#and this is why i know i’ve gotten a lot better in my Brain these last few

[peapod20001]

Gbavag not knowing enough about/ how to draw your oc is such a curse...

Like you draw them, but it’s not THEM y’know? And the you’re stuck in a loop of “I’m not drawing them because I don’t know how to” and “I won’t know how to draw them unless I practice”

[spark1edog]

my mom came in to talk about some travel stuff and she was like DO NOT. take marijuana on the plane. and my partner eas like yeah i was gonna say- and i was just like geez i literally know and wasn’t fucking planning on it chill 😭

[love-that-we-were-in]

lighting the fuse might result in a bang

pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: Silena thinks you need to start blowing off some steam. You think you just need a fresh victory and Luke Castellan is the perfect opponent. word count: 5.3k warnings: smoking, drinking, usual college party stuff.

author's note: brought to you by my personal deep dark history with boys in hats. also i haven't gotten drunk in like 4/5 years so i don't remember what it's like so this was interesting. also i don't know anything about frats OR smoking. have the most fun <3

When Silena mentions a party you could go to, you jump at the offer, brain fuzzing at the edges where you’ve been locked in on flashcards all afternoon. It’s something you’ve started to navigate better this year, remembering to have fun after a year of non-stop focus. Silena makes it easier - a social butterfly with no qualms about dragging you out of the library when she thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard - and there’s no harm in listening to her without protest sometimes. 

“Do you even know who’s throwing this one?” You ask as she’s leading you through campus, rubbing at your arms to fight the fall chill. “I do not want a repeat of March.” 

“Have some faith in me. I’ve started vetting my sources.” 

Both of you shiver, the memory of a night spent outside the Stolls’ cramped dorm still haunting you six months later. You’re not overly familiar with this side of campus, turning away from the usual halls and towards the sorority housing, but Silena walks the path with ease, arm looped through yours.

The walk seems to have cleared your head, the music as you approach shaking off the last of the static. You’ve been here before, borrowing notes from a teammate, but it’s different like this, all pumping bass and cheers from the kitchen. Clarisse waves at you from across the room, beer in hand, and you mutter to Silena that you’re going to grab a drink. She nods, making a beeline for Drew Tanaka. You assume that’s who the invitation came from originally.

There’s a different energy to the kitchen, not quieter by any means but less noisy. Less concentrated, maybe, with twenty different conversations happening at once and nothing you have to pay attention to. Most people you don’t recognise, a group from your first year stats class huddled together near the sink, and the Stolls off to the side pointing at every new person they see. 

Mixing your drink is an easy fix, the kitchen island covered in more choices than you’ve seen in a while, and you savor the first few sips. Between class and swimming, you’ve barely drank since the semester began and the burn of vodka isn’t as numbed as you wish it was. Still, a drink is a drink so you refill it before returning to the thick of the party. 

Clarisse takes it upon herself to drag you away from the conversation you end up trapped in with Lee Fletcher, quite literally taking hold of your elbow. You mutter an apology, however disingenuous, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation as he smiles grimly. 

“I have no idea how you talk to that lot,” she says when you’re far enough away. “They’re all boring.” 

“Lee’s great. He always lends me notes from the lectures I miss.”

She laughs, pushing you into another room. “He’s trying to swindle a date out of you and you’re using him for lecture notes.” 

You shrug. There’s nothing wrong with Lee, except that Clarisse is a little right when she says most of your classmates are boring. It’s probably not intentional, and they definitely don’t realize it, but there’s this way they carry themselves around campus - half-nervous and half-haughty. It’s not a great combination and it’s why you gravitate towards the people Silena meets. 

“We were wondering when we were going to see you next,” Chris says as he throws an arm over Clarisse’s shoulder. You still don’t quite know the story there, how Chris Rodriguez managed to sweet talk your stoic teammate. One day, you’ll find out - a drunken vow you made with Silena on your dorm room floor when Clarisse mentioned a boyfriend - but you’re content to let them enjoy their romance in peace for now. “Almost thought you’d succumbed to the dark side.”

“You’re not getting rid of me yet.”

“And thank god,” he knocks his cup against yours before gesturing to the far corner of the room. “Because we need someone to kick Castellan’s ass at beer pong.” 

“Whose?”

Turns out, Luke Castellan is the newest brother to ksig. There’s not much to know about Chris’ fraternity in your eyes, just the basics of all frats, and you know from last year that there’s always bound to be a hotshot that needs someone to pump the brakes on their ego. Usually, they’re on the younger side, with more money than sense and they don’t expect anything from your approach. Luke Castellan isn’t quite that, but he’s not far from it either.

While Chris talks to the boy who was about to play, you take the opportunity to size up your opponent. It comes naturally, a part of constantly competing, and it comes in handy in moments like this, when the element of surprise is a key factor to the situation going ahead. 

Fitted jeans, branded polo and a stupid snapback cap worn backwards to show how cool he is. Nothing you haven’t seen before, really, except there’s this focused glint in his eyes with each plastic ball he throws like he has to prove his worth here. It’s a simple practice, unnecessary for a silly party game, but there’s this serious set to strong shoulders that you’re curious about.

The same way you want to know about Clarisse’s relationship, you want to know what makes Luke Castellan, whoever he is, tick. 

“Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning, Rodriguez?” 

“I’m not playing you, Luke,” Chris says and you watch closely as the other boy tilts his head slightly to the left. “I just had to go and get the current undefeated champion on campus.”

There’s this moment that happens every time you play - those awkward seconds where everyone looks completely past you to anyone else, anyone more noticeable. You count on it, occasionally, so it takes you a moment to process the way Luke’s gaze slides to you, drinks you in before he nods towards the other end of the table. 

Chris mutters a quiet “you got this,” as you brush past him, handing him your drink. You’re not delusional enough to think you can get away with mixing your drinks this early in the game. 

It takes two of Luke’s shots for you to land your first, his last hour of playing an advantage you accounted for. He’s not getting sloppy, not in the slightest, but he’s at the point where he’s a little worse for wear - a tired arm and hazy mind - and you take the chance you have at a false sense of security, taking your losses on the chin before playing the game to win. 

Within seven shots between you, you can see Luke start to get restless. How he reevaluates the table in front of him, his three empty cups to your four. Part of you really wants to knock that hat off his head, as if it’ll give you more of an insight into his mind. Instead, you wait for what you know is coming, a slight miscalculation that has the plastic ball rolling off the table to land at someone’s feet. 

Chris hands you a fresh one and you take in the way Luke swallows, jaw clenching as you line up your next shot. Whether he knows it or not, you’ve just been handed your win.

Clarisse cheers, handing you one of the cups from in front of you as everyone yells. You both chug what’s left of them, the bitter taste of cheap beer drowned out by victory, and as soon as that’s done, she throws herself back into Chris’ arms. Laughing, you turn around to find another drink, only to be met by Luke standing beside you.

“Are you about to be a sore loser?” 

He chuckles and it’s different like this. His eyes are brown, which you didn’t know five minutes ago, and his hair is dark from the little wisps of it you can see peeking out underneath his hat. You consider telling him that the hat makes him look lame, but then he’s leaning down to whisper anyway. “I expect a rematch.” 

It’s quiet and heavy and you wonder if anyone can tell that your blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s nothing, really, and it takes more effort than you want to respond. 

“Then expect to lose.”

The only saving grace to the exchange is that Luke looks a whole lot more affected by it, a blush crawling up his neck as you take the drink nearest to you and leave to find your roommate once more. 

*

Losing never used to get to you. Not like this, at least, where everything sort of feels like a precipice and you’re waiting for the next loss to fall on your shoulders alone. It was meant to be an easy game, a warm-up, for when the season started in earnest and you couldn’t afford to be incohesive. There’s always a learning curve, new starters and new competition, but in no world should it have caused this. 

Silena tells you to let it go, throwing yet another outfit on her bed as she gets ready. When you saw her at lunch, Clarisse told you to just push harder during practice. Sometimes you’re not even sure how you can be friends with both of them, how they can be friends with each other either. Unfortunately, it becomes very clear when Clarisse knocks on the door that night. 

“Why aren’t you ready?” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

She tuts at you, digging through the pile of clothing on Silena’s bed before throwing a dress at you. “Get dressed.” 

“You can’t make me,” you protest, the black fabric scrunching in your fist. You’ve borrowed it before, for a party last year you don’t remember very well, and you don’t even want to consider why it’s the one Clarisse selected. You turn to your roommate, looking for backup, only to find her with a pair of your shoes in her hands. “Are you seriously going to make me?” 

In unison, they raise a singular eyebrow each and it’s unsettling enough that you let go of all will to fight them. Today may as well just be full of losses that you can mourn tomorrow.

It’s only when you arrive at the party that you realize you have no idea who’s throwing it. Or who’s going to be there. Distantly, you really hope it’s a stranger Silena met on her way around campus - full of people you’ve ever met and will never see again. You could find someone nice enough to blow off some steam with before going on your merry way. 

When Clarisse yells at her boyfriend, you let out a huff as both he and Luke Castellan turn around. 

Since your first meeting, you’ve learned a few more things about Luke. He’s from Connecticut. He was responsible for half of Drew’s sorority coming down with the flu during freshers week. He’s in pre-med. He’s the reason Professor Chase introduced a ban on energy drinks in his lectures (one hundred students simultaneously opening a can of Redbull each was, apparently, mildly disconcerting). Most importantly, he’s always wearing that stupid cap. 

You try to equate the things you know with the Luke standing in front of you. Some of it makes perfect sense - Professor Chase and Connecticut - and some of it unsettles you, but it’s all true. Freshers and pre-med and track meets. Focusing on the distracted way he taps on his beer bottle instead of Clarisse greeting Chris, you kind of want to find out a whole lot more. 

“Fancy a rematch?” 

It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night, twisting the cap off a fresh beer before handing it to you. Then doing the same with his own. You pretend not to notice the movement of it, the few short seconds where you can get away with staring at the shine of silver rings in low light. Taking a sip, you crinkle your nose. 

“I’m not really in the mood,” you mutter and, at the very least, the beer is cold and you chug half of it before you even notice you’ve done it. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother?” 

There’s seconds before you notice it, how his eyes shift from slightly curious to intense. They don’t change much but standing in front of him, you can tell when they go from relaxed to focused. How his back straightens and shoulders roll back just so. You should go and find something stronger to drink. Maybe even see if Lee Fletcher is nearby.

You stay put.

“It’s just a bit of friendly competition,” Luke shrugs, unknowing of how it echoes in your skull. How that’s all today was ever meant to be. Leave it to him to dig the knife in again just as the tightness in your chest was starting to ease. “But I guess you just can’t handle it.” 

“I’d kick your ass in a rematch. I’m doing you a favor.” 

It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, Luke’s eyes brightening as the words push past your lips. The beer you drank way too fast is forming words before you even know what they are.

“You can always choose something else for me to beat you in,” he says, like it’s an offer, something gracious that you should be grateful for. “I’m easy.” 

“How many beers have you had?” 

“Three, I think?” 

Silena would tell you it’s a stupid idea - you have a coaching session at 9am and you haven’t gotten drunk since the party where you met Luke - and she would be right. But you need a win tonight, something guaranteed, and there’s this itch that crawls under your skin the longer you stare at the boy in front of you. 

So you say it anyway. 

“I bet I could outdrink you.” 

“I’d like to see you try.”

He waits as you down two more beers in quick succession, nursing his own as you do. A clink of your bottles against one another, followed by the final sip you each take and it’s finally a competition. 

The night continues, you and Luke almost joined at the hip. It’s to keep track, you tell yourself, talking to a kid that might be in your organic chem class. If the kid looks at you weird for pouring two drinks, only to hand one to Luke in silence, that’s probably just the alcohol misreading things. Only once, when you’re deep in conversation with Lee does Luke pass you a beer, eyebrow raised when Lee gives him a glare. You think that might’ve been drink eight. 

By the time Chris finds you both again, you’ve thrown yourselves onto the couch on the outskirts of the room. Someone’s abandoned coat is thrown over your legs in a mediocre attempt to preserve some dignity in the dress you’re wearing and Luke’s hat has twisted to the side. You’re sure neither of you has drunk a sip in ten minutes.

“You guys doing okay?” 

“We’re drunk,” you say and you can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a shout. “I’m winning.” 

“You’re not winning,” Luke turns his head to glare and you blame the alcohol on the attention you pay to the slope of his nose. “Neither of us have finished these drinks.” 

“Are you going to?” 

He glances down at the cup in his hand, half empty. You can see it, the hesitation, before he places it on the floor by his feet, shaking his head. “Are you?” 

The nice thing to do would be to give up, call it a draw and appreciate that you managed to have fun despite the bad day that had preceded it. However, you like to win. So you grit your teeth before drinking the final three sips, tilting the empty cup towards him so he can see the proof. It takes you a second to remember you have to actually swallow in order to drink, but you do and Luke scrunches his nose. You kind of want to kiss it as a way to smooth the skin back out.

“That’s two wins to me, Castellan.” 

Chris shakes his head at you both. “I’m not calling either of you to make sure you’re alive in the morning.” 

*

It’s an almost unconscious action when you walk into Drew’s sorority house, how you wave Silena off in favor of scanning the crowd, searching for the one reason you agreed to show up in the first place. It takes a moment, pinks and blues and silvers all merging together in your eyeline until you spot him near the staircase, familiar black cap resting on his head. 

You’re already a little buzzed, the thrill of your final project this semester finally being handed in just hours ago, and it’s why you let yourself actually look at Luke for once. 

By this point, you’ve seen him in a polo and a flannel, always with jeans. Laidback. That’s what party Luke was. Tonight, though, it’s like he’s trying harder - baggy pants, like they’re resting a little too low on his hips, a white t-shirt, white trainers that you know are going to stain before the night ends and a slightly oversized leather jacket that doesn’t quite go with the hat you used to identify him. Maybe it’s something he does on purpose, ruining a good thing over comforting familiarity. Maybe you’ll ask him.

Luke looks up then, as if he has a sixth sense, and you kind of don’t know what to do with the slight wave he sends in your direction. You wouldn’t call him a friend, that’s for sure, but you nod in response before weaving through your classmates to the kitchen.

It takes two vodka cranberries for Silena to find you. And it takes four shots with people you’ve never met for Chris to ask if you’ve seen Luke anywhere. You tell him where you last saw him, maybe an hour ago, and he shakes his head like he’s already checked the entire house.

“Do you think you can let him know I’m heading out?” Chris asks, one arm looped around Clarisse’s waist, more for support than anything else. She was already unsteady when you arrived and you know by the flush in her cheeks that it’ll only take a couple more drinks for her to start throwing up. You nod at Chris, cradling your drink to your chest, and he mumbles a thanks while steering his girlfriend towards the door.

With both of them gone, it leaves you with little to do except go hunting for Luke. So that’s what you do, waving Lee off as he attempts to grab your attention from the couch. 

Focusing is a lot harder now, squinting over everyone’s heads in search of that damn hat. Nothing. You know he’s not in the kitchen, that’s definite, and you learn that he’s not in the garden either, Katie from your anatomy class staring at you bewildered as you explain your quest. 

There’s only one place left to check for Luke and you consider if it’ll be a worthwhile risk. It’s entirely possible that he’s already left, whoever he was locked in conversation with earlier with him maybe, and you’re searching an entire sorority house on the off-chance he’s still in the building. 

But you promised Chris. More than that, you refuse to let Luke Castellan beat you.

So you commit to the staircase, pushing past the line for the restroom upstairs. It’s quieter up here, not by much, but you can hear yourself think clearer. There’s three doors on your left, all closed, and you drain the remnants of your drink so it warms your blood and erases the small part of your brain still protesting. 

There’s two yells when you knock on the first door, both hurried and pitching higher as the words fade so you move on quickly. No one answers to the second door, so you crack it open enough to see inside. It’s dark and neat and completely untouched by whatever is happening below, so you let it click shut again. 

Luke is in the third room, you learn, pressing it open when there’s no response to your knock. The room itself is still orderly, but you find the boy you’ve been searching for sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, hat turned to the side and the sleeves of his jacket bunching carelessly where they’ve been pushed higher on his forearms. 

“Chris wanted me to tell you he took Clarisse home,” you blurt when it feels like you need to say something. “He couldn’t find you so…”

Luke waits. When it becomes clear that’s all you’re here for, he says, “Well, thanks for letting me know.” 

You’ve done your job. You can go back and enjoy the party downstairs, maybe make use of the empty room next door instead of remaining awkwardly in the doorway. 

You think about how Chris mentioned that Luke can recite pi to seventeen places while drunk. How you’re still beating him by two points. How there’s an ashtray on the floor beside Luke’s knee and it’s sort of considerate of him to use one when no one else would.

“Mind if I join you?” 

Being in an empty bedroom with a guy at a party isn’t unusual. You’ve had your fair share of them, rushed and quiet and mostly on a bed. Sitting on the floor with Luke is different, you find, a gravity to it than you can’t quite wrap your head around after so many drinks. It’s slow and languid and you don’t really say much of anything as your knee bumps against his thigh in an effort to get comfortable in the space.

No one told you Luke smokes. 

You tell him as much.

“It’s a bad habit,” he shakes his head, twisting a cigarette between his fingers and you both act like you’re not paying rapt attention to it. “I try to avoid making it one.” 

“I used to. Back in high school. Gave it up when I got accepted here.” 

He turns to face you then, head tilted so the visor of his slanted hat brushes his shoulder. “I would never have guessed you were a smoker.” 

It’s not said with judgment, just as an observation from the limited interactions you’ve had since the semester began. The focus in Luke’s gaze crawls up your spine and mingles with the alcohol you’ve yet to flush from your system. 

“You ever blown a smoke ring?” 

If you’re not challenging him, you don’t quite know what to make of Luke. It’s the thing you know most about him, the way his face shifts from victory into loss. The way it matches yours, stretches from his eyes to his jaw and into clenched hands. If you’re not challenging him, you can’t read him - you want to be able to read him in the low light of right now. 

“I bet I’m better at it than you,” you say after he answers. A short laugh escapes him, almost a huff, and it raises the skin on your arms when it meets the top of your ear. “Wanna see?” 

“I’ve only got one.” He waves the cigarette he’s been holding in front of your eyes. 

“We can share.” 

It’s a bad, terrible, absolutely stupid idea. 

