#What would you be doing if you weren't out making yourself a better citizen

[sangunary]

Yandere BatFam x other dimension Reader.

SYPNOSIS: In another world they did love you.

IMP: Reader did get neglected in her dimension.

>Part 1< >Part 2<

You've never been a figure or anything important, not something worth the light. Even in picture everybody looked so good and you're just there, even just from a glance it's hard to notice you.

You've tried to shine to take that light everybody else have in their grip but the light was purposefully avoiding you.

No amount of grade, beauty or perfection would make you their baby. Someone they cared for.

You weren't some star like them just the black sheep, everybody else have a life they can call theirs but your life was already written out for you, every possible things already carved out by everyone else but yourself.

Unlike Dick you weren't charming or good looking everything about him was amazing and admirable... The first Robin and the first to become their own person. Not even Bruce get to curve his story...

He treat his siblings equally, that was what he preached... It was true. You weren't a family to him, you didn't matter enough to be apart of his family.

Even when Jason decided to started killing you stayed by his side, brought him food and even tried to build an actual relationship but it was no use.

Everybody called you desperate for crawling to him when he needed somebody and the moment he healed(kind of) he throw you away. Ignoring how you were the only one who stood up for him, took all the insult and humiliation for his sake yet he took you for granted.

You took the word, hit and almost got disowned, for somebody who doesn't even care. You almost died for somebody you thought was your brother yet he didn't do shit when the family almost disowned you for staying by his side... Didn't offer home or solace. Just ignored your suffering for his sake.

Tim was smart everything you adore in a brother, stayed by his side spent sleepless nights just to watch over him when he was in the hospital, trying your best to support your brother who you fear might die.

Yes, everyone didn't get enough sleep but you didn't even sleep stayed by his side to make sure no harm could happened to him. Took your time to read book's knowing he can't even hear you, doing everything.

Yet when he opened his eyes he hugged the family and not you, even have the audacity to ask you to go out while they had some 'family' catch up...

Damian was one hell of a monster, yet you never gave up on him. He was just a kid and you wanted to be the admirable older siblings you never had.

It wasn't easy it never was, the constant lie about you to everyone and yes nobody in this world pity you enough to hear your side... Yout life was already hell and it wad just unfair how everybody else got what they wished for and you never get anything... Not even a family.

To the eyes of the media you were the black sheep often left out even in family portraits or any major Wayne gala, just some avarage citizen that was living the life...

Bruce couldn't remember your name's at times blaming it on old age, Alfred only saw you as an extra mouth nothing more nothing less.

Even when The joker kidnapped you and made Bruce choose between you and Catwoman he almost hesitate, you were never the first or second, you weren't an option to everybody... Just some extras living with them to make them look better.

Being you was painful itself, when your family who were supposed to be the hero rejected your presence.

So, when you accidentally step into another dimension you became attached.

Your false family loved you to no ends, you were dead in that universe... Dying a gruesome death.

Yet when they saw you alive even tho you weren't their family they cherished you and most importantly treat you like a family.

There was no more I no more threats just a loving family.

Who will do whatever to make you stay.

"I like this" You told them, you couldn't help but smile.

You've never played games with your actual family before, to them you were an actual bot with nothing interesting.

"Oh, you won't like it for long... I'll beat you"

Tim said as he aggressively nudge at you to make you lose control.

"Hey! That's cheating, someone take him out!"

Barbara stood up for you.

"Everything is fair in games... As long as you're the winner"

Damian speak up as he instinctively grab Tim hoodie and cover his eyes with it. To let you win.

"That's cheating! I should have won"

"Everything is fair in games... Just gotta have the right support"

You couldn't help it, everybody were together. You were finally in the picture, you didn't have to fit in they just have to accept you and they absolutely did.

You couldn't help but tear up, your heart aching slightly.

"Little wing are you okay? Should w-"

Dick spoke before he was cut off by Damian.

"Let's beat up Tim, he made them cry"

"Huh?! Im the one that lost... Your violence towards me make them scared!"

Before anyone else could argue on who made you cry Jason who was just there because of you spoke up.

"Don't be so obnoxious and loud... They're obviously emotional for a good reason. Bunch of wannabe adult in this room"

With that said he would gave you this handkerchief which was very unusual of him.

Taking a seat next to you on the ground as he pick up the extra controller, not even weirded out by your suddenly burst of tears just pure understanding.

Your Jason was the one who kick you aside the moment he felt healed but this one... He was trying his best to comfort you, he didn't like to be so upfront yet he was doing this to save you from embarassment and a little comfort.

Looking at the Handkerchief you couldn't help but smile, the same one you gave to your Jason when he came back but the one you made was burned into crispy by the very person you made for. He took it and throw it inside the crumbling building that was ignited into flames by him.

Called it a waste of fabric and time, not worth his precious time or life even tho you spend weeks stitching everything by hand... You just wanted to encourage him to be better you didn't knew he would take offence to your kindness.

There was some holes on the handkerchief yet it was extremely clean and ironed... He seems to cherish it alot.

"Took it everywhere and I ruined it, it was my lucky charm but you're here now so you'll be a good replacement"

"I don't think being compared to a literal fabric is fulfilling"

Duke commented.

"It's not just a fabric it's made by our beloved sibling here, shame on you Duke, shame on you"

Stephanie tease him with a fake offended look.

"They only made it for Jaybird... Im abit upse- Very upset"

Dick decided to bring another reason to start a full on war again.

"Hey! I want one but with our special logo!"

"This is childish, but I need one for a good purpose"

"Im the oldest so I should be first"

"Want one"

"Enough!"

Bruce spoke up, seems like all the arguing had finally went into his brain.

"As your Father... I am first priority"

"Master Bruce, as your somewhat father I must be the first I insist"

This was what family should be, united and happy. One that are willing to be by yourside even at your worst, willing to take the hit with you and just be ourselves to eachother without shame.

While you were finally getting the life you deserved your actual family were crumbling. Trying to find you, turning every nook and crook up side down.

Gotham was turning into literal hell, they were acting like dog hound pounding onto anyone who they assume have information on your whereabouts.

It seems like they have finally realised your worth. But you've already replaced them.

You were slowly healing but too bad they won't tolerate being replaced.

Watch me flop.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Practically Ancient

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Insecurities, comparison

Summary: You end up down a rabbit hole of instagram comments and profiles and can't help but compare yourself to all the women who would gladly date your boyfriend. You can't help but wonder why he's even with you.

Notes: Reader is described as not having a flat stomach and being a little older than Quinn, this is quite self-indulgent so sorry if you can't relate :/

Song that totally fits this vibe by the way - Burden by Citizen Soldier

It starts as almost all insecurities do with a instagram post and a series of comments. You really shouldn't look up anything to do with Quinn or the Canucks, you know this. But, the curiosity every now and again wins out, today being a key example.

The Canucks page posted a still from a recent post-game interview with Quinn, the one where he looks ruggedly dishevelled, hair strands falling across his face. To make it worse he actually has a little smirky smile on his face, the rarest kind for those not close to him to see. You love it, of course you do, he's so handsome and he's yours, you save the picture to your phone immediately...but the comments reiterate your own thoughts.

It shouldn't be a problem all these random fans commenting on how handsome he is, that he's a total smash not a pass. It's not like he's dating them or that he even cares about some random women on the internet but...you can't help but look at some of their profiles, can't help but compare yourself. They're all younger than you, all taller or slimmer or with clearer skin. Some of them are models, some of them are athletes in their own right and it makes you feel inadequate, not good enough. While the majority of comments are just about Quinn or saying how lucky you are, nice enough comments, it doesn't help that interspersed is the odd comment about how he could do better than you, his current girlfriend, or that you were really punching above your weight to have bagged him.

You sigh heavily as you force yourself to stop reading comments, throwing your phone to the other end of the sofa where it'll surely get lost in the pillows. Your eyes flick to Quinn who's emptying the dishwasher, plates clattering as they slide against each other. He looks cozy, handsome in that effortless way he does with his big hoodie swallowing him. Normally it would make you smile, today it just makes you frown.

"I don't get it..." You call out. Quinn immediately turns all his attention to you, putting down the spatula he'd been about to put away. Feet padding nearer as he stands over the back of the sofa, hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"What, baby?"

"I'm practically a cougar, i'm ancient, one foot in the grave..." He frowns down at you, confused by the topic of conversation and by your instance that you're ancient when you're not even 27 yet.

"You're a year older than me." His fingers drift from behind your ear, trailing a gentle caress over your jaw as his eyes flitter over your features. Taking in the frown, the sad downturn of your mouth. He's not sure what's brought it on, but he knows he hates it.

"A year and 10 months, that's almost 2 years." When you turn 27, he'll be 25 still...weren't girls usually the younger of the pair? Usually the guy was older? Was it weird that you were dating him?

"My point stands. What's the problem?"

"Well, you could...you could have any woman you wanted, some young model who doesn't have grey hairs already coming in and and doesn't think that a good night out is a book and a blanket." You avoid his eyes, looking at a particularly dusty corner of the ceiling.

"Baby..." He pulls aways, only to come around the side of the sofa, to sit next to you so close your legs are pressed together, his hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles.

"And, I'm not leggy, my stomach isn't flat, I don't have perfect skin and I snort when I laugh too hard...I just...I don't get it."

God, it breaks his heart. The doubt he can see in you, the way your leg is bouncing anxiously under his hand, the bite you're taking out of your bottom lip. It happens sometimes. He knows it does, you've always had the odd bout of insecurity and he counts himself lucky that you always talk it out with him, but he hates it. In Quinn's mind you have nothing to be insecure about.

"I love you." He says it like it's the simplest thing in the world. 'I love you', that's why, that should be enough. But, there's something in your brain right in that moment that can't comprehend it. You understand why you love him, but why would he love you?

"But...why?"

"Do you...do you seriously not see why I love you?" He looks horrified, like you've just told him his childhood dog had died or that he's not being signed to the Canucks next year. You shake your head, tears starting to well a little in your eyes, "Oh, baby...guess, I haven't been doing my boyfriend duties well enough, huh? C'mere." Quinn pulls you into his lap, practically folds you into him, arms tight around your hips and back, fingers toying with the ends of your hair as you press your cheek into his shoulder.

