend to even care. He didn’t even notice either, finding every part of you perfect…until.

Until you lifted your arm in a certain way, that put your scars on full display. You noticed that Joost stoped mid speaking and looked over to him to see his face that was full of emotion that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It was a mix of sadness, confusion, fear, and shock.

You look at him confused until your eyes follow his that were deadpan staring right at your scars. You gasp softly and cover your scars, sitting up immediately. You felt ringing in your ears and your heart rate quickening. You lower your head and feel the tears of shame and embarrassment start to burn in your eyes.

You feel the touch of your beloveds soft fingertips grab your hand, interlocking y’all’s fingers and pulling your arm towards him. You keep your head down and squeeze your eyes shut trying to block everything out.

When you suddenly felt soft kisses on the places your scars were spread. Your eyes snap open and your head raises to look at Joost. He presses soft and gentle kisses on every.singe.scar. He makes sure to press 3 to each one for good measure.

Your heart feels heavy and you just burst into tears, Joost is close to tears as well. Once hes done you immediately jump into his arms, he strokes your back and whispers soft words of praise to you waiting for you to calm down.

Once you’re calmer, only small tears flowing down your wet cheeks he props you in his lap and holds you close. “I knew something was up when you kept wearing all those long sleeves..” he whispers almost kicking himself for not noticing sooner.

“I-I’m sorry… they’re old I promise!! A-and I just didn’t want you to see because they’re ugly and i just didn’t-” your cut off by a soft kiss being pressed to your lips. “Shh…you don’t have to give any explanation or reason unless you want to, okay?” He speaks with that signature smile that you loved so dearly

“You’re…you’re not disgusted.?” You ask looking up at him, he almost looks exasperated at your words. His eyes widening and mouth parting. “Disgusted.?! Why the hell would I be disgusted mijn geliefde, you’re so beautiful to me. Everything about you, even your scars.” He says with a soft smile and a kiss to your head.

“They’re gross, I ruined my skin and now they’re gonna be there forever…” you argue as you lower your head back down and play with his fingers, “so? Who cares, first of all they’re not gross, they’re not disgusting, you’re not ugly and will never be ugly. You’re not ruined and they just show how much of a fighter you are baby. Nothing to be ashamed about, promise.” He says interlocking your pinkies together

You smile and giggle softly, tears still staining your cheeks which Joost quickly kissed away making you laugh and push his head away, “Joost that tickles!!” You squeal as he smiles and peppers ticklish kisses over your face.

You knew no matter what you looked like or what happened or hell even what you went through he would always be there for you. He would forever and always be your biggest supporter. He loved you for you and nothing less.

[kkeidawrites]

Study Partner

Welcome to Day 17 of Blacktober!

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Marks of algebra equations littered multiple pieces of paper, each one crossed out with an in red ink. Y/n places her forehead on the table, the stress and frustration getting to her as she tried endless amounts of times on at least ten pieces of paper, front and back, trying to learn how to use the equations for her math homework.

Nothing was working no matter how many times she did it by hand, used her calculator or the apps on her phones would give her different answers.

“Oh my god~~~~“ she yells out in frustration.

“You know what, I quit!” Y/n bawls up the current paper she was working on and throws it to the trash can, missing it like the other ones.

“Having trouble with math?” She looks up to see her best friend Dick Grayson walk up to her. He sits next to her at the table and picks up one of the bawled up pieces of paper on the table, looking over the contents.

“Yessss~~I swear Mr. Hudson cannot teach.” She whines and Dick just smiles.

“Okay, walk me through it.” Dick places the paper in front of her and Y/n groans again, slapping the table.

“Come on, I know you can do it.” Y/n looks up at him and sees that he raised his eyebrows at her expectingly. Rolling her eyes, Y/n sits up again and picks up her pencil, trying the equation again.

Dick watches her with a lowered gaze, his eyes taking in her side profile and especially the pout on her full lips.

“Okay, do I do 2x and multiply it? Dick?” She asks. Y/n looks up to see him looking at her with an off gaze and snaps her fingers in his face. His eyes were still unfocused.

“Richard John Grayson! Hello?!” She exclaims.

Dick finally snaps out of his stupor and refocuses his attention to Y/n who was frowning in confusion at his behavior.

“If you’re not going to help, then do me a favor and pick up the papers that I missed.” She says with an eye roll.

“Sorry, I just got a little…distracted. What were you asking?” He looks over the paper she was working on and sees she was stuck on a step.

“So with the 2x you have to divide it, then you have to change the whole fraction into an improper fraction and that gives you the final answer.” He instructs.

“Okay, so divide this…with this, then…” Y/n writes down the equation as he instructs and stops again.

“Wait, you said change the improper fraction?” She asks looking at Dick.

“Mmmhmm.” He hums and Y/n continues the problem.

“Ohhhh, okay I get it now! Alright hold on, let me try on this problem.” Y/n takes her homework paper and proceeds to do another equation using the same steps.

While she was doing that, Dick is back to admiring Y/n, her hair was pulled into a high curly bun as some curls framed the side of her face. Her black eyes roamed the paper while her brown hand was wrapped around her fuzzy pencil, writing in precision. Her brow was tinted in concentration as she finished up her equation.

“Okay, did I do this correctly?” Handing over her paper, Dick looks over the sheet, taking in each number and symbol before turning to look at her fully.

“Congratulations Y/n, you may pass Algebra and graduate this year.” He teased and Y/n nudges his shoulder playfully.

“Not everyone can graduate early, Grayson. Thanks for your help, I need it for this test tomorrow.” She said.

“No problem, that’s what friends are for.” He says.

The next day, Dick waited outside of the main building of the college he had recently graduated from and leaned against the stone stairwell, scrolling through his phone.

Seeing students appear in the courtyard of the collage, Dick looks up to see the students clamor and rejoice as they stepped out of the double doors of the building Y/n was currently attending class.

He looks around for his best friend, Y/n in the crowd and so far he didn’t see her. He was about to use his phone to call her when he heard his name called.

Before he had a chance to react, Y/n suddenly hugs him, with a delighted scream as her cheek rubbed against his. She held a paper in her right hand and from what he could see from his squished face was a big red 98% printed at the top of the paper.

“I passed! I passed my test, Dick! I’m graduating this semester!” She shouts excitedly, and Dick wraps his arms around her waist returning the hug just as tight.

He then felt her shaking and looked down to see, her eyes closed and tears rolling down her cheeks. Y/n sobs into his black shirt and he is more than happy to comfort her.

“I’m hoping those are happy tears?” He jokes and Y/n nods, burying her face deeper in his generous embrace.

“I’m so proud of you.” He says and then his eyes widen when Y/n suddenly kisses him.

Once she pulls away, she’s rubbing her left cheek of her tears and smiles.

“Can we get ice cream?” She asks the stunned man.

“Uhhh…”

“Come on, it’s your treat for all my hard work.” She sniffles and grabs his left hand pulling him along.

Dick doesn’t respond but, he does have a goofy smile appear on his lips, he would buy all the ice cream in the world for her if that earned him another kiss.

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Thanks for reading! Please make sure to like, reblog, and comment! Let me know what you guys want to read by using my inbox!

Happy Blacktober!

[en-geneisaxx]

Pairings: Suna x Y/n

Genre: fluff, angst, romance

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝/𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞

There are many moments that I enjoyed with Y/n. An example of this would be our late-night walks and talks.

I loved our family’s ‘daily special time’ – it was when we would distance ourselves from the rest of society and have some quality time together, staying in each other’s embrace. Rina, our daughter, would always sleep through them, however, because it always happened at night, once we lived out our day. 

We would walk, Y/n clinging onto my arm as I pushed sleeping Rina in her pushchair, making our way to Y/n’s favourite bench that had a view of the river, which separated the bustling city from where we were, just a little park that had blooming flowers and little lights that illuminate the area. Just us three, no phones -which Y/n cutely scolded me for- and talk our minds out.

“You know, I’m quite shocked, Rin,” She starts, looking up at the night sky. I raise my eyebrows, wanting to hear more, “You’re such an amazing father, when I always thought I had to do all the work because you always had to be babied.” She teased, reminding me on how I would act like a whiny child in an adult’s body before she got pregnant. Then, she bursts out into laughter.

“What?” I ask, expecting another one of her teases. She tightly purses her lips to contain any witchy-laughter before deeply exhaling, “Your mum, she popped in to tell me…” 

“Please hurry up, I’m hating the suspense.”

“She told me…ABOUT WHEN YOU SHAT IN YOUR FRIEND’S CAT’S LITTER BOX.” She wheezes, tightly grabbing her chest to stop her laughter. “Oh, Rin, you were so funny when you were younger.” 

I loved seeing her laugh, how she would brighten up my world even on the darkest of nights. That warm feeling whenever I was with her, it made me feel safe. 

“You know, you’re quite a sadist,” I complained, “just like your brother.” 

She happily sighs, “Yeah, probably got it from him. That being said, I want to see Tsukishima soon.” 

We held onto each other in a comfortable silence until my phone went off, “Time to go, darling.” She nodded, bending down to give Rina a kiss as we made our way back to the hospital.

