#This does not mean that I close it or anything else

[lamiadrowned]

what if Jinx had an affectionate girlfriend? I want to assume Jinx is touch starved so having a girlfriend that loves cuddles and holding hands is a dream come true

*:･ﾟ✧ jinx with an affectionate girlfriend

jinx x fem!reader | sfw

i love her so much :(

it would take her a bit of time to get used to this dynamic.

her entire life, she’s never put much thought into relationships, nonetheless ever believed she’d end up in one, and she’s so happy she did!

especially with someone who seems to love her so deeply, despite how chaotic and difficult she can be at times.

the first few times you guys go out together, you’re always touching her, and she picks up on that quickly. you’re either holding her hand, fidgeting with her fingers, placing your arm around her waist, or playing with the loose strands of navy blue hair that frame her face.

she has no complaints. it makes her feel… warm. safe. appreciated.

but she doesn’t really think of reciprocating this until a small altercation between the two of you.

one day, you’re sitting on the edge of her workbench, listening intently as she shows you the scribbled blueprint of a new invention she’s working on. you can’t remember the name and you have no idea what any of it means, but you’re nodding like you understand so that she’ll keep talking.

“alright, what’s the problem? is it something i said?” she asks you suddenly.

you tilt your head. “what?”

“don’t play dumb! you haven’t touched me at all today!” she grumbles. “you’re always touching me. i mean, did i do something wrong? or–”

“jinx.” you cut her off firmly. “stop that. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

she looks stumped. so, you continue. “i don’t know. it’s just… you never do it to *me,* you know? it’s always me, touching you. i thought, maybe, you didn’t really like it. something tells me that’s not the case.”

your explanation is met with silence, and she stares at you like she’s seen a ghost.

she can’t believe you feel that way. this whole relationship thing is new to her! she had no idea her own self doubt could end up hurting you the way it did.

her first instinct is to apologize. to reassure you that, going forward, she’d be sure to give you as much as you give her, because she really does love the affection.

in no time, she’s just as cuddly as you!

each night that the two of you spend together is spent wrapped up in each other. legs crossed over legs, arms tangled with arms, faces pressed to chests with a constantly growing need to be closer to each other.

i saw somebody else post something about this, but she’d definitely be the type to say something like ‘i wish i could crawl inside you’. she truly can’t get close enough once she learns how good it feels.

and one of many good effects of this is that when she’s having a particularly bad day, you can calm her down in an instant.

if it happens to be one of many days where she’s hearing voices, seeing things that you can’t see, berating people who aren’t really there, all you need to do is put a hand on her shoulder to make her aware of your presence. it’s grounding enough that you can pull her into a tight hug and stroke her hair as she cries into your shoulder.

if it’s one of those days that she’s just angry, where she feels like everything is horrible and everyone else is rotten, you can change her mind in less than an hour by simply leading her to bed and convincing her to lay down for a bit while you undo her braids and scratch at her scalp.

when you play with her hair, it makes her melt, so you’re careful to preserve that effect– you only do it when you feel like she could really use it.

and as for you, if she finds out you’re having a bad day, jinx has learned from the best and she puts her knowledge to good use.

if you’re alone, she’ll pull you into her lap and caress your back, guiding you to rest your head in the crook of her neck because she knows how much you love to be there. if you want to talk about it, she’ll listen. if you don’t, she’ll pick a random topic to ramble about in hopes to take your mind off of things.

if you’re in public, she’ll grab your hand and squeeze it, stroking your palm with her thumb.

unless it’s somebody in particular that’s bothering you. she has no second thoughts about leaving you for a few minutes to go teach them a lesson. either way, the problem gets solved.

given how long she’s gone without any sort of physical affection, it’ll all be very new to her for a while, but jinx is a quick leaner.

sooner than later, your relationship starts to feel more like a constant competition over who’s more touchy and who can get the last kiss.

it’s so mushy! she hates it.

(she loves it).

[galactic-magick]

I Love You, I'm Sorry: Viktor x Reader

Based off of this reply on my last Viktor fic:

@lillycore : Duddee, imagine after the final scene between Viktor and Jayce they just disappear (I refuse to believe they both died, I��m just going believe, until it’s confirmed, that they simply teleported somewhere else), leaving reader alone without a chance to confront Viktor and believing they both died. So now, reader is left to pick up the pieces of her closest friend and love of her life gone, while believing Viktor no longer loves her (he does though, he was just a little confused with everything, but he still loves her)

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: Thank you all so much for the notes and kind words on my last Viktor fic, it truly means the world to me as a writer to see so many people touched by my writing. I hope you enjoy this equally devastating part 2.

They’re gone. They’re really gone.

No family, no friends, not a single loved one of yours survived this damn war. All this world has done is take, take, take.

You’re haunted by the last time you saw your beloved Viktor—completely unrecognizable. He had turned himself into a monster, disappearing with Jayce trying to save him. You didn’t even get to say goodbye, you didn’t even get to tell him you still love him.

Or ask if he still loved you.

You don’t know what would hurt less, believing he stopped loving you, or believing he did everything he did while loving you.

-

“Why can’t she hear me?” Viktor shouts into the void. He’s been calling your name for what feels like an eternity, his voice no longer carrying to your world.

Jayce puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, “You don’t have vessels to speak through anymore. She probably thinks we’re dead. Well, maybe we are…”

“No, no, this can’t be the end,” Viktor shakes his head vigorously. “I have to get back to her. She...she needs to know I love her. She needs to know I’m sorry.”

He falls to his knees amongst the stars, cursing himself for everything. How could he choose the hexcore over you? Why didn’t he seek you out when he survived the explosion? How did he let himself descend so far into madness that he forgot about your importance to him?

He’s now desperate for you to hear him, pleading the forces that bind his consciousness to this astral plane for another chance. He searches this dimension he’s come to know so well, looking for a loophole or tear in the fabric, but it’s no use. Everything has been closed—his supposed eternal consequence for his abuse of power.

Jayce saved him from himself, a feat he will forever be indebted to him for, but what is the point of redemption if he cannot live it out in his own flesh?

Would there have been a body left for him anyway? Would you still have loved him as the monstrosity he became?

Why must he still be cursed with the full vision of the universe? He sees you continue your life so clearly, but he can’t touch you, can’t speak to you. Your form shines the brightest light he’s ever seem in this dimension, an achievement that is not easily matched. He wonders if you can feel him reaching out to you, some sort of spiritual pull back to him. He will do anything to find a way to talk to you again.

-

You’ve been having dreams—dreams you can’t explain. Ever since Viktor’s disappearance, he’s tormented you day and night, constantly occupying your thoughts without mercy. You can hear his voice, but it sounds so far away you can never make out the words. You just wish it would all stop. You wish you could just erase him and all of the pain from your memory.

Sometimes you still feel a presence, the feeling you used to feel when he was in the same vicinity with you, admiring you from across a room. It’s a familiar warmth that used to wash you with peace, whereas now it makes your heart ache. You suppose it’s a normal symptom of grief, subconsciously denying that he’s really gone.

You start to go through his things he left at your house, beginning with his various textbooks and notebooks he would bring over for studying. Seeing his scribbles and handwriting again brings tears to your eyes, a single drop falling onto the paper as you read.

You blink a few times, seeing a couple of letters on the page start to glow. You must be seeing things, hallucinating from sleep deprivation. You close the journal and open it again, but the glowing letters are still there.

You grab a separate piece of paper and write down each glowing letter, finding fifteen total.

“I - L-O-V-E - Y-O-U - I-M - S-O-R-R-Y”

This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

-

“It’s working! She got my message!” Viktor exclaims.

“How...how are you doing that?” Jayce asks.

“Tiny rips in space—not big enough for either of us to escape through—but certainly big enough to briefly touch that reality,” Viktor pauses, still waiting for a response from you, but it doesn’t come.

-

You close the journal and sob, praying for an end to this misery. Your mind is playing tricks on you, deceiving you to a level you never thought possible. Must you be haunted by this forever? Must you endure the aftermath of this trauma?

You open it once again, the letters still glowing, but they start to fade right in front of your eyes. A new set of letters begin to glow, so you write those down as well.

“I-T-S - M-E - D-A-R-L-I-N-G”

And then another set of letters.

“P-L-E-A-S-E - T-A-L-K - T-O - M-E”

Maybe you’re not imagining.

You’ve heard of magicians who can converse with the dead, and the possibility of other dimensional planes and universes. Viktor himself had some theories about it, although he never pursued proving them. Could it really be possible that your beloved was speaking to you?

“Viktor?” you say out loud. “Are you...are you alive?”

“I - D-O-N-T - K-N-O-W”

The pencil drops from your hand again as your head falls to the table. His consciousness is somehow alive, clearly, but there’s no way he can explain to you where he is and how to get him out one letter at a time. You’re nowhere near his level of intellect—even if he explained how to rescue him like you’re five years old—you fear you still would mess something up.

“Viktor...I can’t do this. You can’t do this to me,” you sigh, daring to look at the words again. “You abandoned me, and now my life is a living hell because of the destruction you helped cause. I want nothing to do with your war and stupid glorious evolution. So if you’re not here to take me away from this life, please go away.”

The same original words start glowing again, brighter each time they sequence:

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

I love you, I’m sorry.

“Love doesn’t do what you did. Love doesn’t abandon its humanity for power.”

Please forgive me.

“I do forgive you for everything, Viktor. That’s exactly why I need to forget about you, because I will never stop loving you and hurting for it if I don’t.”

With blurry eyes, you close the journal and throw it into the fireplace, regretting it almost immediately. You grab a stick and pull it out, your tears falling onto the soot-stained cover.

“Please, just...find a way back to me.”

I will.

[notlongtolove]

the garden is growing

"you live together, work together. doesn’t it all get a little boring?" there’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. the cups of tea, the folding of blankets. you could never call that boring.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff! maybe angst if you really really squint

content: after catching up with an old friend, bau!reader and bf!spencer have a contemplative talk about their relationship as they walk home. domestic... mentions of marriage... lurve in the air...

word count: 2.2k

note: a post finals treat to myself! leaned heavy into the garden imagery for this one lol, this was heavily inspired by the poem linked, i highly recommend it! o i also added some song recs below for this one :P (ps i did not mean to compare spencer's eyes to PEBBLES but it was either that or a random brown flower... sorry.)

a line: The perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

If you ask me 'What's new?', I have nothing to say Except that the garden is growing. - wendy cope

When you were younger, you had a garden. A field just a stone's throw from your front door. Not the kind in a backyard, fenced in and manageable. No, it was wild and uncontained, the grass alive beneath your feet. They used to say love was like a garden. You'd think about that sometimes—how you were supposed to tend to it, rake and comb and pull out the weeds before they strangled your beautiful flowers. And when it rained, you just had to let it. Let the downpour come and see what survived.