There's a rocking to the hold as he talks, a soothing sort of motion side to side as his voice warms you and puts to bed any doubts you might have. As he starts to list everything he loves about you, as if once he's started he simply can't stop.

"I love how kind you are, that you'll stop to help anyone who needs it or let someone out in traffic even if it makes you late." His fingers brush the back of your neck, soothing circles that loosen some of the tightness you're holding there. "I love that we can sit in silence with our books and our blankets and that you don't want to go partying all the time and that you get that I just want quiet too..."

How many times has he come home from a game or had a rest day where he just wants quiet, where he wants the calm? How many times have you effortlessly provided that? How many people would? He knew most girlfriends probably would have dragged him out of the apartment, demanded he do something more with them on his only day free. Not you, you just wanted to be around him, didn't matter if you were going out for dinner or sitting in front of the television or just curling up in bed.

"I love how your nose scrunches when you're confused by something, especially when it's directed at the refs" He can list 101 times that a bad call has been made in one of his games where you've made that face, like they're idiots for calling a penalty. It was especially obvious that time Boeser got called for tripping, the memory makes him smile, "and I love your grey hairs because it makes me think about how one day we're both going to be old, grey, but happy and together..." His fingers twist thorough your hair, the few tiny strands of silver shining in the light. They're barely there, barely obvious, but they remind him that you're growing together.

"I love your face, it's the one I look for in the crowds during warm ups and I love that you struggle to reach things in stores because it gives me a way to be helpful."

"Quinn..." Your eyes are tearing up for a different reason entirely now, pulling back to look at him as he smiles at you, hands cupping your cheeks and thumbs brushing against the softness of them.

"I'm not done, baby... I love that you steal any jersey I come home with and I love that your stomach isn't flat, that you feel like a fucking cloud to cuddle." He wipes away a rogue tear that escapes, tracing a track down your cheek as your heart fills with love for him, for this man who never lets you suffer alone or second guess yourself.

"I love that you're close with my family, that you have your own group chat with Jack and Luke, even if it means you make fun of me together." He huffs out a laugh, the amount of times you've planned a prank or some sort joke on him with his brothers... "I love that you think to leave the rink before me and get something for us for dinner and I love that you know how to make me feel better when i've had a shit game. But most of all? I love loving you, I love being able to be your person and seeing the most amazing person I know smile because I did something."

In Quinn's mind he has two purposes in life; Hockey and you, providing you with anything and everything you could ever need. The idea that he'd failed to meet your need for reassurance, that you'd doubted his love for you stung, felt like a loss, a failure.

"You're making me cry...Quinn..." God, you love him, the way he holds you tighter, the way he wants to meet your every need and want, the care he takes to validate your feelings and his desire to fix any problem.

There's a comfortable silence in which you press kisses to his shoulder, breathing in his cologne, as he continues to rock you gently from side to side, lips pressing into the crown of your head.

Your tears aren't sad now, they're the sort of tears that come from an aching love for someone, a depth of emotion you'd never felt until Quinn. You know he's it for you. You know in that moment that he's ruined you for any man who comes after and you hope you never have to experience life without him.

"You should know every single day that I love you and why I love you...and if you don't i'm not working hard enough, baby...I'd do anything for you."

"Anything?"

"Anything, i'd even give up hockey." He means it to. If you asked him to retired tomorrow, he'd do it if it made you happy, it scares him a little...that someone who used to be a stranger means that much to him.

"No..." The idea that he'd give up the one thing he's loved his entire life for you...it strikes you then, that he means it. He loves you just as much as you love him and maybe he has options but you're the option he's picking, wholeheartedly and without reservation.

"Yeah, but I know you'd never ask me to and I love that about you too, sweetheart."

There's another short silence, this one heavier as he considers how to word his next question.

"...Did...did I do something to make you doubt how much I love you? You can tell me if I did." There's a reticence there, almost a fear that he's the cause and it hurts to see that your own insecurities have made him doubt himself at all.

You sigh heavily, pressing a kiss to his cheek that lingers a moment before admitting the reality of the situation, "It's not you, I just...I got in my head a little...you know I always see those instagram posts and comments about how handsome you are and how...how you have always these options and I..." Quinn presses his forehead to yours, noses brushing as he catches your eye and holds it, face serious, eyes unblinking as if that would make you truly understand what he's about to say.

"You are my only option. You. You now, you tomorrow, more you, you when your hair is a mess, you when you're sick and gross...you when you're actually ancient..." You lightly slap his shoulder, even as the two of you laugh in each other's personal space, Quinn purposefully rubbing the tip of his nose against yours, "I don't want anyone else, I don't even notice other people anymore. The guys' point out a girl and I just think how she's not you."

"I love you, Quinn...I love so much."

"I know" You hit him again as he pulls back to laugh loudly before pulling you close again. "I love you too. Always."

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2) Soap's part 2. Soap's part 3.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

 “Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him. 

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified. 

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily. 

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it. 

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst. 

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks. 

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.” 

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…” 

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that… 

“Pretty please?” 

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?” 

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context. 

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart. 

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you  can’t have.

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - ��Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed. 

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality. 

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor. 

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter. 

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it. 

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

[hell-drabbles]

How would other demons reaction be when companion is drunk? And how would companion act out with them? Would they be equally affectionate as they are with Raon?

Hmm the reactions would certainly be different depending on the devil king they see. Let's see, let's see, I'm assuming that this happens way later down the timeline, when new dynamics are established from the first impressions.

Again, please note that I am making assumptions about these characters, and also adding in my own headcanons since this is my Embittered Companion AU, so if they're out of character, oh well!

Satan:

You know, Satan thought that, the more alcohol you get into your system, the more…hungry you will get for violence. He likes it when you're tipsy, because when you're tipsy, you're bitey. You don't hesitate to sink your teeth deep into his muscles until even his very veins crunch under your incisors. Blood becomes a flavor enhancer to you. When you're like that, you seem no different than any of his citizens. Made Satan feel proud, in a weird way, that he can draw this side out of you.

Right now, however, he was just feeling bothered. And horny. Because you weren't biting down on his neck as he sat on your lap. You were nibbling, always stopping short of piercing his skin, leaving indents instead of wounds. He slid on your lap, hoping that you would take bites in other places now that you were plastered, but instead you were testing his limits. His nails clawed into the wood of the bar behind you, his teeth creaking under the force of his jaw, and legs trembling to keep from closing around your hips and potentially breaking them.

At least you probably won't remember this. Satan really hopes you won't remember the way he could not get off your lap.

Mammon:

You tugged at his robes and tested the material between your fingers, not really registering the fact that you were pinching his skin along side. Well, you did notice at first, but you have long since succumbed to the drunken haze and are just entirely focused on the way his clothes feel in your hands. Mammon didn't mind indulging in your curiosity. It is, after all, a very new side to you that he hasn't seen before. One that you probably kept very closely tied up inside. And now it was released, so no matter what you do, Mammon will not stop you.

You grabbed the edges of his robes and pulled. His sash became undone, and for whatever reason, Mammon has never felt more exposed. It felt…almost shameful that this excited him, because your gaze was empty of any heated wanting. You were powered by alcohol and curiosity.

"Where's the tag on this thing" Your breath, made heavier with the alcohol, wafted over his head. Maybe if Mammon held still long enough, you'll try and search for that tag in his pants next?

Leviathan:

Nothing. You were drunk out of your mind, and you were doing nothing. Well, Leviathan couldn't hope for a better result. At least like this, in this celebration that he's arranged, you won't ruin the atmosphere he so wanted. You're behaving, but just barely. If you so much as sighed too loudly, Leviathan will have you hanged outside the party doors. Make an example of you.

But how dare you. How dare you let your clothes fall open by a few centimeters. How dare you lick your lips as you caught every single drop of alcohol that slid past. How dare you swallow and make your throat bob, and let out a sigh that was just quiet enough to not break the rule he just made.

You've always been like this. Always intense in the way you presented yourself and yet never careless enough to truly let anyone catch you off guard. Leviathan could very well discipline you. It's well within his right, but that would require him approaching you, and perfect does not seek, it is sought after. And so, all he can do is watch as your fingers idly played with your glass cup.

Beelzebub:

While it was a shame Beelzebub wasn't allowed to make any special mixes for the bar, he will admit, it's fun to catch your shot glass when you slid it his way, fill it up with your choice of beverage, and slide it right back. There weren't any words, you didn't make a big deal out of his being here. It made him feel like a fleeting shadow, of sorts. He was here, at a party that he was probably invited to but forgot, blending in as if he both belonged and yet didn't.

Beelzebub idly chewed on a straw as the music continued to thrum through his body. He wasn't really listening, more focused on the way your tongue moved the ice around for hidden drops of your drink. It took a few seconds for him to realize your glass was back in his hand. Out of boredom, Beelzebub put his straw in the ice and blew hot air in. When there was enough water, Beelzebub noisily slurped it up.

You somehow heard and looked back to him, eyes lightly glazed over. If he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend you were looking at him with heated interested rather than exasperation. He couldn't help but chuckle and wave his straw at you with his lips.

Lucifer:

You haven't stopped touching Lucifer's face. A finger over the bridge of his nose, a caress on his cheek, turning him this way and that just to watch the way his curls bounced against his skin, smoothing hands under his jaw before reaching back and pinching his ears. It didn't annoy him, but it was certainly more than he ever expected. Though, to be fair, he also wasn't expecting you to get drunk. Tipsy yes, but drunk was another matter entirely. Lucifer will remember to prepare something for you when you wake up with the inevitable hangover.

But, for now, Lucifer leaned into your hands as you silently memorized his skin. He didn't mind. He wasn't planning on doing much of anything besides watching his little…family go about their celebration with zest. He did mind a little when he heard the heavy breathing of them behind him, but since you didn't say anything, he won't say anything as well.

Before Lucifer could take a small nip at your fingers, you had found your way into his hair. Tingles scaled down his scalp and over his spine, resting right at the base of his hips. He closed his eyes, if only to savor the feeling further. He ready to fall asleep when you guided his head to your shoulder. Bury your fingers into his hair, or into his bleeding wings, it bring warmth to him all the same.

