#after a day of feeling like a person i am deep into pits of depression again

[kinokochouchou]

it snowed on saturday and it doesnt feel like spring no more (

wish her back

[snowflakeanimelover]

Relationship: John Wick x Female Reader

Fandom: John Wick

Warnings: John’s POV, attempted attack, slight force, self loathing, more fear, crying, non-con touching(not explicit), reader needs a hug, John is kind of delusional, John is depressed

Note: I made a really cool title banner for this story, but the gif was too big to put on here (T-T) so its just a regular boring pic. Oh well, it still looks cool. Anyway, thank you for the lovely support! Super happy people are liking this. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated :D

Also, I am aware I repeat things. I have a bad habit of doing that, and I am really trying not to. So, apologies if you see repeated stuff or info.

────────༺♰༻────────

Chapter 2 | …

────────༺♰༻────────

Never Again |3|

Seeing the dark grey Pit Bull did not seem to brighten John’s mood. His steps felt heavy as he walked down the spiral staircase and onto the main floor of his large, fancy home. The weight on his shoulders grew heavier as time passed. What the hell am I doing? he constantly asked himself. Yet, he didn’t seem to take any action to relieve himself of that burden.

John’s gaze landed on his slightly trembling hands, and he stared at them as if there were blood on them. Technically, there were years and years of blood on his hands from his grueling job, which he had now retired from. But now, all he could see was innocent blood. Although he hadn’t killed the woman and never would, his guilt lingered as if her blood were staining his hands. He had taken her without her consent, robbing her of her life. Her love for books, her love for talking to people—now he had her isolated, all for himself.

John reminded himself that he needed this; it was the only way for him to feel satisfied and to fill the void in his heart that Helen had left behind. Y/N was the only person who brought him peace of mind and warmth.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he tore his gaze away from his hands and looked down at his new puppy. As soon as their eyes met, the puppy seemed happy—happy for the attention, happy to see his owner. If only Y/N responded that way.

She will soon enough.

“Hey, boy.” John slowly kneels down, grimacing slightly at his sore body and aching wounds, and rests his hand on the pit bull's head to pet him. “You’re a good boy, huh?” he says, as if the dog could respond.

After giving his dog a few minutes of attention, he pushes himself back up to his feet and straightens his black vest. It has been a few hours since he arrived home, and he figures it’s best to change into something more comfortable.

───༺♰༻───

By the time John had changed into his pajamas—dark grey sweatpants and a simple white T-shirt—and poured himself another cup of coffee, he could see the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon through his window.

The past few days have been hectic. He avenged the death of Daisy, the puppy his late wife gave him to help him grieve, and dealt with the theft of his car. In response, he had kidnapped a Pit Bull from the pound and a woman from her home. Now, he is finally back home. This time, he intended to stay retired and live a new life with his new dog and… new wife.

Well, maybe he shouldn’t call her his wife, yet.

John looks down at the Pit Bull he hasn’t thought to name yet, watching its tail wag back and forth in excitement. “Looks like I’ll need to train her too, huh, boy?” John chuckles, but the laughter lacks genuine feeling. It’s a dark joke, he realizes, considering Y/N as if she were his pet, too. However, that’s not the case. She may be a replacement for Helen, but she will soon become her own person whom he’ll love unconditionally.

Taking a sip of his coffee, John decided it was time to go back upstairs and check on her. He hadn't heard any loud noises—no crying, screams for help, thrown furniture, or banging on the door. It was too quiet.

Setting his mug down, John left the kitchen and walked up the spiral stairs with his puppy in tow. When he reached the bedroom door, which was now Y/N’s, he turned to his dog and pointed a stern finger. “Sit,” he commanded. To his surprise, the puppy obeyed. “Stay.” John was impressed but knew he would need to train the puppy further as time went on.

John unlocked the door, hearing it creak softly as it slowly swung open. The room was dark, but the large windows leading to the balcony let in enough morning light to reveal some details. As he took a few steps inside, he noticed that the bed was empty.

Before he knows it, something catches his attention from the left. Acting purely on instinct, years of training as an assassin and military service kick in. He swiftly grabs the arms descending towards him, his large, calloused fingers wrapping tightly around Y/N’s wrists. He forcefully moves them to the side, away from his head.

A loud crash sounds behind him, but he ignores it, shoving Y/N against the nearest wall with remarkable speed. Because she lacks training, he easily slams her back into the wall, caging her body with his own. He presses his arm against her chest to keep her there.

The pained gasp that escaped her lips caused his heart to ache as he realized what had just occurred. His dark eyes landed on her fear-filled ones. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were red from crying. She tried to fight against his strength but quickly gave up, knowing she wouldn’t win.

John hesitates as he glances to his side and sees a lamp on the floor. It suddenly becomes clear to him what happened. Y/N was hidden behind the wall near the door, and when he got within range, she attempted to attack him with the lamp. In a way, she’s clever. But she’s not clever enough for an assassin.

"I'm sorry," John hears her croak, and he looks at her face again. She is crying, mostly out of fear. Her apology seems to be instinctive; John can tell she’s worried that she may have angered him and that he might hurt her.

The thought alone made him feel nauseous. Now that he was calmer and assessing the situation, he slowly stepped back, easing the pressure he had been applying to her chest. He remained cautious, aware that she might attempt to attack again the moment he let his guard down. However, she didn’t make a move.

He watches as she slides against the wall, backing away to the far corner of the room, left of the bed, where she stands trembling. “Please don’t hurt me,” she sobs, her shoulders practically up to her ears as she huddles in the corner.

John furrows his brows at her words, then relaxes his posture, letting his arms hang by his sides. “I’m…” he starts, trying to find a way to reassure her. However, he knows it would be impossible. He kidnapped her, and she is terrified. She doesn’t understand what is happening or why she is there. She has no knowledge of his motives. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he finally says, taking another step back.

As John takes a step back, the heel of his foot brushes against something. Turning to look, he sees the lamp that she attempted to hit him with. It’s the lamp from one of the bedside tables. He steps over it to face Y/N while inspecting the damage. The bulb is broken, and one side of the lampshade is bent inward. Fortunately, it isn't completely ruined, so he can easily fix it.

The room was silent, except for the soft cries and hiccups of the girl hiding in the corner. Eventually, she slid down to the floor, sitting with her knees hugged to her chest. Was she scared that he would hurt her because she had tried to hit him? And because she had broken his lamp?

“It’s fine,” John mutters, picking up the broken lamp and forcing an awkward smile. “I can fix it. It’ll be an easy fix.” She doesn’t respond, just as he expected. His smile fades as he looks down at the lamp in his hands and the shards of glass scattered on the floor. “I’ll... be right back to clean this up. Please don’t step over here; there’s broken glass.” He felt so awkward, as if he had never spoken to a girl before. It was like talking to a scared child.

───༺♰༻───

It didn’t take him long to go grab a broom and a garbage bag. Y/N hadn’t moved once when he came back, and it…made his heart ache once more. Seeing her look so afraid because of him was starting to get a bit frustrating, but he knew he had to be patient. He couldn’t expect her to accept her new life. Hell, he was having a hard time accepting what he did.

Ever since he brought her here, his mind would constantly argue back and forth. About how kidnapping an innocent woman was wrong and he should let her go, while the other part of him wants her to stay because he deserves her. He deserved peace once more. Either way, he wanted it all to just shut off.

It felt like he was going insane just because of this one illegal action, when he has done many illegal things before.

It didn’t make sense. It was downright annoying the hell out of him.

John lets out a sigh, hearing the glass clink together as it's brushed onto the dustpan, and then dumped into the trash bag he brought. He made sure to sit where he could see her, watch her every move. After the stunt she pulled, he can’t say he trusts her right now.

Just as he finished cleaning up the broken glass, he noticed she had gotten quiet once more. Glancing up, John can see she had stopped crying, however still huddled up in the corner to keep the distance between them.

He wanted to scold her, be mad at her for trying to hurt him. But he never does, because he knows she’ll learn eventually what she can and can’t do. She’ll learn to love and respect him.

Again, he needs to be patient.

John stands up from the floor, the broom in one hand and the garbage bag in the other. “Are you, uh….” He clears his throat, not sure whether looking at her would freak her out or not. “Are you hungry? I can…bring some lunch or…” he gestures with his hands as he talks, despite them being full. His words ended openly, as if to invite her to answer or at least speak to him. When she continues to give him the silent treatment, he shrugs, giving up on trying for the day. It's the first day, she’ll come around eventually.

“I’ll just bring something up later,” he murmurs, desperate to get out of this awkward situation. Hesitantly, he stands there for a little longer, as if to wait in case she wants to say something. Then, he leaves the bedroom, locking the door right behind him.

Maybe food will make her feel more welcomed.

[skzruby]

Hunting for blood

Chapter warning; Mentions of kidnapping/missing person, depression suggested, mentions of death

Word count: 2.2k

ꫂ ၴႅၴ

Chapter 1

a plummet

You were previously sleeping in the early hours of the morning before you received a phone call. You groaned at the loud ringing beside you, rolling over to grab your phone as you cracked open your eyes. It was Jisungs mom.

"Hello?" You said groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with a clenched fist. What time was it? You took a momentary glance at the lit clock on your bedside table. The numbers 08:00 AM flashed in white on the black screen.

"Ruby? Sorry to wake you dear, I just needed to call you." Jisungs mom, Han Yuseo, spoke. You frowned at the tone of her voice. She sounded- troubled, which definitely was a stark contrast to her usual bright and bubbly voice.

"It's okay- why did you call? Is everything okay?" You said, a pang of worry forming in the centre of your chest. You know, the one that makes your thoughts spiral into a deep hole that consists of nothing good. She hadn't even said anything yet and here you were, overthinking as always.

"I was just calling to see if you had spoken to Jisung today? He didn't come home." Yuseo spoke, the last part coming out in a hushed, strained voice. You felt your heart plummet into the pit of your stomach. Jisung always came home. He knew how much his mom worried about him. Even if he wasn't coming home that night or day, he'd always call or text prior.

"What do you mean he didn't come home? He was there yesterday morning, right?" Your voice came out strained, practically mimicking her own. You tried your best to keep your breathing steady. You're sure everythings fine. It has to be. It's Jisung for god's sake. He had to be okay.

"Yes, he left for work yesterday morning at- 6, I think.. He hasn't called or texted me since. Have you spoken to him?" She added. You could hear her voice trembling, it made you want to tell her everything is okay and that you're sure Jisung is okay. But you're not a hypocrite, and you certainly hated giving false hope. You had no idea what was going on.

"No, I haven't, I'm sorry Yuseo.." You said with a shaky breath, not wanting to disappoint the woman. Your stomach churned with anxiety as you spoke up again.

"I'll try to contact him and let you know if I get anything, okay?" You added on, trying your best to be reassuring, to sound like you weren't also spiralling out of control into thoughts any person would pray to never come true.

"Thank you, Ruby.. I'll talk to you later" She spoke. You could practically see the tears brimming on her lash line, her voice quivering with fear.

As you were about to hang up, you spoke up again, your voice wobbling subtly. "Yuseo?"

"Yes dear?" She responded, her tone low and fearful.

"Everything will be okay. It's Jisung." You replied, reassuring her the best you could whilst letting out a small chuckle at the thought of the man. He was anything but the type of person to get into trouble.

"I'm sure it will." Yuseo mumbled back before the line beeped, her presence disappearing. The quietness of your dimly lit room weighed down on you, leaving you to deal with all the troubled ideas forming out of your own will. You took a deep, trembling breath as you attempted to ground yourself, grabbing the water you always had on the bedside table and taking a few sips.

You re-opened your phone, deciding to try to give Jisung a call. You closed your eyes as the phone rang against your ear, silently praying for him to answer, to hear his voice calling out to you on the other side. After a few rings, it went silent. Had he answered?

"Jisu-" You began, hope filling you before the sound of the voicemail automated response cut you off, that feeling immediately dissipating into the abyss. You let out an unsteady sigh, staring down at the phone in your slightly weak hand. As the response finished, you knew you had to leave a voicemail.

"Jisung? Where are you? Please, just call me back when you hear this. Your moms worried, so am I. Bye.." You spoke, your voice a little frantic.

You didn't get a response back that day. Or the next, and not the day after that. It didn't matter how many voicemails you left, none of them were returned. You didn't even know if he was just ignoring you, or if something truly terrible had happened. Obviously, you had hoped for the latter. But not everything you hope for comes true.

Days passed by slowly. The hours were long and torturous as you grew more and more worried everyday. Soon, months had gone by, each one the same every time. You continued leaving voicemails, contacting his friends or anyone he worked with to try and get even just the smallest, most simplest piece of information about him that they remember from the day he disappeared.

You kept in frequent touch with Yuseo and the rest of Jisungs family, often giving them comfort and reassurance. Huh, maybe you were a hypocrite. You hated false hope yet here you were telling his family that he's okay. You knew you were doing it more for yourself. Of course you didn't want to believe something had happened to him, he was your best friend. The one person who knew you the best. You couldn't recall a day where you didn't talk to him and now it had been months.

[ONE MONTH AFTER HIS DISAPPEARANCE]

Sudden gasps of air left your lips as you shot up in bed, my brain scanning over the excruciatingly painful nightmare that had ruined your sleep, again. It was the same one every night, Jisung being- Well, I suppose you could figure out what it was about. Although you had seen it a thousand times already and knew exactly what was going to happen, it never got any easier to witness. Of course it was just a nightmare, I figment of your imagination, of one of your worst fears.

It had only been a month since Jisungs disappearance, and you tried your best to work everyday to find him but it was so hard to leave the house, or even get out of bed. Saying you were depressed was probably- most definitely an understatement. His disappearance left a hole in your heart, one that screams to be fixed, refilled. But it wasn't possible without Jisung. It felt like a blackhole had formed in your soul, swallowing you whole from the inside out until you were nothing but thoughts. Sometimes you wished for that, for the peace of eternal darkness, but you couldn't. What if he was still alive? What if he came back and you were the one gone this time, except forever? You wouldn't- You couldn't wish that type of pain on him. You needed to be here for his family but you couldn't even be there for yourself.

You dragged a clammy hand down your face slowly, taking a few deep breaths, some turning shaky near the end. You hadn't allowed yourself to cry over this yet, and you wouldn't. If you did, you might never stop.

Your shallow gaze glared holes in the wall ahead of you, you didn't know what to do with yourself. You needed to get up and do something. Showering first considering it had been days since your last one. You physically grimaced at the thought. How could you let it get this bad in just a month?

Slowly crawled out of your bed, sliding off on your butt and onto the floor, dragging half the duvet with you as you sat with your back against the side of the bed. A small sigh escaped your lips before you crawled on all fours towards the bathroom attached to your bedroom. You didn't even have the energy to walk despite sleeping away all hours of the day and night. You finally mustered motivation to stand up once you reached the bathroom, walking straight into the shower with your clothes still on. The hum of the shower filled the room before splattering water followed, spilling down your body and soaking you and clothes, the fabric immediately sticking to your skin.

You must have stayed in there for at least an hour because by the time you came back to your senses the sun had finally risen, casting a warm glow into the bedroom and bathroom. Steam filled the room and your fingertips had become wrinkled. Slowly turning the shower off, you stepped out of the shower, water droplets still sliding off your skin and onto the mat beneath your feet. You peeled off the wet clothes, tossing them on the floor as they landed with a small squelch. Sounds of scrubbing bounced off the walls as you brushed your teeth, then combing through your tatted hair that was previously tied up in a pony, the same one you tied up a week ago. Of course you shouldn't brush your hair wet but at this point you didn't care.

Once you regained some more motivation, you got changed into appropriate clothes for work, deciding you should get out of the house. Maybe you would feel better when surrounded by a distracting environment. Even though your work was about Jisung..

You strolled down the street towards your usual bus stop, headphones placed over your still slightly damp hair. Thoughts swirled around your head, thinking about what you would do today, who you would talk to - basically every possible scenario and its outcome. Once you had finally got onto the bus - sitting down in your usual seat in the back at a window - you scrolled through the mass amounts of missed calls and messages from your best friend before looking at the most recent ones.

JiJi🐈

Monday 16:49

how are you holding up?

you still haven't responded to any of my previous messages

please be okay, i'm always here

are you okay?

Monday 18:34

you can always talk to me you know? i wont judge you

Monday 21:56

ruby please answer i'm worried

Tuesday 12:23

please call me or even just text back? i love you

The 10th sigh of the day slipped past your dry lips as you read the messages she had left. You felt bad leaving her to worry about you for so long, you hated when people worried about you. Pressing the call button, you listened to the ringing through your headphones. It rang twice before her voice came through.

"Hey Yej.." You mumbled, resting your head on the bus window beside you.

"Ruby?!- Oh my god I am so happy you called, are you okay? You were unresponsive for weeks!!" Yeji rambled down the phone loudly. You winced at her loud voice coming through the headphones, lifting a hand to pull one of the sides off your momentarily and placing it back down once she went quiet.

"Yeji, I'm okay- I'm sorry for going offline, can I see you after work?" You spoke quietly, trying to refrain from closing your eyes due to the tiredness running through your body. You had no idea why you were tired, you had been rotting away in bed for over a week.

"What- You're going to work? To do what?-" She replied.

"And- yeah okay, I'll meet you outside the station." She finished off. You heard her sigh over the phone. You knew she was worried about you, but you were here now, and you were fine. Kind of. Not really.

