#They have been in limbo for far too long

[maintitle]

Since this has become kind of a center of fanfiction for me, I wanted to mention I do in fact have an Ao3 account and write on there sporadically!  Mostly it’s sporadic one-shots and incomplete, rarely updated Marvel series, but I just finished a near-100 page series of short stories and journals for my DA characters!  Check them out if you feel like it!

[vanibear]

we have now reached the stage of family vacation where i have a meltdown

[radiant-reid]

Reunion

Summary: JJ never knew you were dating one of her teammates and that you broke up because of her, but seeing him at JJ's wedding years later changes things.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst then smutttt)

Content Warning: 18+ Smut (oral- f receiving, fingering, unprotected sex, a little bit of a breeding kink)

Word Count: 2.1k

"So, how's mystery boy?"

After skipping your usual Tuesday night plans twice, thanks to JJ being away on cases, you're finally back in your best friend's living room having a glass of wine and a cheese platter.

It's been an abnormal amount of time to go without seeing each other since you both ended up in DC after moving out of East Allegheny to different colleges. Even with men in the mix now, you both make it a priority to see each other as often as possible. However, her busy schedule and frequent flights to New Orleans have meant you've spent some time apart.

Unknown to her, she knows the so-called mystery boy. Very well, in fact. "He's well." You say slyly, unable not to grin widely.

JJ throws her head back dramatically. "Come on, Y/n! Some detail would be nice."

"It's good." You try again. "He's the sweetest. I'm very happy."

She smirks, letting you know an interesting question is coming your way. "How's the sex?"

It never takes more than a glass of wine for her to be that loose. You don't miss a beat in your answer. "Fabulous."

"Okay, so can I meet him soon?" She pushes like she has been for quite some time.

You wonder what she would think. What would her expression do if you were to say his name out loud right here? Maybe it's not that deep but getting with JJ's closest colleague is dangerous. It was a concern at the start, a reason not to start, but you fell in love with Spencer Reid quicker than you could ever imagine.

"Sure, JJ." You agree, trying to look positively about it. You can only assume she's thinking about the worst possible scenario about your mystery man. He's a criminal or he's far too old for you or he's an ex you promised not to get back with. There are too many options.

She looks triumphant. "Yes!"

You just smile, sending the conversation in a different direction by asking about her boyfriend. He sounds like a great guy and you can tell she's happier than ever before.

Three months ago you met Spencer Reid. It was JJ's birthday and your duty as her best friend to throw her a fun surprise party. That took some coordination with a friend from work. Firstly, that was Penelope, but in order to lure JJ, you needed Spencer Reid. He was a little slow with replying to your texts, but lovely. And after you met him, you were hooked.

Spencer was perfect. Gorgeous, funny, intelligent. His incredible shyness had you confused when he asked you out for dinner the next morning.

Too many espresso martinis provide an explanation for why JJ has no recollection of you flirting with him all night.

You see Spencer as much as you can, but similar to JJ's, his schedule often doesn't allow for consistent visits. So whatever time you do have, you make the most of it. He's still the most amazing boyfriend you've had. Kind, caring, witty, fun, and playful.

He gets whisked away on a case to Miami not long after being home. You didn't know things would be so different the next time you saw him.

He goes quiet on you. You know their cases are intense but you haven't heard from him in an entire week and that's not right.

Can I come over? He finally texts you and you're guessing he's back in DC.

It sounds a little ominous and the message sends a chill down your spine. Sure. I can't wait to see you. There isn't a reply and you sit in limbo in your apartment for almost an hour before he knocks at the door.

You smile when you open it, although you're slightly annoyed there was zero communication or ETA from him. "Hey, Spence, how was it?"

"You knew." He says in a cold, accusatory tone. It's nothing you've ever heard from him.

"Sorry?" You repeat, moving to the side so he can come into your apartment.

He steps in, barely looking at you. "About JJ and Will." He explains.

A little frown takes over your expression. Surely he's not angry that he only just found out. An awkward laugh leaves your lips. "Sorry, Spence. She didn't want anyone knowing."

"I'm your boyfriend!" He exclaims. "You're not supposed to lie to me."

"I didn't." You join the offensive, crossing your arms. You're not enthused about what he's accusing you of. It wasn't even your secret to tell him.

He looks disappointed, face dropping. "Come on." He sighs. "How am I meant to be with you if you don't trust me enough to tell me who our friend is dating?"

"It wasn't my secret to tell." You try to talk some reason into him, pushing down that sick feeling in your stomach telling you that he's breaking up with you.

Spencer shakes his head, his decision- as much as it's killing him- completely made. "I can't do this."

His words make your world come crashing down and you almost can't believe it. You slump to the couch while he makes his way to the door with sad, slow footsteps.

He's looking at you, waiting for you to ask him to say. "Can we not tell JJ?" You ask softly.

"Fine." That's the last thing he tells you before walking out the door, shutting it firmly.

That's it.

The last thing Spencer tells you.

Then he's gone from your life. You talk about him less to JJ and she picks up on what happened and stops asking about him.

You expect to see him when Henry's born, or even at a point in his life. Somehow, you don't. Your schedules never line up and then JJ switches jobs. There's a myriad of reasons but it doesn't happen. You both go on with separate lives.

And then JJ and Will are getting married. You get a frantic call from your best friend's soon-to-be-husband who whispers secret plans to you over the phone. It's perfect, you know JJ will adore the simplicity and elegance of a backyard wedding.

You're there as soon as you can be, helping set up Rossi's backyard so it's gorgeous for the most gorgeous person you know.

You're the maid of honor, of sorts. And you don't get a chance to ask who the best man is before JJ arrives and the ceremony begins.

You strike out as soon as you spot a tall brunette. A tall brunette who made you the happiest you've ever been with a man. And he's still just as handsome.

His eyes bulge when he sees you but he keeps a straight face and clenches his teeth while the ceremony continues. You're mostly focused on how beautiful JJ looks and how sweet their wedding is, but you can't help your mind drifting to Spencer.

You hadn't seen him dressed up like this when you were dating and the tuxedo is a perfect look on him.

"Y/n." He comes up to you when you're getting yourself a glass of champagne.

"Spencer." You reply. His tone doesn't let much about how he's feeling on. All you get is a glimmer of shock.

He stands against the table. "Maid of honor?"

You shrug, a little confused at his question. "You know, I'm surprised I haven't seen you all these years." You admit, letting some honesty slip.

"It was slightly intentional." He offers.

You don't let it offend you. "Best man?"

"I think that means we're supposed to sleep together."

You nearly spit out your sip of wine. There's no way the shy Spencer Reid you once knew just said that.

"We've done that." You reply, trying to keep a straight face after the out-of-pocket comment.

Spencer tilts his head to the side. "You're right."

You really don't know how it happens. Maybe it's a few too many drinks. There's definitely not enough alcohol in your bloodstream to solely blame that. Spencer Reid is as hot as they get. And it's been... longer than you're willing to admit since you've had sex. Even longer since it was good sex.

So there isn't anything telling you to stop when Spencer pushes you up against the door of a room in Rossi's house, lips firmly against yours.

Your dress is hiked up around your waist while his fingers trace up and down your thigh before he even thinks about locking the door. Both of you are far too wrapped up in the moment to think securely.

His hands are quick to the zip of your dress, sliding it down effortlessly and letting it pool at your feet. He takes a moment to look at you and you have to admit, you're a little worried about his reaction. You don't doubt Spencer Reid can pull beautiful women.

"God, you're gorgeous." He says softly, juxtaposing the way he's practically clawing your clothes off you.

"Are you going to compliment me or fuck me like you promised you would?" You ask him, waltzing over to the bed and sitting on the edge.

Spencer smirks at your smart mouth. "You asked for it."

He's kneeling on the floor in front of the bed in seconds, with no regard for his suit pants being wrinkled, just on his knees. There's a sense of urgency that doesn't allow for the time for him to take your panties off so he opts for shifting them to the side.

There's also no time to waste as his tongue melds with your folds, tracing patterns. No one has ever come close to giving head like Spencer does. It's truly mindblowing, the pressure of his tongue and the suction method he uses. You're instantly in bliss, head thrown back against the covers as you moan.

You've lost it when his fingers enter you, pushing past with little resistance. "Holy shit, Spencer. You're incredible."

"Sing my praises." He says against your pussy.

You do. Not even possessing the ability to be embarrassed about it.

And you don't stop. You're withering and moaning on the bed, tugging his curls while he continues pleasing you. Eventually, it's too much. His fingers pumping in and out of you combined with his tongue wrapped around your clit have you finishing in no time.

"Still as good as I remember." As if he couldn't get any hotter, he sucks his fingers into his mouth.

Spencer rises from his knees, now much taller than you. You tug your underwear off before unclipping your bra. "Fuck me, Spencer." You reach out for his belt buckle, toying with it. "Please."

Spencer has lost the shy, timid nature he had the first few times you had sex and he quickly takes off his belt and pants. Once his suit jacket is tossed across the room, Spencer pulls your legs to the end of the bed, making sure you wrap your ankles around his waist. His hands rest on either side of your head and you're precisely where you want to be.

"You're so hot." You tell him with a smirk.

He grins, spreading your legs and inching inside you. The look on his face is an instant confidence boost. Clearly, he's a man in bliss, head thrown back and tongue parting his lips.

"Fuck." He pants.

You agree, barely able to speak from how hard he's pounding you and how good it feels. Although it's annoying to admit, you've never had as good sex as with Spencer.

Your hands wrap around his forearms, noticeably bigger than last time. "Spencer." You moan. "Please. So good."

He caresses your chest, paying attention to your boobs like he hadn't before. "Y/n." He groans, not slowing his pace up. His hips snap against yours with each thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the room. "Can I?" He asks.

It's unlike you to have even let him start without protection but you're not thinking straight enough. All you know is you need Spencer. "Please."

He finishes as deep inside you as he can get, leaning down to kiss you softly. You're breathless like he is when he flops down next to you.

One of Spencer's palms touches your cheek, forcing you to look at him rather than the ceiling. "Hey, pretty girl." He says softly and it makes your heart flip in a way it shouldn't. "Can I take you on a date, Y/n?"

The smile creeping onto your face can't be helped. "Yes. Please."

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 4: The Deal (Warning: this chapter will feature violence. Read at your own risk)

A/N: had free time this week to produce this. Next week is chock full of tests and midterms, so this’ll probably be the last chapter for some time. Enjoy! Also, I’m sorry to those who asked to be added to the tag list and weren’t. I tried to add many of you, but Tumblr wasn’t able to find your blog for whatever reason.

When you open your eyes, darkness goes on forever in all directions, the only thing you can see is yourself. Where are you and how did you get here?

“Hello,” you call out, hoping someone is nearby to hear you, not caring who hears you just as long as someone comes to you. “Is there anyone here?”

Nothing, which you expected, but you had hoped against reality that someone was here… wherever here is. The cold air surges through your body and you shiver, your teeth chattering, echoing in the void.

“What happened,” you ask yourself. “How’d I get here?”

Just then, your memory kicks in and images and words assault your mind all at once: walking through the East End, the three thugs, the dirty shack in the middle of the woods you had been dragged to, and—

“Oh my god,” you say as the final memory flashes before your eyes. “They killed me.”

That’s right, the flash of the muzzle and the sound of the gunshot still rattling in your head. And if you think hard enough, you can vaguely remember falling to the floor after the bullet entered your head.

“Wait,” you say, realizing something very important. “If they shot me, then why am I here?”

Sure, you aren’t religious (all beliefs in a just and loving god died after you lost your Momma and was forced to live in an abusive and neglectful household for thirteen years), but this dark and neverending void is a far cry from the bright and golden imagery that’s always been associated with heaven. And this sure isn’t the fire and brimstone that comes to mind when you think of hell. So, is this purgatory? Or limbo? You never could keep the two straight.

Is this your fate? To spend the rest of your afterlife alone in this abyss? Why couldn’t you just cease altogether? Was it too much to ask that you just close your eyes and never wake from your eternal slumber?

You realize you’re crying and you’re amazed that after crying so much throughout your life, you still have plenty of tears to shed, even in the afterlife. But that’s been your lot in life since you lost Momma: to be the world’s punching bag.

“Such powerful emotions,” a familiar voice says.

You look up in shock and see your Momma, looking exactly the same as the day she was taken from you.

“Momma,” you exclaim, rushing to her and embracing her, squeezing her as hard as your arms will allow, afraid that if you let go, she’ll disappear.

“This form brings out such joy, sadness, and loss in you,” she says. “Feelings from someone alive are far more vibrant than from someone deceased.”

“What,” you asks, looking up at her in confusion, but when you do, it’s not your Momma you see looking down at you, but Bruce. You let go of the man as quick as you can and put a bit of distance between the two of you.

“What did you do to my Momma, you son of a bitch,” you shout in disgust.

“This form brings out such anger, pain, and hatred in you,” Bruce says, looking you up and down as if dissecting you like a damn lab experiment. “How interesting.”

“What the hell are you talking about? How’d you get here and what did you do to Momma?”

“And it’s not just this form.” You see movement all around you and in perfect unison, the other members of the Wayne Family appear from the void. “You hold these forms in equal amounts of hatred and contempt.”

“You deem this one a failure,” Bruce says.

“This one a hypocrite,” Dick says.

“This one a brute,” Jason says.

“This one a know-it-all,” Tim says.

“This one a stranger,” Barbara says.

“This one annoying,” Stephanie says, before turning to Cassandra. “And while you’ve never heard that one speak, you deem her a freak.”

“And you deem this one a monster,” Damian says. He gestures to Bruce. “You hate this form and that one in equal measure, far surpassing the others.”

You see another figure step out of the void and when you make out the face, it’s Alfred. You feel relief surge through your body, happy to see the butler; if there’s anyone who you can depend on, it’s him.

“While this one serves the others, you hold great respect for this form,” Alfred says. “Although, you hold a not insignificant amount of resentment towards him.”

Your heart skips a little at the accusation. No, you love the man, who took the place of a father when Bruce failed to fill the void left by your Momma’s death; sure, you’ve had the occasional thought that if the man was given a choice between you and them, he’d choose them over you since he’s always helping them, but he’s always been there for you since day one!

“No,” you say, pleading with the man. “Alfred, I don’t!”

“But you do,” the butler responds. “According to you, he is the true master of your prison, but instead of using his power to make them acknowledge your existence, he allows them to continue parading through Gotham, fighting criminals.”

“You also believe all these forms belong in Arkham,” Bruce adds. “And that you wish to be the one to subject them to electroshock therapy.”

You finally realize that something’s wrong here. All of them have never been in your presence long enough for you to say how you feel about them (not that they’d care, anyway) and you’ve never told Alfred how you often daydream of locking them away in Gotham, strapping them to metal chairs, and flipping the switch to send hundreds of volts through their skulls, hoping to shock them into being decent human beings. All this has been kept in your head for well over a decade.

So, how the hell did they know all this?

“You’re not them, are you?”

“No,” Not-Bruce answers. “We only took the forms of those you see before you.”

“Then who the fuck are you,” you growl. “And where the fuck am I?”

“We have no name,” Not-Alfred says.

“We are one, and yet we are many,” Not-Damian finishes.

“It is impossible to define a being such as us,” Not-Jason chimes in.

“Alright, that doesn’t answer my question,” you mutter to yourself, but say it loud enough for them to hear. “Then answer me this: where am I? The last thing I remember was being shot by three thugs.”

“Yes, we know of your attack,” Not-Stephanie says.

“As for your question, we are appearing to you in your mind,” Not-Bruce says.

“My mind,” you exclaim. “How?”

“When you appeared to us, we reached out and established a link with you,” Not-Tim explains. “It is from there that we were able to peer into your mind and see your memories.”

“My memories,” you ask, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Not-Damian responds. “Through your memories, we saw these forms and assumed them. We thought it would be more preferable for you to speak to us if we took the appearance of the people who have the most influence on your life.”

“If you looked through my memories, then you should know I want nothing to do with any of them,” you snap at them.

“We know now that we were in error,” Not-Bruce responds, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. “We owe you many thanks. Never before have we been put into a situation where have known the sensation of being incorrect. We will ponder this experience for years to come.”

“So, what do you really look like.”

All of them look at one another, unsure how to answer your question.

“We are not sure if you wish to see our true form,” Not-Alfred responds.

“While you are the first sentient being we’ve interacted with in our entire existence, we know that our true form is something many of your kind would consider… terrifying,” Not-Stephanie adds.

“I don’t care,” you snap. “I’m not talking to any of you while you look like this and I sure as hell don’t want you taking Momma’s form! And if we’re going to talk, we’re gonna do it face to face!”

“Very well,” Not-Bruce acquiesces.

And with that, everything fades to black and for a moment, you’re scared you’ll be left here in the dark by yourself again. Maybe you should’ve let them stay like that.

Just then, above you, you see an odd red glow. You look up and you feel your blood freeze, your heart stop, and the air catches in your lungs. Above you is a giant mass of red, bioluminescent flesh hanging from a cave ceiling, thick black tendrils extruding from it and digging deep into the surrounding rock, allowing it to remain suspended in the cavern. And if that didn’t freak you out enough, you can see the flesh obviously resembles the shape of a fetus in the fetal position. This thing looks like something out of an H.P. Lovecraft novel.

“Holy shit,” is all you can say.