Asmodeus:

Being who he is, a celebration is never complete without an orgy of some variety, and that doesn't change even while you're present. But, after going through a few glasses, you said you wanted some peace and quiet to enjoy the rest of your drinks, and so he promised you that you will get exactly what you want, in only ten minutes.

And so, instead of bringing his current row of lovers to the edge of ecstasy and then drawing back to have them wanting for more, he spoiled them. He gave them exactly what they wanted, drove them past the peak again, and again, and again, without any shred of mercy. All the while silencing them with his tongue.

And, as he promised, everything was silent save for the music once the ten minutes have passed. Asmodeus was nowhere near satisfied when he sat next to you, but the drink you offered him got his heart near to full bursting. He nearly split the table in two when you glided behind him, gathered his hair, and began to tie it back up. Simple gestures, that's all they were, and it had him wanting to bit into his own knuckles from how squishy his insides felt.

Belphegor:

Only half of Belphegor's torso was actually on the plush chair, the rest of his body was splayed on the floor because he couldn't be bothered to hold any posture.

Perhaps out of boredom, perhaps a small bit of cruelty within you, he wouldn't know, you reach out a leg and kicked his chair right from under his back. It slid out and Belphegor's entire body crumpled to the floor like a lifeless ragdoll. You snorted and slammed your drink down on the table, pounding on your chest as you coughed. A part of him wanted to glare, he was comfy where he was but…

He will admit, this was doing something for him. Putting aside the fact that the floor was kinda comfy in it's own way, it does give him a fun little fantasy to play around with, and probably jack off to later. He's on the floor, clothes spread open and barely hiding his bits while you sit in your chair, pointing and laughing at the mess you've made of him. You lightly pushed at him with a foot, probably asking him to get up, but his dick was convinced that you were rubbing delicious salt in the throbbing wound.

Beleth did help him up later, so that was cut short.

[slasherslittlesimp]

Loving Legends (Steve X Reader X Bucky)

Part Three

Tony spent an hour going through every file he could find on you and all of your social media pages. To say he was impressed with what he found would be an understatement. For the past few years you've been in the Democratic Republic of the Congo helping with their water shortage by donating hundreds of water packs along with volunteering to help build wells. There's a multitude of other projects you've helped with over the years as well.

You only returned recently from the Congo when you decided to move to New York. The only thing he couldn't find was how you came into the large sum of money you apparently have. Everything else was easy- age, address, medical records, etc. You seem like quite the upstanding citizen with your long list of achievements. It makes sense that you'd at least be America's Golden Boys soulmate.

Shortly after finishing his research, Tony is alerted by Friday that you're finally awake. He quickly swipes away everything on his screens before exiting his lab to head over to the medical bay. He's intrigued to finally get a chance to actually talk to you. He wants to ask some obvious questions that he's too nosy not to. He also needs to see how you feel about meeting the two old men you're destined to be with.

Upon entering the medical room, he spots you sitting up and chatting with Bruce who seems to be doing a final check to make sure you're fully healed up from the cradle. While the machine helps cell regrowth, it can still leave you feeling some pain or tenderness. Though from watching you easily rotate your shoulder he can tell that's not much of a concern.

Bruce notices him entering the room first, adjusting his glasses as he sets the tablet he was holding aside. "Ah, (Y/N), this is Tony Stark. Tony, this is (Y/N) (L/N)."

You perk up slightly, straightening out your slumped posture as you remain sitting on the edge of the cradle. "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Stark. I just want to say thank you for saving me earlier. I'm sure things would've ended up a lot worse if you weren't there."

"Just call me Tony." He lazily waves his hand in the air as he approaches you. Grabbing a rolling chair, he moves it in front of you before sitting backwards on it with his arms crossed over the back. "And no need for thanks. I was just doing my job. Plus you helped out by risking yourself to let me get a shot on him though it was a pretty stupid move."

You blush slightly in embarrassment. "It was a heat of the moment decision that I probably could've thought out better but I must say that I regret nothing."

The corner of his lip quirks up a bit in an amused smirk. "I like you, kid. You've got spunk." You seem to relax a bit at his words so he continues. "Now, if you don't mind I have some questions for you."

Bruce rolls his eyes, knowing this is likely going to get very personal very quickly. "You don't have to answer anything, (Y/N)."

"It's fine, Bruce." You give him a reassuring smile before turning your attention back towards Tony. "You saved my life so the least I could do is answer some questions."

"Perfect! I'm sure you know that I've already searched your information?"

You nod. "I figured you would. I didn't think you'd trust bringing me here otherwise."

Tony decides not to tell you that he only looked you up after he already brought you here. "Of course. Now, there's a few things that I couldn't really find answers to, like how you got all your money that you use for charity. Mind explaining?"

"Inheritance."

Tony raises a brow, expecting you to explain further but you simply remain silent. "Touchy subject? That's fine. Let's move on to something more interesting. Like, for instance, the fact that you're the soulmate to two very old super soldiers. Did you move to New York to meet them?"

You sigh, slouching slightly. You should've known he'd figure it out. "I didn't completely move here for that reason. There were a few other factors that helped me make the decision."

"Right." Tony nods as he purses his lips. "Why now? Why not try to meet them sooner?"

"Well, when I decided I was ready to meet them a long time ago I tried searching their names to see if anything came up- social media, news reports, stuff like that. At the time, all I found was information on the Howling Commandos and Captain America. Everything I found stated that both of them had died a long time ago. Of course, seeing the dates made me question if I got something mixed up. That maybe my soulmates were completely different people."

You pause, chewing your bottom lip slightly before continuing. "Then it was announced that Captain America was found in the ice. I was tempted to come meet him then but I figured he was already dealing with adjusting to a whole new life that he didn't need to be overwhelmed by me on top of that. Then there was the attack by aliens that he had to deal with so I decided to push off meeting him again. Shortly after that I became busy with my own things and just couldn't find a good time. When I found out that James was alive as well I decided I would try to meet them within the next year. Of course, the plan was to meet them in a much nicer situation and not by being shot and brought to their home."

"Well, I suppose we should get you ready to meet them, then. No point in dragging it out." Tony stands up, pushing the chair away. "Bruce here will show you to a spare room where you can get showered and changed. I'll have one of the others leave clothes out for you."

"Wait, we're doing this now?" You stand up, suddenly panicking.

"Might as well." Tony shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I know they've been waiting not so patiently for you to wake up and I'd rather get this over with so they're not continuously bothering me."

With that he turns around and exits the room, leaving you alone with Bruce. The doctor gives you a sympathetic smile before leading you down the hall after checking with Friday that the coast was clear. He takes you to a spare guest room where he leaves you alone so you can do whatever you need to in order to prepare yourself to meet your soulmates. Though, you have a feeling that no amount of preparation or time will ease your steadily growing nerves.

Taglist: @kipperzz @keshet2k

[akitashaswriting]

Deep Breaths

go kyungjun x f!poc!reader

lowkey yoonseo x reader if you squint

this was supposed to be part of a larger book but didn't fit the plot how i wanted. i might still make some random one shots interconnected with it, who knows

cw: paranormal activity, drowning

----

"are you trying to kill us all?" kyungjun asked incredilously.

you doubted yoonseo wanted to hurt anyone, considering next to jungwon, her and junhe were closer to the desktop than anyone. just like you would never hurt your favourite people, you doubted she would let hers get hurt even if she was mafia.

you leaned on kyungjun's shoulders where he crouched, mainly for support but also to keep him from lunging at the poor girl.

already bored, you zoned out for a decent portion of the conversation only tuning back in when yeonseo brought up a ghost.

"this is you guys trying to trick us!" kyungjun yelled. you followed his arm and flicked him on the forehead, "look at the timestamp baby, it's live." your boyfriend followed your pointed finger to the screen again just in time to see the girl in the frame disappear in one corner and reappear in another.

you pulled your hand back quickly, settling behind kyungjun again. "creepy" seungbin muttered. feeling a shiver down your spine you couldn't help but agree.

for some reason, and despite your many protests, the group decided to investigate the pool area. you highly doubted a ghost would just show herself to the lot of you. have none of your classmates seen a single ghost hunting show?

against your better judgement you followed your boyfriend and friends into the pool area. between going with the group and sitting somewhere by yourself waiting to be murdered you definetely went with the former. still, you clung to kyungjun's arm refusing to let go, nearly tearing holes in the sleeves on his windbreaker with your nails, if only out of spite.

you appreciated the setting sun's reflection off the pool brightening the room for your search. both because it was pretty but also there's no way in hell you would search for a ghost in the dark.

an hour and a half of searching later and you'll be damned, here you still were searching for a ghost in the dark. you weren't sure if the shitty, flickering florescents were better or worse than just raw dogging it with your phone flashlight.

what were you thinking, the worst outcome would be poking into a ghost's business unprovoked like you were currently doing.

truth be told you were more than a little bored. starring at tiles for hours like they held the secrets of the universe only to turn up nothing made you doubt the ghost was real to begin with. maybe kyungjun was right and the citizens were falling for the mafias tricks again.

man this field trip sucks.

the group gathered around and, as usual, you zoned out the moment somi opened her mouth. the others were ganging up on poor yoonseo, once again, after not finding anything.

you spoke up annoyed, "what did you all expect? just walk in and see a ghost with a welcome sign?"

somi scoffed, "what else did you want us to do?"

"literally anything else somi. personally i didnt have ghost hunting on my schedule for the day."

the vice president scoffed again and rolled her eyes. the others went back to hounding yoonseo about being mafia and leading them on this baseless chase.

you felt bad for her truly. there was no way she could be mafia even if your paranoid boyfriend thought so. you couldn't blame kyungjun for being cautious. most of this time his protective streak was a turn on, but right now it just made you unsettled.

if kyungjun kept going at this rate, he'd either vote out all the civilians or paint himself as mafia. he'd already been accused more than once, and him impulsively pulling out scissors in the cafe mid-fight didnt help his image at all.