"Okay sure, and yes I'm going to work. I have to do something or I'll probably stay cooped up in bed for the rest of my life." You spoke back, a small chuckle leaving your lips even though you weren't exactly joking. You would have stayed in bed longer if you weren't hit with the real reality of the fact you needed to do something about finding Jisung instead of helplessly hoping he would just magically re-appear.

"Okay- Well, I'll see you later Ruru, Stay in touch?" She said, her voice full of hope and concern. You knew she wasn't really asking, more-so telling you to.

"I will." You replied back shortly before hanging up just in time for the bus to approach your stop. You shuffled off the bus, heading down the street towards the station. Walking inside, your co-workers casted double glances at you when they realised it was actually you before turning back to whatever they were doing or whispering to the others about your sudden return. It was immature to say the least, but you would probably do the same if it was to be the other way round. Afterall, you hadn't shown your face in a month, or even talked to anyone. Not even your boss.

AN; WAHHHHH first chapter done! is it good? is it the best thing you've EVER read? of course it is im just amazing right? joking, joking. i hope this was a good start to the story and not too quick of a dive in. i didn't want to make a big chapter lingering so i thought jumping right in would be a good way to get ur attention... i hope it worked.. anywayyy, the second chapter is called 'a new face', can you guess who it is? heheheh

let me know your thoughts and feelings about this :3

[criminalmindswhore]

I am lost.

TW: alcohol abuse, general sadness, depression

This is gonna be a long one, I don't feel like making it into different parts

When you joined the BAU you were coming out of a pit of depression you didn't even know you were in. You didn't join in on jokes, go to Ross's for dinner, and rarely smiled. After a month or so you started to come out of your depression, finally feeling supported by those around you. Emily always made sure you had a full cup of coffee when she refilled hers. Reid always brought you a rock or something from his lunch break walks. Garcia would send you pictures of flowers after hard cases. Hotch even hugged you once. JJ became like an older sister to you. She was only a few years older than you but she became your main support. Emily and her went out of their way to make sure you three always shared a room on cases to make sure you slept and showered.

Recently you could feel the darkness creeping in on you again. You were working so hard to prove yourself to everyone, Strauss, Hotch, and most importantly your mom. The things that usually brought you joy, like running with Morgan, no longer brought you any joy. Morgan picked up on it when you started flaking on him most mornings. He would get a text at 3 a.m., "I'm not gonna make it to our run this morning, I think the takeout we got in Georgia isn't agreeing with me, sorry!" Reid noticed when you stopped bringing lunch to work, insisting you would eat a big dinner. You two always ate together after his walk, debriefing from the latest episode of Grey's Anatomy. He didn't like the show but he watched it to connect to you.

Emily noticed when you guys were in New York for a case. She texted you to let you know Hotch dismissed everyone for the night and she wanted to grab dinner with you. When you didn't answer by the time she got to the room she assumed you were in the shower, but the shower wasn't on. "Hey, have you seen Y/N?" JJ looked up from her book concerned, "No, she disappeared when we got back. I assumed she was meeting you or Morgan." Emily shook away the slight panic and picked up her phone and wallet. "I'm gonna go ask Morgan." JJ nodded, "Keep me updated." Emily nodded and bit her lip.

"No, she said she was gonna go grab a drink and head to bed." Morgan shrugged. Reid perked up behind him, "Is she okay? She's been acting weird." Emily sighed in their doorway, "I don't know. I'm gonna talk to her." Morgan smiled at her, "Just let me know if I need to do anything, princess." Emily took the comfort he was offering by using the pet name. She left their room and walked down to the hotel bar. Lo and behold there you were, sitting at the bar whiskey in hand looking empty. She sighed and walked over to you, taking her place on the stool next to you. You didn't acknowledge her just kept swirling your glass. "Y/N, what's going on?" She took the glass from your hands and asked the bartender for water. You sat up and looked at her offended, "Can I not just have a drink after a long day of tracking down this psycho?" Your tone was straight and a little mean. Emily knew the anger wasn't directed at her and her gaze softened seeing the bags under your eyes. "Y/N you need to talk to me," her tone was soft and gentle. "I don't know what to tell you, Emily. I'm fine, if you don't trust me to have a drink alone maybe you should check yourself." You snatched the glass off the bartop and shot it back, drinking it all in one go. Emily took a deep breath, "Everyone is worried about you. Your regressing back into the person we met when you joined the team. We study behavior for a living Y/N/N." You glared at her, "You all profiled me?" The bartender set down water and slid your tab over to you, exposing how much you've drank. Emily took notice of the 8 whiskeys on your tab and how you left a way too high tip. "Drink the water." Emily's tone was stern and you knew she wouldn't let you leave until you drank it all. The water was cold and kept the burning anger from taking over. "Emily I'm fine." You were completely dejected from her, not even looking at her now.

"That's a lie." Emily was not going to give it up tonight and you knew it. "Either you tell me, or I go to Hotch right now." There was too long of a pause and Emily went to stand. You grabbed her hand, "Fine, just don't get Hotch, please. Being taken off this case would make things so much worse." She sat back down and held onto your hand. You took a deep breath. Everything in you screamed not to tell her, to shut her out, but the look in her eyes pulled all your walls down. "My depression has been bad again and I've been drinking a lot. I've never drunk on the job or been intoxicated at work. I just needed something to make me less numb. I feel so empty all the time except when I'm at work or with you." Emily could see the pain in your eyes, "I think I slept with the director's daughter too but I don't remember. Obviously, it didn't help. It honestly made it worse because it solidified something I've been fighting for months." Emily's heart broke slightly hearing you slept with someone but she shoved it away. "Y/N you could've come to me or JJ or anyone. You are not a burden to us and we want you happy and healthy. Even if it means late-night talks or teary phone calls. We are here for you, don't shove us out. Do you know what triggered this?" You nodded sadly, gripping her hand tighter, "Hotch rejected three of my reports because I didn't write them properly one night when I was on hour 45 with no sleep. It sent me down a spiral of proving myself and overworking." Emily smiled at you, "Y/N, that happens to all of us, it doesn't make you any less of a good agent." You laughed, "Yeah logically, but my brain doesn't think logically when it comes to me. I can think logically about everyone else's issues, but never my own." Emily grabbed your chin and made you look at her, "You have nothing to prove, we all know you're amazing at this job. Y/N you need to get help with this beautiful brain of yours." She smiled sadly at you. Tears started slipping from your eyes, your drunken brain not realizing you were crying. She wiped a tear from your cheek, "Let's go to bed, and we game plan tomorrow okay?" You nodded at her.

She pulled you from your seat, never letting go of your hand. She took the time in the elevator to send Morgan a text, 'I got her. She's okay. Talk more in the morning.' You were swaying to the elevator music, feeling lighter now that you've told someone you were struggling. "You're gonna fall over." Emily laughed at your drunken state, and you shook your head. "Em, I got this." Just as the elevator stopped you slipped and she caught you by the waist. The closeness of your faces took you both back. Your breath hitched which didn't go unnoticed by the raven-haired beauty. You stood up and cleared your throat, Emily smiled to herself. You were so beautiful to her in every way. Even in all the darkness that swam in your eyes, she could see the goofy girl you were inside. She opened the room door for you and JJ perked up, "Y/N! I missed you! Wanna cuddle?" You laughed at her and pulled PJs from your bag. "Let me change first and then all 3 of us can lay together?" Your voice slurring was all she needed to know. While attempting to take your shirt off you almost toppled over. "Here let me help you Y/N." Emily grabbed the hem of your shirt, waiting for you to consent. You nodded and just stared at her face while she took off your shirt and helped you change. She was the most beautiful girl you have ever seen. After you were changed you wiggled into bed between Em and JJ. You turned on a movie but immediately fell asleep holding Emily like a teddy bear. JJ smiled at you, "Is she slipping again?" She asked, not really wanting to know the truth. "Yeah, she was 7 deep when I got there. She told me everything. She slept with the director's daughter." JJ grimaced and Emily had a look of horror on her face. "You told her yet?" JJ had a childlike excitement on her face, Emily giggled shaking her head, "Not yet, not while she's vulnerable like this. Soon though once we get our girl through this." JJ smiled, she genuinely loved the idea of her two best friends being together. Emily told her about her crush on you immediately encouraging her to tell you.

Emily came over when you got back from New York and helped you clear out the many, many, empty bottles of alcohol you had collected. "Y/N, this is a little absurd, I counted 4 bottles in the bathroom alone." You toyed with the hem of your slacks, "Yeah if you buy in bulk at the store on 34th street it's cheaper." A month later you felt like yourself again. Emily spent the night a lot when you felt dark, she would hold you while you cried and would make sure you ate. Morgan would start showing up at your apartment for runs instead of meeting, forcing you out of bed. JJ started sending you home with notes and drawings from the boys. Reid bought you a few crystals that he swears work with depression.

One night you, JJ, Garcia, and Emily were at your apartment watching movies and building a Lego set of a piano. It was getting late so you wished JJ and Garcia a good night before returning to Emily on the couch. You sat beside her and looked at her. She looked at you from her phone and saw tears forming in your eyes. She immediately set her phone down and grabbed your hands, "Hey, what's wrong?" She looked concerned, ready to jump into action, and then you smiled. "I just feel so loved and it's a new feeling for me. The whole team has done so much for me this month to help me. I just feel so much better and I can't thank you guys enough." Emily felt tears in her eyes, she was so happy you felt loved and better. "Y/N, we would give the world for you. At least I know I would." You turned to face her on the couch, now crisscross apple sauce. "Emily, thank you." You pressed a simple kiss on her cheek. She relished in the feeling, her cheeks turning bright red. You gaped at her, "Miss Prentiss are you blushing?" She closed her eyes and winced, "Yeah?" You cackled, "You're being so soft right now, who are you?" She opened her eyes and stared directly into yours, now was the right moment. You were stable, one month sober, and making jokes again.

"I'm a woman in love with you."

Your heart exploded, she loved you. Before you had time to think you cupped her face and kissed her. Her hands went to your waist. Your lips felt exactly as she imagined they would, soft, and plump and you tasted like strawberry lip balm. You pulled away but kept her face close, "Emily Prentiss, I love you." She smiled and a tear slipped down her cheek. At that moment, foreheads touching, the pieces of your life snapped into place. Her fingers traced patterns on your hips, her soft face in your hands.

[star-girl69]

Faithless

Savior Complex Part Two

Lottie Matthews x Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

sypnosis: Sick with guilt, scared of every shadow, hungry and stubborn, this is no way to live life. You lay in the attic all day, let the world pass you by, watching as memories play over and over, but there is blood on your hands and in your teeth. You can never get it off.

a/n: another au where coach ben didn’t burn down the cabin bc again… i am not dealing w that ❤️ and also I WANTED HURT/COMFORT SO I WROTE HURT/COMFORT. DEAL W IT. i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of death, cannibalism, swearing, depression, suicidal ideation, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

You will never forget the sound his body made as he landed in the bottom of the pit. You will never forget that first moment you saw him, when all you saw was his still body and the blood. You will never forget the moment you had realized what had happened, when you saw the spikes and the blood, and you realized what his stillness meant.

Maybe the way that your mind had forced you into this loop where you constantly though about it was why you had these dreams.

Another night, another nightmare, and you shoot up straight in the flimsy mattress you call a bed. Natalie and Lottie’s arms fall from around you, and you push them off, the blankets off, everything away, because you can’t stand to be warm when he never will be warm again.

You cry. You cry. You didn’t know it was possible to cry this much, for your starved and hungry body to hold this much tears.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry,” someone is whispering, brushing the hair out of your face, and someone else just wraps themselves around you so you won’t hurt yourself or them in your frenzy.

Lottie kisses your shoulder and mumbles something. A prayer, maybe. You feel numb again.

Natalie takes your face in her hands, stares into your eyes, but it feels like she’s a ghost. You want to stare into her soft eyes, you want to kiss her, you want it to be how it was- but you just look through her.

She touches your temples.

“What is happening in here?” she whispers, her voice full of such genuine confusion, and when you can finally stare into her eyes, you realize she’s crying.

“I don’t know,” you whisper back, your voice scratchy from not being used. “I don’t know.”

She wipes away your tears, taking a deep breath and wrapping herself around you tighter, so your face is pressed into her chest. She sets her chin on top of your head.

And she holds you like that for a long time until she must think you’re asleep, so she guides you to lay down in that same position, the room quiet except for soft breaths.

“I-I don’t know how to help her, Lot.”

Lottie scratches your scalp. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t know either.

—-

As soon as you woke up, you knew this day would be as worst as the last. So, like the day before, you didn’t wake up. After a while, Natalie detangles herself from you and Lottie, heading downstairs.

Since the hunt, Natalie had been the only one to leave the attic. Lottie had reopened all of her cuts and bruises in the aftermath, aggravating every sore spot in her body.

It was hard for her to get up and down the stairs.

But at least she had a reason.

You had turned into this black hole of a thing, sucking in breath and warmth and attention and letting out nothing in return.

Even now, as you lay on your side, Lottie pressed against your back, she’s trying to keep you warm, trying to make you feel better- running her hands through your scalp.

And if it was the before, if you still had some semblance of faith left in you- if you could believe that the world held something good in it, you would love it. You would love her attention and her comfort.

But every time you close your eyes you see his tiny bloody body. You feel the blood sinking under your skin. You hear the sound as he fell and landed.

You aren’t a person anymore. You’re a black hole, and all you can do is take.

—-

It’s not hard to realize that Natalie and Lottie are treating you like glass. And maybe you would be annoyed if you didn’t feel like glass.

You haven’t been able to eat since the hunt.

And you know they’re trying to be kind to you and your grief, but every time Nat looks at you in the light, she looks so concerned. You know you must be looking horrible, hungry and dirty.

Nat looks at you as she passes Lottie’s cup to her, full of meat that the scent of sends a sharp pang of hunger through your stomach. Lottie moves away from you so you don’t have to smell it or hear her chew it.

“You should really eat,” Natalie whispers. “I can find something for you.”

You look through her. And you know she notices it too by the way her shoulders drop.

“I’m tired,” you murmur softly, and you are. You’re tired of living the same memories every time you close your eyes. You’re tired of the hunger in your stomach.

You look down, fixing the blankets around you.

You can still feel her eyes on you. She doesn’t stop looking.

Lottie sets her metal cup onto the floor, untouched, and you look up in shock. Food is a commodity here. She should eat it before it gets cold. You would if you could.

“We know you’re scared,” she says, crawling gingerly towards you. You look at the floor and bring your knees to your chest. “But you can’t let your fear drive you to death.”

You scoff, automatically, because at you’re core you’re just a teenager girl who can’t fathom the notion of death.

“I’m serious,” Lottie whispers, her voice falling softly. She places her hand on your chest. “Breathe. In and out-”

“Lottie,” Nat says, her voice soft for you but her tone stern. Lottie rolls her eyes and turns back to you.

And it’s so casual, and so them, that you can help but smile.

They both seem a little shocked for a moment, but your smile doesn’t falter, too caught up in such a before moment, that they quickly slap their own smiles on their faces just so you’ll keep smiling.

Nat places her hand on your knee, still drawn up to your chest-

“We love you,” she says. And it’s just so true and so obvious that you believe her.

And even though you don’t know if you’ll ever not feel this horrible black hole in your chest, they love you.

When the first tears come, Natalie just wipes them away with her thumbs. But when they come like a rain storm, and your sharp breathes sound like thunder, she doesn’t bother trying to stop them.

Lottie comes behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, letting you fall against her, and the tight ball you had wound yourself up into falls. Natalie gets on her knees and presses your face to her chest.

“I love you,” Lottie whispers. “We love you.”

And they whisper it so many times the phrase starts to sound funny.

“It’s okay,” Nat whispers, because she has always been the type of person to throw a band-aid over a bullet hole. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“And it doesn’t feel like it,” Lottie continues, “But I know it will come. And you don’t have to do anything unless you want to, and… and we’ll always be here to make you do the stuff you have to do, no matter if you want to do it.”

It does not take away the fact that you feel like a black hole. It does not make Javi alive again. It doesn’t make you feel any less guilty.

But it makes you feel loved.

You are faithless, but maybe they have enough faith for the three of you.

—-

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

[tarotwithavi]

How would a writer describe your character in a book?

Piles : 1-2

3-4

Masterlist

Paid services

How to choose a pile?

Take a deep breath and close your eyes, politely ask your spirit guides and angels to show the right pile for you. Open your eyes and the first picture that attracts you is the right pile for you. You may choose two or more piles.

I'll be writing all the piles in first person POV so you can read it as if it's your inner thoughts.

.・。.・゜✭・.・。.・゜✭・.・。.・゜✭・

Pile 1

As a kid I was always curious of people and how they act but no matter how much I tried I could never understand emotions. One time they'll die for someone and the other minute you mean nothing to them. I felt as if people are hypocrites. They'll be nice and respectful to your face but say the nastiest things at your back.

As I grew up, my curiosity to understand people flew away and have never seen it since then. I want to isolate myself from society but I think I will not survive alone. I could never understand humans and understanding a community is way worse. At first they'll make you become addicted to company and when you'll want to live alone, the side effects of this addiction will cause you to k*ll yourself. What a great scam is that.

An author would describe your character as a person who can't / isn't able to understand humans and always feels like an outcast. They try to find meaning in meaningless things and is sort of gloomy. Who hopes to find someone or something to live by. But gets depressed in the way, in the end the only hope they have left is themselves.