“You’re on, Castellan.” 

As he lights the end of it, you wonder if he knows what the brief flame does for his cheekbones, for his jawline. Paints them in small, defined shadows that you might still see if you close your eyes. You almost want to mention it to him. You settle for watching his lips settle around it, the sinking of his cheeks on the inhale and the noise as he exhales. There’s an almost complete ring of smoke in the air.

Luke hands you the cigarette and you repeat his motions, a little quicker. A little smoother. The ring that leaves your lips is full, but less circular. 

Both of you pretend not to notice the other one staring.

You agree to best of three. You agree and you win by the tiniest margin and you hand Luke the little that remains as a consolation prize. He indulges in the last few drags and you watch him do it, looking nothing like the pre-med student you know he is. You think he could be dangerous like this, based on the way your stomach twists as he puts the cigarette out, how his head tilts back and the final wisps of smoke escape his mouth.

You aren’t as drunk anymore. 

You really wish you were.

It takes Luke a second to notice that you’ve moved at all, eyes still closed but he does, and the run of his gaze across your face is enough for you to seize the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream, pushing forward so you’re actually face to face with him, knees digging into the rough carpet beneath you. 

“Can I help you?” It’s low and a little ragged and this is the first time you’ve really noticed the thin, pale scar that stretches down the skin of his right cheek. It’s actually a little insane how pretty he is up close. 

“I think I want a little more than the glory of winning this time,” and half of your whisper is lost to Luke Castellan’s lips but it’s not that important anyway.

What is important is the warmth of his hand through your shirt, pressed into the skin that exposes itself as you shift even closer. It’s the slightly rough texture of his jaw underneath your palm, the way his breath hitches in tandem with yours and you both push through it anyway. It’s the unexpected catch of your finger on his cap and the way you give up on it entirely, finally snatching it off his head so it lands somewhere nearby. 

You’re not sure what you expected Luke’s hair to look like. Horrible, probably, with odd patches that lie weirdly flat and should be covered from view. It’s not this, wild dark curls that deserve to be seen. 

“You have curly hair?” You say it before you can think not to, so caught up in the discovery you’ve just made, and Luke squints at you, unsure. “I can’t believe you have curly hair.” 

He’s preparing a smart-ass comment, you know it by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and that’s really just not going to work this time - not when he’s been lying for months behind a hat. So you do what any sane person would, twist your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and trail your lips across his jaw like you’ll die if you don’t.

His hand hooks underneath your thigh and, when you bracket his waist between your legs, cool leather brushing against your knees, you think this might be the best victory you’ve experienced yet.

*

Silena knows something is up when you refuse to speak to her about the party. There’s few secrets you’ve kept from each other since meeting, and even less since Clarisse got involved. It’s pointless to try, mostly, since they all spill out of you when the lights go out and you’re left with each other's company. You almost forgot how annoying she could be when she’s pushing for information.

“Don’t think I’m going to tell you either,” you say when Clarisse joins you in the library a week after the party. “I am a fortress of secrets.” 

“I know you hooked up with Luke.” 

“Seriously?” 

She rolls her eyes, passing you the book you’d asked her for during practice last night. “Calm down. Chris told me. I’m down ten bucks now.” 

“You bet on it?”

“Of course we did, it’s our brand.” 

“I’m not telling Silena,” you whisper again, frowning at your notes. You wonder if Clarisse is aware you haven’t actually spoken to Luke since that night. “She’ll make it a big deal for nothing.” 

“I won’t tell but you should probably figure out what happens next. There’s a party at ksig tomorrow night before everyone goes home for the holidays.” You tap your pen against the textbook. Clarisse pushes a slip of paper towards you. Someone’s phone buzzes to your left. “Think about it.”

When she’s long gone, you grab the paper she left from the table. It’s wrinkled and you smooth it as best you can beneath your fingertips. Blue ink, messily scrawled, and you commit it to memory. Closing your textbook, you leave it pressed between chapters seven and eight. 

The party is loud, louder than you’re prepared for after flaking out on so many since your first one last year. Silena brushes past you once you arrive, shoving your shoulder just enough that it twinges and you frown. You didn’t speak a word on the way here and the silent treatment is starting to drive a little crazy. 

It feels silly now, in a place so crowded, and you breathe deeply. Someone points you in the direction of the kitchen after multiple attempts at asking and you miss the light chaos of throwing up outside the Stolls’ dorm with your best friend. 

You grab a beer, using the table edge to pop the cap off, and it helps to ease the tightness in your chest at how unfamiliar this all is. You’re not sure you could even find the restroom, let alone a singular person.

Pushing back into the bulk of the party, you vow to leave if you don’t find him before you finish your beer. There’s a project you have to start looking into for next semester that could be a good use of time tonight. 

If anyone tried to convince you that most of campus was here, you’d be willing to believe them. A drink raised in Lee’s direction, a nod to Ethan from last years’ stats class, a half-hearted smile at Rachel, who raises an eyebrow at you like she knows something no one else does. 

And maybe she does, because you turn away from her to find Luke just feet away, gesturing animatedly to the guy next to him. There’s a beer in his hand and a hat on his head and his phone number so deeply etched in your mind since last night that you hardly think about it until you’re standing next to him again, drink placed on a table somewhere along the way.

“Hi,” he smiles and his scar shifts with it. He turns to the guy from before. “We’ll catch up later, man.”

“Have I ever told you that I hate that fucking hat?” 

“I sort of got that when you threw it across the room.” His lips wrap around the rim of his bottle and you think you can be normal about it, go back to the way things were, until he smirks just slightly and you know you can’t. 

“You’re such a sore loser, Castellan,” you mutter as you push yourself up to snatch it from his head. He doesn’t comment, lets your fingers brush through his curls until they’re a complete mess instead of compacted. He glances down at the cap in your hand and mutters, “And what is your genius plan for my hat?”

It’s a really fucking good question. Short of getting it off his head, you didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s one thing to throw it across an empty room in the dark, another thing entirely to abandon it to a frat party. So you choose the next best thing - placing it on your own head and daring him to question it. 

“I guess that can work,” Luke says and it sounds like a promise soaked in laughter. 

Neither of you find it as funny when he has to tip the visor upwards to kiss you.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (pt 12)

Masterpost

“Ya, I have questions,” Jason confirmed, trying not to shift awkwardly in his seat. “I read the slideshow but I don’t seem to fit in either liminals or ghosts, and I have some issues that I think would have been mentioned if they were common?”

“Alright, what are they?” Danny asked tilting his head a little. 

“Well, it’s been better since meeting you, and I know increased aggression was one of the thing mentioned but mine isn’t like Damian’s, or even yours I think. We’ve been calling it Pit Madness. I’ve gotten better at managing it but especially when I got back it was really bad. I… killed a ton of people and I still have a lot of bloodlust that no one is comfortable with.”

“That is unusual, especially directed towards humans. Aside from revenge against whoever killed them dead usually don’t care very much about the living,” Danny said curiously, considering Jason. 

“And I do read as- as dead?” Jason asked, he had been worried about that.

“Well you’re obviously not Dead dead,” Danny said rolling his eyes before he reached across the table. “Here, with touch I can figure out a bit more.” He said and Jason hesitated for a moment before resting his hand in Danny’s.

A cool feeling quickly washed up his arm and over his chest like intangible water. Danny tilted his head to the other side, his brows coming together slowly as he gazed into the middle distance and considered what he was feeling. He let out a hiss and some sort of chitter that couldn’t come from a human throat, then clicked his tongue and the cool feeling dissipated, sinking under Jason’s skin and cooling heat he hadn’t been aware of feeling. 

“Okay, ya that’s weird,” Danny admitted and Jason’s heart dropped. “Best I can equate it to is, like a bone that healed wrong,” Danny said thoughtfully. “You did die before?” He asked, Jason nodded mutely. “Okay, I won’t ask why or how. But best I can tell your soul was shoved back into your body and not given time to get settled back in it’s proper position before whatever was done to bind it in place. So you’re alive but with some.. Spiritual nerve and brain damage. Would you be comfortable telling me how you were resurrected?”

“Well, I resurrected myself apparently. I don’t really remember it but apparently about six months after my death I dug myself out of my grave. Before I could get anywhere the League of Shadows found me and dunked me in the Lazarus pit which is this glowing green stuff that heals the dying and kills the healthy. I don’t remember any of it, it was almost a year before I recovered enough to be myself at all.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Danny said, nodding thoughtfully. “My guess would be at first you came back as a revenant, which is basically when a ghost possesses their own corpse to get revenge, not truly a living being. But then this Lazarus pit resurrected your body and your soul got stuck in your living body again without being prepared or intending for that to happen. 

“That’s what I’m guessing happened but I can’t be sure, and I’m not a healer so I don’t really know what to do about it. I’m sure my ghost doctor Frostbite would be happy to take a look at you though! Looks like we’ll be making an appointment for you too,” He joked making Jason chuckle nervously. 

“Well that’s.. Totally fucked up,” Jason said and Danny nodded.

“Ya, dying is basically always fucked up, coming back Specifically for revenge and then getting stuck here long after that’s a motivating factor is messy. I mean, for a human that would be fine, but for people like us,” He gestured between the two of them. “Obsessions are everything so that’s hard. You’ve been cultivating more healthy obsessions I know but you’ll never be the same,” Danny said, and Jason nodded.

He knew as much, he could never go back. Not that he hadn’t always had these sorts of thoughts and inclinations. Once of the reasons Bruce had taken on him and Dick was their murderous inclinations needed to be curbed, for Dick it had work, for Jason… Well it was a combination of a lot of things, it wasn’t really Bruce’s fault it had failed. Other than the fact that he’d let the Joker live far longer than he should have, but that was bleeding-heart-Brucie for you. It was funny, to not really be mad at Bruce anymore, understanding there was nothing else he could have done, and still not be able to forgive him.

Danny must have noticed how Jason had gotten lost in his own head because he reached across the table and covered one of Jason’s clenched hands with his own, soft and cool. “You’re doing really well Jason. It’s a messed up situation but I don't think anyone could have handled it better then you are,” Danny said softly.

Jason didn’t believe it but it felt good to hear and it did settle him a little bit. “Thanks Danny, that means a lot,” he said, giving Danny’s hand a squeeze before pulling back. 

There was a natural break in conversation as the waitress brought their appetizers, and when she left again Jason didn’t know what to say. Thankfully Danny spoke. “Why don’t I tell you a bit about my doctor? Frostbite can be a lot, as much as it would probably be funny to spring him on you I should probably give you a heads up.”

“Ya, ya that sounds good,” Jason agreed, glad to let Danny do the talking for a bit. And when telling him about Frostbite turned into talking about the Yetis, to talking about the Infinite Realms, to Danny info-dumping about space. Well Jason really doesn’t mind, especially with the way it makes Danny light up. It was good to see him happy.

---------

The food was good but Jason didn’t taste much of it, and aside from going “Oh wow!” When he took his first bite of his food Danny didn’t seem to either. At a certain point Jason realized he was going to have to do some talking or Danny was going to keep talking and wouldn’t eat. So he took over, but he didn’t know much about space so he started talking about literature and poetry and Danny listened raptly and finally ate his food.

It was very nice to have someone listen to him like that, it was sort of funny, it looked like it was as fun for Danny to listen to him talk then it had been the other way. Jason thought about how supporting obsessions was important for ghosts to have their obsessions supported. Reading wasn’t Really his obsession, he didn’t think, but it sure was an interest and it felt really good to get to share with someone new. 

By the end of the dinner Jason has well and truly decided that this was a date. Danny was cute, good, and passionate, and a good listener, Oh and strong as Fuck which was always a turn on for Jason. Speaking of powerful…

“Can I ask you another sort of serious question?” Jason asked after they got their dessert. Danny looked up, mouth full and a little smear of chocolate on his top lip, Jason resisted the urge to reach across the table and wipe it off. Danny nodded. “When Damian gave me his little shovel talk he mentioned that you’re going to be a god some day?” He said, tilting his head. Maybe that was a third date sort of conversation but it seemed like it would be important to understanding Danny.

Danny choked a little and swallowed, sighing heavily. “That’s what I’ve been told,” Danny grumbled. “There’s a prophecy apparently, and with how my powers have been progressing even just in the first 2 years since I died, I can already go toe to toe with some Ancients and win so… Ya, I guess it’s probably inevitable, especially since I haven’t stagnated yet. I don’t want to be one really, I didn’t ask for this, but whatever. I probably can’t stop it.” He slumped back in the booth, looking tired. 

Shit Jason shouldn’t have brought that up. “Hey you’ve got time right? That won’t be for a while. Also, what’s an Ancient?” 

“Very old, very powerful spirits. They’re essentially their own pantheon, Ancient is basically just what ghosts call gods.” He said with a shrug.

“Makes sense, I mean gods usually are ancient. Even more reason you don’t have to worry about that right now. I mean you’re far from ancient,” Jason pointed out, earning himself a little smile from Danny. 

“Ya, you’re right,” He agreed and went back to eating his dessert, the conversation moved on to the music they liked.

When the bill came Jason put his card down without letting Danny see what the bill came to and passed it back to the waitress. They lingered in the booth for a while still chatting, unwilling to part ways yet. If Jason didn’t know his family would want Danny home before they went out on patrol he might have suggested they just go to a park and walk for a while. Talk, maybe each take one of his wireless earbuds and take turns picking songs. But he had a feeling Damian really would try to kill Jason if he didn’t get to see Danny home safe. 

Eventually they left, wandering back to Jason’s motorbike and Danny snuggled up to Jason’s back again as they drove back to the manor. The silence was companionable until Jason pulled up, propping the bike up to let Danny get off. He took off his helmet and handed it back to Jason, not letting go immediately when Jason took it so their hands were touching. 

“This was nice, I had fun,” Danny said, blushing a little and looking down.

“It was, we should do it again soon,” Jason agreed, “I’ll text you okay?” 

“You’d better,” Danny teased before walking back towards the manor. 

Damian opened the door for him, shooting Jason a glare before slamming it making him laugh. He was still a child no matter how much he pretended he wasn’t. Jason kicked off on his bike and zoomed off, heading home to get ready for patrol.

Next

[lesservillain]

I know I’ve posted a lot today but I wanted to share that my mind is being plagued with bestfriend!alpha!eddie who fucks you to get you through your heats. You were so scared when you first presented, thinking you were coming down with an illness after developing a fever you couldn’t break.

Eddie, being your knight in shining armor, came to your aide with food and movies to keep you entertained until you got better. He barely made it into your house before he fell to his knees. He had presented as an alpha two years before, but hadnt been with an omega at all since then. Your scent had him practically busting down your bedroom door to get to you, wasting no time tearing off the little clothing you had on and absolutely pounding you into your mattress.

Ever since then the both of you relied on each other to relieve the other’s cycle. Every couple of months, and a few times in between just in case, the two of you would lock the other in with you for the allotted 3-7 days to fuck each other’s brains out.

It was just easier that way. After being friends for so long, why bother looking for anyone else. Just a friend helping a friend. Plus it was safer. Definitely no feeling involved, it was just your biological response, that’s all.

Sure, there might have been a couple close calls. When you get fucked and filled over and over it was almost harder to believe that you hadnt gotten pregnant. Especially when you’re begging for him to knock you up in the heat of the moment.

And how many times have you felt his teeth graze over that spot on the back of your neck. Not that it would stick if he did try and mark you. You were just friends. He didn’t want to mark you…right?When he says he wants to ruin you for any other alpha, it’s all just talk.

When he gets possessive of you around Steve and Nancy, it’s just because you’re such good friends. No other reason. He definitely didn’t keep you on his knot for an entire cycle after you had a girls day with Robin and Nancy and hecould smell her on you when you came over after.

[leqonsluv3r]

valentine’s day

—leon finally starts to heal after he meets you in a grocery store, a blurb

masterlist taglist

an: i’ve had this idea in my head since i went to the LANY concert a month ago and heard this song live. i have not been the same person since, this drabble/blurb is dedicated to this song and leon. it’s a lot longer then i intended and i apologize lol

leon wasn’t one to heal easy.

not from his past, not from the missions when he saw more gore and blood then he wanted to. not when he had gagged every time he saw blood from that point foreword.

he was still healing when he walked into a grocery store about four months after his last mission. he was still healing when he grabbed one of those stupid baskets to carry your groceries in through the store.

he grabbed a couple bottles of alcohol, some snacks and some soap. essentials, things he needs. because sleeping without alcohol now is…it’s a lot harder then it used to be. just nightmares and images of bloodshed — he just says fuck it. he gets what he needs, what he wants and he goes up to the front of the store to pay.

what he doesn’t understand, when he sees you for the first time, is why your working in a grocery store of all places. your too beautiful for that, you should be doing something better, something worthy of your time. he doesn’t know a single thing about you yet and he’s willing to draw that conclusion.

you smile kindly at people from behind your register, your voice is kind and sweet. it draws something within him like a magnet, his heart is pounding, he’s going to explode or something. he used to be so good at talking to women but it’s declined as the years have gone by. he’s gotten tired, he just didn’t care like he used to.

he awkwardly sits his basket down on the conveyor belt of the register, you catch his eye and smile a little and it fucking does something to him. he knows he’s screwed beyond relief at that point. he smiles back, or tries to. he’s out of practice on that to, can’t remember the last time he’s smiled.

“this all for you?” you say softly, your eyes scanning over the bottles of alcohol, the snacks and the bottle of soap. he nods and chuckles a little, low and deep, just like his voice. “yeah, that’s all…” he grabs his wallet out of his back pocket of his jeans.

he wish he could say something better, something more positive and just something to grab your attention. he searches his brain as you tell him the total and he hands you the card. but he doesn’t have to say anything, you speak first.