You’re standing under the awning, shaking droplets off your jacket. You mumble a thanks to the doorman as he holds the door open, offering a silent nod in return. The door opens to a polished, marble lobby, and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how out of place you look. You’d come straight from the office, having dwindled your stack of case files from a grand total of 26 to a modest 19. The grand mirror to your left does nothing to help. If anything, it’s magnifying the creased fabric of your trousers and the damp strands of hair stuck to your cheek. You shift uncomfortably, tugging at your sleeves and smoothing your hair out in a futile attempt at order. It was urgent she’d said. A matter of utmost importance. You’re not sure why you’re here, but you know with certainty that you’d rather not be.

She sees you before you see her. She calls out for you, the nickname wrapping around you like a sweater one size too small—warm but suffocating. It might as well be. You haven’t seen her in nearly a year—maybe a year and a half? You shrug, suddenly missing Spencer’s precision, his ability to pin things down to the day, the hour.

"Hi," you manage, sliding into the seat opposite her. “I’m really sorry. Work was crazy—" you start, but your words dissolve the moment she thrusts her hand forward. A diamond—no, a boulder—catches the light, dazzling and deliberate. You nearly choke on the glass of water you’ve just picked up. 

"Let me tell you about crazy," she says, her grin sharpening. 

Oh, the yacht! And don’t even get me started on the violins, can you believe it! The sea was just gorgeous—Did I mention it was on a yacht? Her words tumble out as you try to follow along, but you can’t quite keep up, only noting it definitely involved an abhorrent amount of Dom Perignon.

“I wish you could’ve been there to see it,” she says, her voice tinged with what you hope is nostalgia and not pity.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you murmur, and you mean it—sort of. You used to be close, but since starting at the BAU, everything else kind of took a backseat. It had to. “I wish I could’ve too. Work’s been—”

"Crazy, right," she cuts in, waving it off. "Big fancy BAU," She winks. "That job’s gonna be the death of you one day y’know, all those hours." You force a laugh, but her words hit a little too literally, heavier than she knows. You don’t think she quite grasps the reality of your work.

“So,” she says, leaning in now, her chin propped delicately on her hand, her diamond ring catching the light. You can’t help but think it’s mocking you. “How’s things going with Spencer?”

"Oh, they’re going fine."

"Fine?" She raises her brows. "Trouble in paradise?"

“No, not at all,” you insist, your voice instinctively rising in defence. “We’re—fine. You know, same old, same old. We just wrapped a big case actually. This guy—” You cut yourself off, realizing mid-sentence that the story of a guy meticulously collecting hair from women post-mortem doesn’t feel like the kind of story to share during dinner under a sparkling chandelier—Not that you’re doing much eating anyway. The menu was a labyrinth of fancy salads, obscure cheeses, and entrées described in French that you’re only half sure translate to lamb. You’d settled for pushing a few greens around your plate, making a mental note to stop by the bodega later.  

Her laugh pulls you back to the table, "I don’t know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"You know… Live together, work together, day in, day out. Doesn’t it all get a little..." She trails off, letting her expression finish the sentence. 

"A little… what?" 

"Boring?"

You blink. "Boring?" 

The word tastes bitter. You don’t like it. The way the dog always chases the cat? Boring. The way the cat always seeks shelter in the same tree? Boring. But the way they both come running home every time you call? That’s never boring. Spencer in the quiet mornings—hair tousled, voice soft and sleepy as he murmurs a 'good morning.' The cups of tea, the folding of blankets. You could never call that boring. 

She laughs lightly, the sound cutting through the restaurant’s hum. "Not in a bad way! I just mean... do you guys even go out? Like, for fun? You guys have been together for, what like, years now?” Three years and 4 months, you think to yourself. You’d never need Spencer’s eidetic memory to remember that. 

"Well, yeah, sure we do…" you say finally. "Um, we went to a museum recently." You don’t tell her it was to interview a suspect. Her smile tightens, like she’s not sure whether to believe you or feel sorry for you. You take a careful sip of water, resisting the urge to shift under her gaze. There’s a weight to her observation, something invasive, like she’s pulling out weeds that you never asked her to tend, tilling through soil that’s been left unbothered for too long. Outside, the rain keeps falling.

By the time you part with polite hugs and hollow smiles, the downpour has softened to a drizzle. Spencer is waiting by the curb, hair slightly damp. His eyes light up at the sight of you. Under the glow of the streetlight, they remind you of the pebbles you used to collect by the garden path. You’d carry them home, pocketful by pocketful, washing and scrubbing at them until they shone. Only your favourites made it to your shelf. Tiny, perfect trophies.

“Hi, honey.”

"Hiya." You lean into his chest, a tired smile tugging at your lips as you manage a strained, “I’m starving.” 

“Hi starving. Care for a burrito?” he asks, tilting a takeout bag toward you with a small smile.

Your eyes meet his, and there’s something in his smile—soft, understanding, familiar—that makes your chest ache. “How’d you know?” you ask, practically tearing into the bag.

“Searched the menu after you left,” he says simply, falling into step beside you as you start walking. “Figured you wouldn't have liked much in there," he shrugs, casual. You feel your cheeks warm. Two hours away from Spencer Reid is two hours too long. 

The walk home is quiet at first, the two of you picking your way around puddles reflecting neon signs. The burrito’s long gone, leaving your hand free for Spencer to hold, fingers interlocked.

“She’s engaged,” you say eventually.

Spencer furrows his brows. “Already?”

“It’s only been like, what, eight? nine months?”

Spencer frowns, pauses then says, “256 days”, the precision drawing a faint smile from you.

“Crazy isn’t it?”

“I guess. Some people are like that,” he says, “Did you know statistically, couples who get engaged within the first year of dating are 20% more likely to divorce within the first five years?”

“With that prenup incoming she’d better hope they’re the exception then…” you murmur, not really listening. 

There’s something in your chest, persistent and heavy. You can feel its roots stirring, working its way beneath the surface, threatening to loosen the earth that keeps you grounded. 

A few more steps in silence. Then, quietly, “Do you think we’re boring?”

“Boring?” Spencer tilts his head slightly. “Do you think we’re boring?”

You hesitate, suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t think we’re boring, but you know, we don’t do much.” 

“We’re in the FBI, honey. I’d argue we do a lot.” He smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching playfully. You try to laugh, but it comes out forced, brittle—like a flower trying to push out a bloom that's not quite ready yet.

Spencer notices, as he always does. “Is there something you want to do?” It stirs in you again, something tender and uncertain. You don’t know if it will be a flower that blooms or a weed that chokes out everything else. 

“No,” You say a little too quickly, “Nothing really, just... Other than work and home—”

“What’d she say?”

“Hm?”

“You love work, you live for it—I practically have to drag you out of the office most days,” he reasons, tone calm and steady. “And, if this is something that was bothering you… I’d have known. So it must’ve been something she said.” You stop walking, the words catching in your throat. It bothers you—how her vines have crept into your garden, straight through to the soil beneath. Flowers rarely thrive in foreign soil, you think. 

“Not really,” you lie, biting your lip—a tell Spencer surely catches. “We just talked about the engagement. Well, she talked.”

He doesn’t press, though you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His gaze lingers, but he chooses to give you space. “How was it? The engagement.”

“Something about a yacht,” you reply with a shrug.

“I thought she was afraid of water.”

“Not when it’s on a million-dollar vessel, apparently.”

Spencer chuckles. You continue to walk. Your feet do their best to trace the familiar trail, trying to find the garden path that takes you home. Left. Right. Left. Right. But your thoughts snag, tripping on an unseen vine, and you stumble.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask.

“About what?”

“Like... if we ever get married and stuff.”

Now it’s Spencer’s turn to stop mid-step, rooted to the spot, his body going still. You freeze too, breath trapped in your chest, a flush spreading across your cheeks. “I’m sorry,” you rush to say, the guilt sharp and immediate. “That was silly, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” 

You tug softly on his hand trying to pull him forward, but he doesn’t budge. His brows knit together as his gaze locks with yours. 

“When.” 

“When what?”

“You said if. I’m saying when. When we get married.”

“When we get married?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “When. Not if. I don’t think really of it as a hypothetical possibility.”

Your chest tightens and you don’t know exactly what to say, but your fingers instinctively tighten around his. Spencer senses your silence and rushes to fill the space.

“Do you… not think that?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

“I do! Of course, I do.” Your voice falters. “I just… I didn’t know you thought about it that way too.”

Spencer hums, soft smile on his face. “I know I tend to look at things in terms of statistics, probabilities—But us? There’s no ‘ifs’. Not with you, honey. Never with you.”

And just like that, the earth beneath you shifts, breaking apart to reveal a bud. Not a flower but a fruit-bearing tree. You try and fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him, but he’s already leaning in, his lips warm and familiar against yours. As you pull back, eyes locked, you think back to the pebbles you used to collect. Your tiny, perfect trophies—Spencer’s eyes are far better, you think. 

“You smell like burrito,” he teases. You laugh, the sound light and easy. “You love burritos.”

He brushes a stray curl from your forehead. “I love you.”

Through the clearing, you see it. The vines have receded, the rain has come and gone. Your feet step off the garden path with certainty. It’s safe now. It’s here. 

“So,” you say with renewed excitement, your steps light as you glance at him, “Beach wedding?”

Spencer wrinkles his nose. “Do you have any idea how much fecal bacteria there is in beach sand?”

“Blegh.” 

“No, seriously. Beach sand has 10 to 100 times more fecal bacteria than seawater.”

“How about we don’t throw around the word ‘fecal’ when my burrito is still working its way through me,” you reply, grimacing. “What’s your genius idea then?”

He grins. “Barn wedding?”

“Spence, I love you, and I know you’ve always wanted to be a cowboy, but I’m not walking down the aisle with hay in my hair.”

He laughs, shaking his head as you walk side by side, hands swaying between you. Spencer spots a perennial growing out of concrete cracks by the lamppost 2 steps ahead of you. 