“We told you you would not approve of our true form,” it says, its voice beaming directly into your mind.

“What are you,” you ask, still awestruck at the sight before you.

“We are have no name,” it responds. “But, with the knowledge we have accumulated over the centuries, we suppose you can call us the Megamycete.”

“Megamycete?”

“Yes, we are a supercolony of sentient fungus that has existed for over four-hundred years.”

“Four-hundred years? That’s as long as Gotham’s been around.”

“We have existed as the city above. When its founders first arrived, we were nothing more than a collection of small, independent and unaware colonies of mold. Not long after the first buildings were built, an earthquake shook the area and revealed something we now know as a ‘Lazarus Pit,’ a pool of green, luminescent liquid that possesses remarkable restorative properties, and the colonies that would become us were plunged into it.”

“And this pit made you the way that you are?”

“The pit made us aware, but it did not give us our intelligence. With our enhanced capabilities, we were able to spread out our roots beyond the mountain. Not long after, we discovered the corpses of the first of Gotham’s citizens, buried after they drew their last breath; when our roots came into contact with their bodies, we found we had the ability to archive the knowledge, memories, and even DNA of the deceased. We became obsessed with growing our archive, so as Gotham grew over the years, so did our roots; overtime, we archived hundreds of its deceased, increasing our intelligence and knowledge of the outside world. Now, our roots touch every part of this city, becoming one with it, not only archiving the remains of its living, but seeing and hearing everything that goes on within its boundaries.”

“So,” you say, your mouth becoming dry at your newfound knowledge. “You’re like some fungal god?”

“While we know many of your kind may consider a being such as us god, we hold no illusion of being a divine entity. We think of ourselves as an immortal observer.”

As you attempt to process this information, your mind brings something to your attention and you feel your heart stop when you realize it. You really don’t want to know the answer, but there’s that damn stubborn part of you that has… no, it needs to know.

“So,” you begin, trying to summon the courage to ask your question. “Earlier, you said all of this is going on in my head, right?”

“Yes, our roots were able to establish a link with you and allow us to convene with you in your mind.”

“So, if we’re in my head right now, where’s me? I mean, my body?”

Although the Megamycete doesn’t have eyes, nor does it turn anything that resembles a head, you can feel it shift its awareness to the side, as if looking at something. You feel yourself break into a cold sweat as you slowly turn your head to the left, wondering what exactly you’re going to find.

And when you do, your greeted by a sight that makes you feel as if the world around you had crumbled away and you’ve been left behind to float in the void left behind: you, lying in a mess of tendrils composed of mold, broken, battered, and bloody; your limbs lying in directions they’re definitely not supposed to be in, your eyes glazed over, and a gaping bullet hole in your left temple.

“Oh my god,” you shout, utterly horrified at the sight before you. “Oh my god!”

“We saw the torture those three criminals subjected you to. Their leader was quite thorough in inflicting damage.”

“So that’s it, huh?” While this is all just some projection in your head, you feel like you’re hyperventilating. “This is how it ends: being eaten by some sentient mushroom and becoming a part of it? Doomed to spend the rest of eternity tethered to this damn city? I survive in a place where you’re likely to be killed by some trigger-happy murder clown and his psycho-ass whore while getting your mail and some two-bit thug is what does me in?”

“If you look closer, you will find that you are still alive.”

You practically snap your head to look back at your body and sure enough, you can see your chest moving up and down. It may not be much, but it’s there.

“I’m alive,” you ask, shocked at the sight of you breathing.

“You still live,” it answers back. “Your life force is low, but still there.”

“But how? He shot me in the head and then threw me down here! People don’t live after something like that!”

“While a gunshot to the head is normally fatal, our archive shows us two revelations: that the bullet did not go through your brain, but graze it and that the bullet used was of a lower caliber. While the wound was grievous, you still had a chance of surviving it. As for the fall into our chamber, your body was caught onto our roots as it fell, slowing it down and allowing it to land with diminished force.”

“But I’m still going to die, right?”

“Yes,” it answers, seemingly sympathetic. “If you were in a proper hospital, you could recover, but right now, your body is slowly shutting down. By the time anyone found you, you would long be deceased.”

So, you survive attempted murder, but you’ll still die in the end.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “Wasn’t the end I had in mind.”

“What did you have in mind for your death,” the Megamycete asks.

“Shouldn’t you know what i had in mind for my death?”

“We do, but our knowledge shows us talking to the dying brings a form of comfort to them. Plus, this is the first time we have had the chance to interact with a living mortal. We wish to prolong the experience as much as possible.”

You chuckle at that. “I thought I would spend my final days back home in Goodsprings, sitting in the big recliner Momma bought for me. I use to spend Saturday mornings in it, eating cereal and watching cartoons.” You smile at the memory of the chair. “It was a damn good chair.”

“We see it, a brown cushioned seat, perfect for watching television or reading books.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Would’ve been perfect to spend my last days in.”

“Perhaps you still can.”

You look up at the Megamycete. “What?”

“We offer you a deal: we will repair your body and give you the strength to leave this chamber and rejoin the outside world.”

“And you’ll get what?”

“You become our host.”

“What,” you balk. “Host?”

“Yes, we will entangle ourselves with your very being, becoming as one.”

“And why the hell would I agree to that,” you exclaim. “You fix my body just to take it over? No deal!”

“You misunderstand. We will not override your control over your body. We will be nothing more than a spectator in your life, seeing but being powerless to intervene. In addition to being restored to your former glory, you will gain access not only to our vast archive of knowledge, but gain abilities many of your kind would consider supernatural.”

That certainly cools your temper. “So, you fix me up and give me superpowers, but all you get in return is front row seats to my life. Sounds like I’m the only one benefitting from this deal.”

“On the contrary, we stand to gain just as much as you do. For over four-hundred years, we could see the outside world, but not join it. With each new corpse we archived, we began to desire a way to interact with the world firsthand and not by mere memories. You are our solution to this dilemma. Through you, we will know what it means to feel the sun on our face, or to taste the finest meals, or to hear a symphony.”

The Megamycete’s words shock you to your core. You guess if you were stuck in this cavern for four centuries and only knew of a world beyond it through memories, you’d do anything to experience it, too.

“Please, Y/N, we beg you to accept our deal. We promise everything we are, from our archive to our longevity, will be at your disposal. You will be stronger, smarter, and better than those who thought less of you. In comparison to you, they will be nothing more than mere ants.”

You’ve thought about showing the Waynes up for years, to be able to pay Jason back for that black eye, to make Tim feel like a complete idiot, and especially to make Damian feel inferior in every way possible.

“We can do that for you. With us at your side, you’ll attain a level of perfection they could never dream of. All we want is to be able to witness this firsthand.”

“Alright,” you relent. “If all you want is to go outside in exchange for making me better than them, you have a deal.”

“We thank you, Y/N,” it says, sounding incredibly happy. Relieved, even.

And with that, your world fades to black once again and when you open your eyes, you find that you’re back in your body, feelings of pain overwhelming your senses, making it hard to concentrate on the Megamycete pressing its tendrils into you. You watch in total awe as the giant, fetus-like mass that is the Megamycete begin to shrink and when you look down where the tendrils are embedded in your skin, you can see a black substance being injected into under your skin. The more of the substance being pumped into your body, the smaller the Megamycete gets.

That’s when you feel weird all over, like every cell in your body is transforming into something else. While not painful, per se, it’s an incredibly odd sensation.

(Your body is becoming one with our mold,) you hear the Megamycete explain in your head. (Not only will it repair the damage that was done to you, you will find that you are far more durable than any mere mortal and have the ability to change your form into any that is stored in our archive, both man or beast.)

“Wait, you’re saying I can shapeshift?”

(If that is what you wish to call our mimetic abilities, then yes, you may “shapeshift.”)

When the last of the mold was transferred to you, you find your body stitching itself up and the incredible pain you were in fading fast, like it was never there. You see a puddle of water lying nearby and when you look in it, you see that all your injuries are gone, even the scar on your left check that Damian gave you three years ago. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it never happened at all.

And not only do you look better, you feel better! You wouldn’t say you were the healthiest person ever, but you tried to stay somewhere in between active and sedentary; sure you weren’t going to be running any marathons, but you were able to climb the many stairwells at school when the elevator took too long. Now, however, you felt like you could run and win a marathon, or climb up a mountain without climbing gear, or swim the English Channel during a hurricane! And you didn’t feel better physically, but intellectually as well! Gotham, for all it many flaws, has attracted the best artists, architects, doctors, engineers, musicians, scientists, and more; you feel your mind being rushed with the knowledge and memories of countless people throughout the ages, ranging from the city’s early days to now. Hell, you even have access to the memories and knowledge of some of Bruce’s greatest employees, giving you knowledge on much on Wayne Enterprises’ tech and projects that he’s spared no expense in keeping under wraps. Maybe you can get a pretty penny from Lex Corp in exchange for this information since everyone knows Bruce and Lex are bitter rivals and are constantly trying to one-up each other, with Bruce, unfortunately, often being the winner in their battles to develop the next technological development.

“I feel like I could run circles around Einstein,” you laugh, completely blown away with your newfound intellect. Right now, you feel like you could write a symphony that would make Beethoven feel inadequate while at the same time painting a masterpiece that would eclipse the Mona Lisa and designing a fusion reactor capable of powering the entire country. You look around the cavern, looking and not seeing a way out. “Now how do I get out of here?”

(There is a passage directly above you.) You look up to see a big hole in the chamber’s ceiling. (That is how you ended up here when those three threw you in here. Our archives have absorbed many of Gotham’s birds. Any one of them should give you the power to fly out of the chamber.)

The mention of the three thugs remind you of your stolen pen and Game Boy, which then fills you with rage. You’ve never liked thieves and the thought of your Momma’s treasured pen and your gift from your thoughtful boss in the hands of such lowlifes gives you even more of a reason to hate them. By now, they could be anywhere, maybe even outside of the city for fear of your disappearance being reported (mostly by Alfred, the only person left in Gotham who would give a damn).

(Remember our roots span all of Gotham,) the Megamycete says. (Through them, we have seen and heard all that occurs in this city. As our host, you now have access to them. All you have to do is reach out and think of who you wish to find.)

Following its advice, you reach out and feel the roots that entangle Gotham like a spider web. As soon as you do, you’re overwhelmed with sights and sounds from every corner of the city.

(Focus on the three,) it advises you. (If you concentrate on who exactly you want, the roots will do the rest.)

It takes some doing, but you manage to push aside the multitude of people that are in your mind’s eye and focus on the three kidnappers. You’re taken across the city, rushing past the many buildings and stopping at some seedy building in Coventry. Your newfound knowledge of Gotham tells you this is the My Alibi bar, a place for Gotham’s criminals to get together to eat, trade gossip, and find work.

With your destination known, you search through the Megamycete’s archives and something to get you out of here and find something that should do the job: crows. Your body manifests into a murder of crows and takes off in perfect unison, keeping in formation. It’s extremely weird to be a bunch of birds; you know that what was once your body is now numerous birds, but while you’re multiple birds, you’re still one person. You can see through all their eyes all at once and change their flight path and they actually do it like it’s nothing. In a matter of seconds, you’re on the surface, flying above the forest and looking down at the twinkling lights of Gotham’s buildings.

“You know, from above, that cesspit actually looks kinda pretty.”

(We thank you, Y/N. We never thought we would be able to experience such a sight firsthand, but here we are. Now, shall we retrieve your stolen property?)

The crows fly through the city, zipping past the buildings and as you do, you realize that you’ve just fulfilled a dream you’ve had since you were ten-years-old: to fly like a bird. When you realized that the Waynes were awful and all you wanted was to go back to Goodsprings— to take flight like a bird and leave this city and the Waynes behind. Now, you can turn into a flock of birds, or even grow a pair of wings, and fly all the way to Nevada!

Eventually, you reach the My Alibi club, which looks even worse in person than through the Megamycete’s roots. You land on a nearby building’s rooftop and see the only security for the entire building is a single bouncer. You command the birds to land near the bouncer and when they do, they come together and reform your body, but instead of revealing you, you command hardened black mold to cover your body, not wanting your face to be seen by anyone.

What’s going to happen here needs to not get back to you.

“What,” the bouncer stutters. “What the hell?”

“Leave,” is all you say.

The bouncer says nothing before he runs away.

(Are you ready,) the Megamycete asks as you near the door. (We highly doubt your three would-be murderers will take your return likely. Nor will they likely be in a hurry to return your property. You may have to resort to violence.)

“Good,” is all you say as you enter.

The noise coming from patrons’ conversations, drinking, and arguing comes to an end when you walk inside. A quick look around and you can tell this place lives up to its reputation of being for Gotham’s criminal element; everyone here looks like they’ve done time and will probably spend their last days in prison.

And in the back corner sit your targets, looking at you with their table filled with glasses and plates of food. The sight fills you with rage; they shot you in the head and threw you in a ditch and here they are, eating and drinking like they just got off work and wanted something to take the edge off. And what really pisses you off is seeing the one called Butch holding your Game Boy like it was his right!

“I’m here for them,” you say, pointing to your quarry. “The rest of you are free to go.”

“Up yours, freak,” some shithead shouts back, pulling out a revolver and fires it three times. The bullets hit the hardened mold and fall to the floor, looking like crushed tin cans rather than deadly projectiles. “What the hell?”

He goes to fire it again, but you raise your hand and a tendril emerges from it, piercing the man’s heart; he drops his gun and lets out a disgusting gurgle, blood dripping from it and pooling on the floor, before falling silent, dead.

While most of your mind is disturbed at the sight; you’ve just killed a man, his blood literally on your hands, but you can’t deny there’s a part of you that’s not saddened by your actions. After all, he did try to kill you and if he was in a place like this, chances are he was a piece of shit and Gotham’s a slightly better place for his passing.

For a moment, everyone is paralyzed at what just happened. The place is so quiet, a pin could drop and it would deafen everyone. Then, everyone breaks out of their stupor, practically all of them pulling out their guns and begin shooting at you, but just like their friend here found out, their bullets are useless against you. Numerous tendrils emerge from all over your body and rush at them; some of them empaling them, others wrap around their throats and crush them, while the rest just whip them with enough force to break them in two. One by one, they fall until it’s just you and your prey.

“Look, man,” you killer whimpers as you draw closer to him. “I don’t know what you want, but you can take what we have. Tom, hand him the bag.”

The other one throws a bag, which lands at your feet; you look down to see it’s your book bag. You pick it up and open it to find everything still inside, from your binder and notebooks to your phone and the gift box Mr. Chen gave you. You’re relieved to know that you’re not missing any of your school stuff and don’t have to go looking for anything or replace it. You are, however, missing all the money from your wallet, but a look on the table shows where it went to. But, you’re still missing the most important thing: your Momma’s pen.

“Here, take this, too.” The leader takes the Game boy from Butch and holds it out to you, which you snatch from him, reveling in the fear in his eyes as you did, and carefully place it inside.

That just leaves one last order of business. You extend two tendrils and wrap them around the leaders throat and hold him up from the floor, his legs kicking around, trying and failing to get him back on the ground; his arms pathetically wrap around the tendrils, trying to crate some room for him to breath, and his mouth is gaping like a fish out of water, trying to get any sort of air. His cohorts go to say something, but a quick glare from you shuts them up. You bring the man close to you until you can see your reflection in his eyes, which are wide and full of terror, and open your mold mask, revealing your identity to them and based off their expressions, all three men could probably crush coal into diamonds with their sphincters.

“Holy shit,” Butch whispers, his face showing his complete disbelief.

“It’s that kid,” Tom adds, his face mirroring his partner. “But, we killed him, right?”

“My pen,” you say, looking at this piece of human filth with complete contempt. “Where is it?”

You loosen your grip to allow him to speak.

“My pocket,” he says. “It’s in my pocket. All the pawn shops were closed, so I wasn’t able to sell it.”

While you’re happy that your beloved pen is not is some sleazy pawn shop’s display window, you’re utterly disgusted at the thought of this man’s audacity to think he had the right to sell your most treasured possession like its some worthless trinket. A small tendril emerges form your shoulder and searches the man’s pocket and pulls out that beautiful gold ink pen. You have it deliver it to your left hand, which is empty as your right hand is being used to hold the man in front of you, and hold onto it with a vice-like grip.

(Not even death could separate you from your Mother’s memento,) the Megamycete states. (We are impressed at your dedication to it.)

“Look, we’re sorry for what we did to you,” the man pathetically whimpers. “Really, we are.”

“Did you know this was my Momma’s pen,” you ask as if the man had not just said something. “I lost her on my sixth birthday and was forced to leave my home in Goodsprings to live here. This pen is the only thing of hers I was able to bring with me. And you had felt like you had the right to take something I treasure more than anything else in the world and pawn it off for some petty cash.”

“We didn’t know, man,” Butch responds, now realizing the depth of his mistakes. “We’re sorry.”

“We promise we won’t tell anyone about this,” Tom adds. “Just let us go and you’ll never see or hear from us ever again.”

“You’re right, we won’t see each other again, but wouldn’t you like to know who I was forced to live with?” The three of them pathetically nod in unison and you have to fight the urge to laugh. A few hours ago, these men were looking down at you, sure they could do anything they wanted, but now, here you are, far above them in the food chain. “I was forced to live with my father, Bruce Wayne.”

“But he said—“ the leader starts to say, but you cut him off.

