#anyways. i love how bitter he sounds talking to lane i love that you can see the unfinished business line affects him

[t-horn-n]

— the nights the wind grows teeth

pairing: silco x hard of hearing!reader (female) 

genre: a little of everything 

summary: a simple introduction, briefly. 

word count: 1 311

note: I have an unserious headcanon that Silco doesn’t drink anything from the Last Drop since Vander’s not the one pouring them.

anyway, prolly gonna be a series ???

You possess a capacity for calmness that so often escapes fissure folk.  It’s a quality that Silco appreciates even if that sort of level-headedness is off-putting to most, to the extent that many believe you’re either a stone cold bitch or just stupid enough to live in a constant state of ignorant bliss.  

Silco supposes that, temperamentally, you remind him of himself.  Sevika has his passion, but she also has a tendency to think with her fists.  Jinx has his intellect and intuition but she’s inclined to act out on her own.  You actually can exhibit an amount of forethought.  And, well, past the three of you, he can’t claim to be interested in anyone else. 

“Go home, kid,” Sevika says into your good ear.  “You’ve done enough for the day.”

It’s barely eleven at night and you know that she’s going to be running around for the next three hours, at least.  That, and you’re actually Sevika’s senior by a year, give or take.  She just likes to play big sister once in a while.  You like to let her.  

And you can’t say that you mind getting off a little early to sit in one of the Last Drop’s booths until you’re tired enough that you’ll be asleep on your feet by the time you trudge back to your bed.  Well actually, if you’re more inclined to be honest, which you aren’t, you would admit that you’re hoping it’ll be one of those occasions where your generous benefactor will slide into the seat across from you and lean forward so that you can light his cigar.  You’ve never quite understood why he likes the things considering that the fissures already have their fair share of smoke.  

Sometimes he’ll talk about the week’s plans, monologuing into your good ear, or he’ll talk about Jinx.  On other nights, when he knows that the ringing in your bad ear is particularly bad, he’ll let you sit in silence, watching his smoke writhe beneath the Last Drop’s grimy green light.  

Everyone knows that Silco is clever, but he is also observant, and he knows that it’s the biting, frosty nights that your hearing is the worst.  The uncomfortable whine is the loudest and even the sounds that you can hear become smothered and unfocused.  

It’s also when that unrequited ache, bone-deep, is the most needy.  

You’ve only had shimmer once.  It’s been too long for you to remember how it actually tasted, whether it was bitter or sweet; whether it burned your throat or whether they injected it straight into your veins.  But you can remember the way that it made you feel.  You’ve never been in love, but you figure that shimmer makes one as manic as love does.  

When it’s cold fog stalking the Lanes, rather than just the typical Gray, your severed ear calls out for the weightless sensation shimmer provided, but you’re sure that if you indulge, even when you feel like you won’t survive the phantom pains, you won’t be able to resist the drug the next time.  Or the next.  You can’t say that your life is bliss, but you know that you're much better off fighting the cold with the Last Drop’s liquor than you are addicted to shimmer.

“It’s bothering you tonight,” Silco states plainly.  

Before you is a glass of some mystery, clouded liquid.  All you’d asked for was something strong, hoping that it’d dull the persistent thrumming in your skull.  Silco, lounging across from you, has an unlit cigar dancing between his fingers.  You swear you’ve never seen him drink from his own bar.

“Yes,” you admit because you know anything else will lead to a pointless argument.  “But it’s not bad tonight.” 

“Hm,” he hums.

You’d only been to the Last Drop once before meeting Silco, officially that is.  And, you hadn’t really been there, all things considered.  You had been fifteen and had your ear pressed against one of its windows in order to hear the murmurs of whomever was inside.  Before you ran with Silco, you were an information runner.  It was simple and clean and tidy.  You’d play the part of the fly on the wall and whisper plans for hit-and-runs and smuggling jobs into the ears of your handlers and you’d get a cut.  It was simple, well, until you got caught.  

Now, it’s certainly true that your old job would be more difficult considering the circumstances.  The reason why Silco keeps you around, you suspect, is because you can be quiet and charming, when you want to be.  Your feet are coated in enough silver for you to make your way silently around the Lanes into places where people don’t want you to be.  And your center is soft and gooey enough to charm Piltees into trying shimmer.  Just this once, they’ll tell you.  That’s how you get them.

“A shipment is going out tomorrow and I expect that it will go better than the last one,” Silco says.  

He sounds submerged.  He repeats himself, slowly so that you can make out the movements of his lips in the low light, then continues, “We don’t need the Fireflies disrupting our schedule any more than they already have.” 

You nod and notice how odd he looks down among the general trouble of the Lanes.  

“You’ll be there tomorrow,” he says and it’s a fact.

He slides out of the booth, his cigar still unlit.  “It’s cold tonight.”

“I’m warm enough,” you tell him as you down the rest of your drink.  

The cobblestones beneath seep cold into the soles of your feet and the alleyways shuck their frosty breath onto your back on your way to your hole-in-the-wall apartment.  It’s cold there too.  And dark. 

There’s not really a kitchen, just a gas cooktop beside a muddy window.  A single stool sits at a counter and beyond that is a bed boxed in by three walls and an old dresser. 

“Hi, Jinx.” 

“Aw, how’d you know I was here?” she croons.

“I heard the sound of your breathing.” 

“No you didn’t,” she laughs.  

“No,” you agree.  “But you left my door unlocked.” 

“Oops.” 

You toss your jacket at her as you flip the light on, and Jinx is there, perched on your windowsill.  She swats away your oncoming jacket.  

“Close the window.” 

“You’re bossy.  Has anyone ever told you that?” she asks, twirling her hair around her fingers.  

She follows you into your bedroom and falls backward onto your bed.  She’s appeared in your apartment enough times that this is all routine, practically.  At least you’ve trained her to keep her boots off your bed.  

“Mhm,” you reply.

Your fingers are cold and slow moving as you unlace your shoes, tug them off, and throw them on top of your dresser.  You press your palm against the spot where you ear should be trying to warm it up.

“He sent you to make sure I didn’t trip up the stairs?” you ask, a little sarcastically but really, you’re somewhat flattered.

She groans and doesn’t answer you.  “He’s bossy too,” she whines.  

“He is.” 

You fall onto the bed next to her head.

“Did you know that you’re the only one he comes down to that shitty bar for?” 

“Mm?”  You only caught half of her sentence.

“He just sits in that chair and frowns.”

Jinx always makes enough conversation for both of you.  You wonder how often she fills in your parts herself.

It’s likely stupid of the thought to even cross your mind, but on these particularly cold nights when you are feeling particularly unlike yourself—when you are in pain and you crave what you shouldn’t have and your regrets feel the most potent—Silco feels particularly like a friend.  You almost scoff.  That’s a dangerous thought.

“If you’re sleeping here, you’re getting the light,” you tell Jinx.

— m. list

[albaharu]

Let me just assure you, this won’t hurt enough.

[onlyhereforangst]

WWR

I’m baaaaack bitches 😘 let’s be honest the last two episodes were shit & you wouldn’t have wanted that wwr anyways. SO let’s get into the ✨angst✨ that was Nick’s episode under the cut…

Oh but before I start, why yes, yes I called this theory too. Me and this writer share a goddamn brain or something because I’ve literally always guessed big plot points of his episodes correctly 😅

Ok Nick’s dad leaving like that, with poor bby Nick all sweet asking if he promises to bring him back his favorite pastry and him hesitating before he’s going to promise- NO. 

*picture Michael Scott gif here*

It’s not faaaaaair, little Nick deserved so much better- so MUCH better. And it’s only going to get worse as the episode goes on, so strap in for the walk down emo lane. 

Quick pit stop for cute banter because duh. Nick giving the real estate agent Ellie’s number cracks me up because bro you want this house with her don’t you 👀 you still keep her business cards on you when you could have just as easily gotten your own (or McGee’s) by this point 👀 you just want to maaaaarry her and move iiiiiiin with her I knooooooow it 👀 Ellie’s reaction the split second we see also has me dying because she’s like ha ha this is funny you had to talk to real estate agent you drew the short straw hey wait what the fu— you did not! Before McGee interrupts any protest she can hurl back Nick’s way and that’s just gold right there. Pure middle school flirting as per usual for them and I love it.

Oooooooh Kasie’s lab scene. The growth in this one. Nick worried his family and by extension him, is going to get implicated for murder (or is guilty) even though it sounds outrageous to him, he’s got PTSD from Mona Lisa (and who wouldn’t tbh). But Ellie immediately, like IMMEDIATELY goes and defends him. Is like uh-uh don’t even GO there, it’s not a possibility its just person of interest I don’t care if it’s literal hair at the scene of a man stabbed brutally seven times, he’s not a murderer. The grooooooowth Ellie, I’m so proud of you 🥺 we went from using that logical head to realizing it’s ok to listen to your heart and wade into situations with empathy (especially for the boy you ~*looOOoOoOve*~) And then Nick talking about his dad being dead and a deadbeat and walking out when he was 5, he looks at Ellie almost the entire time, only barely glancing over at McGee like he needs to have that connection with her, she grounds him when this is suddenly very jarring having a relative by semi-involved in a murder. And Ellie isn’t the slightest bit shocked when Nick dumps this news so clearly she’s heard it and by her look, not only has she heard this, but she does not like the man for what he did to Nick. She looks pissed his father hurt Nick like that because how dare any one hurt her man 😤

And oh here it is, we back on emo lane. Nick recognizing and seeing his dad for the first time in 30 years. It’s gonna hit like a 🎵freeeeeight traaaain🎵 at first he can’t even believe its him, he blinks like a thousand times because *surely* his eyes are deceiving him and then his dad goes and uses his nickname, his nickname people the CRUELTY. YOU DON’T GET TO JUST SHOW UP THIRTY YEARS LATER AND CALL HIM BY HIS CUTE LITTLE NICKNAME YOU GAVE HIM AS A CHILD. YOU DON’T MIGUEL. NOT IN THIS GD HOUSE. Ok and now nick is in pure shock because he just got confirmation that his dad is not only *not* dead, but he’s here in front of him, in DC no less, possibly a murderer no less. AND he’s finding this out by chasing him down *not* by Miguel reaching out to him while in DC. The shock and confusion and hurt my poor baby.

And when that shock wears off and it’s just barely contained rage, my heart 🥺 so of course Ellie goes in there with him and nows she needs to immediately be the support she knows he needs but he won’t admit to needing. Nick tries to deflect with a joke at first but oh honey it’s no use. But quick comedic relief for us on emo lane “sit down, no I don’t like sitting” AHAHAHA like father like son I’m cackling because the look Ellie and nick share and nick’s eyes warn her like don’t you dare fucking say it and she’s like yep yep nope I wasn’t gonna say a damn thing I’ll just look down and try to contain my laughter because now is NOT the time. But see I’m on my couch and I can laugh all I damn well please at this scenario that was gold from the writers thank you. On a more serious level this probably hurt nick even more seeing that he’s even got the smallest something similar to his dad. He’s probably desperate to be the exact opposite, he doesn’t want to even consider being capable of what his father was capable so this - while seemingly insignificant - thing like not wanting to sit in a chair will hit deep for him without him realizing it. If something so trivial is the exact same, wouldn’t something much much heavier like commitment to relationships and family be the exact same? Wouldn’t it?? And good god poor nick for going through that mental anguish, on emo rollercoaster lane. Because it just gets better when Miguel’s excuse for being in DC is “visiting family” like call your BULLSHIT Miguel you certainly ain’t visiting family and Nick now knows oh he lies too, great, another win for the Torres blood, fan-fucking-tastic. 

Quick peek at viewing room and we don’t believe in personal space, Ellie wants to be as close as possible to her hurting bby 🥺

But back to the emo stuff - Miguel just lying off his ass and Nick fed up with his father’s games because it’s truly just twisting that knife in his back that’s been stuck there for 30 years deeper and deeper. AND THEN Miguel has the audacity to yell out for “Nico” like bitch you do NOT get to call him that either. You walked out on him and never came back gtfo. And Ellie is trying so hard to keep it together but man she wants to do one of two things if not both at the same time - wrap Nick up in her arms and shield him from this deadbeat and/or punch this man through the glass to cause just a fraction of the hurt he caused Nick. But instead she just has to keep her cool to be the supportive girlfriend she is and ask nick what he thinks and then. Then. “He’s lying…because his lips are moving”

Well FUCK. Murder me right now. The anguuuuuuuish. Poor five year old Nick in a 35 year old Nick’s body. That little boy who was promised a big hojaldre in the morning from the next town over is right there. Right there to witness the father he thought he had, hasn’t changed. One of the only memories Nick probably has of his father is him leaving. Him lying and leaving. And what does he do when he finally shows up again? 

HE LIES AND LEAVES. HE FUCKING LIES AND LEAVES. (I know I’m getting ahead and technically at this point we don’t know he’ll leave again but whatever sue me because this shit is too much.)

Side note: Ellie talking about a “conflict of interest” that Nick didn’t interrogate his father is laughable considering she should have never interrogated Xavier but ok. 

Ooooo lets see some pissed off Nick. Let it loose baby, you deserve this. And I know I wrote about this in the tags somewhere but can we take a second to appreciate McGee’s growth??? Like bro went from straight up denial to acceptance and giving Ellie the look of “go talk to your boyfriend ok we need to make sure he’s alright and we both know your support is going to go a lot further than my support” and Ellie wordlessly kNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S SAYING. She’s like yeah, of course I’ll go help my man why wouldn’t I. 

I don’t know why but Ellie asking Nick if he’s talked to his “mom and sister” is just so 🥰 I can’t explain this one to you but I love this dialogue ok. Actually I love this whole ensuing conversation. Nick still is bitter (he has every gd right to be), Ellie playing the supportive girlfriend but *tiiiiiniest* bit of devil’s advocate with saying he might be innocent. Once again, so much growth because honestly she knows what it’ll do to Nick if his dad actually *is* a murderer. Like can we for a second imagine if his dad actually was guilty, right? Nick already saw he was like his dad in trivial things like not wanting to sit in chairs. Nick has already had serious, serious doubts to what he’s capable of aka worried he could, if the right buttons were pushed, be a murderer on multiple occasions. Ellie has been there with him for all of that, she knows how low his confidence is when it comes to his perceived “goodness” and she knows just how much it would break him if he learned his direct bloodline IS capable of murder. She knows how he’d spiral if that was true and so she’s gripping to any small possibility his dad is innocent. But nick, oh poor Nick my heart- he’s done. He opens up to Ellie without literally any prodding. He’s baring his long buried soul to her, that troubled, broken childhood that he surely keeps locked away in fear of letting anyone see a weakness. He bares it without question because he feels so safe in her presence he can let her in to see his deepest shame and by extension his deepest worry 🥺🥺🥺 and poor Ellie, she’s a little lost at how to go about helping him because she does have a good relationship with her dad, so yes all she has here for him is saying his father was guilty of a crap dad but it’s because she’s still trying to convince them both he has to be good. He has to be good for Nick’s sake. Buuuuuuut it doesn’t really work does it, because oh shit pissed the fuck off Nick is a site to behold isn’t it 🥵 kicking down doors once again and his smart “still think he’s innocent” oooooooo damn. Ellie’s face says it all- she’s trying so hard to hold out hope for Miguel, so hard. She needs him to be innocent she’s willing to speak it into existence a thousand times but her face is like fuck this is going to kill him and I can’t do a damn thing about it other than just watch. 

More pissed off Nick 🥵 but when you think about it is so so painful, all I can picture is that little 5 year old boy who woke up the next morning waiting, waiting, and waiting. Staring out the window at each car that slows down but ultimately passes. Tugging on his Mami’s shirt asking for the hundredth time when papi is coming back from the bakery with his hojaldre, oblivious to the tears that are slowly sliding down her cheek because she still can’t find the words to tell him what she knows deep down. That little boy who when the sun starts to set the confusion sets in with it. Why hasn’t my papi come back yet? Where is he? He promised. The sadness and sense of rejection that starts to fill his little heart when his mami tucks him and his sister into bed and he asks one final time where papi is and will he say goodnight to them and his Mami has to say she’s not sure when he’s coming home and quietly to the side, “if he’s coming home.” The little boy who weeks later has finally abandoned watching out the window every, single morning. The little boy who had his heart ripped out and thrown to the side of the road when he realized his papi didn’t go to the bakery and instead he was thrown out by his father like a day-old hojaldre. So yeah pissed Nick is fine af but good god the angst underneath is suffocating. Because Nick in this moment doesn’t know the *true* reason Miguel left. He knows what he lived and what he lived is a piece of shit. Nick’s response to “is that what you think of me” is amicable because OOF he could’ve gone the fuck off right there and told him what he really thought of him but he stuck with only a slight dig. TO WHICH MIGUEL. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. IT HASN’T HURT YOU MUCH. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. FUCK YOU. SOUNDS LIKE YOU WERE A SHIT DAD SO YEAH PROBABLY A GOOD THING YOU LEFT. THANK HIM NICK WITH YOUR FISTS BECAUSE HE’S A LITTLE SHIT. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. TOUGHENED HIM UP SO MUCH HE SHUTS EVERYONE OUT. YEAH FUCK YOU. 

And then man here is the point where it all just muddies in Nick’s mind. The poor dude. He knows this line of work, hell he was undercover for almost a decade. He understands how that leaves almost no room for a family. He gets it, so deep deep deep down a tiny part of him realizes why Miguel likely *thought* it was ok to ditch his family. But for thirty years he’s felt abandoned- no reasoning can change that. 

“It’s good to know he was making a nice living while my family was starving” fucking GET HIM NICK. Damn I wish Miguel had been in the room for that. He deserved to hear that one. Ruthless. 