"what's left to search then, the pool?" you overheard, tuning back into the conversation. you paused looking sideways at the the water.

am i really about to do some white people shit for this boy?

worse, am I about to ruin my hair for this?

yeah.

damn, you really loved him.

you checked your phone noticing there was only about thirty minutes left until midnight. sighing you slipped your phone quietly into kyungjun's pocket.

this is so fucking stupid, i am so fucking stupid.

stepping away from kyungjun in a last ditch attempt to help the search - or at the very least, stall for time, you formulated the worst and least thought out plan you'd probably ever had.

luckily or unluckily your boyfriend didn't take notice as you moved away from the group. you toed off your shoes and socks along with removing your sweater and skirt. you were thankful you you were alerted to wooram's perverted upskirting antics months ago as ever since you've stuck with safety shorts, leaving you curreently in them along with your button up. you shivered praying to whoever would listen, that this would miraculously be a heated pool.

as you dove headfirst into what you found out immediately was freezing cold water you realised whatever higher power was out there had left you on your own yet again.

why did you do this?

"YAH!" kyungjun yelled at you from the poolside as you surfaced. "are you crazy?"

you smirked as you pulled the mini-flashlight you pocketed earlier out of your bra, elated to see that it was waterproof. "only a little!" you replied before diving below.

you held the flashlight between your teeth as you swam; checking around and below, not seeing anything but tile and shadows.

you broke surface again for air, looking about to see if there was anything notable from above the water you missed while under.

you heard your boyfriend alongside the others yelling at you to get out of the pool. you were probably the only person who could recognise the anxiety in his voice. while it broke your heart a little you decided to flip them off anyways. never hurts to keep your man on his toes. wouldn't want the others getting too friendly either.

you dove down again swimming to a corner of the pool. checking the walls and floor once more but not seeing anything of note. you continued along all four corners of the pool; breaking for air as needed and still ignoring your classmates. you took your time to inspect any off-centre tiles or shadows that shown in the corner of your eye.

after turning up a whole lot of nothing you finally gave up about twenty minutes later. you had truly hoped to find something but were also so grateful you didn't. dealing with a pissed off ghost had thankfully skirted your agend. but you were hoping there was a way to get yoonseo out of the spotlight. if anyone in this class didn't deserve to be in this mess it was yoonseo.

pulling your upper half up the pool ladder you were met with the furious face of kyungjun. you couldn't blame him for being angry with your recklessness but you also couldn't blame yourself- for pressing a quick kiss to his lips with a grin. it's not your fault he's hot when he's pissed off.

jinha appeared over kyngjun's shoulder asking if you found anything.

"nope," you breathed out and immediately you felt a yourself being dragged back into the freezing water by your hair.

guess you spoke too soon.

luckily you held your breath as you were pulled under, hanging onto the pool ladder for dear life. you could hear muffled shouts above the surface as you kicked back towards whatever was weighing you down.

you could feel kyungjun holding your wrist, pulling as hard as he could to bring you back to him. you felt your wrist pop in his grip before your arms slipped from his hands. between the pain and lack of air you felt your vision start to blur, going dark at the corners, scared that this was the end.

-

the last thing you expected when you came to, coughing up chlorine, was to see seungbin leaning above you.

you turned to your side hacking up what was left in your lungs. god you were so irritated: your throat burned, your eyes hurt, you could barely move your wrist. why the hell did you do this again?

yoonseo moved your hair out of your eyes before cupping your face gently, "are you alright?"

oh that'll do it.

you were pulled into kyungjun's lap before you could answer. you felt your own sweater get wrapped around you and shuddeed realising kyungjun was soaking wet too. it was somehow even colder than before. maybe you had adjusted to the water temperature, maybe the adrenaline from nearly dying had warmed you up. who's to say.

your boyfriend held you close to his chest, rubbing your arms to heat you up. he looked more terrified than you had ever seen him. "are you okay baby?" you nodded and coughed up the remainder of the water in your lungs. you didn't wanna leave the safety and warmth of kyungjun's arms so you turned in his embrace to seungbin. "where the hell," you wheezed "did you learn cpr?"

the bottle blonde laughed and flipped his non-existant hair over his shoulders "roblox."

yeah okay, that's truly none of your business.

you nodded anyways before you felt kyungjun lifting you bridal-style and storming out of the pool room. you knew he was beyond furious with, you hoped the relief you were alive would win out as you drifted off in his arms.

[akutasoda]

hello, may I request jing yuan with a teen!reader who is jealous of yanqing? - they are around the same age as him, a new cloud knight who is an orphan, they try really hard to get the generals attention, even making him tea, buying presents etc. they want to be like yanqing, and are a bit jealous of the relationship with jy and yanqing, so they always try to prove themselves, even sacrificing food and sleep for their training, and are reckless during missions (bonus points if yanqing or jing yuan is present at the mission, they would literally fight until they pass out)

to prove oneself worthy

synopsis - all you ever wanted was somebody to pay attention to you and the one person that does so is already doing so to somebody else

includes - jing yuan ft yanqing - all platonic

warnings - gn!reader, orphan reader, slight angst, fluff, sacrificing food and sleep?, passing out?, jealousy, wc - 1.6k

taglist - @teddirika

you're parents weren't around. it was a simple fact, whether they had simply disappeared or died was unknown to you. all you ever knew was that you had no outstanding memories of them and that they certainly weren't atound anymore. this fact made it so you couldn't really care less for where they were or what had happened to them, they were rarely a thought that crossed your mind.

an orphan roaming around the streets of the luofu would bring attention, especially when you were resorting to any means necessary to survive and get by. petty thefts and minor acts of aggression were regular occurrences in your day to day live, cultivating a set of skills that aided in your fight for survival - including swift escapes from the cloud knights. an honest part of yourself really believed that you'd be a theif your entire life but a silver haired general thought otherwise.

jing yuan had become aware of the young one evading capture and committing very basic and mainly harmless crimes, how could he not? a part of him could sympathise with your situation, he understood that it was clearly your only mean of survival and so he didn't think that someone with their whole life ahead of them should be confined to the four walls of prison. your skills were impressive, there was a reason you hadn't been caught yet, so jing yuan thought that with the right guidance you would become a fine knight.

he would set out to find you himself, to personally extend his offer and hr wouldn't force you. if you declined then he had no choice but to arrest you himself and so he could only hope that you would see what he was trying to do and accept the offer. luckily for the both of you, you took up his offer. you understood that this would be the better way to pay for your crimes and would help you build a better future for yourself - earning back the trust of the luofu citizens you stole from.

what became pretty apparent very quickly was your unconscious growing attachment to the general. in between your training you would seek out jing yuan and if he wasn't busy you'd stick by his side. jing yuan was always incredibly busy and so you always tried to garner what spare attention he had left and demonstrate to him that his faith in you had not been misplaced - even going as far to bring him legally obtained presents.jing yuan was the only person to ever give you some kind of hope, somebody who believed you could be more than a street thief. it was evident that you would eant to thank him in some way, prove that his help would not go wasted.

jealousy was a vile emotion that made prople do horrendous things, it could break people apart and even force someone's hand to do something vile and unforgivable. you were no stranger to taking to underhanded tactics and resorting to frowned upon actions, so in any scenario you wouldn't have an issue with jealousy. this time it was different. you had been introduced to yanqing and saw him quite often, he was jing yuan's retainer afterall. there was something about him that just made you jealous.

you soon realised that it was his closeness to the general paired with his skills as a swordsman. yanqing had everything you could ever want. he had the generals attention, he had impeccable skills with a sword and he even was a capable knight without one and that made a vile anger boil inside you. but you wouldn't act on your jealousy. if you did you knew that jing yuan would be disappointed in you, he probably wouldn't want to ever look at you again and you would've proved to be a waste of his efforts. so you opted for a slow fix to your jealousy, working day in and day out to improve your skills to prove that you could be better than yanqing.

practically every minute of your day was spent with a sword in your hand, eventually coming to tell yourself that you weren't doing enough. you had managed to best every cloud knight more than once and decided that they simply weren't going to help you anymore, so you started sneaking away. in the dead of knight you'd head to mara-struck areas and defeat them - you didn't care that you lost out on your sleep. meals soon became irrelevant aswell, only ever stopping for a snack when you physically couldn't continue no more. you told yourself that it would all pay off in the end.

jing yuan noticed your absence pretty quickly, especially when even the other cloud knights would start claiming they hadn't seen you for days. a small part of him wondered if you were slipping back into your habits for stealing but he didn't want to think you would. he started piecing things together when he would see how fatigued you look and would try and question you when he was informed of how often your weary body would end up in lady bailu's care. he would ask bailu and she would tell him how your body would often not have enough nutrients to function properly and that your sleep was limited. jing yuan tried to confront you multiple times but you always weakly pushed him away and told him that you just wanted to train more.

he started sending yanqing on missions with you to keep an eye on you but you didn't take it that way, to you it was a dig in the face. to you jing yuan no longer saw you as a capable fighter and was trying to get you replaced on your missions. you wouldn't let that happen. unfortunately due to the lack of sleep and prioer nutrients in your body, your thoughts clouded over and so all your fights became clumsy attempts to wield a sword. reckless actions would be taken and eventually you'd pass out with too many unnecessary cuts, only slightly mitigated by the fact yanqing was there but you pushed him away from helping.

yanqing would soon find himself carrying your unconscious body back to luofu's infirmary's and lady bailu would have to be called in as the other healers simply couldn't fathom your injuries. jing yuan would also be contacted and would be there as soon as he could. each time you'd wake back up, wearily push everyone away and leave before any asked you anything. the next time anyone would see you would be in the same scenario - you passed out on a mission being dragged back to the infirmary.

jing yuan began to worry. each and every time you looked worse and worse but bailu always said the same things about exhaustion and lack of nutrients. jing yuan knew you were purposefully skipping meals and sleep in the name of training but he didn't understand why. he had a small inkling that it was to do with yanqing but he refused to believe you would resort to such extremes over something like this. eventually he had enough, when you woke up again from passing out on a mission he stopped you from leaving and told you dead straight that he was withdrawing you from your duties and that you were going to stay under care in the infirmary.

you were broken by the news. you had worked all day and night to get better at being a cloud knight, to beat yanqing and know all your hard work was to go waste because jing yuan didn't want you on duty anymore. you insisted that you were fine and didn't need this but it became very clear that jing yuan was not going to budge from his decision. however you simply wouldn't listen and would still sneak away from the infirmary to train out of bounds with the mara-struck.

the general had enough of your reckless behaviour. he understood that you were trying to improve as a knight but you're quest to do so had made you weaker and farther away from your personal goal. jing yuan personally pushed aside his duties to seek you out when the infirmary had told him you were missing and when he found you it wasn't a new sight. he watched with a saddened expression as you sloppily and recklessly took down the enemy, he winced when he saw your body hit the ground after you finished. you were out cold again, the general carried you back to the infirmary. this time he waited, waited until you regained conscious and made sure you wouldn't run away.

he confronted you as it pained him to see your talent go to waste and it hurt him to see how you treated yourself in the name of training. eventually he managed to weed the reasons for your behaviour out of you and due to your sheer exhaustion you couldn't help but start allowing tears to slowly escape and roll down your face. in this moment of weakness, jing yuan saw the child he found originally and offered a hug. one you gratefully took.