“leon? that’s…you have a nice name.” you say and it snaps him out of his brain, he blinks those devastating blue eyes. ones that were once full of life, he nods. “my mom gave it to me.” he jokes lamely, or at least he thinks it’s lame until he hears your small little giggle.

he feels his heart beat with more confidence and energy now, like his one effort at making you smile is good enough. making you laugh is worth enough. you hand him his card back and put the receipt in the shopping bag, telling him to have a great day. not a nice day like you did with the others, but a great day. like you could tell he needed to hear that.

he walks out of the grocery store with the biggest, stupidest smile on his face. one that he has been a stranger to for months. he has you to thank for that.

the weeks that followed he came back to the grocery store, once maybe sometimes three times a week if he wasn’t sent off on a mission. he almost can’t help himself, he likes talking to you when your there.

you make him feel something he hadn’t felt in such a long time. it’s almost ridiculous, but he can’t help himself, it’s like an addiction. but it doesn’t involve him waking up with a hangover.

he keeps coming, week after week and buying things from the grocery store just to talk to you, just to see your sweet face. just to give him some kind of ray of sunshine that casts his whole body in a warm glow. making his heart beat faster.

but today was different, he was going to ask you out today. he was going to do it, he couldn’t be scared anymore. he couldn’t let you pass by anymore like something rare and just ignore you.

you were something to him. even if you didn’t even know that yet.

he walked up, carrying the same five things he always grabbed. his heart was pounding wildly, he was so out of practice but he just had to get out there and do it. just give himself something, he would hope you would say yes.

he put the items on the conveyor belt and waited until it was his turn, you finished checking out the customer in front of him and then turned to look at him. “hi stranger, haven’t seen you in awhile.” you say with a small frown, it’s adorable, it makes his heart melt.

he chuckles and shakes his head, “didn’t know you missed me.” he muses as he watches you start scanning his stuff. slowly and methodically almost as if you wanted this interaction to last longer too.

you sigh and shake your head, “of course i did, your my favorite customer.” you say with a small smile, and if he wasn’t looking so intently at you, he wouldn’t have noticed the subtle blush on your cheeks.

“i better be. goodness knows i give you guys enough business.” he chuckles playfully and flashes you a grin, almost as bright as the sun. he didn’t know where he was willing this confidence from, maybe it’s because he needed you. he needed you to at least attempt to be with him. you were the first light he has had in his life in a long time.

you scan his last item and he realizes it’s now or never, “26.73” you say as you lay out your hand for the card so he can pay. he reaches into his wallet and gives it to you, your fingers brush against each other. he wills himself to do it, to just do it now.

“uhm, i actually…i have a question for you.” he says with a small tremble of his hands, keeping his eyes on you to gauge your reaction behind the register. you look back up at him, swiping his card. “yeah?” you say and he could swear there’s almost hopefulness in your voice.

he swallows all the nerves down and attempts to keep himself calm enough to get this out, he can’t screw this up. he cannot screw you up, he would never forgive himself if he did.

“do you want to go out with me? like on a date?” he says and it’s so weird, the words feel foreign as they slipped from his mouth. usually women used to flock to him, but they didn’t anymore. his confidence with women had slipped right along with him trying to be sober all the time.

you blinked at him, holding onto his card in your small but intricate fingers. you seem to be thinking it over, weighing your options. he feels like the rejection is going to slip out of your lips at any given moment and he’s preparing himself for it.

then eventually, you respond, “i’d love to.”

now, it’s his turn to gawk and blink at you, almost perplexed that you are actually saying yes, accepting him and accepting this date. he can’t help the smile on his face, it’s almost stupid. you hand him the card and his brain goes on autopilot. you hand him the bag of his stuff, he grabs it and goes to walk away.

until, “wait! you forgot your receipt!” you yell behind him, holding up a slip of paper and waving it. he turns around and walks back to the register, his brows furrowed. you never gave him a receipt, he grabs the slip of paper from your fingers. he reads it over with confusion until he sees your number at the bottom, your hand writing and scribbles drawn with a little heart next to it.

he smiles, another genuine one that only you could conjure onto his face. “text me, we can set up a date.” you say to him, nodding towards the receipt. you look just as giddy as he feels inside. he nods, “absolutely. will do.”

he texts you the minute he gets home. and you respond. the texts keep going between you two until you both eventually settle on a date to go out. your both feeling like love-struck teenagers, so entranced with each other it’s almost borderline disgusting.

the week after you set the date passes and neither of you can hardly wait. you both have your reasons for being nervous, you both have that joy when you see each other but it shines in a different way. especially when he picks you up for your guy’s date.

you look stunning. stunning doesn’t even begin to cover it for him. you look like if heaven was a person, like an angel. that’s good enough reason for him to not let his blue eyes break from you all night.

and they don’t, they don’t ever break. not one second, he keeps his gaze on you at dinner, when your both talking and flirting aimlessly with each other. to leon, it feels good to have that someone; even if they don’t know it yet. that lights up their world and just makes it so much better.

he doesn’t break his gaze when you two walk by the lake, showing him all the birds and where they nest when winter comes closer. he admires the way you talk about small things, things that other people wouldn’t normally talk about or care about for that matter. but you took time, every week, to come feed the ducks and birds at this lake.

and he doesn’t break his gaze when he walks you back to your place, low intimate whispers that turn into slow kisses and touches. it doesn’t turn frantic, it just stays slow and gentle. it’s loving and it almost wants to make leon cry, because you care so much, this kiss just proves it.

because for the first time in a long time, you make him feel cared for. you make him feel wanted and it’s so much to him that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

he wants you forever, he wants you as long as you let him have you. and he’s always going to take care of you, just like you’ve unknowingly taken care of him. taken the sadness away from him by just being in his life.

three months later, you and leon were dating.

you guys were the happiest people, it seemed you brought leon back from the edge. he opened up and you learned all you could about him. he got to learn more about you. and you both loved the idea of having that one confidant in each other.

the one you would have when you were sad, scared, angry, frustrated, etc. everything made sense with the two of you together. and you guys found that one piece that was missing within each of you. you guys were happy, leon was smiling a lot more then he usually did.

he didn’t drink his days away anymore, he didn’t come back from missions to an empty apartment and he didn’t have nightmares. it was still there but you dulled the ache, you filled that dark hole inside of him that had been gone for so long.

you made him happier, you made him recognize the man in the mirror again with your love. your love and everything about you made him better. he was better for you.

you had each other to soothe the gaps and ridges of your guys souls that were jagged. you had that thing that he was searching for, that he’d been missing for so long.

he loved you.

and nothing was ever going to change that.

an: i love you guys sm :,) thank you guys for reading my stuff and engaging. i was so worried when i started writing on tumblr that it wasn’t going to take. that no one would like my writing and i was wrong. you guys have given me so much support in liking my fics. it makes me so happy to have that support. it keeps me going. i love you all, i’ll be posting a one shot soon, keep up on my requests. pls reblog if you enjoyed, you guys know the drill. kisses, xx.

taglist: @elihii @heartsforvin @argreion @sqiim (to join the taglist DM me or interact with my link at the beginning)

[abbyshands]

for you

🇵🇸 LINKS | before engaging !!! | m. list | join my tag list!

♡ synopsis; making a home out of catalina island for years on end had been wonderful, but for most of it, you had been derived of the last piece of the puzzle: abigail anderson. you were a skilled medic, so when abby had showed up, you had cared for her, and nursed her back to the girl she was, helping her to heal, and to find home the same way you had. now, it’s abby’s chance to return the favor.

♡ pairing; abby anderson x fem!reader

♡ warnings; lot of game references, some of which include infected, the WLF, plot of the first and second game, loss, violence, etc, general angst (ish) in the beginning, but fluffy at the end, i promise, reader loses her dad in the backstory, and there’s a heavily established backstory for the reader, abby uses nicknames (my love, babe, gorgeous), reader calls abby baby, just general angst n’ fluff tbh!

♡ a/n; sooo this idea has been sitting in my notes app for the longest time, and to be honest, i’m not sure how i feel about the finished product! i don’t think it’s my best work? i don’t know. i like the idea but i’m unsure about the way i executed it. maybe i’ll revisit it at some point, but this is what i’ve got for now ♡

♡ wc; 4.5k

divider creds !

YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS. APOCALYPSE.

If someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, you would’ve checked them for a bite mark.

Because they would have been losing their mind.

2034, and all the years beforehand, were years unforgettable. The person you were couldn’t imagine a life that wasn’t the one you had. Infected roamed, and danger lurked. But love prevailed.

And you were lucky to be a part of it.

You were born in Boston, Massachusetts in the 2010’s at an unlucky hour. To an unlucky life. You had lost your mom before you could say your own name, and the only biological family you had ever gotten to know in your life was your dad, who was the reason you were where you were today in the first place.

When you were young, your dad joined a group once asked to by the leader of it, a woman named Marlene. Since then, and for as long as you could remember, this group has been your place to call home.

They called themselves the Fireflies for the very bug they took the name from: Their goal was to spread luminescence in a world full of darkness. Your dad, who was an incredibly skilled medic, was roped into it when you were younger, for that very reason. And because of the group’s dire need for medics at the time, their leader, Marlene, who was an old friend of your dad’s, asked him to join, all but begged him to, really.

Your dad wasn’t one to deny anyone in need. It was in his nature, and it was why he was such a great medic. So, of course, he agreed.

But only if there would be a place for you, too.

Your dad raised you up as a member of the Fireflies, and then later as a medic, and it was because of him that you were who you were: A resilient individual, a survivor, and yet, a person who embodied compassion, just as he did.

The years went by hazily, the older you got, anyway. You became just as immersed into your work as your dad did, bettering your medical knowledge on a daily basis, be it by old books, rusted cassettes, or your dad himself. But all the while, you managed to balance work, love, and family, and, in a world like this one, that was a lot more than most people could say.

For obvious reasons, you couldn’t remember the 2010’s. Then came the 2020’s, which sped by your eyes. But the 2030’s as a general consensus were years ingrained into your brain. Full of friendship, family, and love? At times. But they also encompassed chaos, despair, and pressure, and changed your life forever.

And forever was a long time.

In the year 2033, all that you believed was true about the world as you knew it, crumbled to the ground. In a land following an apocalypse, it wasn’t uncommon to feel as if there was no way out, as if the life you lived had hit a place of no return.

Now, if only there was a way to fix it. A cure, right?

It was late one evening while you were working on somebody in the Fireflies’ medical center, that Marlene came into the room, expression serious, and voice showing for it. Once you had the person you had been caring for under control, you followed Marlene out of the center, and into a room of a pair of people, one familiar, and one not.

Your dad, and a man who would later become a crucial figure in this tale: Surgical expert, Doctor Jerry Anderson.

You didn’t understand what Marlene, your dad, and Mr. Anderson, as you used to call him, were getting at when you were first pulled into that room. All that they were explaining to you was blurring inside of your head.

Because it was unlike anything you had heard before.

Your ears were told a tale that you had heard on numerous occasions. A girl who was only a few years younger than you, was bitten. You weren’t sure how. But it didn’t really matter, did it? Everyone who was bitten turned into an animal in a matter of days. It didn’t matter how she had gotten the bite mark. It didn’t even matter where on her body the mark was. All you knew was that in a few days, this girl that was being described to you, would no longer be human. That she would no longer have control over her body, and she would no longer know right from wrong, up from down, man from woman. All she would know, was kill. Kill. Kill.

Unless she was one in a million.

Ellie Williams was hardly a human in your mind when you originally heard, but a God given chance, to fix the world as you knew it. You never believed you would live to see the day where a bite mark was a good thing, and yet, it was here, gazing you in the eyes.

Immunity. She was immune. The auburn haired girl had been bitten three weeks prior to the date you heard about this, and zilch. As Marlene had explained to you, it was like the mark was healing, not worsening. 

And in a desolate world, where danger lurked every corner, where sorrow was normalized, and where loss was ceaseless, you were desperate. The Fireflies were desperate. Hope like this didn’t come on a daily basis, now, did it?

You jumped on the prospect as soon as you became conscious of it. All of you did.

Graciously unaware that it would blow up in your face.

In the earlier days of 2034, Ellie was smuggled to a Firefly base in Salt Lake City, a medical center, where your dad, Mr. Anderson, and several Fireflies were residing. As head medic by this point, you decided to remain in Boston caring for the members of your group back home, especially in the absence of your dad and Mr. Anderson.

It’s your life’s biggest regret.

Marlene had asked that you come to the Salt Lake City medical center as soon as you could, and to employ someone else to take over for a bit. Mr. Anderson was a good doctor, but he had decided that to perform proper surgery on Ellie, he would need a few more hands. You were honored that it was you he had chosen. To you, it was on the same level as getting an award. And so, alongside Marlene, and a few more members of the group, you made your way to Salt Lake City, your hopes in your hands, and dreams in your heart.

There was a point during the journey, however, where you ran into some trouble. Infected. And naturally, you were not just a medic: You knew how to survive in a world like this, and you knew how to hold your ground.

Splitting up wasn’t usually recommended when it came to any scenario, and for good reasons. However, it was your only choice. You and everyone beside you aside from Marlene, split up to make sure that she was the first one to make it to the medical center. You remember the last thing you said to her like a movie on loop in your head. See you soon.

And it plagues your brain like the virus that grips your world.

See you soon. You wish you had never said it. You wish you had never split up.

You wish it hadn’t happened.

You did see Marlene. But she was no longer alive when it happened. Fear grasped your bones as your body paralyzed, eyes glued to Marlene’s bloody corpse on the second floor of the medical center’s parking garage.

Tears filled your eyes, slipping down your cheeks. And then, you remembered.

Dad.

You took off running, brain not even processing that you could be putting yourself in danger by doing so. Whoever had done this to Marlene couldn’t be faraway from the building for all you knew. Hell, they could even be in it. But you didn’t care.

You booked it to the highest floor, where your dad and Mr. Anderson were supposed to be, heart racing, begging and bargaining to the universe, or whatever God there was, or somebody, to ensure that they were okay. That they were just fine.

There are some days where you wish you hadn’t opened that door.

The pair of them, alongside a third medic in the room, were found by you in a shape similar to Marlene. Naturally, you ran to dad first, small, shaky hands reaching out to flip over his face down body.

But you were too late.

Your mind goes blurry whenever it goes back to recall the memory. You don’t remember much: Tears, nausea, shaking, panic. You remember screaming, loudly, at that.

And you remember passing out, before being pulled out of the room.

The second that Jerry Anderson was announced dead, all hell broke loose, and you knew, you knew, it was over. The chance that had been driving you and your family of Fireflies for the last year, was gone, and it wasn’t coming back. Unless a brand new surgeon was going to generously drop from the sky, you were hopeless. 

And it wasn’t even just that.

Because the universe had taken from you the one person you held closest to your heart. To your soul.

Dad.

You had a chance. You all did. 

And, then, it was robbed away from you.

You and your dying group made your way back to Boston knowing just that: That you were collapsing. The days passed by in blurs, each one gloomier than the last. You just weren’t sure what to do anymore. All hope for a cure was gone. All hope for yourself was gone.

In 2036, the Fireflies were disbanded by what little members of it were around to do so, and that was it. It was over. 

Your home was paradise, and paradise was gone.

You didn’t know what to do. Most of the family you had found here in the Fireflies was leaving, searching for a life away from the one you all had known for years. You didn’t know if you wanted to do the same. Part of you wanted to follow suit and leave Boston. Renew who you were. Adapt, and move on. But Boston had always been home, and by leaving it, you were leaving a part of you behind.

But you didn’t have a choice.

It was an early morning in 2036 when you began to pack your bags, readying to go. Where? It didn’t matter. All you knew was that home or not, Boston carried way too many painful memories, way more than you could bear. Marlene was dead. Mr. Anderson was dead. Dad was gone.

You didn’t see what else Boston had to give, that it hadn’t already taken away.

But just, just, when you were about to say your goodbyes, the universe, who had screwed you over in the past, clearly had different plans.

A few members had heard word, from previous members who had left the Fireflies before you, that on the west coast of the country, there was a chance: A chance to find home again, in a place named Catalina Island, a gorgeous land in California.

Risks had failed you before, and so had second chances. But, for once, you wanted to give in. You had to.

So you did.

That’s not to say that the second you got to Catalina Island, finding home once again in your fellow Fireflies, who were just as shattered as you were, that your tale was over. God, it was really, really far from it.

Because there was one more piece to the puzzle.

Abigail Anderson.

Anderson. The last name rang a bell once it escaped her lips. A blonde woman, body bruised, bloodied, and covered from the arms down in oozing gashes. Her hair was short and poorly cut, and from the way her bones were pushing into her skin, you could tell that she was severely malnourished.

Alongside her was a boy, obviously younger than her. Tousled black hair, bruises wherever you looked, and fully unconscious. In your time at Catalina Island, and as a Firefly in Boston, for that matter, you had never seen any pair of people in worse shape.

Not unless they were dead.

You remained head medic once you arrived in Catalina Island, naturally, and you had been managing that way for the last four years. So, when this woman showed up, this young boy by her side, like this, it was you who took control. It was you who nursed them, and it was you who made their scars, in a physical and mental sense, not disappear, but easier to handle. To bear.

By looking at them, by looking at her, it was like a mirror. You saw you.

Which is why you saw her.

Now, if someone had told you four years prior that this is where you would be today, losing your dad, losing Marlene, and losing Mr. Anderson, but falling for his child, you would’ve looked for a bite mark. But now, come the year 2040, where you had made a new life, one that Abigail Anderson was a prevalent part of, happiness no longer seemed impossible.

Because it wasn’t far away anymore, slipping from your fingers, the way it had on numerous occasions. 

It was in your hands.

And you were in Abby’s.

Your eyes were being covered by Abby’s large hands as she led you to a place unknown. You had to assume it was one of the several beaches on the island, sand under your feet, sounds of waves in your ears. A smile had been plastered across your face for what seemed like hours, as Abby dragged you along.

“Come on, Abby. Are you going to tell me what this is about or what?” you asked her for the second time in the last minute. You could hear her low chuckle from behind you, and the way it always happens, comfort surges into your veins.

You had learned from Abby, once you bonded over the mutual loss of your dad and hers at the same man, that once Mr. Anderson had been killed, her and her friends, a few former members of the Fireflies, joined a group named the WLF. You had hence learned that during her time there, she was commonly known as a rugged, scary person, who a lot of people in the WLF didn’t dare insult, nor disobey.

And you couldn’t lie: It was hard to believe that for a second.

You had learned from Abby, also, that her resolve began to slip when she met the young boy who she had made it to Catalina Island alongside, who you had also taken care of: Lev. To put it simply, Lev was a member of a different group, that the WLF was never supposed to come across.

Not unless it was in war.

But he changed her. He did. Some days, you could see how guarded Abby was, how she couldn’t help going back to all she used to know, which was being all but barbaric when she was in Seattle. Closed off, wary. But most days, like today? You knew in your heart, that deep down in hers, Abby Anderson was good. Not innocent, but good.