“That bastard has ignored me since I moved in with him,” you shout, shutting him up. “I was his first biological son, but he’s completely forgotten about me!” You take a deep breath. Just the mention of him brings out the worst in you. “But it doesn’t matter. I don’t need him. Just like you don’t need your lives.”

And with that, you rip the man’s head clean off his shoulders, not even giving him the chance to realize his fate before killing him. You release the body and both it and his head crumple to the floor in a heap of lifeless meat and to further invoke fear in them, you stomp on the head while looking at them, the thing making a wet splat sound. The other two shout, but you cut them down with ease, tendrils emerging from your back and wrapping around their heads and crush them with ease, showering the floor in their blood and grey matter. Their bodies fall to the floor and flail around for a while before finally stopping.

(Well done,) the Megamycete praises. (You cut down these criminals and made Gotham safer faster than any police officer we have known. Perhaps the local police should seek out your services?)

“Not gonna happen,” you laugh as you walk out of the bar with your backpack in hand. “I have no intention of staying in this place. Once I graduate, I’m going back home.”

(Yes, Goodsprings. A small town located in Nevada. We look forward to experiencing your return to your point of origin.)

And with that, you manifest a pair of black wings on your back and take flight, flying far above the city’s skyscrapers, so hopefully you’re safe from detection. In just a few minutes, you’ve flown from Burnley Island to Bristol, something that should’ve taken almost an hour by car. Thanks to the Megamycete’s roots, you can see the Bats still out and about throughout Gotham, so you don’t have to worry about running into any of them while hurrying into your room.

You land down the street to avoid being picked up by the security cameras (Bruce’s picture is the definition of paranoid based on the amount of cameras in both the estate and in the house itself) and walk the rest of the way there. Normally, walking down the marathon-length driveway to the manor when coming home from work, but his time, you cross the distance like it’s nothing; in fact, you feel like you can do this another dozen times and still feel energized.

But, while you’re physically invigorated, you’re mentally drained and all you want to do is curl up and bed and pass out; you enter Wayne Manor and hurry to your room, never more thankful for being far from the rest of the household than you are now. While you’ve been flying under the radar of Gotham’s vigilantes for years now, you’ll afraid that even they won’t be able to ignore you when they found out about your newly gained powers. During your stay here, you’ve listened to their conversations when they thought you weren’t around and you know that while they distrust everyone (even each other based on the fact that no one seems to be allowed to have secrets), they distrust those with superpowers the most. Two years you listened in on a conversation between Bruce and Superman, who offered to help him during a time when many of Arkham’s most dangerous patients escaped all at once, and Bruce said in a tone that felt like sandpaper being dragged across your face: “Gotham’s off limits to metas. You step one foot in my city and you’ll regret it.”

Honestly, you’re confident that Bruce is only on this planet to be the biggest asshole who ever lived. He treats his first biological son like shit, he raises his “true children” to be as paranoid and pessimistic as him, and he threatens anyone who offers his sorry ass any kind of help. It seems to you that the only one who should’ve died that night in Crime Alley is Bruce.

You shove the man’s image in your head aside. Before tonight, he wasn’t important to you, but now, he’s irrelevant. You never needed him before, but now, you really don’t. With the Megamycete, you have everything you need.

Just then, your phone rings, bringing you out of your thoughts. You fish out your phone and look on the screen to see Alfred’s caller ID staring back at you.

“Hello,” you answer.

“Master Y/N, are you alright?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because it’s over an hour since you should’ve called me since getting off work.” You wince when you peek at your phone and see you’re overdue your nightly call with the butler. “So, I ask again: are you alright?” Based off his tone, he’s not going to accept “I’m fine” as an answer.

“Yeah, I am.” You quickly think of anything that could explain your tardiness and realize something: the best lie is an obvious truth. You just need to modify it a bit. “I just stayed behind to tell Mr. Chen goodbye. Today was the last day for the store because his daughter said Gotham was too dangerous for him to stay by himself, so she brought him to her home today.”

“Oh, Master Y/N, I’m sorry.” His tone says he’s bought it and you actually feel bad lying to the man you’ve come to see as a father figure. “I know how much you loved working there. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I will be. I’m gonna miss him.”

“Of course you will, he was a good man and you were the best employee he could ask for. Can I do anything for you? I’m halfway through with my vacation, perhaps I should—“

“No,” you cut the man off. “You don’t have to come back early, Alfred.” With everything that’s happened today, you need some time to prepare yourself before facing Alfred in person again. It would be a disaster for you to expose yourself as some form of metahuman in front of him. Plus, he deserves to have all his allotted vacation time. “I’ll be fine, really.”

“If you’re sure,” he says, obviously wanting to say more, but doesn’t press the issue. “I’ll let you go, I’m sure you’re tired and you need your rest. Please make sure you catch up on your sleep I’m sure you’ve missed this week during your spring break.”

“I will, Alfred, don’t worry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Very good, Master Y/N. Good night, my boy.”

“Good night.”

You hang up and let out a sigh of relief, glad he bought it.

(You say you trust the butler with your life, but keep the events of tonight a secret from him. Why?)

“Because Alfred’s highly protective and would most likely steal a boat and sail back to Gotham within an hour if I told him I was kidnapped. And if he knew about you, he’d probably drag me to a hospital and have every last trace of mold surgically removed.”

(We do not wish for that to happen.)

“Me neither, bud. You know, after tonight, I think we’re gonna do great things together.”

(We agree. Now, heed the words of your butler and rest. Tonight was very eventful for you. It would not do well for our host to shirk in his bodily needs.)

You chuckle and strip down to your boxers before climbing into bed. Not long after you get comfy, you feel yourself drift off to sleep. For the first time ever, you’re actually looking forward to waking up in Gotham.

Bruce hears Jason whistle at the sight, but says nothing in favor of studying the carnage inside the My Alibi bar. Bodies are scattered everywhere around the establishment, some are relatively intact while others look like they were ripped in half.

“Looks like someone had fun here,” Jim says as he approaches him, Jason, and Damian. “What do you think?”

“Looks like someone had a score to settle,” he responds to the police commissioner. He motions to the remains of three men crowded together in a corner of the bar with their heads missing; two of the heads are near the rest of their bodies while the third has been reduced to a fine red paste. “Especially these three. Based on how they were killed, I’d guess whoever did this was after them.”

“Doesn’t look like Joker’s handiwork,” Jim adds. “No one here’s smiling and the place is devoid of murderous gag toys.”

No, this is definitely not the clown’s MO. Neither does it match the MO of anyone currently missing from Arkham. The only one he could think of that could rip apart and crush some of the victims is Bane, but that doesn’t explain why the remaining victims are impaled; plus, the giant is still locked up in Arkham’s high-security ward. So, this can only mean one thing.

“This is definitely the work of someone new,” he says, bending down to study the squashed head. “And with this being the only scene we know of, this was their first time killing.”

Whoever did this is highly dangerous and needs to be stopped and fast before even more people get hurt. Looks like he and his family are going to have their hands full for the foreseeable future.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @bundlofcigars @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper

[thevirtualvalentine]

006. ONE PIECE, PORTGAS D. ACE.

Prompt: Ace’s day just isn’t right unless he pounds you stupid first thing in the morning.

Warnings: smut, unprotected vaginal sex, slight breeding kink, afab!reader, established relationship, biting (only once), praise kink, “baby” as a pet name, servicedom!ace if you squint, dry humping, cream pie.

It’s early, far too early. The heaviness of sleep tugs at you dragging your mind in and out of consciousness. You can see the sun creeping slightly from the horizon but the stars try their best to convince you it’s still time to sleep.

You feel him against you, probably in a similar state of limbo. Warmth emits from him like a soft fire as you snuggle closer, desperately hoping to settle down.

“Morning baby, c’mere,” groggy and hoarse as his voice is, you still find it sexy to hear early morning like this. Ace’s warm hands pull your plush body on top of him like a weighted blanket. He capitalizes off the heat you bring him, letting your knees rest on either side of his hips.

The comforter wraps around the two of you, shielding you from the harshness of the world before the bitter day starts. It’s like he’s missed you since he’s been asleep with the sheer hold he has around your bare back.

You love being chest to chest with him, skin to skin, letting your hearts have a conversation that no one else can hear. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders while you play with long hair at the base of neck, as a reminder you’re there thinking of him even in silence.

He returns the gesture, the pad of his thumb works circles on your lower back, occasionally drawing shapes or spelling “I love you.” Some part of him always seems to find itself touching you.

It’s supposed to start out like this, soft and intimate as he holds you there to his chest. However, the combination of his morning wood and your obscenely warm pussy just hovering over his boxers makes it unbearable. He can’t take it for long, his need for you can’t be satiated by this intimacy alone. He needs more.

The thing about Ace is, he can’t seem to just ask for what he wants, so he bides his time grinding his half hard erection into you. The hand that used to soothe your back begins to push your hips downwards with every upwards rut of his groin.

Once even breaths turn airy in his ear as he rocks into you deliciously slow. His legs rise up the bed as he settles you on top of him, essentially cradling your tired form to fit his toned warm body. “Need you sweet thing, gonna miss you all day,” and it’s true. There isn’t a fallacy in Ace’s words. It crushes him to part from you day after day like a sick dog.

He wishes he could always lay with you and feel your hands in his hair like some kind of hedonistic freak. He can’t stand the physical pain he feels in his chest when your soft skin hasn’t graced his finger tips in a few hours.

Despite his complicated feelings, your lips meet his as an answer. Your wet tongue exploring his in a hot sloppy mess, desire licking at every inch of your body. The hands he loves so much tug at his raven strands in an effort to bring him closer to consume him entirely. Ace was so good to you, so receptive. Low groans spill from his mouth into yours but you swallow them up readily.

“You’ll miss me too mama, right?” The slow draw of his hips across your folds keeps your clit snug against him, dragging against the fabric. The sensation is ecstasy as his possessive lips suck against your neck.

“Ace, stop teasing me. It’s always you baby. Only want you.” Your body moves in time with his, the grip he has on your hip almost makes you feel like you’re melting into one on top of him like this. He’s just so warm it makes you crazy.

That was all he wanted to hear, the confirmation that it’s him you need. Someone somewhere was waiting for him to come back everyday. Your intimacy somehow always makes him that much hornier. He’s convinced he’s sick and depraved the way he could get off on assurance from you alone.

Too impatient to take his boxers off he only pulls them down far enough to fish his fat cock out.

“Just put it in, please,” you couldn’t care less about the burn right now, you’re just hungry for the growing glob of pre oozing from his tip.

Ace couldn’t be happier to oblige you, loving the way he splits you open when you sheath him. You sit up on his chest, letting him line himself up against your opening. He can’t stop from coating his cock in your slick first, rubbing his girth through your folds trying to use his earnings.

If there’s a feeling you wish you could replicate every time you fuck Ace, it would be how unreal his cock feels sliding through your lower lips. It knocks the wind out of you how smoothly he glides in, like he’s always been meant to be there with his tip kissing your cervix.

“So t-tight.. and wet and so fucking warm every time,” he can feel his balls pulsing already, you’re so snug. “You’re killin’ me here baby.”

This position lets you feel every vein that lines Aces cock drag against your gummy walls, your pussy sucking his dick like candy every time he reluctantly drags it out of you. It makes you lose your mind whenever he fucks you like this raw and he knows it, he can feel how creamy his baby gets when you whine about how bad you need him.

Your head is tucked into his shoulder as he makes a mess of your cunt. A mix of him and you currently leaks down his balls with each squelch of his girth stretching you out. He doesn’t mind doing the work, especially with tight cunt like this; the kind that forms a nice white ring around his thick base as he fucks you.

“So good Ace— oh my, oh my god baby,” you leave soft kisses on his face and neck, tasting the salty sweat that’s accumulating at his hairline. His tan face turning red from desperation and exhaustion, but he moans your name from the praise. Letting his head fall back on the pillows as his dick twitches for release deep inside you.

He needs to cum and he needs to cum bad; hot, heavy, and hard inside you. Ace grabs your hips and stuffs you full to the brim, sliding your bodies up the bed as he grabs a mass of your hair in his hand.

“Give it to me,” you beg. With his hand on your waist and another in your hair, he starts to bounce you on and off his dick. Letting your pussy lips keep him inside you as you slide up and down his shaft.

Ace bites into your shoulder as he fucks your pussy with everything he’s got, he loves to feel like your good boy. Pleasing you with everything he has in him. Nothing brings him any greater joy than watching you fall apart on him.

The sound is obscene, skin on skin filling the room as he pounds you raw. His teeth in your neck burn in the best way sending heat to your core. Everything with Ace was hot, the sex, the romance, the intimacy. It lit you on fire.

“Cum with me mama, please baby I can’t without you.” With his thumb pressed to your clit he eventually milks it out of you, sending the rubber band snapping within you as you clamp down on him.

Ace’s brain can’t think when your cunt sucks him in like this, your walls rapidly convulsing and begging him to release. The only answer it can think to give is spewing his hot thick cum in loads deeper in you. He holds your body flush against his, praising everything you do as he comes down from his high.

Your breaths fall into unison again as you lay there, only basking in the presence of each other. Maybe you both can sleep a few more minutes. Right?

[xclowniex]

I truly think that the majority of goyim simply do not know what it has been like for jews in the diaspora since Oct 7th.

When the news first broke, I did not know how far hamas had gotten into Israel, my family in Israel was on a trip somewhere in Israel too and I had no clue where they had gone for a holiday. Whilst I knew they did not live anywhere near the Gaza border, I had zero idea where they were when it was happening. I had zero clue if they were alive or dead. I was stuck in limbo watching all the reports.

Then on Monday, I had to go into work like nothing fucking happened, like I didn't just spend the weekend worrying if they were dead or alive.

When I came into work, my manager who had heard the news who knows I have family in Israel asked me what had happened. I was still processing the news myself. All I told her was that there was an attack on Israeli civilians and she said that she hoped my family was safe.

In the coming days I saw all the protests, all the protests BEFORE Israel had even retaliated. I saw the antisemitic protest in Australia where people were chanting "gas the jews" and thinking "oh my fucking God, Australian culture is similar to New Zealand culture, is a similar protest going to happen here?" I spend so long worried that something like that would happen where I lived. I planned what I would do if I got caught near one, picturing all the common places people protest and planning my escape routes. Thankfully nothing on that scale happened. I was lucky.

None of my friends at the time asked me if my family was safe, but they all posted about Palestine. Keep in mind that all bar one knew I have family in Israel as I've spoken about it multiple times.

I watched support keep coming and coming for palestine when Israel hadn't even retaliated yet, and no support for the Israeli lives lost. I pushed my feelings aside, giving people the benefit of the doubt, maybe just maybe they didn't know the extent of Oct 7th that was released at that time.

After Israel retaliated, I ended up unfollowing so many content creators online because they refused to talk Oct 7th and only talked about Palestine. Were my family just chopped fucking liver to them???? Did my anxiety that I felt about their safety just not matter? Did all Israelis dying not matter to them?

I went to my first Halloween party. It was fun and I enjoyed myself for the most part, but on the way there I kept worrying that someone was going to say something antisemitic, that someone was going to bring up the war and dehumanize Israelis, dehumanize my family. I spent the whole evening on edge, worrying that it would happen. As a result, to calm my nerves I ended up getting super fucked up. It did not work and I overdid the alcohol and weed and I just felt terrible. The next day I felt immense guilt. How could I party? How could I dance when those at Nova were killed when they were dancing?

Then the antisemitism started online. I watched antisemitic tropes just start flying around social media. It's what made me start posting about the war and antisemitism online. My blog turned from clown posts, my special interest, to a space where I could get my feelings off my chest.

Then the antisemitism started in real life. Whenever I wore my magen david, I would get called slurs. I had to start avoiding certain parts of town because of it.

I also felt highly isolated at work. I didn't know who I could speak to about what I was going through. My office is made up of mainly leftists. No one really spoke about the war at work, which in a way made it worse. I didn't know who was normal about jews and Israelis and who weren't.

The harassment got so bad that my partner at the time was begging me to stop wearing or at least hide my magen david as he was afraid that I would be physically attacked.

There were times which I hid it, and I still experienced antisemitism because I have a very jewish nose.

I experienced this for MONTHS.

At one point in time, I tried venting to my friends at the time about the antisemitism I was facing. One of them said that they hadn't seen any antisemitism so they didn't know what I was talking about. I called what they said weird, and they started on this whole tirade that I'm only calling them antisemitic because they're arab. I think this was in November. I looked at their blog and found posts denying oct 7th, saying it didn't happen. I took screenshots in case i needed them in the future. Oh the foreshadowing.

About two months ago, a new person was invited to the friend group discord server. This new person made some pro hamas comments and said they were a resistance group. I explained with proof that Hamas has said that they wanted to kill jews. This was the start of a downfall of my friendship with my ex friends.

2 weeks after that, one of my ex friend vents about the war, and in their vent they dehumanized Israelis. I decided to check all my friends social media posts. I found post after post after post with blood libel, oct 7th denial, antisemitic tropes, dehumanization of Israelis and jews, and posts in support of groups which want jews dead, such as the houthi which have "curse to jews" in their slogan. That new person added to the discord server literally sent a few messages explicitly saying that they support the houthi.