Masterlist

Pile 2

I want to explore this world, explore the highest mountains to the deepest caves, from the blue oceans to the evergreen forests. This world makes me excited. This world is magical. People who don't believe in magic are missing out on great excitements. Like we are literally living on a magical rock that is floating around in a pit of mysteries and mysterious things.

I have some abilities , magical abilities so to precise and with those abilities comes a lot of responsibilities. I am not saying I don't like that but I want sometime for myself. All day long just looking after people and fighting off evil is tiring. People say I'm special but what about me? Do I not have the right to enjoy my life? I absolutely love helping people and love being victorious. But sometimes I just want to run away alone. Away from all these responsibilities , just me alone.

An author would describe your character as an extremely passionate person who is an explorer. You will definitely be in a fantasy novel being the main character, your character will have a lot of responsibilities considering you'll have magical abilities. You'll solve mysterious , help people and fight off evil. Your character would be described as a happy and joyous person who is tried of responsibilities.

Masterlist

Pile 3

My parents always told me that being a royal meant not having loyal and real friends . I didn't believe them because I had real friend or so I thought. Point to be noted HAD. The people who I thought were my friends come out to be the most poisonous snakes. I'm wondering how the fuck did I survive all that. I believed everything they said, entrusted my secrets to them and even gave them a luxurious life.

Guess they took me for granted. Growing up I hated the word "revenge". Just hearing it gave me chills because I didn't understand why would people want bad for the people they once cared for. But I guess life had different plans for me. Hah! Never knew the word I hated so much growing would become the main motive of my life. Now all I can think about is the word I hated so much. It's true when they say you became what you despise. So kids never hate something, who knows you might become it in future.

You would be described as a character who is of royal background and and had suffered a lot of betrayal in their life. After going thought all these Betrayals and heart breaks you character would have no choice but to want revenge. Funny how I'm not seeing any romantic interests here because you novel would have a revenge plot.

Masterlist

Pile 4

People always told me how lucky I was to be born in the imperial family. They always told how I was their future and forced their customs on me from a very young age. The dance lessons, the history classes and the courtesy lessons meant nothing to me. I never wanted to become the Emperor/Empress. I never asked for all that.

Maybe if I was born in a normal family I would have enjoyed what a family environment is? Only then I would have known what love is. Maybe I should just run away? Maybe I should fake my death? But doing this will take a lot of courage I don't have. I never stood up for myself. I don't know what being real is anymore. I wish to find myself, I wish to find the child who lost his/her childhood. Who never got to enjoy life. Will I find what people call love if I run away? A few friends I guess? Who knows maybe I would die like this? Maybe.....

Another oyal character but in your story, your character would be forced to act a certain way, you know to satisfy the society on how a royals should be, how they are forced to act in front of people. Your story would be about your character finding their true self that they thought they would never find. Letting go of customs of society and being their true self.

Masterlist

I'm not a writer but I tried to explain haha pardon me if you find typos up there.

[terrence-silver]

If you could totally have it your way, how would you see Terry Silver eventually dying? Like, what circumstances do you see leading up to/surrounding it and what would be the cause? How would the various people who knew him react, from beloved to John (if you think he’s outlive him, that is) to other characters of Cobra Kai?

---

Despite what the writers might say or do, I am convinced John Kreese would be utterly devastated and anything but utter devastation would be flat out of character for him. A hill I will die on. This is not only a member of his unit, his best friend for a major chunk of his life (possibly well over forty years and counting) literally possibly the last of his own platoon dying, in a time when the generation that served in Vietnam is slowly becoming fewer and fewer in numbers, but this also the end of an era. The end of an age. The life he saved so many times has just extinguished and he's lived long enough to see that day. Ironic, no? Considering how many times John himself has faked his own death and now, here Terry goes for real, no pretending. This is one snake pit John couldn't fight for Terry over. Even if there's bad blood between them, what John goes through and feels is pretty hard to describe in a small blurb but it's akin to someone closer than your own brother no longer being alive. Akin to losing your own limb. He might play tough otherwise. Might not outright show his grieving, but this is a death I don't reckon John would ever recover from emotionally. It's the type of thing that would haunt him to the end of his days and if anyone disrespected that memory, trust and believe John would smash their nose in for it. He has had the privilege and the right to feud with Terry --- others lose a teeth for it. He's some of the few people outside of Betsy and the members of his unit John would look forward to seeing in the whatever fucking beyond exists out there, maybe even in hell, if that's what it takes.

I think Daniel Larusso would be shocked, perhaps even a bit speculative and paranoid, wondering if this is fake news and another dirty trick of Silver's and initially, after double and even triple checking, he probably wants to be happy and relieved about the fact that someone who's caused him so much pain and trauma is finally gone and that he and his family are safe, but the jubilation falls sour pretty quickly, because yeah, I tend to write Daniel like a good person and I don't figure he could sincerely feel anything more than this deep, unsettled sensation where you just can't be happy once your abuser dies. Not really; you tell yourself you should be, but you validly just can't and in fact I almost see him feeling some sort of way about it, dare I say, falling in something of a conflicted, depressive state not too many people know about because Daniel doesn't want anyone to know about it seeing as how it is pretty hard to explain you actually feel a sort of sympathy for someone quite so rotten. Not even Amanda would be aware of this, if at all possible. If anything, the only person he might confide about his true feelings could be someone like Chozen or doing so in front of Mr. Miyagi's gravestone. Thing is, Daniel is aware Terry Silver will never truly leave and that he will live on the trauma and fears he's embedded in Daniel's psyche and he might decide to make peace with it in a callback to his words to Terry and John that ultimately, it'll be Terry who will be forgotten, deciding to just that; Forget and move on in peace, therein lying his greatest personal victory. Irony of all ironies is that Daniel might be the one of those most affected by Terry's death.

Honestly, I don't see the likes of Kenny Payne, Kyler or any of the kids in Terry's new and renewed Cobra Kai caring too much that he died; I mean, considering how easily they all collectively turned on him and how easily they collectively sided with him in the first place, one gets the impression these kids go with the flow. The trendiest, shiniest new things that teaches them the most badass skills and how to use and abuse said skills to beat and abuse those weaker then themselves, and at that time, it was Cobra Kai under Terry Silver. Tomorrow, it could be another cool dojo under another cool Sensei entirely. The world keeps turning. What I mean to say is, there is almost something tragic how easily Terry was left behind by all of his students and how even easier he'll be forgotten by them if he, figuratively speaking, dies.

[laventadorn]

Hello! I have been repeatedly reading your wonderful fiction after discovering your work few months ago. I'm so grateful for sharing your fantastic fiction. Your work has been helping me through my challenging daily life these days.

Actually, this is not a question, so I'm not sure if it's appropriate to send it here. It's just a message of gratitude. It's a bit personal, but I've been struggling with loneliness and isolation lately. Living in a constantly pressurizing environment made me feel like I had lost myself, and I even felt a sense of depression, thinking I had lost my past self. However, I found my own escape in reading Harry Potter fanfics lately. Reconnecting with the Harry Potter series that I loved in my childhood made me feel like I had gone back in time. During my school days, I had rewatched the Harry Potter series dozens of times without exaggeration, so I knew almost every line by heart. That's why I naturally started reading fanfics. These days, I'm rereading your fanfic just like I did with the Harry Potter series. I first came across this novel in its Korean translation, and I liked it so much that I've read it in English several times as well.

My story has become quite lengthy. Anyway, I want to thank you so much for writing this wonderful story that brings some happiness to my daily life these days. Your work is amazing, and it stimulates my imagination. It feels like when I first read the Harry Potter series as a child.

Have a nice day!😊

it’s not inappropriate at all! i can really relate to that — the loneliness and isolation. a couple of weeks ago i was reading a book about a character that had no one he was close to (the only person he’d ever been close to had been cursed to forget him) and just as i was sitting there idly reading that paragraph, i just started crying. i had to put the book down and stop reading for several minutes because my tears just wouldn’t stop. it was like this wave of deep loneliness that’s been there for so long had crashed over me reading about this fictional little guy and suddenly i couldn’t suppress anymore this sense of alienation that’s with me wherever i go. so reading your message was completely familiar. also that sense of losing yourself — i certainly think we can even get alienated from ourselves, and that’s maybe the loneliest feeling of all? for any stories that could help you escape or pause that, i’m happy to hear about; that one of my stories has been one of them, i’m ever so glad. as incredibly isolating as some of our lives get, i think stories can bring these moments of connection. i wish i’d been able to reply to you sooner, because you might not be around this place to read this message anymore, after my long time of absence (i was in the depression pit). so maybe these words right here will miss you, but i’m thankful that the story is there for you. i’m so cheesy right now. emotions are hard!! i’m pasting them here like a scrap book for us! am thankful to you for reaching out.

[ahoonterisahoonter]

Horror In The Hills, Chapter 1

I've never shared my writing publicly, but I just finished NaNoWriMo and I thought I'd give it a shot. So, here's the first chapter of my new novel.

Happy Hills is perhaps one of the most poorly named establishments in history. For one thing, it is built into a mountain over two miles above sea level, an elevation that no sane person would refer to as a hill. Secondly, no happy thing has ever occurred in, around, or in relation to Happy Hills. It is a sad and lonely place, where people come to drink deeply of their own sorrows and find no solace. Every small town has a heart: a building, institution, or family that typifies the place and around which it organizes. Happy Hills is that heart for Learston, Colorado. The rest of the town is just as sad, lonely, and booze-soaked, a true cesspit of despair. Despite its height, Learston seemed to be a deep pit into which the pathetic drained, never to be free again. This was the environment into which I was born.

Everyone I knew from my earliest memories was a drunk. My father went to Happy Hills every night, and eventually made it home about half of them. On those occasions when I did see him, he was nothing more than an empty husk of a man. He died in a car accident when I was ten, and it barely felt like I’d lost anything, so slight was his presence in my life. My mom was a much more functional alcoholic, who managed to maintain a veneer of sobriety during most of the day. Only as the sun went down did she truly indulge, washing away any thought or feeling and leaving me alone in the night. Just eight months after my father’s accident, she succumbed to cirrhosis of the liver. My uncle, two cousins, and several childhood friends have all been consumed by drink, each meeting some alcohol-related death.

I say all this, not to disparage my town, and certainly not to sully the memories of my deceased relations, but simply to give the reader an insight into the mindset of my youth. I saw nothing but a long slide into depression and drinking, ending in accident or overdose. The reader may, perhaps, then better understand my feelings when the Franklin party came to Learston. Here was a different vision for my future. Here were adults that were healthy, hopeful, athletic, accomplished, and most importantly to my young self, free. That is why I have been for so many long years obsessed with their case, their disappearances and deaths. For me, that group of hikers represented a new path in life, a different way forward. It opened my eyes to the possibilities of life, and ultimately set me on the path to leaving Learston for a better life than any that awaited me there. To contrast these beacons of hope and promise with the actuality of their grisly demise, it set my mind at odds with itself, leaving in me a rift that I’ve spent a lifetime trying to heal.

This book is the culmination of that journey, and I will warn the reader that it contains fewer answers than I would have liked. However, it does bring to light many things that were previously unknown, and it weaves together a more cohesive understanding of what happened. Ultimately, the truth cannot be fully known. The only ones who can tell the story are the hikers of the Franklin party themselves. Still, I am not entirely a stranger to the tale. I was wrapped up in it nearly from the beginning, and this book is in many ways the story of my journey to discovering the truth as much it is about the hikers themselves. This is the story of the Horror in the Hills.

1

As with any good story, it is important to begin with an understanding of our principal characters. Most treatments of this subject begin with the group’s eponymous leader, Adam Franklin. I, however, will diverge from tradition and start by introducing the town of Learston. At the time these events occurred, no reports paid much mind to the town, it’s only connection to the party being their brief stay there before heading deeper into the woods. This made some sense then, but any further investigation makes it obvious that Learston is key to understanding what happened.

Learston, Colorado was founded in 1899 by Timotheus Lear. Or, rather, it was founded in his name. Timotheus never actually stepped foot in Learston, nor is there any record that he even traveled west of the Mississippi. More accurately, the town was founded under the supervision of Roger Stevenson, the foreman of the T. Lear and Sons iron mill. The mill was the original heart of Learston, the original bait that trapped the ancestors of many of the town’s modern day prisoners. From the first, the TL&S was an attractor of misfortune and ill news. Less than a year after the mill began operations, two workers were killed in a molten spill. One of them, an unidentified man in his late 30s, was completely buried and burned away to nothing in an instant. The other was less fortunate: Wan Shi Long, a recent Chinese immigrant, had his legs caught in the flow. Others rushed to his aid and pulled him free, but everything below his mid-thighs had been consumed by the fiery metal. Another day and a half passed before he eventually succumbed to his injuries, a period in which he never ceased to rant and scream about a dark presence that caused the spill. Official investigations determined the spill had been caused by a malfunctioning hinge, which had broken and dropped a vat of iron. TL&S was found not to be at fault.

Although that incident had cast a pall over the new endeavor, it continued to grow. This development was rather shocking to many experts who had been consulted regarding the mill. It had been determined long before a single hammer ever struck rock that there wasn’t enough iron in this remote area to justify the mill’s placement. Their assessment seemed born out by the mill’s poor financial performance and pitiful output. Still, it grew. In 1899 there were 22 workers living in makeshift shacks scattered haphazardly around the central building. Just three years later, in 1902, the mill employed over 200 workers. An additional 400 people had moved into the area, including wives and children. In that time, four more workers were killed in three separate incidents, with TL&S being found not liable for any.

Timotheus died in the tail end of 1902, and his son Matthew took over. Matthew took a much more hands-on approach to managing the Learston mill than his father. Despite its position as the least productive of TL&S’s many ventures, Matthew moved to the remote town, where he lived out the rest of his life. Under his guidance, the mill’s, and by extension the town’s, prospects seemed to brighten. Nearly a decade passed without any major injuries. The town continued to grow in this period, albeit at a much slower rate than the first few years, peaking at a high of 1,237 citizens in 1910. If one were to stop studying the history of Learston in this year, they may predict its fortunes to follow a similar trajectory to countless other similar towns scattered across the American West. Perhaps it would continue as it had, amassing more business and citizens to patronize them, or perhaps it would falter and fade out of existence, with its inhabitants at the last leaving for somewhere that fell in the former category. Learston, however, was not like those other places.

1911 was an especially bad year. The winter seemed especially brutal, accompanied as it was by a wave of illness that claimed nearly one sixth of the population. During February of that year, an avalanche destroyed the only road leading down the mountain. This essentially cut the small town off from the outside the world, isolating an already suffering people. It was during this trying time that a strange aspect of the region was first noted: there seemed to be a great dearth of fauna. Hunters tried their best to provide for the starving town, but they were unable to catch much of anything beyond a few small rabbits and squirrels. Elk and deer, notably, were completely absent from the area. The hunters were, however, able to bring in an abundance of birds in a variety of species; a variety that was not only surprising for an alpine winter, but that was unexpected for that part of the country at any season. The road was repaired and reopened in May, which was the last good thing to happen to Learston. Not one month later, the TL&S mill exploded. The official story was that a large store of dynamite that had been purchased for mining but never used was stored safely underground, but flecks of molten iron had, over time, bored holes down to it. Something got through one of these holes and ignited the dynamite, claiming the entire mill and all 300 workers on duty at the time, including Matthew Lear.

With the town’s heart destroyed, this would be the normal time for the town to die off, as widows and the unemployed fled for safer harbors, starving off the businesses that had sprung up to support them. Learston persevered. 1911 saw the opening of the Happy Hills bar, which has limped along ever since. A few families did move out, but the vast majority remained. The historical record is unclear as to how the stalwart Learstonians made a living with no industry to speak of in the area, but they pushed on. In this way, Learston continued. A sad main street has a few rundown businesses, but most of the town’s inhabitants are unemployed. Only six people moved in over the next 60 years, and nine moved out. All the rest of the population’s fluctuation is attributed solely to the two portals through which we all must pass.

So it was that, in 1971 when the Franklin party arrived at Learston, the town looked nearly identical to its turn-of-the-century predecessor. It would, however, not remain that way for long.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

“Elliot Page doesn’t remember exactly how long he had been asking.

But he does remember the acute feeling of triumph when, around age 9, he was finally allowed to cut his hair short. “I felt like a boy,” Page says. “I wanted to be a boy. I would ask my mom if I could be someday.” Growing up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Page visualized himself as a boy in imaginary games, freed from the discomfort of how other people saw him: as a girl. After the haircut, strangers finally started perceiving him the way he saw himself, and it felt both right and exciting.

The joy was short-lived. Months later, Page got his first break, landing a part as a daughter in a Canadian mining family in the TV movie Pit Pony. He wore a wig for the film, and when Pit Pony became a TV show, he grew his hair out again. “I became a professional actor at the age of 10,” Page says. And pursuing that passion came with a difficult compromise. “Of course I had to look a certain way.”

We are speaking in late February. It is the first interview Page, 34, has given since disclosing in December that he is transgender, in a heartfelt letter posted to Instagram, and he is crying before I have even uttered a question. “Sorry, I’m going to be emotional, but that’s cool, right?” he says, smiling through his tears.

It’s hard for him to talk about the days that led up to that disclosure. When I ask how he was feeling, he looks away, his neck exposed by a new short haircut. After a pause, he presses his hand to his heart and closes his eyes. “This feeling of true excitement and deep gratitude to have made it to this point in my life,” he says, “mixed with a lot of fear and anxiety.”