“Baby, come here.” She commands me, patting on the spare space on her bed. Rina was on the other side, drinking her milk from the bottle. I wanted to hear more of her voice, so I asked her to sing a song.

“How about the one we would always sing?” She suggested. I think intently, “I might cry though.” She strokes my head before we both start singing the song.

“Baby, don’t you think we should cut out the last part? No one’s dying.” 

“Rin, let’s play a game.” She says, cupping both hands on my cheeks, “Let’s do a ‘no interactions whatsoever for 24 hours’, ok?” 

“No, that’s too hard.” I pout, holding her closer and tighter, making sure I don’t rip out any of the needles that pierced her lovely skin. 

“C’mon, love. You can do it, I know you will.” She encourages, but I can see tears forming in her eyes that I love to stare in.

“Why are you telling me to do it when you look like you’re about to cry?” I chuckle, kissing her face repeatedly, smothering her in my kisses and saliva. 

“It’s gonna be hard for me too,” Her voice breaks, and she starts bawling in front of me. I don’t want to, I hate it, so why would she ask me to? 

“I…you sure?” 

“Don’t you trust me?” She still manages a smile despite her wet face. 

“Alright, fine. Just so you know, I would rather you lose than win.” I joke, getting out of the bed and putting Rina in her pushchair. She laughs, wiping away her tears before telling me words I want to hear again and again.

“I love you.” 

It was certainly hard; no interactions? Geez, she must be using my obsessiveness with her as an advantage. I scoff at the thought, “Sadist”. But, I loved her for who she was, so I guess I must’ve liked that side of her too. It was weird, no being around my sunshine, but I trust her, so I endured through until the next day.

I hum gleefully, Rina cackling at the silly faces I made while we walked through the hospital. I was ready to greet my wife happily once again, until I entered her room…

“Hey,” Tsukishima said, sitting down next to me on the bench. I asked my mum to look after Rina, just so me, Tsuki and my wife could spend time together.

“You said Y/n wanted to meet me, but where is she?” He looks around, twisting and turning on the bench. I give a gentle smile.

“Pft, don’t look around,” I say, “look up.” He looks at me with a bewildered look as if you ask are you insane? The realisation hits him as he looks at me in shock.

I wish I could tell you about Y/n’s reaction that day.

I wish I could tell you more beautiful moments.

I wish I could tell you that we lived happily ever after.

But, life is cruel. Unfortunately, that illness she’s desperately fought against knocked her out forever.

Now, she is my sleeping beauty that not even my kiss would awake.

I hope that I was your prince, Y/n. I hope you had no regrets in loving me as I had none with you. I thought I had lost my world, but she is still here, must it be through a meaningful letter, pixelated figures of her, recordings of her siren voice or her just simply smiling down upon us.

I take a read of Y/n’s last words to me:

“Well done, baby! I knew you could do it. Now, do it everyday, ok? You’re not alone, just to let you know. I’ll always be here with you, in whatever form I may be. Don’t give up just because I won’t wake up. If you’re ever in need of me, just take a read. I know, I know, it’s quite long, but I figured you would actually like that.

I love you, Rintaro. I’m so happy I got to be Mrs. Suna.

Yours only,

Suna Y/n.”

There were many papers attached, which will probably take hours to read. But, indeed, I liked that, and am looking forward to going home.

I chuckle, “Y/n, if you’re listening, I love you, too.” Seeing how the moon is shining brightly tonight I wish, “I hope you’re happy up there, love.

Forever yours,

Suna Rinatro.”

Tagging: @pockettwinzz @dr0wnme0ut @diorsyun @dollyyun @jaylaxies @heeslomll @sungvrhs @potatohoon @reesareads @emi-en @velvetkisscs @slickchickchocolatier

[madameaug]

BTS Imagines #1

Context: This TikTok got my creative juices flowing. You can't tell me this doesn't radiate jealous, possessive, hot bf energy. But I also want to do a spin on the Tik Tok too.

Pairing: Yoongi x Black Reader ----- Namjoon x Black Reader

WC: 1k > (slightly tho)

---------

MYG x regular black reader

Two months ago, you and Yoongi ended your year-long relationship. You were getting ready to start your PhD program. You and Yoongi were off and on during your graduate program, but it was best that you both called it quits. While you hoped that, eventually, you would find your way together again, now was not the best time for your relationship.

Relieving his thoughts of you, Yoongi started playing basketball more frequently. His neighborhood had a court, and there were small matches every Saturday. His team was currently playing. Yoongi sat on the bench, warming up and watching the intense basketball game. Rotating his right shoulder, he noticed a familiar face on the opposing team. It was the new guy that he was told you were 'talking' to. Yoongi wasn't sure if he knew who he was, and wanted to keep it that way.

Subbing in for one of his exhausted teammates, Yoongi dribbled the basketball in his hand. He analyzed the floor before him while your new rumored boyfriend started to guard Yoongi. Yoongi had to admit he was fast. He was never less than two feet away. His arms were always out, and his eyes were honed on the ball in Yoongi's hand. Yoongi passed the ball to an open teammate before running closer to the net. After receiving the ball again, Yoongi completed the layup, scoring another point for his team.

"Yo, are you Suga?" A voice spoke up. He held the basketball in between his two palms. Slightly pausing the game.

"Who's asking?"

"I just wanted to put a face to the name. I wanted to see how much of an upgrade YN is doing by being with me."

Yoongi didn't verbally respond but huffed out a dry laugh. His expression told it all. He did not like this guy at all.

"But I don't blame you, bro. YN is a bad bitch. I can see why you wanted to hold onto her so tightly."

In a swift moment, Yoongi bawled his fist in the collar of the poor sucker who mentioned your name. How dare he call his supposed "girlfriend" a bitch.

"Sensitive, I see." He gleamed smugly in Yoongi's face. Yoongi had to be pulled away by his teammates, as they knew that any second longer would lead to a physical altercation.

"Whatever, man." Yoongi dismissed the guy before picking up his stuff and leaving the basketball court.

-------

KNJ x ex-wife black female reader

Joon pulled into your driveway, excited to see his favorite people, his children. His two-year-old son, Jaehoon and five-year-old daughter, Minah. The children were the remaining attachment Joon had to you since the divorce. Now that Joon was officially a producer for HYBE Entertainment, he was now twenty-five minutes away from you and the kids yall shared. This weekend was Joon's and he was thinking about taking the kids to the music museum in downtown Seoul.

Locking his car Joon rung your doorbell. You were dressed in loungewear with your pineapple puff on top of your head. Your edges were wispy and your round glasses were on the end of your nose. Joon stepped into the house, as you went up the stairs to inform the kids about their dad's arrival.

Nothing much had changed in terms of the decor on the wall. It was still littered with pictures of your children. The one above the fireplace was when Jaehoon was just born. He was one month old dressed as a little Christmas present, and Minah held her baby brother, pressing a sweet kiss on her brother's forehead. It was the same picture that Namjoon carried around in his wallet.

Coming around the corner was a man in a buttoned-down shirt and business casual slacks. His attire was strange for the heatwave Seoul was expiring this summer. Joon stood up and extended his hand for a handshake. Introducing himself as the kids father. A light seemed to go off in the other man's head.

"So you are 'Joon-bug.' " Namjoon's smile got stiff at the pet name his ex-wife frequently called him. The name lacked love and affection coming out of his mouth. Namjoon didn't miss the way the man sized him up. He sucked his teeth loudly, and Joon hoped you would come down the stairs faster with the kids.

"That I am, I guess."

"Well, I'm YN's new man. Things are getting pretty serious between us, so you'll see more of me around."

"O-ok."

"I will take better care of her than you ever could. I see why you would fall in love with a woman like her." He stepped closer to Namjoon, trying to intimidate the six-foot man. Looking around awkwardly, he didn't know what to say to the man.

He harbored no ill feelings toward his ex-wife or her dating life. As long as the man did right by his kids, they did right by him.

"See, I know how to nurture the love of a black woman. I don't run away when things get hard, I stay there and stand tall alongside my woman. I wouldn't even blame you if you wanted to get back with YN. If I fumbled a woman like her, I would do anything to get her back."

"That's great, but I'm just here to get my kids. I'm not here for YN." Namjoon shrugged before waiting at the base of the steps. At the top of the stairs, he saw you helping Jaejoon with his bookbag.

"Appa!" The kids screamed, scurrying down the stairs before hugging Namjoon's leg. Scooping Minah in one arm and Jaejoon in the other, he embraced his kids in a loving hug.

"I missed you guys so much! I have so much stuff planned for you all."

Minah clapped, ready for the week with her dad.

"Can we stop by Uncle Tae's house this week?" She played with her father's hair.

"I'll think about it." Satisfied she didn't get an immediate no, she started waving goodbye to her mother.

"Gimme a kiss." You leaned in close to your kids and kissed their cheeks.

"Be good for your father, and remember I love you." You held the door open for Namjoon as he walked over to his car, helping the kids sit. Getting in the driver's seat, he saw the man squinting his eyes at him.

Weird. Namjoon thought to himself before reversing out of the driveway.