“What about a garden wedding? In spring?” 

“A garden wedding,” you say, a soft smile spreading across your face, “Yeah, I’d really like that, spring’s nice.”

"Okay,” he says, hand warm in yours, “in spring then."

There’s no towering oak tree, ancient and steadfast, to mark this moment, no circle of wildflowers dancing wildly around with their colours. But still the perennial pushes its way through the cracks in the concrete—small, steady, and undeniably alive. It’s there. It’s growing.

They used to say love was like a garden. When his drought comes, silent but devastating nonetheless, you quench it with your rain—soft, temperamental. And when your rain changes its tide, thrashing and wild, he shelters you beneath his leaves, vast and unyielding. Together you prune the dead parts, plant anew, and marvel at what thrives.

The next time someone asks you how things are going, there’s no pursed smile or hesitant pause, distant in thought. You just smile and say it's going. It's going alright. It's going great. It’s going fine. 

Because all that matters is that it's going. 

Your garden is growing. 

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

song recs if you feel like it: nothing by bruno major love letter from the sea to the shore by delaney bailey you’re here that’s the thing by beabadoobee

[archiveof22048]

oceans and engines | michael kaiser sfw | fem!reader with she/her pronouns, swearing

he sees footprints on the sand, he smells the salty air of the sea, and he feels the coldness of your hand, who drags him along the bleakness of the beach. even as he closes his eyes, knowing that he trusts you with where you're leading him, he can still hear the huffing of his breath, trying to keep up with your pace, he can still feel the waves crashing around his bare feet, and he can still taste your expensive chapstick on his lips, as cold as they may be.

"open your eyes, mihya."

and so he does.

the sky is still as it was: desolate and devoid of blue, overcast, and sad. the sea is cold, vast, neverending.

immediately, he tenses up, and he thinks maybe he should have listened to you when he peeled off his jacket before you left his car in the parking lot (it's not even his own car, nor his own jacket, but he hasn't the heart to tell you). he's jealous of you, with your hands tucked in the pockets of your jacket, all bundled up in your layers.

then, you scream.

"the fuck was that?" he asks, his voice raised.

"i'm letting go," you say, just a bit louder than his question. you've got this smile on his face that begs for him to kiss you again.

he scoffs. "of what? you don't even have anything to let go of."

"just shout, mihya!"

and so he does.

"FUCK!!!!!!!!"

you laugh. "yes, that's it! just scream!!!"

"goddamnit!" he screams into the sea. "fuck you, dad! fuck my life! agh!" he kicks the sand, but the sand is wet and hard to kick up, so he gets even more frustrated, and he kicks harder. it splatters on the ground like blood.

again, you giggle. "look at you, soccer player. kicking up anything you see."

he rolls his eyes, but he's half-smiling. "you're lucky i left the soccer ball in the car or else i would have kicked that shit in your face."

"but then i would have a broken nose, and i wouldn't be pretty anymore," you quip, pouting.

he marches over to you, as shouting into the sea had migrated him away from where you are standing. he cups your cheeks gently. "whatever. as long as your lip's not busted, or else it'd be pretty hard to kiss you, huh?"

"jeez mihya, you're so clingy today," you tease as he leans into you, burrowing his face into your neck. he claims it's warm, but you can feel the cold touch of his lips right on the base of your neck. all you can do is wrap your arms around him, and you keep your giddiness to yourself by planting your feet in the sand (if you bounce your knees, he'll remind you of how excited you were when he returned your feelings for him).

"teach me something," he mumbles, dodging your tease.

you rub your hand over his back. "what would you like to learn today?"

"i dunno, just anything."

"but that's what you always say!"

"math, then."

you scoff. "i can only teach you so much math! i'm still learning geometry!"

he laughs. "isn't that just triangles and stuff?"

you pull away from his grasp, still holding onto his hand. your fingers are interlaced. "yeah, well... it's hard to explain."

eventually, you decide to review the vocabulary list that you learned in school the past week. you sit down on the sand, taking off your leather bag and pulling out your school notebook, and he sits down next to you, resting his head on your shoulder.

after reciting your fifty words for the week, you close your notebook, and you sling the bag over your shoulder. "well, that's vocabulary for you," you conclude.

"interesting," he says. "now i know what the word 'philosophy' means."

the both of you stand up and dust off the sand from your legs and behinds. he takes it as an opportunity to rub your behind, borderline caressing your ass, and you turn around and smack his hand away.

"mihya!"

"must've been the wind," he jests, giving you his signature half-smirk.

you look at your wristwatch. "ah, mihya. it's five after."

he rolls his eyes. "whatever. he's not going to get back 'til way later, anyways. gonna go gamble whatever money we have left."

you tuck your hands into your pockets, smiling sheepishly up at him. "well, let's at least start walking back to your car in case he does come back earlier than you expect."

...

he puckers his lips.

"give me a kiss before you leave."

rou've got one foot out of the car, ready to be dropped off in front of your house, while he holds onto your left wrist, stopping you from leaving. he looks like he really owns the car he stole: he grips the steering wheel like he's driven the car a million times, and his slouched posture is to show he's not afraid of wondering whether you're going to kiss him or not.

you close your eyes and smile while you lean in.

"i love you, mihya."

"i love you, too."

then, you leave the car and that is the last time michael kaiser sees you before he becomes famous.

...

"she's beautiful, kaiser."

kaiser looks up from his phone.

it's alexis ness, his teammate, who takes a seat next to him on the bench of bastard munchen's locker room. he's being awfully nosy right now, peering over next to kaiser, taking a look at what's on his phone screen.

"my stupid phone from five years ago has the shittiest quality," kaiser dejectedly states. "you can't even see her eyes clearly."

"but you have a new phone just last year," ness points out.

kaiser scoffs, and he starts rubbing his phone screen with the bottom of his shirt, pretending like it'll do something to clear up the photo of you. "yeah, and transferring all these pictures of her fucked up the quality."

ness hums in understanding (he doesn't get it). "well," he begins to pry, "who is she?"

kaiser's smirk that appears on the field, ness notices, is cold and haughty. it is angering, irritating, and would make any opponent of his shudder and scream. it identifies the emperor of the field, and it is an expression that rules over all.

yet, this smile of kaiser's is unlike anything ness has ever seen during his years of knowing him. kaiser's piercing blue eyes immediately soften, and only the corners of his mouth are lifted up in a smile- it's gentle, bittersweet, and humble. ness feels like he's intruding into the depths of kaiser's heart.

"she's my girlfriend."

ness stands up in shock, and he can't help but clutch the back of his head to accentuate his surprise. "you never told me you had a girlfriend, kaiser!"

kaiser can't help but laugh. "you never asked!"

"well, what does she do?" ness asks curiously.

kaiser hums in thought. "hmm. well, when she was in tenth grade she said she wanted to become a writer. dunno if that's changed, though."

it takes a second for ness to process his answer. "you... don't know what she's doing?"

"well, she's probably studying in university right now. can't say for sure what she's learning."

again, ness is confused. he furrows his brows. "are you saying you haven't talked to her since five years ago? since you joined bastard munchen?"

kaiser looks down in what could be described as shame. ness isn't really sure what he'd call it, but it is definitely not pride. it's such a foreign look on kaiser's face, no expression like ness has ever known kaiser to make.

it becomes increasingly difficult for kaiser to defend himself. so, he resorts to a different tactic: he begins to show ness different photos of you. "oh," kaiser says in fake surprise, "look at this picture of her."

it was a struggle to plan dates between the two of you, but on the rare occasion that you and he could hang around your neighborhood, you'd take him to your favorite ice cream parlor. during this particular date, you and kaiser challenged each other to see who could finish their ice cream cone the fastest, but it ended up as a default win for kaiser as you had accidentally knocked over your ice cream and it landed straight onto the ground.

ness is immediately drawn to the exaggerated faux frown on your face, coupled with happy eyes. he looks over your expensive outfit, and then down at where you're pointing in the image: the melting ice cream on the ground.

he laughs. it's a short "haha," and he isn't sure whether it's out of pity, or if he's trying to play it cool for the delusional kaiser, or if it is genuinely a funny picture. but, he looks past the phone in front of him and looks at kaiser, who has this expression that borderlines ignorance and pure joy.

"funny, right? she's so clumsy, i swear," kaiser says, swiping through more photos on his phone. ness cannot help but notice the softness in kaiser's eyes; how unfamiliar it is to see this boy so vulnerable. "take a look at this one."

after screaming at the beach, kaiser let you take control of the music in the car on the way back to your house. thus, you were granted access to his phone- shoddy, yet reliable. it was probably not the best for taking quality pictures, but pictures were memories, nonetheless.

it was a selfie of the two of you, with you sticking your tongue out and holding a peace sign, and kaiser with his eyes laser-focused on the road. he's got his left hand on the steering wheel and his right on your thigh. as casual as the photo was, ness already knew the intimacy of your relationship.

as kaiser pulls back his phone, ness watches kaiser's expression once more. he looks at his phone like he's in love. kaiser's peculiar smile, unfamiliar to his face, was born from the feelings he held for this girl that he hasn't talked to since he was whisked away in the world of soccer.

"i wonder if she watches my games," kaiser wonders out loud. "i mean, i must be that famous to be appearing nationwide, right?"

ness is taken aback by the sudden change of tone. "u-uh, yeah, for sure, kaiser."

kaiser is pleased with ness's answer. then, he goes back to his phone, swiping through more photos, and consequently chuckles. "oh my god, i forgot i took this video. look at this, ness."

the quality is so bad, but at least he can hear your voice.

...

you're holding onto his soccer ball.

your back is turned to him, and you're dragging him along by holding onto his wrist. his other hand is holding his phone, recording you.

"we're almost there, mihya," you call out from over your shoulder.

his hand holding the phone swats away tree branches, and occasionally dried up leaves crinkle beneath his feet.

"jeez, are you gonna kidnap me or something?" he asks from behind the camera.

then, it suddenly comes into view.

it's an open field. it's just pure grass for miles and miles, and for some reason, it's all trimmed.

the camera pans onto you, and it's slightly shaky. you hold up your hands in defense, and you exclaim, "i didn't cut any of this grass, by the way! i just found it like this, and i wanted to show you. so you can play soccer to your heart's content..."

you drop the soccer ball and begin kicking it around. you've picked up some tricks from him.

"there's no goal post though, i hope you don't mind..."

then, the phone drops.

he calls out your name. "i love you."