I do not know how I missed this the first time around but holy shit Nick asked to be removed from the case. Nicholas Torres- a man who does not back down. A man who bullied his way into finishing his first ever case with this team that he was arguably way too close to that one too. This is how much pain Miguel brings him. A man who does not quit, not in his vocabulary - was so pissed at getting sent home back when Reeves died, he asks to get sidelined. He actually asks to get sidelined. Holy shit Miguel did a number on Nick and I mean we knew this but 🥺😭😭 poor bby. No wonder you don’t trust yourself in a serious relationship. It’s not the girl you’re worried about it’s you. You don’t think you’re capable of staying, you’re terrified you’ll be just like your dad and leave. once again, you’ve seen the similarities with trivial things and so this just cements your fear of failing at commitment. And this is Nick in just so much pain he asks to step back. oof. I do love Leon stepping into a slight fatherly role for Nick right there though, he shows his support, his pride in Nick and in that moment I think Nick realizes while his father by blood is shit, he’s got several other strong role models in his life that care and that’s why he agrees to work with him. 

Nick’s smarts comment about leaving the note behind 🤣 oh classic Torres move. Also do yourself a favor and pause it on Ellie’s reaction to him. GOLD hahaha she’s like ooo-kay did you really feel the need to say that, let’s not. Honestly I think I’ve given this look to my husband almost daily. They married y’all. 

So married that she overhears Miguel trying to talk to Nick and her hackles raise!!! She’s like hold the fuck up do not traumatize my baby even more, Nick do you need me??? Because I will get you out of this, I will be here for you, I will fight this man, just say the damn word!!!! And Nick ugh, his look. They can communicate with just a simple look, he knows all that she would do for him in that moment and still nods her off, but that tiny bit of gratitude is present. Then we find out that yes Grace is really good at guessing theories “in order to keep his young family safe, it means he has to leave. Of course he can’t *tell* them why he has to leave so that they continue to stay innocent and safe. So he plays it like he’s a deadbeat dude who was “too young” to be a father and is just now realizing it and leaves his wife, little daughter & son behind. Flash forward thirty years and the NCIS case leads them to him. A piece of evidence pops up with his alias, they go knocking down doors to interrogate a potential suspect (Nick’s father) before our lovely CIA agent interfere and claims he’s innocent because he’s a CI…” like DAMN, I’m good. Hahaha any ways the reason I bring this up is because I feel like I predicted/analyzed Nick’s feelings really well back then in this theory and after seeing his expressions, they hold true. Nick is just absolutely warring with himself during this explanation, searching for anything to confirm his dad truly is a deadbeat (and yes he is still absolutely a piece of shit for what he did, but there’s a “good” reason for his leaving and that’s what makes it so- hard.) and as I said when I first broke this down, Nick understands undercover work and his dad (being the POS he is) brings that up to Nick. Like he should “get” it because wouldn’t he do the same thing since he’s in that life? But here’s where (and Nick doesn’t totally realize it yet) Nick and Miguel are different. Because Nick came back, Nick stayed. He stayed y’all and he says it here but he does not realize the implications of his words quite yet. He is NOT the same as Miguel. Yeah he doesn’t like to sit in chairs but he has stayed. He has stayed through some tough shit too but he’s stayed nonetheless. More than Miguel could ever fucking say, that’s for sure. So yes, when Nick has the come to Jesus and realizes that he is not the same as his dad and he can and will stay? Damn I can’t wait for that moment. Also I wanted to slap Miguel when he called Nick “mijo” because BITCH YOU DO NOT GET TO CALL HIM THAT. YOU DO NOT GET TO CALL HIM YOUR SON. NO. “I’m not perfect but I did the best I could” well fuck you too Miguel because look at this broken five year old boy inside a thirty five year old man’s body. Does that look like the product of a “best you could”?? Does he look “ok” to you??? Fuck you. 

But yes here’s my take on where Nick is at: how do you forgive someone you’ve despised for thirty years once you know they “didn’t have a choice” (even though it will always feel like they had a choice or they could’ve explained it to you even if you were only five) and left in reality token you safe and give you a better chance at life? How do you reconcile the real dad and the one you lived with in your head for so long?? How???

And then you’re stuck still reeling from the night before and the bomb that was dropped and the reconciliation you’re attempting to your dad bringing in the ONE THING. The ONE THING he promised to bring home in the morning thirty years prior. How the actual fuck does one come back from that. Can I give another big FUCK YOU to Miguel Torres? Because seriously??? Why do you ever think that’s ok??? Hey I promised my kid I’d bring him hojaldres in the morning for breakfast thirty years ago so may as well make good on that promise right, only thirty years late that’s totally fine right? He won’t tell the difference right?

Fuck you, Miguel. 

And they’re still clearly Nick’s favorite because he’s brought Jimmy to a restaurant specifically for them and that just makes my heart break for the man he had to become without a father. He still held onto that love for them even though they were probably always associated with a horrible, horrible memory of being abandoned 🥺🥺 god damn Nick you’re so broken I’m so sorry. 

Ellie is still as supportive as ever and good god we clearly have lost all pretense of personal space at this point, what is her we don’t know her isn’t this normal for coworkers? But this conversation implies he called her after his talk with his dad and ugh yesssss 😩❤️ I still think he called her immediately after leaving the building, talked the entire car ride home and while getting ready for bed, needing the comfort of her voice on the other end of the line as he worked through his whirlwind of emotions and tried to come down off the cliff he felt himself on. All pretenses of a bad boy with a mysterious flare forever gone, his heart is open for her to see and he doesn’t give two shits about it anymore. But Ellie does a damn good job of girlfriend duties here and not only supports him but also gently prods him to see if he can maybe one day have a relationship with his father. The parallels she brings up makes him think (and also makes him look at her lips twice 👀 he’s just so close to her how could he not I mean right 😅) and I love that she’s still being v supportive but also trying to help him grow. 

And then Ellie giving Nick the option to go with his dad or go to the other location because she’s not going to push anything on him he doesn’t want and then when he chooses the embassy to avoid his dad her reaction had me laughing 🤣 but she respects it. And yet shortly after Miguel tries to team up with Nick and Ellie hears it from the other side of the bullpen, immediately all ears to step in if he wants to avoid him again despite giving him flack for it earlier. Nick can sense her worry and support and this is the moment he takes her advice in just a tiny step and accepts teaming up with his dad. But OMG KILL ME WHEN NICK THINKS HIS DAD IS DEAD BEFORE HE GETS TO TRY AT A RELATIONSHIP AGAIN. HIS WHISPERED “papa’s” I CAAAAAN’T. 

Ugh and then his last conversation with his dad while Ellie is checking on him constantly. It’s just too much, that little boy is back, desperately hoping for his dad to stick around. And Ellie is just so happy she can’t contain it for him and it’s perfect. He walks right to her, her hand on his back because they just need to touch each other after such a heavy couple of days and Nick echoes her advice back at her because he’s showing he listens and he values her insight and I just love it. 

AND THEN MIGUEL HAS COME TO RIP MY HEART OUT BECAUSE HE’S A PIECE OF SHIT REMEMBER. 

My poor bby Nick’s face when he realized his dad LIES AND LEAVES. REMEMBER. HE LIES AND LEAVES. God Wilmer killed it because Nick is literally on the verge of tears and my heart breaks and then yes he goes to Gibbs to see his pseudo-father who he then realizes is more of a father figure than Miguel will ever be and hell that’s okay but STILL. 

I will end this WWR with a I love supportive girlfriend Ellie and another big Fuck You to Miguel Torres.

Goodnight.

[beauregard-s]

Verdigris | Bill Denbrough

Pairing: Bill Denbrough x Reader (18 yo in this one)

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: language, mild hate-to-love trope and mentions of cheating and toxic relationship

A/n: ‘The one with Baseball Player!Bill and the song Verdigris by Gus Dapperton’

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He can’t stop watching you. 

At the bowling alley on a Friday night. Your arms crossed, a hidden smile on as one of your friends rolls the ball and misses the pins miserably. You probably had a night off, or else you’d be at the arcade trying to tame the thirteen-year-olds that keep fighting over the Pac-Man machine. 

Bill can’t stop staring and it’s annoying beyond belief.

“For fuck’s sake, Bill! Are you playing or not?”

He’s forced to drag his attention away from you under Richie’s hiss only to perceive how everybody is staring at him - except for Ben checking on his shoelaces after tripping on them at least twice already. The looks range from Richie’s pissed one, to Mike, Beverly, and Eddie’s confusion, and laying on Stan’s impassivity.

“I just puh-played two rounds ago, Richie, stop m-mah-messing the order,” he complains, yes, but stepping up and grabbing himself a ball is the same as calling his own bullshit.

His move is absent anyway, only hits three pins because he backs off as soon as the ball leaves his fingers, making room for Ben to go next. Standing more in the back so he can turn his head in your lane’s direction again, all the way across the alley.

Only in time to watch you striking for the second time that night.

Only in time to catch how your eyes automatically fly in his direction right after that.

It’s quick, just a few seconds before you turn away again like at school two - or three? - weeks before, when you shouted out loud in a hallway about how you were cheated on, a thing many girls would hide, never talk about and pray for it to never come up. But you didn’t. When Henry Bowers leaned by your locker and probably tried to slide in some smug explanation, you shut the metal door so loud people around turned their heads and others who didn’t hear it from the first time caught on what was happening as soon as you told him to go ‘get his dick wet with Anna Thompson from now on’.

That being said you stormed out, and your eyes met his because he was frozen in a trance not perceiving at first he was blocking your way.

He couldn’t call you a bully, but nor could he call you an angel. You were Bowers’ girlfriend for quite a while, never messed with him but was never smooth either. You always stood neutral about Bowers tormenting him, almost bored, he noticed. Maybe uncomfortable with the situation if he overthought on that?

Never mattered. Bill recognizes he doesn’t know much about you, never got interested in doing so. Never needed to. You are just y/n, Henry Bowers’ blessed girl - because, thinking about it, yes, someone must be somehow holy to endure that one. Y/n, who he thought that barely minded him but still locked eyes and seemed to flash him a very inconspicuous smile that brought him back to Earth and made him move aside to let you walk into your 6th period class.

Y/n that since then started to hover above him like a little bird of prey, keeping those secretly mischievous eyes on him whenever they shared the room. Driving him insanely curious to find out what all of this is about.

“I swear to God, Big Bill!” Richie cries out in frustration, clapping his hands together in a desperate try to get his attention, “it’s your turn again!”

***

“Homealone again?” Stan asks while buckling up on the driver's seat after leaving the alley almost forcefully when the place closed, Mike’s horn breaking the late-night silence as he leaves to take Ben and Bev home.

“Yeah, for the weekend.” Bill sighs, sinking into the seat and smirking. “Why? Wanna throw a p-party?”

Stan snorts in the dark, turning the keys for the headlights to break through the darkness ahead. “Not after the last one,” he starts the car and leaves while Bill recalls the last party they went to. The party where around 1 am everybody started gossiping about how someone entered a room without knocking and... 

“Y/n l/n, then?”

Bill moves uncomfortably. Of course, the party where everybody found out you were cheated on before you could do it yourself. Stan Uris really sees everything, knows everything, and perceives everything. And also have the gift of smoothly leading people into the point he wants to get to.

“I don’t think so,” Bill says. 

Stan swirls the steering wheel to the left into a quiet street, suffocating another laugh. “So you’re telling me you were not perving on her the whole night.”

“I wasn’t p-puh-p-perving!”

“No!” Stan’s laugh finally comes filled up with irony. “At the bowling alley, at school, whenever she shows up during practices and her great presence disturbs you to the point you miss the pitches… Since she broke up with Bowers, whenever she’s around your mind goes wasted”. Bill grimaces and he goes on. “And judging by tonight, she seems to be at the same place as you are.”

“She’s not at the same p-place as I am because I’m not at any p-place, Stan.” Bill sticks his arm out of the window into the cold breeze, feeling something boiling inside him. That annoyance again. “She’s been teasing me since she broke up with her dear b-boyfriend, it’s all.”

Stan slows down at a crossing, making a snap noise with his tongue. “How convenient, no?” Bill scowls, eyes off the road to look up at his slightly raised brows, and he goes on, “Bowers’ girl gets cheated on and then starts flirting with you, Bill Denbrough. The guy who had his lip split open by those fists more times than we could actually remember.”

“Tell me about it…” Bill’s voice barely comes out as he watches the stores slowly turning into houses with dark windows and faded front porches, trying to smother that burning feeling inside. 

“And you’re playing her game,” Stan adds calmly.

Bill snaps his neck towards the driver's seat again but Stan only shows that same impassivity from earlier, eyes solely on the road. “Don’t tell me you’re not, because you are. I saw it tonight. Besides it, we all know you’re that sucker for unbecoming stuff.”

Bill shakes his head, gnawing on his cheek in bitterness as the car stops in front of a two-floor house and Stan turns the keys, sending them into silence and darkness again, turning on his seat to face a skeptical Bill unclasping his seatbelt harshly.

“I am not. I wanna f-find out what game is she p-playing b-but I’m not playing it myself.”

“Okay,” Stan taps onto the wheel, grinning in his disbelief because he knows Bill well enough to know he may sound like he has his foot down when he’s in fact as unsteady as sand. “But she could put you in big shit trouble, you know?”

Bill gets out of the car, leaning into the window as soon as he closes the door, drawing a cockish grin. “Yeah b-but, again, I’m not playing her game, Stan.”

He assured himself that, even though his mind wanders towards you until he goes to sleep and even though you remain there when he wakes up Saturday morning. 

He’s not playing your game.

But you’ve been testing his limits, slowly getting under his skin somehow with so little effort. Catching his attention when he doesn’t want to give it to you. You’re guaranteed trouble and he hates how you leave him restless whenever you are out of his sight and trouble his mind whenever you are both sharing space.

But he’s not playing your game.

Yet he still finds himself waiting outside the arcade later at night, at a discreet distance with his hands tucked in his jacket’s pockets to keep them from freezing under the fall weather. Bill watches you leading the last kids outta the place, promising an upset little guy they’ll be open early the next day too and turning the sign hanging on the glass door as soon as they leave to warn everyone the place is finally closed. The sweet way you talked to the kid doesn’t match the troublemaker image he painted of you in his mind throughout the day.

He’s not playing the game, but he’s ending it before he goes insane. Being a chess piece is not on his plans. He doesn’t know where you’re going with all of that so he walks into the store, immediately catching your attention.

You’re checking and closing the cashier when the noise makes you look up from behind the counter only to find the surprisingly-not-so-popular pitcher of the Derry High School’s baseball team standing there in between the flashing machines. 

“Hey there, Denbrough,” you say softly, bringing your attention back to the dollar bills. “We’re closed.”

He taps his foot, trying to find the words to say what he wants to say because even though he planned talking to you the whole day, suddenly he feels lost and vulnerable under that nonchalant way of yours. 

“I know, I didn’t come to play.” Bill feels proud of how steady he sounds although he’s clenching his hidden fists. He has the slight impression you are not as confused as you seem when you eye him again. This time deeper. 

“How can I help you then?” 

He thought he had a solid plan, but he doesn’t at all. All he can think of is how did Bowers get you? A straight A’s girl with such sweet talk, pretty face, and bold demeanors. 

“You can help me by stopping m-messing around.” There goes his steadiness through the window, every single drop of it when your lips give him a lopsided smile, closing the cashier and pulling a bunch of keys out of a drawer.

“And what do you mean by messing around?” you walk around the counter and passing by him because even though Bill Denbrough is standing in front of you straight out of a dream in his stupid letterman jacket, a robbery wouldn’t be welcome and you gotta lock the doors and close the curtains. That blocks all the light from the outside, sending both of you into a gloom only lightened by the neon lights around. 

“I mean all the flirting you’re doing.” His voice deepens a tone. “ I want you to stop it.”

He looks adorably anxious, of course. All fidgety when he’s trying to confront you that way but flinching when you turn on your heels to face him, his hands still in his pockets for what? Hide his nervous manners?

Not that you’re that secure yourself with your sped up heart. You wish you had pockets too so you could hide how you poke a cuticle on your thumb.

“I’m not flirting with you,” you say simply. “I know you’d like that, but-“

“You wish, l/n” he hisses and you know you’ve hit a weak spot. Also not that you didn’t know said weak spot exists.

“I know what you’re doing, and I’m not getting in trouble for it.” Bill steps closer, letting his sweaty hands finally fall to his sides. 

“Again, I’m not the one messing around” You see his jaw clench, and go on leaning back against the Donkey Kong machine. “You are.”

Bill snorts and the way he runs his fingers through his auburn hair messing it in frustration makes things to you. Yes, Bill Denbrough in his lettermen jacket is stupid… stupidly hot, even if you hate admitting that.

“I’m n-not-“

“Are you sure?” You defy him, resting your hands on the machine and accidentally hitting the joystick. “So you’re telling me you’ve not been leering me around, casually hanging out with your friends by my locker or… Following my ex-boyfriend around to make sure he’s not coming close to me, Bill?”

Touché. 

You never called him ‘Bill’ before, but thought it would match the soft-turn your voice takes and the little ‘got you’ move you just made. Bill thinks it raises a level. He said he didn’t come to play, but it feels like he did and now he’s losing because you know something you shouldn’t. 

You know last Tuesday he followed Patrick Hockstetter’s car because he saw them harassing you when you were walking home after school. He watched when they pulled over by the sidewalk, Bowers leaning out through the window and saying something that made you argue with him for a while before you kept walking and they drove out. Bill should’ve turned right and drive home, but he turned left and followed them instead, made sure they went home and not after you. 

“I was just trying to m-muh-make sure you were safe,” he reasons but inside he’s recognizing his failure.

Maybe you’ll call him a creeper for that? No, you just bat your eyelashes.

“You really have an unforgiving hero complex.”

“I don’t have a hero complex.”

He does. And maybe an unforgiving crush too because he realizes you’re not the one hovering here. He is. He always thought he never paid attention to you but he did all the time in the deep of his head, dreary by the fact that you ended up with someone like that disgusting jerk.