A/N: Yall think Joon got his driver's license yet? (LOL)

[em-prentiss]

nothing in the world belongs to me (but my love)

----

“Hypnos is the Greek god of sleep. He’s the son of Nyx, the night, and the twin brother of death. His sons are the bringers of dreams; there’s Morpheus, Icelus, and—”

“Are you telling me a story?” JJ interrupts.

“It’s a Greek myth,” Emily corrects demurely.

Or, 5 times the BAU was a little in love with Emily, and one time she was a little in love with them.

Word count: 5k

----

Penelope

Penelope Garcia doesn’t often have bad days. 

It’s not a stroke of luck, she’s not chosen by the universe. It’s an amalgamation of her best efforts to keep them away. She does what she can, with figurines and and bright colors and pictures of her family forming a protective bubble around herself, but she’s not immune; still, the bad days come. They creep up on her, often catch her off guard. Sometimes, however, she can feel them coming.

This time her period arrives in stormy shades of blue. A darkening cloud hangs over Penelope’s head, growing heavier the more the hours tick by. She dresses herself in her usual color and cheer, holding out a mild hope in finding comfort from the bubbliness of her wardrobe, but try as she might she can’t absorb the same brightness in her voice. Good morning’s are mumbled, her eyes glazed with a thin layer of tears as they skip over her monitors. They dampen her lashes, but she wipes them away before they can stream down her cheeks.

It’s a rough morning, to say the least. The only positive is that the team isn’t on a case, which allows her to sink further into the shadowy depths of melancholy without anyone blowing up her phone. She locks herself in the dark cave of her office and doesn’t come out. 

When she’s finally home, she changes into her pink fur pajamas, orders herself a pizza, turns on Titanic, and bawls her eyes out. Her fuzzy blankets and stuffed animals accompany her on the couch, silent companions to her tears that flow in rivers. There’s a heavy weight pressing down on her chest, one she can’t decipher. It’s suffocating and bone-deep, and crying eases the horrible heft from her lungs, so she cuddles a teddy to her chest and watches the movie with blurry eyes.

The sound of her sniffles almost drowns out the ring of the doorbell. Penelope wipes at her damp eyes and grabs the money, opening the door without looking through the peephole. Her wet lashes feather across her cheeks in confused blinks.

Emily Prentiss is certainly not the delivery guy.

Penelope wants to say that, but she huffs out a sniffle instead. Emily’s dark eyes jump over her and before Penelope can ask what she’s doing here, she’s slipping herself past the crack in her door, sympathetic arms reaching for her.

“Oh, babe.”

The thing about Emily is that she’s more affectionate than she looks. Nobody expects her to say soft words like babe, and nobody would imagine that the lithe lines of her body are really very good for a hug. Her hands are firm as she brings Penelope into her, looping her arms around her shoulders and letting their temples softly knock together. She smells like expensive perfume and though she’s cold, the outside chill lingering on her skin, her embrace is a stellar place to be. The money crumples in Penelope’s fist as she sniffles wetly into her neck.

“Y-You’re not m-my pizza guy.”

“I’m not, sorry,” Emily murmurs. She rubs circles into her back. “But I did bring ice cream. And chocolate. I hoped you’d have whipped cream.”

She does have whipped cream.

For some reason, that makes Penelope cry harder. 

Emily hums in return and squeezes her, but they only last so long in front of the door before she voices her concern over the melting ice cream. Through the fog of her tears, Penelope agrees. They shuffle to the couch—littered with crumpled tissues and overlapping blankets and a colony of stuffed animals—and though Emily’s expression doesn’t shift, Penelope offers a hoarse explanation.

“Sad movies help me cry it out,” she warbles, throwing away snotty tissues as Emily toes off her shoes and takes out two containers of ice cream from her satchel. 

“It’s a good strategy,” she says, cradling the tubs against her chest and flashing Penelope a soft smile. “Cookies and cream or praline?”

Penelope feels her heart tug. The tears still stream hot down her cheeks and she blinks to sharpen Emily’s silhouette, finding patience in her eyes, the small crease of concern above her brows. It makes her want to cry harder. A few months ago, she was fighting tooth and nail to get behind Emily’s steel walls, prodding and nudging to get her to join her and JJ for a quick round of drinks. Now her socked toes tap against Penelope’s rug as she waits for an answer, and the small smile that pulls at Penelope’s lips is the most genuine burst of happiness she’d had all day. 

“You’re not gonna tell me not to eat ice cream before dinner?”

Emily’s nose scrunches playfully. “People generally consider me a bad influence,” she says lightly, “so no.”

Penelope wipes her cheek with her sleeve pulled over the heel of her hand. “I don’t think you’re a bad influence.” She rasps, patting the couch as if Emily is a cat. 

Emily smiles, her brows rising slightly beneath her bangs. She gives a small nod and hands Penelope the ice creams. “I’ll get spoons.”

By the time she comes back—with whipped cream—Penelope has already claimed the cookies and cream as her own. Emily hands her a spoon and makes herself at home in the midst of the stuffed animals. She crosses her legs and takes the praline, shooting whipped cream on top as Penelope restarts Titanic. 

The violin music hits and tears drop off her chin without pause. Emily steadily eats her way through her ice cream while Penelope’s tears soak hers, turning the Oreo as salty as Emily’s occasional commentary. Penelope is too busy crying to hear her. She’s a blubbering mess even before the credits roll, half her tissue box littered across her lap in crumpled balls.

When Emily—dry eyed, perfectly composed Emily—hands her another tissue to wipe her eyes, Penelope gapes through her tears.

“You didn’t cry, how come you didn’t cry?”

“I’m emotionally constipated.” Emily retorts around a mouthful of ice cream. “You want me to cry, put on ET.”

Penelope does. 

By the end of the movie, they’re both crying into their pizzas.

Reid 

Spencer’s mind quiets. 

His shoulders weren’t tense to begin with, but they slump further at the sound of the music, his arm pressing into Emily’s. Warmth spreads from that point of contact, through her silken blouse and his starched button down. The piano bench beneath them almost fades away with the walls of Rossi’s living room; his eyes continually jump from Emily’s face to the fluid, spidery movements of her hands.

“Where’d you learn how to play?” He murmurs quietly, almost afraid to break through the tranquility of her music.

Emily’s brows tick the slightest bit upward. “Mother hired tutors,” she says, not taking her eyes off the keys, though Spencer gathers she’s skillful enough to play for at least a few seconds without looking. Her shoulder presses further into his when she shrugs. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

“But you liked it enough to continue practicing on your own.” 

Emily nods. “It…it makes things go quiet.” She says slowly, almost an admission. It gets swallowed up by Für Elise. “Y’know?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, the collar of his shirt tightening and loosening at the thought of being understood. It’s still an uncommon enough feeling that his heart picks up its pace. Spencer gathers his knees on the too-small bench, letting them knock together through his slacks. “Yeah, I listen to them before bed. They help. Not, uh…not many things can make my head go quiet. This does.” He thumbs lightly at a key far away from Emily’s reach, careful not to interrupt her playing. She hums next to him, barely louder than the music, and his body flushes with warmth again. “Hearing it in person is so much better.”

Spencer watches as Emily’s bitten nails press down on the keys, pulling music from the piano as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. Her fingers dance, a few shades darker than the ivory, and though there are stutters and kinks he knows the piece too well not to notice, her music is for the most part faultless.

It feels almost too personal. For her to know the composition of the exact thing that makes him go still, his mind quiet. It’s like she’s cracked his chest open and peered into his heart, the ragged edges of her nails getting caught on the muscle, drawing blood as she traces down the length of it. 

He’s suddenly overwhelmed, something getting stuck in his throat and lodging there. Only air passes through, and a genius who’s never at a loss for words finds himself speechless.

“You could learn,” Emily says, finally glancing at him. The brown of her eyes is like the shock of bitter coffee. “It won’t be easy, but you’re Reid,” she nudges him playfully, her music stilting as her body weight forces him to curve, “you could do it. And I could help, too.”

He gapes, the breath returning to his lungs. “Really?”

“Sure.” Emily stops playing. The echoes of her music hang in the air, threaded through the atoms between them. “With practice and time. Maybe we could rent this from Rossi”—she cracks a grin and Spencer laughs as she gives a small shrug—“it’s not impossible.”

“Yeah.” He’s beaming at her, an excited buzz in his blood even though he knows their schedule doesn’t really allow for what she’s suggesting. “Yeah, that’d be great! Can we start now? I know the beginning of this piece is actually really easy and digestible for beginners because—” 

Emily laughs. She shifts on the bench, facing him. “Slow your roll, hotshot. How about twinkle, twinkle—”

Her mouth snaps shut when a callused hand lands on both her head and Reid’s. Reid frowns; he glances up to find Rossi, pressing a kiss to Emily’s forehead and then his, whispering something suspiciously like bless you little nerds.

JJ

JJ can’t sleep. She doesn’t know if it’s because of the cold or because of the ludicrous amount of coffee she drank in the past few hours; it doesn’t matter, because it’s frustrating all the same. She can fall asleep practically anywhere, so long as she’s wrapped in a blanket.