"i love you too, mihya."

"i love you more!"

"you better make it big, okay? i didn't show you this field for nothing."

"well, you better watch me, alright?"

"i'll always be watching!"

"shit, wait, where's my phone?"

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 29

Jason Todd x (f)Chubby!Reader

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, NSFW, MDNI, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings/labels: poor parenting discussed, Talia may or may not be ooc (if she is, fear not! I have received 2 separate permits, and have been told I may do as I please!), mild cussing, fluff, angst, a smidge of fear

wc: 2.4k

Chapter Selection

“... Babe, I know you've described Damian's mom as a ‘real piece of work', and Bruce told me a bit about how she raised him before he came here, so I do know she's not what I would consider a good mom. But that doesn’t explain why her visiting means we can't go to the manor?”

Jason sighed, setting his phone aside. He cupped my cheeks, purring my name; “darling, light of my life. I mean this in the best possible way. … You cannot be trusted to keep your cool with her.”

I blinked several times, frowning; “what on earth does that mean?!”

“You are … passionate. You love fiercely, and I love that about you. Seriously, I don't want you to think this is a bad thing; the way you love us makes me feel so safe, and I know Damian agrees. But … you've already yelled at one of his teachers, his principal, and Bruce. You will not be able to hold your tongue with Talia. And holding our tongues is necessary with her. … If she believes living at Wayne Manor is making Damian weak, she will take him away 'for his own good’.”

“How on earth would I make her think he's weak?”

“Talia is the type of person who believes attachment makes us weak. The things we care about can be used against us, the people we love are the people who will hurt us the worst. She believes it's better to be feared than loved. She's why he's so good at masking his feelings. Why he doesn't always understand his own feelings; his early education did not include processing and recognizing emotions. But she's … incredibly astute. She's analytical, and brilliant, and terrifying, and … she's his mother; she taught him everything he knew before he came here, and now she can read him without trying, even when he tries to hide his feelings from her. So if she sees how you two are around each other, even if neither of you so much as acknowledge each other, she'll know how you feel about him, and how he feels about you, and we'll probably never see him again.”

I growled softly, clenching my jaw. “… Bitch…”

He chuckled softly, holding me close. “I know. Which is why we have to keep our distance. … She doesn't visit often, and when she does she never stays long. She'll probably be here for a week at most, stalking the kid to make sure he's not slipping, and once she's gone I’m certain he'll show up on our doorstep.”

I sighed softly. “... Ok. … If you see him between now and then you have to find a way to tell him that I’m missing him and I love him very much, ok?”

He groaned softly. “Aw, come on, babe. The Red Hood can't lean in to give Robin a hug during patrol!”

“I'm not asking you to hug him - don't hug him! Just make sure he knows that I'm thinking about him. Please?” I pouted, snuggling against his chest; “for me?”

“Ughhhhh …. Fine. For you.” He sighed, running his fingers down my spine.

I grinned, snuggling against him happily. “Thank you~”

“Yeah, yeah …” he chuckled, kissing my temple. We sat on the floor, curled against each other, for a long while before Jason finally moved us to the bed to get some sleep.

Jay quickly started moving his things into my place. I gave him my spare key and made space in the closet. When I got home from the next girls night some of his clothes were hung up next to mine. The next day there was one of those cheap plastic dressers next to my nice wood one, and sitting on top of it was Jason's cologne, a book, and his deodorant. His shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel joined mine on the side of the tub. We bought more towels and a new set of sheets.

All these little changes made me giddy; his things slotting into position next to mine just felt so right, and I would get used to the weapons that were suddenly stashed all over the apartment. We had a thorough gun-safety presentation that night, and he showed me where everything was. On the next gym-and-range day, we finished training with an exercise where he would, entirely at random, shout “intruder” and time how long it took me to have a weapon trained on him. My best time was two seconds; he had expected me to go for the gun in the drawer, not the knife block in front of me on the counter.

Soon I started packing Jason a lunch for patrol. Mostly because I wanted to take care of him in some way, but a part of me also hoped he'd run into Damian out there and share the cookies I made. He rolled his eyes at me the first time I pressed the insulated bag into his hands, but accepted it anyway. I sent him off with a kiss and a wave, and settled in to wait for him to come home. Hours later I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up it was 4:30am and he was unlocking the door. The exhaustion rolled off him as I pulled him into a tight hug, and we collapsed into bed. When I woke up for real around 11 the lunch bag was sitting on the kitchen counter, empty and clean. I grinned, filling it again that night, and Jason didn't offer so much as a token resistance before taking it.

A week and a half passed before he ran into Robin on patrol. Jason assured me that he had passed along my message, Damian was perfectly healthy and definitely missed me too, and he had even been forced to share the brownies I'd packed. I beamed, kissing his cheek in thanks, and we curled up in bed.

The next day, we started looking at houses online. We obviously only looked at what was available in Red Hood's territory; on top of him wanting to stay close to his patrol area, it was on the opposite side of Gotham from the well manicured lawns of Bruce's gated neighborhood and thus the perfect place to set up my clinic. Whether our home or the cave was closer, the bats would never be more than 30 minutes away from medical care. Jason took note of a few addresses he wanted to go check out, promising to swing by during patrol to see if they were securable.

“No reason to arrange a showing if I'm not gonna be able to make it safe for you.” He kissed my forehead, wrapping an arm around my waist. I chuckled softly, leaning against him. I was pretty sure he was the one who would need the most security measures to feel safe in our new home, but I wasn't going to argue. The way he lit up when providing for me was too precious a sight; if I complimented his cooking he turned pink and mumbled it was nothing. I thanked him for switching over the laundry and he sighed happily, nodding. When he saw progress in my training he beamed. And when he came home safe in the early hours of the morning, all anxiety and stress melted off of him the second he was in my arms.

In a lot of ways, life was starting to feel incredibly normal. We were like the picturesque 1950’s family I'd been taught to simultaneously idealize and vilify; until the spring semester at GU started I was free to spend my time how I pleased, and with Damian's mother still in town, that mostly meant finding new ways to feel like I was giving Jason as much as he gave me. I made sure he always had enough treats in his lunches, in case Damian was out too. When Jason returned from patrol I inspected him for any small wounds my first aid knowledge would fix. I doted on him every chance I got, and he doted right back. It was wonderful, truly.

But when he left for work, and I was alone with my thoughts, the stillness in the apartment quickly became overwhelming. At first Damian's sudden absence from my life had been annoying but acceptable. But after the first couple days it started to feel like a rabid dog was using my heart as a chew toy. Why was his mother still here? What was she doing? What was she saying to him? He had been making such incredible progress; he smiled more, he initiated hugs, he accepted them more readily. He was painstakingly tearing down the walls around his feelings brick by brick. It was a difficult process, and he was being so brave, I couldn’t be prouder! But what was she doing to those walls while I was kept away?

It had been two weeks, and I was starting to wonder if she planned to stay for the holidays. I didn't want her to stay for the holidays! I had plans, and I couldn't do my plans if I couldn't go to the manor! Being barred from Wayne Manor meant no Damian, but it also meant no Steph, no Dick, no Tim, none of them! We had decided it would be best if it looked like I was just Jason's girlfriend; as far as Talia knew he was indifferent to the family, if that. So I had to appear indifferent at best as well.

I was still able to go to girls' night, because that was being held at Barbara's home. There was no reason to believe Talia would know or care about that. But I missed training with everyone. I missed finding new ways to tease Tim. I missed Dick's good natured laugh. God help me, I even missed Bruce! He pissed me off, but he was still kind to me for the most part, and he was a good trainer. I wanted things to get better with him, for Jason and Damian's sake. I wanted him to be the dad they deserved, the dad Dick believed he wanted to be. I was pretty sure he had it locked away inside him, he just needed … something. What exactly that was, I wasn't sure; maybe to see how happy Damian was with simple childhood experiences? Or to see the peace on Jason's face when we cooked together. Or maybe he needed to experience some of that for himself. But whatever he needed, I was sure he wasn't getting it, and until Talia al Ghul left I wouldn't find out.

I tried to busy myself with crafting and baking. With the winter holidays on the horizon I really should have started on presents around Halloween, especially considering how many people I was making gifts for this year. But better late than never, so I used the time alone to get started. Jason would be gone for hours, I had plenty of time. Or, I would have if not for the knock at the door.

I jumped, looking up incredulously. I wasn't expecting guests, especially this late at night. Anyone I wanted here had my phone number, and no one had called or texted. I grabbed my phone, just to be sure, but I was right - no unread texts, no missed calls. A moment later there was another knock, this one more insistent.

I grabbed one of Jason's guns and my phone, ready to call him with the push of a button, and looked through the peephole. A beautiful woman was standing at the door, an unamused look on her face. Her clothes were too elegant for this neighborhood, she definitely didn't just wander to the wrong door. I sighed, a sinking sensation in my gut as I cracked the door open just enough to reveal my face.

“... Hello?” I frowned.

She raised an eyebrow; “... is hospitality well and truly dead in this country, or are you going to invite me in?”

“At eleven o'clock at night, in this neighborhood, with an uninvited stranger on the doorstep? It’s dead. Now, would you like to introduce yourself, or should I shut the door?”

She tsked; “I am Talia al Ghul. Why have you been spending time with my son?”

I silently cursed, but forced my expression to remain bored and distrusting; “... Your son?”

“Damian …” she sighed, “I believe he's using his father's last name now, Wayne.”

“Oh, Jason's brother? He's not here.”

“Obviously not.” She snapped; “are you going to let me in?”

“Why? He's not here.”

“I know he's not here! I want to know why you've been spending so much time with him.”

“I dunno about ‘much’. I've met him.”

“You are his emergency contact at that paltry excuse for a school he is enrolled at.”

“Oh, is that what you're so upset about?” I shrugged; “'m just doing a favor for Jay by doing a favor for his dad.”

“... Elaborate.”

“Mr. Wayne is a busy man, I am not a terribly busy woman. Emergency contact at the school was a simple enough thing to take off his plate. Kinda thing that seems bigger than it actually is. He now associates me with his life being ever so slightly easier. He already associates me with Jason, ergo he now associates Jason with his life being slightly easier.”

She frowned deeply. “You are emotionally manipulating Bruce into … what, being kinder to his second son?”

“... I suppose so, yeah. Didn't really think about it that way. 'Manipulation' makes it sound so much more convoluted and … effort-full. All I did was sign a piece of paper.”