I take a few days to process things and decide enough is enough, and that I need to unfriend them all. I email my local synagogue and get accepted to join after being screened by them to verify that I was in fact jewish and not some antisemite wanting to harm the congregation. I end my friendship with my ex friends with an essay of a message stating what they said, why it was antisemitic and that I do not feel comfortable or safe being friends with them anymore.

Two of them reached out to me to try to fix things. One hasn't really done much, she only didn't ask if my family was safe after Oct 7th + never called out any antisemitism the friend group did. However our friendship could not be repaired as her boyfriend was one of the worse perpetrators of antisemitism.

The other one who reached out supported groups who had tied to Hamas. I asked them to no longer support SJP, and they refused with the excuse of "I already avoid so many activist groups because of white supremacy, it's too hard to avoid SJP. I had to bite my tongue. I wanted to scream at them "why the actual fuck are you attracted to so many groups who engage in white supremacy that you need to actively avoid them? How hard is it to avoid one more! Write a fucking list if you need help remembering!" But I didn't say any of that, I just told them that if that's their choice then we can no longer be friends anymore and I blocked them.

Going to synagogue was amazing. I felt so welcomed and have made some new friends. Reconnecting with my jewishness after not going to synagogue for years was good. It was exactly what I needed. However, it was the cause of the end of my relationship with my ex.

He had his parents force his culture on him since he was a child and hated every second of it. When he immigrated here, he assimilated and wanted nothing to do with the culture from the country he was born in. Whilst he was fine with me participating in jewish culture, he didn't want it brought into the relationship at all. He was fine eating jewish food if i cooked it, but he didn't want to learn about jewish culture or do anything regarding it. I wasn't expecting him to convert, all I wanted was for him to learn the basics about jewish culture, maybe surprise me with some recipies from my childhood like I've done with sri lankan recipies from his childhood when he told me that he's craving them, attend jewish markets when they happen. I did not at all expect him to convert or to become immersed in jewish culture, I just wanted him to make an effort to support my jewishness.

We were looking at marriage and children in the next few years and were discussing how to raise them. I wanted them to learn about their jewish culture as children and it would be up to them if they participated in it or not as they got older. He didn't want that at all. He viewed it as them being "indoctrinated" into judaism. I told him that I feel like he just wants to date some white girl who has a default culture of our country and that I could never be that, I would never throw away my jewishness to be that. And he agreed that he did want someone who just had the default culture of our country. So we broke up. To be fair, I had been thinking about breaking up for months due to other issues, but that was the one which made me go "this relationship cannot be fixed, it has to end or I will be unhappy forever".

On its own, it doesn't seem too bad, but after going through so much antisemitism, the one person who is support to support me, who is suppose to love me, couldn't do that as long as I was actively jewish and participating in jewish culture.

And that's not even a complete list of everything I have gone through since Oct 7th. And I can't make this post without mentioning the amazing jews in my phone, who have been there for me since the start. You have made this hellscape bearable.

Like I said, goyim don't know what it has been like for jews since Oct 7th

[chiyuuchu]

i loved so close yet so far a lot 🥰🥰 it was so cute, would you consider writing a part 2?

II. so close yet so far <3 (9th August 2024)

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Prompt! Everyone can see it but them.

first part here!

You and Katsuki had always been close—closer than most. From the outside, your bond was something everyone admired, even envied. But as time went on, something began to shift between you two.

You started noticing the small things more—how his hand lingered a little longer on yours, how his gaze softened when he thought you weren’t looking, and how your heart raced whenever he was near. But no matter how much you tried to push these feelings down, they only seemed to grow stronger.

Katsuki noticed it too. He’d never been one to shy away from his emotions, but when it came to you, it was different. You were his best friend, the one constant in his life, and the idea of messing that up terrified him. So, he kept his feelings buried, pretending that everything was normal even when it was anything but.

It wasn’t long before your friends started to notice. Kirishima, Mina, Sero, and Kaminari would give you knowing looks whenever Katsuki did something sweet for you—something that was becoming more and more frequent. You’d hear them whispering when they thought you weren’t listening, talking about how “the whole world can see it” except for the two of you.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Mina said one day during lunch, leaning across the table with a smirk.

“You and Katsuki are like, the most obvious couple ever. Just admit it already.”

You laughed it off, trying to hide how her words made your heart race. “We’re just friends, Mina.”

Mina rolled her eyes. “Sure, and I’m a pro hero already. Come on, Y/N, it’s so obvious you’re both into each other. What’s stopping you?”

You hesitated, glancing over at Katsuki, who was sitting a few tables away with Kirishima. “What if I’m wrong? What if he doesn’t feel the same way and I ruin everything?”

Mina’s expression softened. “I get it, but you have to ask yourself if staying in this weird limbo is really better than taking a chance.

The way you two are going, it’s only a matter of time before one of you slips up.”

Across the cafeteria, Katsuki was having a similar conversation with Kirishima.

“Come on, man, it’s obvious how you feel about her,” Kirishima said, nudging Katsuki’s shoulder. “Why not just tell her?”

Katsuki scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what if she doesn’t feel the same way? What then, huh? You expect me to just act like everything’s fine after that?”

Kirishima sighed, shaking his head.

“You’re both so stubborn. But, Katsuki, you can’t keep pretending forever. Eventually, it’s gonna hurt more to keep it in than to just say it.”

For the next few days, you and Katsuki danced around each other, both too afraid to make the first move. Your friends watched in exasperation as you continued to deny what was so obvious to everyone else.

It all came to a head one evening when you found yourself alone with Katsuki in his room, studying for an upcoming exam. The tension in the air was palpable, and every time your hands brushed or your eyes met, it felt like the world was holding its breath.

“Katsuki…” you started, breaking the silence. “Do you ever feel like… there’s something we’re not saying?”

Katsuki froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew exactly what you were implying.

“I..umm..” He started. And before he could open his mouth once more Kaminari and Sero barges in the room. “Guys! You have to see this! We just found out that— oh.. are we interrupting something.” Kaminari trails off.

The days continued in their hesitant rhythm. Katsuki and you maintained your usual routine—training together, hanging out, sharing late-night talks—but with a layer of unspoken tension simmering beneath the surface.

One evening, after a particularly intense training session, you both found yourselves alone in the common room. Katsuki sat on the couch, his usual scowl softened as he watched you. You were curled up in a chair, trying to read a book but clearly distracted.

Katsuki’s mind raced as he watched you, the same thoughts swirling around: how close you were, how comfortable and yet distant you both felt. He knew his friends were right. They could see it, but he was too afraid to act on it. His internal battle raged until he couldn’t take it any longer.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.

You looked up, startled by the question. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure something out,” he said gruffly, though his tone lacked its usual harshness.

You hesitated, then sighed. “Maybe because I am trying to figure something out.”

Katsuki’s heart skipped a beat, but he quickly masked his surprise with a snort. “Hmph. What’s there to figure out? It’s not like anything’s changed.”

“That’s the problem,” you said quietly. “Things have changed. I feel like… like something’s different, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Katsuki’s chest tightened. He knew what was different but couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he tried to play it off. “Maybe you’re just imagining things. You’re always overthinking.”

“Maybe,” you said, looking away. “Or maybe it’s just hard to ignore what’s right in front of me.”

Katsuki’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to tell you so badly, but the fear of ruining everything kept him silent. He stood abruptly, trying to hide his emotions. “Whatever. I’m heading to bed.”

You watched him leave, feeling a pang of sadness. It was clear that the feelings were there, but neither of you were willing to take that leap. As you lay in bed that night, the familiar sense of longing mixed with frustration settled over you.

The next day, during training, your friends noticed the lingering tension and decided to take matters into their own hands. Kirishima and Mina cornered Katsuki after practice, their faces serious but determined.

“Listen, Bakugou,” Kirishima said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got to do something. You can’t keep dancing around this.”

Mina nodded. “Yeah. It’s obvious that you both care about each other. If you don’t act soon, you might lose your chance.”

Katsuki’s face reddened. “I know, damn it. But it’s not that simple.”

Mina crossed her arms. “It is that simple. You both clearly like each other. Just talk to her.”

Katsuki sighed, feeling the weight of their words. “Fine. I’ll talk to her.”

That evening, after another training session, Katsuki found you alone in the common room. He took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage he had been lacking.

“You still figuring things out?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked up, a mixture of hope and nervousness in your eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe I just need to hear it from you.”

Katsuki’s heart raced. He swallowed hard, the words caught in his throat. “Look, Y/N… I don’t want to mess things up. We’ve been friends for so long, and I don’t want to ruin that.”

You stepped closer, your gaze softening. “Katsuki, if there’s something more between us, I’d rather know than live with the uncertainty.”

Katsuki met your eyes, the walls he had built up slowly crumbling. “I… I care about you, a lot. More than just a friend.”

Your heart soared, and a relieved smile spread across your face. “I care about you too, Katsuki. I was just too afraid to say it.”

For a moment, there was silence, but it was filled with a new understanding. Katsuki took your hand, his grip firm but gentle.

“Then let’s stop pretending,” he said quietly. “Let’s just be honest with each other.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. “Yes, let’s.”

In that moment, the fear and uncertainty melted away, replaced by a newfound clarity and connection. As you stood there, hand in hand, you both knew that the next step would be different, but it was a step you were both ready to take together.

[wqterlillypdfs]

summer blues

pairing: jeremiah fisher x fem!reader, bestfriend!steven conklin x fem!reader

summary: All summer, you had been in some strange sad limbo, and you had blamed Jeremiah for that. For all the girls he had kissed at every party, for the way he made your heart beat and palms grow clammy. But really, was it his fault when you were the one who pushed him away?

word count: 3.3k

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, general sad thoughts. dumbass idiot jeremiah. unedited!

a/n: i went thru like the full range of emotions writing this fic, idk how i feel abt it but this is my comeback after three months of no writing. anyways, hope u enjoy!! 💞. reblogs are appreciated as always!

The sun sets low, casting a warm glow upon the unfamiliar garden. The air is thick with the hum of laughter and music that drifts from the house, and everything seems perfect. It should be perfect. This is the stuff summer dreams are made of, and yet, you’re sitting on the outdoor furniture, alone, and left to your own devices.

Summer so far has been nothing but longing. You had watched as the one boy who had captured your heart at ten spent days at the beach with girls you didn’t even know the names of. And sure, it’s not like you have anything, not even close. But could you blame yourself? Jeremiah was nothing but perfect Carolina-blue eyes and golden skin. He was your summer dream.

The house party was meant to be a distraction, that’s what Steven had said when he tugged you into his car. It’ll be fun, you need to stop being sad all summer. He was nothing but adamant to make this summer the best yet, especially with the overhanging weight that Conrad and himself would be moving to college next year. Steven had never been fond of change, especially not when it came to summers at Cousins.

Steven had long since abandoned you to dance the night away with pretty girls and hooting boys, so instead here you are, sitting alone at a party, trying to fill the Jeremiah-shaped cavity in your heart with fruity drinks and loud music. 

Jeremiah hadn’t been in sight when you first arrived at the party, and maybe that was a good thing. You could enjoy yourself for once, without your wandering eyes finding him somewhere with his hand on a girl's waist. Even just the thought of it made you sick to your stomach.

But sometime between then and now, he had shown up. Figures. And now you watch as he makes his way out of the big back doors, down the patio steps, past the pool, until he’s sitting with you in the makeshift gazebo, fairy lights sparkling above.

“Hey trouble,” Jeremiah greets as he sits on the plush outdoor sofa next to you, sidled up close enough that he bumps his shoulder with yours in welcome.

“Hey,” you parrot back, not meaning for the obvious buzzkill tone in your voice.

“What’s got you all bummed out?”

“Dunno.” you reply, eyeing the cold drink you’re balancing on your thigh which leaves a cold ring of condensation on your bare skin. “Did Steven send you to get me?”

Jeremiah’s eyebrows draw together in confusion as he cocks his head to the side. “No? Why would he need to? Can I not check up on my favourite girl?”

You let out a bemused snort, running your finger around the brim of your glass, eyes still not meeting his. Maybe you have had too much to drink.

“Come dance with me,” he says instead, hand outstretched, waiting for yours. You let your head fall against the back of the sofa.

“Not in a dancing mood.”

You don’t know if it’s the drinks or if it’s real, but Jeremiah shakes his head, a soft smile gracing his features as he tucks the stray strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face behind your ear. His hand lingers there a few seconds too long.

“What happened to dancing the summer away?” He questions, and when you finally look up to meet his eyes, he’s much closer than you expected.

“I was fifteen when I said that,” you note, which was almost two years ago now. How does he remember these things?

Jeremiah doesn’t respond immediately so you take your eyes off him, instead you watch the house glow to life, light filling the windows as the dark night begins to blanket the sky. The garden itself is empty with most of the party opting to escape the summer heat by seeking shelter indoors. A few girls are busy by the poolside, and you notice one of them keeps diverting her gaze back to where you and Jeremiah are sitting. Typical.  It was like every girl in Cousins was obsessed with the prospect of at least one of the Fisher boys taking fancy in them. Was it bad that it always made you jealous? Everyone who sees him, wants him, and you wish you could keep him as just yours.

“You have an admirer,” you point out, nodding to the girl by the pool. You must admit, she’s gorgeous. Pretty brown eyes and gorgeous hair that even when wet seems to frame her face perfectly. You slink further down in your seat.

Jeremiah simply rolls his eyes at you. “Well she is pretty.” 

And you know he means it as a joke. Can tell by the stupid grin and the tone of his voice. But the words are still like a dagger to your heart, twisting and turning until you can barely breathe - and oh God, you need to get out of here and away from him. 

You set the drink down by the sofa, it meets the wooden deck with a too-loud clink before you stand abruptly. You brush down the skirt that had ridden up your legs as the ring of water on your thigh left behind by the glass soaks the edges of it. “I need to go,” is all you can murmur out.

“No, wait-” Jeremiah begins, standing to follow you.

“It’s fine,” you push, faux niceties lacing your voice, smiling as much as the ache in your chest will let you. You can feel the frown on his face burn into your back as you turn to leave, but you choose to ignore it, instead making your way back into the large lively house.

As you pass the pool though, the girl who has been eyeing Jeremiah gets up with a giddy look on her face, she calls to him in a sweet honeyed voice and it makes you sick. 

You climb the patio steps, making your way through the lavish interior of the house.

You push through the crowd of people within the house. You just need a moment to yourself, to gather your thoughts and figure out just what the fuck was going on with you. Carefully, you slip into the bathroom, pushing the door shut with the weight of your body before leaning against the sink. You take deep breaths, trying to calm the beating of your heart.

All summer, you had been in some strange sad limbo, and you had blamed Jeremiah for that. For all the girls he had kissed at every party, for the way he made your heart beat and palms grow clammy. But really, was it his fault when you were the one who pushed him away?

Being in love with Jeremiah Fisher was anything but easy, not when you had to dance around the intricate friendship that had blossomed since you were eight years old. You didn’t know what love was until you were fifteen, sitting on the pier with him as you skidded rocks across the ocean. When he had smiled that smile and his eyes sparkled like the entire cosmos was within them. From that very moment on, you were doomed. Every brush of his hand against yours felt like a calculated step, and it was your fault for deluding yourself into believing he had space in his heart for anything more than a friendship with you.

It’s only a million times worse when you’re as close with him as you are, casual flirting and lingering touches was nothing but the norm. So it was especially difficult when he’d grab your hand and lead you through a crowd, or whisper some stupid inside joke just for you in a crowded room, when such a simple touch set your body alight with sparks. 

“Knock knock,” you hear the door open softly, Steven’s head poking through. You had forgotten to lock the door, you realise. “Jeremiah thinks you're mad at him.” He informs, voice careful and soft as he closes the door behind him, making his way to you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You shake your head, unable to find the words to express the turmoil within yourself. Instead, you offer a weak smile letting out a shaky exhale. “Well, I’m not.”

Steven looks amused as he leans with his back against the sink next to you, tilting his head so it falls into your field of vision. “You sure?”

“Very sure.” You confirm.

“I think you’re lying.”

You take another breath, “I’m not mad, i’m just…” your voice trails off as you try to find the words.

“Angry, confused, sad?” Steven offers.

You shake your head as you poke his shoulder, “would you let me speak?”

“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am,” he throws his hands up in surrender.

“I’m just… tired,” you say, defeated. Steven gives you an apologetic look. He’s known about your not-so-little crush on Jeremiah. How could he not when he seemed to be the only person who could light you up when you were dim and down? 

“I’m tired of having to watch him go out with other girls every other day. I mean it’s not like we’re exclusive - we’re definitely not - but I just wish I didn’t feel like throwing up everytime.”

For a second, Steven doesn’t say anything, he looks at you with those eyes he does when he’s thinking. “What’s that thing Susannah always says?”

“What?”

“About…” He blows out his bottom lip as he struggles to remember the words, “about how love is like a flower, it needs time to grow and blossom and you need to nurture it.”

You pause, before cracking a smile. “Never in a million years would I have even imagined you quoting one of Susannah’s cheesy pieces of romance advice.”

Steven rolls his eyes at you, but he can’t help the smile that creeps up on him too. “Look, the point is, love isn’t supposed to be easy. Like, at all. But you really like Jeremiah, and I get it, he can really suck sometimes, especially with the whole hooking up thing,” - he looks up at you as he finishes his sentence, - “but if you love him as much as you let on, you’ve gotta just go for it. You need to stop pushing him away because of your irrational fear.”