It’s not hard to understand why a trans person would be dealing with conflicting feelings in this moment. Increased social acceptance has led to more young people describing themselves as trans—1.8% of Gen Z compared with 0.2% of boomers, according to a recent Gallup poll—yet this has fueled conservatives who are stoking fears about a “transgender craze.” President Joe Biden has restored the right of transgender military members to serve openly, and in Hollywood, trans people have never had more meaningful time onscreen. Meanwhile, J.K. Rowling is leveraging her cultural capital to oppose transgender equality in the name of feminism, and lawmakers are arguing in the halls of Congress over the validity of gender identities. “Sex has become a political football in the culture wars,” says Chase Strangio, deputy director for transgender justice at the ACLU.

(Full article with photos continued under the “read more”)

And so Page—who charmed America as a precocious pregnant teenager in Juno, constructed dreamscapes in Inception and now stars in Netflix’s hit superhero show The Umbrella Academy, the third season of which he’s filming in Toronto—expected that his news would be met with both applause and vitriol. “What I was anticipating was a lot of support and love and a massive amount of hatred and transphobia,” says Page. “That’s essentially what happened.” What he did not anticipate was just how big this story would be. Page’s announcement, which made him one of the most famous out trans people in the world, started trending on Twitter in more than 20 countries. He gained more than 400,000 new followers on Instagram on that day alone. Thousands of articles were published. Likes and shares reached the millions. Right-wing podcasters readied their rhetoric about “women in men’s locker rooms.” Casting directors reached out to Page’s manager saying it would be an honor to cast Page in their next big movie.

So, it was a lot. Over the course of two conversations, Page will say that understanding himself in all the specifics remains a work in progress. Fathoming one’s gender, an identity innate and performed, personal and social, fixed and evolving, is complicated enough without being under a spotlight that never seems to turn off. But having arrived at a critical juncture, Page feels a deep sense of responsibility to share his truth. “Extremely influential people are spreading these myths and damaging rhetoric—every day you’re seeing our existence debated,” Page says. “Transgender people are so very real.”

That role in Pit Pony led to other productions and eventually, when Page was 16, to a film called Mouth to Mouth. Playing a young anarchist, Page had a chance to cut his hair again. This time, he shaved it off completely. The kids at his high school teased him, but in photos he has posted from that time on social media he looks at ease. Page’s head was still shaved when he mailed in an audition tape for the 2005 thriller Hard Candy. The people in charge of casting asked him to audition again in a wig. Soon, the hair was back.

Page’s tour de force performance in Hard Candy led, two years later, to Juno, a low-budget indie film that brought Page Oscar, BAFTA and Golden Globe nominations and sudden megafame. The actor, then 21, struggled with the stresses of that ascension. The endless primping, red carpets and magazine spreads were all agonizing reminders of the disconnect between how the world saw Page and who he knew himself to be. “I just never recognized myself,” Page says. “For a long time I could not even look at a photo of myself.” It was difficult to watch the movies too, especially ones in which he played more feminine roles.

Page loved making movies, but he also felt alienated by Hollywood and its standards. Alia Shawkat, a close friend and co-star in 2009’s Whip It,describes all the attention from Juno as scarring. “He had a really hard time with the press and expectations,” Shawkat says. “‘Put this on! And look this way! And this is sexy!’”

By the time he appeared in blockbusters like X-Men: The Last Stand and Inception, Page was suffering from depression, anxiety and panic attacks. He didn’t know, he says, “how to explain to people that even though [I was] an actor, just putting on a T-shirt cut for a woman would make me so unwell.” Shawkat recalls Page’s struggles with clothes. “I’d be like, ‘Hey, look at all these nice outfits you’re getting,’ and he would say, ‘It’s not me. It feels like a costume,’” she says. Page tried to convince himself that he was fine, that someone who was fortunate enough to have made it shouldn’t have complaints. But he felt exhausted by the work required to “just exist,” and thought more than once about quitting acting.

In 2014, Page came out as gay, despite feeling for years that “being out was impossible” given his career. (Gender identity and sexual orientation are, of course, distinct, but one queer identity can coexist with another.) In an emotional speech at a Human Rights Campaign conference, Page talked about being part of an industry “that places crushing standards” on actors and viewers alike. “There are pervasive stereotypes about masculinity and femininity that define how we’re all supposed to act, dress and speak,” Page went on. “And they serve no one.”

The actor started wearing suits on the red carpet. He found love, marrying choreographer Emma Portner in 2018. He asserted more agency in his career, producing his own films with LGBTQ leads like Freeheld and My Days of Mercy. And he made a masculine wardrobe a condition of taking roles. Yet the daily discord was becoming unbearable. “The difference in how I felt before coming out as gay to after was massive,” says Page. “But did the discomfort in my body ever go away? No, no, no, no.”

In part, it was the isolation forced by the pandemic that brought to a head Page’s wrestling with gender. (Page and Portner separated last summer, and the two divorced in early 2021. “We’ve remained close friends,” Page says.) “I had a lot of time on my own to really focus on things that I think, in so many ways, unconsciously, I was avoiding,” he says. He was inspired by trailblazing trans icons like Janet Mock and Laverne Cox, who found success in Hollywood while living authentically. Trans writers helped him understand his feelings; Page saw himself reflected in P. Carl’s memoir Becoming a Man. Eventually “shame and discomfort” gave way to revelation. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” Page says, “and letting myself fully become who I am.”

This led to a series of decisions. One was asking the world to call him by a different name, Elliot, which he says he’s always liked. Page has a tattoo that says E.P. PHONE HOME, a reference to a movie about a young boy with that name. “I loved E.T. when I was a kid and always wanted to look like the boys in the movies, right?” he says. The other decision was to use different pronouns—for the record, both he/him and they/them are fine. (When I ask if he has a preference on pronouns for the purposes of this story, Page says, “He/him is great.”)

A day before we first speak, Page will talk to his mom about this interview and she will tell him, “I’m just so proud of my son.” He grows emotional relating this and tries to explain that his mom, the daughter of a minister, who was born in the 1950s, was always trying to do what she thought was best for her child, even if that meant encouraging young Page to act like a girl. “She wants me to be who I am and supports me fully,” Page says. “It is a testament to how people really change.”

Another decision was to get top surgery. Page volunteers this information early in our conversation; at the time he posted his disclosure on Instagram, he was recovering in Toronto. Like many trans people, Page emphasizes being trans isn’t all about surgery. For some people, it’s unnecessary. For others, it’s unaffordable. For the wider world, the media’s focus on it has sensationalized transgender bodies, inviting invasive and inappropriate questions. But Page describes surgery as something that, for him, has made it possible to finally recognize himself when he looks in the mirror, providing catharsis he’s been waiting for since the “total hell” of puberty. “It has completely transformed my life,” he says. So much of his energy was spent on being uncomfortable in his body, he says. Now he has that energy back.

For the transgender community at large, visibility does not automatically lead to acceptance. Around the globe, transgender people deal disproportionately with violence and discrimination. Anti-trans hate crimes are on the rise in the U.K. along with increasingly transphobic rhetoric in newspapers and tabloids. In the U.S., in addition to the perennial challenges trans people face with issues like poverty and homelessness, a flurry of bills in state legislatures would make it a crime to provide transition-related medical care to trans youth. And crass old jokes are still in circulation. When Biden lifted the ban on open service for transgender troops, Saturday Night Live’s Michael Che did a bit on Weekend Update about the policy being called “don’t ask, don’t tuck.”

Page says coming out as trans was “selfish” on one level: “It’s for me. I want to live and be who I am.” But he also felt a moral imperative to do so, given the times. Human identity is complicated and mysterious, but politics insists on fitting everything into boxes. In today’s culture wars, simplistic beliefs about gender—e.g., chromosomes = destiny—are so widespread and so deep-seated that many people who hold those beliefs don’t feel compelled to consider whether they might be incomplete or prejudiced. On Feb. 24, after a passionate debate on legislation that would ban discrimination against LGBTQ people, Representative Marie Newman, an Illinois Democrat, proudly displayed the pride flag in support of her daughter, who is trans. Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, a Georgia Republican, responded by hanging a poster outside her office that read: There are TWO genders: MALE & FEMALE.

The next day Dr. Rachel Levine, who stands to become the first openly transgender federal official confirmed by the Senate, endured a tirade from Senator Rand Paul about “genital mutilation” during her confirmation hearing. My second conversation with Page happens shortly after this. He brings it up almost immediately, and seems both heartbroken and determined. He wants to emphasize that top surgery, for him, was “not only life-changing but lifesaving.” He implores people to educate themselves about trans lives, to learn how crucial medical care can be, to understand that lack of access to it is one of the many reasons that an estimated 41% of transgender people have attempted suicide, according to one survey.

Page has been in the political trenches for a while, having leaned into progressive activism after coming out as queer in 2014. For two seasons, he and best friend Ian Daniel filmed Gaycation, a Viceland series that explored LGBTQ culture around the world and, at one point, showed Page grilling Senator Ted Cruz at the Iowa State Fair about discrimination against queer people. In 2019, Page made a documentary called There’s Something in the Water, which explores environmental hardships experienced by communities of color in Nova Scotia, with $350,000 of his own money. That activism extends to his own industry: in 2017, he published a Facebook post that, among other things, accused director Brett Ratner of forcibly outing him as gay on the set of an X-Men movie. (A representative for Ratner did not respond to a request for comment.)

As a trans person who is white, wealthy and famous, Page has a unique kind of privilege, and with it an opportunity to advocate for those with less. According to the U.S. Trans Survey, a large-scale report from 2015, transgender people of color are more likely to experience unemployment, harassment by police and refusals of medical care. Nearly half of all Black respondents reported being denied equal treatment, verbally harassed and/or physically attacked in the past year. Trans people as a group fare much worse on such stats than the general population. “My privilege has allowed me to have resources to get through and to be where I am today,” Page says, “and of course I want to use that privilege and platform to help in the ways I can.”

Since his disclosure, Page has been mostly quiet on social media. One exception has been to tweet on behalf of the ACLU, which is in the midst of fighting anti-trans bills and laws around the country, including those that ban transgender girls and women from participating in sports. Mississippi Governor Tate Reeves says he will sign such a bill in the name of “protect[ing] young girls.” Page played competitive soccer and vividly recalls the agony of being told he would have to play on the girls’ team once he aged out of mixed-gender squads. After an appeal, Page was allowed to play with the boys for an additional year. Today, several bills list genitalia as a requirement for deciding who plays on which team. “I would have been in that position as a kid,” Page says. “It’s horrific.”

All this advocacy is unlikely to make life easier. “You can’t enter into certain spaces as a public trans person,” says the ACLU’s Strangio, “without being prepared to spend some percentage of your life being threatened and harassed.” Yet, while he seems overwhelmed at times, Page is also eager. Many of the political attacks on trans people—whether it is a mandate that bathroom use be determined by birth sex, a blanket ban on medical interventions for trans kids or the suggestion that trans men are simply wayward women beguiled by male privilege—carry the same subtext: that trans people are mistaken about who they are. “We know who we are,” Page says. “People cling to these firm ideas [about gender] because it makes people feel safe. But if we could just celebrate all the wonderful complexities of people, the world would be such a better place.”

Even if Page weren’t vocal, his public presence would communicate something powerful. That is in part because of what Paisley Currah, a professor of political science at Brooklyn College, calls “visibility gaps.” Historically, trans women have been more visible, in culture and in Hollywood, than trans men. There are many explanations: Our culture is obsessed with femininity. Men’s bodies are less policed and scrutinized. Patriarchal people tend to get more emotional about who is considered to be in the same category as their daughters. “And a lot of trans men don’t stand out as trans,” says Currah, who is a trans man himself. “I think we’ve taken up less of the public’s attention because masculinity is sort of the norm.”

During our interviews, Page will repeatedly refer to himself as a “transgender guy.” He also calls himself nonbinary and queer, but for him, transmasculinity is at the center of the conversation right now. “It’s a complicated journey,” he says, “and an ongoing process.”

While the visibility gap means that trans men have been spared some of the hate endured by trans women, it has also meant that people like Page have had fewer models. “There were no examples,” Page says of growing up in Halifax in the 1990s. There are many queer people who have felt “that how they feel deep inside isn’t a real thing because they never saw it reflected back to them,” says Tiq Milan, an activist, author and transgender man. Page offers a reflection: “They can see that and say, ‘You know what, that’s who I am too,’” Milan says. When there aren’t examples, he says, “people make monsters of us.”

For decades, that was something Hollywood did. As detailed in the 2020 Netflix documentary Disclosure, transgender people have been portrayed onscreen as villainous and deceitful, tragic subplots or the butt of jokes. In a sign of just how far the industry has come—spurred on by productions like Pose and trailblazers like Mock—Netflix offered to change the credits on The Umbrella Academy the same day that its star posted his statement on social media. Now when an episode ends, the first words viewers see are “Elliot Page.”

Today, there are many out trans and nonbinary actors, directors and producers. Storylines involving trans people are more common, more respectful. Sometimes that aspect of identity is even incidental, rather than the crux of a morality tale. And yet Hollywood can still seem a frightening place for LGBTQ people to come out. “It’s an industry that says, ‘Don’t do that,’” says director Silas Howard, who got his break on Amazon’s show Transparent, which made efforts to hire transgender crew members. “I wouldn’t have been hired if they didn’t have a trans initiative,” Howard says. “I’m always aware of that.”

So what will it mean for Page’s career? While Page has appeared in many projects, he also faced challenges landing female leads because he didn’t fit Hollywood’s narrow mold. Since Page’s Instagram post, his team is seeing more activity than they have in years. Many of the offers coming in—to direct, to produce, to act—are trans-related, but there are also some “dude roles.”

Downtime in quarantine helped Page accept his gender identity. “I was finally able to embrace being transgender,” he says.

Page was attracted to the role of Vanya in The Umbrella Academy because—in the first season, released in 2019—Vanya is crushed by self-loathing, believing herself to be the only ordinary sibling in an extraordinary family. The character can barely summon the courage to move through the world. “I related to how much Vanya was closed off,” Page says. Now on set filming the third season, co-workers have seen a change in the actor. “It seems like there’s a tremendous weight off his shoulders, a feeling of comfort,” says showrunner Steve Blackman. “There’s a lightness, a lot more smiling.” For Page, returning to set has been validating, if awkward at times. Yes, people accidentally use the wrong pronouns—“It’s going to be an adjustment,” Page says—but co-workers also see and acknowledge him.

The debate over whether cisgender people, who have repeatedly collected awards for playing trans characters, should continue to do so has largely been settled. However, trans actors have rarely been considered for cisgender parts. Whatever challenges might lie ahead, Page seems exuberant about playing a new spectrum of roles. “I’m really excited to act, now that I’m fully who I am, in this body,” Page says. “No matter the challenges and difficult moments of this, nothing amounts to getting to feel how I feel now.”

This includes having short hair again. During our interview, Page keeps rearranging strands on his forehead. It took a long time for him to return to the barber’s chair and ask to cut it short, but he got there. And how did that haircut feel?

Page tears up again, then smiles. “I just could not have enjoyed it more,” he says.”

[wandanatfluff]

The Life That's Left To Live - Part I - Take Me Home

Series (This part:) Fluff

Prologue | Part I

Summary series: You’re a little girl when the avengers find you. Natasha becomes kind of a mother to you. Then about 7 years later when you’re 21 you go live with the avengers again for a while, because they need your help with something. The avengers are like a family to you. Wanda is still new to the avengers and doesn’t know what happened in your past. You sleep in Wanda’s room in an extra bed and the two of you become friends. You are a quite happy, social and spontaneous girl, but there’s a sad/depressed side to you that sometimes comes to the surface.

Summary of this part: Natasha calls you with information about your brother and you go to the Avengers compound, where you meet Wanda.

Pairing: Natasha (mother figure/mentor) x Female Reader Wanda (platonic (for now at least)) x Female Reader

Warnings for this part: -

Word count: 2.2 K

A/n: To be honest I think it turned out okay, I spent quite a while on this. Title: Take Me Home, by Chord Overstreet. The fic isn’t directly based or related to the song. The title just fits ;-). The series title is a line from Love Is War, by RUNAGROUND. I hope you enjoy it!

Source: Pinterest

Absentmindedly you listen to the person in front of you. Some annoying colleague that is going on and on about a something that you would have done wrong. They had been going on for almost ten minutes and by now, you had stopped listening. Your mind drifted off to happy memories. It was something you did quite often. By reliving old memories once in a while, they would become recent in your mind again, which made it easier to go back to them, when you were feeling low. You thought about your younger self on the back of your brother’s bike, your small arms wrapped around his waist, your head pressed against his back. It had been his birthday and he had gotten a new bike. You didn’t like bikes, but when he asked for you to ride along the neighborhood with him, you gave in. Your childhood was filled with a lot of fear, but your brother always seemed to take that away. He was in almost all of your joyful memories. He was your safe place.

Your phone chimed, snapping you back into reality. You excused yourself from the ‘conversation’ and left the room. Once you close the door, you answer your phone.

“I owe you Nat! You saved me!”

“Hey Y/n… What did I save you from?”

“Some colleague, who was being incredibly tedious.”

“Need me to kill anyone?”

“Uhm… No. But what are you calling about?”

“We got new information about your brother and we need your help with it.” You fell silent for a moment at the mention of your brother.

“Oh... What is it?”

“I’m sorry Y/n, I can’t tell you over the phone. You’ll have to come to the compound.”