And that was enough for you.

“Just come on!” Abby chuckled as she walked, not letting up her hold on your eyes for a second as she led you along.

You smiled, shaking your head in mock disapproval. “I have work to do back at the center, and we’re not supposed to be roaming around like this. You know that, right?”

“Babe,” Abby responded in an almost firm tone of voice as her feet quit moving, forcing you to root your body to the spot. It was silent, before she pressed a series of sweet, sloppy kisses to your neck and cheeks, managing to keep her hand over your eyes all the while. She had you crumbling just like that, making you a giggling mess as her lips met your skin.

Her kisses subsided once a million of them seeped into you, and it wasn’t the island heat that had your face warm when Abby was done. “Can you just trust me, please?” she laughed, and you didn’t need your vision to know she was giving you that puppy dog look that had you falling to your knees every time. The one that you couldn’t resist if you gave it your all.

You were too easy. “Yes.”

It wasn’t long before you and Abby reached where she wanted to bring you, and once you did, she paused. She was perched behind you now, large hands over your face, the solacing sound of her sighs coming into your ears. “Okay. Are you ready, my love?”

There wouldn't ever be a day where Abby calling you that wouldn’t make your heart pound in your chest.

“More than,” you easily respond.

As soon as you said it, Abby returned your vision to you, and your eyes can’t help but widen at what you see before you.

Because you never pegged “rugged” Abby Anderson as one for picnics.

“Oh, my God, Abby,” you said more to yourself than the blonde as you slowly approached the scene. Laid out on the sand of the beach was a picnic blanket, a folded blanket, a few pillows, a basket, a few books, and playing cards.

Accompanied by a perfect view of the beach.

“Do you not like it?” Abby asked, and there’s an air of sadness to the way she says it. You turn to look at her on cue, your face one of complete, utter disbelief.

Like it?

“Like it? Baby, I love this. More than know,” you respond, meaning every word. It’s been a long time since someone has wanted to care for you. A long, long time, since you had been the receiver, not the giver.

“Abs, it’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You can see Abby blushing as you approach her and take her face into your hands, her freckled skin burning in heat. She leans into your touch, pressing her forehead onto yours, and holding your hands in her own.

“I just,” Abby sighed, opening her eyes once more to meet yours, solemn expression across her cheeks. “I just don’t feel like I cherish you enough, babe, show it, that is. Because believe me, I do cherish you. S’just, it’s been hard for me to show you how much. All that you did for me and Lev when we got to the island. Taking care of us. Helping us find a home here. I’ll spend the rest of my life saying thank you for it.”

You can feel your soul healing the more Abby speaks.

“I know this isn’t nearly enough to make up for what you did for us, and I wish it was. But I just figured, maybe. . .it could suffice for now.”

“Abby, baby,” you let a small laugh escape your lips as you say it. “You don’t have to make it up to me. At all. I did what I did, because I saw someone in you. I remember asking for your name, and you responded by asking me where Lev was. You didn’t even care what shape you were in. All you wanted to know was if he was okay. You reminded me of me.”

“You reminded me of dad.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, letting silence seep into the air around you as your brain battled to process what you had just said. You didn’t speak on your dad as much as you likely should: Abby knew that, and so did you. Talking about him made your chest compress, and your throat would fail you, making it feel as if you were choking. As if you were helpless. As if you were there all over again. But Abby knew as well as you did, that when your dad came into discussion, it was for a certain reason. 

And for that reason, Abby didn’t speak: She hung fire. For you. For you.

“We live in a world where people combat their own morals just to survive. There’s no good guys. No principles, no rules, no laws. Anyone you come across is just as bad as you, and if not, they’re worse. But when I saw you? I knew. I knew that wasn’t you. Not anymore.”

You know you’re rambling by now, saying whatever comes to mind as soon as it does, but you can’t find it in you to care as you go on. “You want to believe I don’t know how much you care for me. But you don’t need to show it, Abby. I know you do. Right here.”

You take one of Abby’s large hands into yours, and as cliché as it is, not that you care at all, you place it over your heart.

“You feel that, don’t you? That’s all for you, baby. And it’s there that I feel how much you care about me. It’s there that I know.”

The same silence that was here before comes back. But this time, it’s not sad, or dark, or eerie. It’s solacing. It’s warm. It’s home.

And Abby doesn’t need words in order to respond.

It’s her turn to take your face into her hands as she pulls you in close. Her lips meet yours like they have so many times before, her familiar scent hitting your nose as you settle your hands onto her hips. The kiss is slow, and sweet, but passionate, and a burning desire surges inside you to never let her go, to always hold her close. To always call her yours.

You pull back from the kiss once you tire from it, gasping, Abby’s body mimicking yours as she does the same. You gaze into her eyes, the pretty blue ones that always make your heart swell, smiling up at her as you press one last kiss to her lips for good measure. “I adore you, Abby Anderson. You know that, right?” you grin.

It’s the first time you ever hear her giggle. “Me more than you, gorgeous.”

You spend hours there alongside Abby, and it’s the best time of your life. You spend time indulging in a few snacks the blonde packed for you, playing cards, and running around and playing in the sand, smiling all the way. You even get to hear Abby read to you, one of the most endearing things in the world, accompanied by the calming sound of the ocean before you. And when it came time for sunset, you sat down beside Abby, gazing on as amber, ochre, and rose faded into night.

It was perfect.

When it was nearly time for the evening to come to an end, you used the second blanket Abby had packed for your shared night to cuddle up beside her, heads rested on the pillows she had carried along as well. The side of your face was pressed into her chest as you gazed into the sky above you, Abby’s hand rubbing your back in slow circles to console you. Small suns coat the evening sky like sweet, powdered sugar, accompanied by a full moon that looks incredible over the horizon. All you could hear was the sound of the ocean, alongside Abby sighing gingerly every once in a while, or her pressing kisses to your forehead.

Not that you needed much more than that.

Suddenly, the sound of Abby chuckling in your ears snaps you out of your head, and you turn your face upwards curiously. Abby’s smile makes you smile, and it’s no surprise you began to wonder what the blonde woman found so funny all of a sudden.

“Remember how I told you Lev and I had to cross those bridges that were really high up?” Abby asked, and you had to raise an eyebrow, wondering where this was going. “Mhm,” you mumble, which is when Abby goes on.

“Well, before that, we had to get there by foot once we got out of the aquarium I told you about, the one I used to go to all of the time. That part of Seattle is overrun in rushing rapids, so a lot of the buildings around there were a lot more demolished than they usually would be anywhere else,” she explained.

“And, well. . .”

“We walked into this building, and there was a painting of these dogs playing cards. And I asked Lev if he knew our dogs could really play cards like that. Then he asked me if anyone found me funny,” Abby laughed. “It cracks me up whenever I remember it.”

She wasn’t the only one laughing. “Sounds like Lev. And like you,” you smile, and the tale makes you recall a humorous memory of your own. “Once, I was working late at the medical center back in Boston. I was doing research on this girl who had been feeling sick, but I wasn’t sure by what. Mind you, it’s late, and silent, if you don’t count me flipping the pages in my books.”

You giggle just remembering it. “It’s the weirdest thing ever, but my dad was really good at making Clicker noises. Like, really good. Sounded so real it made your heart drop. I was reading when I heard it, and I remember wondering how the hell infected had gotten inside. ‘Course I grab what was closest to me, a scalpel, and I swivel around.”

“And it’s dad.”

That one got Abby to burst out chuckling. “Oh, my God. Of all the things you could get, gorgeous. A scalpel?”

You rolled your eyes in response, playfully so. “What can I say? I’m just a medic. I didn’t carry a gun.”

Once Abby’s done laughing, which seems to take forever, she smiles down at you, pressing one more kiss to your forehead as if to make up for poking fun at you. You cuddle closer into her, letting your body relax in her embrace as a sigh escapes your lips.

You fall back into silence soon enough, eyes glued to the sky as Abby rubs her hand over your back, holding you like you would fade away if she let you go. You run your fingers through her short hair as you press kisses to her neck, jaw, and face, giving her all the love you know she deserves. Your eyes scan her features like she was molded by some higher power, and you can’t help but want to worship her, endlessly.

Not just for what she looks like. But for who she is.

“My baby. It’s like you were made for me, you know?” you whisper in Abby’s ear as your eyes pierce into her blue ones. But Abby’s head shook quickly.

You can predict what she’s going to say in response. “No, gorgeous.”

“It’s you who was made for me.”

—

reblogs are very much welcomed! <3

—

[lnfours]

doll | l.n

summary: ‘i’m not even joking when i say i’ve fallen in love w the way you write lando you have me giggling every single time and i love it - i’m not sure if your requests are open rn, but cld i request a lando x reader enemies to lovers kinda vibe? honestly whatever you wanna go with is fine but i need need tooth rotting fluff rn so maybe he has a nickname for her that only he uses and there’s a lot of oblivious-ness from both of them over the fact that they like each other :’‘)’ - @mars-dreamworld

warnings: fluff, language, enemies to lovers, female!racer, just overall a whirlwind of emotions. strap in.

masterlist | ask box 💌

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

lando norris was absolutely, most definitely, 100% the most insufferable person you had ever met.

in the beginning of the year, mclaren had announced that you’d be joining the team as a third driver, and of course people men took it to social media to express how they felt women didn’t belong in the sport. that racing was a ‘real man’s’ sport.

and now you needed to prove them all wrong, prove you were worth your spot on the team. you know you didn’t have to, that it wouldn’t necessarily change people’s minds, but you worked hard to be here. countless sleepless nights, crashes, tunings, everything, was worth this moment.

and now it was your chance. oscar had ended up with an injury after a crash in one of the practice races over the weekend, ultimately giving you his spot until he was recovered.

you and lando hadn’t really gotten along. you had found yourself battling with him on the track, the two of you going head to head in the garage after practices. you had thought his ego and his sarcasm was unattractive, whereas he simply just saw you as a threat.

but, deep down, he had a soft spot for you that he kept buried under the fake hatred. he didn’t actually hate you, who could? he admired your hard work and dedication, but be couldn’t help but feel like you were trying to take his spot.

“what the fuck, norris?!” you yelled, throwing your helmet to the ground as you stormed over to him. he wore a smug look on his face that you would’ve found attractive if it weren’t for the fact that he felt the need to cut you off in turn 5.

“what?”

“are you thinking with your brain or your dick?!” you shoved his chest, but he didn’t move a muscle. he didn’t even budge, just looked down at you with those stupidly gorgeous green eyes.

“you’d know if i was thinking with my dick, doll.”

“don’t call me that.” you gave him a hard look and he put his hands up in fake surrender, shaking them like he was scared.

and that’s where it all started, that stupid fucking nickname. every time he said it, it made your blood boil, made you want to connect your knee with his crotch. now that he knew how to press your buttons, he wasn’t ever going to let you live.

right now, your face was red as your blood boiled, sitting in the drivers room as your leg bounced. the two of you had it out again today, the crew immediately separating the two of you and telling you both to knock it off.

the embarrassment from your crew telling you to quit acting like a child replayed in your head the rest of the day and as you sat in drivers room, and slowly your anger turned into sadness. you sucked in a shaky breath, trying to keep your composure, but you failed. the tear rolled down your cheek and you sniffled to yourself.

but of course, the door opened at the wrong time, causing you to wipe your cheeks quickly before looking at who decided to barge in. your eyes met lando’s green ones, which immediately softened upon looking at you.

“can i help you with something?”

he licked his lips, his brain going a mile a minute. why were you crying? was it because of him? fuck.

“i uhm,” he stammered over his words, letting out a breath before speaking, “are you crying?”

you shook your head, wiping your cheek on the shoulder of your race suit, “no.”

he knew better, though. the door closed behind him as he sat across from you, “you don’t have to lie, y/n.”

the way your name sounded rolling off his tongue with that stupid accent made your stomach do flips, but you refused to give in. this is what he wanted, right? pull you close enough to destroy you and prove to everyone that you’re actually not good enough to be here.

“why do you care?” you asked, an eyebrow raising, “it’s not like you actually give a fuck, so can you go somewhere else with your fake sympathy?”

he immediately got defensive, “what makes you think i don’t care about you? would i have run over to you the other day at practice when you crashed if i didn’t care about you?”

you thought back to last week, your car going into the barrier on the track. lando had seen the crash, immediately following the crew onto the track and ignoring the drop in his stomach. you had climbed out, shaken up but okay when he reached you. he grabbed onto your shoulders after you tugged your mask and helmet off, your eyes distant as he searched them.

“y/n?” his voice was laced with concern, “y/n, are you okay?”

you snapped out of it, meeting his eyes before you looked down at your body, “i think so…?”

he grabbed your face into his hands gently, turning your face side to side as he tried to examine you. the medics pulled up, rushing over to you.

“it’s okay, we’ve got it from here.” the female said to lando. he hesitated before he let go, letting them lead you over to the back of the ambulance to check you over. you looked back at him, the feeling of his hands on your cheeks lingering as they ushered you in.

you looked back at the brit, shrugging, “i dunno.”

he chuckled, but it wasn’t laced with humor, more like disappointment, “okay,”

“why would i think that when you’re always trying to prove that you’re better than me?”

he didn’t say anything, looking down at the tile floor, “because i’m threatened by you.”

you scoffed, “tell me something i don’t know.”

“no, you don’t get it,” he said, sitting up again, “i’m threatened by you because you’re good. you’re insanely good. you race well, you train hard, everyone here loves you, the fans. you’re an inspiration. something i’ve always wanted to be for someone.”

your attitude shifted, looking over at the boy across from you. he wore a sad, regretful face as he played with the zipper on his suit.

“you’re an inspiration, lando,” you said, “the little boy who dressed up like you the other day? the one who said he wanted to be just like you?”

he shrugged, “one boy compared to thousands of little girls who see themselves in you. i know i shouldn’t be upset, you’re literally changing history, but seeing it makes me wish i was someone like you.”

“you’re right, you’re not like me,” you said, moving to sit next to him, “you’re lando norris, the one who got P2 in your home grand prix a few weeks ago, the one who goes out of their way to say hi to literally all the fans and take pictures with them. you’re literally someone’s ray of sunshine.”

he smiled softly, letting you continue, “be like you. don’t be like me, lan.”

his head snapped up at the nickname, “did you just call me ‘lan’?”

a smile spread across his face and you let out a soft laugh, “i guess i did.”

he smiled back, “thank you, though. i needed that. and, i’m sorry for how i’ve been towards you.”

you waved him off, the smile still playing at your lips. you tried to bite it back with your lower lip tucked between your teeth. he swore his heart skipped a beat at the sight. you nodded your head softly, “we’re cool. just pipe down the ego a bit, yeah?”

he let out a chuckle. being this close to him made you realize there was a hint of blue in his green eyes, the short stubble growing back from where he had shaved his facial hair. he was undeniably pretty and you were getting wrapped up in him and distracted. he was doing the same, his eyes scanning over every single one of your facial features as he tried his hardest to memorize them.

you smiled softly, “why’re you looking at me like that?”

he smirked, “you mean the same way you’re looking at me?”

you blushed, turning away from him but his eyes were still locked onto you. you went to stand up, smiling softly at him as it was nearing the beginning of the next race.

“i’ll see you out there.”

he smiled, “see you out there, doll.”

you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh as you let the door close behind you, the nickname no longer making your blood boil but suddenly making your stomach do flips.

lando norris was going to be the death of you.

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 10-Cunnilingus-Hisoka/Reader

Notes: this one is kinda short, sorry. Went to a concert tonight so i dont have much time lol

also title is from 'Guess' by Charlie xcx & Billie Eilish

...

The music pounds in your ears, numbing your brain as you stir your cocktail stick uselessly, watching the colores flash across the bodies on the dance floor, across the far walls. Your friend Vera, sitting beside you at the bar takes a sip of her drink and winces. 

“Bad?” You say over the music, grinning as she shoves it away from her slowly.

“Terrible,” She says, rolling her eyes. “My fault, I felt adventurous. Maybe trying one of their specials was a bad idea.”

You laugh, eyeing the ambiguously labeled specials on the menu, and take a small sip of your own drink. It's not bad, but you played it safe, and ordered a drink you knew this club made well. 

“It's nice to have you out again, Name.” Vera says, smiling genuinely across the table as the two of you lean forward, shouting back and forth. “It's been a while.”

“I guess,” You say, taking another sip to let yourself think. “I’ve been busy.”

Vera eyes you out of the corner of her black eyes, the silver glitter on her eyelids glowing with each flash of light.  You stare at her, catching in her cute clubbing outfit, and then past her to the mass of moving bodies on the dance floor. 

Vera raises a delicately plucked eyebrow at you. 

“It's not because of—” 

“No, Vera.” You say with a roll of your eyes. You actually have been really busy. “I had to help my sister move, remember. And then work was a handful.”

“Those kids giving you trouble?” Vera asks with a wink. You smile.

“No, they're very sweet.” You say, taking another swig of your drink. “Just a lot.”

The sweet kindergarteners you had gotten this year were very well behaved kids. You’ve only had to break up one small fight over a pair of pink scissors, and not the dozens you got last year. You shudder, the problem children had moved on to first grade. 

Managing any large number of small bodies was a time sink, and mentally draining. But you wouldn't trade it for the world. 

“So, you're really over him?” Vera says, leaning forward to shout directly in your ear. You feign ignorance, spinning your glass on the counter.

“Who?” You ask, looking a bit over her left shoulder and not in her eyes. Vera has a scary talent for telling when someones lying. Not like you're lying, just stretching the truth a bit so she doesn't worry. But you're totally over him.

Vera’s eyes slide over the dance floor, surveying the thrusting bodies and you take the opportunity to take a small sip of your drink, smiling in relief. At least she's not looking at you with those knowing eyes. Vera hums conversationally. 

“Wow, there's this really tall man with red hair—”

You don't even let her finish her sentence. You spit your drink, turning your head so fast you almost choke, and survey the crowd.

“Wait where?” You shout, looking over the crowds of moving and twisting bodies frantically. “I can't see where he is, Vera. You gotta hide me.”

A short silence falls, as Vera fails to respond. It takes you about ten seconds of searching the crowd until you realize she's fooled you. You flush and turn away from the crowd, avoiding her eyes.