Shaking your head, you turn fully to face Steven, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. “Okay, it’s not irrational, it’s completely rational. What if I just end up ruining everything? That’s a super real possibility. I don’t want to lose Jeremiah as a friend, and the risk of running that possibility is way too high.”

“God,” Steven lets out through a sigh, he looks like he wants to strangle you. “Listen to yourself! Maybe if you haven’t been moping around all summer you’d be able to see it.”

“See what?”

“Just go out there and talk to the boy.”

“This’d be a lot easier if you just told me.”

“I think you’d appreciate me a lot more if you figured it out for yourself.” Steven tells you, and he says it in a way that leaves little room to bicker back. He gives you an encouraging nod and a soft smile and for a minute you think he’ll say another stupid thing like go get ‘em tiger! But he graces you with silence and leaves you alone in the small bathroom.

You look back at yourself in the mirror. Maybe Steven is right. 

‧₊˚☆༉‧₊˚.

Jeremiah is sitting on the steps of the patio when he hears the sliding glass doors open and shut and the shuffle of Steven’s old sneakers. Immediately, his head swivels so he’s facing his long-time best friend. “So what’d she say? Is she mad?” He blurts out immediately.

“Woah, slow down lover-boy,” Steven says, amusement in his tone. He takes a seat next to Jeremiah, placing his hands either side of himself. “Well, she’s not happy.”

“What the fuck, bro,” Jeremiah grumbles, “you were meant to deescalate the situation.”

“Actually no, I was checking up on my friend, who I care about, and who I haven’t been dancing around all summer long.” Steven corrects.

Jeremiah looks away, unamused, “okay I get it. I haven’t been the best person to her lately.”

“Really?” Steven gasps, faux surprise lacing his tone, “You’ve been avoiding her like the plague and hanging around with random girls like you want her to be upset.”

“I don’t!” Jeremiah is quick to retort. “I’m just…”

“You’re just being a dick.”

“That’s not fair-”

“Look man, I’m not trying to upset you either, but I really don’t get why you’re so scared to confront your feelings. You like her, you like her a lot and it’s so fuckin’ obvious.”

Jeremiah opens his mouth, ready to argue back, but Steven leaves no room for it.

“She literally craves your attention and you’re out here, making out with other girls like she’s not right there. Is this some weird attention grab sort of thing? What, are you trying to make her jealous? This isn’t like you, Jere.”

Steven’s words cut deep. So deep Jeremiah thinks they’ve scarred him, but maybe it’s for the best. No, it’s definitely for the best. 

“Think about it,” is the last thing Steven says, before he stands up, giving Jeremiah a reassuring pat on the back, and disappears into the crowd of party-goers within the house.

‧₊˚☆༉‧₊˚.

When you finally feel ready enough to leave the bathroom, you think for a moment about Steven’s words. They kick around in your head. You chuckle to yourself, who knew you’d ever be taking legitimate advice from Steven? But instead of confronting your problems like you should, you pour yourself another drink, turning on your heels as you ascend the glossy white stairs. Whoever’s house this is - in the words of Steven himself - they’re fucking loaded. 

The upstairs of the house is empty, albeit a few straggling couples making out in the hallway. You ignore them, noticing the gorgeous open balcony that conjoins to the hallway you’re currently walking down. It’s quiet and empty, a perfect place to spend the rest of the night in peace.

The moon hangs low in the sky now, reflecting off the ocean ahead, and as you step out onto the balcony the cool Summer night’s air bites at your skin. 

It's a glorious view for what should’ve been a perfect night. Laughter and music wafts up from the party below, and you let out another regretful sigh, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. As your eyes linger on the ocean, you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. You turn to see Jeremiah standing beside you, and when you look at him, he gives you that sweet smile.

“Hey trouble,” he begins, “you alright?”

You shrug, turning your back to the balcony as you slide your back down the railing, slumping to the floor with your knees tucked under your chin. “Trying to be.”

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Jeremiah with such a soft voice felt unnatural, and a part of you felt guilty for rendering him so quiet. Silence stretches between both of you like a chasm, as you struggle to find the right words within you to tell him how you truly felt. Instead, Jeremiah fills the silence, his voice hesitant but filled with a quiet determination. “I’m sorry.”

You gave him a perplexed look, “what are you apologising for?”

“For this entire summer,” he says, sitting on the ground next to you as he takes the cool glass from your hands, fingers brushing yours, before he places it on the ground. You tilt your head, curiosity in your eyes as you wait for him to continue.

“I’ve been an asshole. Like, bigtime, and I'm really sorry.” He takes a deep breath, takes your hand in his carefully, softly, like you’re something to be worshipped. To him you are. “And, I… need to tell you something.”

You look up at him, heart racing with anticipation, “what is it?” you all but murmur.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I just-” and when he can’t find the right words, because how is he meant to compress everything he’s ever felt for you into one sentence? It’s impossible. He instead uses his actions. 

His hands untangle from yours, grabbing the sides of your face before pulling you into a kiss. He kisses you. He kisses you and the world falls away and there’s nothing but him. At first, you don’t know what to do, it’s all so sudden, but when it finally registers, you want to cry. Not sad tears, and not entirely tears of joy either, tears of relief, tears that carry the weight of all your longing.

When he finally pulls away you’re quick to pull him back, holding him as close as humanly possible as you kiss him with all the fervour you can muster, hoping and praying he can taste the apology on your lips. But when it gets too much, and you need air, you pull away again. He looks at you, and you hold onto the fabric of his shirt tighter because this all feels like a dream.

“She isn’t you.” He murmurs, soft enough it could be carried away by the summer breeze.

“What?” you whisper back, as to not break the sacred quietness.

“She's. Not. You. None of them are, none of them could even dream of being you. They’re not funny like you, not gorgeous like you. They don’t know me like you do - Shit, I sound like a sap.”

You chuckle, “no, please do continue.”

He shoots you that heartstopping grin. “Oh, so you do like it when I flatter you?”

“Love it,” you answer, mirroring his grin.

His features soften for a second, and again, the apologies cascade from his lips. “I’m sorry, for being such an asshole. You deserve so much better than me, I’ve been the worst, and I didn’t mean to make you upset or jealous, I was just… nervous. God, you make me so nervous I do the dumbest shit.”

“I make you nervous?” You can’t help the disbelief in your voice.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He says, nothing but sincere. He smiles then, and that makes all of it worthwhile. 

You don’t know for how long you manage to get lost in him, but when your thoughts begin to wander, you let the thoughts flow freely from your lips. “Remember when we were ten,” you say, recounting the memory that started this all, “we had snuck out to the beach. We got home so late that night, and we tried to sneak back in, but of course that never works with Susannah. She had said something like-”

“No more sneaking out for the both of you,” Jeremiah continues, “she said we’d had too much fun.”

“But we did it anyway.” You finish, dumbfounded that he remembers that at all. “How do you remember all these things?”

“Because it’s you.” He says it like it’s obvious by now. His pretty blue eyes don’t leave yours for even a second. “I don’t think I’ve loved anyone the way I love you.”

You look at him with that stellar smile he loves so much, but before he can speak, you’re interrupted by the familiar presence of the boy who played cupid. 

Steven shakes his head, clear amusement in his eyes. "Finally,” he breathes out, as if it pained him to see the both of you dance around each other all summer. It probably did. His hands are wrapped around a cool glass, it’s empty. “I think this has been quite a night.”

You nod, blissful, turning to meet Jeremiah’s blue eyes. They speak volumes in themselves, a deep ocean blue that sparkles with some form of admiration, you can’t quite figure it out. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, pushing himself off the balcony floor as he extends a hand for you to take, which you do.

Maybe, this summer could be perfect after all.

‧₊˚☆༉‧₊˚.

general tag list: @thatfangirl42

tsitp tag list: @seaveysoceaneyes @fens-mire @thatonefangirl444

if u wanna be added or removed from my general taglist, or a specific fandom taglist just let me know!

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hellooo :D Could I request a villain who suddenly realizes that hero was once a terrifying supervillain? (Maybe a situation lead to the reveal or something? It's up to you!!) If my request doesn't tickle ur fancy then feel free to ignore <33

The other villain cocked their head.

"Change that uniform all you want," they said, grinning as they kept squeezing the hero's throat. "But it will never change what you are inside."

The other villain leaned in and put all the pressure they could come up with on the hero's windpipe, going as far as using their entire body weight to crush the hero's throat. Thus, tears ran down the hero's cheeks as they tried to force some oxygen back into their lungs.

They grabbed the other villain's wrists as they struggled but there was no mercy in the other villain's eyes, there was no escape. It wasn't even a fruitful attempt at defense.

It burnt, everything burnt. It was an indescribable pain, something so horrible that they gave up immediately. The hero wanted this to be over; they couldn't fight back.

It was true that the hero had regenerative abilities to some degree. But the other villain had also poisoned them earlier.

So, all in all, the hero's day wasn't going great.

"You will always be that disgusting piece of shit you've always been. It doesn't matter how many people you save. It doesn't matter what you do. You are rotten to the core and I can't wait to see you die." They smiled callously but the hero knew their lights were gonna go out in a few seconds. At least that meant they wouldn't have to see that horrible smile anymore. "Yeah, that's right. Look at me when you die."

Both of them heard the hero's throat crack.

The pain was completely out of this world and although the hero couldn't tell what exactly was broken, they knew it couldn't be good.

The hero wished it would be over soon.

They were about to pass out but then, suddenly, someone grabbed the other villain and yanked them across the floor. The hero couldn't move. They lay there and wheezed but nothing changed. The pain was still there and it felt like an endless limbo of violence.

It was hard to imagine that they could make it home today.

Breathing hurt. Survival hurt. Deep down, they wished the other villain would have just killed them.

They were right about everything anyway.

Whatever the hero tried to do, deep down they knew they were a horrible person. Old sins weren't any less significant. They knew it was foolish to try to make up for all the damage they had caused, for all the evil things they had done.

They had thought to escape all of this one day but it followed them around like an evil shadow. They didn't deny that they deserved it but they could also barely tell if their heart could take all of this.

They were trying so hard to be good. God, they were trying.

Although the hero's vision was horribly bad, they were able to recognize their nemesis eventually.

Their nemesis who was kneeling in front of them. Their nemesis who had just saved them.

"Silly hero," the villain said. They moved some hair out of the hero's vision and touched their bruised throat with their fingertips. The hero flinched but they couldn't say anything. "Come here."

They sat down on the floor of the empty warehouse and pulled the hero into their lap.

"Let me see..." With their index finger, the villain pushed up the hero's chin which was painful enough for the hero's body to twitch and produce some sort of desperate sound. "Shh..."

The hero didn't dare to try speaking. Their throat wasn't even remotely close to starting to heal. It would probably take hours.

"You are pretty bold for attacking them on your own," the villain said softly. They raked through the hero's hair with their long fingers, holding eye contact relentlessly. The hero couldn't really think. Was it true that they couldn't have defeated them? Or had they just given up because the other villain's words had been too cruel?

"I-"

"Shh. Don't speak," the villain said. They took off their cape and blanketed the hero. Gently, the villain traced the hero's injured throat repeatedly.

It didn't even matter to the hero that it hurt. They needed the touch, they needed skin on theirs with kind intentions. They would have let the villain push their fingers into an open wound of theirs if their sweet words had accompanied them.

"I would've never guessed that your past could be...so complicated."

The hero didn't know what they had anticipated. After all, they had lied to the villain, hadn't they? The villain was surely not happy about that.

"You're better than the rest of them. Living proof that people really can change and learn." The hero closed their eyes and pressed their cheek against the villain's torso. Although those words were nice to hear, they knew it wasn't true. Not really. The villain just tried to make them feel better. "But it was foolish of you to go up against the other villain. We both can be grateful that I have some information on them that shouldn't be available to the public. But you? You're not that desperate to save people, are you? So desperate that you will attack with no plan?"

The villain's fingertips stopped on the hero's clavicle and the hero took their hand, too tired to even think about a response.

"I guess, you not being able to answer me does have its perks. You can't protest when I say that you're good at this. Better than anyone I have ever met," the villain said. The hero didn't know why. They didn't know why the villain was doing any of this. Saving them, talking to them, touching them.

The hero didn't know how on earth they deserved this.

"Forgive your younger self," the villain whispered. "Or this will have to become a regular thing."

Again, they touched the hero's throat. It was still soft but their skin and muscles were still too sensitive. The hero tried to pull away and groaned but they also knew this was a warning.

It dawned on them. The villain was toying with them, even if it was playful, even if it was gentle. They were toying with them.

"Promise me you will work on this. You need to be able to take care of yourself. Unfortunately, I can't always be your knight in shining armor."

For whatever reason, the hero simply nodded. It didn’t matter what the villain had planned for them or if they wanted to use the hero. If they wanted to manipulate them and turn them into a weapon.

All of it didn’t matter right now. It didn’t matter. The hero closed their eyes and allowed themselves to rest for just a minute with their cheek against the villain’s body and their head on the villain’s thigh.

[tarjapearce]

Ley Del Hielo

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: ANGST. Strained and unhealthy relationships, break up, arguments.

Summary: You and Miguel say things you shouldn't say, a final straw in your already strained relationship.

Requested here

Hope you like ✨ (Yeah, Im a sucker for angst >:'))

At times you didn't know if you were fighting crime, or fighting to keep your sanity together. Miguel was for sure a difficult person to deal when he got into stubborn mode.

You were stuck in this limbo where your patience could only last for so long, even though your relationship with him wasn't falling apart completely, and there were little moments that actually made you stay, there were moments like this that made you wonder if sticking around him this far was a good idea.

"Don't."

You warned before sighing and shaking your head. You knew where this was going. He was getting frustrated over the fact that a teenager, an anomaly itself, as he liked to call the boy, had escaped his grasp.

It wasn't something you liked to discuss since you found each other's triggers, and you both exploited them with a temporary guilt-free anger, only to patch each other up, with little service acts that had drawn each other into your current relationship.

"Don't what?" He prodded with a sharp tone. He wasn't having a good day, and of course, the fact you were the only one that would actually stand him and his verbal retaliation, made you the perfect subject of 'With what are we hurting each other today?'

You didn't like the game but it was impossible for you to remain shut, whenever you felt things started to get personal. Like exposing each other's terrible traits.

"I'm not doing this today, Miguel."

"All I asked you was to know your input."

"You already damn know it."

"Miles needs to be stopped. We don't know how this will affect-"

"The canon. Yes. The fucking canon." you couldn't help but hiss in anger. A signal that you were done of hearing it.

"We have a day off, once in like, forever. And we are holed up here, trying to come up with ways to stop him. Fucking romantic" Your anger this time was justified or so you wanted to think. It was a rare occasion when he actually decided to take a break, and you both had decided to spend it as normal as you could.

Meaning, you both at home, away from the HQ, away from all the mess. Instead, you were in the lab with him. Again.

"We found a possible lead on where he might be. Can't miss a chance like this." His end of the floating bay was full of screens, cramming up with data and other information. Lyla had been long gone ever since the first hostility signal  was shot. You wished to be her for a minute.

"A bit of normalcy is all I'm asking. Is it that hard to get it?"

"We're not normal people."

"But we're still people nonetheless. You are obsessed with that boy."

"A threat to everything I have worked for!" His voice raised and it tugged rougher at your simmering hurt seams.

"I? You think only you had sacrificed shit to get where WE are?" even though raising your voice wasn't an habit you had, your patience had dictated it was enough.

"Look at our team, Miguel. It's divided because you're too stubborn to actually-"

"To actually what? Give a fuck for what might happen to all of us?"

"You hurted Miles!"

"I did not" He hissed while pointing an accusatory finger at you. "If I had actually done that I wouldn't be in this fucking mess trying to fix it, (Name)"

His breathings turned more agitated, as your voice trembled with anger. You were definitely baiting into his game.

"He is a kid, Miguel. A fucking fifteen year old that is barely hanging cause he is already taking grown ass people desicions. He's doing what he think it's right!"

"Im. Not. Risking it." each word felt more venomous than the other as they left his lips.

"What if it was your daughter trying to save you? "

But of course you had the annoying ability to turn it around in the worst way possible.

His eyes flashed red and his neck almost snapped by how quickly it turned to face you.

"No te atrevas..." (Don't you dare)

"Would you chase her down, and hurt her like you did with Miles?"

"CÁLLATE!" (Shut up)

he roared as his fangs and talons immediately poked out, his frame towering on you. And for the first time in forever, you were afraid of him. Silence crashed the emotional crescendo. He sighed, you followed but none of you were humble enough to speak.

-------

You were in your bedroom, removing the traces of dried tears from your face. You had gone home first, the need of fleeing the suffocating space you shared with Miguel was too fresh on your mind that the sheer thought of you going back, made you uncomfortable in a way you couldn't describe.

But there he was, stepping out the window, and removing his mask to then drop some plastic wraps of food on the dining table. A familiar scent egging you, or at least attempted to lure you out of the room. A failed first attempt on its own.

"Food's on the table." he mumbled from the doorframe as you put on a bit of moisturizer, "It's your favorite." Silence.

His brow pinched with a slight simmer of frustration.

Too soon.

He gave you space, and slept in the couch.

-----

Four days of pure silence, four days devoid of your acknowledgement, your voice, your touch, your acts of services like bringing him coffee in the morning, a little empanada in exchange for a kiss. Your presence.