Not tonight, though.

She sighs and shifts on her other side as quietly as possible. As soon as her head turns Emily’s eyes flutter open, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks when she blinks.

“Did I wake you?” JJ whispers, guilt slow to rush to the surface.

“No.” Emily shivers. “It’s fucking freezing.”

“Yeah,” JJ says. They’re both in sweaters, but she’s in shorts and Emily’s in sweatpants. However, she has fuzzy, calf length socks on and Emily doesn’t. They would balance out, except they’re both shivering beneath the covers. 

JJ fists the comforter with icy fingertips and curls her knees into her chest. The cold sheets make goosebumps rise on her skin.

“Come closer,” Emily says.

“Sure?”

“Unless you wanna die of hypothermia.”

JJ rolls her eyes. She doesn’t think they’re at that point yet, but a little warmth does sound nice. Emily is the perfect candidate; she’s a clingy koala. That’s what JJ’s learned after countless shared beds and alcohol-soaked girl’s nights. 

They huddle closer and meet in the middle, Emily’s leg worming its way between JJ’s thighs. JJ stifles a sigh at the warmth of her sweatpants against her bare skin, the added body heat leaking tension from her shoulders. Their chests press together; heat pools between them as JJ’s head settles halfway between Emily’s pillow and her own. She relaxes despite—or maybe because of—the intimate position, her arm hooking around Emily’s waist as Emily’s hooks around hers. They’re a little too close, sure, barely a few inches between the tips of their noses, but JJ’s too cold to care. She closes her eyes and her muscles loosen back into the bed.

Until Emily’s cold foot touches her skin.

“Hey!” JJ jerks her leg back.

“Sorry,” Emily laughs breathily, the sound intimate and soft. “I don’t like wearing socks to bed.”

“Even in 40 degree weather?” JJ grumbles, silently cursing herself for not checking the forecast before flying out. Goosebumps still litter her skin, the cold slithering in through the walls and the sheets. 

Emily hums in answer. Silence settles again as she quiets, presumably going back to sleep, and JJ tries to follow her. She closes her eyes, tries to clear her mind, to no avail. The dark is thick, the bed is decently comfortable, and she’s starting to regain the warmth in her fingertips, but still, sleep doesn’t come. 

It takes less than five minutes, she miserably notes, before Emily goes slack against her, the fingers wrapped up in her sweater starting to lose their grip. She’s still holding on to the brunette’s hoodie, her nails sinking into the thick fabric. They grow warm as she forces her thoughts to clear.

JJ tries for another five minutes before she opens her eyes and huffs out a frustrated breath.

“What’s wrong?” Emily mumbles. “Too close?”

“No. I just can’t sleep.”

“Mm. Thinking?”

“No.”

“Restless?”

“No.”

“Cold?”

“Not anymore.”

“Well, shit,” Emily says.

JJ laughs humorlessly. 

“What about some sleeping pills?”

“Don’t like those,” JJ chews on her lip. If this crappy motel had something that resembles a gym she would’ve gone to it, but it barely has rooms enough for the team. “Whatever, it’s fine, you go to sleep. I’m sure I will soon.”

Emily doesn’t answer. She’s quiet for so long, JJ thinks she’s fallen asleep. But then:

“Hypnos is the Greek god of sleep. He’s the son of Nyx, the night, and the twin brother of death. His sons are the bringers of dreams; there’s Morpheus, Icelus, and—”

“Are you telling me a story?” JJ interrupts.

“It’s a Greek myth,” Emily corrects demurely. “And yes, I’m saying it in a manner which will hopefully put you to sleep, because we’re snuggling, which means if you can’t sleep I probably won’t, either. And I’m tired. And I’m finally warm enough, and it’s an interesting story.” She scolds, her voice sleepy and muffled half between JJ’s skin and the pillows. “It’s rude to interrupt, Jay.”

Light bursts in JJ’s chest. Somehow this warms her up more than anything. Emily’s attempt at helping though she’s barely hanging on, the slightly chewed sound of JJ’s nickname on her lips. Nicknames are common within their circle—Jayje, Em, Pen—but hearing it like this is weirdly special. Stopped at the one syllable, warm with love. JJ’s heart expands, squeezing out a few quick beats for her drowsy friend and the story—myth—she’s trying to tell her.

“I was just checking,” she says softly, chewing back her smile, “no need to get your claws out. Continue.”

“Thank you.” Emily grumbles. “Anyway, Hypnos was the personification of sleep itself, so he was able to induce sleep in humans and other gods…”

She’s been telling the stories for so long that she’d forgotten how nice it is to be told the story for a change. Emily’s voice is sleepy, a little mumbled, but it’s good for storytelling. Rich and low, raspy around the edges, like honey with bits of gravel swirled in. It’s almost hypnotic.

Bewitched—and properly warm now—it hardly takes a few minutes before JJ’s eyes grow heavy. It’s disgustingly cliche, but it turns out there’s some wisdom in being wrapped up in someone’s arms, being told a story. The warmth of Emily’s voice is steady next to her ear and JJ swiftly sinks into the dark relief of sleep, still twined around her.

Morgan

Morgan likes building things. Fixing things, restoring the old into the new. He’s good at working with his hands—cooking, refurbishing. Building IKEA bookshelves. Which is why he’s currently cross-legged on Emily’s living room rug, surrounded by screws and wooden slabs and an annoying black cat that keeps swatting at his tools.

“Hey Prentiss, get this damn cat out of here!” He yells to Emily, who’s somewhere, doing something useless while he does all the hard work.

“You’re in his home,” her mild voice comes from behind, startling him as she gracefully steps between the screws and sets down two glasses of red on the coffee table. The cat abandons Morgan’s tools and trots to her, his tail in the air. Emily smiles and scratches behind his ears. “He rightfully belongs, you don’t.”

“Oh, well, I’ll see myself out then.”

“Nah, you don’t have it in you,” she calls out as she once again leaves the living room, trailing deeper into her apartment, “Derek Morgan never leaves a job half finished.”

Morgan chuckles to himself. It quickly turns into a grimace when the cat pounces in the middle of the rug, sending the screws rolling again. “Man, get out of here,” he tries to shoo it with the blunt end of the screwdriver. The cat swats back, its claws catching the back of his hand. Morgan hisses.

“Son of a—”

“Don’t tell me you’re fighting with him,” Emily says, her voice a little more strained than teasing. He turns to see her carrying a stack of books half her height, her laced hands flexing under their heft. 

“He scratched me.” Morgan says flatly, sounding more annoyed than he is. The back of his hand stings, but at least the stupid cat hadn’t drawn blood.

Emily drops the books on the floor and blows hair out of her face. “He did? Sorry,” she says, unapologetic. “He does that if you annoy him.”

Morgan rolls his eyes, unsurprised that she’s siding with the damn cat instead of him. “Yeah, yeah. Go get the rest of your books, you nerd.” He shoos her away.

She flips him off and turns on her heel.

Morgan turns back to his unconstructed shelf. The cat is further away now, and there’s a decent pile of screws left that he’ll put to use before going after the missing ones, so he gets to work. 

“Sergio, huh?” He mutters to himself. “That’s too human of a name for a damn cat.”

As he attaches the bottom shelf, he hears multiple thuds weaving through the sound of Emily’s footsteps as she drops stacks of books on the ground. They work in unison; thud, turn, thud, turn. He’s already moved on to the third shelf when a final, lighter thunk sounds on the floor. 

Emily drops down next to him and breathlessly whispers done. Morgan looks up. Bangs have strayed from her ponytail, framing her face in wisps of black. She breathes a little heavy, a shine to her face as she flexes her fingers with a slight wince. Her exertion hardly seems proportional to her small task; Morgan grins.

But the witty comment on his tongue falls away when he finds them surrounded by a labyrinth of stacked books.

Morgan had known Emily was a bookworm. The woman already has two crammed bookshelves and brought him in to build her a third—which won’t fit half her leftover collection, if the stacks on the floor are any indication. That in itself is astounding, but then his eyes catch the foreign titles, the spines etched with strange letters he can’t decipher. He feels his brows raise, admiration taking root as he tries in vain to read them let alone guess what they mean. Morgan counts one, two, three languages—by the time he reaches six he’s wide eyed, practically gaping up at Emily. His heart whispers, woah.

Morgan realizes, with no small amount of pride, that she could give Reid a run for his money. The thought of a comfortably curled up Emily, her eyes hungrily absorbing words in languages he can’t imagine, sends a curious twinge through his stomach. He imagines her reading aloud to herself in the whispered way Reid does sometimes, and the twinge deepens into a pit.

“Damn.” He says mildly.

The faintest of blushes colors her cheeks. “You don’t read?” She demands.

“I read,” Morgan grins, pointing a finger at her, “and I think you might be Reid.”

Emily swats his hand away. She composes herself quickly, but not before Morgan enjoys the way she stumbles, flushing darker as she tries to deny the obvious.