“Okay… I can do that. I’ll leave tomorrow morning and be there around dinner time?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

After cooking yourself some dinner you went to your room to pack. You dug deep in your closet to find your weekend bag. It had been a while since your last trip. You don’t travel that much. To be honest, you don’t travel at all. Your daily routine leaves just enough time for your daily work-out, some me-time and occasionally a movie. Staying busy avoids overthinking stuff, or well… overthinking more specific things. It took you a while to build up a routine. Have breakfast, work out, drive to the office, do your work, pretend to listen to the gossip from your fellow colleagues during the lunch break. Not that anything about your life is very challenging, but it’s just enough to keep you satisfied and to survive. Every now and then when you have a day off, you go shopping with a friend.

You are quite the cheerful girl. You are spontaneous and kind, people get along with you. You have a few friends, but none really close. The only close friends or family you have, are Nat, Steve, Tony, Clint, Thor and Bruce and you haven’t seen them in the while.

You had to empty your entire closet, but you finally found your white weekend bag with the subtle, pastel flowers pattern. You smile at it. It had been a gift from Nat. You used to have a boring and old grey bag, so she had bought you a new one. After you throw the bag on your bed, you start to fill it with clothes. You had no idea how long you’d be gone, so you packed for five days. Once your bag was fully stuffed you zipped it closed and threw it over your shoulder, making you way back to the living room.

You throw your bag next to the counter and are just about to get yourself some coffee, when the bel rings. You grab your phone and see Natasha standing in front of your door through the camera. Natasha had bought you a doorbell with a camera, to be sure you were as safe as possible when she wasn’t there. Aware of the camera she smiled at you through it. You chuckle at the sight and walk to the door to open it for her. Moments like this remind you of how amazing Natasha is. She had the key to you appartement, but chose not to use it, so she wouldn’t unnecessarily scare you.

“Surpriseee, figured I’d pick you up myself!”

“Hey Nat, come in!”

You take her jacket and hang it on the coat rack.

“How are you doing?”

“Good, actually. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Just coffee, please.”

“Got it.”

You go back to the counter and get yourself and Nat some coffee. You open the fridge and get two pieces of the pie that is left from your graduation ceremony. With two slices of cake and the coffee you go to the living room. You hand Natasha, who has sat down on the couch, her coffee and put the cake on the side table.

“Oehh, is there something to celebrate?”

“Yup… I got a job!”

“Y/n! I am so proud of you. I knew you could do it!” Tears begin to well in Natasha’s eyes and she puts down her coffee to give you a hug. You bury you head in her neck and let out a small sniff. She knew what it meant for you to get your first real job. The small party one of your friends threw had been basic. Everyone had congratulated you, but Natasha was the only one who truly took her time to express her happiness. She was the only one who knew what it meant to you. It had been a long way, a long, long way, but you made it! You did it!

She had been there with Steve when you graduated. She had driven six hours, just because she knew what it would mean to you, having her there. It had been a surprise, she hadn’t told you she was coming, so when you saw her from the stage you had broken down in tears.

You catch up a bit, after which you both go to bed. You turn the sofa into a bed for Natasha so she can sleep on it, but before you rest your eyes, Natasha helps you fill another suitcase with clothing. She laughed at the sight of your single bag and suggested you’d pack another suitcase.

*** After six hours of sleep Natasha wakes you up. You take the time to get out of your bed, you take a shower and put on some make-up. In a pair of light skinny jeans and a lively orange tank top, that complemented you tan, you sit down at the kitchen island. Natasha had made you breakfast and after you finished it, you got in the car. The ride would take about six hours, so before hitting the road, you stopped at the supermarket to get some snacks and drinks for on the way. After three hours you had a pit-stop at the MacDonald’s to get some lunch. You ordered the food via the McDrive and ate it in the car on the parking lot. When the food was finished you hit the road again. You had switched places, meaning Natasha would finish the drive to the compound. Natasha was still sipping from her milkshake in one hand, her other hand on the wheel. You leaned against the door with you head on your arm. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin as you dozed off.

A bump in the road woke you up.

You shot up straight. When you realized there was no danger, you leaned back into you chair, resting you head against the headrest.

“Slept well, princess?” Nat teasingly said.

“Nat!” You stumped her shoulder with your elbow. She grinned, but kept her eyes on the road. A comfortable silence fell and you closed your eyes again, not intending to sleep again though.

“No, but for real. How have you been sleeping?” You knew what she meant. She wanted to know if you still had nightmares. They would still terrorize your nights sometimes. You would wake up sweating and shaking. Wide awake you would sit in the middle of your bed at midnight, tears running down your cheeks.

“Uhm, okay, I guess. Some nights better than others.” She turned her head to look at you, giving you a sweet smile. She laid her hand on your leg, her palm up. You put your hand in hers, giving it a slight squeeze.

“Now we’re talking about sleeping, a few rooms are under renovations, so the rooms are full. You can sleep in Wanda’s room. She has an extra bed on her room.”

“Is she okay with that?”

“I think so.”

“You didn’t ask her!?”

“No, but I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

“Nat…”

“Just kidding, I told her she would have to share her room with you.”

“And…?”

“She was fine with it.”

*** With your suitcase in your hand, your bag over your shoulder and music in your ears, you enter Wanda’s room. On the right side of the room there’s a king-sized bed with two chairs and a coffee table on the left side of the bed, next to the window that covers the entire back side of the room, providing a view of the trees and water next to the compound. On the left side of the room there is a large wardrobe, a door to the bathroom and in the corner there’s a single bed, parallel to the window. Above the bed there’s a shelf with a plant, some books and a light string. The room wasn’t very decorated, there weren’t many personal items. One wall was painted in a grey tone with a hint of purple and there was a purple bedspread, covering the lower side of Wanda’s bed. On the nightstand was a photo of Wanda, standing next to a boy with white hair. You figured it must be her brother, Natasha had told you about the twins and the tragedy. Apart from the photo and some plants, there was nothing personal in the room.

You walked to the bed you’d be sleeping in and dropped your bags on the floor. You sat down on the bed and with your feet still on the ground you let your back rest on the bed, closing your eyes as you take the time to take in the feeling of home. To be honest you feel more home at the Avengers compound then at your own appartement. After a few minutes you got up from the bed and put on some upbeat music as you start to make the bed.

Singing along to the music cheerfully, you put the duvet in its cover. With both corners of the blanket in your hands you shake the cover over the duvet. With the music in both your ears you didn’t hear someone come in, so when you feel a hand on your shoulder, you are slightly startled. You quickly stop the music and take out your AirPods. You turn around to lay your eyes on a beautiful woman with coper locks flowing over her shoulders.

“You must be Y/n.”

Wanda knew who you were, your name would regularly come up in a conversation. She didn’t know much about you other than your name. You were kind of a mystery to her. She was new to the team and hadn’t personally met you yet. One thing is clear to her, though. No one bothered to mention how gorgeous you were. With a lump in her throat, she looked into your eyes, once you had turned around to face her. The woman that was standing in front of her seemed like a nice, cheerful person. She had a beautiful smile on her face, but there was something in her eyes that showed her happiness hadn’t always been a given. She took her in, her hair up in a high pony tail with curtain bangs accentuating her face, she was wearing an orange tank top, which showed off her tanned skin, on top of light flared jeans and elegant black ankle boots. Jeez, she was beautiful.

“Guilty as charge.” You responded. “It’s my pleasure meeting you…”

Witty too. You reminded her of her brother.

“Wanda.”

“Ah Wanda! Natasha told me so much about you. Nice to finally meet you. Oh, and Natasha said I could sleep here for the time being. Is that okay with you?”

Natasha talked about her? That was a good thing… right? To be honest Wanda was rather intimidated by Natasha. Even though she had been welcomed with open arms into the group, once, you know, she had switched sides, it had been quite hard for her to adjust to the group.

“Yeah, she told me. It’s fine”

“Cool”

“Do you need help with the bed?”

“Oh no, I’m done.”

She noticed the bed was nicely made and saw your weekend bag, half under your bed.

“You can use that dresser if you want, and if you want to hang any of your clothes, you can put them in my closet.”

“Oh thanks!”

“No problem.”

“I was about to start dinner, the rest should be back in an hour.”

“I’ll make sure I’ll be there on time, I wouldn’t want to miss whatever culinary art you intend to make.” You said teasingly.

“Great, I’ll see you in an hour then

[zaceouiswriting]

Life

Good sad day my friends!

I would’ve never thought that I would write a message like this. But here we are. Today we are getting a bit personal, maybe even a bit more than most of you are comfortable with.

I’m a 24 year old dude. As many of you might already have guessed gay. But there is also a very dark side of me, despite all my creative work. Since as my therapist believes, my birth, I suffer from manic depression. To top this all off, I got hit by a truck when I was nineteen. It almost ripped my left foot from my body. 

After getting into a hospital it took two weeks, before doctors could save it, in an operation that with some complications took over twelve hours.

Up to this point in my life, I was hyper focused on school. I had to learn a third language, because I didn’t do it when I was younger to finish school, which seemed impossible for me. After this accident, every little thing took a backseat.

My mental health fell into a dark pit, worse than anything I had encountered before. The worst thing was, that no-one around me seemed to really care, except for my father who tried everything to keep me going. But something in me died that day. As I was laying on the street, after getting hit by this truck, on my way to school, on my bicycle.

I couldn’t hold myself together. Went less and less to school, until the point, I wasn’t able to finish it anymore. After the school year ended, I was able to leave the house for two-three more months, before this was impossible for me.

Since then I have developed a fear, a panic to leave my home.

You might asked yourself: „Why is this dude on the internet on Tumblr of all places, who writes stuff, telling me all of this?“

Well my answer is a sad one. Since that day, I of course needed something to cope with. To keep me afloat. Because I am actively trying to get the only talent I have, telling stories, to finance a future for myself. It is also the only thing, that is keeping me actively alive.

But there are things, that keeps my head from the more darker thoughts. And as silly as this might sound, it is mostly youtube gaming content.

Im a gamer, when I'm not writing, which is a big part of my life. Today a news, that shocked my world broke to me trough.

I don’t know how many of you are gamers themselves or watching gaming content, But there is a guy his name is „Technoblade“, who is a beacon for me. Someone who could make me laugh, at the darkest of my moments, giving me a hand, to help me on a ledge to get out of the darkness to at least exist without the hopelessness, my head wants me to feel.

Today I learned, that he died. After as it seems a long hard battle with cancer. Which hit me extra hard, because a couple of years ago, when I was seventeen, I was at the side of a childhood friend, until her passing away from the same illness. I told her stories to keep her head off of things. But we all knew that she was going to die.

When we were kids, I promised her that I would be there, when she passes on. Then, neither of us knew what that meant. But I kept my promise. And hold her until her very last breath. Before she passed on, she told me that she loved me. She knew that I could never reciprocate her feelings, but I loved her too, not in the same sense, she did me, but it was enough to tell her that I loved her too.

I hoped, to never get trough an experience like this, at least not, until I was better myself. Even without knowing Technoblade personally. He saved my life countless of times. Not only he, but other content creators as well.

It hurts deep down, that everything I can get help from, are now only old videos of him, things I already watched, love but already know. To be aware of the fact, that he is gone, hits so much deeper, than I ever thought was possible. At the end of the day, I and so many others, did not know I’m personally, but he still was a part of our lives. A bright one at that.

Im angry, at the audacity of life to let someone, even younger than me, go trough this, to die such a horrible death. I’m sad for his family and everyone who got impacted by his humor, wit and friendliness. But I’m also happy, that he was a part of my life and so many others too. His death might be a great loss, but his memories are treasures we all should keep in our hearts.

We should take an example of his strength, his will and mental fortitude. 

And to the unasked question, why I telling this on Tumblr? To be honest I don’t have any other meanings of doing this. As I had said, I was hyper focused on school and after my accident, had not the strength to build anything else up. Just now years later, I slowly come out of my own shell. But I have no experience with Social Media, or Youtube or such. So this is really the only place I can tell a part of my story and tell people, how much Technoblade helped me get trough a lot of the darker times.

I just hoped, I could’ve keep his spirit alive. But as incompetent as I am at social media, more than this post, most likely will not happen. Which is sad, because for the impact he had, he would’ve deserved so much more from me.

Thank you for reading all of this, I just hope, enough people get to read this. And sorry for the ramble, when I’m under mental stress, I tend to jump between the things I want to tell.

Rest in Peace, Technoblade.

Have great day, you beautiful people, even with this news and these circumstances. I will take this day off from any work and will rewatch most likely all of his content.

We see us tomorrow hopefully under more heartwarming circumstances.

[taeyohonic]

the trophy wife (m)

summary: the proposal doesn’t go as planned (established relationship, idol au, fluff and angst) pairing: min yoongi x fem!reader rating: explicit (18+) warnings (containing spoilers): swearing, robbery, pandemic, vomit, description of injuries and blood (very abstract), mentions of depression, insomina and periods, a hella lot ugly crying info: when i tell you that this is a super-duper fluffy piece, i’m not lying! it was 99% sweetness, so i added a little... angst (but like... only 10%) related work: the stalker | baby, what’s wrong? | favoritism (m) | the trophy wife words: 5.7k

“would you still love me if i became your trophy wife?”

yoongi snorts into his iphone, your grimace too adorable to be taken seriously.

“how bad are these papers?”, he asks. jungkook next to him is stealing curious glances at his hyung’s screen. to hear your voice so distressed makes him worry. you’re the best thing that ever happened to his member – your well-being comes right after his need for homemade kimchi.

“how… can they not know which products contain dairy? how yoongs?”, you vent eyeing the ungraded test in front of you.

“i ate… so much yogurt. the whole class did. we tested so much dairy products… like… so much. we drank all of the banana milk… how can they get this wrong?”, you continue. unbeknown to you, the maknae is now furrowing his brows at your words. wait a minute…

“noona, did you steal my banana milk last week?”, jungkook questions and moves closer to yoongi. before you can hide you see his big eyes joining your boyfriend on the screen.

“wow, jungkookie – your undercut looks so good. damn!”, you say. it’s not a total deflection; he does look extremely handsome after his haircut.

“noona, i thought i sleepwalked”, he whines, not caring for your compliment… right now.

“taehyung even made a meme out of it”, he complaints and you have the audacity to coo at him. yoongi tries to hide his smile, but he can see his reflection grinning on the screen.

“it was oppa’s idea!”

and now his smile freezes as jungkook moves his accusing glare to him. you don’t usually call yoongi by this name. and he’d be all too happy to shut you up in your shared bedroom. but now he and the boys are in the outskirts of seoul to film the newest music video, far away from you and your treacherous mouth.

“hyung?”, jungkook asks with the voice of a cheated wife ready to sign the divorce papers.

“it’s for the kids, maknae”, your boyfriend defends himself to which jungkook only huffs in irritation.

“there was a time when i was the kid – what happened? am i not cute enough anymore? noona? am i not the most adorable?”

his deer eyes stare at you – big, brown and full. you can’t help but to take a screenshot of these two – your rapper visibly done with his member and jungkook in the middle of a banana milk breakdown. you’ll have to frame this picture.

“you’re the most adorable thing there is, jungkookie”, you reassure him. yoongi just snorts when he sees the faintest flush on his bandmate’s face.

“that’s enough praise for him, baby. save it for your students.” there is no humor in the smile you send him. after a beat of silence in which you burry all your frustration deep inside the pits of your stomach, you try to change the subject.

“how is nature?” they’ve been in the woods for weeks, completely closed off from all the city drama. you’ve never seen jimin so excited to drive – while namjoon’s sour face reflected how much the latest failed drivers test bothered him.

“jin-hyung nearly died in the water today. it was epic”, your friend instead of your boyfriend answers and you have to shift a giggle at yoongi’s eyeroll.

“be gone, maknae”

rudely blunt – just how you liked your partner. jungkook just winks at you in a silent goodbye and gets up. he’s nearly out of the picture before his upper body shoves against the rapper. his nose is way too close to the screen and you’d be worried about his eyes – if you didn’t know how often the singer spends his nights in front of his computer.

“noona, you’ll replace the milk, right?”

“jungkook”, yoongi growls in responds. the boy is not acknowledging his colleague, so you give in and nod.

“of course, kookie. it’s already waiting in the fridge for you to come back”, you tell him. as soon as these words leave your mouth, the maknae is satisfied and gone.

“you don’t have to baby him that much, ____”, yoongi says while moving the phone closer to his face. you can see the dark circles under his eyes better now.

“what’s keeping you up at night, yoongs?”, you ask instead of answering his complaint. the rapper smiles faintly at the screen.

“you, baby, always you” yu snort and let yourself lie down on the couch – the papers can wait another day, or a lifetime.

“i wish”, you say truthfully. you’d sell one of your kidneys to relax with the boys far away from the pandemic madness. after having yoongi to yourself for two weeks non-stop, you are way too spoiled. even though your legs are deeply grateful for this recovery time, you miss the constant calm radiating off of your boyfriend.

“i’ll be back soon, baby”, he reassures you and draws lines across the screen. your cheeks look colorless and it worries him just as much as his lack of sleep bothers you.

“make it sooner”, you mutter and close your eyes when you hear his chuckle in responds.

“have you had dinner yet?”, yoongi asks but you don’t want to open your eyes, not ready to face his criticism.

“nah, i’ll wait till sungho gets here.” you don’t need your eyesight to feel his disapproval.

“that’s not very socially distance of you, ____.” yeah, no baby anymore. still, you remain shut off.