Her expression morphed into a small smirk; a very Damian-like expression. “... And you are Jason's … girlfriend?”

“Yep.”

“... Hm.” She nodded once. “... Very well then.”

“... Okaaay. … So are you like, sticking around or somethin'? Do you want to be the emergency contact now?”

“No, there is no reason for that…” she pursed her lips; “establishment to have my phone number.”

I shrugged again. “Alright… Anything else?”

“... No, I suppose not.”

“Kay. I'm goin' back to bed then. Goodbye.” I shut the door, locking it, and looked through the peephole again. She glowered at my door, seemingly considering something, and finally left.

I watched her walk away until she was entirely out of sight, then slowly retreated to the couch to text Jay.

Me: Everything is fine, do not panic; but I just met Talia. 11:20pm

Jason: I'm coming home. Don't open the door to anyone. 11:35pm

Me: 👍❤️ 11:36pm

Next ->

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[imnotditzy]

Captain Marvel doesn’t know what a normal death is

(TW: mentions of death, brief mentions of murder gang violence)

No but really if you ask a street rat, literal living lighting, a bunch of ancient immortal people and a really wise king from a bajillion years ago, why would a reasonable answer be an option?

Like Billy thinks that if you’re 60 one of your feet are in the grave. Why? Because that was the life expectancy in the 50s. He's also homeless so he’s already more exposed to crime anyway, I wouldn’t doubt he thinks death by “minding someone else’s business” is common enough to be recorded as such in its own category and not murder. Also, he literally fights supervillains who try to kill him everyday? His view is skewed so much, that the damage might be irreversible. 😭

Moving on, Marvel is literally sentient magic. They can’t die, and if they can it’s not a thing that’s very easy to come by. The amount of work it takes to even do the equivalent of a paper cut is excessive, the concept of them dying would take a lot to set in. And they are a lost cause when it comes to knowing what a normal death is. The only “normal” deaths they’ve really paid attention to are the deaths of the Champions…and none of them had anything close to a normal death. (One of them literally gets hacked in two 💀)

The acronym; do I even have to explain? All of them besides Solomon, Heracles and Achilles literally haven’t died. And literally no hero in Greek mythology dies normally. Solomon is the only one who’s died of natural and normal causes, but he was alive in the BCE. That is a long time ago.

Now, Combine all of them together and what do you get? Captain Marvel: someone who does not have a correct interpretation of typical death!

This would probably concern others around them. Especially the JL, because I feel like Captain would mention this randomly.

—

(Green Lantern [Hal] and Captain Marvel were sent to investigate a crime scene together and they stumble upon the body.)

Captain Marvel: Aw…seems like their time came. (Captain’s got a sympathetic but large smile.)

Green Lantern (looking down at the stabbed body): Um, Cap?

Captain: It’s a shame. But I guess nothing could be done…

Lantern: Captain, they were stabbed???

Captain: Oh, I know. Happens to the best of people, right?

Lantern: Uh —No? Captain this is…worrying??

Captain: They’re in a better place now. Maybe.. ☺️

—

(They’re now back at the watchtower for a debrief, but it somehow turned into Batman questioning Captain Marvel.)

Batman: Captain can you explain why the body was not concerning to you?

(Batman’s staring at Captain intensely.)

Captain (confused smiling): …because there was nothing to worry about?

Batman (raising an eyebrow): Why?

Captain (hesitant): Because there’s probably not a serial killer or whatever running around? They killed an insider, it was gang violence.

Batman: How were you sure?

(Captain looks up to the side like their remembering before shrugging)

Captain: …Oh, I’ve seen similar bodies like that before.

—

(This occurrence is reason #5738 on why Captain Marvel cannot interact with civilians. But in Captain’s defense, how was Billy supposed to know lifespans updated?)

Captain Marvel (pointing at an “old” lady): Oh, she’s 62?

Citizen: Yeah?

Captain (sympathetic): Oh. It’s good she’s still on her feet though.

Citizen: What?

Captain: She’s thriving for her age, right?

Citizen: C—Captain Marvel, she’s 60 not 99. She just retired.

Captain (confused): Really? Why would they have her working so long if she’s nearing the end? (The lady turns around with this expression on her face: 😟)

Citizen: Because she wanted to?? Captain are you ageist?

Captain (never heard that word a day in his life): Uh, I don’t think so? What does that even mean??

(The media later somehow gets ahold of the footage and it becomes such a scandal it reaches the JL; Captain Marvel is then forced to have a public statement. At the giant press conference, Mary and Freddy are there standing next to him and laughing.)

Captain Marvel (whispering): Shut up, it’s not like you thought any different.

Miss Marvel (also whispering): Yeah but we’re not stupid enough to say it to their face, Captain.

Captain Marvel (still whispering): It’s not like you guys would have any less scandals than I do if you were in the media as much as I am.

Reporter (impatiently): Ahem. Marvels?

(Both siblings look like deer in headlights while Freddy laughs at them. They both apologize in unison.)

(Captain then clears their throat, they look like they’re dreading this.)

Captain Marvel: I am terribly sorry for what I said about [62yo citizen]. I hadn’t intended to be rude, but I seemed as such because I had a gap in my…

Solomon (telling him what to say): …Knowledge. I was under the assumption that the average lifespan wasn’t much longer than a person’s 60s…

Captain (repeating what Solomon’s saying): I now know that, while once true, that information is outdated.

(Billy went on for three more minutes, only stopping because the DTC got too bored and people were starting to give him funny looks.)

[royalthedemigod]

alright, so I was thinking about beetlebabes. and, how could anyone not ship it? so, everyone talks about how in love beetlejuice is. but, what about lydia? i mean, surely, she did fall in love with Richard (astrids dad) at one point (obviously). but, after that, rory was just a rebound. here are some examples:

Scene 1: She could've gone to any other ghost (cause, you know, she has that ability), but she doesn't. She goes to Beetlejuice. and, immediately shows him and asks what everything means. cause, he must know everything, right? he knew everything last time. everyone thinks this was an "only hope" thing, but I don't think it was. No, not with Lydia.

and, she's terrified of the other side. she wasn't terrified of him. she stayed close to him the whole time.

Scene 2: as soon as he tells her the directions, she asks "where are you going?!" now, this could mean anything, i suppose. but, he was supposed to be by her side the whole time. "where are you going? weren't you supposed to lead me to her? i thought you weren't leaving?" Until he says "I'm going to the little boys room". Obviously, she gets annoyed at this and just finds Astrid anyway. Cause, she can't make him go with her....but he should've.....

Scene 3: This is the part where Beetlejuice shoots Rory with truth serum. Now, I don't exactly know if she saw what he was doing to Rory or not. So, I'm leaving that out. But, notice how, instead of moving away from Beetlejuice, she moves closer to him. She could've moved closer to her mom, or daughter, but no. She chose to move towards Beetlejuice. After, when he gave her that boxing glove, she punches Rory ONLY. She still hasn't hurt Beetlejuice in any way.

The fact that nothing is making her stay near him. She willingly stays there behind him. Still hasn't done a single thing to him. (i mean, neither has Delia and Astrid. They're all willingly standing there with him.)

Scene 4: This is where Astrid gets ahold of the book, and decides to summon a sandworm. Now, the reason Astrid did this was to to distract everyone so they (Delia, Her, and Lydia) can leave. Lydia thinks way differently. When she notices what they're doing, she looks to Rory and Rory only. Like, "yeah, you're screwed!" She doesn't look at anyone else, not even Beetlejuice.

Last Scene: After Astrid tells him off, Lydia rejects him. But, the only reason she does is because of the "6,000 year age gap". Not "Oh, you did stuff to my family", not any other reason. Because of the age gap.

Once she says his name 3 times, he blows and leaves. She looks back at him like "oh, that look like it hurt". Cause she thinks it did. Obviously, it didn't, but she doesn't think that.

Final Thoughts: I think she's just scared of genuine love. I mean, the last time she had genuine love was with Richard. And, they barely lasted. She said so herself "Our marriage was over before the accident". And, because Rory clearly didn't give her shit, she got scared. Not of Beetlejuice, but of what Beetlejuice is showing her.

If there ever is a 3rd movie, I really hope they get married. It's very well deserved for these 2.

This is the song I was listening to when thinking about beetlebabes, btw. (it also reminds me of Aziracrow. but, thats just me!)

[fishysaltine]

Honestly I’ve always seen Bloodbath (or the kill Zara quest) as Illario’s final desperate attempt to be swayed form his plan. It kind of reminds me of Solas and Varric’s note of him in the beginning of the game “he just needs someone to give him a different option”

Like Illario is genuinely upset about this whole thing. He thought Lucanis was dead, and we see that he was such a chronically depressed alcoholic yapper after Lucanis’ death that even though he did give the hit, he at least regretted it or it didn’t sit well with him. (I have no doubt Zara manipulated him to some extent into it, since she has her eyes on Lucanis after the Wigmaker job anyway, but neither Zara or Illario are actually explored in game). But when Illario is taking us to the boat, he makes note of saying Catarina didn’t tell him because “I would have tried to save him.” The way he says that line is in a COMPLETELY different tone than anything else he says. It’s stern and to the point, not condescending like after Illario takes out Zara and talks down on Lucanis, telling him he’s a danger and liability.

If Illario knew Lucanis was actually alive, he probably would have killed Zara earlier. And Zara obviously KNEW THIS because she didn’t tell Illario Lucanis was ALIVE for that very reason. Illario never knew about Spite. He never planned for the Ossuary. He never meant for that to happen! Zara knew that whatever Illario and she had going on would never even be close to the bond Lucanis and Illario have, and Illario would put that over power every single time.

Almost every single time.

Because he knows what he did, and he still goes out for coffee with Lucanis and the weirdo rando that saved him. And then he tries to convince Lucanis to stay away from Zara, because he knows that Zara is capable of and how not only she can, but has hurt Lucanis. (She turned his big brother into an abomination!)

WAIT A MINUTE WHO ELSE DOES THAT? Lucanis does! Except Lucanis is more direct about it. Says that Zara might come after him. Illario tries to convince Lucanis she’s in fuckass land, get him out of the situation ENTIRELY involving Antiva, the Anntam, First Talon. Yeah, there’s probably a selfish motivation, but in Wigmaker Illario is so fucking scared Lucanis is going to essentially fling himself off a cliff, there’s a genuine “heyy can you take a holiday? Can you stop being passively suicidal for me, your little cousin? Can we stop with the ‘death is my calling’ shit?”