“A hero complex and a huge neglect towards yourself, apparently” you bicker, the changes in his mind showing briefly in his expression.

“Okay, I m-may be the one m-messing around but you don’t seem like you’re trying to run from it.”

The others have already warned Bill about that, his lack of fear and his broken anti dumbness filter, mainly Beverly, but there he is again. Making dangerous, uncalculated moves, totally improvising his next step to avoid a checkmate from you.

He’s kinda angry, maybe embarrassed, eyes locked on your as he comes closer. You don’t answer because he got a point. From the moment you noticed Bill paying more attention to you after you were publicly free from Henry, you never intended on cutting him off. You fed the fire and now, with his eyes so deep in yours and the smell of his cologne all around you, you let him taste a bit of power to decrease that embarrassment of his. 

“Are you trying to imply that I want you too?” You whisper, no need to talk louder with his chest an inch from yours like that. 

He likes how beautiful you look like that, face shining in verdigris tones flashing from the next machine, the way it turns you into neon pink and back to the blueish-green. He likes how daring you look even if he’s towering over you, inches taller, little knowing how you’re putting on a fight to keep yourself solid and your thoughts in place. Without much success when he leans in and brushes his chapped lips along your soft ones.

“Again, you wish, l/n.”

The previous moves were yours but in a turn, you’re the one getting the final checkmate when you give in and pull him into a kiss. A greedy and heated kiss that showed how you’ve been craving each other. Bill presses against you as he’s trying to challenge the laws of physics, his tongue licking into your mouth as your hands clutch on his thick jacket, feeling his broad shoulders underneath. His hands cup your face, his thumbs gently tracing up your cheekbones in contrast to how roughly his lips take yours, only for a moment before his arms embrace your waist and he smugly slides a large hand into your jeans’ pockets.

He swore himself he wouldn’t play your game, but he feels like he did and just lost it when he leaves your lips and trails the tip of his nose down your neck, feeling how you softly quiver in his arms, breathing in your perfume. Pulling away before everything goes to waste.

“As I said, totally n-not running away from me,” he mutters, leaving you. 

You shake your head slowly, a mazy little smile glued on your lips. “Screw you, Denbrough…” But the words drip out like honey to him as he walks backwards towards the door. 

Bill turns the keys still in the lock behind his back, flashing a cocky grin at you as he pushes the door open. He feels defeated, you do too but somehow none of you regret what just happened in the empty arcade. He can see you don't by the way you look at him as he leaves. It’s not just one of those glances anymore.

He feels defeated, but maybe it will be worth it.

“S-see you later, y/n.”

[hargrove-mayfields]

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 6/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

accompanying art piece by @monochromegee! check it out here!

~~~~

The more Steve thinks about someone being stuck on the other side, the more he has his heart set on doing something about it.

He hadn’t been a hero to anybody last time they were dealing with the Upside Down, too caught up in his own troubles to do anything useful, and it had cost him the love of his life. He was going to guarantee that he stepped up this time. With more time to think, he defines a plan, “I think you’re right, I think we should get ahold of El. That way we can at least figure out who to go to next.”

“Okay, well, that sounds great and all that you have a plan, Steve, but you’re not calling anybody with this burnt up phone, and I’m pretty sure this is too time sensitive to write a letter.” Robin motions to the broken phone where it still hung from the base.

Steve thinks for a moment and snaps his fingers, “The neighbor would let us borrow hers.”

That’s how they end up in the elderly neighbor Dorothy's half of the duplex, Robin entertaining her in the living room with any random story she could think of, and Steve in the hallway a little ways down, talking low so the unsuspecting neighbor can’t hear what he is saying. To get in, they’d just told her that Robin's phone had just been cutting out, but Steve needed to call his sick mother until they could replace it.

Of course that isn’t true, he instead dials the number Joyce left for all of them to get in contact with her if need be, “Mrs Byers?”

On the other end, he hears a lot of noise in the background, at first worried about a repeat of last night, until the sounds made themselves clear as not doomsday static, but business. There’s a television turned up loud, noise from the kitchen like someone was cooking, talking carrying from a distant conversation, before Joyce’s gentle voice cuts through it, “Hi, honey. How have you been?”

He skips the formalities, trying to be fast for the sake of whoever is trapped, and to get it out before the neighbor got bored of Robin and started snooping, “I need to ask you something.”

“Of course, Is everything alright, Steve?” There’s a hint of concern in her voice he has to swallow before he decides what his answer will.

He decides just to rip the bandage off in one go, “Can you put El on the phone?”

Instantly her demeanor switches. They both knew Steve had no reason other than an emergency to want to talk to her daughter, because the other kids would have done it themselves, don’t need Steve as their messenger anymore, “What is this about?”

“We think there is someone in the Upside Down.” He hears her cover the receiver, and call to El in the next room, a hint of urgency to her tone. There was the sound of the phone being passed between two people before El's small voice rang out through the receiver.

“Hello?”

He again skips a proper greeting, full of too much nervous energy to worry about being polite, “Is there any chance at all that someone could still be in the Upside Down?”

It takes her a second to respond, but her answer is firm, “The gate is closed.”

“I know, but do you think we could’ve closed it on somebody?”

“Why?” She sounds unsure of whether or not she should trust him, so he explains to her, “The phone rang and Robin said it sounded like a bunch of static, and like someone was talking but she couldn’t hear them. It blew up like it did before when Will called.”

There’s a long pause and whispers in the background, like she’s being coached by Joyce, and her answers comes slowly, “Without powers I can’t help. But I have an idea.”

Another pause and her mother takes the phone back, “We’ll come back to Hawkins and figure it out, Steve. See what you can do until we get there.”

The line goes dead before he can thank her or ask how long he could expect to wait, so he sighs and hangs the phone back up. When he returns to the living room, Robin stands up from the couch and the neighbor asks politely, “How was she?”

He furrows his eyebrows, has too much on his mind and has to remember the cover story they came up with before he can answer, “She’s alright. Thank you, Dorothy.”

They’re halfway to the front door when she stops them, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you two, I have the city’s number if you need it.”

Robin smiles politely, “What for?”

“Well, that streetlight outside. It’s been flickering on and off these past few nights, I thought it would be bothering you two being right outside your window and all. I know it’s been driving me up the wall.” She chuckles, not realizing the significance of what she just said to them.

They exchange a look between themselves, both having gone a little pale.

Robin recovers quicker, so she forces a smile back onto her face, significantly less genuine this time, and steers Steve outside with a guiding hand on his back, assuring the neighbor before shutting the door in her face, “That’s alright, Dorothy. We hadn’t noticed actually.”

~~~~

This end of the neighborhood is so poorly lit, but Billy can’t afford to get cornered like this.

He’d taken off from the area around duplex apartment, leaving behind the big monster and running until he finds more street lights, though in a poor backwoods town like Hawkins, only a select few streets nearby downtown or the rich neighborhoods were taken care of, so it’s not until he’s all the way at the other end of the street, almost by the intersection to the next neighborhood, that he finds another dull and flickering street light.

It’s then, looking up hopefully at the dull, flickering light that he realizes this area is somewhat familiar to him, though it's still much farther out than his usually traveled routes between Cherry Lane and Loch Nora.

When things were normal, Billy was so bitter about leaving his home, so he hadn’t bothered getting familiar with the entire town. If it was out of his way, it wasn’t his problem, Hawkins was only ever supposed to be a temporary home for him anyways.

Even now he still wasn’t acquainted with the area, because over here past the neighborhood where he found Steve and Robin is the dark zone, where the storm clouds are thicker and the fog covers what little light there is in this place, and he normally wouldn’t dare stray over this way.

Right now though, there’s a monster that’s already tasted his blood on his heels, so it doesn’t really matter where he ends up.

He follows a long dirt driveway towards that one streetlight, beacon of hope that it was, when suddenly it hits him. This is the Byers’ house.

If there were literally anywhere else for him to go right now other than that house, he’d go there, guilty memories he’d been mostly forgiven for still sitting heavy in his heart, if not just because now all the people he’d hurt that day were still living without him, making new memories and probably remembering his as that same asshole that barged into the Byers family home that night.

But, he’s not out of the woods just yet to be picky, because there’s a trail of blood from his injured arm leading the monster to this exact spot, and that is a monster that already had the taste of his flesh. He’d have to take whatever he could get.

The second he opens the door, under the twisting vines and ash and mold covering almost everything in the house, it’s obvious that this isn’t the same house he’d burst into two years ago, none of the floral couches and knitted Afghans and Merry Mushroom canisters that made for that warm, homey feel of the place that had made Billy feel queasy when juxtaposed with what he’d thought was happening in that house before Steve apologized for lying, and he for kicking Steve’s ass, and gave him a new explanation that was, as he now knew, still a coverup, but didn’t seem so predatory.

Now there were all leather arm chairs, dirty work boots by the door, and empty beer bottles on the kitchen counters. He could tell from the way this house is decorated alone, at least if he imagined it without all the rot and death, that this house had been bought up by some unhappy old man, and he almost wants to be bitter, that he’s going to die in a place that looks like the embodiment of the unhappy future he was damned to even if he made it out of this hell, until something catches his eye.

On display hooks, positioned perfectly atop the mantelpiece, there is a proudly displayed shotgun.

Billy almost trips over the clutter-covered coffee table running to go get it, a feeling like hope in his chest, but when he pulls it down, his heart sinks a little. He can tell from the weight that it isn’t loaded, it’s just some old bastards trophy.

He worries for a second that it isn’t even a real gun at all, but a snarl from the other side of the door reminds him it doesn’t matter if it shoots, it’ll still bludgeon. A weapon is a weapon.

Still, he quickly turns the place over, clearing off that coffee table, feeling along the underside of the mantel for a hidden box, and digging through the side table drawers, in there finding old pills and candy wrappers, spare change and, in the very last place he looks, a box of shotgun shells.

He grabs it, but he doesn’t have time to be relieved, because on the other side of the door, there’s a snarl accompanied by a scratching sound, and he knows that that thing outside is taunting him. Trapping him in so it could toy with him before finally killing him. But he’s not going to let that happen, not now.

He couldn’t say how much time had passed down here, but he had been hurt and starved and damn near froze to death, and he had still survived. All this time it had been for himself, to prove he could do it and maybe, just maybe someday reach the other side, but now he had a purpose. Now he knew his Steve was right there, just out of his reach. He can’t give up now. He won’t.

He takes the gun into the kitchen, where he’ll have a minute if the monster does lose its temper and break in early, sliding to the floor with it so he’s level with where the monsters face would be once it turned the corner, gritting his teeth and lowering the barrel of the gun, his good hand shaking badly as he tries against his nerves and the bite making him weaker to load the shells in both barrels.

At the same time, just as he expected, the monster decides it’s done playing with its food, hitting into the door until the hinges crack and it swings open at an off angle. Billy curses under his breath and tries to load faster, in his panic accidentally catching sight of the bite wound on his arm, and it’s bad. As in, he can’t believe he’s still conscious right now bad. But he tries not to think about it and just locks the gun back in, cocks it, and aims it straight in front of him.

His hands are shaking so badly he’s not sure he could actually fire the gun or hit the monster even if he did, but surprisingly, he doesn’t have to put that theory to the test, because the monster never comes around the wall. Claws scratch into the damp carpeted floor in the room parallel to the one he’s in and eerie chitters and growls fill the disturbingly quiet air. Billy always wondered if that sound was them communicating, or if they were mocking him. Making his skin crawl so he’d let his guard down, be afraid as they tore him to shreds.

But then it just stops again. The house totally silent except for the monster's horribly ragged breathing, and then it leaves. Retreats right out of the front door, and from the rustling sound that carries from outside, back into the woods.

Billy breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, tilting his head back against the wall, exhausted. Above his head he notices a cross, just a little golden thing dangling right above his head, and he laughs bitterly. Some blessing this is.

Because, while he didn’t get viciously eaten alive, for which he supposes he could be grateful in some ways, here he still was, after so many days he couldn’t count them anymore, he was still trapped and alone with monsters hunting him. Now suddenly throwing Steve and his friend into the mix, and he’s got himself the perfect mix of hopelessness and heartbreak and dread making this all the harder.

With effort, he stands again, this time not making the mistake of leaving his weapon behind.

The adrenaline is slowly wearing off, and his arm really starts to demand his attention. It stings like nothing he’s ever felt before, a horrible sensation that makes his whole arm feel painfully numb. He just hopes the medicine in this house hadn’t succumbed to the elements like most things he scavenged for tend to anymore.

By some miracle, the old man who bought the place up still hadn’t finished unpacking, and right at the bottom of a cardboard box full of old towels is an almost completely preserved first aid kid, fully intact other than a couple of rotten bandages, but those wouldn’t be of much use to him right now anyways.

He tries to remember the rules his dad had taught him the first time he cut too deep, rules which he’d later passed down to Max when she was being nosy after witnessing a fight, following him around while he was trying to get his face to stop bleeding.

Clean it, medicate it, bandage it.

Normally when he was telling it to Max, he’d tack on to the end to go get help if she was bleeding more than a bandaids worth, but that’s not really of much use to him, so he pushes his sleeve up, grateful it had already been rolled up some and hadn’t been torn, and assesses the damage.

He can’t see any bone, which is good enough news, but he can’t see much of anything else from how badly he’s bleeding, which is not so good. He can’t even get a fair judgement of how bad it is with all the gore covering the actual wound, so he walks to the sink to wipe some of the blood away.

The water quality down here varies from day to day, not that he’d ever drink the stuff, he’d a thousand times over raid a monsters den for a single water bottle than put that stuff in his body, but sometimes he’d test it just to check if it was clean enough for him to try and wash away any of the dirt and blood on him.

Sometimes nothing would come from the faucet but disgusting black sludge. Today he was lucky, the water, if you could even call it that, cloudy and speckled, but not unusable. Besides, he would rather get some weird alien infection in his arm than bleed out anyways.

Max’s watch is caked in gore so he quickly runs it under the water too. It’s probably going to fry the stupid thing, and the thought of its familiar ticking being gone does admittedly make Billy a little uneasy, but he’d rather return the watch broken than stained with his blood.

Because that’s really his biggest goal. To keep surviving and make it out of wherever the hell he is so he could give Max back her watch and Steve back that stupid bandana he probably didn’t even notice was missing, and his dad back his jacket. Shove it in the asshole's face and tell him, ‘Here’s your jacket back you old bastard. Mind the blood stain on the collar and the tear in the shoulder. I fucking missed you, dad.’

He's able to get the bleeding to stop with rags, and once the wound is clean, he slathers the bite in as much polysporin as he can find, mostly to mask the heavy smell of blood lingering on his skin that would act like a beacon for the monsters miles away until this hole in his arm heals. He finds clean enough bandages and wraps it until he can barely move his wrist, tugging his sleeve back down over them. He decides not to clean up all the blood, so there was something to distract them from finding him once he leaves.

Healing is supposed to be the hardest part, and Billy had always thought that was bullshit- the hardest part was the betrayal when his dear old dad cracked his bones and left bruises on his skin when there are real monsters out there in the world that don’t give you a hug and an apology when it’s over- but now he knows for sure that isn’t true.

The most important thing is finding Steve again, and figuring out why he couldn’t see or touch him, and could only just barely hear him, but could feel his presence, almost tangibly.

Billy steals another two boxes of bullets, keeping the gun close at his side, and he sets back off for that duplex.

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - day three - day five

<3<3<3

TW: Mentions of PTSD, Psych Wards, Mentions of Child Abuse/Abuse, Gaslighting

<3<3<3

It’s so late. She’s exhausted after being on her feet for fourteen hours. 

Elide wants two things. 

One: The hottest, longest shower she’s ever had. 

Two: The piece of chocolate cake she bought, but hasn’t had the time to eat yet. 

As she drives home from the hospital, she nearly falls asleep at the wheel. Elide snaps her eyes open and sits up straighter. Opening her window, she hopes that the bitter winter wind will encourage her body to stay alert. 

It works well, and she starts to shiver, her teeth chattering lightly. She keeps the window open still. 

At a red light, her phone starts to ring. It’s in her bag, on the passenger seat, and Elide ignores it. The important people in her life text when they need something and she’s driving anyway. 

Her apartment building isn’t far from work, so she’s home shortly. After she parks in her unit’s assigned spot, her phone rings again. Elide reaches over and fishes it out. When she sees her girlfriend’s contact, she smiles and happily accepts the call. “Hey, you. I’m happy you called.” 

“Hi, love,” Lorcan says, her voice distant and shaky. “Are you at work?” 

“No,” Elide frowns at Lorcan’s voice, worried. “I just got home. Are you alright, Lor? You sound upset.” 

It takes a couple seconds for Lorcan to reply. “I’m- I… can you come over? I- I just really want to see you.” 

Immediately, Elide re-clips her seat belt. “Of course. I’ll be there soon, honey. Do you want me to stay on the line?” She waits with wavering patience, trying to force calmness for her obviously distressed girlfriend. 

“Yes,” Lorcan all but confesses, like she’s ashamed to have needs, “please.” 

“Good. I missed you today,” Elide puts the phone on speaker and places it in the centre console’s cup holder. “And last night.” She fakes a pout, “It’s so cold without you.” 

Lorcan chuckles, the sound forced and choked, “Yeah, ‘m sorry I couldn’t be ya personal furnace, princess.”

Elide smoothly changes lanes, “You should be. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I showered at work and was probably going to crash the minute I got home.” There comes another red light and Elide stops in the left turn lane. “Work wasn’t too busy, just so gods-damned long. I had rounds at five AM, hon, but I got to scrub in on a femur repair today.” 

Both of the women know that Elide’s chatter is so that Lorcan can be distracted. Lorcan makes minimal comments and mostly communicates in monotonous hums. 

Elide parks in front of Lorcan’s building and picks her phone up, taking it off speaker. She holds it to her ear, “I’m here, Lorcan. Buzz me in?” 