“he’s just a friend. one friend. one work friend. one work friend that needs help with the new school cloud. the online grading program is a pain in the ass.”

“and why do you have to do that at six on a friday night in our home?”, yoongi notices the tiniest of smiles on your lips as he mentions your shared home. he, too, loves your little flat with a pandora of memories.

“because i am a loner and don’t have anything better planed for the weekend and my boyfriend is camping in the woods and oh – there is a global pandemic”, you snort and open your eyes to watch your boyfriend’s tensed expression.

“if you’re a loner – what am i then? a stone?”, yoongi asks sarcastically.

“maybe a boulder”, you shoot back with a soft smile that melts his jealousy away… nearly.

“just… don’t let him touch my stuff”, yoongi orders. he’d trade his own maknae to be the one at the other side of your door when he hears a distant knocking sound.

“that’ll be him, yoongs”, you say and move off the couch with as much dignity as one can muster after a whole work week and no motivation left in the bones.

“promise to call me back when you’re in bed?”, your boyfriend pleads, reluctant to let you go. with him going on world tours this phone conversation isn’t your first and it won’t be the last. still, his small request fills you with yearning.

“of course”, you promise, eyes still on him as you open the door without a second thought.

a fist connects with your skull while your eyes widen at the sight of two ski-masked men. the pain is instantly blinding your senses and you start to scream with tears clouding your vision. you fall to the floor before they push their way inside your home. one of them, muscle clad with wide shoulders kicks you in the stomach just to move you out of their way. the other, smaller in statue, crushes your phone with his shoe, the cracked screen frozen with your boyfriend starring at you in horror.

**

namjoon will never forget the bone chilling scream waking him this evening from his nap. he’s never heard yoongi’s voice filled to the brim with pain. not even registering his movements, he tumbles into the living room where is friend is still yelling your name, his face a mask of panic.

“hyung, what’s wrong?”, namjoon asks as footsteps behind him signal the arrival of his bandmates.

yoongi’s hands shake as his eyes stay fixed on the screen of his form. the leader moves first, not able to watch his friend losing himself. when joon steps behind yoongi’s figure to calm him down, a cold shower travels through his body. the screen shows you lying on the floor with red dripping from your mouth. your eyes are closed, but namjoon notices the uneven rise and fall of your chest – you’re breathing.

“jin, call the police”, the leader orders without turning around. his hands try to pry the phone out of yoongi’s fingers, but they are white with pressure and unforgiving. his lungs are still screaming and namjoon’s heart breaks at the scene.

“hyung, - just… calm down”, he says, not quite believing in his own words. he wouldn’t calm down either in yoongi’s position.

“what am i reporting?”, seokjin asks, close enough that the question answers itself as soon as he peaks over yoongi’s shoulder.

“i’d like to report a break-in – there is a person, hurt. the address is-“

yoongi can’t hear his oldest colleague, the voice drowned by his worry for you. at first, he doesn’t register namjoon’s chest pressing behind his back, but then his body shudders when the fellow rapper hugs him from behind.

“hyung, we – sh – it’s gonna be okay. it’ll be okay, she’s okay… we… you have to calm down, yoongi”, namjoon sooths his friend of ten years and rocks them both from side to side.

“taehyung, call the building manager – there should be security in the foyer”, seokjin commands the young man who watches the scene in front of him passively. as soon as he hears his name though, the singer moves to grab his iphone with shaky fingers.

“look, hyung, she’s awake”, joon points out and yoongi shakes his head to move these stupid tears out of his vision. indeed, your eyes are open as you try to even your breathing. it looks like you are crying as well and yoongi has never felt this kind of searing pain before. to see the love of his life in tears and burglars destroying your home while he is in the middle of fucking nowhere, makes him sick. when he sees you trying to get up, only to drop back onto the floor, his stomach turns. yoongi vomits onto his lap and namjoon has to hold his friend upright as he loses consciousness.

**

you’ve never been this glad for the heavy painkillers your boyfriend has tugged away in the bathroom due to his immense shoulder problems. the icepack pressed to your forehead cools for body down; still, you are shaking with adrenaline as you watch the security guard pace in front of you.

“yes, sir, yes – no, of course sir, negative sir”, he looks at your shaking form and grimaces before answering. “minor injuries”, the guard holds his phone further away when his caller answers a few decibels too loud.

“the paramedics are on their way”, he responds, not daring to look you directly in the eye. after another game of “yes and no”, the security ends his call.

“how are you, ma’am?”, the man in uniform asks, but remains standing a few feet away. when he first got here after receiving a hectic message from his boss, you were crying on the floor – alone. his colleague is already checking the floors, while another is combing through the surveillance footage. it’s been five minutes and you still look like a ghost.

his instructions were crystal clear – don’t touch the subject. but his heart clenches when he sees your trembling form trying to calm yourself down.

before you can answer him, two paramedics arrive through the door. they zero in on the blood drying across your forehead. their hands press gently against your skin and ask you questions you try to answer. soon, they move you to a standing position, with your head wound dressed and your vitals checked.

“we’ll take you to the hospital, ma’am”, the older woman explains. with a few steps you are at the door – there, right on the threshold where your nightmare began half an hour ago, stands sungho, chinese take-out and laptop in hand. your fellow teacher looks at you with widened eyes.

“_____ - what the hell?”, he curses and nearly drops his food when you smile at him – your teeth unbeknown to you still tinted red.

“are you her partner?”, the paramedic asks.

“just a friend”, he answers, not letting you out of his sight.

“we have to get her to the hospital – will you accompany us?”, the medic questions and sungho nods. your little crowd moves to the elevator and the security guard closes your door with a soft click. the police will be here soon, he thinks as he watches your beaten figure step onto the elevator.

**

“this cannot be the way to do this, ___”, sungho exclaims while you are staring at the iv-drip connected to your arm in distress. you hate needles.

the hospital’s v.i.p room is normally reserved for celebrities, but they made an exception for you, the girlfriend of min yoongi. sejin’s hunched form outside the room might have played a role in that. bangtan’s manager arrived half an hour ago, worried and disheveled. his posture calmed when the doctors reassured him, you’d be okay. now, he’s waiting for seven idols in various stages of panic to arrive.

“it’s the way this works – just… do as i say, okay?”, you huff. there is a part of you not willing to let the last hours crash into you; not without your partner here. so, you’ve spent the last sixty minutes showing him how to use your new school cloud – the easy way, not the right one.

“but the course still doesn’t show in my settings”, he whines, and you roll your eyes while pushing cold pad thai in your mouth. the rich flavor appeases your hungry stomach and you swallow the take-out down in one breathe. songho is a godsend for bringing the ordered food with him to the hospital. it’s a much-needed distraction from the horror of your cracked rib and light concussion.

“you have to set the course to ‘official’ – it’s still private”, you explain with another mouthful of oily noodles slurring your speech.

sungho’s brows furrow in concentration when you hear heavy footsteps in the hall. the boys are there – and they are not slowing down.

before sejin can even try to greet the idols, yoongi pushes through the door – all six of them only a breath behind.

the second you see him, the tears start without your consent. yoongi looks crazy – his eyes gleam with insanity – as he sucks in the hospital air through his mask.

you’re here. you’re alive. you’re safe. you’re here. he’s here. you are both here. his thoughts are running in circles – not ready to slow down, not ready to expand.

your boyfriend resembles a statue; just standing in front of the hospital bed. his face screams for help and it breaks you as the first cry leaves your throat. in a flash yoongi is moving to you, bumping into a shocked sungho. his finger brush against your wet cheeks like you’d break under his touch, while your body collapses.

“baby”, he whispers – the first word his members have heard since he regained consciousness.

“yoongs”, you answer and throw your arms around his neck. the smell of vomit and sweat makes your nose crunch up, but your boyfriend hugs it all away. his forearms rest on each side of your head – supporting his weight – as he lets you hold on to him, the boyfriend who was playing idol life in the woods instead of being at home with his girlfriend. even through his mask he can breathe in your unique smell, clouded by disinfectant.

“noona”, the youngest whimpers from the doorway. jungkook is silently crying, his mask discolored from the tears. every member looks at you with sorrow, the younger ones visibly not as professional at keeping their emotions together. namjoon looks like he’s aged a decade, but there is a small smile pressing his eyes together behind his mask. you try to reciprocate his smile, but yoongi’s head his pressing against your cheeks with vigor.

“why don’t we give them some space?”, sejin says to which your coworker nods instantly. he’s your friend for sure – but this is a level of intimacy he’s not willing to share with you.

the members need more convincing as hoseok tries to gently pull jungkook back. the maknae vehemently shakes his head, not ready to leave you and yoongi alone.

“we’ll wait right outside, kookie”, seokjin coax him out of the room. he’s still reluctant so go, but jimin’s small body pushes against his back. soon, namjoon closes the door, leaving you alone.

your tears won’t stop and you try to move closer to your boyfriend – you want to feel him all around you. without words yoongi understands your need and presses his body down on yours. there is a sharp pain when his stomach meets your fractured rib.

“ah”, you breathe, hurting. yoongi extracts himself from you in a flash; every fiber of his being furious at your injury.

“baby”, he calls out as his fingers ghost across your ribcage.

“it’ll… it’ll heal soon”, you say timidly.

“how could this happen, baby?”, he asks, still more interested in your upper body than your eyes.

“i-i i should-d have che-checked the door before, ah before answering”, you whimper, ready to face the blame.

with yoongi’s lifestyle comes a certain level of danger. you’ve been trained to be more cautious with everyday things like grocery shopping, inviting new friends over, answering the door without checking the cam.

“no, no, no, no – baby – no…”, he hushes you. “they should have never been able to pass the foyer, nor should they have been able to move to the penthouse level.”

“i-i was so scared”, you admit, linking your fingers with his and pressing them close to your still beating heart.

“i know, baby, me too”, yoongi soothes you and flexes his fingertips against your warm skin.

“i’ve never felt this worthless… you got hurt… right in front of me… and i … i couldn’t do anything.” his voice shakes with emotions and slowly his stare moves to your bruised face. the madness has nearly died in his eyes – but there is still so much pain hidden behind his brown iris.

“i- i could have lost you”, he whispers darkly, speaking a truth into reality he is not ready to face. your crying has stopped now that the both of you are calmer and connected.

“nah, never, remember?”, you say with some form of humor behind your words. “i’m your trophy wife. trophy wives don’t die. first, they’d kill their rich husband”, you remind your boyfriend of your conversation half a lifetime ago.

“it’d be an honor getting murdered by you, baby.” his mask is gone in a flash and then you feel the warmth of his lips against your temple. “just let me finish my third mixtape first.”

**

“don’t move, noona”, jungkook pleads as the warm sunlight irritates your skin. the fresh air is caressing your body while the youngest tries to finish his painting. trees surround the both of you, resting on a soft picnic blanket. it’s the first time since your release from the hospital that yoongi has left you out of his sight. granted, you’re still not totally alone with the strongest bangtan member watching over you like a hawk. but it’s definitely a much-needed break from yoongi’s fretting.

after nearly throwing a tantrum in front of his manager und some staff members who wanted to continue the filming of their new “in the soop” show, all the members knew they’d have to handle their rapper with care. leaving you alone wasn’t an option, so taehyung and seokjin packed your suitcase with essentials and after your doctors determined you ready to rest at home, all eight of you moved back to the chill vacation home in the middle of nowhere.

the last few days have been difficult – the filming staff getting more and more irritated because the members flocked around you 24/7. sejin had to come up with a different schedule allowing every bandmate time to reconnect with you as well as time to do their work. only yoongi was allowed to not leave your side most of the day – him working on the new music being the cover for his absence.

but after days of your boyfriend breathing down your neck, you’ve had enough. so, now yoongi is out on the water with seokjin fishing, while you’re spending time with jungkook.

“when did the police say they are coming?”, you ask the painter. his nose is crunched in concentration as he tries to outline your hipbone.

“they should be here before lunch – if your boyfriend even manages to catch some lunch”, he answers. you snort, messing up his grasp of your proportions.

“i do have faith in seokjin’s ability.” jungkook chuckles but keeps his eyes on your drawing. you look so delicate, so soft, he can’t believe they nearly lost you.

“i got robbed – i didn’t die, kookie”, you read his mind as his eyes darken.

“you got hurt”, he responds through clenched teeth.

“and they’ll pay for that”, you vow. the police had called this morning with the news of your robbers being captured during another crime. you’re still not sure how the officers can be so sure they’re the same criminals, but you’re eager to close this chapter with your statement later that day.

your painting session gets interrupted by namjoon. “the detectives are already here, ____.”

jungkook is by your side in a flash and together with the leader the both of them help you up. the rib is healing and harsh movements still hurt. yoongi had a near meltdown when you tried to ride him yesterday morning only to topple over in pain.

“yoongi and jin don’t have a signal out in the water – but they won’t be long”, namjoon explains and guides you indoors to meet the two officers.

“ms. ______, a pleasure to meet you”, the older policeman says in greeting. the younger one only shifts uncomfortable when he sees you flanked by two famous idols.

“thanks for coming all this way”, you respond and bow slowly, not to put extra pressure on your rib.

“is there somewhere we could talk – uhm- privately?”, the old man asks and you show them to one of the office rooms in the back. jungkook reluctantly leaves your side and joon only squeezes your hand in passing.

“just holler when you need us, _____”, he says before ordering the maknae to clean the art supplies.

with both officers sitting across from you, you nervously fiddle in your chair.

“the two intruders were caught this morning while pawning off their haul”, the younger policeman states and shows you a surveillance picture of two familiar men. their figures alone invoke iced fear in your heart, and you push the picture out of your sight. after a moment of silence, you collect yourself enough to absorb the information.

“what did they steal? i – i didn’t report anything missing, sir”, you question. sure, they trashed the painting yoongi brought for you during your last vacation in italy. and some cloths were thrown across the bedroom – but there was nothing stolen. you even signed your statement last week before leaving for the woods.

the officers look at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“miss, you reported the item missing days ago. there is even a harsh voicemail left with your fiancé demanding a swift investigation.” you shake your head at their words – no, you didn’t.

“which item?”, you ask the men with narrowed eyes. you’d been off the pain meds for days now. but to call yoongi your fiancé? clearly, they’d switched up cases. the older officer opens his briefcase to retrieve a plastic bag with a… ring in it.

“in my days, my wife would have never forgotten about her engagement ring”, the man snickers as you watch the cold metal in front of you. it’s beautiful – it’s so yoongi, you wouldn’t be surprised if he himself crafted the asymmetric diamond set on roughened silver.

you’d dreamed of this moment for over a year – to lay eyes on the ring cementing your future in stone – or diamonds.

never would you have imagined it to be this tainted with two officers starring you down and the jewelry wrapped carelessly in plastic – a piece of evidence – while your boyfriend is fishing with kim seokjin.

“uhm”, you hesitate as emotions swirl around your brain. he was going to propose? to you?

“i had half a panic attack carrying it around with me the whole day – that thing could pay off all my debt, as well as my kid’s college fees”, the officer jokes, still not recognizing your surprise as genuine.

“uhm”, you try again to form words.

“we’ve all the papers here for you to sign; after that we’ll be ready to get out of your hair… for now”, the youngest states and moves different documents across the table. they lie next to yoongi’s engagement ring – your engagement ring.

“uhm”

giving up on forming a coherent sentence, you move along and sign your name on the different protocols. the paper from your insurance company makes your heart still – reading all the zeros on the price of your ring.

this… is by far the worst engagement set up you’ve ever heard of. your hands shack and your signature looks just terrible, but it’s enough for the two detectives. they still don’t seem to find your reaction odd as they collect their stuff and bid you fare well. like a zombie you get up and follow them to the front door, your ring clutched between your fingertips.

jungkook and jimin are waiting for you next to the foyer and jump at the sight of your pale face.

“everything alright?”, jimin asks and places a protective hand on your back. your slow nod does not convince them and their eyes sour at the policemen.

while the younger officer takes a step back, the oldest just chuckles at your idol friends.

“all is well, kids”, he sooths them. then both bow to you and you can only muster an awkward smile, the jewelry heavy in your hand.

“happy wedding planning, ms. ____”, he winks at you before they leave. the soft click of the closing door is the only sound in the hallway. you’re not even sure you’re breathing.

after a beat of silence you flinch at the sound of jimin’s high-pitched squeal.

“weeeedding”, he asks, way too loud and way too joyful. the mochi-cheeked idol excitedly jumps up and down, not really caring that you remain silent.

jungkook on the other hand looks … really upset. “you told the police but not me?”, he whispers betrayed.

you could cry as you feel the headache from your concussion clouding your mind. this is… too much.

“uhm”, you’ve decided to stick with your running-gag answer and push both idols out of your way.

your feet carry you out of the house, through the terrace door and before you know it, you’re running across the green gras. the smell of the lake invades your nose while you search for you boyfriend. yoongi’s boat is still on the water and you spot both men resting against each other with their rods, ready to catch your lunch. sunshine shimmers on the lake’s surface as you run onto the dock. your bare feet press against the wood while your hair rushes around you – the wind breezing through the unkempt strands.

**

“is… is that _____, yoongi?”, seokjin asks his fishing buddy who’s more focused watching the water for prey than his surroundings.

“huh?”, he hums, not really listening to his friend.

“i- i think your girlfriend wants to talk to you, yoongi”, the old singer says hesitantly as he sees you jumping up and down on the wooden dock. this can’t be good for your health.

swiftly, the rapper turns to the spot seokjin is pointing at. and there you stand – beautiful and barefoot, dressed in his t-shirt and some old leggings. your hair is a mess and the sun dances across your skin like the tiniest firework.