Hotch

The girl still hasn’t let go of Emily. Or maybe Emily is the one still holding on. There’s a protectiveness to her gaze, her hands—though gentle on the toddler’s body—acting as a shield to keep her safe behind. From the moment they found her in the unsub’s house she had clung to Emily, all throughout a checkup in the back of an ambulance and the car ride back to Quantico. Hotch knows well the slow ache that settles from carrying a growing child for too long, but Emily doesn’t set her down. They’re still attached as she perches on her desk, slowly rubbing circles on Sofia’s back as they wait for her parents.

There are crumpled candy wrappers on her desk. Remnants of sugar remain in Hotch’s teeth; he couldn’t refuse when Emily offered out her palm, both her and Sofia staring at him expectantly until he plucked a taffy and squished it between his molars. The sweetness of it lingers, and he shakes his head when Emily holds out her hand again, letting her and the little girl deplete her small collection.

Silence settles over the bullpen. Sofia had been mostly quiet ever since they found her, despite his and Emily’s gentle prodding. Now her forehead is buried in the crook of Emily’s neck, her small fists tangled up in her sweater.

“Emily,” she says suddenly. 

“Yeah, baby?” Emily looks down at her. Sofia doesn’t say any more, but she shivers and huddles closer. Emily swipes the frizzy hair from her face in a tender touch. “Are you cold?”

The girl nods meekly into Emily’s chest.

“I’ll get her a blanket,” Hotch offers.

Emily flashes him a smile as he shoves off of Morgan’s desk and straightens, making his way to his office. His steps echo as he walks up the stairs; the bullpen is deserted, everyone gone home for the night. Hotch is glad about that as he grabs the blanket he keeps in his office. Sofia had been antsy, tense in the midst of the buzz, but now she seems mostly okay.

Which is why he’s surprised to hear a small giggle as he walks back down the stairs.

“—ends to be grumpy, but really he just wants all the cuddles. He’s a big softie.” Emily is saying. One of her arms is secure around Sofia’s back, the other holding her phone as they both look down at it. 

“He’s silly.” Sofia says.

“He is, isn’t he?” Emily murmurs. She looks up at Hotch as he approaches, and though he’s been witnessing it for over an hour now, he’s still struck by her gentleness. Usually she’s blunt, even her humor carrying a sharp edge, but all the sharpness has been sanded down. Ever since they found Sofia she’s been rounded edges and soft hands and coaxing voices. 

He almost feels like he’s intruding, watching her lay her walls down for a small child; like she’s opened the door only for her and he’s shoved his way through. But she smiles at him and he gets the feeling that this past hour has shown a side of her that’ll stay between them. 

He can’t help but give her a small smile back.

As Hotch tucks the blanket around Sofia’s shoulders, he catches a glimpse of a black cat on Emily’s phone. The need to smile wider grows, but he stifles it. Hotch drops his gaze to the little girl now burrowing in the blanket. She’s peering intently into Emily’s phone, reaching a finger out to swipe at the screen, but her eyes are drooping closed.

“She’s getting tired,” he notes softly. Emily tries to peer down at Sofia, but she’s huddled too much into her. “Her parents will still be a while, maybe she can lie down a little bit?” 

“On your couch?” Emily asks.

Hotch nods. “What do you think about that, Sofia?” He murmurs, practically kneeling to meet her tired eyes. Hotch offers a hopefully warm smile, his voice softening further. “There’s a comfy couch upstairs, you can lie down on it and close your eyes while we wait for Mommy and Daddy to come.”

Sofia blinks at him. “With Emmy?”

“With me,” Emily adjusts the blanket around her body, “and Mr. Hotch too? 

Hotch waits until Sofia nods to say, “Mr. Hotch, too.”

+1

Emily is exhausted. She drags her feet across the tarmac, a heavy weariness pressing down on her bones. Her wrist throbs dully beneath her bandage—it twisted when she fell during the chase, her boots slipping on gravel and her hand bearing the brunt of the fall.

The weight of her bag almost drags her under as she climbs the stairs. She blinks and the warm lights of the jet overthrow the darkness of the night outside.

The tips of JJ’s fingers gently press down on her shoulders as she nudges her to the couch. Emily’s tired body obeys. She slumps down on it and drops her bag on the floor, her head falling back as she closes her eyes. All around there are the sounds of the team as they settle down, drop their bags and slip into their seats with a heaviness that matches her own.

Her eyes remain closed until something drops on her lap. Emily frowns and opens them, first finding JJ in her line of sight first before her gaze slides down to her lap—and the blanket suddenly covering her thighs. Emily hazily rubs the soft fabric between her fingers, unlocking her jaw to say thanks when JJ speaks first.

“Lie down,” she says.

The groove between Emily’s brows deepens. “Well, okay,” she murmurs back, though she makes no move to do so. She should, though; her body is stiff and she could do with the sleep before having to drive herself home. “Anything else?”

“Listen to the woman,” Morgan says. The curtains of the kitchenette flutter closed behind him. In his hands is a mug, and Emily distantly wonders how he’d made tea this fast. He holds it out to her. “And drink this.”

So she really does look as shitty as she feels. Shame.

“I’m sorry, did I do something?” At this point, she fears her frown closely resembles Hotch’s. It’s a little difficult for her to digest—both of them hovering over her, JJ’s blanket in her lap and a mug of tea that Morgan has apparently prepared for her in his hands. Yes, she was the only one hurt today, but a sprained wrist hardly calls for all this coddling.

They both roll their eyes, but JJ is the one who speaks. “You’re tired. Lie down before you collapse.”

“Why are you all gathered around Prentiss?” Rossi asks.

“We’re trying to convince her to lie down.” Morgan supplies.

“Lie down, Emily.”

“Okay,” Emily mumbles with an eye roll. JJ’s not wrong—her muscles are practically fusing with the couch. She toes off her boots, accidentally kicks Morgan, and gives them a flash of her—unplanned—mismatched socks before laying down and throwing the blanket over her feet. “Everyone happy now?” She calls out, her head thudding back against the hard armrest of the couch.

JJ nods, satisfied. Morgan raises a brow and holds out the mug.

Emily takes it with her unbandaged hand. It’s chamomile, she discovers. This time she gets the chance to thank both of them without any interruptions, her lips curving up in a wan smile. She drinks from the overflowing tea as they finally leave and sit down, a hum leaving her at the sweetness of Splenda on her tongue.

She swallows the mouthful and feels its heat spread to her chest. It’s good, almost softens the throb in her wrist, and though Emily knows it’s phantom, she drains half the tea in too-hot sips. The thought of Morgan pouring Splenda into it flits through her head; her chest both tightens and expands all at once.

She doesn’t see Hotch over the rim of the mug until he’s also hovering above her.

“I’m lying down,” Emily says, draining the tea and blindly reaching for the table behind her. 

Hotch takes the mug from her hand and sets it down. “Put this behind your head.” He says softly, holding out something dark and crumpled—his jacket.

For a moment she stares, confounded. But Hotch’s expression doesn’t shift; he stares back, expectant, and the armrest beneath her head is too stiff for her to refuse. Emily takes the balled up jacket and uses it to cushion her neck.

“Thanks, chief,” she murmurs.

Hotch nods again, the briefest pinprick of a dimple poking through his cheek. He tells her to get some sleep before sitting back down in his chair. Emily hums an affirmative and tugs the blanket up above her eyes, letting the darkness press down on her lids as she finally relaxes back on the couch. But she doesn’t sleep, though her body screams for it. She’s too warm, her skin flushed with the attention she’s been given for no apparent reason.

The plane takes off and she gets two more visitors. Reid gives her his eye mask, mumbling about improved sleep quality in total darkness, and Rossi hands her a strip of Advil she didn’t ask for but sorely needs.

At the latter she smiles, because she’s said thank you more times than she can stomach. Emily pops two pills into her mouth and swallows them dry, the bitter aftertaste lingering on her tongue. This she can stomach. This she can handle as she turns on her side, hides the glaze in her eyes between herself and the leather of the couch. 

There’s a throb behind her eyes. A subtle shakiness in her body that has nothing to do with the rattling walls of the jet. Warmth over her bones, twinges along her stomach. Love, she thinks as her heart beats too quickly at the revelation. She’s loved and in love and hadn’t noticed until it was shoved into her face with a glaring obviousness that makes it impossible to deny.

Emily swallows down the lump in her throat. She brings JJ’s blanket over her shoulders, slides Reid’s mask over her eyes, and goes to sleep.

taglist: @kllingdaddy @luhwithah @cheetobreath07 @dontemilyyyyme

[howlingday]

The Schnees: Iced Over

Jacques: ...

Willow: ...

Jacques: ...

Willow: ...

Jacques: ...I remember when we were first married. Willow was passionate. Passionate about love, about life! About her career, and... about me...

Taiyang: ...

Jacques: And lately I feel like I don't exist to her!

Willow: Oh, you exist alright, Jacques. You exist!

Jacques: COULD YOU SHUT YOUR TRAP FOR ONE SECOND, WILLOW?!

Taiyang: (Writes down in notepad) My, my, my, Mr. Schnee. What could possibly be the source of all these suppressed frustrations?

Willow: Oh, yes, Mr. Schnee! Do tell~!

Jacques: When was the last time you kissed me, Willow?