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.” 

“I love you,” Elide says, biting her bottom lip. 

Lorcan’s voice is soft and warm, “I love you, Lee.” 

They both hang up and Elide gets out of her old Ford Explorer. She walks to the lobby and presses the button next to Lorcan’s unit number. 

“‘llo.” 

“It’s me, Salvaterre.” The locked doors buzz open. “Thank you, honey.” Their friends don’t understand how Elide can call her six-foot-seven girlfriend ‘honey’ but it just fits, and Lorcan melts when Elide calls her such. 

Elide pulls the door open and walks to the elevator. Lorcan’s building is relatively new, so the ride is short and smooth. Elide steps out on the thirteenth floor and goes down the hall to Lorcan’s apartment. Knocking on the door, Elide waits on the doormat in relative calmness. 

The door is opened a few moments later. Lorcan stands in a ratty t-shirt and rugby shorts, one hand on the doorframe and one on the doorknob. “Hi.” 

Elide grins and rests her hand on Lorcan’s arm, “Hey. Can I come in?” 

Lorcan nods mutely and steps out of the way. She lets Elide in and closes the door. The petite woman hangs up her jacket and toes off her shoes. When she stands back up, Lorcan wraps her in a long, tight hug. Elide melts against her girlfriend and slides her arms around Lorcan’s broad shoulders.  

She slides a hand through the loose hair at the back of Lorcan’s head and the other soothes circles between Lorcan’s shoulder blades. “Honey, I’m here. I’m right here.” 

Lorcan nods again, “I know. Thank you for coming.” She drops her hands to the backs of Elide’s knees and easily picks her up. Lorcan wraps her girl’s soft, warm thighs around her waist. Elide smiles. 

Lorcan walks them into her room and doesn’t turn on the lights. She puts Elide down on her bed and sits down on the edge of the mattress, not knowing how to say what she needs to.

Elide gets up, “I’m going to get changed and go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” 

Lorcan hums and her eyes silently track Elide as she moves around. 

She trades her athletic shirt and scrub pants for a long sleeved skate shirt of Lorcan’s she had cropped and a pair of compression shorts. Her hips swing as she pads into the toilet. Lorcan stretches out on her bed and stares up at the rotating ceiling fan. 

Her father never calls. He never contacts her. 

The last time she saw or heard from him was seven years ago, and the subsequent PTSD episode landed her in the psych ward for a month.

Right now… she’s fine. She’s- she’s fine. 

Since he called her this afternoon, since she heard his low, threatening voice - the voice that haunted her childhood and nightmares - Lorcan’s been in a state of shock. 

Her phone rang. Not caring to see who it was, Lorcan picked it up and held it to her ear, “‘llo.” 

“Now, I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to greet your father, Lorcan.” 

Her blood ran cold and her heart stuttered to a stop. The report she’d been working on was forgotten. “C-cillian?” 

He clicked his tongue and she flinched. Her hands began to shake as she remembered what used to happen when he clicked his tongue. Her father clicked his tongue when he was upset, not angry. Whatever punishment he doled out after he clicked his tongue was always worse, because he wouldn’t be blinded by rage. 

No, he was meticulous. Careful. 

“How are you, Lorcan? That mother of yours told me you’d moved to Perranth. She tells me you have a girlfriend, too.”

Still shaking, Lorcan asked, “You… you talked to my mom?” He knows about Elide.

“Sure did. You know, I was almost certain that you knew about my house in Perranth. It hurt that you didn’t ask to rent from me.” 

“Why can’t you leave me alone,” Lorcan whispered, trying to block out the memories and flashbacks his voice triggered. “I don’t want anything from you.” 

“Now, I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I am your father. I deserve the chance to make it up to you.” 

Nothing can ever make up for what you did to me, Lorcan thought. She closed her eyes and the tears she hadn’t known were forming spilt down her cheeks. “Please,” she said, “just- just leave me be. Leave my mom and the twins be.” 

Cillian sucked on his teeth, “Don’t be selfish, girl. You were such a difficult child. It hurt me so much to discipline you like that, but I had to. You know that.” 

“Good-bye, Cillian,” Lorcan said, her entire body trembling. “This conversation is over. If- if you attempt to contact me again, I will file a restraining order.” With strength she didn’t exactly know she had, Lorcan hung up and immediately blocked the number. 

“Lorcan?” 

She sits up suddenly, her heart beating quickly. Of course, it’s only Elide, so she relaxes. The mattress dips as Elide crawls back into bed. She rubs Lorcan’s tattoo-marked thigh, where there is hardly any skin left untouched by ink. “Do you want to be under the blankets?” 

“Yes.” 

Lorcan and Elide move so they can lift the duvet and quilts. When they’ve settled, Lorcan rolls onto Elide. She spreads Elide’s legs with a hand to fit flush against her and rests her head on Elide’s tits. 

Elide chuckles softly and scratches Lorcan’s scalp, “You big softy.” 

Lorcan works her arms around Elide’s waist and exhales slowly. 

“Do you want to talk or sleep?” 

“Talk.” 

Elide nods, unseen by Lorcan and kisses the top of her girlfriend’s head, “Ok. You don’t have to.” 

“Yes, I do,” Lorcan responds, unconsciously hugging Elide tighter. “I… I need to.” 

“Ok, honey.” 

It takes a full minute for Lorcan to speak another word. “My… Cillian called me. I was at work.” 

Elide stiffens, her hand stopping in Lorcan’s hair, “Your… your father?” 

A nod. “He talked to my mom, El,” Lorcan whispers, trying not to cry. “He- he knows that I live here. He knows about you .” A shuddering sob escapes her and Lorcan shakes. Her eyes screw shut. “I ca-an’t make him leave. ”

In her chest, Elide feels her heart crack in two. She kisses the top of Lorcan’s head and scratches a loop between her shoulder blades. “He’s gone. You’re with me. You’re safe.” 

Lorcan still cries, her grip desperate and greedy. 

Soon, she grows quiet and nudges Elide’s neck with her nose. “I love you, Lee. So much.” 

“I love you too.” 

As she lifts her head, Lorcan searches Elide’s face. She tilts her chin up and kisses the ‘v’ between her brows, and then presses her lips to Elide’s. Just for a moment, nothing but a mere touch. Lorcan rolls them and sits up, pulling Elide’s knees around her hips. Elide squeaks at the sudden movement, and quickly settles, looping her arm around Lorcan’s neck. 

Lorcan clasps her hands around Elide’s waist and stretches her long legs out. She rests her chin on Elide’s shoulder and closes her eyes, “I want to be fine. I-I want to be fine.”

Elide lifts her head, her face directly in front of Lorcan’s, “I know you do.” 

“I’m so tired,” Lorcan whispers, a confession. 

Her girlfriend’s eyes mirror her exhausted, drained state. Her fingers are soft and light as she traces them over Lorcan’s features, “I know that too.” Elide climbs off of Lorcan’s lap and chuckles at her whine of protest. “You baby. Lie down.” 

Lorcan grumbles, but does as she’s told. 

“On your side.” 

Again, she complies. She moves her arms, ready for Elide to slip into them and to hold her close. Instead, Elide slides her arms around Lorcan’s waist, her chest pressing against Lorcan’s back. For a moment, Lorcan stiffens and looks down in silence, sort of confused at the new position. She’s- she’s never been little spoon. Her girlfriends were always shorter than her, and it just made sense. 

Elide kisses the nape of her neck and doesn’t pull away as she asks, “Is this ok?” 

Lorcan carefully eases into Elide’s hold. Their legs move and Elide’s is stretched over her hip. She grips Elide’s thigh and nods, “Yeah. ‘t’s kinda nice.” 

“Kinda?” Elide teases, her grin spreading across Lorcan’s skin. 

A slight, barely-there smile curls Lorcan’s full lips. “I feel safe, Lee.” She takes Elide’s hand and kisses her fingertips, “You make me feel safe.”

<3<3<3

@ladyverena​​ @ladywitchling​​ @mythicaitt​​ @sassyhobbits​​ @darklesmylove​​ @julemmaes​​ @letstakethedawn @cicada-bones​​ @highladyofthegentry​​ @darlinminds​​ @nahthanks​​ @sjmships​​ @eyllweambassador​​ @flamingveritas​​ @adelzd-bookblr​​ @somewhatdynamite @woollycat22​​ @firestarsandseneschals​​ @the-regal-warrior​​

[hayleysstark]

Anonymous

Words: 2749  Warnings: Swearing Summary: When Poppy was sixteen, she started getting anonymous love poems. When she is twenty-three, she finds them again.

Read on Fanfiction or AO3. 

The paper in Poppy's hand is white.

The paper in Poppy's hand is plain white—practical, sensible, no fuss, no frills, no bright colors or flashy patterns or shimmering glitter, not even a heart or a cupcake or a rainbow cut out and pasted in the corner—and Branch actually stops in her doorway to take a second look, to make sure it's not just a trick of the light, of the sun through her window.

Since when does Poppy use plain white paper? Hell, since when does any other troll in the entire town use plain white paper? As far as Branch can tell, he's the only one—even all the printed books in the village are alive with rainbow colors, with scented stickers and yellow smiley-faces and bright pictures—but it looks like he's wrong, it looks like Poppy does use plain white paper, here and there, because it's in her hands, and it's scattered all around her on the floor like snow, like a second carpet. Her bright eyes flick over the page, and her small, soft pink lips open and move as she reads, as she whispers the words, under her breath, to herself, that thing she does where she reads out loud but she doesn't actually read out loud—

God. It's such a small and stupid thing to focus on. It's such a small, and stupid thing to love about her, but Branch loves that about her—like he loves the tiny curl at the end of her bubblegum pink ponytail, like he loves the little dimple deep in her left cheek, like he loves when she bumps into doors or tables or chairs and says sorry and the way she wrinkles up her nose when she's irritated with him, because she still doesn't know how to scowl, and it's so goddamn adorable—

"Branch!" Poppy tosses the (plain, white) paper back down to the floor with all the rest, bounces up, and rushes over to him, flinging her arms around his neck. "Oh, my gosh, you're back! I missed you so much!"

"You saw me an hour ago," Branch points out, and he tells himself he's only breathless because she knocked into him like a damn hurricane. "Can't have missed me that much."

"I always miss you when you're gone!" Poppy pulls back to smile at him, and her eyes crinkle up at the corners and her left-side dimple shows, and the he's-only-breathless-because-she-knocked-into-him-like-a-damn-hurricane theory is complete bullshit.

And he doesn't even care. He just smiles back.

"I got Harper set up in Smidge's pod," he tells her. "I'll keep an eye on her for the next few days, but I don't think that bump on the head was anything to worry about. She was already feeling better when I left, she was joking around with Biggie and Guy. Looks like she's in the clear."

"Oh!" Poppy perks up even more if that's possible. "Gosh, that's great! I'm really glad she's okay. Thanks for taking care of her, Branch, you're a life-saver." She hugs him again, her breath warm on his collarbone, her nose deep in the hollow of his neck, and he has to actually remind himself to breathe.

"Uh," he says, very ineloquently, "no problem. Um." He clears his throat a little too loudly. "So, what's with all the—?" He pulls back to jerk his chin at the papers.

"Oh!" Poppy spins on her heel to look down at the stack on the floor, and Branch tries not to stare at the flare of her skirt around her long legs. "Just goin' down memory lane, you know?" She smiles, small and—sad, almost, slightly wistful, a tinge of bitter mixed in with all the sweet. "It's been a long time since I went through all my stuff, and I just—I found—" she glances over her shoulder again at the heap of papers strewn all over her fuzzy carpet, and a red tinge edges steadily into her pink cheeks, "—I found old love letters."

Branch's stomach drops. "Love letters?" His mouth goes so dry, he can hardly push the words past his numb, frozen lips. But that's ridiculous, because she's Poppy, and she's had strings of admirers at her heels as long as he can remember, because she's Poppy, she's—God, just look at her, of course she got love letters, and of course she still gets love letters, and she's probably gotten at least one love letter from every troll in the village at this point, because she's Poppy, so there is absolutely no need to freak out about this. Really, what are the odds, anyway? "Y-You—" he tries to swallow, but his throat is dry, too, and it sticks, "—you get plenty of those, though. Right?"

"I mean," Poppy bites her lip, and tucks a lock of bright hair behind one ear, "yeah, I guess I kinda do, now that I think about it, but—" she kneels down to pick through the pile again, "—but there was this one troll—" she riffles and rustles through the stack for a minute before she finally plucks out a single paper, and reads it over before she looks back up at Branch. "They never signed their name. Weird, huh?"

Branch is at least ninety-seven percent certain his chest has just tied itself in a particularly complex knot, because why else would he feel like maybe a Bergen has made itself at home on his chest? "Weird?" he echoes, and even in his own ears, it sounds too high, too sharp, too fast, and that's ridiculous, because there is absolutely no need to freak out over this, there is absolutely no need to blow this up, to turn this into a big deal, because it could be anyone, it could be anyone in the entire village, remember, she's Poppy, it's impossible to not fall a little bit in love with her, so there's no need to freak out, he doesn't need to freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out, don't freak out, do not freak out. "Is that weird? Are they the only troll who never—?"

"Never signed their name? Yeah!" Poppy glances back down at the paper clutched in her pink fist. "Yeah, that's the thing! What kind of troll would write anonymous love letters? It's so weird!"

Oh.

Oh, no.

The paper in Poppy's hand is white, and all the rest of the paper in the stack is white, and Poppy never uses white paper and no one in the entire town uses white paper, and Branch is the only troll in the town who uses white paper and they never signed their name and can he freak out now, is he finally allowed to freak out now? Please?

"—really weird, though, they weren't actually 'letters', it was more like—" Poppy tips her pink head to the side, "—like poetry. You know?"

Holy fucking shit.

This is so bad.

"Um," Branch says, and slides down to the floor.

"Oh, but it was always so pretty!" Poppy gushes, with the page crushed to her chest and a soft little smile on her face. "I mean, it was always so sad, but it was always so pretty, they were so good at it, like—hang on—" she drops the sheet into her lap again, and smooths out the wrinkles and creases with the flat of her hand. "I know very well you'll never love me—only let me love you, let me live out my fate—to adore you, forever, from afar, let me burn for you until—"

"Okay!" Branch says, except it's actually a kind of, well, a squeak, maybe, a little bit—he sounds much, much higher than he usually does—but he cannot let her say the rest of that. His cheeks are already burning with the little bit she did get out. "Okay! That—that's enough. You shouldn't waste your time on this troll, Poppy. He never signed his name, and he's stopped writing to you. You'll never figure out who he is, so there's no point in talking about it."

Poppy frowns. She pushes her hair back again, and leans back a little. "Yeah," she says, with a heavy sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right, I just—I just always wondered—" she drops her chin in her own open pink palm, "—I guess I just worried about them, you know?"

Branch definitely does not know. "You don't even know who it was," he points out, as nicely as he can. "I mean, what if it turned out they were awful? What if it turned out they were someone you hate? What if it turned out he was—" he can't look at her, "—what if it turned out he was really mean? You shouldn't waste your time worrying about a troll like—"

"But they sounded sad!" Poppy bursts out. "They sounded so lonely, Branch! All the time! Every letter! They sounded like they didn't have any friends, and they sounded like they didn't think anyone loved them, and I just—!" She huffs out a heavy breath. "I just really wish I could have helped them."

Branch swallows. He looks down at his own hands in his lap—at his scarred-up, sky-blue skin, that vivid, vibrant burst of color, so bright against all the dark brown and deep green of his clothes, the color he hadn't thought would stick, the color he had thought would dim right back down to grey in a matter of days, in a matter of hours, even—before he flicks a glance back up at her. "I'm sure," he says, quietly, his heart in his throat, "that you did."

"I just—" she sits up again, with a little shake of her head, "—I just don't get why they wouldn't tell me. What kind of troll does that? What kind of troll goes to all this trouble, writes all these letters, all this poetry, says all this sweet stuff about me, and then doesn't even sign their—!"

Poppy stops dead. Right there in the middle of her sentence, with her lips still open, and her eyes blown wide, she grinds to a full halt—like she's frozen, like she's turned to stone, but it's not her I'm making a mental scrapbook complete with glitter and stickers face, and it's not her I'm planning a party complete with colored lights and full playlists face, either, because she hasn't got a smile on her face or a sparkle in her eyes, it's almost like a blank, dazed kind of shock—

"Branch," she says, sudden and sharp, and she snaps around to look at him, her bright eyes narrowed in her pretty, freckled face. "How do you know they stopped writing to me?"

"What?" Branch says, out loud, because it takes a solid two-point-five seconds to hit him, and it takes him an additional two-point-five seconds to think, oh, shit, this is it, isn't it, this is it, I'm fucked, I'm absolutely fucked. "Y-You told me. You were—you were talking about it in the past tense, you were all 'they sounded sad', and you said—you said you were 'going down memory lane', or—or something—"

"You said 'he'," Poppy cuts in, her voice like ice, cold and clear. "You said 'he never signed his name'. You said 'what if he was really mean'."

Can he freak out now? "I-I guessed," he says, but even he can hear the stammer in his voice, and raw panic claws its way up the back of his throat with long, sharp nails, "I guessed, Poppy, that's all, it was just a guess, I-I don't know any more about this troll than you do, I was just—"

"You came up with that poem," Poppy cuts him off again, but there's a—a twitch, almost, at the edge of her lip, like she wants to smile, but she won't let herself, and what the hell can she possibly find to be happy about? "In the skating rink. With Bridget and Gristle."