“MIN YOONGI”, you shout at the top of your lungs. your boyfriend flinches hearing your loud voice across the water.

“she sounds angry”, seokjin whispers.

“YOU FOOL”, you continue to yell and see seokjin’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“oh, i hope the crew gets this on tape”, he says with glee while yoongi really, truly tries to find a reason for your anger. he’s left you alone today, at your request. maybe you didn’t really want him to go? was it a test to see how much he wanted to stay with you? did he fail?

“I GOT YOUR RING!”, you shout and flash the evidence bag high in the air.

immediately, the rapper shoots up from his sitting position, rocking the boat dangerously form side to side.

“yah, yoongi, what the hell?”, seokjin swears but your boyfriend’s eyes rest on you, holding your engagement ring in a plastic bag. there is no air in his lungs – he’s been thinking about this moment for the last two years. he dreamed of your joyful tears, how soft your hands would feel while pushing the silver banner on your finger.

and now… he’s an ocean away from you holding on to the jewelry that got you hurt weeks ago.

“DO YOU WANT TO ASK ME SOMETHING, MIN YOONGI?”, you scream and your boyfriend’s eyes widen when they see the smile on your lips; do you – do you find this funny?

without thinking, he takes a step forward.

You can only watch seokjin’s helpless grimace as yoongi brings the boat out of balance. both idols topple over and splash into the cold sea.

the icy water doesn’t bother the rapper as he pushes to the surface. the sun shines high up while he speeds to the dock. you’ve never seen your boyfriend this determent – his laps forceful and quick, leaving a still shocked seokjin behind.

your fingers shake as you watch him come closer and closer to you. in mere moments he’s close enough for you to hear his heavy breathing.

yoongi heaves himself out of the cold, his shoulder screaming in pain, and then he is dripping in front of you. your boyfriend looks like a wet dog, the black hair plastered to his forehead as he steps forward. you can smell the sea salt across his drenched clothes.

the engagement ring screams from the bag to be acknowledged and yoongi is just… staring at you deeply.

“i had it all planned”, he whispers wringing his sweater. the gush of water drops on the deck, but the idol only looks at you. “weeks ago.” his fingers wrap around your writs, a silent plea to give the ring to its rightful owner – for now.

“i wanted to take you to the restaurant where we had our first date”, he admits and opens the bag. your first date had been a disaster – you’re still vividly remembering the food poisoning.

“then all the restaurants closed down; we were both so stressed… and… life went on”, yoongi continues as the ring dances between his fingertips. it looks like art without the plastic cheapening its presence.

“i... wanted it to be perfect.” his whispered words fall to the floor as he kneels in front of you. warmth is coloring your face, seeing your idol submitting to you.

“baby… you know how much i love you… how much you inspire me every day to become the best version of myself”, yoongi’s voice cracks against his words and you can’t help the softest coo from leaving your lips.

“i promise i’ll make you the best trophy wife of south korea.”

you snort as you hear boyish snicker from behind you at yoongi’s joke.

“will you spend the rest of my life with this ring on your hand?”, he asks and without waiting for an answer, he pushes the silver band on your finger. it fits perfectly.

“am i not supposed to agree first?”, you respond as your eyes stay on your future husband.

“oh baby, you agreed the moment you ate my burned pasta.” yoongi gets up and pushes a lose strand of hair behind your ears.

“you agreed the moment you moved in with me, a struggling insomniac.” his hands cradle your face, framing the expression of love between his palms.

“you agreed the moment you let me change your tampon because you were too drunk to move.” he gives you airy butterfly kisses.

“you agreed the moment you didn’t kill me for stealing your favorite ice cream from the freezer.”

“that actually was a close call”, you chime in, only to hear his soft chuckle.

“you agreed all those nights staying with holly in our shared bed while i traveled across the globe.”

a kiss is planted on the fresh scar across your temple. “you agreed all these moments where my depression was too much, where i was trapped in my own misery.”

a line of kisses travels to your mouth. mere millimeters from your lips he stills. “you do, right?”

under all the layers of love, confidence and familiarity, there is still a shy boy unsure of his worth. your smile is infused with giddiness as you close the gap, pressing your lips together in the softest kiss.

“i do”, you whisper in his mouth, only to meet his tongue with your own in a joyful dance. the boys around you are cheering, while the soft waves of the lake clash against the dock. you’re in pure bliss, kissing your wet fiancé fiercely.

and then you hear a loud thud, a wet slash on the wood. surprised, you both jump away a step – only to see a heaving seokjin lying flat on the deck, chest rising at a fast pace.

“i near- i nearly died for th-this engagement, ____. if – if i’m am not the be-best man, i’ll… will cast a spell on all- all yo-ur children.”

____

ah, this fic is crazy and totally not what i imagined it to become. i hope you enjoyed the read! there is only one chapter left (the stalker) – who’s excited for it? i hope you are doing well! to you, your family and/or loved ones i wish only the most festive time this week! love, dana

[blush-and-books]

sun's gone // but you always liked this time of day

angsty, hurt/comfort with a happy ending, juke canonverse. title from Place In Me by Luke Hemmings. special shoutout to my dear @unsaid-emily who loves this lyric as much as i do.

warnings: luke is just going through a lot and its scientifically proven that anger destroys brain cells so just be ready

----

Finding out that Rose's death day was on the same day as his mom's birthday was... Not easy, for Luke.

Him and Julie both mourning different things. Both of them felt different things surrounding their mom situations, and Luke knew that his job as Julie's "Luke" was to be there for her. He had been there for Reggie when his dad was leaving home every night to go sleep wherever his mom wasn't, and when Alex's parents turned into apathetic losers post-coming out.

He should be a master at all of this parent shit.

Unfortunately, there's a difference between losing love for or from your parents, and losing that parent to a force out of your control. Luke was used to the tension that was easy to complain about; to criticizing what his friends' families were doing wrong.

From how Julie talks about her, it doesn't sound like Rose Molina was doing anything wrong.

He can't help the way that rage smolders in a deep pit of his stomach. He hates that Julie's sad, and he hates that he didn't have a mom like Rose Molina, and he hates that the universe was cruel enough to give his favorite person such a wonderful mother and take her away before Julie was even an adult.

Sometimes, especially today, he's reminded of the hate he felt for his mom. When he was fifteen and wrote her a real song, one of his first when he started to improve his writing skills, and he could see the twitch in her eye of disdain.

That night, she told him to start looking at jobs. He was old enough, after all.

He went to the closest place he could find - a local diner - picked up an application, and cried.

She didn't care about his art; she didn't realize how his art meant more than anything he could buy with money. What was starting to sting was the fact that she probably would never care. And as he got older, she made it increasingly clear, and...

Yeah. Emily's birthdays were bitter.

Luke was bitter.

Julie was depressed.

He went to see her that day, it was a Saturday, and tried to talk to her. His hand softly ran up and down her side as she curled under the comforter, and when she invited him under the blankets he gratefully accepted the invitation.

Maybe Julie, the girl that made them whole again, could heal this little extra wound, too.

They talk. Julie cries; he avoids it.

"It's just really hard to be without her, you know? Sometimes shit just happens and it feels like a time she needs to be here, and she's not, and I don't know what to do."

Luke misses feeling like that. But it stopped about a month after he left home.

"Well, I mean, I've gone this long without a mom, and I'm fine. You can live without her. You're gonna be fine."

He says it with the same apathetic tone he always uses when he shifts into Emily-mode, and it isn't supposed to be like that, but it is.

Painfully.

And his mistake is obvious when Julie's frowning lips part open in horror, and her eyes are welling fresh with tears that illuminate the red around her irises.

Carelessly, with his eyes wide open, he's torn her apart.

Under the comforter, he feels cold. Even Julie's body next to him feels cold, and-

"Julie-"

"Get out. Please."

"I'm sor-"

"Luke, please- Leave me alone."

When Luke finally sobs, he's alone. It's dark outside and the garage is empty because the boys respect that it's a rough day for many people in this household, but the sadness and anger overcome him until he's opening his mouth to scream and nothing comes out, and when he's so dehydrated that his body is void of any tears, he sits on the couch with a damp face and plucks the chords of Emily's birthday song from 27 years ago.

He tries not to feel the numbing depression very often. But you can only push down such strong emotions for so long before they choose to ignore your fighting attempts.

Julie made it easier to battle the fury he felt towards his mom. That woman will always have a grasp on him, a place in him - probably because he never properly processed it. He's stuck with all of it now. The internal playlists of songs that remind him of how mad he is or sad he is, for him to listen to whenever his temper towards Emily seethes.

Tonight, he doesn't have a choice but to face it.

----

The next morning, there's a note for him.

Please give me the day to myself.

No author claims their identity, but the loopy "y" is a dead giveaway that Julie wrote it, let alone the content. His chest does that shitty thing where his ribs feel as though they are compressing against his lungs and breathing is hard.

He feels like that all day, but he still waits.

But he barely makes it to sunset before he is poofing to the hallway and standing before her bedroom, fist raised to knock.

The sunset was pretty tonight. He hopes she enjoyed it. Her favorite time of day is dusk, when the air only feels fresher because it carries a chill with it, and the world begins to slow down.

Luke knocks.

Julie answers.

"I'm sorry," he rushes out before she has the chance to interrupt or he has the chance to say something stupid. "What I said- That was my stupid, stupid anger at my mom. It was her birthday yesterday." Julie looks surprised to hear this, of course she didn't know, but she doesn't say anything.

"I don't know what it's like to go through what you did. I wanted to support you yesterday, and I didn't, and I know that. My feelings got the better of me, and that isn't fair. And I am so, so sorry, Julie."

She remains still in front of him, but only for a beat. Eventually, she moves aside, wordlessly, and stares at him expectantly.

He takes exactly four steps inside, and plants his feet once again.

"It's not stupid," is the first thing she says. Her voice has a piercing edge to it that he rarely hears, and he hates it, but stays quiet. "How you feel about your mom. Don't call it stupid. I don't think it's stupid."

She takes a deep breath. A tear slips through her lashes.

"But what you said was really fucking insensitive. All I needed from you was to be there and hold me and let me ride this wave, not try to relate or compare our problems. How would you feel if I tried to guilt you for running away because 'at least you had a mom'?"

Shitty. He'd feel shitty, because they are two different situations and she has no right to speak on something that she hasn't gone through.

He answers with that, verbatim. And he throws in another apology for good measure, making it clear that he understands where he went wrong.

"Good. You understand. Thank you."

Her eyebrows twist together. It's a tell that she wants to say something too.

"If you ever need to talk about your mom, you know I'm here for it. I didn't know her birthday was yesterday."

Understanding, he nods. He didn't tell her it was Emily's birthday, because the day was supposed to be about Rose, and then it wasn't.

"Thank you."

The two of them fall silent.

Luke doesn't want to leave, but feels like he should; Julie hasn't asked him to leave, but he doubts she wants him to stay.

They're just two kids with gaps in their hearts, left by the absence of their mothers.

Sometimes - all the time - Luke feels Julie filling that gap. Not as a mom, of course, but as another person; someone to love him and support him and make him happy.

Emily might not ever go away in his head. But Julie Molina, over anyone, will always have a place in his heart, in his head, and in his soul.

She's just magic like that.

So magic that she finds it in herself to step forward, and he is roped in by her gravitational pull, and they're falling into each other's arms.

Luke imagines that if he ever went to a heaven instead of coming back to the modern day, that this, Julie's arms around him, is the feeling that would greet him at that end.

Everything feels better here.

----

tags: @bluefirewrites @lydias--stiles @sylphrenas @wlwcarries @ruzek-halstead @willexx @sirena-de-lunas @babydagger28 @phantomsandsunsets

[thelittlepoetprincess]

ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴏᴜꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ [Dabi x Reader]

Author's Note: I personally am not a fan of Lizard king here but go off. This took a long ass time to write not to mention proofread and edit. No idea if I'm making another part to this. Also, a lot of this is therapy wagon material. If you want to be tagged in these just say so.

Warnings: Fluff for a bit, Implied depression, mild spoilers, light mental manipulation, degrading, power play, oral sex(F receiving), hate sex, death mentions, arson, and physical abuse.

Summary: You chose your job over Dabi, and then severely regret it once he survives.

The numbness of grief was overwhelming, even more so when the one you were grieving was your lover. You settled onto the sofa, watching the news drone on about the recent death of Villian Dabi, confirmed now to be Touya Todoroki. You'd turn off the TV and lie on your back, not needing the extraneous details of his death. After all, you killed him.

The memory of it haunted you like ghosts dancing in your memories: the heated warmth of his palms that threatened to burn you but never did, the way he always wore worn down leather or rough worn down jackets, everything about him attracted you and only made his death hit you harder.

You were a lesser-known hero with a restoration quirk, able to numb large areas and heal minor wounds while still using it in large quantities. You'd met Dabi while out on a mission to recover a kidnapped hero, and you couldn't keep your hands off his wounds. Not like he'd let you after he felt your gentle touch ease his pain for once.

Six months, it only took six months for the bad boy to entangle himself into your life. He snuck into your old apartment all the time, made you comfortable, and he'd break down in front of you. He was a surprisingly affectionate lover, despite his many flaws. You'd feel something in your throw blanket, shaking it loose to find the leather jacket he always wore.

The navy blue leather faded slightly and burnt in specific areas where he couldn't control his flames.

You felt the fresh hot tears welling up behind your eyes as you clutched the jacket to your chest. It was much larger than you since Dabi was slightly taller, so your face nuzzled into where his neck would be. It still smelled of cigarettes and burnt flesh, the scent you grew to love so much.

You took a deep inhale, the tears starting to flow as you replayed your shared memories, unable to help the grief overwhelming you. Suddenly, you had no energy nor will to do anything except sleep, even moving was deemed too much to handle. The scent of your boyfriend lulled you to sleep, though it'd be one of the last times it'd do so.

Dabi wrapped his hands around your waist before hoisting you high in the air while the wind blew at your hair in the flowy white lace dress you wore. The undetailed field of wildflowers went on far beyond your sight as he twirled you around before falling on his back with you. You'd both be laughing in the hazy daze of love before sharing a loving kiss as the gentle grass blades tickled your skin.

You felt a leathery hand touch the skin of your cheek, the thick smell of cigarette smoke tickling your nose and making you sneeze before you gently smacked away the hand. You hear a deep, raspy chuckle before the person mysteriously pulls the coat on you like a blanket.

"Little hero, do you love me?" You'd mumble a yes subconsciously, something saddeningly familiar about whoever it was looming over your sleeping form. "Ha, cute. . ." You heard something about leaving and the door shut with a click, leaving you to sleep once again.

Your peaceful sleep is dreadfully short as your friends came in, yanking you from the grasp of sleep with their tumultuous noise.

You quickly hid the jacket, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as they opened your curtains and turned on the TV. It droned on about the agency you worked at and fire. However, you didn't have the energy nor will to care since you planned on quitting anyway.

They droned on about how you'd slept for two days straight and needed to get out, and you agreed. Maybe it would take your mind off of Dabi and the arsenic incident, also the five missed calls from your agency from two days ago. You'd shower and change, pulling your hair back out of your face for the first time for days.

The curls were dry against your fingers so you oiled your hands and massaged them into the brown mass you called hair, plucking it out to its full shape. You pulled on the black and blue dress, noticing how the dress hugged your hips a bit then flowed out to your mid-thigh. Perhaps you've gained a bit of weight these past 2 months.

Tired bags were under your eyes from sleeping for so long. After some light makeup, you left with them to the carnival. 

Lights illuminated the dark navy blue sky as you got dragged about, the fun temporarily blinding you from the sadness overwhelming you. They led you into the Maze of Mirrors, their bodies contorting and bending around you confusedly while you searched for them until they disappeared. Their goofy laughter faded into an eerie silence with only your echoing footsteps left to fill the silence. You froze as you smelled a familiar scent: burnt flesh and cigarette smoke.

His chuckles were all around you as you saw the flashes of black and navy blue in the mirrors before he was suddenly standing in front of you.

He was pissed, you knew that snarky glare anywhere. It made you nervous as he closed the distance between the two of you without speaking a word until he backed you against the cold glass. He gently pressed himself against you, giving you no real way to escape him with his arms on both sides of your head. "Dabi-" "Shh, I don't wanna hear it. At least not here, too many people. They're already looking for me since I disappeared. We aren't safe, come on." He didn't ask as he hoisted you over his shoulders to carry you out the back exit.

He seemed gentle while he carried you, he wasn't rough at all. The heat you felt radiating from his palms as he held said otherwise as you worriedly fretted about him burning a hole in your clothes. Though you felt some relief knowing he wasn't dead: he was your love after all. You knew what was coming to you for feeding him arsenic wasn't going to be a gentle, loving reunion of star-crossed lovers. Dabi wasn't that kind of guy.

He made it back to your new apartment after knocking out the security guard at the gate and threw you onto the bed. He'd seemed to get angrier as he got closer to your apartment. Your hair messily fell around your face to make a curly halo around it. He was on top of you before you could attempt to sit up, his warm breath huffing down the side of your neck.

"Now what the fuck were you thinking, huh? An arsenic cupcake? You really wanna get rid of me that badly you snake." He seethed, and you felt the familiar feeling of your wrists being burnt by his flames. You cry out in pain, squirming under his grip with tears in your eyes.