“Over him, huh.” Vera hums, swiping your drink to take a swig. You sigh, turning back to her and away from the dance floor, trying to cover for your embarrassment. 

“I am, I promise.” You mutter, snatching your now empty drink glass away from her with a sigh. “Why does it matter anyway? It's been months, and it's not like he's here.”

“You never know. Better to be safe than sorry.” Vera shouts, hopping down from the bar stools with a grin. “Wanna dance?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Later.” You say, you're a bit too tired for the dance floor right now. Maybe after a couple more drinks. Vera frowns.

“You want me to stay?” She asks, hand on her hips. You shake your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder with a smile. Vera’s a good friend, but you dont wanna hold her back. She's gonna be tearing up the dance floor any moment. 

“Nah, you go ahead.” You say, motioning towards the bartender. “I'll join you in a bit.”

“Alright,” Vera says, “If you leave early, text me.”

“Same,” You shout and she waves a hand back towards you as she disappears onto the dance floor. You smile after her, watching the silver of her top vanish between the writhing bodies. The bartender slides another drink across the bar and you pay with a smile, sinking back into your bar stool with a sigh. It's nice to be out again, letting the music run through your bones, the alcohol smooths down your anxieties and worries and leaves you with just pleasant thoughts. You down the drink quickly, politely declining the next one offered to you with as much of a smile as you can muster. Thankfully the guy takes it surprisingly well, accepting it and moving on to the next girl. How rare. 

At some point you get up and join the people on the dance floor. You don't dance well, you don't even really dance, you mostly let the bass take you, whirling you around your small circle of space. There isn't much room inside the twisting and writhing bodies. At some point you find Vera, tangled with a man and the two of you dance together, until you're pulled apart again.

It's nice to let go, to writhe and twist and scream with the other people on the dance floor. You're not even drunk, just buzzed enough to forget your problems and dance. 

The man who is dancing behind you smells really familiar. A faint perfume you cant place, mixed with sweat and what might be the copper tang of blood. You disregard it, swaying to the music, until you trip back into him. He's quite tall, you notice as your back his his chest. Muscular too, with how hard his chest is. His hands wind around your waist, studeying you on your feet with a small chuckle. He sounds a bit familiar, feels a bit familiar, like you should know him. But your buzzed mind doesn't want to think too hard.

You throw a half hearted apology over your shoulders as he steadies you, hands feeling lovely on your waist. 

And then you never move away. 

Somehow his hands just stay on your body, moving up and down, occasionally around, letting your sway and grind against him. In your half drunk mind it all feels familiar, and comforting in a way. Not to mention the usual doses of arousal. 

As large hands, planning over the skin of your stomach, want to praise yourself for the thin tank top you were wearing with your low waisted pleated skirt. Your future self is thanking you very much right now, as the man's large hand winds under the hem of your tank top, fingers sitting on your navel. The other one has found its way up to rest on your boob. Not squeezing or touching, just resting. You wish he would do more. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can make out a familiar flash of red as the man leans his head down, breath brushing your left ear. 

“It's been a long time my dear.” Hisoka whispers in your ear, teeth nipping lightly at the top. You whimper, but make no move to pull away. He chuckles.

“You don't seem surprised.” 

You already knew. Maybe from the moment you first caught his scent. How in the world could you forget the scent of a man you’d dated for three years. Your own body is a liar, clearly. You sigh, spinning around in his arms and pressing your face into his chest.

“Shut up,” You mutter against the black t-shirt he wears. “Don't ruin it.”

“I wouldn't dare,” Hisoka coos, hands winding down your waist, hands resting on your ass. You sigh, hands entangled in his body, arms entangled together. His hands are cold, a strange sensation among the sweaty crowd, pulsing with heat and life. And they send a chill through your body as they trace a thin line where the fabric of your pleated skirt meets the top of your thighs. A line as thin as your restraint. 

You want Hisoka. Badly. You shove down your desire and bite your lip. 

“I've missed this,” You mutter, the alcohol thinning the net of restraint between your arousal and your common sense. You hide your face in his muscled chest. It shakes as he chuckles, rewarding your lack of restraint with a gentle trace of the meat of your thighs. You sigh.

“You're certainly loose-lipped.” Hisoka chuckles as his fingers trace gentile lines below the hem of your skirt. And then, after a slight pause, “Me too.”

You don't want to delude yourself into thinking he sounds more sincere. But your more conscious mind notes the words. You know he's not lying. His body is as eager as yours. 

“Here all alone?” He asks, somehow managing to sound condescending over the raging electronic music and the raging fire of arousal and resentment mixing into a heady cocktail of delight. You shake your head into his chest, hands notting in the fabric of his shirt and digging into his back. Hisoka's hands are towing the line, tracing father and farther under your skirt. You don't protest.

“No,” You murmur, “With Vera.”

“Ah, no boyfriend then?” He asks, one of his cold fingers brushing your butcheek. Your pussy drools against your black panties, longing for the familiar touch of his thick fingers. Flashes of a past relationship flit in your touches, behind your eyes. 

“No,” You mutter, grinding against his hands. “Not right now.”

“What a surprise,’ Hisoka coos, “I would have assumed you would have no trouble finding a decent replacement. Maybe a less attractive one.”

You sigh, digging your nails into his back. You know it wont do anything but turn him on, but you want to show your annoyance somehow. Hisoka’s cold hand takes a handful of your ass, squeezing it appreciatively. 

“You're hard to replace.” You sigh, as you pull your head off his chest. Looking up at him was maybe a mistake. Hisoka is really sexy, more sexy than you had even remembered in your dreams. That fire red hair, down and distracting, hiding the flickering yellow of his eyes. He grins down at you, as if he's gazing upon a prize or a treasured painting. You hate the hint of emotion you catch behind his eyes. You wish it was pure lust. 

His kisses taste like alcohol. Like fire and salt and the past, and you melt into his arms with a sigh, resentment lingering in your touch. A hand slips fully under your skirt, fingers sliding over your panties. He chuckles, fingers slick against the mess you know he finds down there. 

“Messy,” Hisoka coos, as a single finger slips under the lace. A tease of what's to come. You whimper, yanking at his shoulders. 

“Wait.” You murmur. To his credit he freezes, hands placed incriminatingly on your body, your waist, your pussy. It's like he's been caught doing something he's not allowed, someone he's not allowed to do. “Not here.” You finish, as your hips grind on that hand, against your will. 

“Hmm,” Hisoka coos, as his thumb finds your clit. “Back area it is then?”

Your back arches against him, moan tumbling from your lips. The people around you haven't noticed, but you know they will soon. You nod. 

♥♥♥

There are a lot of things you could be doing instead of making out with your ex in the dingy back area of a club. Work, for example. Or maybe finishing your newest painting. Or perhaps even chores, or folding laundry, or grocery shopping. But instead you had your legs hooked around the muscled hips of Hisoka, as he practically eats your mouth off your face entirely. 

You pull your hands from his hair, head falling back with a clunk against the wall as he mouths at your neck, leaving possessive little hickeys for a future you. 

You don't want to stop him. 

“We shouldnt do this,” You maon, head rolling to the side, resting against the wall. You can hear the pulsing from the bass through the wall, the muffled sounds of music and bodies. Hisoka has you against a wall, tucked away in the corner of a hallway, behind a do not enter sign. But the two of you were never one to follow directions anyway.

“Why not?” Hisoka purrs against your neck. “It's just meaningless sex.”

He sucks another hickey into your neck and it stings, matching with the words that escape his mouth. You whimper, digging your nails into his back. You want to rip the damn shirt off those broad shoulders.

“It's meaningless.” You murmur, grabbing that red hair and yanking him up to kiss you again. “Just sex.” You moan, tapping the muscled arms holding you suspended off the ground. He lets you drop to the ground, your heels clacking on the ground. 

It's just meaningless. You can do meaningless, emotionless sex. If Hisoka isn't attached, neither are you. You'd rather roll around naked on a hotbed of coals than let that damn man hold something over your head. 

Hands tangled in that red hair, you force him down to his knees.

Hisoka is strong, much stronger than you both physically and in terms of nen. If he wanted to he could easily resist your guidance, he could shove you through the wall if he really tried. But he lets you push him, sinking to his knees with the kind of grin that splits you between slapping him and cumming. You whine, gripping his hair and shoving him close to your pussy. Hisoka smirks. 

“You're so eager for me,” He coos, cold hands stroking your thigh. “Are you sure you aren't still attached?”

You glare, hoisting one leg up and over his broad shoulders.

“Shut up,” You moan, head falling back against the wall with a clunk. Hisoka smirks, and does as you instruct.

Hisoka might be an annoying egotistical asshole, but if you could give him anything, he was extremely skilled in bed. 

You watch as he grips the gusset of your panties, arms flexing as he rips the place clean in half. You want to complain as you watch the lace pieces fall off your thighs and tumble to the floor, but then he puts his tongue to work and any complaints dissolve in your throat. 

God, you missed this. You anchor your hands in his hair as his hands grip your thighs, forcing them apart. The bass thumbs through your body, as Hisoka works his magic on your pussy. His nimble tongue dances around your clit, working up your already tense body, tying it as tight as a bowstring. You whimper, hands yanking and pulling at his hair.

Hisoka looks so good like this, on his knees, hair mussed and eyes hazy, a large bulge tenting his pants. And most importantly, silent.

Slurps and dirty squelching noises fill the empty hallway, accompanied by moans and groans, and of course the bass pumping through the walls and connecting with your body. 

Fucking your ex was a terrible idea, logically speaking. But as your body archings off the wall, as Hisoka suctions his lips around your clit and sucks, the idea seems really bright and clever. God he's so good at this. 

“Fuck,” You mutter, back arching as you feel your orgasm looming closer and closer. “Want more.”

“How eager~!” Hisoka pants, pulling away from your pussy for a moment, his spit slicked lips shining in the lowlight. You groan, muttering something in between his name and ‘shut the hell up’, and then your complaints dissolve into a whine as he abruptly shoves his fingers into your cunt.

Your back arches off the wall, head tipped back, mouth parted in a loud moan. Hisoka knows what he's doing. He knows what you like, how many fingers you want, how fast you want it, how you like your clit sucked. 

He knows it all. 

And you hate that. 

Hisoka holds the power to drive you wild, panting, insane, and you hate it. 

“Gonna cum,” You whine, bucking your pussy against his face. HIsoka mutters something unimportant into your pussy, but all you can muster is a moan of warning before you come.

Your orgasms overwhelms you, stars and lights and red bursting on your eyelids as the arousal falls around you, pumping through your veins in time with the bass. 

“Oh god, Hisoka,” You moan as you cum, and faintly your common sense scolds you for letting him know he has any power over you. But the rest of your body is currently occupied by the orgasms running in waves through your body, by the man on his knees before you. 

“Good, huh my dear?” Hisoka coos when you cum down, rising from his feet with an obnoxious smirk. It turns you on. 

“Shut up,” You whine, pulling your skirt over your naked ass. Hisoka laughs. 

“You’ll have to stand me for a little longer, I'm afraid.” He purrs, hand on your waist as you hobble out of the hallway, and towards the main floor of the club. “I know you can't get it this good anywhere else.”

You want to ignore him, to bruise that massive ego of his but right now you would rather ride the massive dick he has hidden in his pants.

“Fuck you Hisoka.” You mutter as the two of you wind your way across the dance floor and towards the exit of the club. Hisoka chuckles.

“Soon, dear.” He says, hand winding under your skirt to stroke your bare pussy. “Be a good girl and be patient?”

You choke on a moan, slapping his hand away from your bare pussy lest you cum on the floor of the club. You shoot Vera a text before you leave, informing her of your bad decisions. All you receive in response is a simple text.

‘I knew it.’ 

And then

‘Enjoy it.’

You laugh a bit, stepping out into the cold air as Hisoka’s hand winds under your skirt to smooth over your pussy again. You think you very much will. 

...

Endnotes: yay, all done! hope yall enjoyed

[royboyfanpage]

Okay, let's talk about Ollie's experience with fatherhood.

I'm an Oliver Queen apologist forever, but I think that there's a tendency in fandom to go one of two ways- "absolutely perfect dad, no flaws whatsoever" or "evil abuser who shouldn't be within six miles of a child". This isn't an Ollie exclusive phenomenon, a lot of characters and topics do fall into that black-and-white mindset. But the thing is- Ollie doesn't have to be either extreme. Particularly with Roy, who most of the debate centres around, Ollie wasn't perfect! I think there's such a rich discussion point in terms of young Roy's relationship with Ollie, so much more than just That Panel. Because, in my interpretation, Ollie absolutely cared about him, absolutely saw him as a son, but also the idea of being a father is something that deeply terrified him. The idea that this literal child being dependent on him made it feel more real, if that makes sense. Coming to terms with the fact that he was responsible for another person's life was difficult for him, and so he put up this wall- hero and sidekick. A conceptual dynamic, one that's not based in reality. He can keep that distance between himself and Roy and decide what that means, he doesn't have to be a father because that word has so many strong connotations, but he can still express that he cares about Roy, in his own way. That's why he always calls Roy 'Speedy' even out of costume, that's why his first thought is that Roy's undercover in Snowbirds. He can focus on being a good mentor to Speedy, which will have a trickle-down effect to being a good guardian to Roy, right?

Unfortunately, kids' brains don't work like that! Especially not a kid who's already lost two fathers. Roy needed a stability in his teenage years that Ollie just wasn't able to give at that time. He didn't see "Ollie's nice to me as Speedy because he loves me and doesn't know how to show it", he saw "Ollie's nice to me as Speedy, which means I'm only good as Speedy". This, at least in my opinion, is a major factor in Roy’s later self-esteem issues. Roy’s constantly underestimating himself as a hero, constantly comparing himself to Dick, and pushing himself 24/7 to improve because he internalised the idea that if he’s good, if he’s the perfect hero, then he’ll be loveable. He can’t be bad, he can’t fail, he can’t back down because if he does, he’s nothing.

It’s absolutely not Roy’s fault, but also this doesn’t mean that Ollie’s an evil neglecting abuser, either. Even the best parents fuck up, and Ollie was by no means the best parent. He took in Roy as a sidekick, as a buddy, and then never really found a way to combine the ideas of sidekick and son. He assumed that Roy would be able to interpret meanings behind gestures, which is something that Roy seems to struggle with even into adulthood. I’ve talked about it a fair bit, Roy’s absolutely someone who relies on the explicit, but he’s also not someone who’ll ask for clarification, which has caused conflict in his relationships time and time again. And while it's something he has gotten better at as he's gotten older, a 12-18 year old Roy would absolutely not be able to read Ollie's motives.

And Ollie's fear of fatherhood isn't something exclusive to Roy, either. Sure, he'd gotten better at it by the time Connor and Mia entered the picture (speaking as an oldest child myself, we are the guinea pigs of parenting, I was my mum's sibling), he absolutely still expresses this with them. I mean, just look at his face when he finds out Connor's his son.

That's the face of a man who's just had the crushing weight of parenthood slammed down onto him again, the moment Connor stopped being an ally and started being his responsibility. He's scared, because Ollie absolutely does not see himself as a good father for someone to have. This was very much present during Roy's teenage years, but particularly since this is post-Snowbirds. Both in terms of Roy developing a drug addiction and in terms of Ollie's own initial reaction to it, he immediately spirals. And, since we've already established he does not know how to process things, he lashes out at Connor.

And as for Mia, he's definitely matured significantly by the time she comes into the picture, and compared to with Roy he's a lot more open with his feelings. However!

He still won't explicitly accept the responsibility of fatherhood! Despite acting like a father to Mia in every way through his actions, he still won't use his words! Even though in the issue following, he expresses a paternal protectiveness over her.

And I think Mia's HIV diagnosis is maybe one of the biggest examples of his distancing himself and hiding his feelings, particularly when Connor asks him how he's feeling about it.

He's so fine, so totally fine, trust him when he says he's fine, totally not freaking out. He's absolutely not terrified for his not-daughter, no way.

Ollie has this fear that if he gets too attached to his kids, he's gonna end up failing them. If he keeps a distance from them, then he can't blame himself when they get hurt. Is this good parenting? No! Absolutely not! But this is also the man who dresses up as Robin Hood and who chose to die rather than lose his arm. This is not a healthy man.

But he tries, he tries so hard, even if it's in his own way. And he recognises when he fucks up! And he tries his best to mend it later on!

He's not the best at showing his kids that he loves them, but he's so proud of Roy when he becomes Red Arrow. He comes back to life to save Connor. He stands by Mia's side when she gets diagnosed and becomes Speedy. He's not a great dad, but goddamnit he's trying to be.

In conclusion, no, Ollie is not the perfect father. He's deeply flawed, and his own emotional incompetency has been and always will be a point of conflict between him and his kids. But he's not some uncaring abuser, either. He's trying.

[bumblebeehug]

In The Heat Of The Moment

Summary: An answer to an interview is the straw that breaks the camel's, or in this case, Lucy's back. She has never been this angry with Natsu before - and he's never been this angry with her.

Warnings: No explicit content, but lots of swearing.

Notes: Sorry if this is a bit OOC lol, I got itchy fingers last year and wrote 90% of this fic in one go with no prior planning. Only got back to it now, but hey! It's finished!

Ao3

***

Lucy was so unbelievably fed up with Natsu. Even looking at him had her filled with an indescribable rage, practically making her fume. That stupid, idiot man! She had never felt this anger before, not even against a tough enemy she was facing during extra hard missions. No, no words could describe the resentment she felt towards Natsu, not even coming from her, a proper writer.

“You just don’t get it Natsu! God, can you please try to use that non-existent brain for once?” She yelled in despair, tears welling over in her eyes from the heartbreaking frustration building in her heart.

“No, I don’t get it Lucy! For fuck’s sake, why do you have to be such a pedantic bitch?” His big hand grabbed her collar, making it tighten up significantly.

Lucy wasn’t scared, she told herself, because being scared of the person she hated the most was not only unbelievably embarrassing, but also just way below her standards. So she fiercely bit down on her lip, partly to make the tears stop flooding, partly to throw the fire dragon slayer off guard.

Natsu’s usually kind onyx eyes looked like angry storms, showing her the most spiteful stare she had gotten in a very long time.