"B-Because the rest of you weren't coming up with anything!" But it's not enough, and he knows it's not enough, he's lost, and he knows he's lost, even as he says it, he knows he's lost. "I was talking off the top of my head, Poppy, I was tr-trying not to get us all eaten, I-I don't even remember what I—"

"'Your eyes'—" Poppy whispers, almost to herself, "—'like two pools so deep'—"

"No," Branch says, but it's over, it's all over, he's lost, he's fucked, because she knows, and she's not—she's not supposed to—she was never supposed to know— "no, that's—that's not—I wasn't—"

Poppy snatches up another paper off the top of the stack with a loud crinkle, and her mouth finally pulls up all the way, and a full smile blooms over her face, and it's like the sun, bright and warm and beautiful, and what the hell is she so happy about? Isn't she upset? Isn't she mad? Doesn't she know this is a bad thing?

"Do you think," she reads off, and every word comes out slow and steady and deliberate, "that your bright colors could bleed through my shades of grey?"

Teenage Branch really should have tried to be a little bit subtler.

The knot in his chest finally pulls tight enough to break, but he still can't breathe right around the pieces. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. She was never supposed to know, and all his—all his lies, all the times he held himself back, all the times he bit his tongue so he wouldn't say, God, I love you, it all meant nothing, it was all for nothing, because she found out anyway, and she knows, and—

Poppy lifts her head, and she looks up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks and sunshine smile. "Oh, my gosh," she says, in a whisper, in a soft and shaky and almost ecstatic breath, and she leans in so close, he can count every single silver freckle on her cheek, every single bubblegum-pink hair on her forehead, "oh, my gosh, it's really you."

Branch is, admittedly, a little bit lost. She doesn't look upset. She doesn't look mad. She looks happy, and is there something to be happy about, is this something to be happy about, is this—? Is she happy about—? It hurts to hope, because he knows he's wrong, he knows he's made a mistake, he just knows there's a fatal dot he didn't connect, he just knows he's wrong about this, he just knows he shouldn't hope, but it's like he can't stop, and what if she's happy about this, what if she's really, actually happy that it's—that it's him—?

Poppy tips her head up, and she kisses him.

Oh.

Oh, she—her mouth, and she presses into him, warm and firm and steady, in a way he's never felt, in a way he's never been, and—and she tastes like her favorite strawberry lip gloss, and her hands—on his chest, on his cheek, tangled in his hair, and she kisses him, over and over and over again—

"You're—?" Branch murmurs, breathless, half into her open mouth, and he pulls back, even if it's the very last thing in the world he wants to do, because he has to—he has to be sure, he doesn't want to do this if she's not—if she doesn't— "You're—" he looks, almost desperately, for the unease or uncertainty or hesitance or—or revulsion, he looks for it, behind her eyes, but he—he doesn't see—"—you're—okay? With this? With You're okay with—" he bites down, too hard, on his bottom lip, and he can feel the skin break, "—with me? You're—you're happy—?"

Poppy laughs, and it's not her normal laugh—her normal laugh is bright and bubbly and loud, her normal laugh makes every troll around her turn to look—this laugh is too soft for that, but he thinks he might like this laugh even more. "I am," she says, and she sounds a little breathless, too, "completely happy with you."

And she kisses him again—warm and firm and steady and strawberry lip gloss and her hands on his chest on his cheek in his hair—and now he kisses back, his body tangled up with hers in a plain-white-paper pile of years-old letters, and he is completely happy.

[jinie]

bedtime memories | kth

❥ Pairing: Taehyung x reader

❥ Genre(s): pure fluff

❥ Word count: 3061

❥ Rating: PG-13

❥ Warnings & tags: established relationship, Tae is a sweeatheart, brief mentions of sex, this might be really sappy sksks

❥ Summary: Going down memory lane with your boyfriend at two in the morning turns out to be exactly what you needed to slow down your racing mind.

A/N: @taehyung-me-down​ this is your gift!! Happy birthday bb <3 I hope you’ll like it, I did my best to bring you some good quality fluff! Ily and I hope you’ll have an amazing day uwu thanks for always being there for me!! Also, a special thanks to Mari @shadowsremedy​ who helped me with the summary! <3 (on a side note, wow, I can’t belive I’m finally posting something sksks) 

Taehyung suddenly felt aware of his surroundings, his sleep going away too quickly and for no apparent reason. He felt you shifting your weight beside him and sighed softly, trying to find a more comfortable position as well, in hopes he'd go back to his deep slumber. A chilly breeze came in through the open window beside the bed and he wondered if the cold air was what woke him up in the first place, but quickly shook the thought off, giving in to the drowsiness.

He felt his body relaxing and his mind was starting to doze off, but then you shifted in the mattress again and let out a low, frustrated sigh. He stirred from his sleep, curious, and opened his eyes as he lazily reached for his phone under the pillow. He yawned and turned on his screen to check what time it was.

2:48 AM.

The sudden brightness in the dark bedroom caught your eye and, as your boyfriend turned to face you, wondering why weren't you asleep, you let out a surprised "oh".

"Am I moving too much? Did I wake you up?", you asked. Your voice came out hoarse, and it sounded more tired than you had expected.

"It's ok," Taehyung assured, even though you tossing and turning in bed was probably what woke him up. "Are you alright?"

The subtle moonlight that entered the room by the window wasn't enough to make it bright but your eyes, that remained open the whole night, were used to the darkness. You could see Taehyung's concerned gaze and his brown messy hair, the wavy strands pointing at all directions and slightly smashed against the pillow. The pale moonlight made his eyes glow beautifully and you reached out a hand, slowly caressing his cheek.

"Yeah, yeah, " you nodded. "I just... can't sleep."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I just can't quiet my mind down. There are so many thoughts crossing my head... And I can't seem to get comfortable," you answered. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

Taehyung could tell the guilt you hid behind the sweet tone you used. You never liked to wake him up when you couldn't sleep, even if talking to him could help you to relax. Although he couldn't see your face clearly, he could also tell you were tired and probably had bags under your eyes. Could he do anything for you?

"Are you worried about something?" he questioned, accurately pointing out what was wrong. Your boyfriend knew you too well after so many years together...

"I guess," you admitted. "College is taking a toll on me lately, and work is stressful too."

"You have lectures tomorrow morning. You won't be able to focus and take notes if you don't sleep at least a little bit."

"I know..." you sighed. "But I feel like I'm gonna fail anyway, paying attention or not."

You sounded bitter. Taehyung hated how you looked away when you were done speaking and how your body was tense, he hated how you felt restless and how you worried about such things. He believed those were just useless thoughts running through your mind at the moment, but he knew how distressed you could get over them and he hated the way you kept quiet about it. He always insisted on the idea that, maybe, if you voiced your concerns and shared them with him, you'd feel a little better.

However, as much as he'd like to go into detail about your feelings, Taehyung knew you were both tired. So, instead of keeping the conversation going, he decided to just be there for you. The talk could be postponed to later, you had all the time in the world to sit down and share your thoughts.

"Come here," he said, opening his arms to you.

Without hesitation, you accepted his invitation, beaming at the gesture. Even though it was a summer night and the warmth of your bodies together could get too hot to handle, his warmth was still very welcome. As you settled in his embrace, wrapping an arm around his waist, you finally felt comfortable for the first time. His arms felt like home, like the safest and coziest place in the world.

Taehyung could feel your body relaxing next to his, and to help ease the tension you were feeling, he stroked your hair lightly. His touches were soothing and you felt goosebumps running your body. Soon you also felt like your problems were starting to disappear and all you wanted to do was to close your eyes and forget about everything, but you were still unable to fall asleep.

Somehow, the silence in the room felt too loud. Sure, noises were coming from the street every now and then, like some car passing the street or some dog barking in the distance, and the ceiling fan quietly buzzed above your heads. You could listen to Taehyung's calm breath as well as your own, but it all felt too quiet, quiet enough for your thoughts to get loud and creep in your mind again.

"Can you tell me a story?", you asked, breaking the silence. Suddenly, Taehyung's deep voice sounded like just what you needed. You've always liked to listen to him, something about his voice was very soothing and you knew that, at this moment, it'd help to keep all the unwanted feelings and thoughts out.

"What?", Taehyung asked, confused for a second.

"Tell me a story," you repeated.

You looked up at him and your boyfriend slightly tilted his head. "Like, a bedtime story? Why would you want me to do that?" he chuckled, not getting the point of doing so.

You shrugged. "I don't know, I just wanna hear your voice."

"Oh?"

"It calms me down," you confessed, looking away while you felt your cheeks burning in slight embarrassment. You had never told him how much you liked his voice, how you could listen to him talking for hours. It was like admitting a guilty pleasure of yours. "I think it's gonna help me to fall asleep."

"Well, what should I talk about, then?", he asked with a small smile on his lips, as he now began rubbing circles on your back and shoulders with his fingertips. Your revelation caught Taehyung off guard, he wasn't expecting to hear that out of all things you could've said. He never imagined you'd find comfort in such a simple thing as his voice, but it made him immensely happy to know about it. He liked to know you could rely on him the same way he relied on you, you were also a safe place for him, the one person who could make all his troubles go away like magic.

"Anything you want, really. I just wanna hear you," you answered quietly, the slightest bit of expectation growing inside you.

You waited while Taehyung decided on what to talk about. Should he tell you about his day? Should he come up with some story? Did you want to listen to some fairytale? He kept wondering for a few seconds until what seemed the perfect idea popped in his mind.

"You know, I think it's really funny how you squeal when you're excited," he said, a fond smile forming on his lips as he thought about you earlier that day.

During the afternoon, you were discussing the idea of getting a pet and when Taehyung agreed to have a small dog, which was allowed in your apartment, you started to squeal. It was something you've always done, since childhood, and he knew you hated it. He knew it was involuntary and that you didn't like it when people pointed it out. To him, it was a cute habit nonetheless and when he thought about the highlights of his day, it was the first thing that came to mind. You squealing, your happy and shiny eyes, and the way your smile was so wide... His heart fluttered in his chest as he recalled the moment. He loved to see you happy and excited about things.

"Hey, no!", you gave his chest a light slap in between giggles. "If you talk about that I'm gonna quick you out of bed!"

"I highly doubt it," he replied, looking down at your pouty face and chuckling in amusement.

"But seriously, don't tease me about that!"

"You said I could talk about anything," he protested in an amused voice.

"You know it makes me embarrassed," you mumbled, getting comfortable in his arms again, and waiting for him to start over.

Taehyung thought your reaction was adorable and he would've kept on teasing you, but he had no energy to do so.

"Alright, I won't tease anymore," he promised, smiling. "I thought it was a good idea to talk about memories, though."

"What memories?" you questioned, interested.

"Remember our first kiss?" he asked back. "It tasted like vanilla."

"What?" you chuckled on his chest. "How do you even remember that?"

"You don't?" he inquired quite surprised.

"No," you admitted, shaking your head lightly. "But that was back in high school, how could I remind such details?"

"Well, I remember as if it happened yesterday. You passed the exams with good grades, even on the subjects you were failing, so I decided to treat you as a reward. We went for ice cream after school. I was so proud of you, for working hard and achieving good results... By that time, I already liked you a lot." Taehyung's deep voice felt peaceful and soothing in the darkness and, although it was low and he sounded a bit sleepy, his voice was the only thing you could focus on. You could listen to him for hours and it made you feel like everything was alright. "I was nervous. Like, I was shitting myself," he laughed, "but I decided if I didn't do it at that moment, I'd never be able to. So I kissed you right after you finished your ice cream and it tasted like vanilla," he continued. 

"Oh," you exclaimed, surprised. "I didn't know you had such a good memory... But you really kissed me out of the blue."

He nodded. "And then I confessed... It was one of the best choices I've ever made."

"You're such a sap," you said teasingly, but a small smile appeared on your lips. Taehyung wasn't one to show his feelings through words a lot, so listen to him say these types of things made you feel happy, it felt really special.

"Do you remember when we decided to move in together? I remember as if it was yesterday," he kept on talking.

You nodded, as a smile made its way to your face once more.

"In our first night here we had no furniture," he reminisced. "There was a delay in the delivery of our stuff..."

"Yeah, so we slept on a few blankets in the living room for the first two days," you agreed, your smile growing wider as you recalled the empty apartment and how everything felt so fresh back then.

"I remember we were both in our pajamas already, wearing socks and getting ready to sleep, but I was so excited to be moving in together that I still had a lot of energy. So I waited for you and when you came out of the bathroom I grabbed your hand and started to slide on the flooring with you."

"I remember that too," you laughed, recalling the night. Now, living together had become routine and you've created so many other memories since then... However, you would always cherish those times too, when everything was new.

"I guess I'll never forget the face you made and how you were screaming we'd fall until we stopped. But, then, you started to laugh and said you wanted to do it again. And we kept playing like two kids until we really fell down. That was such a good day... It always makes me happy to think about it."

"How did you even discover we could slide like that?" you asked, suddenly curious about where he got that random idea from.

"I was gonna wait for you outside the bathroom and kiss you. I wanted to surprise you and tell you how happy I was, but I slipped and fell on my butt when I got up from the blankets."

You giggled, picturing the scene perfectly in your mind. "I never heard about that."

"Then I just thought we could have some fun," he shrugged. "You were a bit stressed about moving and all the things we still had to unpack and organize, so I thought it was a good idea to make you laugh a bit. And it worked, I never thought we could get that happy over something so silly!" 

"Keep going," you blurted out in a whisper, eager to hear more. Taehyung's voice came out softly, in a low tone that was so calming... You couldn't help but want him to keep talking, especially because you were getting an insight into how he felt about your moments together.

"I remember it was also our anniversary that day, right?" he continued, as per request. "I was feeling bad for not being able to get you something in time, but we ended up having the time of our lives that night. It was fun," he smiled, feeling his chest grow warm as the memory came back to him so vividly. It was a moment of his life he would always cherish. "I remember when I laid down I realized I'd wake up next to you every day from then on and I was so happy... Sounds sappy now," he chuckled, a bit embarrassed. "But I was so happy that our relationship was evolving back then."

"Hm? Is that so?" you asked, slightly tightening your grip around his waist as happiness seemed to flood your chest. Then you yawned. Your eyelids were starting to feel a little heavy and you made no effort to keep them open as more words left Taehyung's mouth. He was in a daze, reminiscing the past.

"Oh, and a few days later, we had our first time... I guess that's when I felt like our relationship was getting really serious. I felt like we were taking such a big step," he confessed, his smile growing bigger. "I remember it perfectly. That's one of the moments I can recall the best."

"Tell me more," you whispered. You wanted to see his face and what kind of look he had on, but you couldn't bring your tired body to obey your wishes and you kept your eyes closed, feeling more and more somnolent as you enjoyed his featherlight touches on your back and how the circles he was rubbing on your skin made your body shiver.

"You insisted real bad even though you were shaking in nervousness," he chuckled. "And I really wanted to make you feel good, but I was a bit unsure as well."

Taehyung gently hugged you, not even aware of your current state. You were probably not assimilating all of his words anymore, but it didn't matter, he just kept talking. And, as he remembered that moment, he held you in his arms nostalgically.

"It all went away when you started to let yourself go, though. I remember how it felt awesome hearing your moans for the first time... I'm not sure if I should've been gentler, but it was hard not to lose myself once your shyness disappeared. I don't know why, even though that wasn't the best one, that night really was something else... I especially love the way your breath hitched right before I brought you over the edge," he smirked. "And then you kept on calling my name. You were amazing..." Taehyung stopped, as if leaving a trance, suddenly catching himself in embarrassment. How could he say such things so easily?

He quickly looked down, not sure about how you would react to such a revelation, only to find your figure buried in his chest and notice you were completely relaxed. He, then, noticed your steady and calm breaths. You were finally resting...

He smiled in content and adoration as he looked at you. He never really told you all of these things and how he felt about these moments before, but seeing your happy features was enough to convince him this was the type of talk you should have more often, especially to cheer you up or help you to relax. 

If you weren't trying to sleep, and looking so comfortable on his arms, Taehyung definitely would have pulled you into a kiss. However, he didn't want to disrupt you, since you were finally sleeping. Instead, he decided a few sincere words would be enough at that instant.

"I never told you about these things before, right? But I just want you to know I'm grateful for each and every moment we had together so far. I wouldn't trade what we have for nothing in the world."

He had put his heart into such words and even though you were drowsy, half asleep already, you could tell he really meant that. A small smile appeared on your lips and your heart fluttered in your chest just the slightest bit.

"I love you," you said, before completely giving in to sleep. Your voice was no louder than a whisper, but you knew your feelings would reach him.

Taehyung smiled as well. "I love you, (Y/N)," he said back.

And with that, he kissed the top of your head and finally allowed himself to close his eyes and relax again. A feeling of satisfaction and happiness overflowing him, as Taehyung thought about how much he loved having you on his arms, how he didn't want to ever let you go and how he wanted to be able to sleep and wake next to you again, every day, until the very end of his life. Even if, sometimes, sleeping and waking up next to you meant waking up in the middle of the night and losing a few hours of sleep just to talk about anything in particular.

He could swear he felt you smiling against his chest and he could tell he was probably smiling too, but slumber was taking over too quickly for him to check. 

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.7

Of Monsters and Men

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)      x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 2490

Summary: ‘Nat’ and the boys are still on the road and to kill the time more than anything, they talk monsters and most importantly, witches. 

You know what they say: speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Warnings: mentions of violence, monsters, supernatural elements, mentions of amnesia and interesting dreams and swearing (always)

Story masterlist

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“Hold onto me tight. Can’t have you falling off, doll…”

“You’re such a troublemaker-“

“I want to see you come undone first. Can I, doll?”

“Do I look unwilling, doll? I’m actually pretty eager to find out how long do you need to recover…”

“Eyes on me, darling-”

You jolted awake with a gasp for air, your eyes snapping open into sharp midday sun. It took you a second to realize where you were, what the low purr under your body meant, music on low volume and a male voice softly humming along.

You blinked, meeting Sam’s gaze as he turned his head to face you.

“Hey. You alright?” he asked, concern furrowing his features.