"Oh you're crying, now you're crying. How do you think I felt getting sick and finding out my girlfriend poisoned me?" He'd growl out, as you stopped squirming and sucked it up. He was right, you deserved this. You tried to kill him, and all he'd done was be beside you and attempt to be somewhat of a lover to you. You looked up to him, his blue eyes lacking any gentleness or affection. It was hate, resentment, and importantly: lust.

That's when it hit you that you were a stress reliever for him. Everything that he kept pent up he always let it out on you, and for about a month now he hasn't had it. You'd reach out, gently tracing your fingers along his scars using your quirk to calm him and watch his eyes soften as he quite literally melted under your touch. He'd land on top of you, caging you underneath him with his arms, he exhaled a strained snarl before snatching your hands from his skin.

You couldn't help wincing once you felt the familiar burning sensation of Dabi's quirk in action yet again as the blue flames licked against your skin, at least it wasn't a third-degree this time.

"It was you, wasn't it? My agency, they called then it went up in flames." He didn't answer but you knew the answer by the way he buried into the side of your neck. He always did that when you accused him and he was guilty. You'd chuckle to yourself but yelp when you felt his teeth against the soft skin of your neck, suckling your skin.

You'd squirm as a familiar heat settled itself in the pit of your stomach. He huffed as he finally moved away from the purple bruise he left on your skin. His lips trailed down until he reached your exposed collarbone, chuckling before tracing his hands against your caramel skin sending chills down your spine. He'd kiss, lovingly at that, along the caramel curve of your breasts.

He'd yank you to the edge of the bed, moving between your legs with a focused look in his glimmering eyes. "Dabi, are you mad at me?" He'd chuckle before you'd feel a burn against your thighs while sinking his teeth into the soft plushness of your inner thigh. "Oh darling, I'm fucking furious." The sweet name rolled off his tongue, making you quiver when paired with his teasing licks over your soaked panties.

He paid no attention to your face, his main focus being on the slickness accumulating from your dripping hole. His hands traced up over the stretch marks gently decorating your skin so beautifully before burning off the panties, his tongue grazing the soaked slit before sliding his tongue up to your neglected clit. His mouth was warm and wet against your sensitive bud, making it grow under his expert tongue his suckling sent waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body, and core. The entire room felt hot, and it wasn't helping wherever his hands traced left heated burn trails. You'd run your fingers into hair, yanking it to where his tongue pressed against your hole. "Dabi, please I want it. . ."

"Shut it, I'm still pissed at you." He'd yank your arms away again, pressing his tongue into your hole. Your flavor flooded his tongue, making him lick and devour you hungrily. Your eyes rolled back, your hips subconsciously bucking against his tongue as it buried into your wet hole. Ecstasy, that's all you could describe the feeling at this moment. The waves of heat that swallowed you and threatened to keep you at this moment while your climax built up in that tight ball. You panted like a bitch in heat, your legs trembling as your fingers intertwined in his black hair. "Dabi, I'm. . . .I'm-!"

"Shut up, loud-ass slut. Come if you wanna come so bad!" 

He'd say before continuing to devour you, his tongue digging into your spot just enough to send you tottering over the edge in waves of heat. You'd throw your head back, sending your curls flying wildly behind you as you rode out your orgasm and Dabi's face. Your legs closed around his head like a vice, keeping his tongue in your hole while he drank you greedily. He moaned into your nether lips, finally able to pull away with an exasperated breath.

His lips and chin were a mess of your nectar and saliva, but a smirk was on his face now. He'd notice his jacket hidden poorly, but laugh as he moved to take it and pull it on. He'd once again hoist you over his shoulder, humming as he slid his fingers along the walls setting them ablaze. "Dabi-?! What are you doing?! My apartment!" "I let you have too much freedom last time, but don't worry. I'll make it so that I'm the only one you can lean on. Then you'll never leave again." 

He'd laugh as he carried you away, ignoring your cries and pleas while the building went up in flames along with everything you'd known up until now. His sick, twisted laughter filled your ears before you felt a hard force against your head, the inky blackness flooding your senses and knocking you out.

[wizkiddx]

...surprise

um okay so here I am trying angst again. this is kind of intended to be open ended bcos might have a part two at some point. im also lazy and has a few time jumps. also if someone could pls explain if you just get pics for the top of these off internet or credit on like gifs or something that’d be appreciated.

Summary: Tom comes home and everything is most definitely not the way he left, nor is it healthy

Warnings: please read with caution esp relationship with food / weightloss, but just generally a person in a bad bad head space, lots of self blame - then next parts will carry different warnings too

************************

Tom had been away for months. Months and months away from his girlfriend, separated entirely by his filming locations in Europe and America; while you were busy slowly and steadily climbing the ranks of your law firm. Being an intense period for the pair, you hadn’t managed to see each other in 2 and a half months.  Of course, both go you were used to this - 3 years deep into a relationship between an actor and a wanna-be lawyer- this was the name of the game.

But honestly? You both just kept falling deeper and deeper, making the separation harder to deal with - rather than getting used to it as one might hope.

That's why Tom felt such an incredibly overwhelming wave of relief as he dumped his bags just outside his front door. Even though he was exhausted from the travelling, just the mere act of finally phishing out his housekeys brought a massive grin to his face - caused particularly by the sight of his tacky little keyring from a Moroccan market that you’d bought him. That had been your first holiday. There’s that old saying that before you move in with someone go on holiday first - Tom understood it to mean you supposedly see all the bad and ugly stuff people can hide from each other, a prewiring before committing to living in the same space. However that holiday all he’d learned was incredible you are to him. To his dying day, Tom will never forget the moment he looked over to his left when the two of you were on this night time stargaze in the depth of the Moroccan desert. Y/n had never seen stars like it, the skies so incredibly clear and lit up with an array of magical blues and purples and whites on its sark background. The sight, for no unexplainable reason, had you completely opening up to Tom about things she’d never told a single soul. And in that moment he’d had this sort of realisation. Not about how much he loved her - because that is just the cliche thing everyone says… and also just wasn’t true.

In that moment he’d rather realised the potential. The sort of ‘I’m not there yet but I know you could become the centre of my universe’. The sort of ‘I’m not ready to say this yet, but I want to spend my life with you’. The sort of ‘at some point in my life I’m not sure my heart will be able to beat without yours’.

He still hadn’t quite got to explicitly saying all that yet, by asking you for the ultimate commitment. But he planned to now he was coming back to you.

Even with the chill of the early evening winter air, Tom was almost ecstatic as he unlocked the door and let himself in. He hadn’t told you that he was coming home, you thought he had another two weeks on the job, but Tom was a bit of an old romantic - he loved seeing your eyes fill with wonder as he surprised you in whatever way. Sometimes it was as simple as a note on the fridge, or a small bouquet from behind his back or as fancy as a surprise holiday.

However, this time, though it was only 6 in the evening, all the lights of their house were off making Tom raise an eyebrow as he quietly slipped off his shoes - not wanting to scare Y/n just in case.

Tom had sworn when he’d been on the phone with you the previous day, you didn’t have any plans tonight but perhaps maybe a spontaneous pub trip and been offered with work colleagues. The house felt a little cold as he padded through it, poking his head into every room just to check Y/n wasn’t there. His last port of call was the bedroom.

By this point, Tom was pretty resigned on the fact you were out and he’d maybe cook a meal for when you got back or hide about the house or something. But instead, when he poked his head around this door, he sighed in delight at the sight of a still mound under the plush white sheets. For a brief moment, Tom paused, before tiptoeing steadily round to her bedside. The light was still off but the hallway light illuminated the room enough so he could make out your soft features and the messy ball of hair that had been haphazardly thrown in a bun. Furthermore, he could also notice in the light the packet of painkillers and migraine tablets lying opened on the bedside - which made him freeze. Y/n didn’t get migraines often at all, but when she did Tom knew just how bad they could be. That explained the fact you were spark out at six o’clock, making Tom give a sympathetic smile. He crept back out the room with a little spring in his step, deciding that since he had had a long day travelling he'd grab a snack and join you. Unfortunately though, when he enthusiastically yanked the fridge open the sight was a rather depressing one. He didn’t really know what he was craving but the fridge contents were of almost no use to anyone. The place was bloody baron, apart from a tub of butter and of course his special beers that Y/n would never dare touch. With a small huff though, Tom resigned himself to some bread and butter, before getting ready for bed.

It was probably an hour later when Tom was carefully crawling under the duvet to settle in beside Y/n after the disappointing snack and maybe a solitary ‘welcome home beer’ - it would be rude not to. God was he excited to just have his girlfriend in his arms again though. So, Tom naturally reached over and powerfully yet gently pulled you back towards him - making your back flush with his as you mumbled something incoherent. Chuckling slightly at your apparent annoyance of being disturbed, Tom pressed a kiss to her temple before settling down momentarily.

But something wasn’t quite right, making Tom shuffle about a bit - ever adjusting huis grasp on your waist as he attempted to get comfy. With the migraine medications forcing you into a deep deep sleep you barely stirred and that just made the unease increase for Tom. Because you didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel right. Ever so slowly Tom started to peel back the duvet from your body from his now sitting upright position. Typically, Y/n was wearing one of his hoodies, however more concerningly it seemed to pool and collect around your frame more than normal.

Now, Y/n was never the most petite person in the world - by no means overweight, instead of beautiful curves and muscle. To Tom now though, it was as if someone had literally shrunk you - like a picture on a word document you needed to make narrower to fit the margins. Even in the dim light of the bedroom he know realised you looked pale. Honestly, Tom didn’t know how long he just sat there staring at you, until you sighed a little and pulled the duvet back up to just under your chin.

He didn’t know what to think or do. All he knew was you didn’t look well and that you hadn’t said a thing to him. Feeling so very uncomfortable within himself, Tom climbed out the bed and simultaneously grabbed his phone. He knew he had to call someone, to check that you hadn’t been ill - but then who to call? Someone that wouldn’t judge or instantly worry- your mum was completely off the cards. Also, he hadn’t even given you the chance to explain yet, so really he knew there was only a couple of options who were close enough to him too.

“Hey what’s up?” “Um nothing much, back in the UK though so-“ “Oh shit really! Kept that one quite bro” “Yeh well came back to surprise Y/n” “Oh you're soooo whipped” “Fuck off Haz, have you um… have you seen her recently anyway?” “You're asking me if I’ve seen your girl while you’ve been away?” “I’m being serious. You’re pretty much brother and sister and I’m -I’m a bit worried.” “What? You know she wouldn’t cheat especially with me” Haz’s tone turned less serious, using a goofy accent “ I know too much.” Haz still attempted to lighten the mood, this conversation very unexpected and making him grow more and more concerned himself. “Haz quit it. I’m worried she’s been ill. I’ve come in and she’s asleep with a migraine but there’s no food in the fridge and she’s skinny as hell.” “Fuck er sorry I didn’t realise. But um no she’s been cancelling on us for the past like two weeks cos like…I don’t know said she was just snowed under at the firm so” “But before then?” “No yeh she was fine. Went to the pub a couple times and she always drove so didn’t drink but nothing weird - think she wanted to keep a clear head. What are you thinking?” “I don’t know to be honest mate. She seemed fine on the phone but I swear to god she looks half the size  of what she was when I left.” “Just talk to her in the morning? She probably is just stressed if work has been mad busy.” Tom hummed in agreement, half trying to convince himself too. “Yeh yeh, sorry for bothering you.” “Oh shut up mate - I’ll see you both at your parents for the roast tomorrow? Sams got some new recipe I think, he’s been wittering on about it for days.” “Yeh we’ll be there, see you then mate.” 

After signing off to Haz, Tom placed his phone on the little table on the upstairs hallway and sighed. He knew he was being over-protective but he couldn’t help it. Y/n was always the one to care for him, in fact to care for everybody int he room and then some.

He’d get to the bottom of whatever this was tomorrow, and so the rest of the evening Tom spent rather unhappily get ready before bed yet again before climbing back in next to you.

///////////////////////////

Tom woke before you, a combination of jet lag and the worry in the pit of his stomach meaning he stirred awake first. Instinctively he pulled you closer and nuzzled his nose into the side of your neck as he slowly began to wake up properly - shrugging off the grogginess. Tom was still really excited for you to realise he was back, predicting you  to excitedly hug him ever so tight and then spend the morning between the sheets. He knew you found the distance tough, especially when all your closest friends were coupled off, it meant you just didn’t have ‘your person’. It was almost as if you were single again and instead of pining over an ex, hopelessly and completely in love with someone across the globe. But that just made your time together even more invaluable and precious.

So even with his slight unease at your slimmer silhouette, Tom didn't have any control over the loopy grin that came to his face as you started to stir and mumble something incoherent, all the while (and subconsciously) inching closer towards him. By the slight fluttering under your eyelid, Tom knew you were waking up and so took the moment to tuck your frizzy bed hair behind your ear. Sighing contently Y/n’s eyes fluttered completely open and Tom met your gaze with the most gently of smiles.

However, he then watched moment by moment as your expression morphed for one of peacefulness and content, through confusion, and ending at pure terror. He had barely thought of asking you why, before you yelped, throwing yourself up into a sitting position and backing as far away on the bed as you could from Tom. “TOM... I-you can’t be here! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!” “Y/n hey what’s wrong-“ “GET OUT! G-GET THE FUCK OUT! YOU CAN’T BE HERE” you  yanked the bedsheets to completely cover your huddled up body, as if trying to protect yourself. At this point, tears were streaming down your face and what truly terrified Tom was the expression of horror in your eyes. He threw his hands in the air and unsteadily stumbled to his feet. “O-okay I’m-“ “GET OUT!!! YOU CAN'T SEE ME GET OUT!” Completely bemused and shocked, Tom just nodded jerkily -already halfway out the door and accidentally slamming it in haste.

He had absolutely zero clue what that was about. But what he knew for a fact? He’d never ever seen you like that… you looked so completely terrified… of him? Tom couldn’t for the life of him work out what the hell was going on, as he paced from the shut door to the hallway wall and back again, running his hand through his hair throughout. He could hear you sobbing and whisper yelling - presumably at yourself. It felt as though his heart was being torn out, seeing you that upset and it appearing as his fault? He was acting on pure instinct and adrenalin because your pain hurt him too. He had no control of the physiological response in his body, making his hands shake and breathing increase in speed as it inversely got shallower too.

And so he took a short inhalation, biting his bottom lip as he knocked on the door. “Y/n?….” He got no response after waiting a couple of seconds so tried again - because he could hear you trying to stifle your sobs. After another two failed attempts he opted for a different approach. “Y/n… I’m worried about you… look, I know your upset right now but I need you to let me know your okay… or I’ll have to come in and…and I don’t want to spook you” “Don’t come in.” It was a sharp reply, with a voice that was cracked and clearly trying to keep It together. “Okay… I-I’m sorry if my surprise of coming home was a dumb idea…I-I’ve missed you.” Tom tried speaking softly, as he knelt down and sat with this back against the wall while nervously fiddling with his watch strap that he’d forgot to take off last night. Again he waited for a response but got nothing, again having to warn you he needed to know you were okay. He heard movements from the other side of the door, making him turn his head to the left, pressing his ear on the cool gloss paint. “I-I’m sorry” You barely were whispering, but Tom could sense you were now sitting in a position mirroring his “You don’t meed to apologise love” Returning her tone, Tom sighed at the end - trying to get his brain to process what was going on.

Y/n wasn’t one to overreact and Tom could count on one hand the number of serious fights they’d had in the three year romance. And even then, he was the one to raise his voice - when she argued it was more reasoned, slow and controlled. Actually it was one of the things that in those moments infuriated him even more - you were just so level headed and sensible. Scratch that, sensible purely in this context - everywhere else you were just as loopy as him. So this situation felt so very alien. He didn’t know how to help you and he bloody hated feeling useless.

After a few moments, you replied to apologise once again, for shouting specifically,  and Tom nodded - not that you could see. But that was one of the things Y/n had taught him, sometimes you just have accept things - no matter the context. Accept he wasn’t actually a superhero and couldn’t do everything, accept that sometimes he could be a dick and out of line or accept an apology.

“Can you.. can you try and tell me why your upset? I want to help.” He was trying to be gentle, non-confrontational. But he knew something was so wrong. He needed to know so he could try and help out. “I…”Y/n began, but quickly trailed off, as if trying to formulate the words properly. “I’ve just been ill and” again another pause “and I haven’t been looking after myself very well. I just planned to be umm- to be better when you got back.”

It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t really the truth either, at least not the whole truth. But it wasn’t a lie.

“I’m not sure I understand why your so worried about what I think though?” Tom inquired, as he started to fiddle with the door handle in his left hand - as if easing the idea of coming into his girlfriend without scaring you. In reply, you sighed again trying to put the words together without explicitly spelling it out to him. “I don’t- I thought you’d just be disappointed or-or think I’m reliant on you. I’m not and I can handle myself I just…. I don’t know.” “I love you, you idiot.”Tom chuckled at that, while standing up. “Can I come in now please? I promise I’m not disappointed just want to help you feel better.”

The door opened and no sooner could Tom take a step forward than Y/n ran into his chest, wrapping herself tightly around him in apology. He knew that he didn’t have the full story but really didn’t want to push her, more preferring to just love her. So that’s what they spent the rest of the morning doing, in their pyjamas and watching TV. Quite obviously, she wasn’t really making a lot of conversation, Tom filled some gaps with talking about filming - to which she’d hum in agreement or chuckle along. But for the most part Y/n was concentrating on something else.

The all-consuming guilt. That was what was eating away at her.

part 2?