[awkward-halfhug]

listening ear | warren peace x reader

summary: you have a hard time getting your words out, but warren doesn't seem to mind

contains: stuttering!reader x warren peace (there are many kinds of stutters. this is similar to how I stutter when I'm stressed), fluff

0.6k

"And then um, Mr. um, Mr. Boomer, he he he said I couldn't, I couldn't save a um, save a kitten out of, of a, of a tree." You take a deep breath. Your stuttering has been getting better lately, but after Save the Citizen earlier today, you find yourself all wound up with nervous energy.

Warren, your coworker and fellow classmate is bussing the table that just cleared out. It's pretty much dead at the Paper Lantern tonight so you have time to talk and he has the time to listen. And he does listen. To your continued amazement, since starting work together the start of senior year your surly classmate and you have developed a slow, almost reluctant on his part, comradery. You would almost say you're friends, except his nonchalance in your interactions sometimes borders on apathy, so your confidence in the idea varies by the day.

But some days, you find yourself wondering if he likes you better than it seems. Perhaps he might even consider you two friends, deep deep down. Because when your shifts wind to an end and you both wind up at a table waiting for the hours to pass, you ramble about your day. And he listens, attentively, patiently, for you to get your words out. He doesn't roll his eyes. Doesn't huff an annoyed breath or check the time compulsively. He just listens, like he has all the time in the world. It calms you, his quiet stare, as much as it makes something in your chest flutter.

He's about the only one in your life to let you get your words out without cutting you off. Even your parents try to finish your sentences for you via guesswork, in the interest of saving time. You love them, but half the time, they're wrong, and while you know they love you, it makes you feel like they don't have time for you.

Warren doesn't interrupt your recounting of events. He fiddles with a fortune cookie absent-mindedly while you finish your sentence and then breaks it apart, handing you half. He pops the other half in his mouth, chewing while he comments.

"Boomer's a jerk."

It's all he says, but you've learned not to get offended by his short answers. His steady stare seems to prompt you to continue, so you do.

"He um, he he might be ri-right. I could barely even, barely even, reach the um, the the the citizen in time let alone think of how to, to, sa-ave him." You look down, shaking your head in self deprecation.

Warren nudges your shoe with his and you look up at him. He hands you another cookie. Waits till you're chewing before he speaks.

"I lost my first few Citizens". He says, confides, it with an affected casualness, though you know better. You recognize the hint of vulnerability when you hear it. It's a chink in his bad boy armor and he's allowed you to see it. You feel a surge of gratitude as well as a healthy dose of shock and disbelief.

"No way!" You exclaim, delighted.

Warren lifts his eyebrows with a "you can believe it or not, I don't care" kind of look and you shake your head in awe of this revelation.

"You just seem so, so, so…"

Warren waits, patiently as always, for you to finish your sentence before it becomes obvious you weren't intending to. He seems to understand what you were trying to say regardless.

"Yeah, well. Gotta start somewhere…look, you'll get better is what I'm saying." He looks away then, as if embarrassed by the show of support.

"Thank you, Warren. I um, I appreciate it. That makes me feel better."

It takes you a moment to realize your stutter has improved. He's calmed you, once again, and you look at him in awe, once again. He's realized it too, you can tell. He's got the faintest hint of a smile on his face, like he accomplished something, and you cement your assumptions mentally.

Whether he admits it or not, you and Warren Peace are definitely friends.

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging/commenting, it means a lot! ♡ and if you have requests or ideas, feel free to let me know in my ask box

[lonleydweller]

I hope you feel better!

You had BTAS Riddler + prompt 14 in your drafts before your break, could you please write that?

🥀Yandere BTAS Riddler + Prompt 14🥀

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Warnings: yandere trope, stalking, breaking and entering, possibly ooc riddler as it's been a hot minute since I've seen the animated series, kinda ambiguous ending.

Yanderes are OK to enjoy in fiction. They should stay fiction. They are not examples of healthy relationships. These behaviors are NOT okay in real life. They are horrid. This is for entertainment purposes

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Your clock's ticking fades into the background, drowned out by you turning up the volume on your radio, blaring a favorite song of yours. Background noise as you worked diligently on making your dinner, checking temperatures, checking on whatever was cooking, grabbing some utensils and ingredients you forgot to snag initially.

For once you didn't feel on edge. You didn't need look over your shoulder. You didn't need to sleep with a weapon near your bed. You didn't need the police on speed dial. If felt safe. He had been locked up for almost three months at this point. The longest break you've had from the deranged man.

Course the usual antics in gotham went on, appearing on the news in the morning to report on what criminal had striked this time. One's that you weren't roped up in. You were just an outsider observing for a change. No obsessed man spouting confusing riddles at you and proclaiming love.

Now he was locked away in Arkham far away from you. A court issued restraining order was slapped on top of that too. Pushing his distance even farther.

You could slow down, time to yourself, no need to worry for you safety, for whether you'd wake up in your bed or not. Now here you were, peacefully making yourself dinner. You couldn't even recall the last time you'd done so.

The music is loud enough to where it almost drowns everything out. Almost.

Everything except for the distinct sound of glass breaking.

You whip around on your heels, quickly grabbing the nearest knife to arm yourself, back against the counter as your eyes land of dreadfully familiar figure. Towering over the remaining shards of your windows, brushing his blaring green suit off.

"Apologies for the window. You changed the locks on everything so I couldn't get in the usual way."

You point the knife in his direction, making a clear gesture for him to stay away. He only gives unamused glance at it. This wasn't the first time you two had stood juxtaposed like this.

"Quite the harsh greeting dear. Not even a hello after all these months?"

He takes a single step forward. A shakey shout leaves your mouth with little hesitation.

"No! Get out! You know you aren't supposed to be here! You know damn well you aren't supposed to be near me! You know what those papers say!"

He leans on his cane. Head tilted to the side, a chortle leaving him

"Darling, a silly piece of paper can't keep me from you!"

Of course it wouldn't. A piece of paper wouldn't stop a parasite. A leech. You're not face to face with the epitome of a law abiding citizen are you? He's broken the law long before he decided to swoon over you. The crimes he's done for you before surpassed violating a restraining order. It was just a meaningless sheet to him.

Neither of you moved. Both just stood still. Silence hung in the air. Just as the knife in your hand did. You eye the phone on the wall. Would the city police help? They barely responded in time before. Always end up having to wait for the bat to save you. That wouldn't do anymore would it?

He's killed. He's kidnapped. He's tormented. The aslyum didn't deter him, nor jail, nor any semblance of law or punishment. He'd just keep doing it.

The kicthen light bounces off the blade.

Offering a permanent solution.

The only riddle now was wether or not you would succeed.

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@adalwolfgang, @helpfandom

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[ballad-of-birdy-lamb]

Can you do Treech and Lamina (Se prate, in case you were wondering) with a VERY friendly S/O, like they wanna make friends with all the other tributes, coral, mizzen, and all, and are generally a very bright, bubbly person who likes to comfort people??

Thank you!! Have a good day!

Very excited to write for both since I haven't officially!!

Treech x friendly! Gender neutral! Reader x Lamina (separate romantic headcanons)

Summary: Reader is a very kind and outgoing person, entire headcanons for both Treech and Lamina (separate and romantic).

__

Lamina:

She's a very quiet and sad tribute, so to go into the Hunger Games with her lover is so much worse for her. She would have sobbed about you not being reaped and how she would have tried harder getting home if you weren't reaped with her.

But Lamina can't control what name is pulled and at some point, accepts that.

Your sweet spirits do help her a lot but doesn't stop her from crying consistently. But it's better than constantly.

Once you both got to the monkey house, she would sit near one of the rocks, keeping to herself and keeping herself alive.

Lamina rarely left the small area she kept at, but she left it to pull you away from making friends with the other tributes. It was more so the idea you were bothering them, and she didn't want you creating enemies on accident.

She would say something about not bothering them and "think of the situation we are in". Lamina's anxiety about the entire situation you were both in caused her to ignore the fact the other tributes did enjoy your presence. Many being fond of your kindness, especially people like Lucy Gray, who was just as high spirited as you.

It happened several times more, her pulling you from making a scene out of habit, trying to befriend others just for the sake of it. At some point, she stopped trying and accepted the fact that you were becoming friends with several tributes and gaining attention in the Capital for such friendliness.

__

Treech:

Treech had a similar reaction to Lamina, feeling terrible that you were reaped with him. He didn't have as much of a visceral reaction, like sobbing his eyes out but he's still sad about it.

He would keep you as close as possible, trying to make sure you don't run off with other tributes because you wish to be allies.

But he doesn't mind when you become friends with the District Eight tributes while on the train. He thought it was sweet how nice you were with Wovey.

He knew for a long while that you were very friendly and outgoing since he had dated you long before the reaping. So, it isn't a surprise that you try talking to the other tributes.

Treech would only be around you when you have free time, find food, and during the night. The other times are when he's trying to find plants to eat within the enclosure or when he tries juggling small stones for food.

As time goes on, to entertain yourself outside of finding plants, you'd go around talking to Capital citizens and other tributes. Treech wouldn't be as willing to pull you away since he knew you wouldn't get hurt from both groups.

At the end of the day, you accidentally brought attention to yourself, but it ended in being fed. So, Treech didn't mind it too much.

__ Not extremely romantic, so sorry!

My tbosas masterlist

[dankar-camoran]

"I'm here to help."