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the blood rushing to your cheeks at the memory of the dream. They were bits and pieces, sweet and hot, yet leaving dull ache in your chest in their wake. You were absolutely sure this was your consciousness recalling moments with your soulmate, but you were unable to make anything useful of them. It was like chasing ghosts – eh, actually, did ghosts exist? What was it like, chasing them? Never mind-

You were supposed to be a ghost, because apparently you had died.

Alright. Shake it. Snap out of those messy thoughts.

The more awake your body got, the more you realized your chest wasn’t the only thing that was tense and it wasn’t only your neck that nearly cramped.

“Yeah,” you muttered finally, while Sam’s eyes managed to get really worried, still on you. “Just… call of nature.”

In more than one ways. Your bladder might actually burst soon, but you couldn’t deny your arousal either. Gee. Why did it have to be that kind of dream you had? Why couldn’t you see your soulmate’s face clearly instead? Nope scratch that, his ID would be better, complete with his freaking address.

“Hold on for about half an hour, Nat. I’d like to stretch my legs anyway and Garth should be waiting for us.”

You smiled at Dean despite him being unable to see it, his eyes focused on the road. It was sweet of him. You might as well be sweet back.

“Thanks, Dean. And you can turn the volume up, if it was low just because of me,” you hummed, holding back a chuckle when his hand immediately moved to the radio.

“Thanks, Nat. Wanna tell us what that dream of yours was about? You seem a bit shaky,” he nudged, surprisingly gentle. You would expect such approach from Sam, but he only glanced at you, apparently wanting to know as well.

You sighed, wondering how to put it without sounding like a horny teenager.

“It’s… I think they’re like memories? But they don’t make any sense,” you said in the end, casting your glance down, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, fingers interlacing and disjointing again. “It’s my soulmate, I know as much. Or, you know, I’m pretty sure. It’s nothing useful though.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam soothed, his voice genuinely regretful. You just shook your head, sending a sad smile his way.

“The only pattern is a… a pet-name, I guess.” Well, until now, it was just one. ‘Darling’ was new. “He keeps calling me ‘doll’.”

You didn’t know why you told them, you weren’t planning on it. Except they were so genuinely nice to you it hurt and you felt like honesty was the least you could give in return. Now, you could practically touch their surprise.

It was Dean who commented on it, but not in a malicious way, which you were eternally grateful for.  

“Doll, huh? Maybe he’s a mafioso. Sounds like something from an old movie. Heh, maybe you time-travelled too!” he speculated out loud and you only gulped, not as amused as you should be. Was that a thing? Time-travel?

“God, I hope not,” Sam whined, effectively startling you. So it was possible?

“Nah, I bet it’s just him being a gentleman, ya know, the old-fashioned kind of guy. After all, how could he not, having such a… swell dame for a soulmate?”

Both you and Sam eyes Dean with wary and confusion.

“Since when you’re an expert on war era slang?” Sam demanded, amused surprise lacing his voice.

“Simpler times, Sam. Simpler times. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Sam just chuckled, shaking his head. You laughed as well despite not quite understanding what it meant. You simply enjoyed the banter and teasing that was strengthening their brotherly love; you already caught up that much, that they loved each other greatly. How could they not? They were both absolutely amazing despite their differences.

People might find it strange for them to be so close at their age – not that you knew theirs precisely, or yours for that matter – but you thought it was endearing. If they killed monsters for living, their lives couldn’t be normal and conventional, could they? It spiked your interest once more.

“Alright. What can you tell me about what you do and how you get your money?”

“Not sure you wanna hear that, d-- now I have the nickname stuck in my head, dammit. It’s not a pretty chat, Nat. You sure?”

You nodded, but agreed out loud for the god measure. After all, Dean was still driving.

“Your choice. We hunt monsters. But let me tell you, humans are actually the worst… well, humans and witches…”

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Dean and Sam hadn’t even told half about the monsters that lurked in the shadows and you already felt overwhelmed, grateful when you reached Bedford and the older brother called his ID maker.

Garth was a nice guy, if a little overexcited and goofy.

He called you a madam, gave Sam a newest book by George R. R. Martin (who?), which seemed to excite the hunter greatly and Dean received a piece of apple pie. You couldn’t remember your life, but if you had, you were sure it still would have been Dean’s smile that was the brightest you had ever seen. Note to yourself; when repaying Sam and Dean, a pie and a book were necessities.

Your trio didn’t stop to chat with the man for long though – you needed to be on your way. Garth was apparently in the business of hunting, because he made a face way too similar to Sam’s at a mention of witches. You weren’t sure if you looked forward hearing about those; you guessed they weren’t wearing pointy hats and befriending cats.

The remaining hours to your destination flied; the brothers continued to educate you in monster food chain (people were usually the food, which you did not enjoy learning), briefing you on existence of things you could barely imagine. Also, they weren’t only friends with an angel, apparently – they were also on rather good terms with king of Hell.

“King of Hell?” you parroted, bewildered. What the h— heaven?!

“Yeah. Dean used to be bestie with him, too,” Sam quipped, half delighted at his brother’s annoyed face when sharing this fact, half bitter for pretty obvious reasons.

“Dude.”

“You keep the weirdest company,” you stated, your head buzzing with all the info you got. You grimaced when you realized that the company included you.

“We know,” Sam sighed, turning his tablet on. “But it’s not all bad. I mean, Garth, the guy you just met… he’s a werewolf and-“

“He’s a WEREWOLF?!” you yelped, causing the brothers jump in their seats and Dean jerk the steering wheel aside, throwing you all of balance.

“Christ, woman! Keep the volume low!” the driver spitted out as he returned to the correct lane, ignoring the honks of other cars. “I know, I know, shut up, I’m not drunk…”

“Sorry,” you blurted out on autopilot, your mind pre-occupied with the fact that the sweet dorky guy you had just met was a fucking werewolf.

It was Sam’s turn to apologize or he thought so. “My bad. I shouldn’t have just dropped that on you.”

“But he was so nice!”

“If you say so,” Dean assented reluctantly, voice dripping with doubt. You weren’t trying to figure out why he questioned such an obvious thing. It wasn’t your place. Not to mention you were still too astonished by the announcement.

Sam cleared his throat. “Anyway. We have two victims so far. Both are young women, Alicia Peters, 16 years old and Helen Sanders, 16 as well. They were apparently classmates, rather good students, but not friends. One of them was found three days ago, the other yesterday. They both sneaked away in secret, some other classmates claimed to them being… eh, giggly. They thought they had new boyfriends,” Sam summed up, while Dean nodded every now and then. “Why do you think witches? Could be dragons… which would be probably even worse.”

“…dragons? You’re joking.”

Dragons were real now?!

Dean ignored your incredulous remark. “Virgins, right? That’s what I thought. But check this out – according to the coroner, they had a puncture wound over their heart like from some very thin needle – or, more likely, a very thin straw, because their hearts were completely drained of blood.”

Your head was definitely spinning now, your stomach flipping over. You had been getting hungry before, but not so much anymore. You wanted to tune the conversation out, but it was inevitable to hear it. Your ears wouldn’t listen; it was like watching a train-wreck happen and being unable to draw your gaze away. Morbid curiosity played a part too.

God, you really were weird company.

“That’s disgusting,” Sam stated, his fingers moving swiftly over the screen.

You only hummed in agreement, trying to get the visual from your brain. Soulmate. Think of your soulmate and his sultry voice calling you doll. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, shocked that it actually worked. His voice washed over you, cocooning you in a soft blanket.

“Tell me about it,” Dean agreed darkly, but Sam held out his hand all of sudden, causing both you and Dean freeze.

“What?”

“They found two young men this morning. John Doe One and Two for now. They were…” Sam wavered, eyeing you in the rear-view mirror. Now he was checking with you? You guessed your face was pale as a sheet of paper, but hey, it wasn’t like you couldn’t just try and cover your ears. You nodded at him encouragingly and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “…found in one bed, stabbed in the heart and… ugh, with their… tools ripped off.”

Dean winced, while you just blinked. Did he mean like… wow. Oh, wow. You weren’t sure how to react to that.

“There was a note. We apologize for ruining such pure lives of the sweetest kind and as a prove of our remorse, we present their families with-“ Sam faltered in his speech, gagging. “Yeah, alright. Apparently, the missing part of their bodies was found with the… note. No need to go into details.”

“Yeah, Sammy, I’d be pretty grateful if we stopped talking about that. What now, though? Do we believe this crap?”

“You could have an ally,” you quipped shyly, receiving Sam’s sigh in reply.

“Brutal one, but yes. We need to at least check it out.”

“Yeah, but we get a lunch before that. I need something to comfort me. You traumatized my love muscle, Sam. Do you have any-“

“Yeah, alright, just… stop right there,” Sam stopped his brother, as if shielding himself from TMI by holding out his palm against Dean. “Got it. We need to stop for a bite.”

You giggled, the sound interrupted by your stomach growling. When had you got your appetite back?

“I guess lady in the back agrees,” Dean hummed, grinning in Sam’s direction. You laughed when you came to conclusion that he enjoyed making his younger brother uncomfortable, Sam making a face back at him as he realized the same.

They seemed like a greater pair of siblings the longer you spent with them.

It only took several minutes to get to the town and find a place to eat; Dean seemed to have a talent for finding food, which you appreciated immensely. You hadn’t been eating much, ashamed of using the brothers like that, so you were hungrier than you would be willing to admit. You had a sneaking suspicion that Sam was beginning to notice, because his eyes were narrowed as you picked the cheapest thing on the menu that appeared edible.

“You’re not eating,” he pointed out bluntly the moment the waitress left.

You just gaped at being caught and so shamelessly called out. Dean’s gaze shifted to you and now you had two men glaring at you keeping you company in the boot.

“I’m… not hungry.”

“Your stomach said differently,” Dean reminded you with his eyebrow arched in challenge. You opened your mouth uselessly, the protest dying in your throat at the intensity of his bright green eyes. “If this is about money, get your head out of your ass, Nat. You need to eat.”

“But-“

“But nothing. We’re having a desert,” he shut you up effectively, not permitting any objections.

You sighed, guiltily merging with your seat. A menu was placed in front of you, Dean’s fingers pointing at it.

“Actually, you’re picking one right now.”

You wordlessly obeyed, defeated. “I don’t mean to be difficult,” you whispered apologetically and Sam just shook his head with a smile.

“We know. And I get it, you don’t want to impose and use us, but… we chose to help you. Try to accept it, alright?”

You only nodded, determined to at least find the best dessert. The corners of your lips quirked when you found it.

“Looks like we’re in for an apple pie,” you decided, smirking in Dean’s direction. His eyes lit up and you couldn’t but feel the warmth around your heart at that. You actually did that, made him smile. Maybe you weren’t the worst company in the world after all. “Unless you’re sick of it after-“

Dean’s hand snatched the menu away, shutting it close. “Shut you piehole, Nat.”

Sam laughed as they brought your food.

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You were just finishing your infamous dessert, when the brothers stiffened at the voice coming from behind their back, the other side of the boot.

You frowned, not finding anything strange about the female voice with British accent.

“Thank you, darling. It will be all,” the woman said politely.

The moment the waitress left, Sam and Dean stumbled from their seats and towards the other boot. The tension in their shoulders only grew and they let out a ridiculously synched irritated sigh, multiple emotions playing on their face; you caught annoyance and a bit of anger for sure.

“Rowena,” Sam greeted her in pretended politeness and you couldn’t but check the situation out. They didn’t seem to be happy about running into their acquaintance.

You got a glimpse of a redhead sipping at her tea delicately, her pinkie raised as she held her cup.

“Hello, boys.”

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Part 8

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I adore that woman, I swear. She’s so classy and sassy. 

Also, for those who haven’t seen SPN, I extended the guide at the end of chapter one - you’ll find ‘Chuck’ and ‘Rowena’ there ;)

Thank you for reading!

[hinac0lada]

neck deep

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oikawa tooru/reader 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: another attempt at angst. this was inspired by a dream i got the other night lol. so it’s very different from any other fic i’ve written + i’m kinda trying something new. [ graphic by me ]

they say dreams are like a shadow of history you’ve lived in a previous life. dreams stirs the imagination of one. like a cold, grey darkness. similar to a lonesome and hollow place. it’s like you can’t imagine stuff like that are what dreams are made of.

but what if dreams were like a calling? a premonition. a warning. suddenly dreams have become scary, like shedding light to an old folk tale.

lately, oikawa realizes his dreams may have a deeper meaning to them than he initially thought.

he vividly remembers the last place his dream took place. it was in a parking lot. he doesn’t know why since he doesn’t even have a license nor a car yet, but he peers through it anyway. he couldn’t see a plate number, but he remembers seeing vibrant colors of neon lights. red and blue, he recalls. 

he starts up the car, with the engine roaring to life. he waits for a moment to warm up the car, the luminescent lights inside glowing for indicators of certain buttons. oikawa steps on the gas pedal, accelerating to wherever the road ahead were to take him. sometimes it appeared endless, often leading him to a cold and empty cloud of space. at times, he feels as though he wasn’t even the one steering the wheel. the headlights were on. he doesn’t remember turning them on himself. but it doesn’t matter. there appeared to be nothing on the road. nothingness, it seemed.

oikawa takes a deep breath in, inhaling whatever fresh air he was surrounded with. he suddenly felt the air clog up. he felt like a fish out of water. he was beyond terrified and confused. a couple of dreadful minutes of feeling like he lost the ability to breath, it all came back. it choked him to breathe in multiple scents all at once. 

moments after an endless drive to nowhere, cars materialized out of thin air. all appear to be going in the same opposite direction. he was alone in his own lane. he observes each car passing by. they all had different sizes, ranging from minivans, micro, pickup trucks and small cabs. the only thing was, they didn't have any color nor shape. they were all silhouettes. it made him feel unease, as if at any moment, one would suddenly drift into his direction and slam his car out of the way. death by car accident. either one of these cars could be a symbol. vehicles of destruction, he thought. it was alarmingly fitting.

a silhouette manifested beside him in the passenger seat. he couldn't say he was surprised. the unknown figure just sat there, no words spoken. none of them spoke for a majority of the ride.

oikawa tries to talk to the figure seated beside him. he didn't know why, but he felt the need to. it's like he knew this mass of darkness in the real world. the mass was familiar to him.

even though he can feel the cold air it emitted, he feels warmth and solidarity. it wasn't a pleasant match, he'll give that. it made him feel bitter at the distasteful feeling. still, the figure gave no signs of moving or talking. by now, it's fixated on a much more humane form than just a dark floating mass of mist. he couldn't identify if it was a man or woman though.

but why would that matter anyway? it was stupid to question it in the first place.

oikawa felt helpless. he's arrived at their destination. it was a beauty salon surrounded by neighboring houses and convenience stores. it was so out of place. upon his inspection, the salon inside lead to an apartment. it was so surreal.

he finally gets out of the car, shutting the car door firmly and shifts towards the run-down building. he's blocked by a woman. she was fairly the same height as him, albeit a bit shorter. hair at a [h.l] length.  it was most definitely you in the flesh. the only difference from the real you was your eyes. dull, [e.c] irises seem to blend in with a colorless sheen of black; engaging in the pitch black sea of darkness.

he tries to speak but soon faltered when he couldn't even hear his own voice. your dead, fish-like eyes were unnerving. never blinking and cold. oikawa raises an arm out to touch you - to have some sort of contact and feel something akin to warmth. he felt so cold, but you only moved to avoid the hand reaching for your head. he didn't know why this action left him feeling numb. in reality, it wounds him more than he reap.

you took off running, making the gap between you two stretch even wider. he failed to notice the gap that formed the moment he found you. you ran inside the door of the one building that stood out more than the rest. he follows you, naturally. he looked like a lost puppy; all cold, searching for a place that would welcome him.

oikawa was shaken to the core. it wasn't that he was bothered by the transparent plexiglass was blocking him from making his way over to you, but it was the way you looked at him. you both were staring at each other down through the glass, one with wearisome eyes and the other a mute.

your face suddenly contorted into multiple expressions; from dumbstruck, sorrow, grief, disgust and finally rage. all emotions that he felt were directed at him.

he tried read your moving lips, as he couldn't even hear your voice from the other side, but he couldn't catch a word you were saying. your lips moved too fast for him to make out a sentence. he places his face closer to the glass, pressing his ear against it in hopes of making out something. anything, even if it was muffled. he jumped back a deafening sound of a high pitch octave waved through his ears. he hunches over at the tingling feeling he felt.

then he heard a sound. it was far away, distant. but as he stayed hunched in a fetal position, the voice got louder and louder. it was an echo coming from every direction. an echo comprised of you.

"look at you. so pathetic. i don't think i've ever seen a sadder sight." a giggle came from the left. your figure stood still beyond the thick layer of glass that proved to be a barrier between you two. he didn't need to take another look to know you were nowhere near him.

he hears snickers and mumbles of agreement behind him. "i can't believe i let him take away months worth of my life. i can never take those back." your voice seethed.

the color of the sky shifted to one of burgundy. the pop of color filled the dark void he was surrounded in, with the red-maroon like color kissing his skin in silence.

your laugh echoed everywhere as he leans his weight on one leg, staggering to stand up in his shaken state. you knew his vulnerability. you knew about his emotional state. he couldn't deal with it all at once, especially if it came from you.

"you think i care about you? please! am i that desperate to you?"

he whimpers, the ache in his heart growing ever so slowly.

"i don't even know what i saw in you."

his lips trembled.