Willow: Ohoho~. How soon we forget. Why, it was exactly six months last Tuesday~.

Jacques: Oh, boy...

Taiyang: Hm... To get to the root of these problems, I'd like to see a typical evening in the Schnee home. So what I would like to do is a little roleplaying.

Taiyang: Mrs. Schnee, I would like you to pretend you are your husband in a typical everyday evening in your house.

Willow: Oh, can I, please?!

Taiyang: And Mr. Schnee, I would like you to pretend you are your wife, seeing you come home from a typical day at work.

Taiyang: Remember, Mrs. and Mr. Schnee; a typical, ordinary day in the Schnee household... as each other.

Willow: (Rolls her eyes)

Jacques: (Falsetto) Oh, I'm so exhausted~! I've done nothing but lay around and drink all day~! The servants do everything for me, and yet the house is littered with empty bottles~! Oh, what should I do with these seconds in the day~?! (Lounges) ABSOLUTELY NOTHING~!

Taiyang: (Scratches in notepad)

Willow: (Gruff voice) KLEIN! I'M HOME! I'm just not rich enough! My bank account doesn't have enough digits to it! Now where's my dinner?!

Taiyang: (Writing notes)

Jacques: (Bawls) Oh, you're so cruel~! (Sobs) Why do you... (Sniffles) Treat me so harshly~?!

Willow: WHAT, WILLOW?! I just can't hear you! BECAUSE I DON'T CARE!

Jacques: (Simulates scroll call) Hey, Jimmy~! Hm~? Oh, of course I can talk~! It's not like I have a husband and three children to think about~! Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp~!

Willow: Ugh! Even these windows are tacky! Klein, fire the person who built these windows and have the faunus slave away at new ones!

Jacques: (Normal voice) Alright, that's quite enough, Willow!

Willow: (Normal voice) Oh? Are you not having fun yet, Jacques? Because if you'd like, I could always share a secret instead~.

Jacques: What secret, Jacques?

Willow: Oh, come now, Jacques. You really don't know~?

Jacques: Willow Schnee, will you just spit it out already?!

Willow: (Jacques impression) Jacques Schnee? NATURALLY SNOW-HAIRED?!

Jacques: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! (Leaps at her)

Willow: (Fending off Jacques swinging at her)

Jacques: DU DUMMER! UNSENSIBLER! IDIOT! How dare you?!

Willow: Agh! C-C'mon, Jacques! Give me a break!

Jacques: YOU'LL BE SORRY, WILLOW SCHNEE! OH, YOU WILL BE SORRY! HERE'S YOUR BREAK!

Willow: (Thrown across the room) AAAAGH! Uh-oh, Doc! I think he's really mad!

Jacques: (Throwing vases)

Taiyang: (Ducks under thrown vase) Maybe you should run.

Willow: Oh! Good idea! (Grabs hold of him, Uses him as a human shield)

Jacques: (Trips Willow as she runs)

Taiyang: (Sent flying, Hears bell) I believe our session is over for today.

Taiyang: (Flies out the window)

Jacques: (Grabs Willow) If it's the last thing we do, Willow Schnee, we WILL make this work!

[dondake-senpai]

Cadence to Leap

🅂🅈🄽🄾🄿🅂🄸🅂

Living in a Dystopian world, where bots have taken up the control in their hands, the mankind set forward to bring a revolution in sustenance of their being. As to condemn the up bringing of the so called Creators who banished the lives of thousands for selfish reasons, an organisation rises to settle scores and to revive the eradicating humanity. Many squadrons are in race to tackle the world of Mechanoids and all this can happen only when the Key is in their hands.

The voices keep ringing in my head, repeating the same thing again and again. Those words certainly had etched themselves on each groove of my brain. It hurts—it hurts immensely. Every day I try to wake up with a sane mind, but the growing voices won’t let me. It feels like a tight grasp on my brain, which is scratching its way deep to the core, little by little. Hair strands are now littered around my petite body; the worn-out nails of my hands keep punching and tugging at the hair on my scalp. Warm and fresh blood cascades down my head; still, I continue to rip them off. This unsought pull towards insanity pushes me to set a new limit every time. Is it red that I am seeing, or is my vision impaired? It’s resonating all over my body. I can’t reach out to them; my hands have gone numb. I thought that it might come to an end soon, but it was fool of me to take it as some frivolous matter until...

“Those hands that have felt the essence of blood once shall seek it again.”

Please… Someone help me.

. . .

The dusty blades of the fan were whirling slowly, consuming nearly a quarter of a minute to complete their remaining spin.

Dark… power out? Or is it?

My deranged physique prudently crawled to the window sill and I gently placed my palm flat on the cold glass. I could have opened it, but the gust outside was too strong for my body to deal with.

It’s going to commence soon.

The whole of Osaka was drowned in the cries of Mother Earth, weeping and screaming her hearts out at the bleakness of the humans. Her tears were stained with grief and pain; they held remorse that couldn’t be healed even in the many upcoming years of probable renascence. We, the superintendents of the world, in the path of creating divinity, summoned the brutes of nature.

“It was never for persistence, rather for power enforcement. Humans have always been foreseeable. All they do is for egocentric acknowledgement.” A guy in his slightly wet, sanguine anorak locks the apartment door behind him with a soft click. His rain boots rested in one corner of the foyer as his heavy feet hauled him into the room. Those hooded feline eyes and dark hair had always deceived people he wanted. He has been coming often to this rundown apartment; I doubt for what? I am not even wary of his intentions, yet I smell suspicion at how he drops off a three-time meal at my threshold. I never prized the fact, even when I found that the beverage deserved a Michelin star, even though it felt oddly even.

“A place so unwelcoming doesn’t expect to have visits occasionally,” I didn’t budge, my fingers roughly pushing up the loose shirt that had been worked up to its limit but still carried to hang on me just a little longer. The eyes, which once held some life in them, had now gone impassive at the sight of The Halo.

As the megastructure hovers above the city of remnants protects us from the menaces of the other side, we on the inside are counting our days to extinction.

Those lives, who have gone through tough battles on this ball of resisting life, now yearn for the Emancipation of Humanity. 

“Totally defiling the perpetual customs now, are we?” He drags the chair to the edge of the bed and settles down leisurely on it with elbows resting against his knees.

This silence wasn’t normal; there was a surge of raging storms on both ends of the wall supporting the specks of the human race. There have always been two contrasts to anything: both bawl at success, both bleed in sacrifice, both deceive something, and both face defeat even in the phase of victory.

All the discrete fragments of the machinery are assembling for a second time to bring back something that was lost by our own bloody hands, and this time won’t be poles apart from the day years ago when the last rays of the blazing sun basked this land in its warmth.

His face contorted in an expression that I couldn't comprehend; My senses are now in full bloom, de-coding the signs that were left behind long back under the cover of demise, being neglected and proven wrong.

Yeah… it was alleged to come down to this.

“We have instituted a way.”

. . .

The streets bustle with loads of vehicles as they swarm the wet roads of Osaka in heavy gears; the lamp posts flicker back and forth to life like a butterfly in her final moments. Downpour enfolds the metallic atmosphere compressed with high-rise buildings with some tops destructed, pieces of sparking cables hang all over the buildings at dangerous lengths. Junk scraps casted-off at the walking paths since time immemorial not a soul had stepped their feet outside.

Lives are trapped or rather forced into confinement under the threats of the known. But still, some strive to restore the loss; to retaliate against the forces that hold the humans captive. It was time to reconcile but right now something else was to be dealt with at first:

“Don’t you read the situation? Dumbass! We have to get her at any cost.” The build-up in the neon-lighted room has been rising ever since the most ruthless squadron was in charge of bringing the Key.

Corvus Squadron Leader, Sawamura Daichi, who is trying his best to bring down the tension, but it’s not easy when the loudmouths are at each other’s throats. It’s apprehensible not to get down in business when things get physical unless they go beyond the threshold of tolerance.

“Trust me on this; this had always been a bad perception of the picture”- a hand reaches out to the collar of the speaker, pulling him in a painful head-butt. The former winced in pain; remains of his now broken glasses lay against the concrete floor as the latter kept on with his communal beef, “If you think that being the mightiest in the room can move even a single pawn, then heads up and cross that Halo; prove to me that this egoistic brain of yours can defeat them!”

Those navy blue orbs of his gleam predatorily alongside his raven hair silhouettes his eyes which adds to his demeanour. Before the wound winds down, a voice breaks through the chaos, “Enough! If even a single person goes against the conception, I’m personally tossing them out of the base!” A superbolt came crashing down and crashed the tertiary power system, taking all the lights out with it. The room fell silent; the only rackets heard were those of thunderclaps here and there.

The plan is set in force. A notion hostile to even those who commend; a strategy which seems too good to be true and flawlessly balanced will bring out the horrors unknown to mankind.

[cleewii]

THIS IS LOVE

pairing: denji x gn!reader

rating: 16+

warning(s): violence, gore, loss and grief, reader is a morally questionable, pre-established relationship

word count: 1.4K

note: i wouldn’t consider this a completed work considering i just took a draft i had and polished it enough to be cohesive. it still needs some more work (an actual plot cough cough) but whatever. if enough people dig it i might expand on it more. i’ve just got this feeling that denji is rlly weird about crying and that’s where this came from.