You were not one to remain quiet, but the sudden, almost immediate change towards him, made him anxious to a certain degree. Despite you being in the same working station, you felt miles away. You didn't fear detachment, something you had once told him, but never believed, until now.

"(Name)" His voice called, first time, you ignored. He sighed and approached. Hearing his advancing footsteps only made your skin crawl and tears blur up to your eyes.

"I think we... should need a break from each other." your voice had stopped him dead in his tracks. His mouth tasted sour suddenly

"I've been thinking and it's the only rational approach for all of this... mess."

Heart pounded hard against his ribcage. His mouth gaped softly, but no words came out of it. His eyes darted to your hunched form. You looked tired, emotionally burnt out and almost... broken. It felt like a cold knife piercing through upon realization. He had pushed you too far.

" All we do is fight, and hurt each other. Im... Im tired of that. Work has turned in your main priority and..." you trailed off, tears menacing your eyes

"It has stopped being good. Good for us. I can't..." His eyes softened and his breath hitched, "I can't do this anymore, Miguel."

He had imagined such words coming from your mouth in many occasions but finally hearing them, were equally destroying. His heart beat faster

"I'm sorry" even though weak, an honest apology. You shook your head

"Sorry doesn't always fix it. Not this time I'm afraid."

His chest heaved as he approached you carefully. His hand reached for yours and tears finally rolled down your cheeks.

"It's not healthy."

"I know."

"We can't do this anymore."

"I don't want you to go" He mumbled. His hands reaching for you, you were still there in the flesh.

"We'll only end up hurting each other again." He shook his head as you voice broke.

Was this another canon event he wasn't aware of? You were slipping away through his fingers despite having you within his embrace, cradling you.

"I need to go"

Stay

His mind chanted despite his limbs loosening around you. Freeing you. His eyes settled on you and the relieved sigh you gave as he granted a much needed space.

His eyes locked into yours, there was no need to speak. A mutual understanding between you. You offered a small pat on his bicep, almost reassuring, hopeful. You left him be.

You'd be back. When you felt ready for it.

[eowynstwin]

a break in the narrative

previous - neighbors - next

You add John to your morning routine.

You learn John’s routine, at least as far as it overlaps with yours, fairly quickly.

He showers first thing in the morning, when normally you are still in bed trying to convince yourself out of it. In the limbo of fading sleep, it is a Herculean effort not to imagine it, not to picture steaming hot water flowing across broad shoulders, between and along full, plush pectorals, dripping along chiseled arms and down that narrow waist to…

You shake your head hard, and then wince when the action sends your toothbrush stabbing into the inside of your cheek. You are drowsily and unwillingly awake. The flow of water on the other side of the wall shuts off. You pretend, as you move on through your own routine, that you’re not thinking of long, strong legs, or anything else that lives below his abdomen.

It’s harder to hear the further away you get from your shared wall, but with a little time you’ve learned how to pick out the sounds of him working in his kitchen. There might be the thunk—never a harsh clang—of a pan on his stove, or the soft clicks of his fridge opening and closing. He doesn’t cook for very long, and washes his dishes in the sink rather than the washer.

You find that little detail endearing. From what little you know of him, it just seems appropriate.

There’s usually some quiet after that, and you’re pretty sure it’s because he’s eating. You picture him standing in his kitchen, leaning against the counter, plate balanced in one big hand. He hasn’t struck you yet as someone who would sit down alone to eat.

And he’s always alone. You have not heard anyone else in his flat. Not once.

You wonder at that as your own breakfast heats up. Does he have friends? Family?

A partner?

Your microwave beeps. You scowl at yourself. That’s none of your business. You don’t even know the man.

After he eats, you usually hear him step outside. You’ve peeked through your window, once, and have found him smoking a cigar, standing casually on his front doorstep. He’d been looking out into the street, his gaze moving evenly and methodically across the surrounding neighborhood, calm and attentive to the morning.

SAS. You’d known immediately what he was doing. An unexpected sense of safety had flooded you immediately, and continues to resonate in the here and now as you hear his door open and close.

Today, though, that safety is threaded with a little anxiety. You have to leave early, and it will be the first time you’ve faced him since that morning you’d spent trying to talk to him while ogling his bare chest.

He hadn’t been shirtless when you’d discovered his smoking habit. He probably is not now, either. You cannot decide if it’s a pity or a relief.

You check your hair a little nervously in the mirror hanging by your front door. Breakfast sits warm in a deep jacket pocket, a couple of English muffins wrapped in their plastic and bundled into a tea towel. Lunch is in your work bag, which sits ready and patiently waiting by your feet.

You’re just delaying. Your hair is fine. You breathe a little shakily, pick up your bag, scold yourself for a simpering idiot, and leave your flat.

“Morning, John,” you say as you step out, smiling, trying your best to sound casual.

His gaze comes to you immediately, and your knees feel very weak when those gorgeous blue eyes warm with a smile.

Goodness. Does he smile at everyone like that?

“Mornin’, love,” he replies, and you resolutely ignore how much love—which half your coworkers call you, too, stupid—makes your heart flutter. “Early start?”

“Yeah,” you say, locking your door, feeling your face already heating with a blush. “And a full day, too.”

He turns his head and exhales a puff of bluish smoke. “Wish I could say the same.”

You wrap both hands around the strap of your bag, lean against your door. You can’t help but surreptitiously look him up and down. House slippers, large. Long legs, hugged by worker’s denim, loose at the ankle and snug at the thigh and hip. A tight gray t-shirt providing an easy reminder of what you’d seen in all its glory only a few days ago. And—

“Mutton chops,” you say.

His brows raise. “Sorry?”

You slap a hand over your mouth. “That wasn’t meant to be out loud!”

John gives a laugh that sounds like it isn’t often used. The beard you’d first met him wearing is now trimmed neatly into two even swoops of dark auburn that make his smile look even fuller than before. “I suppose you haven’t seen ‘em, have you?”

You’ve often heard the buzz of his razor going as you’ve dragged yourself out of bed. At that point, of course, his shower is done.

Does he shave shirtless, with a towel around his waist?

You blink hard and shake that traitorous thought out of your head. “Sorry, I—don’t get me wrong, I mean, it suits you!”

The bristles of his mustache sound against the palm of his hand as he rubs his face. “You think so?”

Those gorgeous blue eyes are on you again, soft and appreciative, the same as they had been the morning you’d first met him. It makes your entire body feel a little warmer than it should.

“Anyway,” you say fretfully, scratching at the strap of your work bag, “I wanted to say, I imagine it’s hard to be home sometimes, isn’t it? With nothing to do, I mean.”

He gives a huff, but this time it’s a laugh that’s only trying to be amused. He looks out into the street. “Shouldn’t be, really.”

Most days, you hear him pacing. You think you’re able now to puzzle out his moods according to the tempo he beats against the hardwood floor. Slow, even, steps seem to be days that are better—those are days you don’t have to knock on the wall after he’s turned the TV up. When he blasts some sort of audio, it’s always following a stretch of agitated, arrhythmic circuits that travel the whole length of his flat.

You’ve noticed, though, that when you knock, and after he’s turned it down, the pacing does not resume.

You open your mouth to say something when your phone starts dinging furiously. You huff, dig it out, look at the screen—and roll your eyes.

“And I’ve kept you again, haven’t I?” John says ruefully.

“No!” you exclaim, clearing the notifications and looking up at him. “No, it’s just my coworker losing his bloody mind.” You suck on your cheek. “I should probably get going, though, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, picking up an ash tray and stubbing out his cigar. The rueful quirk of his brow does not leave his face, and the smile he gives seems perfunctory. “Get there safe, will you?”

“Sure, John,” you reply. You want to say something back, tell him something that will make his day easier, but you don’t know what would help, or even be welcome. So you just say, “Thanks.”

You’ve only walked a little ways away when you look back at him, and see him standing with his hand on his open door, about to go inside.

As if he’s felt you gaze on him, he turns and looks at you. You stop in your tracks.

How are his eyes still so blue even this far away?

You lift one hand up. Wave a little hesitantly.

He waves back, easy and casual as you please.

You duck your head, and hurry away.

Your heart jumps to your throat the next morning as you hear him step outside.

You do not need to leave early today, but you’re at your mirror anyway, tidying up your bed head and frowning at yourself.

This is a terrible idea. You have no business doing what you’re about to do. You’re only opening yourself up to disappointment. He’s no one to you, why are you even thinking of doing this? So what if he’d been fucking disappointed when you’d had to leave? You’re just neighbors. It’s been what, a week since he’d come home? If he’s getting attached, it’s no responsibility of yours to deal with.

And really, had he even been disappointed? It’s not like you know him. Maybe that’s just his face. Maybe it’s just your overactive imagination.

Part of you knows you’re making excuses. You aren’t prone to that kind of stupidity. You’ve heard him pacing. You remember shouldn’t be, really.

You know what it’s like to be lonely.

So you get one big mug of coffee in hand, open your front door, and step outside.

John, as expected, is standing there with a lit cigar between his fingers. “Morning, love,” he says, brows lifted. Of course, he hasn’t expected to see you today.

“Morning,” you reply, smiling.

It’s a little colder today, and he’s in a fleece-lined jacket and dark beanie. This surprises you.

“I didn’t think you could get cold, John,” you say, indicating the gear with your mug. “Unless I really was dreaming the first time we met.”

You want to cringe at yourself immediately. Stupid. You have no intention to flirt. You're just being a good neighbor.

The mutton chops spread in a smile. “Bit different when there’s no heat at your back, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” you reply. You bite the inside of your cheek. You hope you sound casual. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you this morning?”

The expression he gives is one that is going to live with you for a long, long time. He blinks at you, slowly, and fixes you with a gaze that goes from surprised to pleased. As it was before, it’s an expression that tells you that you have done something more meaningful than you can know.

“Be happy to have you,” he says, his tenor low and soft.

So, you leave your doorstep to stand with him at his own. He steps to the side, giving you space, and though there is a polite distance between you, something is humming in the empty air.

He surprises you by offering his cigar. Your brows shoot up, and you look from it up to him.

“Maduro,” he says. “Don’t worry—wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t good.”

“Oh,” you say, “thank you, but I don’t smoke.”

He shrugs and takes a drag. “Just came outside to stand with me, then?”

You sip your coffee. It’s the same question you’ve been agonizing over all morning. “Maybe I’m tired of my own company.”

He huffs at that. “Think I know how that feels.”

Silence falls between you, and it is surprisingly comfortable. You think it’s because the two of you are used to not actually speaking to each other—your days occur in parallel, intersecting only with knuckles on the wall. Conversation has not been necessary to be the kind of neighbors you are.

So why are you doing this? Why are you out here, if you’re not even going to speak to him? You’ve been content with the degrees of separation that have characterized your acquaintance with John Price.

Haven’t you?

You peek at him through your lashes. He is every bit as handsome in profile as he is straight on. The mutton chops make his face look fuller, incongruously younger, despite the crows’ feet at the corners of his eyes.

“Do you like to read?” you find yourself asking.

He turns back to you, brows raised. Somehow the cool morning has seeped into his eyes, sky blue tinted almost periwinkle, sharp and intense and yet still undeniably warm. “Read?”

You have to avert your gaze. Look at the pavement, a sign on the street. “I have plenty of books I wouldn’t mind loaning, is all. It would be something to do.”

His gaze is still on you. You can feel its weight, like hands on your arms, around your wrists. You bring the rim of your mug to your lips and pretend that nothing inside of you is thrumming with the awareness of it.

“Like what?” he asks.

You sip, insisting to yourself that it’s only the heat of your drink warming your ears. “Different things. A retrospective on the Battle of Actium, a Da Vinci biography, an Iranian professor’s memoirs. Those are nonfiction, but I have plenty of novels, too. Space operas. Westerns.” Romances, too, but you aren’t going to mention those.

“Sounds like you’ve got a big bookshelf,” says John, and you think he’s smiling at you.

“And too many books,” you agree. “Which you’re welcome to, if you like.”

You hear him exhale, see pale smoke bloom in front of you both. The scent is earthy and sweet, and a part of you regrets not taking his earlier offer.

The same part of you wonders if it’s what he tastes like.

You’re saved from having the throttle yourself for the thought when John replies, “Think I’ll read ‘em all.”

You blink, and look at him incredulously. “All of them?”

He grins. “You’ve offered a bored soldier on leave something to do, love. There’s a few men I know who’d propose on the spot for that.”

You go completely blank for a single heartbeat. Your brows are trying to make it into your hair. All of the blood in your body rushes to your face, and finally you sputter in protest, “That’s—I—really, now!”

John only adds fuel to that embarrassed flame when he laughs at your expression. It’s a good laugh, a real one, that comes from deep in his chest.

“That’s ridiculous, John, you’ve having me on!” you grouse, covering your mouth with your mug.

“You don’t know too many military men, then,” he chuckles. “They’d fall all over themselves for a pretty girl like you.”

You think your whole body might be hot enough to start steaming. You look at him petulantly. “It’s not nice to tease.”

He smiles and takes a drag. Paints the air translucent blue with his breath. “Haven’t been.”

It’s too much—you can’t string any sensible thoughts together to bring this conversation back under control. This is not how you’d expected the morning to go, is not what you would ever admit to having hoped for.

“I’ll just get those books, then,” you mutter, trying to ignore the smile he wears as you leave his doorstep.

You have a moment to breathe back inside your flat. You realize, as you search along one shelf, that your heart is pounding in your chest, and the scent of his cigar has trapped itself in your lungs. This not good. You should not be this easy.

John is just a bored soldier on leave. He said it himself. You have no business getting worked up over some flirting that likely, to him, means nothing.

If he was even flirting at all, you remind yourself to consider. He’d certainly been amused at your reaction. You don’t think he’d been making fun, but certainly he could’ve just been pushing your buttons.

Haven’t been rings low and purring in your ears.

You return with the three books you’d mentioned, and John takes them all into the crook of his elbow. The stack is dwarfed in his arm.

“Which one should I start with?” he asks, ashtray and cigar stub balanced in his other hand.

You give a surprised laugh. “Why should I care?”

He tilts his head, pins you with amused eyes. “‘M relyin’ on your expertise, I’m afraid. Been a while since I’ve read anything other than reports. Might not be smart enough for the real deal, anymore.”

SAS. “I doubt that.”

He shrugs, and looks at you expectantly.

“Da Vinci, then?” you suggest.

“He did that painting, didn’t he?” John asks. “Louvre. The woman. Uh…”

“Mona Lisa?” you supply, laughing and scandalized. “You have to be teasing now!”

“Well, maybe I’ll be smart enough to talk to you after I finish the book,” John says, accommodating with self-deprecation. “Da Vinci it is.”

You can’t help yourself. “Should I assign you comprehension questions, too? Name three things you remember and such?”

John smiles. “Be something else to do, anyway.”

Oh, this is dangerous. Every good sense in your head is pounding on the inside of your skull, warning you in one unified voice. Bored soldier, pretty girl, knocking on walls, books lent and borrowed. The story writes itself in your head, saccharine and heady—followed swiftly by ugly, mundane, inevitable denouement.

You are familiar now with the narrative of disappointment. You do not want John to wear its mantle.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” you say lightly, taking a swallow of your coffee as casually as you can. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Sure,” says John. He looks at you too fondly to stomach. “Appreciated the company.”

“Anytime,” your dumb, traitorous, too-honest mouth gives away.

The next morning begins as the rest do. John’s shower wakes you up. You resolutely don’t think about hot water and hotter skin as you drag yourself out from beneath the covers.

You brush your teeth. His water shuts off. A pan thunks in his kitchen while your first cup of coffee brews.

Silence. You drink. He eats.

You make your second cup. He steps out for his cigar.

A decision hangs on the knob of your front door.

This routine has been comfortable. Safe in its predictability. Measurable in its contributions to your daily life. The previous morning does not have to be anything other than an interesting deviation, a graze up against something more exciting and infinitely more fraught. You can keep the memory of John’s smile, John’s laughter, John’s kind blue eyes sweet and harmless in its ephemerality.

You can ignore the disappointment that stretches hairline cracks across that facade.

Your mug is warm in your hands as you stand in your living room, still and unmoving. From the quiet, the sound of a book falling over on your shelf, lost now of the support of its fellows, captures your attention.

You realize he is going to have to return your books at some point, and relief suddenly floods you. The decision is already made, isn’t it?

He smiles at you when you step out into the morning chill, bundled like you were the first morning into two coats. “There she is! Was hoping you’d join me again.”

Does it show on your face? The warmth that blooms inside of you at that sentiment so openly expressed?

The corner of his eyes crinkle as you stand there, transfixed and unable to hide your pleasure at his words.

“Morning, John,” you finally say. “Finish Da Vinci yet?”

As before, he steps aside, makes room for you on his doorstep. As before, you take the space next to him.

He takes a drag, eyes still on you and creased with amusement. “Not quite,” he says, exhaling. “Always was a poor student. Might take some time.”

You sip from your mug to hide your smile. “At least it’s something to do.”

The smoke from his cigar lingers in the air, mingling with the steam of your coffee.

Author's Note: the books I referenced here are The War That Made the Roman Empire by Barry Strauss, Leonardo Da Vinci by Walter Isaacson, and Reading Lolita in Tehran and Things I’ve Been Silent About by Azar Nafisi. I wholeheartedly recommend every single one.