"i don't ever want to see you again."

he trudged towards the glass barrier, hands shaking as he breathed a puff of air on the glass, fingers writing words he hoped you'd get. you had to.

please come back to me

in response to his poorly written message, you placed a palm on the glass, as if you were reaching out to him from your side.

i still love you

he can tell the difference though. he knows you didn't mean it. you never did.

so he ran away.

after crumbling back to the man he once was, he returned to the drivers seat, tears blurring his vision as he slammed his foot on the pedal, desperate to get out of that place. he didn't care where he ended up in. as long as it was far away from here. the road was dark and never-ending. he thinks back to the previous vehicles that drove pass him - probably hours or even days ago - and wishes how he should've just gotten rammed into. it wouldn't be so bad, would it?

time was nonexistent at this point.

oikawa woke up crying. his tears fell silently on his face. he was a bit startled, having awoke to a wet stain on his cheek. he brings up a finger to touch the drying tears. it's just a dream, he reminds himself. he squints his eyes in the dark, turning his head to find another source of light other than the moon shining through the windows of his apartment. his eyes lock on the alarm clock resting on the small cabinet beside his bed. it read 3:56 am.

he feels the bed shift, causing him to take a breather. he gives himself a moment to relax but he can't. he looks down on his shaky palms, envisioning your sleeping figure coddled up to a pillow beside him.

it just felt too real.

[bouwrites]

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 4

You took for granted all the times I never let you down.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

“Jon? Can I bother you for a second?”

Jon looks up from his assignment to Marinette. Honestly, it’s a bit of a relief to take a break from it. “Sure.” He says. “What do you need?”

“I’m planning to call Alya, soon. You know who she is, right?”

“Your best friend, right? Through a lot of grade school, I think you said. Is she the one that wants to be a reporter?”

“Yeah. She’s been bugging me to meet you, recently, so I was just wondering if you’d pop in to say hi for a bit.”

Jon smiles. “I get to meet your Paris friends? Cool. I’m down. You calling her now?”

“If you’re not busy.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got some homework, but I need to take a break anyway. I’m good.”

“Awesome!” Marinette chirps, taking out her phone. “Uh, fair warning, though, your parents are sort of her journalism idols, so she might be a little weird.”

Jon laughs. It’s not everyday someone outside Metropolis knows his parents well enough to bother connecting him to them, but the ones that do are all journalists, so Alya knowing makes sense. “And she hasn’t wanted to meet me before now?”

Marinette ducks her head nervously. “I… may have not told her your last name.”

“Pfft. Really, Marinette? Is she pissed with you for keeping that secret from her?”

“Oh, absolutely. In my defense, I didn’t know until almost the end of the semester! You told me your parents are journalists, but I don’t know names like Alya does. And she does talk about Lois Lane a lot, but I didn’t know your mom’s name. I just assumed it’d be Kent. I would have told her sooner if I realized.”

Jon shrugs. “That’s fair. Journalists aren’t really big names unless they’re, like, T.V. anchors. Can’t blame you for not knowing.”

Marinette snorts. “Tell that to Alya. Anyway, I’ll call her. Get ready, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She hits the call button, and nearly immediately another girl’s voice is coming from the speakers. “Marinette! Is he there?!”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “Yes, Alya, he’s here.” She pushes Jon towards the couch and sits down next to him where they can sit comfortably close enough together for the camera to pick up the both of them. “See? Meet Jon, my roommate.”

“You’re Jonathan Kent!!!” Alya shrieks. She lets out a long string of something in French before taking a deep breath. “Marinette, I cannot believe you! You’ve been living with Jonathan Kent for months and you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t know his parents were the people you’re always going on about! I told you as soon as I did!”

“Mari.” Alya draws out the last vowel in a long whine. “Lois Lane is my hero! How did you forget?!”

“Uh, because her name is Lane? I’ve never met Jon’s parents. I didn’t know his mom’s name. I just knew his is Kent.”

“And how many times have I talked about Clark Kent?!”

Marinette covers her face. “That I just forgot. To be fair, what are the odds that my roommate’s parents are your heroes? It just never occurred to me.”

Alya laughs boisterously. “Good point, girl. I guess I can’t be too mad at you, since you are finally introducing me.”

“Aha. Speaking of.” Jon says. “Nice to meet you. Marinette’s told me a lot about you.”

“Hi! Oh my god. Have you seen my blog?” Alya flinches. “Wait,” she says to herself. “Can I just ask if he’s read my blog?” She shakes her head. “Will you read my blog? If I can get feedback from the Jonathan Kent, I’ll be that much closer to being the best reporter I can be.”

“Alya!” Marinette chastises. “Jon is very busy with University. He doesn’t have time to review your blog for you.”

“It doesn’t have to be right away!” Alya protests. “He can do it when he gets to it!”

Jon clears his throat. “I, uh, also don’t speak French, so…” Alya curses. Jon thinks. It’s in French, but it sounds like a curse. He laughs. “I’m flattered, but I’m not sure I can help you much. I’m not a journalist yet myself, anyway.”

“But you are studying it, aren’t you?” Alya asks.

Jon rubs his neck. “Well… no. I’m still undeclared. To be honest, I’m not really sure what I want to do, yet.” He sighs. “And am quickly running out of time to figure it out.”

He feels Marinette’s comforting touch on his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.” She says.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shakes his head, looking back to Alya. “Anyway, you have a blog? It’s about the superheroes there, right? Ladybug and Black Cat?”

“Chat Noir.” Marinette corrects him. “Ladybug’s name is in English, Chat Noir’s sounds so weird translated.”

Jon laughs. “What’s weird about Black Cat? I’m pretty sure there’s like, four different cat burglars going by variations of that exact name. At least.”

“Exactly. French, Chat Noir, is a hero. Black Cat is a villain name.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. Chat Noir. I haven’t heard much on them lately. Not since the big news when they beat their bad guy.”

“They’re still around.” Alya says. “They’re doing more conventional heroism now. Or, at least, Chat Noir is. Ladybug hasn’t been seen for some time.”

Jon frowns. That’s news to him, but then since he’s off-duty he’s fallen out of touch with the most recent hero news. His dad has been respectfully keeping that stuff out of their talks, thankfully. It’s none of his business, anyway. “Huh. Hope she’s okay.”

“We think she is.” Alya says. “Chat won’t give us much, but apparently it was her decision.”

That’s relatable. “Ah. Cool. Good for her.”

Both Marinette and Alya give him strange looks. He shifts awkwardly under their stares. “I hear Superboy is off-duty, though.” Alya says. “Your parents are the number one source for super news. Would you happen to know what happened to him?”

Jon shrugs. “Can’t say. Mom and Dad usually don’t share details of articles with me, so I don’t know any more than they’ve made public.”

“You’re not worried about one of your superheroes just vanishing all of a sudden? The Justice League says he’s just taking leave, but don’t you think it’s a bit odd?” Alya asks. “It’s been months since anyone’s seen him.”

Good. Jon thinks. He laughs, but the sound rings bitter to him. “Why should I be worried? He’s Superboy. I’m sure he’s fine. The same could be said for your Ladybug, and you don’t seem worried.”

“Oh, I’m worried.” Alya says pointedly. Jon isn’t quite sure what the emphasis is for, but… talk about superheroes is normal, superhero business is none of his. Whatever Alya’s hinting at isn’t his concern. Ladybug is probably fine, if Chat Noir says so. “But I know the situation with Ladybug better than I do Superboy.”

“Funny, I’m the other way around. I guess there’s nothing to worry about, after all.”

Alya hums. “Maybe. I hope not.”

Marinette shifts the conversation to a lighter topic, to Jon’s relief, but something inside him stays unsettled. He doesn’t like worrying everyone, but he’s not in charge of the PR. The League is surely just trying to maintain some control over the situation, implying that he’s on some temporary break and not gone indefinitely, or maybe they just… don’t believe that he’s serious about this.

He can… he can buy that. The son of the boy scout in blue giving up heroics? Laughable. A Kryptonian living on Earth like he’s just a guy and not some god among men? Why would he lower himself that way? Because I am just a guy. Jon thinks bitterly.

The League does a lot of good in the world, and Jon respects them for that, but they just don’t understand having power and not wanting to use it. To refrain from using it makes sense to them. To hold back from using all his power is exactly what they want him to do. But they just can’t even imagine not wanting to use power that they have.

To be fair, there was a time that Jon thought the same way. His powers are a part of him, so why shouldn’t he use them? Now, when he finally has some semblance of peace, when he’s living his own life with ordinary people in an ordinary way… going back terrifies him. He’d rather lose his powers entirely than go back to using them to fight all the time.

He still feels guilty that his powers can be used to fight for good. He can, so he has to. That’s what his dad says. But… he doesn’t want to fight again. It doesn’t matter if he’s fighting for good if he’s still fighting. He’s tired, and he wants to live this ordinary life he’s found.

Super-hearing sucks. Jon decides this at God-knows-O’clock in the morning when he wakes up to the distinct and unfortunately familiar sound of glass being cut. By one of Damian’s Goddamned toys.

Damian, you motherf-

His thoughts are interrupted when he tunes in to the sound more and hears ragged, uneven breathing and the pitter-patter of liquid hitting hardwood.

Hell.

Jon throws himself out of bed and floats over the ground to make no noise – the last thing he wants to do is wake up Marinette – to go see what the damage is.

He enters the living room and there, naturally, is Damian. In his hero costume. Bleeding on Jon’s furniture. And there’s a hole in the window. There go our deposits. Sorry, Marinette. “I hate you so much.” Jon hisses.

“I’ll fix the window.” Damian snaps. “Just help me with this.” He’s holding his thigh tightly, trying to keep pressure on two different areas.

“Did you get… shot and stabbed? In the same leg?”

“I do not need your judgement, Kent. I need your supplies.”

Jon sighs and flies over to the bathroom to retrieve the first-aid kit. Luckily, Damian is more than capable of stitching himself back together, because right now Jon is doing his absolute darndest to not crush his friend instead of simply keeping pressure on him. As Damian focuses on the blade wound, Jon keeps pressure on the bullet wound, gritting his teeth all the while.

And while Damian focuses on his bullet wound, Jon gets the lovely job of cleaning up all the blood before Marinette sees it. Goddamnit, Damian.

Damian huffs. “There. Now suit up, I’ll need your assistance to finish this mission with my leg the way it is.”

Jon wrings out the towel he’s absolutely going to have to throw away now into the sink. “No.” He says. “I’m retired. Find someone else.”

Damian scoffs. “You’re clearly not busy. With you there it won’t take long, we simply need to-”

“I said no, Damian!” Jon throws the towel at him. At least Damian has the decency to start cleaning up the rest of his mess himself now that he’s not busy staying alive. “I’m not Superboy anymore. There are plenty of heroes who can help you. Call one of them.”

“Jon. Seriously.” He deadpans. “Stop trying to make this difficult. It will be simple. You’ll be back before sunrise; it won’t be any bother at all. Now come on.”

“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand? I’m. Not. A. Hero. Anymore. It’s bad enough you’re breaking into my home. I’m not getting dragged onto another stupid mission with you because you can’t understand what off-duty means.”

“What is wrong with you? I came here because I was bleeding out!”

“And now you’re patched up.” Jon bites. “So, bye!”

“You’ve taken a long enough break. While you act like a child, people’s lives could be in danger.” Damian growls. “Stop whining and suit up. I need your help.”

Jon’s gut screams at him. It sinks sharpened fangs into his flesh and tears and rips and revels, because Jon knows Damian is right. People are out there right now who need help. Help he can provide. It is beyond selfish of him to refuse for such childish reasons like he’s tired or stressed or shaking with barely suppressed terror at the very idea of putting the cape back on.

Before Damian shows up in his apartment, Jon doubts he’s a good person. Maybe he was once, maybe he was just acting in some facsimile of one in his dad’s shadow, but now? Now Jon is certain. He’s a failure. A disappointment. A blot, marring that almighty “S” everyone cherishes so dearly. Because even now, even as Damian, who has dragged him out on so many missions before, comes to him crippled and bleeding, asking for his help to save innocents, Jon can’t bring himself to go with his old friend. He begs to, he yearns to, but he can’t. Something cold and pale and stony holds him back and solidifies his… resolve seems too positive a word for it. It isn’t strength at the core of his refusal. It’s fear, pure and simple. “Find someone else.” Jon says. “You’re the one overstaying your welcome. If lives are in danger, you’d save them faster if you called in backup from heroes who are actually working.”

“How can you sit idly-”

Because I’m not the person you think I am. “Because I’m not a hero!” Because I’m not strong enough. “You’re the one ignoring procedure! It’s been made crystal clear that I’m not an active hero, anymore!” Jon fears Damian can see how his tightly clenched fists shake at his side. Damian is certainly too observant to miss such an obvious tell. Pathetic. “Superboy is retired! Don’t assume I’ll drop everything I’ve been doing to run out the moment you decide I should!”

“Jon! Superboy is needed! Will you just ignore the call of duty?”

Don’t ask me that. Please. “I will! That’s not my job anymore!”

“Then why did you help me?”

Jon sputters. Because you’re my friend. Because you could die. Because… I’m selfish and I can’t distance myself enough from you to stop. “Because you were bleeding on my floors. I don’t know what you’re doing, and I don’t care.” This much, at least, is honest. Jon doesn’t necessarily not care at all, but he cares far less than he should. And he does desperately wish to not know. “I’m done with that life. I’m finally starting to feel-”

“I don’t care what kind of tantrum your leave has been about.” Damian says. “You’re needed now, so come on!”

Stop pushing. There’s a tightness in Jon’s chest, restricting his breath, stronger than any chains. If you don’t, I don’t know what… “Are you just incapable of listening?!”

“…Jon? Wha-”

Thunk.

Everything falls into deathly silence as all three people in the room absorb what just happened. Marinette, in her nightgown, sleepy and disoriented from being woken up by the yelling, is standing there in the entranceway, wide alert now, looking between Jon, Damian, the window, Damian’s bandaged leg, the bloody towel on the coffee table, and the batarang firmly rooted in the wall an inch from her head.

Damian just threw a batarang at Marinette. At Marinette.

“Never mind.” Marinette says coldly. Jon’s heart turns to ice at the frigid tone. It doesn’t belong in her voice. “I don’t want to know.” She turns away, like Jon is up at such a dumb hour eating ice cream instead of fighting with a hero standing in front of a man-sized hole in their window.

When Jon hears the click of her door closing, he rounds on Damian. Self-pity, self-loathing, doubt, all of it leave his heart in an instant. All he feels now is anger. Something fiery consumes him and he sees red. “Get the hell out of my home.”

“I-”

“How fucking dare you! You break into my house, demand my help when I’ve already made it clear you shouldn’t call me for that, and you attack my roommate?! Do you realize what you’ve just done?!”

“She has remarkable reflexes.” Damian says.

“Get the hell out of my house!”

Damian clears his throat awkwardly. In a calmer state of mind, Jon will later remember this is a sign of Damian’s embarrassment, but at the moment he doesn’t care to think twice about the gesture. “Yes… of course. You clearly have damage control to do here, with your identity possibly compromised to a civilian. I’ll find someone unoccupied to assist with my mission.”

Jon just gapes at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Damian picks up the circle of glass and hangs outside the window for a moment to fix it back in place and seal it before he takes off.

The window looks good as new, but there’s a bloody rag on Jon’s coffee table and… the damage is done. Oh, God. He sighs, picking up the towel again and throwing it in the sink. Now what?

He has no idea how much Marinette heard, if anything, but even just seeing Damian here in his hero costume is dangerous. She’ll wonder how he knows Damian, why Damian came here.

All this, coming to New York, all this work in college, his entire life right now, is to get away from heroism. In one night, Damian breaks in and uproots all of it. Months of building up his life here, and now he’s in the deep end of the hero nonsense again. Great. Just great.

Maybe… maybe it’s salvageable. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe… there’s only one way to find out. He has to start damage control as soon as he can. God, I’m tired.

He spends another few minutes wringing the blood out of the towel. It’s as good as it’s going to get, but he thinks he’ll still probably buy a new one tomorrow. Then, with a heavy sigh, Jon trods over to Marinette’s door.

He raps gently on the wood. “Marinette?”

“I don’t want to know, Jon!” Marinette’s icy voice cuts into him. This… isn’t the reaction he expects. Especially with Alya as her best friend, he expects her to be asking him for all the details. He expects it’ll change everything, and he hates that it will, but he certainly doesn’t expect that all the kindness and warmth, all the friendliness and cheer, will vanish just like that.

He knows the batarang must have scared her. He deserves her anger, her confusion, her fear. That, he understands. But this? Cold fury, something deep, something hurt, like betrayal. A wall of ice built between them in an instant. He doesn’t understand, he can’t understand, but it hurts him regardless, to hear her voice that way. To hear the pain in her voice. “Marinette? At least let me explain.”

“I said I don’t want to know!” The door swings open, giving Jon a clear view of Marinette’s clenched jaw and white knuckles and her deadly glare. “I don’t care why he was here. I don’t care how you know him. I don’t want to know. Whatever your business is with heroes, I don’t want anything to do with it. Understand? Leave me out of it.”

She slams the door in his face.

Jon has never heard her sound that way before. It’s frightening, but mostly it makes him feel like his world is falling apart. Months of his life, all the normal he’s managed to find, gone. Just like that. With the slam of a door.

Now what?

Marinette won’t talk to him. Jon fixes the hole in the wall and snaps the batarang that caused it in half with his bare hands. He hides the pieces away in his closet where he doesn’t have to look at them. There’s a new towel in their kitchen. At any glance, the apartment is back to normal.

But Marinette won’t talk to him. She treats him like the plague. She comes home late, going straight to her room when she does. If she sticks around in the morning long enough to make coffee or tea, she makes her own cup and leaves. The few times she’s home for dinner, she cooks just for herself and eats in her room.

Life is… normal. He’s still going to class, he’s still living here in New York, his apartment is back to normal. But it doesn’t feel like normal. It feels like hell. It feels like everything he tried to run away from when he left the hero life behind him is kicking him square in the butt over and over again. Every time Marinette’s gaze sweeps over him and continues like he’s not even there, every quiet, quiet evening in when she’s not in the apartment and he doesn’t know if she’s out getting dinner or working late in the library, or… or anything.

It’s almost like she isn’t even there anymore.