“Maybe I’m a pedantic bitch because I’ve always had to balance out your disgusting childish personality all the fucking time. Do you have any idea of what a menace you are, not only to me or this guild, but to society?” She hissed, no longer holding back the anger she felt. Natsu, out of everyone, was the last person she wanted to hear those comments from, because frankly - he was no better than her in this matter.

Natsu pursed his lips. He had never seen Lucy this upset, and frankly, he hadn’t felt this upset since, well, Igneel left him in the woods as a kid. It had all started a few weeks ago, when he had been interviewed for a double paged article in Sorcerer's Weekly. He had gotten the usual questions, except two or three out of the ordinary. He was asked about random things, like his favourite restaurant and his best picnic spot - all manageable questions, until it came to the last one.

“Why did you leave the guild before it disbanded?” Jason asked, his lock of hair wiggling in the wind. Natsu of course answered with the usual - he wanted to get stronger for the guild after dealing with Igneel’s death. Only, this time he was asked a follow up question.

“Did you ever worry about anyone while you were away? Anyone particularly?”

“Well…” He had answered, “I suppose I was a bit worried about my team, but in general I was worried about everyone. I think out of all of the guildmates I might be the most fired up to protect everyone. There’s no telling what type of trouble could come to Fairy Tail you know.” That sentence wasn’t the problem though. It was the one that came after that. “I told Lucy to tell everyone hi as I left, but she probably didn’t manage to do that since she let the guild disband.” An innocent sentence according to Natsu. He had just commented on the letter he had given her, and provided a clue on what he had written in it - nothing more, nothing less, right?

The rest of the day was quite peaceful, not even any guild brawls starting up in the evening. It could probably be described as the calm before the storm, he learned the following day.

“You told him I let the guild disband!?” Lucy yelled as she entered the guild by slamming up the doors.

It was still quite early in the morning, though a lot of members came in early on Thursdays, hoping to grab quick high paying jobs before the weekend. Every step Lucy took was loud as she stomped to the bar where Natsu sat and the guild got quiet enough for anyone to hear a pin drop. Lucy waved the copy of the magazine in front of her before slamming it down in front of Natsu, disrupting his otherwise quite calm breakfast.

“That you were worried about the protection of the guild, when you ran off with nothing but a letter!?”

“What- what are you talking about?” Natsu asked, confused over the sudden accusation - coming from his best friend nonetheless!

“I’m talking about the interview from yesterday! What on earth made you say something like that?” Lucy took a small step back and crossed her arms. Partly to calm herself from the initial shock, but also partly to hide the betrayal she felt.

Telling Jason, and the entire continent for that matter, that Lucy didn’t succeed at contacting their friends in the guild because she let it disband? It felt like a shot in the heart, because she really didn’t think Natsu would ever say such a thing. She was afraid of it, but she told herself she was being paranoid due to her issues with abandonment. Now she was watching her biggest fears come true and she felt conflicted whether she was meant to be furious or depressed over it.

Natsu stood up from his seat and tried putting his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her. Not pleased with his half-assed apology, Lucy immediately shook him off.

“I don’t know what to say… I didn’t think he would write it down so literally I guess?”

He still didn’t understand where her anger was coming from. He had really just told Jason some things that he usually didn’t talk about—like his letter to Lucy and how he truly felt when he and Happy left to train. If anything he felt a bit proud for opening up more.

“But you’re admitting that you said it?” She opened the spread in the magazine, to properly quote him. “‘I think out of all of the guildmates I might be the most fired up to protect everyone,’ it says, and wait - there’s more: ‘I told Lucy to tell everyone hi as I left, but she probably didn’t manage to do that since she let the guild disband.’ Do you agree that that is what you said?” She looked into his eyes, still wishing Jason misinterpreted what he actually said, though now fretting to hear the truth.

“Well… yeah I guess I did say exactly that. I don’t know what you want me to say,” Natsu said, not understanding why Lucy was being so dramatic over some words.

He usually found her endearing when she acted dramatic over things but now he was growing annoyed. He really didn’t like that she was getting mad at him for telling his truth to Sorcerer’s Weekly.

Lucy fought her quivering lip. He really said it. And it looked like he really thought so too. That it was Lucy’s fault that the Fairy Tail guild disbanded—not that she was the cause of it, but that she didn’t do anything to stop it. Even if it was true–she didn’t know what to do at the time, knowing that Natsu and Happy left her with only a short, quite poorly written letter, still healing both physically and emotionally from the war against Tartaros. She felt sick to her stomach hearing it from him.

“I’d like an apology,” she said, her voice shaking slightly as she forced herself not to cry. “I want you to apologise for blaming me for a situation that you ran away from. Say that you’re sorry.” She said it louder this time. She refused to put up with his unfair claims, and she knew she deserved an apology.

“Okay. I’m sorry for telling Jason my true feelings, but that’s just how I feel. Sorry if you don’t think you’re not at least partially responsible for letting the guild disband. But you know that if I were there I would never have let that happen.”

Natsu knew he was pulling the wrong strings here, but even if he never said it, the knowledge that the disbandment could have—no, would have been stopped if he was there was enough to feel like the rest of the guild hadn’t tried hard enough themselves. Frankly, putting all of that blame on Lucy was unfair and untrue and Natsu knew it, but it was hard to take back printed words.

“Oh I know you wouldn’t let it happen, because Natsu Dragneel is soooo much better than everyone else here, right? No, fuck that Natsu. Because you. Weren’t. There. Alright?” Lucy clenched her teeth as she said it.

”You have no right telling us how little we tried to keep the guild together. You have no right to talk like you’re the only one who cares about what happens to this guild, because out of everyone, you’ve proven to care the least about the guild! What’s that about being the ‘most fired up about protecting everyone’ huh? How can you protect people if you’re. Not. There!” Lucy poked Natsu harshly in the chest as she said the last three words, feeling her cheeks heat up in a growing rage.

She hadn’t originally wanted to bring up this event. In fact, she had practically laid awake every single night during that disbanded year, telling herself to forgive and forget as soon as possible. Because she knew no one’s circumstance was easy to deal with and sometimes obeying master Makarov’s order was the only thing you could do in a crisis like that. She had really, really, wanted to leave all of this behind her.

“Do you know what I went through in that war? Do you? I lost my dad, Lucy. I had to see him get murdered by Acnologia. You might not have liked your father, but for the longest time you still had one—you just chose not to see him and for what? Some childish anger about him working too hard and ‘neglecting’ you? I would have switched places with you in an instant if it meant I got to know my father was alive and well.” His voice gradually rose as he spoke, and simultaneously a pit grew in his stomach.

He hated this. He knew very well he wouldn’t actually want to switch places with Lucy, because he knew their situations weren’t comparable, but the more he spoke the harder it was to back down from his words.

“Don’t claim you’d want to switch places with me Natsu Dragneel. Don’t you even dare. Your childhood was great thanks to Igneel and mine was horrible because of my father. I know you wanted to get stronger to beat Acnologia, I understand wholeheartedly. I can even say that it was completely reasonable for you to leave me—to leave all of us, but I can’t let you think that you were the only one who lost a dear family member.” Lucy had run out of breath, but was quick to catch it again.

“Wendy, Gajeel, Sting and Rogue all lost their dragons, their parents as well, you know. And I lost a family member, Natsu. What’s worse is that I had to break our bond, I broke Aquarius’ key. She’s the only thing my mom left me and I had to give her up to save all of you. I would do it all again in a heartbeat for all of you but I might never find her key again and I have to live with the knowledge that I’m the reason we can’t see each other.” Her tears were dangerously close to overflowing, but she held them back.

“So don’t use Igneel as a shield for your shitty actions, Natsu. No one would have stopped you from training here, hell, no one would have stopped you from running away if you only talked to me first! But you left a letter with only chicken scratch on it, and you didn’t even try to get in contact with me while you were gone.” Lucy felt herself yelling at this point. She had to, otherwise she would’ve stopped mid-sentence as she saw Natsu’s face change from stoic and indifferent—maybe a little upset—to hurt. But now the ball was in Natsu’s court.

“I wrote you a fucking letter Lucy,” he hissed through his teeth, “that’s more than I did to anyone else. What more do you want, huh? A tiara, a horse, a castle maybe? Why do you think you’re so entitled to everything?”

He was reaching now and he knew it. Her coming from a rich family had nothing to do with this argument, but he knew he couldn’t say anything else to answer her about Igneel and Aquarius. Because she was right. He just hated that she was. He hated it because she knew how to talk about her feelings, and he didn’t, which is why he spent that year trying to get ahold of himself. And he hated that she knew him so well, but that she couldn’t figure that small thing out. That he regretted leaving more than anything else, that he regretted the letter he gave her, that he regretted not reaching out. He was acting cowardly, and out of everyone in the guild, he really thought that Lucy would understand.

Lucy however was getting fed up with how he was making this argument more personal than it already was. What more did she want than a letter? She had already told him that she wanted signs that he had at least tried to reach out, to show her that he didn’t completely abandon her. Lucy was so unbelievably fed up with Natsu at this point. That stupid, idiot man! No words could describe the resentment she felt towards Natsu, not even coming from her, a proper writer.

“You just don’t get it Natsu! God, can you PLEASE try to use that non-existing brain for once!?” She yelled in despair, tears welling over in her eyes from the heartbreaking frustration building in her heart.

“No, I don’t get it Lucy! For fucks sake, why do you have to be such a pedantic bitch?” He couldn’t stand her vague hints at what she wanted him to say. Why couldn’t she understand that he wanted real answers to his questions, not insults to his mental capacity. His big hand grabbed her collar, making it tighten up significantly. Lucy wasn’t scared, she told herself, because being scared of the person she hated the most at the moment was not only unbelievably embarrassing, but also just way below her standards. So she fiercely bit down on her lip, partly to make the tears stop flooding, partly to throw the fire dragon slayer off guard.

Natsu’s usually kind onyx eyes looked like angry storms, showing her the most spiteful stare she had gotten in a very long time.

“Maybe I’m a pedantic bitch because I’ve always had to balance out your disgusting childish personality all the fucking time. Do you have any idea of what a menace you are, not only to me or this guild, but to society?” She hissed, no longer holding back the anger she felt. If he wanted to make this fight about things that didn’t relate to that article, then she wouldn’t hold back. Natsu, out of everyone, was the last person she wanted to hear those comments from.

“I don’t give a fuck if you think I’m a menace to society or whatever because at least I manage to protect society from whatever dangers they face! I’m the one who saved the entire continent from fucking Acnologia, and what did you do in the meantime, huh?” He sneered, lifting her higher in the collar. His fists were itching to… not hit her, but hit something. Gray would have been a good target, but the wall was closer – he made a mental note.

“Believe it or not mister main character syndrome, I was helping beating Acnologia. In real life, and not just in whatever weird imaginary place you ended up in.” She was really reaching again. “You, however, always think I’m just some weak loser who can’t hold her own ground! As if I don’t save your butt every single mission due to your stupid recklessness!” Lucy wasn’t backing down despite feeling Natsu’s scolding hot breath against her face. “And no, I don’t care about how you claim to always act on instinct to protect your family, because it’s proper bullshit! You don’t get to act all high and mighty and great for this guild because your indecisiveness and pure weakness made you leave this guild to rot for an entire year. If you’re going to become this guild’s self proclaimed protector, then you’ve got to be here to protect it.” Lucy pulled away from Natsu’s grip, forcing some space between them.

“No, Lucy, you have no right to say that to me. It’s thanks to me we’ve survived almost every single danger the guild has faced. It’s thanks to me the guild won the Grand Magic Games - or wait, no it wasn’t! Because back then I was saving your ass from getting killed! So sorry for saving you and successfully protecting you all this time. I knew you were whiny, but I didn’t know you resented me for fixing your life. I brought you to this guild, you should be thanking me, not yelling at me for having my own life aside from you.”

“Would you just shut up!” Lucy’s voice cracked, and she quickly resented herself for saying that. “If you regret bringing me here to this guild then maybe I should just leave? But just know that I never ever left this guild in the dust to run away with one of my best friends, leaving the other one behind to rot. I never ran away, despite not being able to speak to my father before he died, despite feeling weak. Because I know I am And I don’t need you to tell me. I’m weak, I’m weird and you think I’m a sensitive, whiny bitch, because no matter what great feats I make, I will always be that spineless girl according to the entire fucking continent.”

Natsu pursed his lips. He had never seen Lucy this upset, and frankly, he hadn’t felt this upset since Igneel left him in the woods as a kid. Hearing her say that she would leave really threw him back into reality though, her words feeling like a bucket of ice cold water getting thrown at him. What the fuck was he doing? Fighting her over something as small as not being able to honestly apologise about blaming her for not managing to hold the whole guild together by herself? An impossible feat, now that he thought about it, unless everyone in the guild had the same mindset.

“No. No, no, no, Lucy, let’s not do this,” he mouthed, relaxing his fists and softening his face. “You’re not weak, or weird, or a sensitive spineless girl.”

As their yelling match quieted down they both became aware of their surroundings again. No one had said a single word while they had been throwing insults at each other, and Lucy became uncomfortably aware of how she basically outed all of her insecurities in the heat of it all. No longer feeling the fighting spirit to keep the tears abay, she let them blur her vision. Fighting with her best friend was draining, and she never ever wanted to do it again.

“You’re the person I hate the least in, like, the whole world, please don’t say you’ll leave.” He almost whispered this sentence, not wanting everyone to listen in to their private conversation, but getting the opposite effect as he heard Gajeel whisper to Levy what he had said. If anything, talking quieter made the guild listen even more attentively.

Lucy once again felt her throat thicken up, but this time from regret for fighting and not in anger, as earlier.

“Of course I won’t leave. I would never do that. It’s just…” She sniffled, “I know you probably didn’t mean to hurt my feelings during that interview, you didn’t know that I already blame myself for letting the guild disband, and for not trying harder to keep in contact with everyone. How could you know, I never told you. It just got extra hurtful to hear that you felt the same way. It’s like having one of your biggest fears come true and I just got so… sad… that I got angry instead.”

Natsu could see that she was gathering courage to apologise, which truthfully broke his heart even more than it already had today.

“But I don’t think you’re to blame, I honestly don’t even know what got into me, Lucy. If anything I know that you kept tabs on everyone behind the scenes because rather than ripping up healing scars, you wanted to make sure everyone was safe, wherever they were. I’ve never told you how relieved I was when I saw that we didn’t have to start from scratch to find everyone, all thanks to the fact that you dedicated yourself to getting a job that would give you the information necessary. You’re amazing for everything you’ve done, and if anything, I’m the one who needs to realise that I’m the weak one. I shouldn’t have left everyone like that. It wasn’t fair, and it isn’t an excuse but I was sad and, well… scared.”

This time it was Lucy’s turn to interrupt Natsu.

“You’re not weak for doing what you thought would keep your loved ones safe, Natsu. I know you didn’t abandon me, you really were trying to protect us all, in your way. Though, it would be nice if you knew that we’re here for you too. We want to protect you and the guild as well. I want to protect you.”

“I’m still sorry for leaving. And I’m sorry for not thinking before I talk, I never wanted to make you feel that way. I was being really stupid. Can you forgive me?”

The air was thick between them, mixed with remnants of hurtful words and regret. A few whispers from the rest of the guild made it even more obvious that the current situation was wrong - Natsu and Lucy couldn’t fight. They were best friends, an inseparable duo. It was all so wrong. Lucy’s sobs broke the silence.

“Of course I can forgive you.” A huff or relief mixed with a sob made its way out, almost sounding like laughter. Natsu felt the corners of his mouth pull up slightly, the weight on his shoulders lifting simultaneously. Carefully he took a step closer to her, pulling her into an embrace. Lucy’s relieved sobs made her shake against his chest as she allowed herself to fall into the hug. “If anything,” she breathed, “can you forgive me? You’re not a menace to society, nor exhausting to be with. I’m sorry for yelling at you.” As her voice broke into falsetto, mixing with previous sobs, Natsu managed to laugh lightly.

“Well you were right about the destructive part,” he laughed, tightening his grip around her shivering shoulders. “There’s really no need for you to apologise, but I’ll forgive you if it helps you to forgive yourself.”

Happy gave out a loud cry from beside them.

“I’m sorry Lucy..!” He wailed, throwing himself into their arms. “I didn’t know you’d be so sad about us leaving..!” Seeing Happy cry made Lucy cry even more.

“Of course I’d be sad if my best friends left me,” she managed to say, “I felt so lonely… You guys are everything to me, it was so weird to live without you.”

Happy’s cry was almost deafening at this point, as the only thing muffling the sound was Lucy’s chest and his occasional mumbling about loving her and apologising. The guild kept quiet, no one knowing how to react to the situation. The topic of the disbandment of the guild was rarely spoken of, often due, but not limited to, people silently judging themselves and others for allowing it to even happen in the first place. Cana could lie awake some nights in shame of how she had been drinking away reality when it happened, Elfman took more single missions than ever before, spending them wondering if he hadn’t made the guild blow up, would Makarov never have disbanded Fairy Tail? Some people were firm believers that they’d step up to keep the guild together, if someone had initiated it at first that was. Everyone had their own discomfort around the subject, yet very few had actually spoken about it out loud. Watching the guild’s sun and star fight over the delicate matter had brought feelings they hadn’t felt in a long time, so when Erza spoke up everyone held their breaths.

“I think we all have our uncomfortable memories connected to that year. I can admit, with full transparency, that I also have had some sleepless nights over this topic. But I can assure you both that no one blames either of you, in any way. It’s true that Natsu takes the job of protecting the guild in the highest regard of seriousness, and it’s also true that Lucy does too. To be frank, often I wonder if I could have prevented everything had I been more perceptive. But I’ve never blamed either of you.” Erza’s tone was soft, despite her words being stale and clearly rehearsed in her head. Her own confession made a myriad of other people speak up as well.

“Yeah, we never blamed you two. You’re the ones that brought us together again!” The guild stirred, people talking over each other to get their two cents on the topic. After all, the disbandment was a dam waiting to burst – Natsu and Lucy had just accidentally pulled the plug.

“Well…” the coarse voice that spoke up made the guild quiet down again. Makarov had made an appearance, and Natsu and Lucy, who were already ashamed for having their affairs sorted out in front of their guild mates, got even more embarrassed knowing that he had heard it all. “I must say that I’m surprised, and actually offended, that no one has put the blame on me. You can deny it all you want, but at the end of the day it was me, not any of you, that uttered the words that caused the disbandment. It was never my intention for you to get mad at yourselves or each other.”