[hephaestiions]

author reclist: wolfpants

over the last few months, i've been devouring @wolfpants' works. ever since reading pages of you in two days, their rendering of harry, draco and a vast array of incredibly compelling side characters have irrevocably hooked me.

wolf is an author in enthralling motion. their fics often feature places, temporalities and contexts far removed from where canon holds & leaves us, while simultaneously being tenderly familiar, like coming home. wolf's sense of & grasp over setting leaves me breathless and dumbstruck. their different spatialities inform & infuse character in admirable ways, at various levels of craft, enjoyment and inspiration. this fandom knows and loves the draco and harry they give us, but we delight in discovering new dimensions & aspects of these characters. it's always done brilliantly believably, especially in the framework of the worlds they construct— a breath of fresh air in a forest where the trees still know your name.

wolf's works also demonstrate, sometimes explicitly, sometimes implicitly, a really significant political sensibility. most of their fics are set against backdrops tight with political tension bleeding into the characters' circumstances and interpersonal dynamics. whether through a spectrality haunting the narrative or the crucial central diegetic thread, wolf's works are layered, interrogating and collapsing delineations among private, public and political, between history and contemporaneity and between narrative and commentary.

in the interests of length & theme of this list, i've specifically selected some fics that, for me, showcase wolf's mastery & playfulness with setting, understood as deviations in place, time and universe. the broader recommendation is, of course, to check out everything wolf has ever written!

nightcall (E, 1k) ft. a long distance phone call

On a top secret Unspeakable misson, Harry calls Draco from a remote phone booth on the Isle of Skye.

a stunning portrait of desire, longing and familiarity that uses distance as a device to intensify every element. it's unbelievable how much character & context 1k words of (mostly) smut can pack in. the slivers of backstory demand your investment, inform the dynamic in crucial ways and set up some delicious stakes and tension. and some absolutely fantastic dirty talk. see also: @getawayfox's gorgeous art for this fic!

long haul (E, 8.6k) ft. plane rides, mile high club, nyc

The last person Harry expects to run into on a long haul flight to New York City is Draco Malfoy.

the way wolf writes movement— between places, between people— strokes its way up your spine, warms you, walks with you. draco and harry, buoyed in the air, let preconceived notions fall away, to be replaced by startlingly rapid and exquisite intimacy. the liminal settings, specifically, allow mature, open-minded, desirous characterisation & some of the most glorious, soft, tender sex to fall into like a warm bed.

look for me in the sun (M, 8.7k) ft. americana, roadtrip/on-the-run vibes

Harry and Draco are on the run in America after a mysterious string of werewolf-like attacks in the Muggle community causes the Ministry to impose new and harsh anti-werewolf legislation.

atmospheric writing dialled up to eleven, like the smell of ozone in the air before a thunderstorm. the sense of limbo— transience, out of place and time, the complication of home— that afflicts the circumstances of draco & harry here is heart-wrenching. a taut rumination on otherness in a variety of ways, rendered through some of the most tense and subtle writing i've encountered.

under giant mountains (E, 33.7k) ft. norwegian dragon reserves & rampant escapist tendencies

Harry doesn't know where he's going. Everyone else has their life paths figured out; he doesn't even know where his map is. Who'd have thought Draco Malfoy bathing in a Norwegian forest would be the guidepost Harry needed?

opens with harry, stuck in the same place for far too long, and draco, avoiding fixity like the plague. this fic looks at both stagnation and escapism as iterations of each other & treats them with the gentlest empathy. the norwegian dragon reserve setting, whose visuality wolf's writing captures beautifully, becomes the canvas to explore both. desire, here, was simultaneously so evident from the outset and took its time to build— longing tinged every interaction & payoff, in the form of a sequence of some of the most emotionally fraught sex scenes i've ever read, was that much sweeter.

romp and circumstance (E, 35k) ft. a historical au set in the 1800s, regency era england

Since the war, Harry Potter has gone from Saviour to Scoundrel—not that he’s complaining. With a schedule full of gorgeous men, alcohol, and late nights, why would he want to change? Enter Draco Malfoy: beautiful, sharp, and completely untouchable. When Draco comes to Harry with a proposition to help him attract an engagement, Harry’s up for it—after all, how hard can it be not falling for his former nemesis? Very hard, apparently.

the very first wolf fic i read, in a brief little fandom interlude back in 2022. i remember thinking, then, what an author, i'm really missing out these days. one of my favourite post-war harry characterisations— raucous, promiscuous, messy and at heart, a hopeless romantic. also one of my favourite draco characterisations— pristine, a little uptight, cool and distant and untouchable, except what he really wants is to be unbuttoned, messed up. the transforming sentiments of their relationship were so compelling, the build of harry's feelings was perfectly achey and tender and this draco was a complex, nuanced, frightfully sexy version that i just couldn't turn away from.

pages of you (E, 101k) ft. a 1980s non-magical au

Summer, 1980. Harry is floating between university and becoming a Real Certified Adult. He's not ready. He really isn't. In a desperate attempt to have the Best Last Summer ever, he takes a casual job at his godfather's bookshop in London, starts an illicit pen pal affair with a wordy posh boy that he's catching feelings for, all while dealing with the son of Sirius's business rival, one Draco Malfoy, insufferable know-it-all extraordinaire.

gosh, what a fic. sensitive and sprawling, this work brings the spatialities of london, sirius and remus' queer comfort of a bookshop and harry's room at the residence halls to pulsing, colourful, splendid life. i can still close my eyes and imagine the spaces this fic occurs in, how important they are to the push and pull, ups and downs of the dynamic between harry and draco. a coming-of-age/sexual awakening & exploration story, summer romance and queer political fiction rolled into one, this is a fic that's hard to summarise and easy to obsess over. perfect characterisations, writing that burrows into your soul and a plot that unfolds with the slow and steady depth of gentle lake.

and lastly, a fic that's on my tbr:

terrible people (E, 52.7k) ft. cruises, beach holidays and more of @getawayfox's masterpieces

What happens when Harry and Draco end up on the same Muggle gay cruise? They certainly didn't plan for it to happen (but their friends might have). They're stuck with each other for a week, they might as well make the most of it, right?

in conclusion: vivid, descriptive, immersive storytelling from an author who understands the intricacies of different narrative elements and leverages them masterfully. can't wait to read the works i haven't, and for everything wolf writes in the future!

[hwangism143]

limbo (part 2)

synopsis: you weren't expecting to meet him again but maybe the influx of memories can help you piece what exactly had happened that fateful night five years ago

pairing: non-idol!minho x non-idol!fem reader

genre: angst, exes to lovers, heart break

warning: mentions of eating a drinking. heart break and swearing. just general warnings. pls lmk if i have missed anything!

word count: 3.2k words

a/n: here is part 2 of my baby, i do suggest reading part 1 though. pls leave you comments and do reblog. part 3 coming soon!

part 1 | masterlist | part 3

now (present day).

You were quite proud of yourself for how you handled the situation.

You stood there staring at Minho for a beat longer than you should have. You were taking him in, all of him. How could someone look this way? He looked like God had favorites, as if the most skilled angles had carved him out of the finest marble.

You stood there and stared and broke a little inside. Then, you swiftly turned around, checked out whatever you needed to, and started to walk to your car. After that you sat in your car, scoffing at your luck.

"The universe really is playing a cosmic joke on me, isn't it?" you mused.

And then here you were now, curled up in front of the TV with a streaming bowl of chicken noodle soup, watching rom-coms with happy endings to dull the fact that you didn't have one. You were grateful though; a happy ending was still an ending. You had so much more to write in your story.

Spending five years abroad had changed you. You weren't sure if it was for the better or worse, but it was certainly something. You had made friendships that you cherished and explored things you never had. You attempted to get into the romance side of things, but just never felt like you had met the right person. Part of you chalked it up to your extremely high standards (ah, the curse of being an avid consumer of cheesy media). Another part of you knew that it was Minho's reaction to you leaving.

He was your first love, your first... everything you could say, when it came to romantic relationships. To find out that he had never even loved you in the first place was a devastating revelation. It had been ingrained into your head that you were unlovable, that you were so pitiful that a man had to pretend to love in order to not hurt your feelings.

You did blame Minho because, after all, you were only human. However, you knew that you weren't the easiest to handle five years ago either. Old you was sensitive to nearly everything. You had a tendency to plunge into things without thinking about any of the consequences affecting you or anybody else involved, and that included falling in love with Lee Minho.

Your phone buzzed beside you and you opened it up with a smile on your face.

[1:47 PM]

hyune bun: BITCH YOU'RE HOME WAGHTHDHDJ?!?!

hyune bun: and i had to find out from your ex, the same one who caused you to come to me crying???

you: good fucking afternoon to you too hyune

you: it was supposed to be a surprise, hehe...

you: about the minho thing...

hyune bun: dw, he told me

hyune bun: a surprise bitch stfu you probably forgot about me -_-

you: damn okay drama queen

hyune bun: lix is gonna be so fucking mad at you lmaooo

You were nearly grinning at your phone now, texting one of your closest friends from college. It took you back to the good old days, when you weren't quite an adult nor a child. You and your friends lived in a balance of freedom and restrictions that you longed for. It took you back the the crazy stunts, exhausting days and wild nights, and since your brain had a habit to redirect to Minho, it reminded you of him.

then (seven years ago).

You weren't quite sure how you, Hyunjin and Felix came to be friends. It did make sense in some ways though. You were just a year older than them, and despite being in your second year of college, just as far from 'put together' as possible. You assumed it was the first astronomy class that you had attended since the school had began.

Since it was a fairly new course, both first years and second years were put in the same class. As a science major yourself, you didn't see it as much of a burden. Having dropped biology as an extra course from the year before, you had made the slightly dangerous choice (as you would come to know from an extremely difficult course load) to stick with physics and mathematics.

Space was always a fascination for you. From the stars to the moon, everything just wholly and completely enamored you. You were excited, if anything, for the class to begin. Your sentiments, however, were not widely shared among your classmates. It was common knowledge that a lot of the art majors just took an extra side course related to science to keep their families' mouths shut for a semester or two. The Asian parent stereotypes were very much true in this side of your world.

That was evident when you saw two adorable first years looking for a seat. They looked like they were positively dreading the idea of being in this class. You couldn't blame them. Everything about them screamed 'doesn't do well with numbers'. Literally. The taller boy was wearing a literal shirt that said that exact phrase. The slightly shorter one saw you eyeing them curiously and gave you a wave, causing the taller one to nearly trip over the stairs.

That was the day you had practically adopted Lee Felix and Hwang Hyunjin.

then (six and a half years ago).

"Come on," whined Hyunjin as Felix handed you a coffee, "you promised."

"No," you said firmly as you started walking alongside them, a swarm of girls making their way towards the three of you.

You sighed. Being friends with two of the hottest guys on campus could be very irritating at times. Hyunjin, Felix and the six other boys they shared a house with off campus were the heartthrobs of the university you all attended. You knew they eight of them were close, but the only other person from their group that you had met was the freshman, Jeongin.

You would jokingly call their friend group Stray Kids, due to the amount of times they had had to change housing. Despite it all though, the eight of them refused to live separately, opting to live together instead. Hyunjin and Felix had been very insistent about you coming to a party they were hosting this weekend to meet the rest of them.

Felix said so because he wanted to have his 'favorite people meet each other'. Hyunjin cited the same reason as him, but you knew that Hyunjin just wanted to play cupid and set you up with one of his hyungs. That was another thing they were notorious for: that group always rejected girls. The only one in a stable relationship (or any relationship to be honest), was the oldest, Chan. He was in a two-year relationship with a music major named Eun-bi.

You weren't immune to the comments that would be passed about you as well, having been associated with the school prince and sunshine personified. People would assume that the three of you were in a threesome, that it was an open relationship. Some even assumed that you were adopted siblings (and those some were much more bearable than the others). Often time both girls and guys came up to you asking about their status and their phone numbers. You would just laugh it off. Too bad for them, they would never know what big dorks Hyunjin and Felix were in reality.

Another issue though with being friends with popular people, was being set on an unwanted pedestal yourself. People were wary of you, opting to stay far away, or wanted to take advantage of you. You had very few close friends which, didn't really bother you, but sometimes had a tendency to get to you. Realizing that being friends with people high up in the social ranking meant that you could only be friends with people high in social rankings finally caused you to give in to Hyunjin's incessant whining and Felix's hesitant words of agreement.

"Noona, I love you," said Hyunjin, patting you head.

You rolled your eyes at him and started poking him in the side. He began laughing and shrieking at the same time as Felix grinned and whipped out his phone, not missing the chance to document such an event. You finally stopped, a heap of giggles yourself. Hyunjin mumbled something under his breath along the words of 'always conspiring against me' and the conversation soon shifted to what the three of you would be wearing.

"No offense noona," said Felix gently, "but your fashion sense is shit."

You gave him an Academy Award worthy side eye, although you knew he was right. You were well, to put it nicely, very messy. Your "fashion sense" was usually whatever fell out of your closet first when you opened it.

"Okay, fine," you give in, "what should I wear?"

The boys suddenly and very excitedly begin asking you questions. Monochromatic or colorful? What length of dress would you be comfortable in? Sleeveless or with sleeve? You couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm, content with just living in the moment.

"Fuck," you swore under your breath.

Somehow, brilliant old you, managed to sleep through three, three alarms. Quickly getting off your bed, you checked your phone. You had a couple text, one email from Quora (I'm 15 and pregnant...) and two missed calls from Hyunjin. Shooting him a text off 'I'm getting ready', you checked the time and saw that you still had an hour to get ready.

You let out a puff of breath. I can do this. After a lunchtime consultation with Hyunjin and Felix, you had opted for a white button-up crop top, black mini skirt and leather mini blazer. You put on light makeup because, for the life of you, you could not put on makeup. Sighing sadly after looking at your hideous reflection, you hollered for your roommate Sora.

"What is- oh my god my sweet child what have you done to your face," she said in one breath. Sora was two years younger than you (albeit calling you her sweet child) and was a majoring in fashion studies. She was also invited for the party, rocking straight hair, red lipstick and a silver dress.

She scooted over to you and applied eyeliner onto your eyes, chattering about her day. She was applying lipstick to your lips when she suddenly asked, "Yang Jeongin. He's single, right?"

You looked at her with an almost sisterly expression, "Yeah I think so but... don't use him as a rebound Sora.

Sora rolled her eyes at you. She had broken up with her ex-girlfriend two months ago. They had been together for little over half a year, until they realized that a relationship with barely any communication wasn't really a relationship at all.

"I was just asking, a girl in my class was planning on getting his number today."

The conversation continued as you grabbed a handbag and slipped pepper spray and your phone inside. The two of you stepped outside, deciding that Sora would be tonight's designated driver since you were the last time you both went to a party, which, as Sora loved to remind you, was the first day of school party ('hosted by the faculty of all people!' she would exclaim).

You and Sora were nearing the Stray Kids house when Felix ran over to you and wrapped you in a bear hug. "Damn noona, you look good," he said in excitement.

"C'mon, the boys are really excited to meet you," he exclaimed, "also, hey Sora!"

"Oppa," said Sora lightly tapping him on the shoulder, "I think you're suffocating her."

The three of you make your way inside, just to be hit with loud music, the smell of alcohol and excited shouts. Felix leads the three of you into the room when you finally see the other boys in all their glory. Felix quickly starts pointing at who's who.

You recognize Jeongin, the sweet Public Relations major, standing in the corner of the room looking at what you presumed was the boy's fish. Next to him was the host himself, Bang Chan, laughing at something his gorgeous girlfriend said, looking at her with literal heart eyes.

Then you see Hyunjin, goofing off with Changbin and Jisung. The three of them tried (and failed) at making a large tower with solo cups. Next to them, you see Seungmin, shaking his head as he was recording their antics. Finally, your eyes rest upon him for the first time.

He's wearing a white tee and black jeans, hair damp with water from what must have been a shower. He has an amused smirk on his face as he watches Jisung stuttering at a girl who must have asked him for his number. Letting out a laugh, he politely tells her that Jeongin is very much single and that the person who she was talking to was Jisung and she excitedly runs away.

"Go get your guy," hollers Sora who was near the fish tank, startling an entranced Jeongin.

You walk over to Hyunjin, noting Jisung's open mouth and Minho's curious eyes as you went. You crouch down next to him, snorting at how he was so concentrated in building the castle, that he didn't even notice your heeled boots clacking against the floor.

"I'm here you fucking dork," you huff with a roll of your eyes.

Hyunjin jumps backwards, clutching his collarbone, "You scared the living shit out of me, noona."

You stand up gracefully as you say, "Remind me to buy you a dollar store pearl necklace for your birthday, since you have such a large penchant for imitating extras on the Real Housewives."

At that, both Minho and Seungmin snicker. Hyunjin stands up as well and says, "Oh yeah, guys, this is Y/N noona."

The boys exchange polite waves and salutations. Changbin proceeds to stand up, look at you and then sit back down. "Ah fuck," he laments, "She's taller than me. There goes my chance to shoot my shot."

You break out into a laugh as Minho pads over to you. "Science major, right? Hyunjin and Felix talk a lot about how they're only passing because of you."

You give him a dazzling smile, "Yes to both of those. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm taking culinary classes but majoring in veterinary studies."

The conversation just flows from there, not feeling strained even once. The two of you are sitting on the couch soon, about an arms length of distance between you. You're sitting cross-legged with a pillow on your lap as Minho leans against the armchair of the couch.