I do not permit the reposting/reuploading of my work on any platform. i do not allow the use of my work for other forms of entertainment. not even with credit

if he could hold you to his heart, you’d hear the steady rhythm of life beating from within. two souls bound together in the form of this raggedy, beaten down, dirty mess of a man, covered in layers of dust, and grime, and blood. Yet, when your eyes fall upon him even if he stands a tattered wreck, all he’d see is adoration—a soft and sweet glimmer of something he’ll protect until his last dying breath.

he feels that love you have for him, with its honey golden glow, effervescent as it lays upon his skin in the form of chast kisses and a warm embrace, and he feels like he could die the happiest man in the world. so long as you’ll be there to smile so sweetly. just for him, only for him.

he’d rip apart the world in return, bury his hands deep within the sodden carcasses he’d lay at his own feet to grip at something feral and beating, just for you. all for you. always for you.

because you make him feel like he’s living, like you want him for more then what lives behind his rib cage, tasting his dreams and letting the sweetness of it all fill it until it was satisfied.

“pochita,” he’d told you, “his name s’pochita”

“yeah? how’d you meet him?”

he’d recounted everything he could remember to you that night. that sickly feeling of starvation, the dull throbbing of his head. stories followed by tragedies, even when you felt like you could cry, you let him finish. you listened.

“she killed ‘em. all’ve ‘em…i couldnt….i didnt save ‘em,” his chin falls utop his knees, arms hugging his legs to his body as he stares at the ground solemnly. the glimmer of an anguished nostalgia simmering in his eyes; he seems transfixed on burning his pain into the couch cushion underneath him. from the way he spoke about them, his family, you knew they’d meant the world to him. Maybe even more than that.

you say nothing about the tears that slip down his cheeks. nor the way his nose goes red, and his cheeks blot with watercolor grief.

you only pull him closer, letting him lean against you as he soaks your shirt in muffled sobs.

he falls asleep like that, and you follow soon after. His skin sticky with dried tears, nose and eyes rubbed raw.

he’s snoring before he can process whatever childish embarrassment he might feel about having been so vulnerable. he swallows down the weakness before giving himself the chance to chew on it. there was a realization that had replaced it—in fact—before his eye lids grew so heavy that he had to give into his body’s yearning for sleep.

He wondered, something he rarely allows himself to do, that maybe you matter to him as much as they did. it’s a thought that stays in the back of his mind throughout the rest of the night, in his dreams where the smell of you wandered like a ghost, his body curled up, pressed right against yours.

he would cry for you.

he’d known that since the first time he’d seen you covered in bruises and looking worse for wear.

you were alive, and he still cried.

it had shaken him to his core.

he didn’t notice until you pointed it out, the fat tears that trailed down his cheeks at the sight of you.

he didn’t know why, he’d felt so stupid after the fact, but that didn’t change the way he practically bawled like a baby when you’d returned home late that night, blood seeping into your shirt from the cuts that littered your skin.

you’d been attacked by a devil, you explained, and later that night, when you were safe in bed and sleeping soundly under the covers, he’d gone searching for the thing that’d hurt you.

he didn’t come back until he found it, and left it a writhing pile of stinking flesh.

you didn’t question why he came back to you bloody, or ask about the self satisfied grin he’d presented to you after the fact. you just smiled, so sweet and soft, and kissed the corner of his lips like it was the normal thing to do.

you supposed it was.

every since you’d met him, the line between moral and immoral had faded. what once made your skin crawl and stomach ache, felt like simple showers of rain during a sunny day. never completely normal—always a little too intense to handle—and not always completely welcomed, but a type of irregularity that you wouldn’t lose any sleep over.

that’s why you didn’t think too much about the metallic taste in your mouth afterwards.

that dopey smile on his face was enough for you, especially when he realized you hadn’t changed the bandaids he’d littered over your skin. mismatched, placed everywhere, some folded over themselves in his struggle to remove them from the packaging, and others overlapping each other in his haste to to dress the cuts that marred your skin.

his hands had shaken horribly, eyes red and puffy from crying, finally calming down once he’d bandaged every wound.

it should have scared him, the way he’s broken down so easily because of you. it should have swallowed him whole, filled his lungs with a smokey kind of fear that he’d suffocate in.

if death wasn’t an option, then surely that was the next best thing.

having to watch everyone else die before him.

having to watch you die.

the thought was enough to make him gag, it’s inevitability clung to his throat like a disease.

he’d held you tight, and kissed every inch of skin you’d allowed him to access that night, suddenly strengthened in the resolve he’d created moments before.

“ill protect you. won’t let anythin’ hurt you again. not ever.”

“yeah?” you giggled. maybe you shouldn’t have. there was nothing lighthearted about his declaration. it was solid, unwavering, etched into his entire being and nothing would change it.

“yeah.” he looks down, a determined furrow in his brow, “i promise.”

you stared at him, for a moment, mulling over his words, tasting them on your tounge.

then, your face had melted into a smile, and you kissed him right on the lips.

he couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

“i love you, denji…” you murmured into his hair, soft blond strands tickling your cheek as you slowly drifted, your exhaustion finally catching up to you.

he had only been dozing off, fading in and out of sleep, but the moment those words left for mouth he could feel his body tremble.

you loved him.

you loved him.

he hoped, a selfish kind of hope, that you loved him as much as he did you.

it played in his head, like a broken record. repeating itself, over and over again, until he too faded into sleep.

do you love me like i love you…?

do you need me like i need you….

“ur a dream, ya know that?” he says to you one day, head lying comfortable in your lap as the two of you lounge about a chilly winter day. this was months later, summer having faded as sleet and snow covered the once lively earth.

“half the time i cant believe ur real…” he mumbles that last part, looking away from your serene gaze as if he’d melt at the sight of your eyes, eyes that were always so warm and golden.

red dusts the tips of his ears, painting over the skin of his shoulders and cheeks, you can’t help the giggle that leaves you at the sight of him all flustered and quiet.

“well m’right here aren’t i?” you smile. your fingertips brush over the ends of his blond hair.

“yeah.”

he feels warm at the thought.

still here.

he doesn’t regret crying for you.

no, in fact, he thinks if he could he’d cry every day for you. happy tears, sad tears, so long as you could hold him close and tell him it was alright. that you’d never leave him the way they did, that you’d be okay.

he doesn’t regret crying for you, because although it seemed like whenever he cried it was because he’d lost something, something precious that meant more to him then he’d care to admit, you’d managed to prove him wrong.

for once, his tears didn’t mark the end of something—of someone.

for once, he cried, and you were still here

[dream-of-potter]

Aruden headcanons from my previous account (summarised) + some new ones

So these were actually full fledged one shots on my previous account, but since those cannot be recovered now I thought I'd make a summary post:

Aru didn't change her surname after marriage, just so Aiden could keep calling her "shah"

For their engagement, Aiden got Aru a ring with an eye on it, because Nidra was the one who made Aiden realize he loved Aru

In their bedroom, they have a mirror whose frame is littered with colourful post- its, with little sweet messages they have written for each other, just "God, you're so beautiful" or "I love you" or sometimes sappy quotes from Aiden's fav romcoms

Aru's post its are yellow and Aiden's green

At their wedding, Aiden gave a three- hour long presentation of all the photos he'd taken of Aru over the years. Most of the guests fell asleep halfway through, but Aru was awake through it all, bawling her eyes out

Aiden hates horror movies, so whenever they're watching one (cause Aru) he'll be snuggled up beside Aru, face squished against her stomach

They have a competition going on between them to see who can plan better birthday surprises. Aru won lost year, but this time Aiden is running ahead with his field trip to Home Depot

Aiden is a mother hen. Period. Once Aru caught a cold dancing in the rain, and Aiden was straight up babying her for days

They hate fighting. When they do fight, it only lasts for a few minutes, and it always ends with cuddling while crying

Aiden's wallpaper changes pretty much everyday according to his latest fav picture of Aru he took

Aru's always trying to get Aiden to recreate all these couple poses with her which somehow always ends up with Aru on top of him and Aiden saying "why are you like this, shah" with a smile

[brandwhorestarscream]

Reincarnation au

Do you know which of the (several) moments from this au could be turned into mini fics(i mean, they already are¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)? The trine elite moments, more precisely when Star has his seekerlings(trineshipp here)

They are with the rest of the aerie/air force, discussing the chaos of the last few weeks, sharing theories and even commenting about their own litters(discussions about the best nests, names, etc.)Ss is talking with sunstorm and slipstream and TC is on a couch, writing, while SW participates in the competition

Of course the sparklings that the winglord carries decided to be the first to be born

The first two are very similar to their mother, and each other (tfe and cyberverse), except for a few details, the third(Tfa) is larger, with darker colors that no one is sure where it came from.The fourth (IDW) is the biggest and Hook swears that he was never insulted by the SIC as much as he was at that day

It's the fifth one that leaves the constructicons silent at a worrying speed, until scrapper lets out a "he's gray"

Star has to be held back by a pale TC, due to how quickly he stood up shouting a "what do you mean gray?!"