Glances were passed around in the guild. Between people who had fought over this topic, and between people who had plotted against other groups.

“I won’t say sorry though.” Makarov gave the crowd a stern look. “I did what I thought was the best thing to do at the time. And you can try to prove me wrong, but everyone here grew during that year. You took your own paths, and experienced new ways of living. I’m sorry for the aftermath of disbanding the guild, but I’m not sorry for doing it.”

When Makarov finished his sentences, the guild let out a collective sigh. Some got annoyed with Makarov’s demeanour – hadn’t he listened to Natsu and Lucy, and heard how harmful the event had been for their relationship? Others sighed in relief, nodding along with his words. He had a point after all, and like it or not, the guild had absolutely gotten stronger after their time apart. Someone mentioned the saying that “distance makes the heart fonder” and another guy pushed him for being corny.

Soon enough the argument between Natsu and Lucy had sizzled out. For everyone besides them, that is. Except, they both felt like there were things to deal with still. There were no more hard feelings between them, their troubles had been aired out and felt small now that they weren’t topics to carefully tread around anymore. Still, they hadn't come to a conclusion. They wanted to talk.

“Do… Do you want to go to my place?” Lucy asked, now that no one paid them attention.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

They knew they didn’t have any eyes on them, but they decided to sneak out the back way anyway. It didn’t feel right to walk out through the big doors that made a big thunk when it closed behind them. Not today. They were still worn thin from the screaming battle – a loud sound might break them from shockwaves only.

The walk home was naturally quiet. They had taken this route home many times before, but back then the silence didn’t feel so empty. It wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t emotionally thick. There weren’t any unsaid words, unsaid sentences hanging in the air, clinging to their brains like velcro. Today, everything had been said. There were no more elephants to avoid talking about. Except maybe one.

Lucy was the first to enter the apartment. She took her time untying her shoes and hanging up her jacket. They had gone here to talk, though how, she had no idea. How was she supposed to say anything when the same mouth had heckled him only an hour earlier? Natsu, who also took his time with his sandals, almost moving unnaturally slowly to get those extra seconds to prepare himself, wondered the same thing. He started formulating sentences in his mind, trying to come up with something to say that wasn’t going to ruin them, but before he could put any of them to the test, Lucy spoke.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Both Lucy herself and Natsu gave her a mental pat on the shoulder. Harmless words. A good sentence even – Natsu would give it first place in the world if he could.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Another successful sentence. Maybe they actually would be able to solve all this.

After Lucy put on the kettle, they both sat down on the couch beside each other. She was first to speak again.

“Natsu, I really am sorry for everything I said.” Natsu tried to stop her there to insert his own apology, but Lucy spoke up louder. “I really said so many things that I didn’t mean, and I’m ashamed I even started the whole argument. It was really immature of me, and I…”

Lucy looked up at Natsu, water was once again pressing in her tear ducts, though this time in regret.

“I just really really love this guild. I don’t know where I would be without it. You seriously saved me that day in Hargeon, in more ways than one. I’m so thankful, I’m sorry for not telling you that more often. Thank you.”

Natsu stared intensely into Lucy’s eyes, wishing his gaze could speak for him, but ultimately deciding to answer.

“I don’t think you understand Lucy, I should thank you. And most of all, It’s me who should apologise. Hadn’t you been in my life I’d still be walking around with a stick up my bum, you’ve changed my perspective on life. We’ve gone through Hell and back together, but I never even once considered you part of that Hell. I’m sorry for being a jerk today.” Natsu didn’t notice until now that he had softly grabbed Lucy’s hand while speaking. He was beyond relieved that she didn’t pull back.

Lucy let out a light sob. She was crying in relief – the reassurance that he didn’t despise her.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you Natsu. You-” she dried some of her tears with the palm of her hand, “you’re my entire world.”

“And you’re mine.” Natsu was quick to answer her, and faster to bring their faces closer. He felt this urge to hug her, keep her tight and not let go for anything in the world, but at the same time he wanted to see her. See her eyes that were still crying, feel her face against his own. So he brought their foreheads together and just breathed with her. Lucy’s breaths were still shallow and shaky, but it felt right to have her skin touching his, breathing in her air.

Then Lucy closed the distance completely. She carefully locked her lips together with his, not being forceful in any way. But they knew that this was the sensation they had been searching for. A complete closeness, mouth to mouth, an action so intimate it felt like they were sharing souls. And right now, they might as well have done exactly that. All their troubles had been shared, all their uglies and all their pretties, and this final action signed a contract. That they’ll keep mentioning anything on their minds, that they’ll say everything they like and dislike about each other. Most importantly what they love about each other. In this short moment of telepathy, they already knew the subject of their love – them.

***

Notes: Oops. At least I ended it with a kiss? I can't lie, this was hard to write and even harder to post (I can't figure out the Rich Text function on Ao3 at all, but I needed italics for the fic on ao3! Sorry tumblr-readers, you’re missing out🫣)

I honestly didn't expect it to get so long, most of the fics I write that are over 4k words are mostly just wordy for no reason, lol. But this fic had some drama! My teachers would be proud, dramatic curves are important but I Suck At Them.

Thank you for reading all this! And pls don't hate me for writing other emotions than love and grief, I'll most definitely get back with a trillion of those kinds of fics soon (I prefer writing those fics hehe). XX

[many-but-one]

i believe survivors of RAMCOA when they talk about the abuse they suffered, but the one thing i cannot wrap my head around is how abusers purposefully program alters? and this makes the moral ocd worms in my brain go NUTS.

i think i dont understand bc not every child who goes through severe torture/abuse will develop DID/OSDD and it feels way more probable that abusers arent attempting to make alters so much as theyre conditioning certain responses (and if a childs brain happens to split these experiences into alters then thats a byproduct that benefits the abuser).

all of this makes me feel like a bad ally to RAMCOA survivors, and while its not your job to educate me would you mind explaining how the programming alters aspect works?

[Trigger warning: talking about how programming works and why not all children who experience RAMCOA develop DID or may not end up becoming fully programmed. Brief mentions of child death. Mentions of child torture. Nothing in detail, obviously. Also talking a lot about how the deprogramming process works. If you are a programmed system yourself and you worry this could be triggering, have grounding items nearby just in case.]

Note: when I say “successfully” or “properly” programmed system, I’m talking about in the eyes of the abusers. Also, this is talking about TBMC (torture based mind control) programmers. I have to put that disclaimer because you wouldn’t believe how many confused computer programmers I’ve gotten in comment sections on other socials.

So, the reason not every child who goes through RAMCOA develops DID is because developing DID requires some pre-requisites. Things like genetic predisposition to dissociate actually do make a big difference. Also, how early the abuse started. If someone goes through RAMCOA trauma, but not until they’re older and their personality has already begun integrating (which can happen younger in some children, even as young as around age 5-7, though some researchers have said personality integration can happen as late as the teen years) it will be significantly harder to develop DID and therefore properly program the child. In addition, how much access programmers have to the child, how long they had access to the child, and how much support the child has outside of the abuse are also contributing factors.

If programmers see this kid one week out of the month, the parents don’t know about it and therefore the kid has a relatively okay home life with love and support, and they only have access to the kid for a couple years, that’s not going to be good grounds for programmers being able to properly do what they want to do. Some may still try if they don’t have access to anyone else, but this rarely creates a “successful” programmed system. Conversely, if they see the kid every day or multiple days a week, a parent is in on it/they have a bad home life where abuse (of possibly a lesser magnitude but not always) occurs, the parents are neglectful or very busy and likely to not notice things, and they have access to this kid for several years, that makes for a better chance that this kid will be properly programmed.

Because of all of these factors, programmers will often pick children who they know have parents with PTSD or CPTSD (or a dissociative disorder, if the parent has disclosed that to them), who they can access early in their life or have prior history of abuse (so are more likely to already have begun developing a dissociative disorder), and whom they have access to frequently. Sometimes, the child’s parent will be programmed by the group themselves and be born quite literally just to be programmed by the group. Some groups take great care in keeping family groups within the group because that creates stronger loyalty bonds and gives them easy access to children to program. It’s not uncommon for a group goal to be for their grown programmed systems to have kids to eventually give to the group, which is why apprehending a programmed system and having them work on deprogramming before this can happen is essential.

A lot of kids that programmers desire to program actually end up “failing out” because they aren’t able to take to the programming. Depending on the group, this could mean they will end the kid’s life or they will just stop the programming-related abuse altogether. And contrary to what most people know, even successfully programmed children have loads of failed programs, or parts that didn’t take well to programming. Most of the time these parts who have failed programming will be put in “discard areas” in the system’s inner world, and they will be either forced into dormancy or they will be stuck there until amnesia barriers eventually break down as the grown person starts to work on deprogramming (if they ever do.) A successfully programmed system’s most active parts are parts who did not fail their programming, and these are often the most well-rounded parts retrofitted with a personality that would have likely been created by the abusers.

To add: there is often layers upon layers of amnesia even in these single well-rounded parts (that often end up having an alters-in-alters subsystem, and said part might not even be aware they have one) and the “top part” or most front-facing part of that subsystem may not even be aware they are programmed. At least, until a cue happens and their program starts running and they start doing things they wouldn’t normally be doing. A lot of programmed parts don’t even know their own cues or even what traumas they have that would have created their programming. They might know they have trauma, but the memories of the programming might be missing, or the context surrounding the programming traumas might be missing. Usually these cues and context behind the traumas are hidden in EPs or fragments that are buried pretty deep within their subsystems. Accessing these EPs in therapy is integral to the deprogramming process, as learning what manipulations were done to make a programmed part believe what they do is essential in undoing it. All deprogramming really is, is showing programmed parts that what their abusers made them believe was true is a lie and that they are not at risk to be harmed anymore if they no longer have contact with the group. (Cutting off a system’s communication with the group is first and foremost what they should do when deprogramming)

As for your assumption, that abusers are trying to condition children and these experiences happen to split an alter to hold the conditioned response, you are partially right. In some cases, especially in cases where it’s a single parent or a family unit doing this to their own kids, it’s often more likely that the parent is not fully aware that they are creating a DID system. This is where the difference between programming and conditioning is important to note. We made a video about this here: link to TikTok video.

However, in larger groups, programmers do know they are creating a system. DID is not some unknown secret to much of the world, and research about it is easy to find. Even inexperienced groups can find research on DID and how alters form very easily and use that to try and create a system in a child. Whether or not they will be successful with that info alone is hard to say. I was abused by two different groups, one of them inexperienced and one of them very experienced. The initial attempts at programming were often unsuccessful, and we assume they got in contact with the experienced group to learn more and they essentially showed our main handler/programmer how it was done. (We have memories of him being taught and observing/taking part as necessary to the teachings, so this is not speculation, we know this was the case.) Once we were in the hands of the experienced group, we became very well programmed and our system’s organization changed massively. On top of that, the inexperienced group was now experienced, so we actually have alters who are programmed by two separate groups, each loyal to their own group. Some of our parts were loyal to both because they were programmed by both. (“Were” loyal because we’ve deprogrammed significantly and they no longer feel loyal to the groups anymore.)

Like I said in my initial post, programming alters is actually not that complicated on the surface, though in practice it is difficult, and to create a well programmed system takes a lot of skill and intelligence. Skilled programmers are unfortunately often incredibly smart individuals. Anyone who’s been willing to speak with me about their programmers often cite them as being people with high level college degrees. Doctors, engineers, mathematicians, scientists, psychologists. If not a college degree, they often work in areas like police work, political work, religious ministry, or other city/county/state positions. If none of these, they (horrifyingly) tend to work in areas where children are often present. Pediatric doctors/nurses, summer camp counselors, Sunday school teachers, daycare attendants, nannying jobs, teaching, etc. While not all programmers will fit this bill, a lot of them do. In the world outside of their programming job, they are often well-liked by their community. This is not to say everyone in these positions is a programmer, also. Want to make that REALLY clear. Not every person with this job has a secret side job of torturing kids, these just happen to be common areas they tend to gravitate toward. They are often thrill-seeking sadists and egocentric. Having a position in their community in which they are consistently recognized for their accomplishments or adored is often important to them. Sometimes, programmers are also programmed themselves, especially in large groups with generational aspects involved.

Now that that’s out of the way, I’m not going to explain in explicit detail how programming works because that doesn’t make me comfortable to share, but a very dumbed down version of it is pretty simple:

1) torture child to create alter splits

2) get one of these splits to front via triggers related to the torture that caused them to split

3) indoctrinate them with a behavior or action that, if they do not do that action, means they will be punished further. While they are doing said action/being indoctrinated with certain beliefs, have a specific trigger or cue present so that when they see that trigger/cue in the future, they will immediately do the action/enforce the beliefs they have been taught.

4) repeat steps 1-3, basically.

This is why I explained that programming is kind of like conditioning on steroids. Except the child is severely manipulated, tortured, and has extreme threats of harm to self or others to reinforce it, and this is done repeatedly, to the point where it causes the alter extreme duress if they do not do their assigned task because if they didn’t do their task in the past (in childhood) they would be tortured or would have to witness other children be tortured. They will fully believe if they do not do the thing, they or others WILL be hurt, and they believe the programmers WILL know if they don’t, so they often just do it automatically in efforts to avoid the punishment they believe is coming. It is extremely hard for them to override the emotional flashbacks, somatic flashbacks, etc, if they try to resist doing the task. Adding onto that, programmers will often create alters who will punish parts in the inner world the same way the abusers would if they do not do their task, so that is another layer of fear on top of that. These programmed parts often cannot distinguish the difference between outer world torture and inner world torture, as they rarely get contact with the outside world except to do their tasks. So if they don’t do their task, they will be punished by alters in the inner world space and they may fully believe they are being punished in real life. Creating safe spaces for alters to go in the inner world if they don’t do their assigned task is an important part of deprogramming. Because once an alter realizes they will not be punished both externally and internally by not doing a certain action, they will be much less inclined to do said action.

If all of that sounds extremely messed up and fucks with your moral OCD, you’re right to feel that way. It is messed up. These people are vile, fucked up, and cruel. They often do not see the children as human beings and care not of how much this damages the child physically, psychologically, and emotionally. These children are dehumanized beyond belief. Many programmed parts of a system do not see themselves as human unless they were specifically meant to be human. Commonly created alters are things with no free will or no ability to think for themselves, such as angels, robots, and inanimate objects. If a child truly believes they cannot think for themselves, it will be harder to deprogram them. Which is why deprogramming often involves teaching the grown system that they are allowed to make choices outside of their group’s desires and control. It is not easy.

For those that read this and are feeling dissociated and/or anxious, remember your grounding techniques. Get some mints, cinnamon candies, or sour candies and munch. Smell a strong scented candle. Hold some ice or hand warmers in your hands. Look around the room and pick out items that you recognize to be from the present. Pet a cat/dog/[insert animal here] or hug a stuffed animal. Remember, it is currently 2024 and you are safe. Your abusers will not know you read this unless you tell them yourself. You are brave, capable, and safe. I believe in you and your healing journey.

Take care, everyone.

[glass--beach]

I know you're not being open about your maybe-plurality on tumblr for other people's sakes, but I want to say thanks for being open about it, and speaking honestly about your feelings. I've been through a very similar journey recently and I felt extremely alone with how I was thinking about/approaching it.

I firmly believe that it doesn't matter whether you have a diagnosable dissociative disorder, I'm too critical of psych to put much stake in that. My journey has always revolved around one question: What is the most useful way to think about myself?

And I spent years trying to be a "singlet". I spent my whole life trying to be one person. But then I didn't know how to introduce myself. I don't know what my hobbies are. I don't know what my goals are. It wasn't just indecisiveness for me, it was a whole different way of seeing the world, of thinking, different core beliefs and opinions that changed the way I behaved and socialized and studied and worked.

For all these years I thought of myself as a "nothing person" as a result. Someone with no particular talents or skills of personalities. I watched my friends grow up and get PhDs and high paying jobs and write books and I still felt like a toddler too overwhelmed by choices and drawn to too many things and not present enough to commit fully to being anyone in particular.

I don't think singlet people understand how damaging it is to not know yourself, or to try to be someone you're not. Well actually, maybe trans singlets do know that. It did feel an awful lot like gender dysphoria but it wasn't just about gender, it was about my whole me.

I'm doing better now. And the reason I'm doing better is because I stopped trying to be a singular person. I recognized that there are multiple identities in here. We have an artist. We have a scientist. We have a sleepy caterpillar. We have a young child. None of those people feel that dreadful "nothingness" anymore. They know who they are, what they like, what their aspirations are, how they like to talk to people. They don't feel like a confused upset failure when they suddenly aren't *themselves* anymore.

A different part/alter/headmate being asocial doesn't undo all of the social skills I have. Me being bad at math doesn't take away from one of my alters who is awesome at it. They're still allowed to identify with their own traits and features without feeling like a fraud because of the fact that they can't consistently be that person all of the time.

Accepting my plurality has saved my life. I love myself now, all of my parts, as they are. It's OK that they're extremely different from me. They're still real. And now I don't spend every day agonizing over why I don't have their skills and interests. I'm ok with being like this.

Sorry if this comes across as over sharing because that is not my intention. I just hoped to illustrate why reconceptualizing yourself as plural can be helpful, and change your whole perspective, and allow you to be more forgiving and kind to yourself. I can't possibly hate the amazing friends I share a brain with, and they don't hate me, how could I hate myself in these conditions after all? I hope this does the same for you. If you do find that you have different parts or personalities there is no shame in letting them fully indulge in what they like and in what they are good at. Don't hold yourself back from being you to the fullest extent just because it doesn't align with your other parts. You will be way happier if you can recognize who you are and then listen to what that part of you wants.

love this and vibe with it heavily. i’ve embraced being a contradictory person but i think actually pinning down the patterns to those contradictions is going to help me out immensely. sounds like that’s what’s worked for you pretty much. glad you’ve gotten something out of my posting, genuinely

[mystwrites]

Hiiii! For the event, 9, 14, or 16 for ler! Rengoku and lee!giyuu. He needs to smile. Ty!!!!

A/N: Hello, I’m sorry this took a while, but I’ve gotten to this!! I decided to go with 9! This will be the last sentence starters fic due to some…irl things happening but I have other things from different fandoms scheduled!