Of course Illario can’t just go “uhh I’ll take care of it dw bro” because to Lucanis the beef with Illario and Zara isn’t merely as personal as he (and Spites) beef with her. They really just want to protect one another and get their dues.

Illario killing Zara wasn’t so much for him. I mean she kind of played him, but whatever, it didn’t necessarily affect Illario in anyway, it was for Lucanis. A way to try and appease the guilt of something that he never intended to happen to his older brother. That’s why Illario wants to be there during Bloodbath. “It’s Crow business” aka ‘WHY ARE YOU TAKING WEIRDO RANDO 1 & 2 OVER ME? I deserve to be at your side, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and back, why won’t you let me anymore?’

So Illario meets Lucanis and his rando friends on the rooftop. Lucanis asks him what he’s doing there- and Illario says he wants to go. He’s so desperate to go, to prove his alliance to his big brother cousin. But that’s not all. Lucanis has been gone for a year, and then left immediately. Killing and missions, being Crow’s is one of the main ways Lucanis and Illario bond.

Illario has never felt good enough. For his grandmother, for Lucanis, for anyone. That’s why he started this mess. Zara tells him Lucanis doesn’t think he’s good enough, he never will be, until he does the most Crow thing ever and cuts him out of the family line. Then finally, maybe, when his cousin’s eyes are glassy and corpse empty, will they be filled with approval.

But Lucanis is right here (with two randos)! And Illario asks him to involve him, just looking for that smidge of approval. And Lucanis says no. Ok. Cool! Maybe he just wants you safe. Fine, whatever. But you’re capable- at least you think you are.

So you ask the damning question. “You think I’m not good enough?”

And your cousin, your big brother, simply says: “Are you?”

While surely a good natured jab from Lucanis as siblings do, had Lucanis’ answer been anything even close to praise or more concern, I think Illario would’ve been fine to step out of the way. ALL he needed was Lucanis’ mild assurance/approval. Just a ‘oh no, you’re good enough. I just don’t want you getting hurt is all’

But he doesn’t say that. He simply feeds into the very insecurity that sent Illario to selling him out, the very one that Zara told him but he never quite believed until the words came from Lucanis’ mouth. ‘You’re not good enough to stand by my side anymore.’ And potentially ‘I’ve replaced you with rando 1 & 2, I don’t need you anymore’

So then he doubles down. No more playing nice cousin or big brother little brother. If Lucanis doesn’t want Illario by his side anymore- fuck it, Illario doesn’t need him. Lucanis saying Illario isn’t good enough isn’t just a blow to his ego, or self confidence/self esteem, it’s a flat out rejection. So he takes the kill from Lucanis, and essentially tells him to get the fuck out of dodge or else, and then tries to strong arm first Talon.

Lucanis never quite gives Illario “the different option.” Illario throws their bond away not because he necessarily wants to, but because he thinks Lucanis’ threw it away first, and that he’s just folding onto a frayed rope (not even mentioning how Illario crosses out Lucanis’ name in the family line, showing how he just… almost doesn’t exist. He’s gone to Illario. Illario’s so hurt by everything he just wants Lucanis gone at this point, come hell or high water.)

Lucanis quite literally says that the only way Catarina would be proud of Illario is if he kills her, and if that extends to Lucanis, so be it.

[gay-mousebites-md]

THE BEST EPISODE OF MERLIN!!!

This is such simple story telling, a proper ghost story, lots of jump scares - and, like many horror genre stories, a strong queer subtext.

So, I'm currently getting to the end of Merlin and oh my god is it the gayest thing in the world, where was it when I needed it? Why didn't I watch it? It was literally on telly when I was being homophobically rejected by my family? I've always been an idiot, this is clear. Series 5, Episode 3, The Death Song of Uther Pendragon

“I will not allow you to destroy all that I have built! Camelot must come before all else. Even you.” — Uther to Arthur

This is what homophobic family rejection feels like. To your family, you are a destructive force. Your feelings are a demolition ball. Your peace and happiness means nothing. It is the family image, and the hopes and expectations of the parents that matters more then anything else. You must suffer in the dark. You cannot hope to see the light. It doesn't matter if you're still breathing.

The relationship between Arthur and Merlin in this episode felt like the closest we've seen yet - and this is just after they have fallen asleep in a net trap, with their faces squished together, so that's pretty darn close. (Let's not forget, they are 'more than friends, more than brothers'.) And as they demonstrate closeness, they are assailed by the ghost of Arthur's father. (It's homophobia, guys.) Arthur says repeatedly he has so many things he wanted to say to Uther, that he didn't get to say to him when he was alive. What are these unsaid things? These secrets? What does Arthur wish that Uther had known - and accepted? That he's a beautiful gay boy in love with Merlin? In the land of the dead, Uther does not allow Arthur to speak, but instead details his shame. He is talking about Gwen, but he says: "There are certain things that are more important than love." All of Arthur's actions have been made out of love - his decision to knight the unnoble, to marry 'beneath him' rather then make a strategic alliance. Uther says "How can I be proud of a son who ignores everything I taught him? Who is destroying my legacy?" Uther, over the course of the episode, makes it clear he would rather see Arthur dead before he allowed him the freedom and grace to follow his true will. (HOMOPHOBIA!!!)

Merlin's 'magic' (*wink*) is revealed to Uther - he is, true to form, appalled and repulsed by it. Uther Pendragon: You have magic? Merlin: [quivering with anger] I was born with it! Uther Pendragon: I made you Arthur's servant. You are a sorcerer? Merlin: Even while you were king, there was magic at the heart of Camelot! Uther Pendragon: I will not allow you and your kind to poison… Merlin: You're wrong. Uther Pendragon: …my kingdom! Uther remembers that it was he himself that gave Merlin access to Arthur in close quarters. I think the reading that to 'have magic' is to 'be gay' - a motif anchoring the show, resounds so strongly in this episode. And here, Uther continues in death to rage against allowing magical people to 'poison' the kingdom - in the way that homophobic rhetoric implies homosexuality can be inborn or acquired, but it always corrupts, seduces, pollutes and recruits. Uther is appalled that he positioned Merlin by Arthur's side, and opened him to this poison. Uther, like all ghosts, is vengeful. He has deep shame for the choices Arthur has made, and is making... Uther's attempts to hurt, maim or kill anything that is outside of his conservative approval... if that's not an allegory for homophobic parental rejection, I don't know what is.

Do you have magic? ARE YOU GAY!?

But this episode is bright! And funny! Merlin and Arthur are in each others pockets in this episode. They are always engaging in 'horseplay' but there is so much of it here. There is this act of boundary crossing that causes them both to pause.

ARTHUR: When do I hit you?

MERLIN: All the time.

ARTHUR: That's not hitting, Merlin, that's merely friendly slaps. It's horseplay.

MERLIN: So can I give you a 'friendly slap'?

ARTHUR: You can certainly try.

MERLIN grabs one of Arthur's leather gloves and thwacks him on the back of the head with it. His face is one of immediate regret.

ARTHUR: (Amused) What the hell was that?

MERLIN: It was, um, horseplay.

ARTHUR: No, Merlin, you're doing it all wrong. Why don't I show you? "WHY DON'T I SHOW YOU?"!!!!!!!!!! There is no heterosexual explanation for this one, boys:

There's rough horseplay. There's also tenderness. Arthur can't get enough of Merlin 'teaching him poetry'.

Sir Leon: I'll leave you to your poetry, then, my Lord. Arthur: Poetry? That's the best you could come up with? Merlin: What did you want me to say? Arthur: I don't know. Something that didn't make me sound like a love struck girl. Merlin, could you disguise our behaviour and our surprise, in a way that doesn't position me as 'love struck' and in a reversed gender role? Not today! Subtle as a brick.

And I am LIVING for the moment Uther, positioned between Arthur and Merlin, is forcibly sent back to the land of the dead. In true Merlin style, it is both comedic and devastating. Uther shouts 'MERLIN HAS...!!' before disappearing in a gasp. It's like he's pathetically shouting 'GAYLORD!' as Arthur blows his (own) trumpet and in doing so, drowns him out, and removes him as an obstacle in the way of Merlin. And then Arthur and Merlin are panting and in tears together. I think it is impossible to go through homophobic parental rejection and not be moved by this moment. I was in tears with them ... and laughing! This is a great show.

10 out of 10. I don't know how this thing ends (well, I've read the Thomas Malory...) but this episode alone is one of the best TV things I've seen.

[gayfertilitygoddess]

[text in screenshot:

“Worldly people”, G. K. Chesterton mused, “never understand even the world; they rely altogether on a few cynical maxims which are not true.” And so it is for huge regions of the American ideological landscape when asked to explain the meteoric rise of Donald Trump in 2016, or his seemingly implausible return last week.

Far-left radicals, socialists, liberals, centrists, old-fashioned conservatives, academics, mainstream journalists, and everyone else who simply cannot imagine voting for the man themselves, all tend to default to one narrative: Many Americans are struggling economically, left behind, urgently wanting a more egalitarian society, and turned to a fascist movement in desperation. Bernie Sanders summed up this conventional wisdom succinctly; Democrats lost because they “abandoned the working class.”

Like many, Sanders had moved away from this narrative after 2016, and particularly after 2020, working closely with the Biden administration to pass the most economically progressive legislative agenda in two generations. During the same period, empirical research added its voice—study after study found ‘racial resentment’ a far bigger driver of support for Trump than ‘economic anxiety’. Neither Trump’s core support, nor the drift of formerly Democratic voters to him are well explained by economic desperation.

Like many cynical maxims that are not even true, it is kept aloft on a cloud of smaller, equally persistent, falsehoods. There is a trope that most Americans work ‘paycheck-to-paycheck’. They don’t. The median American has savings. Politicians on both the left and right love the rhetoric of Americans working multiple jobs to get by. In reality, less than 5% of the labour force does so (and that includes upper-class professionals like a lawyer who does consulting on the side).

Nor is it what voters themselves say: The average American thinks democrats are far too liberal. They see the party as to their left on both economic and social issues. Only 6% said they thought Harris was not liberal enough. This is not an electorate crying out for socialism, turning away from Democrats because they haven’t seized the means of production.