(I'm going to contain myself here, I've already left enough for the rest)

[I'm happy with how much I got, but I don't want to leave you without much to say]

Daaaw I love this. Starscream being thrown headfirst into parenthood is always a treat, though with the way this is written it sounds like he was aware he was carrying? I'm guessing after a certain threshold of stealth cycles, both autobots and decepticons decided to scan everyone in their ranks to root out any more surprise bitties.

As a result the seekers are all up in arms preparing for the new arrivals, and Starscream's delivery is met with much fanfare. The vosians are a critically endangered species, after all: every new life is precious. Star has... a lot of complicated feelings about his impending motherhood, but ultimately I think he's proud. When the fifth one comes out gray he's already so high strung and in such pain he just... starts sobbing. Covers his face with his servos and starts bawling, wailing for it not to be true, cursing Primus and Hook and everyone else that could possibly be responsible. "Don't do this to me! Don't you dare! Don't take my sparkling, don't you dare!" Thundercracker has both arms around him and his wings are already at their lowest position in mourning, while Skywarp is looking on in horror, shaking his head and whispering no no no no no no...!

"I've got a sparkpulse!" Scavenger suddenly announces jovially, one huge finger pressed to the newborn's chassis. "Wait, wait, he's not dead!"

Hook immediately rushes to get the bitty into emergency care: if he's completely gray that means death is breathing down his neck, but if his spark is still pulsing then there's a chance. Tells Mixmaster to take over on baby catching duty because seekers always birth in threes, and while he's loading little TFP Star into an incubator, the 6th and final baby, Armada Star, is born

In the aftermath, the little gray one turns out to be just fine. His spark is strong and healthy, though his tiny scrawny body and gray color scheme is extremely worrying. Starscream has a tendency to coddle and spoil that one, very rarely putting him down and watching him with eagle eyes, fit to panic if bitty falls down or bumps into a table leg. Everyone kinda walks on eggshells around the little guy, just because he looks like he's one strong wind away from keeling over dead. He looks damn near skeletal compared to his siblings, and with no color at all he resembles a zombie. Starscream and the rest of the aerie worry about him so, so much, but he's every bit as determined and capable as his brothers. He's definitely a bit of a mama's boy and will milk his carrier's attention to use to his advantage 🤭

[a-ratt]

Waiting for Dragon Age Veilguard to drop and these are my thoughts from the reviews coming in so far:

Pros: -Visuals are spectacular -Combat is fantastic -Lore is good -Ending is going to make me scream and bawl -Tons of cameos and returning legacy characters

Cons: -Marvel-esque dialogue that's going to make me roll my eyes so much they're gonna fall out -Combat might get repetitive near the end -No indicator on side quests if you're underleveled or overleveled -Might have some pacing issues considering quest objectives, map design, and side quest amount (meaning, how many objectives are littered everywhere during important moments) -Your backstory might matter more than your choices. (You might not have as much control over your character as your backstory does)

Overall, I think only the Dialogue is what might bother me. And it might bother me alot.

However, I'm still gonna buy it. I can look the other way on some things. I generally like to look at the silver lining in things anyways.

Aside from that, game sounds alright. Maybe a 7/10. 8/10.

[madameaug]

Hush Little Baby Don't Say A Word {Mockingbird}

Pairing: Jennette x Jungkook

<3 <3 <3 <3

Seventy-two hours since Jennette carried her chunky nine-pound newborn across the threshold to her house. The house was decorated in the prettiest purple lilac. Before the little peanut was born, her nursery color would be lilac. Courtesy of her father and her doting uncles. Jennette never entirely understood the men's fascination with purple but didn't fight too hard. Besides, she was too busy gushing over the arrival of her baby.

This is contrary to how peanuts entered the world, quiet and tight-lipped. She was now showing off her vocal range. Her pale fists were tightly clenched as she mindlessly swung her legs in her crib. Her cry was mellow but drawn out. Like a whine, like a soft whimper. Jennette stood above the crib, just dumbfounded. She had fed Peanut ten minutes ago, so she knew she couldn't have been hungry. Her diaper was dry, and she had bounced around the house six times.

She didn't like Peanut crying in general. But not this cry when it sounded so sad. Jennette watched the hours dwindle before she would need to get up and take Peanut to the pediatrician for her checkup. Why did she choose an early morning appointment.

Lifting the tiny girl out of her crib, she placed her cheek on her cheek. Whispering words of love to the crying child. Not totally calmed down, peanut whined. Wrapping the baby blanket around Peanut, Jennette left the nursery. There was a dim glow from the overhead stove light that they always left on. In the pitch black, it would be ten times more likely to stub your toe on one of the pieces of furniture.

Perfect timing, Jungkook closed the front door behind him as quietly as possible. He was held up at the gym longer than he wanted to, and was desperate to come home and see his little Peanut. Not even annoyed at Jungkook's hour of arrival, Jennette smiled upon seeing him place his gym bag at the front door. His hands extended, ready to hold his daughter, when a light bulb went off his head.

"Hold on let me wash my hands and change shirts." Jennette had never seen Jungkook run up the stairs so fast. She 'shhh' Peanut still ambling, her gently in her arms.

"Don't switch up now that your daddy is home." Jennette littered her child's cheek with kisses. In the few days that she's been a mother, she just felt the overwhelming need to shower Peanut in affection. Never missing the opportunity to hold her in her arms, hug her, or kiss her cheeks.

"Gimme my baby." Jungkook, in a plain white t-shirt, opened his palms for Peanut.

"Come here, sweet girl. I missed you so much. So so much."

Jennette awed at the father-daughter interaction. Her eyes took mental pictures of the image. Peanut's head rested on Jungkook's broad chest. Her fists no longer bawled, and she no longer whined.

"So that's who you were calling for? You missed your daddy." Switching her weight to one foot, Jennette folded her arms.

"Go ahead and get some rest. I know her appointment is in a few."

Jennette kissed her forehead one last time and waved goodnight to her child and lover. Keeping quiet until he knew Jennette was up the stairs, Jungkook spook quietly to Peanut.

"It's okay, Peanut, you can always call for me. Your mama is just jealous. I'll always be there for you."

Series Masterlist

BTS x Black OC Masterlist

[crazycatfaery]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY Season 2 of Fate: The Winx Saga!

A little bit late as it's technically not the 16th anymore over here, but it's still the 16th somewhere right?

In celebration I made my first ever proper FTWS fanart that was not made for a fanfic but of my favorite S2 scene.

Please don't steal my art to claim as your own or use for anything without my permission (reblogs ofc appreciated)!

Rambling on about everything down below

My favorite scene of S2: The one in E6 - Poor Unfortunate Souls, where I first cried with Bloom as she dreams in stasis while Aisha tells everyone Bloom's never had a fairy mother to guide her like they did, then litterally punched the air and audibly said yesss because the moment I saw that hand I knew my favorite character had returned as I had hoped, followed by finding out she wasn't actually back and lastly proceeded to bawl my eyes out and shut off the tv to not resume watching the season for at least a whole week.

Why the heck is this my favorite scene if the following scenes hurt so much? Because it's emotional as heck (the dreaming of a fairy mother, Aisha talking of their mothers, and then Farah shows up with the tear-wipe and the smile!?), it's freaking pretty, it's the single best way they could save Bloom from stasis imo, it's an incredible way to slowly show that Farah was "back", the music is beautiful and I love that we at least got to see a little snippet of Farah in S2 even though they had to edit in Eve Best.

Notes on the art: Actually really freaking proud of this one. I was in a bit of a drawing slump but look at this!! Like holy shit I drew that? I drew that! No guides, not even the hand (I did use some rough selfdrawn guides for the RBB art)! Did I really make this?? How??? I blame hyperfixation.

[avid-author-activist]

on percy jackson

when I was in fourth grade, I left the Son of Neptune in a leaf pile overnight because I’d taken it out to recess, set it down, and then forgotten about it. it smelled like petrichor and old pages until I left for college.

it’s been almost a decade since then, and I picked up Tyrant’s Tomb over spring break for fun, and Frank and Hazel’s arcs have me wanting to bawl my eyes out. guys. probatio to praetor. they’ve come so far since SoN, and so have I since leaving my copy of the book on the playground. 

I used to dream of becoming a Huntress of Artemis, and I owned a little toy bow and would set the little toy arrows on my windowsill as a shrine to her. I was maybe seven or eight. I still have a bow in my closet at home that I have never shot before and will not be parting ways with regardless.

I get to honor that inner child now. I go hiking a lot. I lay in the leaf litter and think about dissolving into the earth. I recently got wilderness first aid certified, and that’s like ninety-percent Artemis’s fault. I have the fuckin adult money with which to take archery lessons if I so wish, and in those parts of me she is there.

not to get completely 2012 Pinterest fandom edit over here, but something about those stories just never leaves. the characters are real to me etc etc. they grow up. I grow up. I keep coming back. something about it has always stayed, and that’s just. really overwhelming to me right now.