Savlian Matius, dumbfounded and furious, glowers at the young man when this offer is made, completely at a loss as to how to convey to him that right now is not the time to offer "help." Help was needed when the Gates first opened, and the screaming hordes of Daedra poured out, the wave of death broken only by the leviathan that was their siege engine. Help would have been crucial when the walls were sundered, and the first fires lit the streets up as bright as the midday sun. The people who needed help weren't the ones who made it out alive, but the ones who were too infirm, too young, too slow, too unlucky, and were now currently well past the point of needing anything. At this moment, Kvatch doesn't need help. It needs to be put out of its misery.

Savlian was going to offer the youth some grace initially. At a glance, he looked like any of those who had saved themselves, ragged and messy but alive and not seriously hurt. But he didn't look like any of the townsfolk Savlian recognized, and his face is absent the fear, anguish, and exhaustion that is now characteristic of the surviving citizens of Kvatch. This boy is an itinerant fool doubtless trying to live out a childhood fantasy of being a hero. Even if Savlian was in a mood to accept help, he would sooner throw down his sword and give himself over to be rent limb from limb than to expect any meaningful aid from this idiot.

"Run away from here," is what he growls at last, when it becomes clear that the look on his face isn't enough to turn the stranger away, "I can't guarantee your safety this close to the gate."

The young man looks over at the Gate to Oblivion as Savlian gestures towards it. It is an open wound in the air, blazing all the colors of the sun as it ripples and crackles violently, almost in sync with the sound of thunder in the air. He turns away from it and rubs his eyes after a few moments, eyes strained from having gazed at it for even that long. Savlian might have been amused at this, had any shred of his sense of humor still remained with him. Now, however, it just irritates him further; this boy is offering help for a problem he can't even look directly at.

The Acting Captain of the Kvatch Guard turns his attention away from the object of his ire, not wanting this boy, already a low point of an already bad day, to be what distracts him from his death at the hands of the next group of monsters to emerge from Oblivion. He shouts an order to make ready when the Gate seems to shimmer the way it does every time it lets something through, and hears the sound of a blade being drawn behind him, and steals a glance back at the would-be helper, who has a short sword at the ready, and this is enough and more than enough.

"What the hell are you still doing here boy!? I told you to run! Back to the camp beneath the bluffs, or better still, all the way to Morrowind!"

The gate settles back to its regular state of chaotic flashing, ebbing, and flowing: no daedric invaders charge out at the moment. Everyone on this side of the gate may still live in relative peace for however much longer.

"I'm not going to leave without doing something to help. I'm actually looking for someone who's not in the camp, and somebody said he may still be trapped in the city."

How much of a fool is this child? Because every time he speaks he provides more to quantify. Savlian, whose patience was one of the earliest casualties of the day, is struggling to find the words to respond.

"If you don't remove yourself from this spot before we are attacked again, I swear by the Nine I will make sure I and my men live long enough to watch them rip you apart, starting with your fucking tongue! Fuck OFF!"

Finally, the stranger's expressoin shifts, from its look of infuriating sincerity into one of surprise and mild contrition. That's what it took to get him to see the point? Not everything he's seen up until this point, the destruction, the bodies, the yawning hell a stone's throw away? A bit of profanity?

"I'm sorry. I know it must seem hopeless. But that didn't stop Antus Pinder and his men, and I won't let it stop me."

Antus fucking Pinder. He really is a child, a boy with more stories in his head than sense. Savlian always hated this story, even as it was regaled by bards and poets and authors for his whole life, and well over a century prior. His mother had told it to him when he first asked, only she was a scholar of history, and provided details not known to most.

"You are not Antus Pinder. You shouldn't want to be Antus Pinder," He seethes, each word dripping with the rage of a man who has seen ten years' worth of death in one night, "because Antus Pinder's 'valiant defense of Kvatch' lasted all of three days against the Camoran Usurper. And when his militia of herders and laborers and shopkeepers was slaughtered, he alone was kept alive. They cut his eyelids out so that he was forced to see Kvatch utterly destroyed, and all it's people slaughtered. He was kept alive for years afterwards, and if you truly want to know what they did to him during that time, then by all means, walk into that Gate and the Daedra will show you."

Before Savlian can see if his efforts to scare the fool away have succeeded, there's a shout from Jesan, followed by the high-pitched screech of a group of scamps emerging from the Gate. He turns, barks an order to hold behind the palisades, and prepares for another skirmish.

The fight is over quickly enough. Had it been Clannfears or Dremora, there may have been casualities, but the hardier stock of Oblivion haven't been seen for a few hours now. Menien's party inside may still be alive and diverting attention away from Kvatch. They may find a way to close it yet.

But looking back at the ruined city --his home,-- the mixed bodies of Daedra and soldiers--his friends,-- the red skies above --he may never see the sun again-- and the Gate itself, Savlian spits on the ground and kicks a fresh kill at his feet. He shoos away any notions of hope, determined not to die disappointed.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

He snaps his head towards Merandil at this. The young mer is shouting at someone walking towards the gate as it frames him like the sun such that he's only a silhouette from this angle. "Savlian, it's the wanderer! He's going into the bloody thing!"

In an instant, Savlian throws down his shield and begins to run towards the youth. He had rebuffed him, insulted him, declared he would gladly watch him die all for the sake of getting him to run as far from Kvatch as was possible and living beyond today. But the thought of this stupid child full of heroic fantasies dying in hell, the last words ever spoken to him being so cruel, makes Savlian move with an energy he thought he'd never feel again. The Daedra can have him, but they will not take this boy.

He's almost within arm's reach when something catches his foot and he topples over, hitting his head hard on the ground. There's a ringing in his ears and faint voices behind him, as he tries and fails to stand himself back up. His last sight of the youth is of his body being engulfed by the membrane of the Gate. He drags himself forward, and screams at his men to stand down as they pick him up and begin to take him back behind the palisades. But they tell him the refugees need him, and there's nothing that can be done for the boy.

The boy. The youth. The child. the fool. The idiot.

Savlian never asked him his name

Hours pass. The other defenders hold firm against the periodic sorties from Oblivion as Savlian recuperates. The daedra are still deadly and ruthless, but their attacks come farther and fewer between. It's as if feeding Oblivion enough bodies is steadily slaking its thirst for mortal blood. Maybe if he walks through the Gate, that will be what causes it to finally close.

And then the Gate quakes and its membrane ripples like troubled water, and the defenders all await the horde that it must surely be about to spit out. The colors of the Gate swirl and brighten, and there's just enough time to look away before it becomes as luminous as the sun, and even more blinding. When it becomes safe to look again, the gate has collapsed on itself; the membrane is gone.

Two figures stand in its place. The first is Ilend Vonius, who had been a part of Menien's sortie into Oblivion. The second is the boy.

Savlian watches them approach him without even the faintest iota of how to reckon what he knows with what he sees. The Gate to Oblivion had made itself an incontrovertible fact for two days. It had brought forth nothing but death, and it stood to reason that entering it amounted to suicide. And yet there were two people who had done just that, and now were not just alive, but had outlived the Gate, defying it by their very existence.

Ilend's face still bears some amount of haunted shock, but it is outweighed by an overwhelming amount of relief, and even a grain of amusement as he catches sight of Savlian's expression, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again either, sir." His exhaustion is clear, but there's still a smile on his lips.

Savlian puts his hands on Ilend's shoulders and squeezes firmly, "We owe you more than could ever be paid, Illend. You, Menien, and everyone else who went in there to close that Gate."

Ilend shuts his eyes and breathes deep, clearly enjoying the lack of sulfer and ash in the air, "Thank you sir. But I'd say you owe him more. I certainly do." He gestures to the boy, and Savlian looks at him again, reevaluating that which he had dismissed so definitively.

The leather he wears is in tatters, with several straps dangling free from the arms and torso. One of his eyes is blackened, and there's an unmistakable scamp claw mark bleeding on his face. Whatever other wounds he has, Savlian does not see, because he is transfixed by the expression on his face: It's the same. Maybe not exactly the same, there's certainly exhaustion and maybe even some bit of horror, but there is still that look of earnestness as he waits to be addressed.

Letting go of Ilend, Savlian Matius reaches out to firmly grasp the boy's sword arm. "What is your name, son?"

"Scipio," his voice wavers slightly as he answers, so he clears his throat and says it again more resolutely, "Scipio Amicus. I'm looking for a priest."

[karma-uh]

If you didn't see my writers prompt post, you should look at that. Probably. Shout out to @ghostkittypog, I love tags and also writing about robots. If I write more or do worldbuilding, that'll also be under Egress.

This is a W.I.P, TW: robo-gore, dehumanization, fear of experimentation

I DID copy-paste some stuff from the first post, but there's some more. Emphasis on some.

-

Just.. if you had this reputation as a hero, once you didn't expect to soar quite so far- why would you ever tell? Their heroes all have faces, voices to encourage them and speak bravely, to communicate with the citizens and reassure them of their safety, whether if it was through protection or violence.

You didn't have a face, bluntly. But you were the mysterious type. That was what they called you. You had a flooded heads-up display cast over a visor that subtly shone on the outside. You had two arms, two legs, if you could call it that. The digitigrade nature was unsettling to some, your movements lacking the idle stances that humans took up.

You didn't tell them because you loved them. You didn't tell them because it'd be your circuitry torn apart on a table, investigated for whatever remnant they believed you to be.

You weren't ever human. And you don't know if they accept that. There were heroes from alien races, shape-shifting creatures, and mutations alike- but they were flesh and blood and people. You could, by all technicality, be property.

The public wanted you to be people. Expected you to be flesh and blood, hidden in a tomb of titanium and copper, aluminum panels, and lines of lithium. A man of towering iron. You went to interviews. People called you shy off of the battlefield. You think that's true.

Mecha aren't shy. Their pilots are.

This pilot was arrogant. He had materials, a suit of his own augmented with enough firepower to make you drop to all your limbs and scuttle in a way that your co-workers joked of being from a horror film. They'd say he was stupid.

You knew he was smart. Shielding his own mech, using an EMP. You were, too, had done so years ago when you had become so scared of falling. It still affected enough systems to hit you. There was a chunk shorn out of your front. It was the point where you'd usually wait for someone to back you up and convince them you were vulnerable, you needed repairs.