Finally, the narrative (hereafter called the ‘poverty narrative’) often assumes an outdated (and decidedly masculine) vision of a frustrated proletariat of laid off coal miners, quite at odds with the reality of life for most working Americans in the 21st century. The 23-year-old barista serving you coffee at Starbucks, who lives with roommates in a small apartment, who doesn’t have job security, or the ability to pursue her goals in life—she most likely did not vote for Trump. The electorate has undergone class realignment, but exit polls still show the lowest income Americans preferred Harris.

/end]

Pulling these later paragraphs out for emphasis:

As much as anything though, [the poverty narrative is] a morality play, one that emerges from our implicit frameworks and subconscious assumptions. Consider it in parallel to other explanations of the election: ‘it was a backlash to woke/cancel culture’; ‘young men are sick of feminism’, ‘the Democrats weren’t civil about Trump supporters’; and ‘Democrats shouldn’t have campaigned on trans rights.’ Notice that in all these narratives voters moving right are not granted any agency. They are just reacting to something liberals have done. As a result, liberals are implicitly assumed to bear responsibility for the outcome.

I call this ‘what did you say to make him hit you?’ politics. The implication is intentional: We tend to perceive both liberalism and the Democratic party as female-coded—the result of decades of heavily gendered use of language by conservatives. This filters into our assessment of moral responsibility (which is also gendered), in which we offer explanations for the bad behaviour of male-coded groups and shy away from direct condemnation. We are asked to ‘understand’ the perspective of those who shift to the right and cautioned against ‘dismissing’ them. Long narratives are concocted in which explanation fades into excuse.

[pukefactory]

° ° ° SACCHARINE HONEYBEE ° ° °

» Summary: A compilation of headcannons featuring V as your caregiver

» Character(s): Serial Designation V (Murder Drones)

» Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, SFW

» Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

╰┈➤ It took her awhile to become accustomed to your preferences, but once she learnt that you personally gravitated towards her for protection it was much easier for her to get into the swing of things. I mean, how could she not when she knows you trust her so much? She didn’t protest beyond this point.

╰┈➤ V doesn’t necessarily like to carry you around everywhere unless you’re tired, but when she’s feeling up for it she’ll carry you piggyback style. She won’t be your chauffeur for insanely long distances, much preferring it if you’d just walk beside her to get all your zoomies out. Although should you happen to fall asleep mid carry, V will continue to hold on to you until she finds a safe place to put you down.

╰┈➤ Her pet name for you is strictly just ‘baby’ because that’s what you are - a little baby. V uses this in both a teasing and endearing manner depending on her mood. There are slight variations such as: ‘little baby’ and ‘my baby’. If you’re misbehaving though, she’ll refer to you as ‘little twerp’. As for herself, she’ll let you get away with calling her ‘VeVe’ but she absolutely hates anything else; she’s picky.

╰┈➤ She’s not really physically affectionate yet head pets come in the dozens. However, if you do exactly what she says, she’ll lovingly run her fingers through your hair before gently kissing your little nose (as long as no one else is around, of course). You may even get a peck on the cheek if she’s feeling more warmhearted although I wouldn’t expect it.

╰┈➤ Surprisingly (or maybe unsurprisingly) V is an exceptionally protective caregiver. Once she adapts to your specific needs, she’s always close behind you to guarantee your safety. You never really notice that she’s there but she certainly is there, watching, observing, listening. You don’t really suspect anything until she starts to conveniently appear out of thin air whenever you have a minor inconvenience. She wants her little to be protected and she’ll be damned if she wasn’t going to be your guardian.

╰┈➤ V gets on her knees to talk to you at eye level. It’s generally just a preference of hers so she can make sure that you’re focusing on what she’s telling you. This is also her default position for when she’s scolding you, attempting to comfort you, listening to what you have to say…maybe it’s just her default position with you full stop. At least she knows if you’re paying attention or not.

╰┈➤ V finds it hilarious if you copy her sassy attitude, especially if you repeat her exact words right back at another drone whose aggravating either of you. Not only does she think it’s amusing but adorable also. If she catches you copying her mannerisms (hands on hips, rolling your eyes, ect) she’ll give you a tiny smile of approval and then use you as leverage to prove her point.

╰┈➤ If you ask her real nicely she may bring out her bubble blower for you. V doesn’t know why you find it so entertaining considering it’s just a stress reliever to her, but it's better than you being bored and getting grouchy. It never seems to run out of juice somehow; you get to pop as many bubbles as you want for as long as you want! V might possibly get a little playful and give you a challenge to see how many bubbles you can pop within a certain amount of time. Enrichment for her baby.

╰┈➤ V is a very no nonsense caregiver and won’t tolerate any disrespect from you. Talking back is the ultimate big no-no. She’ll lecture you and put you in time out until you’ve learnt your lesson. When you apologise it has to be with genuine sincerity (V will know if you’re lying just to get out of your punishment).

╰┈➤ That being said, she’ll definitely let you get away with disrespecting others. She enjoys watching you stand your ground, stomping your feet in anger as you fiercely babble at whoever is in front of you. V will even encourage you to be meaner if she feels like you’re being too soft. The drones always run away after a couple of minutes; you’re completely obvious to the fact that V is standing right behind you, claws and teeth on full display, ready to escalate things should they not listen to you.

[typicalopposite]

👶👶👶👶👶👶👶👶

👀

ohhhh! you're interested interested! lol well since you wanted so many I'm gonna also double this as...

WIP Wednesday

(since I was tagged by these lovlies - @bidisasterevankinard @lavenderleahy @bangpop91 & @quintessenceofdust88 <3)

Evan is so close to him; his eyes searching and sad, his lips parted as he takes long deep breaths. He lifts a hand to Tommy’s cheek and caresses it as gently as he did the first time he initiated a kiss between them. It was after the coffee date, and Tommy walked Evan back to his jeep. Evan turned and grabbed Tommy’s face in the same way, and pulled him into a kiss. Which is exactly what he does now— slower this time… giving Tommy the chance to pull back or speak up— he doesn’t; Evan kisses him, and he just sighs into it, desperate for it. “Then… is— is this really what you want?” Evan asks, pulling back to look into Tommy’s eyes just as a tear falls. Tommy is a coward. He is not brave enough to say no… he’s too scared to say yes (not again). 

“I’m sorry…” he says. Forgive me… he means.

“Okay.” Evan says softly, leaning his forehead against Tommys; he sighs. “Okay…” he repeats and moves his lips back to Tommy’s, and Tommy should pull away… he should stop them from crossing that line, even just one last time.

He doesn’t.

He thought it would be… intense, like it is in the movies. Heated, rough… maybe it would even hurt– hurt in the way he feels he deserves for the hurt he has caused. It should leave him sore for days, limping into work so his team can poke fun and come up with a dozen or more theories… But it wasn’t. Tommy wonders if it’s even possible for sex with Evan to be anything less than amazing. Whether he takes, or he gives, he does it with so much passion and care, it’s breathtaking. Tommy opens his eyes to look at Evan and realizes… that actually makes it hurt so much worse. 

Maybe this is exactly the goodbye he deserves. A reminder he will never find something, someone, like this again. 

It’s over too soon, and he’s left breathless lying on Evan’s chest, trying to soak in every second he can before he needs to pull away for their own good. Evan’s hands hold him tightly, and only tighten when he starts to move, but not tight enough to keep him from pulling free. 

This is for the best. He tells himself this again and again and again as he slowly gets dressed, and Evan lies motionless staring up at the ceiling— Tommy only glances at him a couple times… each one has him wanting to crawl back into the bed and cling to Evan for dear life. He doesn’t. 

He runs his fingers through his tousled hair, tries to find some words so he isn’t just walking out with nothing more said… but none come to him. 

“I guess… I’ll see you around?” Evan says first, sighing out a halfhearted laugh at the broken record of a line— it’s like he knows it’s not true. He turns his head and finally locks eyes with Tommy, and the hold is so powerful Tommy isn’t sure if he’ll be able to break it. 

He could say something… he could take it back… he could come clean about his reasons for running… He simply nods. 

Evan swallows, and turns away from him— thankfully (thought is Tommy actually thankful for it?) breaking the connection himself, and looking back at the ceiling. “Goodbye Tommy…” 

“Goodbye…” Buck— no… “—Evan.”  He watches as Evan screws his eyes shut and turns away from him.  

Tommy stumbles his way down the stairs, determined to get out of the loft— out of earshot— before succumbing to his emotions. He looks back one more time at the ruins that remain of their relationship, strikes a match and tosses it with the closing of the door.

<3<3<3<3<3

Make Me Write!

and throwing out some NP tags forrrrr @30somethingautisticteacher @onthewaytosomewhere @sunnywithachanceofbi @nine-one-wanton @judymarch15 @herrmannhalsteadproduction

@unhingedangstaddict @leashybebes @beanarie @hyperfocusthusly @kinardsevanaaand @weewookinard anyone else who wants to participate <3

[tododeku-or-bust]

that post lost me at "white supremacy hurts white people too" I'm not doing that for multiple reason. Aside from white people being weird to each other, that alignment to whiteness is always there as a safely net for them. And just because white supremacy, a system made wholly to benefit and prioritize you, doesn't have a cushion for you in its absence does not mean it is hurting you. It was not meant to EVER have an absence in the first place. It falls too close to white people getting scared when there's push back to the system.

I feel you. I mean, technically yeah it's true that white supremacy hurts white people, but that's part of the function. The same way we can't keep every person of color down (otherwise we can't say it's BOOTSTRAPS and LAZINESS) we can't uplift every single white person. Poor white folks were always meant to catch the strays, it's just that no one ever thinks it'll be them.

But yeah, I recognize that at least American whiteness comes with a loss of culture and heritage in exchange for that power. I just don't pity them that. And that's why that post concerns me; not necessarily the statement, but the potential for self pity. Self pity and guilt regarding whiteness are useless. Honestly, they're harmful and yes, could be used as an excuse as to non-action.

You wanna know who else had to give up their culture and language and has nothing of their heritage, all by force by the way? Black Americans lmao. And you wanna know what we've been doing for centuries, still fighting off vultures to this day? Developing a new culture. I'm not allowed to act an ass because I don't have my heritage! I'd have LOVED having my roots, my language, my original dress, and I didn't even get the promise of power in exchange for the loss!

So... Like yeah, acknowledge that your ancestors sold you out for power and the potential of more power. But that does not excuse anything. The power they sold you out for still rests in your hand. Be sad, but do the work.