Gosh, he's funny, and sweet. He tells you all about his cats as you tell him about your siblings back home. He brings you food (which you make sure to thoroughly check because, hey, you did just meet him) and offers to get you a blanket.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you though," you say in response to that.

The two of you seem lost in your own world, oblivious to the beer pong tournaments and obnoxious couples scattered around you. You're hit with the devastating realization that you could listen to Minho talk about the most mundane topics all day long.

It's just the alcohol. I do not have a crush on somebody I have just met.

Hyunjin catches your eye and makes fake kissing gestures behind you back as you flip him off. Minho catches whiff of the exchange and threatens to stick Hyunjin in the air fryer, eliciting a giggle from you. Felix even comes over to Minho, grumbling about how he wasn't expecting that introducing one of his favorite hyungs to his favorite noona would lead to said noona being stolen by said hyung.

You wish you could continue talking to Minho, but soon, Chan's girlfriend Eun-bi comes over and drags you to the kitchen.

"I have heard so much about you," she says with a smile, sipping a lemonade lazily while sitting on a barstool.

"All good things, I hope?"

"Oh," she throws her head back and lets out a pretty laugh, "You're literally an angel sent from heaven according to Lixie and a fellow hopeless romantic noona according to Hyunjin."

The two of you continued talking, and you found that you ended up liking her a lot. You understood why Chan fell for someone like her. She was everything a person could want in a partner. Hell, even you felt attracted to her.

Damn, what was in that drink I poured for myself?

You couldn't stop thinking about Minho though. You wondered what he was doing. Was he talking to a girl right now like he was talking with you? Was she looking at him as if his face held the key to her heart the way you were looking at him?

Did your interaction mean anything or was it all in you head?

"Oh no," same Eun-bi's voice, "Looks like I have lost you to them as well."

"What?" you ask, arising from your love stricken trance.

"You like one of them," said Eun-bi with a teasing lilt, "Don't worry. It happens to the best of us."

You looked at her, mouth slightly hung open. "Respectfully eonnie, what the actual fuck are you talking about."

She looked at you, mischief in her eyes. "Don't play dumb," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice, "Who is it? Changbin? Mm, no, too short. Hyunjin? Absolutely not, I don't think so?"

Eun-bi continued, "Minho? Maybe..." she looked at you intently, her expression turning from one of fun into one of accusation, "Oh my god. It's Minho, isn't it?"

"What," you scoff uneasily, "Nooo."

Eun-bi raises an eyebrow, obviously eager to continue the conversation, but you quickly interrupt her. "So, how did you and Chan meet?"

At that, a wistful smile etches onto Eun-bi's face. "He's a music production major. I'm a songwriting and vocal major. We had a combined project and even though I wasn't assigned to him, he had a habit to talk to everyone, causing him to talk to me. And the rest is history."

She continued, "He says that the first thing he noticed about me was how my eyebrows would scrunch up. And I noticed how his eyes disappeared when he smiled. I found him attractive long before I talked to him though. Obviously."

Eun-bi says the last sentence with a shrug, almost matter-of-factly. She wasn't wrong though. It was extremely hard to not crush on at least one of them the entire duration that you were in college.

Eun-bi's words led you to foolishly hope. Not for Minho really, but for love in general. It was a dangerous yearning. The yearning to scream from the top of a building, professing your love. The yearning to be held with fragility and to be kissed with intensity. A yearning to be loved, the way poets wove their odes to the stars and the skies. A wanting to be cherished, like a treasured diamond, only reflecting the best that you could offer.

Unbeknown to you, Minho stood in the corner of the room, watching you erupt with laughter, a small smile on his lips and a million similar thoughts in his head.

[writeyouin]

Hello, for holiday fics, can i request MTMTE Bots X Reader Headcanons where its Christmas time and there's a gift exchange? Thank you!

MTMTE Bots X Reader - Gift Exchange

A/N - A-All of them?! There's… That's a lot of bots. Imma just pick a few, then if anyone wants more you can just ask me for them.

Warnings - None

Rating - T

Swerve

Swerve is far too nervous for this.

It's your first Christmas aboard the ship, and he is determined to confess his love for you. Like, he has spent every last second planning this for months.

Now that it's time though, he thinks he might purge his tanks.

What if you don't like his gift? Worse, what if you reject him? He knows you won't be mean about it, but... he doesn't want to spend his life without you. He really loves you, and nothing terrifies him more than his own feelings.

Still, here is the moment. You've given him your gift.

It was a crocheted blanket, so he'll be comfy on movie nights. When did you have time to make this? Oh wow. He presses the material to his face. It's so soft, and if he takes in some air, it smells like you. Of course it does... You've clearly spent ages making it.

Swerve hugs you and he holds on for a few seconds too long. You laugh amiably, and make a joke about being Christmas crushed.

Finally, he lets you go and bashfully presents you with his gift. It isn't wrapped very well. It must have been difficult for him, since it's relatively small. You can see where the tape has come up a few times, stripping the paper of some of its colour. All this just makes you smile more.

You tear open the gift, and it's a datapad, specially made to be human-sized. You flick on the screen and find that it's filled with music, in a specially arranged playlist.

Admittedly, Swerve doesn't know a whole lot about Earth music. He's more into TV and movies, but he knows how much you love music, so he really tried with this.

Moreover, the first word of each song creates a message, and it is a long message. It's a confession. You might have missed it, had the first word of each song not been highlighted.

You take a while to read what's written. Meanwhile, Swerve is stuck in limbo, feeling entirely sick. Part of him wants to snatch the datapad back and laugh it off like it was all a mistake or a stupid joke. Instead, he waits, trying to stop his servos from shaking by resting them on his thighs.

When you've finished reading his confession, you let your thumb glide over the first song, hitting play.

You smile, get to your feet, and approach Swerve.

"I love it," You say quietly.

Then, you kiss him.

At first, Swerve is completely taken aback. Then, his hands find their way around your back and he's holding you close, your first kiss to Nat King Cole's 'The Very Thought of You.'

Rung

Rung didn't actually want gifts. The only thing he asked for was an evening alone with you.

Normally, he's so busy with his patients, and everyone always wants time with the ship's only human, usually so they can ask you questions and place bets on what the answer will be - Rodimus is still pissed that he lost 100 shanix when you were asked what a colander was (Sufficed to say, his answer wasn't kitchen utensil for draining water).

So, that's exactly how you spend Christmas Eve with Rung. You're sat in his lap, laid back on the sofa while he reads to you from a book you chose.

His fingers gently glide over your head - You feel safe with Rung - loved - and you know that he feels the same when he's with you.

Despite that, you did get him a gift, and little do you know, he's got you one too. They will both wait for tomorrow however, as you relax into one another, with no obligation to anyone else.

The next day, you wake up atop the berth, and realise that you must have fallen asleep when Rung was reading and that he has carried you to bed.

Yet, he isn't there with you. You're just getting up when you hear him humming. Your shared hab-suite isn't like the others on the ship - it's the only one wherein the rooms are separate as if to recreate a normal Earth apartment.

So, upon getting up to explore, you find Rung in the kitchen - He's never been in here before, except when he's looking for you.

This is his gift and his surprise. He knows how much time you always put into cooking, and unfortunately, there's nobody else who could ever cook for you, which he has been led to believe is a normal part of human relationships and something most humans are grateful for.

It took a while to research the recipes, and even more time to find out what ingredients could be substituted. Moreover, Rung has spent months practising this, between meetings, and now, he's rather good at it - he always was good at following instructions and handling delicate objects.

So, your Christmas brunch is courtesy of Rung, and you make sure to tell him how delicious everything is, kissing him afterwards so he might get a taste of the wonderful meal he's made as his arms wrap around you and he presses you against the dining table.

Later, after a long, and frankly heated make-out session, you present him with his gift. It's a model ship of the only one missing from his collection - the Lost Light itself. His eyes light up when he sees it, all ready to be put together.

That afternoon, the two of you sit together and start building the miniature, all while listening to Christmas music which plays serenely in the background.

Megatron

Megatron is staring at you quite intensely. If you weren't used to him, you might think he was glaring at you.

Still, you feel like you might have done something wrong or that he hates your gift to him. It was after all, rather personal, and Megatron isn't a huge fan of PDA.

The gift in question was a song. As it turned out, Nautica was something of a musical prodigy, so with her help, you had written a song about Megatron - She had composed the tune, while you wrote the lyrics.

You assumed that by involving another bot, Megatron felt exposed; it was entirely possible that he didn't like the idea of someone else singing about him or your relationship with him.

You couldn't be further from the truth.

The truth of the matter was that Megatron loved the song. You had poured your very soul into it, and it was so much more than he could have asked for.

... And in return, he had gotten you a gift basket. Soaps, shampoos, lotions - His research had led him to believe this was the social norm on Earth. He couldn't give you that now!

How would that look? You had given him a piece of your soul, and he got you L'oriel "because you're worth it."

No. It wasn't good enough.

"Excuse me a moment, I need to retrieve something from my hab-suite," Megatron said coolly, before leaving you.

You deflated, feeling that all was lost, especially since Megatron took a good thirty minutes to return.

Yet, when he came back, he held out a datapad for you, mumbling an apology that it wasn't wrapped.

You swallowed nervously when he wouldn't meet your eye, and then you took the present reverently.

You flicked on the screen and found it open in a folder - "(Y/N)'s Poetry."

There were well over a hundred entries, all of them dedicated to you.

'The Radiance of a Smile', 'Promises of Forever', and 'Forgiveness of the Past', were just a few at the top of the list. Even more surprising was the fact that a great many of them were written before the two of you began dating. When you looked at the earlier entries, you saw how Megatron's feelings towards you had come about and evolved into something more.

You were speechless, yet on your face, Megatron was pleased to see that you knew how he felt for you, and that your love for him was just as much of a weight, though it was one you were glad to bear.

[starshiningao3]

It's a MoD Harry time-travel Tomarry WIP! ---

The first time Harry tried to change the course of Tom Riddle’s life, it had been too late.

He’d saved Myrtle, thank Merlin, but Riddle had known it was Professor Evans that had thwarted him. Within just a few weeks Harry had been led out of the Great Hall by an aptly-named Professor Burly, his lip turned in disgust and his grip on Harry’s arm crushing. Three fifth year girls had accused him of being far more… hands-on as a DADA professor than was appropriate. They even had the memories to prove it, apparently.

The girls were from families just influential enough to sway the school board and just unimportant enough to not make the headlines. Professor Evans would fade into obscurity, and the girls would suffer no long lasting damage to their social standing.

It was calculated. It was artful. 

It was Riddle all over.

Riddle’s face had been impassive as Harry was marched from the hall that evening, but his eyes glittered in triumph. Riddle’s mind glanced across his own, grasping carefully for surface thoughts in a way the Slytherin likely thought was undetectable.

Well played, Harry thought forcefully, and watched with satisfaction as Riddle’s brow first crinkled in confusion and then furrowed in earnest when Harry flung him from his mind. Harry had never mastered Occlumency himself, never had the knack for it, but there were some perks that came with his… position.

Death? Harry thought. An iciness bloomed in his temple and blew across his mind like a cool breeze localised entirely within his skull. It shouldn't have been comforting.

Master. Death said into his mind, an echoing whisper of infinite voices. You are done with this life?

Can I stop him from mutilating his bloody soul in this one?

Death was silent for a moment, tracing the strings of his and Riddle’s fates. He'd shown them to Harry once, gossamer webs glowing faintly gold and spanning infinitely through the white fog of limbo. He wasn't sure how Death made sense of them, and he wasn't keen to learn.

No.

Harry glanced at Professor Burly, his wand drawn as he marched Harry through the halls towards the professor's wing.

Will they think Burly killed me if I leave right now?

Death’s Yes rattled with something like amusement as he breathed it across Harry’s mind.

“Good,” Harry said out loud. Burly startled, his grip loosening a bit in surprise. Harry stopped walking and turned to face him.

“You’ve always been a bit of a prick, Burly.”

Harry wrenched himself back, his vision white as he untethered his soul from his body. He blinked the fog of the transition away and watched from the outside as his body crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Burly’s rage at Harry’s last declaration morphed into increasing horror as he first cast a diagnostic spell and then desperately tried to shake Harry back to life.

Smug in the knowledge that Burly’s life was about to get very unpleasant, Harry returned to Death’s domain to rest before he tried his hand at changing the course of Riddle’s life again.

---

Let me know what you think!

Edited to add: This story now has 3 chapters on Ao3!

[no1frogfan]

In the wee small hours of the morning

Tsukishima Kei x gn reader

Word count: ~1k

Tags & warnings: fluff, a little angst but it's just soft pining Tsukki

Note: Idk it’s cold in the mornings now and that makes me think about him too much. Trying out a new header situation too, I guess?

“Tsukki?”

A confused rasp stills him as he’s pacing through the living room, down the hall, and back up again. Outlined by the flickering tv screen, he sees a nest of hair poke up over the back of the couch.

“Y’ok?”

The gravelly timbre of your exhaustion weighs down each syllable, the edges of each word melding into one another over the tinny sound of some cooking show rerun.

After weeks together, the two of you have finally grown accustomed to sharing space. The living room is evidence of that — his half-built lego set, your cups (yes, multiple cups) of water, his clean jerseys, both your books, they all lay strewn across its surfaces. Kei’s finally stopped cloistering himself in his room, and you, you’ve moved past the pretense, no longer tip-toeing around him or bothering to look “presentable” around the house (not that he ever cared).

Actually, he likes you better like this — mussed hair, ratty house clothes, unguarded, at ease. It’s a secret little sliver of you that nobody else gets to see and he wants to hold it tight against his chest.

Instead of answering you, Tsukishima rubs his bleary eyes.

He’s been drifting through the apartment a lot these days, mostly in the early hours. Restless. Cold.

His toes are freezing and the tips of his fingers are icy as he curls them into his palms. You keep the apartment too chilly for him, but he never touches the thermostat. Not when you always look so inviting, all cozy and bundled in an oversized blanket. Yes, inviting. Even now, when you’re clearly pissed that you’re still awake, and so worn out that your face is crumpled into a tight grimace.

Three days ago, he admitted to himself that he’s hurtled past the line of friendship with you.

If he’s honest, he passed it a long time ago, and living with you has only forced him to come to terms with that fact. He’s sprinted far beyond a passing crush, barreling straight into whatever this is. Whatever it is that has you swimming across the inside of his eyelids whenever he closes his eyes. Whatever it is that compels him to pace the length of your apartment at night, slowing his steps when he nears your door, lifting his hand to the doorknob before hastening away, only to spin around the next minute and do it all over again.

It’s not cowardice. It’s not. It’s just…

Tsukishima stares at your huddled form. There’s a hint of impatience in the tilt of your chin, but mostly, you look concerned. Beneath your joking barbs and prickly exterior, you’ve always been concerned about him. That’s why he’s even here, trying not to inconvenience you further while his landlord fixes the leak in his apartment. It was supposed to take a few days, then a week, but now it’s been almost a month with no news, and he thinks he should just find a new place to live. But even when he’s snippy and seething about the whole thing, you’ve been gentle with him, letting him stay in your office-slash-guest room without paying a cent of rent (though he’s tried to insist on it many times), and bringing home treats to share after work (“They were having a sale!”).

It wouldn’t be right to force his feelings on you when you’ve been nothing but generous.

(What he can’t admit is that he doesn’t want this to end, for you to shut the door on whatever this is, once and for all.)

Plus, he’s seen you with Tadashi and Yachi and even Kyoutani, and you’re like that with all your friends. It’s not like you’re sweet on him. You’re just sweet. But he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be stuck in limbo, unable to tell you and unable to not tell you.

The heat finally kicks on and Kei’s reminded that he’s cold. Freezing, actually, and haggard from lack of sleep. But he also puts on a bit of a show, rubbing his arms and shivering theatrically (why, he’s not sure).

“You’re cold,” you state dumbly, after staring at him for too long. “Do you want…?”

There’s less hesitation in your voice than he expects as you sit up a little to lift the corner of the blanket.

Maybe exhaustion was the final push he needed. He rushes over — before you change your mind (before he changes his) — and slips under the blanket.

Stiffening, you utter a bewildered noise.

Ah, shit.

Shit. Maybe not. Did he- You were offering the blanket to him, not telling him to get in with you. Obviously. Obviously. Fuck. Should he double down? Should he back off? Should he-

You stir again, and the weight of your head drops heavy onto his shoulder. (Is this…?) Tsukishima hardly dares to breathe as you pull him close and cradle your hands against his chest. He’s lightheaded, giddy as he tucks in the edges of the blanket, making sure to completely cover you both. He’s careful with his ice-cold hands, too, avoiding your bare skin as he wraps his arms around you.

Your exhales fan hot against the crook of his neck, and slowly, slowly, they deepen.

Eventually, drowsiness overcomes him too. After the frantic pattering of his heart has subsided, and after the bright red flush on his cheeks has faded. After the feathery wisps of dawn unfurl from behind the curtains, he cracks his heavy eyelids open one last time to look down at you, nestled tightly against him. Your face is slack, your lips gently parted, chest rising and falling in time with his.

Kei knows that tomorrow, when you’ve both had a good night’s sleep, you’ll have to talk about this.

He tightens his hold.

Tomorrow, whatever this is, you’ll cross that bridge together.