He was on top of you and he wasn't going to stop. You weren't going to either. Not at this point. Your back was pressed into the concrete, sensors screaming. The mech he wore was new, but it was retrofitted with parts you could only remember in broken caches and deep sea mining operations.

He wasn't going to break under the pressure, you might. But he was still human. You grappled with him as best you could, kicked up dust and seized one of his legs entirely, but you were both pressed into the ground.

Your visor was mangled. A drill came towards your face while your hands made to protect your ‘cockpit’. You couldn't avert it in time, only turn your head so it wouldn't hit core components.

You could fix everything else. You seized under him, internal klaxons screaming as a diagnostic came back painfully slow. He'd hit a memory bank. That drill was through your arm, now, pining you to concrete.

He wasn't expecting this, you think. But it was close enough to fighting back for him to respond to, to tear you open in your vulnerability.

The mech had an auxiliary arm, a feature you envied. If you survived this, you'd toss that bit of human mimicry away and install one for yourself. It was certainly proving its use as it held you. Two arms wouldn't have been enough. He lagged in the motions, couldn't move the drill while he did, but this wasn't a design he'd used before.

It's arrogant to say you could do it better, as your internals paint his own armor. You clearly aren't. But you still jerk. You still seize. Because there are people here.

They're the reason you ever started, to dare enter this path of no return that had your death warrant pinned to it with grim inevitability. It's a common fear of humans, but you would've been happy to die alone.

Maybe they'd still call for your head, if they couldn't find anything in your cockpit. But that wouldn't be your problem anymore. It wouldn't be your body anymore. You should, really, program a self destruct sequence. It's selfish, but you don't want some sort of successor.

You want the helicopter you can hear to go away. You want to drill out of your shoulder. You think, even, that you want the man on top of you to be dead. And you don't wish death on people. That is one easy way to the graveyard. The ratings are blunt with it.

You love them. So you are so sorry this will hurt them.

-

"Now behold! Behold as I unmask your...beloved...hero...?" The villain's voice trailed off as he tore open said hero's crippled mech suit on live TV, only to reveal something quite...unexpected.

The camera couldn't get a perfect angle, but the gloating had left his side open, and the mech he was in went stock still. It'd be a perfect moment for backup. At the moment, it made for a perfect photo. Defeat.

...except Egress was empty. They'd fought up until the very last moment, took a brutal blow to the face and tried to take down the villain even as they were disadvantaged. The damage that was torn away left half their chest plate lying on concrete.

The villain tore more open, as if it'd reveal something. It didn't. It was eerily quiet, the loudest noise being the settling of metal and the hum of chopper blades in the air.

He frowned, and as if he hadn't downed one of the world's best, dropped his entire posture. “This is cowardice.” He sneered and tore the drill out of the hole he had made into the mech's arm. “Nothing more, nothing less.” His posture rose, the mech helm still aimed low at the empty robot. “Look at what your hero has done. They've abandoned you!”

It was accented with a dramatic swing of the mech's arm, and reporters desperately took photos as he did. This was history in the making.

How did this happen? How did the hero fight back so violently, only to disappear before they would be revealed? It spoke to backup plans.

Was their identity worth more than civilian safety, to Egress?

It was a thought quickly cut off by an incoming hero. []

[rafa-jaja]

Asking for your help...(pt3)

Bruce Wayne x Gn reader

Chaos, everywhere, Talia was destroying the city completely, she had an army of assassins controlled by Prismon, a villain with telepathic powers.

But how could this happen? wasn't the Justice League supposed to avoid this kind of problems? where are the superheroes who swore to protect the world?

All those questions are easily answered, they were the focus of Talia's plan, she kept them captive in their own minds. This allowed her to easily attack the citizens and plant chaos in the world.

And where were you in all this? In the league's operations headquarters, not the wachtower, because that's where Talia and Prismon were. You were in a smaller, more rudimentary one, but that was better than nothing.

You were making a plan, but you knew the odds were not in your favor. But even knowing the consequences, your plan was to infiltrate the watchtower and free the supers.

- Okay, with all that in place I just have to-

- Did you think I'd forget about you? How bad do you think I am?

That voice...how could it have found you, you had barrier protection against mind tracking.

- I'm surprised you didn't realize that your friends have very weak minds.

Talia came out of the shadows, just looking at her made you remember everything she put you through, it was like a recreation of your nightmares.

- What do you want? I'm of no use to you, you already have an ally who controls minds.

- I felt that my collection was not complete without you, besides, I would like to relive the old times.

You knew that fighting her wouldn't do any good, she had a mental block that didn't allow you to enter it, and your current physical state is deplorable.

- Ok, take me with you, I'm not going to fight you.

- What a disappointment, I thought you wanted to take revenge on me?

You didn't answer, yes you wanted revenge, but she was giving you a free pass to the wachtower and you could come up with a plan on the way. Right?

Nothing, you had no plan, all the scenarios would end with you in the mental prison or dead, the worst thing is that they were about to arrive.

- You Know, you surprised me when you gave yourself up so easily.

- Well...I had no choice

- You've changed a lot since the last time I saw you. You're basically adrift, you have no one.

You would deny it, but inside you knew it was true, somehow you agreed with her.

When you arrived you were taken to the main hall with your friends, it hurt you to see their faces, you knew they were there, but nothing assured you that they were well.

- Now that you are here, it is time to lock yourself in that little mind of yours.

Without any warning Prismo appeared behind you and caught you, everything was dark, but... you weren't afraid, it was just being closer to your thoughts.

Suddenly a mowing light consumed you, and then a sound, well more like a voice...

- Hey, wake up, you know it's not good to fall asleep when you're a guest.

That voice seemed very familiar, you opened your eyes to try to identify the person who was talking to you, but you only saw a room with armchairs and a lit fireplace.

- BOOO!!!!

- FUCK...damn it John Constantin, do you want to scare me to death?

- Oh, you should have seen your face, it was worth it.

- what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you got caught with the others.

- you really thought i'd fall for that? I thought you knew me better than that.

- Okay, you're not caught, so where the fuck are you?

- Well... let's just say I'm in hell.

- ...What?

- You know, dont meke me explain it to you, you konw what i do.

- OK, i understend that...but you haven't thought about, I don't know, HELPING? The world is going to shit and you're in hell!

- Hey, if I wasn't here the situation would be different.

- What?

- No time for details, let's just say that Talia made a deal with a powerful demon and I'm down here holding him. But I didn't come to you to tell you this, you have to free yourself and help your friends.

- But how? I never had to get out of my own mind. I don't know what to-

- I don't have much time left, just find the way out, save the others and defeat Talia.

And without being able to say anything else Constantin disappeared, you had no choice but to investigate the place where you were.

You didn't know how much time had passed, but you felt like you were going around in circles, until you saw a light at the end of the corridor.

When you got to the place the light disappeared, leaving a door that did not look like the others in the place, without thinking twice you opened the door and entered it.

You saw a kind of fair? you didn't know where you were, but something seemed very familiar to you.

- I didn't know you liked fairs.

You quickly turned around, only to run into Bruce Wayne.

- And what are you doing here?

- I'm accompanying Dick, he's on the roller coaster now.

Oh no, you knew what this was, it's the memory of the time you and Bruce had a date by accident. Why this memory? It was the one you had been trying to forget the most.

You had no other choice, you will have to relive the memory as it happened, otherwise your mind will completely split and you won't be able to get out.

- It's good that you two are giving each other a break, you needed it.

- Yeah...sometimes I forget what it was like to be a kid.

- I understand, but you're doing great.

- Doing what?

- Raising Dick, he and you have things in common even though you're very different.

The three of you spent the whole afternoon together, sharing and enjoying watching Dick enjoy everything. But an uncomfortable feeling came over you, you hadn't shared with Bruce for a long time, you didn't remember how well you had lived together in the past. But this was a memory, you knew that in the present this would never happen.

- What are you worried about?

- Eh...it's nothing, don't worry.

- It's not true, you're thinking too much.

- It's just...I'm worried about the future.

- That's normal, we all worry about what might happen in the future, but the key is to take a deep breath and silence those thoughts.

I was right, you are overthinking the situation between you and Bruce too much.

- What a beautiful view," you said watching the sunset.

- Yes...very beautiful," said Bruce with his eyes on you.

Bruce put his hand on your chin and made you look into his eyes, those deep eyes that could make anyone's eyes glaze over. Little by little they got closer until they kissed, a tender kiss full of love. You felt how time slowed down, a stream of emotions ran through your body.

- That was... incredible.

-Yes.

- Hey, stop kissing or I'm going to pump," said Dick, grimacing dramatically.

Everything went on as normal, at the end of the fair Bruce offered to take you home. When you arrived at the door of your apartment, but before entering you stopped.

- Bye Bruce, see you soon

- I hope so, I can't wait.

With that said you went inside and a Reaper Glow consumed you once again. You woke up on the main hall floor, looked around and saw that all the supers were still there.

You knew what to do, without the guards noticing, you occupied your mental control and woke up each one of your friends, giving instructions to each one of them on what to do.

You had already woken up most of them, only Bruce was missing, when you entered his mind you noticed that you were in Gotham, but you didn't see Bruce anywhere.

You searched everywhere, there was no trace of him. About to have a crisis you saw a newspaper gliding towards you, you picked it up and saw what it said, "Death in the Wayne family...it's been two days since this tragedy happened and-" That's it! the cemetery, how could you not have thought of it before.

As you arrived you saw Bruce, sitting next to his parents' graves.

- Bruce, we have to go, Talia and...

- No.

- What? What do you mean, no?

- I don't want to leave. I don't want to go back to the real world.

- Bruce, this is not the time to do this, we need you.

- I don't want to," he said through tears, "I don't want to feel like this again.

- Like what? Like the richest man in the world? or like Batman?

- You don't understand, I thought you knew me well enough to see the real me.

- I thought I knew you, until you abandoned me years ago!

They both fell silent, neither of them could argue any longer.

- You know...I feel like a complete idiot, I've let down a lot of people I love and I don't have the courage to make amends.

- I don't know where you're going with this?

- I just...I want to make things right with you, I have never stopped loving you.

- Yeah sure, and the kid with Talia doesn't mean anything.

- Let's leave Damian out of this.

- So that means you do have feelings for her.