[sammysbrokenheart]

Drag me

Part 2 of Drag me down (Part 1)

Summary: A week after Billie's concert you are wondering if Billie actually wants this.

It has been a week after Billie's concert. She was amazing and you felt your heart swell with pride. It was no secret how you felt about Billie and you made sure to express it at any given moment. When you're together you made sure to sprinkle some physical affection and you're always asking her on dates, but in return you get nothing from her.

Billie wasn't a very shy woman, she's loud and passionate so it didn't make sense to you why she was holding back so much.

"Maybe she just doesn't like you like that?" Miko said from where she was busy drawing on her couch.

"Miko, you know that's not true," you said throwing a pillow at her.

You and Miko have been friends for years now, she was like a sister to you.

"Even after all the pushing that I have been doing she's not budging. I mean, yes, whenever I'm around she's fucking angry as hell, but that isn't even helping," Miko said with a sigh. Around the two month mark Miko got tired of your whining about Billie and decided to take matters into her own hands. She claimed that a little jealousy was exactly what Billie needed and she was wrong.

You stared down at your phone still waiting eagerly for Billie's reply. You decided to finally be the one to ask her to be your girlfriend tonight over dinner at your place.

"What if you get rejected?" Miko asked with a smirk on her face.

"I'm going to tell Martina you're in love with her," I say taking out my phone. You've never seen Miko move that fast and you realized quick that you had to run for your life.

Billie quickly replied to you after she was done with her meeting with her manager. You asked her to come over, but there was a massive get together happening at her house.

Billie: can't tonight, but you can come over to mine?

You♡: sure :)

You made your way to Billie's house dressed up in an outfit that Miko said made me look like a sex doll. You decided that, that was for the best, maybe if you looked irresistible then that would push her to just do a bit more.

Claudia greeted you at the door. Her house was occupied with a bunch of people they are also dressed like a bunch of sex dolls. Billie didn't mention to you that there would be a party at her house.

"Y/N you look amazing!" Claudia said hugging you.

"You too babe! Where's Bil?" you asked and Claudia pointed to the kitchen. Of course.

As you got closer to the door you could hear Billie's voice. When you opened the door you saw that she wasn't alone, she was there with Abigail.

You felt your blood boil. Abby was someone you weren't fond of, she was Billie's ex girlfriend.

You took on how close you two were standing, how Billie was letting her be in her space like that. You looked at how Billie was laughing at her stupid jokes and you knew they were stupid.

You coughed and that immediately got their attention.

Billie's face lit up when she saw you. Whatever Abby was talking about was long forgotten and all she could focus on was you and the black dress you were wearing.

"Billie," you said wrapping your arms around Billie's neck and you felt Billie snake her arms around your waist.

"You look amazing I-" before she could say anything else her brother called her.

"I'll be right back, get us a drink," she said. Without warning she gave you a quick kiss on the cheek and left.

When you noticed that Billie left you turned to Abigail who was still standing there looking stupid.

"So you're my replacement," Abigail said smugly.

"No, your replacement was the woman Billie started dating a week after you guys broke up. How does it feel to know you're so easily replaceable?" you said walking closer to her. You can tell that you struck a nerve.

"You think this will last long? You think you stand a chance against me?" she said trying to act tough.

"No, you're right. Go ahead and try Abby," you said sweetly.

Abigail looked at you confused.

"Just like that?" she said crossing her arms over her chest.

"I mean you have beeen trying to get Billie back since you broke up two years ago so maybe this time it would actually work... Fingers crossed," you crossed your fingers and gave her a thumbs up.

Billie suddenly came back to the kitchen and went straight to where you were standing. Her arms were immediately wrapped around your waste just like before she left. She nuzzled her head in your neck and you could smell the alcohol on her breath. She was drunk.

"I missed you," she mumbled and you felt light kisses where her head was burried in your neck.

You watched Abigail leave the kitchen in a hurry and felt smug.

Billie took your hand and you two walked outside to the pool.

"Y/N let's swim," Billie said excitedly.

"Billie no," you said pulling her away from the edge.

"God Y/N I really fucking like you," she said suddenly. You cupped her cheek in your hand and you felt her lean into your touch.

"Miko likes you too... Fucking Miko," you heard her mumble.

"Sometimes I think I'm good and then Miko and her annoying ass gets in head FUCK!" She says frustrated.

"Billie calm down you're drunk, I don't want you to trip," you said watching her walk backwards.

"I'm just buzzed Y/N I am very aware of my surroundings," she says and you felt relieved. "I heard what you said to Abby now I'm... I don't fucking know. You sounded so jealous, but yesterday Miko posted you two at the bowling alley and I-"

You couldn't stand her rambling anymore. Without any warning you kissed her. It took no time before she kissed you back and you two were passionately kissing.

"I like you Billie. It's you, just you," you said between kisses.

"So what you're saying is Miko's ass doesn't stand a chance," she said as she pulled away from the kiss.

"Miko's ass never stood a chance in the first place," you said. You watched her eyes light up.

Abigail watched the scene unfold from the backdoor. She took out her phone and dialed Miko's number.

"What happened?" she asked immediately.

"I think they just got together..." Miko started swearing on the other side of the phone. Abigail could barely understand anything cause she was swearing and yelling in Spanish.

"We can still make this work... We don't have to give up?" Abigail said.

"What can we possibly do!?" Miko said.

"Meet me tomorrow and I'll fill you in. We'll get them, don't worry," Abby ended the call and walked back to the party. This was definitely not the end.

[justaghostingon]

Marionetta Chapter 65 Theory: Does Ryishmar Care About Tonny?

A Quick theory before the next chapter comes out and either confirms or blows my idea straight out of the water.

So we all know that Ryishmar is looking pretty evil. He’s supposedly the one who bound Julia in a contact to kill Tonny. And when Tonny gives him a chance to explain something, all he writes is:

Seems pretty cut and dry right? So Ghosting, your probably saying, how can you say Ryishmar possibly not hate Tonny when he clearly just said he wants him dead?

To which i ask you to turn to the body languagr and facial expressions Ryishmar is making. When Tonny expresses the pain he’s feeling and the burden he’s had to carry, Ryishmar looks like this:

You can see the way his shoulders slump as if carrying a heavy burden and he’s frowning, A close up on his face shows obvious distress:

He’s solemn, pensive, and from the upward tilt of his eyes you can tell he’s upset. He doesn’t want Tonny to have to carry this burden. It hurts him to see him in pain.

When Tonny confesses his intention to stay on as Ringmaster and not let it fall into Ryishnar’s hands, he looks sad, not offended or angry. He’s remarkably calm while Tonny yells at him, for someone who supposedly hates Tonny enough to have him killed. Indeed the only time he smiles is when Tonny apologizes and acknowledges it’s been a while since he came to talk to Ryishmar.

If anything, his expression when Tonny speaks of talking him is very out of place from the rest of his faces, as if the idea of having a conversation with Tonny is enough to make him smile even under the dire circumstances. It’s nostalgic.

So what does this all mean? If Ryishmar isn’t the big bad, who is? Well. Tonny refers several times to Ryishmar being a “puppet” and that his situation “isn’t any better,” suggesting that something else is controlling both of them and Ryishmar is just as trapped as everyone else in the circus.

Perhaps Ryishmar wasn’t the one to bind Julia to that contract, and is only a messanger inbetween, trying desperately to warn Tonny of their mutual master’s ill intentions towards him.

Or perhaps Ryishmar truely did bind Julia to the contract to kill Tonny. But not out of cruelty. Rather in a desperate urge to let his last, ever-loyal servant a chance to rest and be free.

We’ll just have to wait and see.

[tinkaaabutt]

White Ferrari Vi.!

SubTitle: “were small and not worth the mention”

Summary:

Vi doesn’t know how to love gently. And you? You’ve always loved her too much. On the open road, it’s just you, her, and the unspoken truths that sit heavy between you.

The engine hums low beneath the rain, steady against the silence between you two. Vi’s hands grip the wheel, knuckles white, jaw tight. The rhythm of windshield wipers and the occasional squelch of tires cutting through puddles are your only companions. It’s better than the words, you think, because when Vi speaks, it always cuts.

You look at her profile—the sharp lines of her jaw, the telltale furrow between her brows. She’s beautiful in the kind of way that feels impossible to touch without ruining. And yet, you had touched her. Again and again. You don’t know if it was your courage or your stupidity that made you stay all those nights. All those mornings. Until now.

“What?” she asks suddenly, voice clipped but low. Her eyes stay on the road, but you see her jaw twitch. She knows you’re staring. Vi’s always been good at catching you in your quiet moments.

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that,” she snaps, sharper now. “You’ve been staring holes into me for miles.”

You turn your head to the window, watching rain blur the edges of the world outside. “I just— I’m tired, Vi.”

The words hang in the air, soft but heavier than anything you’ve said in weeks. You don’t need to explain. She knows what you mean. The late nights waiting for her. The apologies she’d offer that never really reached her eyes. The fights that always ended with her walking away.

“Then stop,” Vi bites back, her voice cracking like a whip. “If it’s so bad, just stop.”

You laugh under your breath, bitter and hollow. “You think it’s that easy?”

Her hands tighten on the wheel. “Yeah, maybe it should be.”

You hate her for a moment, the way she always makes it sound so simple. The way she can shut you out like the rain outside doesn’t exist. You look at her again, feeling the ache crawl up your throat.

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over, Vi.”

Her eyes flick to you, startled, but she does as you ask. The car slows to a stop on the side of the road, rain pattering against the roof like it has nowhere else to go. She turns to you, and for the first time in weeks, Vi’s walls are down.

“What the hell do you want from me?” she asks, but there’s no fire in her voice anymore. Just smoke. “You want me to say I’m sorry? You want me to fix this?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, voice cracking under the weight of your exhaustion. “I just— I can’t keep chasing something that doesn’t want to be caught.”

Her mouth opens, then closes. She looks like she wants to argue, to fight, to scream. But then she deflates. Her hands fall to her lap, and for a moment, she looks small. Lost.

“I never meant to hurt you,” she says quietly. It’s the first honest thing she’s said in a long time.

“I know,” you reply. “But you did.”

The rain fills the silence again. You wonder if it’s too late to turn back. Or if this is the last stop before the two of you drive in opposite directions.

Let me know what you think!

Guys a fic called good luck babe.! For ellie is abt to come it’s been sitting in my notes along w hella other fics