CW: Tickling (don’t like, don’t read)

Giyuu sat alone once more, away from the others enjoying the picnic. As much as he wanted to join the others his age laughing while drinking sake and the younger ones splashing water at one another in the small creek, he didn’t want to be a burden to the group. Perhaps they would have more fun without him. Sitting with Kanzaburo in his lap was probably better anyways. At least he could feel at ease knowing the crow genuinely liked him.

“Tomioka!”

Giyuu all but squeaked, jumping a little as Rengoku’s loud voice startled him from his racing thoughts. Kanzaburo startled and flew away with a squawk.

“Oh…gosh…” he sighed, relieved. “Don’t just shout like that, Rengoku…”

“Sorry, I really do apologize but you’re missing out on all the fun!” Rengoku exclaimed, gesturing to the group. “Why don’t you come and join us?”

“Mmm…nah. Not in the mood…actually according to Shinazugawa, Iguro and Uzui, I’ll ruin it with my “unflashy” and “depressing” aura.” Giyuu replied, looking away. “Also, you scared my crow away. Thanks for that.”

Rengoku knew Giyuu was more introverted than the rest and in all honesty, felt rather bad that he just assumed the group hated him. While Sanemi and Obanai were vocal about their dislike for Giyuu, it was all misunderstandings. Rengoku knew Giyuu wasn’t cocky and sensed that he kept a distance to make sure he didn’t get attached but he hated the thought of Giyuu believing he was hated.

While Rengoku could never get a good read on what was going on through his comrade’s head, he knew Giyuu was sad for some reason. Surely if being hated on daily was getting to him, they should talk about it as a group with Gyomei mediating the exchange.

“I don’t think they think that.” Rengoku started, opening his mouth to continue before Giyuu cut him off.

“Oh yeah? Ask them yourself.” he snorted. “I’m sure they’ll tell you all the reasons why I shouldn’t have even came to this picnic to begin with. In fact, I think I’ll go home.”

Now frowning, Rengoku realized that Giyuu distanced himself specifically because of what the others thought of him. Instead of trying to argue back, Rengoku sat next to his peer before he could leave and stared at the leaves rustling above them.

Wanting to make Giyuu smile, Rengoku searched his brain for ways to make people laugh. He knew jokes wouldn’t work on Giyuu and neither would slapstick humor. Giyuu was different from Tanjiro and his friends and vastly different from Senjuro, but there was one universal trick that could work if executed correctly. He just had to hope it would work.

“Tomioka…” Rengoku said, smiling at Giyuu just as he rose from his place on the grass.

“I don’t like that look on your face, Rengoku…you’re up to something…”

“I know a way to make you smile!~”

Taking one look at Rengoku’s smiling face sent Giyuu running as fast as he could. However, much to his shock, he wasn’t fast enough. Before he realized it, Rengoku held him tightly and gave his already messy hair a noogie.

“Aaggh!! Rengoku!!” Giyuu growled, trying to fight the playful man off.

“Don’t fight it, Tomioka! I’ll make you smile!!” Rengoku grunted, managing to wrestle Giyuu down to the grass.

“I will fight it!!!” Giyuu huffed, trying to put Rengoku in a chokehold. “Get off!!!”

“No! Let me make you smile!!”

“I don’t want to!!!”

“Don’t fight it, Tomioka!!! Just submit!! Smiling is a lot of fun!!”

The sudden wrestling match caught the attention of the other Hashira, the group all watching to see what would happen to Giyuu should Rengoku cause him to tap out. Gyomei, Mitsuri, Muichiro and Shinobu looked on with interest while Tengen, Obanai and Sanemi watched the scene and continued with their argument about who knows what.

“Nooo!! C’mon man!!” Giyuu growled, shoving at Rengoku’s face. “Get off of me-EEEEEEHEEEYYYY!!!”

As soon as Giyuu let out a shriek upon feeling Rengoku press into his sides, the Flame Hashira wrestled the Water Hashira down with ease, tickling his flanks. Instant laughter burst from the normally Giyuu and filled the air. Seeing Giyuu smile made Rengoku smile and looking up at the others. Everyone turned to look at Giyuu who was flat on his back, legs and arms flailing as Rengoku tickled him silly.

“Told you I could make you smile, Tomioka!~” Rengoku purred, causing Giyuu to push at him with more force.

“Yohohou said s-smihihile not l-lahahaugh!” Giyuu whined, shrieking as Rengoku found that oh so terrible spot under his ribs. “GEHEHET OFF OHIHOF MEEEHEHEHEE!!!”

“Mmm…maybe I wanted you to laugh too!” Rengoku shrugged, laughing along as Giyuu fought to escape from his tickly embrace. “Don’t try to escape, Tomioka! I wanna make sure that smile stays on your face!”

As much as Giyuu didn’t want to smile, he couldn’t help but smile and laugh as Rengoku continued to dig into his sides. Much to Giyuu’s shock, Rengoku tickled every ticklish spot one could have, deciding that he enjoyed the reactions Giyuu gave of his sides, armpits and thighs were tickled.

“IHIHIT HURTS!!” Giyuu complained, kicking out frantically. “MY CHEHEHEEKS HUHUHURT!! LEHEHET ME GO!!!!”

The rest of the group snickered as Giyuu let out a shrill scream, kicking and flailing about as Rengoku sat on his thighs and dug his fingertips into his stomach. Hands batted weakly at Rengoku, desperate for the tickling to stop but too weak to put an end to the activity. Gyomei finally decided to stand up and put an end to the chaos realizing that Giyuu was slapping the ground constantly and struggling to catch his breathe.

“Alright, alright. Let him go, Rengoku.” Gyomei chuckled, patting his head. “I think Tomioka’s cheered up enough.”

Taking one more good long look at Giyuu, Rengoku nodded and released Giyuu from his grasp. Extending a hand, he helped Giyuu to his feet and chuckled.

“You okay?” he asked, once again ruffling Giyuu’s messy hair.

“Sure. Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” Giyuu replied, his face going back to its normal appearance.

“Hey, can you at least smile a little?” Rengoku asked, pulling Giyuu’s lips up into a forced smile.

“If you stop touching my lips and forcing me to smile, maybe I will.” Giyuu replied, making Rengoku laugh and pull away.

“Good, now come join us.”

[captain-mj]

Can we get ex-barracksbunny Simon from your TikTok to finally give Johnny that one chance to treat him so good?

It would be criminal to not answer this lmao. In my brain, this is og soapghost but y’all can view it how you want

Ghost sighed softly as Soap started up again. 

“Come on, LT. Bet I can treat you better than anyone else.” Soap sounded so confident. Ghost was well aware the only reason he kept pushing is because Ghost hadn’t actually said no. If he did, Soap would stop. 

“Don’t think you can MacTavish.”

“You two aren’t on a private line.” Gaz cut in. “Just thought I’d say that.”

“Fuck off, Gaz. Simon, you could at least check for yerself?”

Ghost could hear Price taking a deep breath to scold Soap on how what he was doing was borderline sexual harassment. 

“Alright. You act good on this mission, I’ll give you a chance.” 

Price started coughing, choking on his words.

Soap very slowly, accent thick as honey, “What sir?”

“Don’t get coy now. We’ll talk later. But only if this mission is handled well with no injuries.”

Soap was a goddamn angel. Every order executed with precision. 

Price looked so mad about it. 

After their debrief, Ghost went to his room, planning on a shower. He noticed his shadow quickly.

“Johnny. You’re taking me to dinner first. Tomorrow.  Unfortunately for you, I’ve gotten slightly higher standards.”

“I get to have dinner with you?” Soap followed him, looking at him like he hung the stars. Ghost rolled his eyes.

“Johnny, I’m already going to sleep with you. Now fuck off.” He hit the back of his head. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Will you be taking the mask off?”

“You’ll find out.” Ghost closed the door. 

In all honesty, Johnny’s simp behavior had zero to do with Ghost saying yes. It had been four years since he got laid. After getting captured and... everything that came with it, he just hadn’t wanted to.

His therapist had suggested two days ago that he was touch starved. Normally, he’d brush it off as dumb as hell, but he matched all the symptoms. He was pretty sure she hadn’t meant have sex with the nearest person, but casual touch didn’t seem like enough. 

In his past, he slept around a bunch. It had felt nice. Gave him connection. Was a lot easier than trying to fumble through conversation. 

Who knows. Maybe Soap would be good. At the very least, they’d be pressed against each other for a few minutes. Hopefully Soap had some stamina. 

He texted him. “Dress up nice and pick the place.”

“You got it, LT. Just keep looking pretty.”

Bitch.

Ghost did dress up nice though. As nice as he could. Plain black shirt, nicer black trousers, his ski mask. 

Soap had flowers when he opened the door. Carnations. 

Ghost stared at them for a second before taking them and setting them on his desk. “Thank you.” 

Soap smiled at him and walked with him, immediately talking like it was any other day. Ghost was actually pretty thankful for it, even though he didn’t admit. They were pretending they were just hanging out. Like normal. 

Soap had picked a pretty nice place, catching Ghost off guard. “One check, please.” He told them ahead of time. Ghost tilted his head but let it go.

“So why did you want to have dinner first? Not that I’m complaining.” Soap said the second part quickly, hands going up.

“I didn’t want it to feel like a cheap one night stand afterwards.” Ghost glanced at him. “I have to work with you. I’d like to be able to pretend I respect you in the morning.” He was teasing, moving closer. “Do you mind that much?”

“No. I like that I’m getting to spend time with you.” Soap smiled at him. 

Bastard. 

Simon felt stupid butterflies in his stomach. He squashed them. 

When the food came, he lifted his mask up only slightly. Soap openly stared at him. His eyes traced every feature he could see. 

Ghost started eating a bit quicker. He didn’t normally like being observed but something about the way Soap stared at him made him feel particularly weak. 

Soap smiled softly at him and they kept talking. 

It wasn’t until much later that Soap made a comment about the thing. 

“So... You really let them call you Pretty Boy Riley?”

Ghost blushed and unfortunately Soap could see it this time. “Yes. I did for a while... When I first joined the military, it was my first time away from my family. It was... I had never really got a chance to be out and then suddenly I was not only out but surrounded by a bunch of men who were interested. It’s why I slept around so much.”

Soap smiled at him, seeming genuinely interested. “Makes sense. I came out in secondary school. It was a bit different then.”

Ghost hummed. “Hard to imagine you as a teen.”

“I was a football player too. If you can imagine.” Soap laughed, taking another drink. They’d both went nonalcoholic for today. Probably a smart choice. “I bet you were a theater kid.”

“Nope. In a band.” Ghost laughed. “I was the bassist.” 

“No fucking way. Still play?”

“Haven’t tried it in years, but I could always try to pick up again.” It had been fun. “We were awful before you ask. My brother was the singer. He had my dad’s voice.” 

“Wasn’t your dad in a band?”

“As a drummer.” 

Soap laughed immediately and paid. He drove them since he “didn’t trust Ghost behind the wheel” for some reason. Ghost didn’t really like driving so he rolled with it, enjoying getting to sit passenger. 

Soap’s hand fell on his thighs and he stared, a little taken back. Ghost was ushered into Soap’s room. 

He expected there to be an awkward pause. For Soap to realize what he was doing, but then he was lifting Ghost’s masks up to just above his nose and kissing him hard. His hands were on Ghost’s hips, backing him up. 

“Simon. Can I take the mask off?”

His mouth was too dry to form words so he just nodded. Soap pulled it off of him. 

“I see why they called you pretty.”

“I’m sure the scars are pretty ghastly. Try not to look at them myself.” 

“Still a bonnie even with them, Si. Always will be.” Soap pressed his hands against his chest and Ghost fell willingly, hitting the bed. Luckily it was one of the nicer ones. 

Soap’s mouth was on his neck before he could really think, pinning him down. 

“Told you, Lt. Best you’ve ever had.”

“Cocky.” Ghost spat out but it ended up more of a whine thanks to Soap tugging his hair. They undressed each other in record timing and Soap just wouldn’t stop kissing him, holding his face with his hands running all over him. 

Soap pulled away. “Are you okay if I...” His hands slid between Ghost’s thighs, being... gentle.

Ghost stared at him, finding it a little hard to breath. “Yes. Keep going.” 

Soap nodded and reached under his pillows to grab a bottle of lube. It was half empty and Ghost shoved down any feelings that gave him. He watched him coat his fingers before gently pushing his first finger into him.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

“Been a while.” Ghost hummed, feeling his face flush. “Should’ve prepped beforehand...” 

“Nah, I like this part.” Soap grinned at him and started to kiss along his jaw. “I’ll return the favor later, yeah?”

“Who says we’re doing this again?” 

“I’m sure you can handle a couple of rounds tonight, right?” Soap kissed him and Ghost relaxed, letting him fit another. The stretch was... fuck it was great. Their chests were pressed together and all he could think about was how warm Soap was. 

Ghost groaned at the third one and he felt Soap’s tongue lick its way into his mouth. He grabbed the headboard, panting.

“Okay, enough. Come on, show me a good time, Sergeant.”

“That an order?” Soap teased as he pulled away. He was still being gentle as he moved him around, lining up. He reached up and grabbed Ghost’s hand. “Just squeeze if you need a break, okay?”

Ghost nodded, though he thought it was a bit silly, and held his hand tighter. Soap leaned over him so their lips were almost touching as he pushed in. 

Ghost groaned before whimpering. Soap paused, looking stunned he managed to get that sound out of him.

“I swear to God Johnny, keep moving.” 

Soap immediately started to push in again as he marked up Ghost’s neck and his shoulders. “How did you hide the hickeys?”

“Never let them make them. You’re special.” Ghost grabbed Soap’s hair and tugged him back down when he went to pull away. “Keep making them.” 

Soap bit him hard and thrust into him, Ghost scrambling at his shoulders with his free hand. He adjusted them slightly and slammed into again, making Ghost whine. Ghost was just about to say some sharp retort when Soap found it, hitting his sweet spot hard. 

Ghost saw stars, moaning softly. He squeezed Soap’s hand hard to ground himself and almost beat the man when he paused.

“Please.” 

Soap didn’t need anymore than that. He started to thrust in hard, hitting the spot over and over again. Ghost’s legs went around his hips as he moved, kissing Ghost every chance he got. 

“Johnny.”

“I got you Simon. What do you need?”

“Just keep doing this.” Simon bit Johnny’s lower lip and made eye contact with him. His hips continued to snap right into Ghost’s who was loving the treatment. Soap’s chest was also very nice to stare at and he got to run his hand over it, feeling the hard muscles under soft skin.

Before long, Ghost couldn’t seem to shut up. Moaning and whimpering as Soap hit that spot over and over again. He kept his eyes closed and felt his legs start to shake. A pressure was building his core and he knew he was going to have to take Soap up on the multiple rounds because he didn’t want this to end yet. 

Soap noticed. No clue how, but the fucker knew and he sped up. His hand bruised Ghost’s hips and he purred when Ghost scratched down his back. It was all so much. Too much. The skin to skin contact made him feel half insane already. 

Ghost pulled him down for a kiss and came, squeezing Soap’s hands so hard he thought he’d hurt him. He shuddered and buried his face in Soap’s neck, feeling warmth spread through him as Soap came too.

“Sorry, i should’ve worn a condom or asked or..” Ghost shut him up by kissing him. 

“Not the best but you’re up there. Your technique needs work.” Ghost flopped back. “You’re a quick learner. I’m sure you can figure it out with experience.”

“Experience? So we are doing this again.”

“If you want...”

“Knew you like me LT.” 

[sadstrever]

cw: 116lbs

gw: 106lbs

hw: 150lbs

hi. so my last account got banned so i realize now i should be a little more careful of what i say cuz i guess i concerned some of you. or this will just be my last post because i need to vent.

wanna hear how i started my day? i chew and spit my food into plastic bottles(i know i’m disgusting no one should ever do this) and i was opening it and it exploded fucking everywhere and the smell was putrid and it was all over me and my bedroom. and i was hungover. and it was 7am. and i threw up immediately after. anyways, i haven’t e@ten in weeks. lol. almost a month, which isn’t the longest i’ve gone so don’t worry this is not that bad lol. ALSO NO I WILL NOT BE GIVING TIPS. ever since my brother moved away it’s been pretty easy to st@rve. the hard part now is knowing where to draw the line. my best friend has broken down a lot recently because of me. i’m an awful person lol. i let them get too close and now they know too much about the disgusting things i do. i needed space because seeing him just makes me feel guilty for putting him through this with me. i tried to end the friendship 2 nights ago over a bottle of v0dka. it did not work out very well. i said some really hurtful things to him that i didn’t mean in an effort to push him away. once the alc wore off i made him a cake to apologize which now that i say it out loud, it does not feel like much of an apology at all. he somehow easily forgave me which makes me feel even shittier. he said it was because he knows im sick. i don’t know what i’m doing. the derealization has gotten worse. i tried going half sober which didn’t help. i’ve developed a laxative problem too which also doesn’t help. it’s not as bad as others though, i was just taking 3 a day for a minute(a few months)but that’s so fucking bad for you and it really made my stomach problems worse. i took 3 today for the first time after not taking them for weeks and there was really no reason. just a desperate attempt to make myself feel better. when that didn’t help, i tried to smoke but i got too high because i only smoke every other day now which lowered my tolerance. when THAT didn’t work i went to the gym and burned 460 calories and then THAT didnt work so i walked around and burned 240 more. none of it made me feel less empty. i’m so sick of it. why is it all so fucked. nothing feels right. i want to try and recover but i don’t remember the person i was before all of this. my brain just fucking can’t figure it out. i don’t feel like a real person man. i want to recover and not because i’m giving up. starving is the easiest part of my life. it’s all that seems to make me feel a little better. eating always makes me so depressed and in a worse way. it makes me aware of reality in a way that fucking kills me. i need to do it if i want to feel human, if i want to be a good friend, daughter, sister. i’m gonna wait until i’m underweight which is once i’m 109lbs. 7lbs away lol. it’ll probably take a week or two so i guess i’ll update on how i’m trying to recover. fuck i really don’t want to man. pls give me tips because i can’t die and just be a sad fucking story to everyone i love. or just fucking report me like u guys did last time, not having any safe place with people who relate will totally help too!!!