- SHE DORGED ME! fuck...when I woke up the next morning I felt so repulsive, I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror...but I didn't want to tell you because I knew it would hurt you. And when she left Damian in my care I didn't know what to do, and you didn't give me the time to explain...the last I heard from you after you left was that Talia had kidnapped you, she threatened to kill you if I tried anything. When she freed you I wanted to come and get you, but I thought Talia would keep her word.

- Bruce...I had no idea, but why did you risk asking for my help if you knew what Talia was capable of?

- We really needed your help...but it was also an excuse to see you again.

The two hugged each other tightly, neither wanting to let the other go. They needed it after everything they had to go through.

- Well, it's time to go back to the real world.

- But what about us?

- Maybe we could give ourselves a second chance.

In short, after releasing Bruce from prison, the league united to defeat Talia, which they did, and arrested all of her henchmen. Peace had returned to the world, thanks to the power of the Superheroes.

You and Bruce eventually got back to what you were before and were happy forever.

Fin...

[mono-dot-jpeg]

new universe - y. welt

summary; while you didn't mind playing hsr, you didn't want to be in hsr!

genre/extra tags; headcanons, isekai! reader, father figure! welt back in action, fluff, angst???

[platonic] [16 years old! reader] [gender neutral! reader]

a/n; never wrote for isekai'd reader but im down to try. this is probably gonna be unintentionally angsty bc idk abt u but no matter what world im waking up in, im gonna lose my shit too.

you played quite a bit of hsr

you had your fair share of liking a bunch of characters, gambling on them just for that 0.001% chance of feeling joy that you finally got that character

and you liked the story and all

but you didn't want anything more than that

so imagine the absolute panic of waking up like you were trailblazer.

march's face near yours sending you into freeze rather than flight or fight

"march step back, give them time. they just woke up."

you literally go through the 5 stages or grief as you slowly realize, oh shit, im not home anymore

and then it sinks in again

and then you start crying.

you're stuck in denial as you cry your eyes out

you're stuck in a fantasy space world where you are just as powerless as a citizen npc and you know there's a bunch of enemies in game that look really painful to deal with

you dont even realize that you've been taken to a room to wallow in peace.

welt's room to be specific.

you calm down after a while, sitting down in embarrassment bc oh fuck you just cried in front of some of your favorite character but to be fair you might be stuck in this world which does almost send into another panic

but welt comes in at the right time

"i'm sorry we didn't wake you when we found you, but we wanted to make sure that you weren't injured. do you remember anything of what happened?" he speaks calmly, making you feel calm in return

"i only remember my name.." you're really lucky to know that you speak the common language in this universe, or maybe they just know it. "i don't know what happened and..." your body shakes, feeling overwhelmed. "i don't know... 'm sorry."

he shakes his head. "you did nothing wrong. we didn't think or account for this. it's okay. it's okay to be scared. we're here to help you."

and it kind of breaks your heart bc you don't think there's a way to get back to your real home.

"would you like to know how we found you?" he hands you some water to drink.

you nod weakly, drinking the water.

and he explains how they found you in a different planet and stuck in a forest. "so you don't remember anything else?"

you hesitate. "i don't..i-" you close your mouth. "i don't think you'd believe me."

"it's okay if you don't want to tell me. but are you sure you don't know where your home is?" at the mention of home, you feel your eyes water.

"my home isn't where you think it is." you whisper weakly.

you don't elaborate and he doesn't expect you to elaborate.

"thank you for telling what you wanted to tell. i'm sure you're still scared and worried. and that's okay. but this does mean, you don't have a home.."

and he ends up taking you in.

you stick with him for a long while. it takes you a long time to get used to everything.

eventually you do get somewhat accustomed to it all.

with welt by your side you feel a bit more safe and less scared.

but on those nights where you remember that your normal is not the normal of this world, you find yourself looking for welt.

it's just silent comfort, just having his presence around you makes you feel better as you lay down by him as if you were a younger kid.

you just let him read his books as you wait for your body to make you sleep.

"thank you welt." you can't help but mutter.

and his reply is just a gentle pat on your head, a sign of him always listening to you and caring for you.

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

Hello,

Ive been following you for years and I love your blog. In all my years on this website I have never posted, sent an ask or a message, commented or interacted with anyone on this website in any way. However seeing your recent posts about Palestine made me feel like I had to say something.

Just because you support the “weaker” side, it doesn’t make you immune to lies and propaganda.

Please educate yourself before you spread misinformation and/or misleading info.

I am a citizen of Israel. This conflict started when Hamas brutally murdered hundreds of innocent civilians, including elderly and children. They kidnapped over a hundred more. They are known for being a terrorist organisation whose stated goal is to murder jews.

I am terrified. My people are forever scarred. I and everyone I know have lost loved ones in this war. And the fact that people like you in these terrible times choose to focus solely on the suffering of the Palestinians, ignoring and justifying our suffering, speaks volumes.

The bombings you speak of, are a retaliation for the slaughter of October 7th. Israel warns citizens in advance, in order to prevent as many casualties as possible. But we cant just ignore the murder, kidnapping, rape and harm to our people like you do. We have no choice but to defend ourselves.

We have no interest nor desire to commit genocide against the Palestinian people. If we did, we would have already done so. Instead we financially support Palestine, despite the fact they use this money not to better their lives, but to instead attack our civilians.

Beware of misinformation like the accusations against Israel for bombing the hospital in Gaza. That is a straight up lie that was proven false, and the Hamas spread it along with lies about how many people got hurt, in order to convince people like you that they are justified. And its working.

Before you accuse others, maybe check your own biases and think to yourself why a Palestinian life is worth something to you and an Israeli one isn’t.

Can you even imagine what it feels like to go online after such a tragedy for a little relief, only to see people like you calling for my death?

And yes, that is what you’re doing by supporting and encouraging the actions of Hamas. An organisation that cares more about killing innocent civilians like me than protecting its own people.

I hope that if you can’t take the time to properly understand this complicated situation, you will at least stop talking about something that you clearly don’t understand.

You know, I put all of this in a private post initially. I've been largely focused on spreading charity posts, actual concrete things that can be done to save the innocent people caught in the crossfire. But clearly, my message has been mixed, so I'll define it right here.

This is just something that seeps into my bones and I had to say it somewhere: the sheer refusal by both sides to admit what they're doing. Oh, we thought that music festival was soldiers....wait no we didn't, it was random Gazan civilians who did it instead, not us, hurt them instead. Oh we are going to wage all out war....no those innocent civilian casaulties weren't us, it was them! (No, the cause of the explosion has not been independently proven. It has, however, been proven that Israel shelled the place three days earlier as a "warning" then called ordering an evacuation shortly before.) Put down an evacuation order so short and so sudden the UN protests that civilians can't possibly get out in time, then bomb one of the convoys. Tell your countrymen the evacuation order was fake so you get more human shields. More rockets! More airstrikes! More "accidents" to the tune of hundreds of civilians dead, and you never have to carry the burden or the blame for any of it. Shoot from far enough away, target enough civilians, makes it easy, makes it fun. The glory of war with none of the guilt and none of the risk! Ain't that a wonderful thing. Ain't that a fucking joke.

I grieve for the innocent Israeli citizens slaughtered because Hamas cowards wanted to kill the defenseless. I grieve for the people in Gaza getting slaughtered because neither side cares if they live or die. The difference between the two is not that one life is worth more than the others. That is morally repugnant and fundamentally absurd. The difference is that Israel is getting aid from many nations, while other nations only give aid to Hamas, not the people of Gaza. They need humanitarian aid, they need someone to speak for them and beg for restraint, which is why I'm primarily reblogging posts that call for humanitarian aid to them and for a ceasefire so they can, at the very least, have the evacuation time they should have been allowed. It is not because their lives are worth more, but because to far too many, their lives are worth less.

I understand your pain and fear, and I am deeply sorry for your loss. I too find those rooting for Hamas or declaring that the victims deserved it for being settlers repugnant. But the people of Gaza did not do this, and if it's a choice between them living and Hamas dying, I will choose their lives every time. I will always choose life. And I refuse to apologize for that. Violence like this is a cycle, revenge and revenge and revenge again because you cannot kill an idea with bombs, only keep destroying until nothing is left to fight over. You cannot stop a cycle by continuing to spin.

[gilverrwrites]

Have you ever had to live in your parents home in your early twenties when you didn't have the possibility to live in another place and cried yourself to sleep every night because of them, since they weren't give you respect or have control over your life and as an argument to justify themselves, they used the one : "We are your parents, that's what every parent does. You are the one disrespecting us"?

Maybe not the exact same experience as yours but yes, I lived with my family in my early twenties. I found that though they were reluctant, they couldn't take my freedom from me when I started working long hours and paying board to them, as well as buying my own food and clothes. They couldn't stop me from leaving the house to work, and from there, it was easier to tell them that I was leaving for social reasons and whatnot.

I briefly moved back in with them in my mid-twenties which was a lot worse, but by then I was working full-time and moved out again pretty much as soon as I found a reasonable alternative.

I'm sure you must feel lost and trapped right now. If trying to talk to them calmly and openly with offers of compromise isn't getting you anywhere, I would suggest focusing on why you can't move out, and ways to resolve that. It might be slow and hard but any progress is better than none, and future you will thank yourself for starting sooner rather than later.

I might also suggest finding healthy coping mechanisms to help with your mental health, I'm not a professional, and I know mental health services aren't cheap/easily accessible but at the very least please try to leave the house a few times a week if only to go on walk, or see and chat to friends in person. Drink water, eat healthy when you can (as well as treats!). Contribute to some sort of hobby. Make sure you're doing little things to look after yourself. I know they might seem inconsequential, and they for sure aren't substitutes for resolving the bigger issues, but I promise you will feel somewhat better in yourself (if you aren't already doing these things).

Ultimately the path is:

secure an income

make sure you have your personal papers (birth certificate, medical records etc)

Move out (be that renting a room, a flat, etc)

But I don't know your personal circumstances, and even with all the information everybodies experiences are different. It's also worth speaking to trusted friends and family, as well as some kind of local citizens' advice if you have one.

Please be careful and look after yourself. Remember that the situation you're in now won't last forever. Life will always contain struggles, it's never truly easy but things will be better. You will learn about yourself and feel more comfortable in your own skin with independence. 💖