Jon leaves a post-it note in the entranceway, right inside the door, before the hallway turns. It says to take off his shoes. He’s not sure if he’s trying to get her attention somehow or if he just misses her getting on his case about it. It works, though. He replaces his shoes with the indoor ones Marinette got for him early on. She doesn’t comment on it.

He can’t focus anymore. When he sits down to study, he just feels this dread hang over him. When he’s in class he just feels out of place. Like he doesn’t belong. It’s frustrating, and it pisses him off, and that only makes it harder to focus on his work.

He tries. He tries so hard. He’s doing everything he can, but he can’t sit still and let that overhanging pain consume him. He can’t stop to look at his notes, because if he does it’ll catch up with him and he can’t handle that. He feels like he’s always on the move, searching for something to do, something to distract him, but at the same time he can feel himself stagnating and it makes him feel dirty and gross and he hates it and he scrubs himself so thoroughly every day but the filth he feels never goes away.

Even being a hero was better than this. But then he listens for that tell-tale shriek he’s been shutting out for so many months and he’s not sure it’s not coming from him because the thought of flying to the rescue, of punching some thief and getting involved in something that’s none of his business makes him nauseous. It makes his heart race and he can’t breathe, and he aches all over, wondering what’s wrong with him.

A small, sensible part of him says, “You were ten. Of course, you’re messed up, now.”

A more cynical part says, “Damian was younger. He’s not having a panic attack because some lady is getting her purse stolen.”

Surprisingly, it’s that same cynical part of him that helpfully counters itself. “Sure, he’s still a hero, but do you really want to call Damian okay?”

Yeah, that’s fair.

This is all his fault, anyway.

Diligently, like clockwork, he works on the schedule that he built over his first semester. He goes to class, and when he gets home, he writes down all his assignments on the whiteboard over his desk. Marinette’s idea. It’s the only reason he made it through the transition to college from high school.

Now, though, he just stares at the assignments there in black ink and stares and stares and wills himself to do them but doesn’t ever actually move. He hates it so much. He’s never been just unable to do things before, but now the farthest he ever gets is pulling the paper out, then all he can do is stare at it until his mind wanders and he ends up clicking through websites like a tiger pacing it’s cage at the zoo. Always moving, always going back and forth, but never doing anything.

When he gets his midterm scores back, Jon decides he can’t do this anymore. If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll lose what grip he does still have on his grades and he won’t have a choice but to go home and back to… back to Superboy.

He can’t go back to Superboy. Whatever else this reprieve of duty has done to him, he just can’t handle that anymore. He knows what he needs. He had a taste of it. Just a tiny, tiny, prototype of it, but he had it. That normalcy. That feeling like he knows what he’s doing, that he’s okay, and that things will work out. He had it and he lost it. And he doesn’t know how to get it back.

“Mom?”

He hears his mom’s gentle sigh over the phone. That familiar, knowing sigh she does when she knows she’s gearing up for something big. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Jon explains the situation to her. No details spared. He tells her about Damian showing up, about Marinette seeing him, about her avoiding him and his slipping grades, and about how much going back to being Superboy terrifies him. He tells her how frustrated he is because he had, for just a moment, exactly what he wanted right in his hands and Damian came and knocked it to the floor and shattered it. He tells her how angry he is with Damian. With himself. With how he’s afraid what his dad will think of him if he’s so weak he can’t even save himself, much less be a hero worthy of being the son of Superman. He tells her how alone and stagnant he feels, how evil he feels for turning down Damian in the first place, and he begs her for help.

It’s a long, long, mostly one-sided conversation, punctuated by long periods of nothing but crying, but he tells her everything because he doesn’t have any other route to take.

“Sweetie, if you can’t be Superboy, then you can’t be Superboy.” His mom says. “Your dad and I do feel differently about it, but you remember what he said when you first talked to him about this? Good people help because they can. Honey, you can’t. And that’s okay. Not doing something you can’t do doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you normal.” And now he’s crying again. “He won’t be upset with you if you don’t go back to being a hero. He just wants you to be happy, same as I do. And it takes a lot more strength to admit when we can’t do something than to kill ourselves trying anyway. I’m proud of you. And he is, too.

“And I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you about Marinette. If she doesn’t want to be around you, then… there’s not much you can do but keep trying to be happy without her. I know she’s your friend, but… there’s only so much you can do. If she’s really against it, you might have to say goodbye.”

“I don’t want to.” Jon chokes out. “Mom, she’s my normal.”

“You found normal once. You can do it again.”

Jon frantically scrubs at his eyes, trying to stop the tears. “I… S’pose.” The thought doesn’t make him feel better, but it does make sense.

“And I think you should talk to Damian.”

“I don’t want to see him.” Jon growls.

“Jon, he’s your friend, too. You both woke up Marinette. It was wrong of him to ask you to help with his mission, but don’t blame him for what isn’t entirely his fault.”

There’s a spike in Jon’s heart, and it’s twisted because he knows she’s right.

“Don’t lose two friends over this, Jon.”

God, she’s right. Jon has to go talk to him. He doesn’t want to, but… he has to. Knowing Damian, he probably doesn’t fully understand why Jon’s even mad at him, so he has to. To at least give Damian a chance to understand.

Even if a part of him says good riddance, and that he’s better off without Damian always there to drag him back into the world of heroes.

Alfred answers the door of the manor and barely looks him up and down before telling Jon that Damian is in the batcave. Jon trudges past the old butler, following old paths through the manor he’d memorized a lifetime ago.

Damian catches sight of him the moment he enters and nods his acknowledgement. Jon notes that Tim is here, but he can’t bring himself to care.

It feels weird, walking into the batcave in an old flannel and worn-out jeans. It’s weird to not even have his suit underneath. This place feels so deeply entrenched with Jon’s memory of heroism that he feels out of place as he is. Underdressed, in a way.

“You should be talking to your father about returning to duty.” Damian says. “Hiding here won’t help.”

“I’m not returning to duty.” Jon says tiredly. “I’m here to talk to you.”

Damian pauses. He’s not expressive, per se, but Jon knows him too well. He knows Damian is embarrassed about the incident. Perhaps even… guilty? Jon’s too tired to think too much about it. “Ah. Right. Speak, then.”

Jon takes a deep breath to stamp down on the rage that bubbles up at Damian’s dismissive tone. Like he didn’t do anything wrong. Like he didn’t come by uninvited and… “You ruined my life.” Jon says quietly. “Do you understand that?”

Damian frowns at him. “There’s no need to get dramatic. This Marinette girl may have heard a bit too much, but she’s only one person. This can be solved easily.”

Jon groans. “That’s not what I’m talking about!” He pauses to breathe some more. He refuses to cry in the batcave. Especially not in front of Damian. “I’m not Superboy anymore. I’m not a hero anymore. I quit for a reason, Damian. I quit because I wanted… I just wanted one thing. I wanted something that could make me feel… okay. I can’t be Superboy, because I- because I…” More deep breaths. Stay calm. “Because I’m not okay. And I went to New York, to college, because I thought I could find something normal. I thought I could- I could be me and not have to fight all the time. And I did! I was happy! I felt safe, and I felt like I could- like I could- I felt like things would be okay.

“And then you came in. Now Marinette won’t talk to me. I’m all alone and I’m only getting worse, but every time I think about going back to being Superboy I panic because I can’t- I can’t fight like that again. I just… physically… I…” He sighs and focuses on his breathing again. “I thought I could be happy. But now that’s ruined.”

Jon notes that Damian stops looking at him somewhere along the line, but all he hears is Damian’s flippant retort. “You’ll get over her. Just because you love this girl doesn’t mean her not liking you is the end of the world.”

That’s where Jon sees red. He stalks up and grabs Damian by the collar, half-surprised that Damian lets him, but not hesitating to lift Damian into the air. “Don’t talk about her like that! You don’t understand anything! Don’t trivialize this like that! It’s not about love, Damian! I’m not in love with her! She was my normal! She was- She was…” Jon chokes on his own words and drops Damian so he can turn away and focus on keeping his tears from slipping free. “You don’t get it. I don’t know why I came here. I’m just going to- I’m going to go.”

“Wait, Jon.” Jon stops, turning back to look at Damian. Damian sighs, though it comes out as more of a huff. “I’m sorry.” He says. “I… I didn’t know why you quit, and I assumed… I shouldn’t have, and I apologize.”

It’s not much, but it’s an apology. It doesn’t fix anything, but it does make Jon feel just a little less broken. “Thanks.” Jon says quietly. “I’m sorry, too. I was yelling, too. It’s not entirely your fault she woke up.”

Damian just nods stiffly in acknowledgement, still refusing to meet Jon’s eye. “Would you… like help reconciling with Marinette? Perhaps if I-”

“God, no. For Christ’s sake, please don’t even step foot in New York.” Jon says it more biting than he means, but that doesn’t seem to bother Damian much. “Marinette doesn’t want anything to do with heroes. Quite frankly, I don’t disagree. If you come in trying to fix everything, it’ll only get worse.”

“…I understand. If you do need my assistance, I will be available for you.”

Jon stares at him for a while, wondering how he feels about that. He’s still resentful, a bit, but Damian is trying. He’s a far cry from that bratty thirteen-year-old that dragged little ten-year-old Jon around on wacky, life-threatening adventures. Jon supposes he’s pretty different now himself, too.

“Thanks, Damian. I appreciate that.”

-------=-------

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe  @moonlightstar64 @amayakans <3

[totallypathet]

Episode Six

Okay first of all, massive spoiler warning!!

Snaaaaaaatch gaaaaaaame!!! I love snatch game. It's such a good opportunity to shine, and be hilarious, and show us what you can do! It's also the challenge queens have the most time to prepare for, so it's always interesting to see who actually comes prepared...

Also, the runway this week was incredible! I think it's been the best week so far for runway looks, so many of them were sooooo stunning! Who knew that a Frozen theme would bring out the best of the season so far??

Okay, let's get into the breakdown.

1. Aiden Zhane

Oh my god. I am so so so so so so so so glad to see Aiden finally fucking LEEEEEEAVE. It's been a journey guys, but we got here. I am so excited not to have to see that little black wig anymore. Honestly, there was nothing good about her performance this week. I was actually really excited to see someone do Patricia Quinn, it's cool seeing people do references that I hadn't even thought of and salute older parts of LGBTQ history. The reality, though, made me want to jump off a building. It was sooo cringy and sad. There was nothing Patricia about it, she didn't even bother doing the accent. How are you gonna stand in the work room and say "oh I know her, I had lunch with her" and deliver a performance like that?? And also, every question she was just like "I don't even know where I am am!" And it's like... dementia isn't funny. It was just hard to watch.

Her runway was, I think, the best she's ever looked. The wig was still shaky af, but her makeup was really pretty, and her padding was really good. The dress was lovely, but it wasn't very...creative. It was just a blue dress, and the yeti concept was only done from the neck up. It kind of felt like she went to the competition with just the dress, then she saw what everyone else was putting on and was like "oh damn I've got to make a concept out of this somehow!"

Also that lipsync though... it was like watching Vivienne Pinay and Honey Mahogany again, let's just say that.

Tl;dr: she deserved to go, and I'm glad to see her go.

2. Brita

Brita, Brita, Brita. Still bitter af. All she does is talk shit on other people and like...maybe if you stayed in your lane and focused on what you were doing, you wouldn't be in the bottom all the time? Just a thought. Shes another one where it felt like she just didn't do enough research on her character. It's so disappointing, and kinda inexcusable - you know what's coming, you have so much time to prepare and you still don't bother? I don't care for that kind of attitude. Also if she mentions that she won Entertainer of the Year one more time I'm gonna lose my mind. I don't care that you won it! Show me why you won it! Show me why you deserve to win this! I just haven't seen anything from Brita that I've enjoyed. I'm disappointed and underwhelmed.

Her look on the runway was also a bit underwhelming, it was a pretty gown, but it was almost and exact copy of Eureka's glitter look. That comparison has been made already, but it's true. We've seen it, why would you bring a copy of a gown from just 2 seasons ago? Underwhelming.

Her lipsync was also not that good, but she was against Aiden, so of course she won. Excited to see her go next week though!

3. Crystal Methyd

Whew, Crystal was a rollercoaster this week! Poppy was a really tough choice. I didn't know who she was at all, but I looked up a few videos of her after the episode and now I get what Crystal was going for. She actually did a fairly good job of what she was going for, but it just wasn't the right character for snatch game. We all know RuPaul has very simple humour, anything big, slapstick, edgy, all that stuff. The humour Crystal was going for could have been really funny (if I knew more about Poppy, that's on me), but RuPaul was never going to get it. And also, she was trying to do a robotic character like 2 seats down from Gigi, who was also doing a robotic character and killing it, so that's an extra level of difficulty.

Having said all of that. Crystal. Was the best. On. The. Runway. That outfit was incredible! And her makeup was so stunning! And the hair was perfect with it! She absolutely killed that runway, and I was gagged by it. Crystal has turned out so many looks, and I Love It. That runway 100% saved her from the bottom 2 and I could not be happier about it. So proud of her.

One other thing though, I am so bored of the El DeBarge thing. Move on, Ru. Crystal is far far more than a mullet.

4. Gigi Goode

Gigi is an absolute powerhouse this season. Her choice to play a robot was bold, but I live a queen with confidence. And she was confident, she knew what she was doing, she did her research, and she killed the snatch game. I'm so proud of her. One thing I will say, I swear they called the robot Maria, but I thought that human looking AI robot was called Sophia? Maybe there was a copyright issue. Anyway, her performance was so hilarious! The struggling with the cards, the calling everyone a bitch, the mispronouniation of vagina, I loved it all. She came with references, she came prepared, and I stan.

Her look was really great, but I almost feel like it was a little repetitive? I don't know, I just feel like I wasn't surprised by it. It was cute, it was perfectly fitted, there were really gorgeous little details about it, but it was the shape and style I expected from her. Maybe it's because she's set the bar so high leading up to this point, I was just a bit "meh" with her look this week.

She still fully deserved to win, and she did a fantastic job this week.

4. Heidi N Closet

Heidi also did a good job this week. Her Leslie Jones was a safe performance, she made me laugh, she had the look down, I was not at all mad at it. Was it perfect? No. Was it good? Absolutely. I enjoyed it. I'm glad she didn't do Phaedra Parkes. I really don't enjoy when Ru tries to change their characters in the walk through. They've brought information, and references, and preparation (most of them); and you want them to throw all that away and do someone else just because you think so? No. I will grant that sometimes Ru points them in the right direction when they're choosing between 2 characters - but I don't like when he just pulls a character out of nowhere for them.

Heidi's look was also really great; she was giving me 2018 Met Gala Rihanna but in Winter. Her makeup was stunning, she looked so pretty. The only thing I didn't love was the shoes. I kind of wish she'd just gone for a white or silver pump. The fur was too much for me.

Good week for Heidi, definitely a safe performance, I'm glad for her.

5. Jacki Cox

Jackie 👏 came 👏 prepared 👏 I have never watched Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, I was only vaguely aware of Lisa Rinna nefore the snatch game, but I still found her performance so funny! She looked just like her, she sold me who Lisa Rinna was really quickly, so I was able to laugh at the rest of her jokes. I didn't specifically know Lisa Rinna, but we all know a woman like that, so I could still get the humour. I might not have caught all the references, but it was still funny. That's how you play snatch game. You need to be able to make people laugh even if they don't know who you're actually portraying. I absolutely loved Jackie this week.

Her runway look was also stunning! I loved the snowflake, I loved her makeup, and I adored her hair. Jackie is so good at serving something so different every week but still sticking to her brand and her signature. I love Jackie.

6. Jaida Essence Hall

Jaida's Cardi B was really good! She looked just like her, sounded just like her, had her humour down... absolutely solid performance from Jaida.

Her look this week was also soooo beautiful! She's such am absolutely stunning queen, her makeup skills are incredible, she knows her body, she knows what suits her, and she rocks it every week.

The only thing for me with Jaida is I feel almost a little...disconnected from her. I just don't feel like I've seen the vulnerability from her like we've seen from Heidi, or Jackie. And that doesn't mean I want her to tell some horrific story from childhood, I just mean that when we see her she's always on, yknow? And I get that it's a tv show, and a competition show at that; I just wish we could see her humanity a little bit. Having said that, I totally get that queens of colour (and particularly black queens) get so much hatred from the drag race fandom, and I completely understand that it would be difficult to open up and be vulnerable after seeing what other black queens have been through during and after the show.

Nevertheless, she is utterly incredible and so deserving of a top spot. She's a real contender for winner of season 12.

7. Jan

I love Jan. I love her so much. Shes so excited to be there, she's working so hard, and I appreciate it so much. Her Bernadette Peters was not great. Or maybe it was, I have no idea who she is. And she didn't sell me, like Jackie did. It was kind of a shame. I feel like Jan has the talent to have done almost anyone, and she just picked someone that I feel like took too much explaining. Still a solid performance - for me she was on a level with Heidi. Solid performance, solid runway, good week.

I did like Jan's runway look more than Heidi's though, I loved the concept. Jan is another one who has pulled out something very different every week, but still stays distinctly Jan. I love her makeup as well! Jan doesn't get enough recognition for her makeup skills, she's really talented, she paints beautiful faces, and is not afraid to get artistic and high fashion.

8. Widow Von Du

I love Widow so much, but everything she did this week was just slightly off. I thought her Ike & Tina performance was actually a bit of a shame, I think she focused too much on having a gimmick that her performance suffered. The thing about switching characters in snatch game is that both characters have to be really good (and equally good), otherwise it just feels a little messy. Her performances just weren't quite there this week. I wish she'd just picked one and spent a little more time perfecting it.

Her runway also wasn't quite there. I loved the concept, she did something so different from everyone else, and I love when queens pull off a standout look. Her makeup and the ice on her face was also incredible, she honestly has the most beautiful face. I just wish that dress had hit the floor. I wish the skirt had been a little more full (maybe more petticoats?), and it had hit the floor. Widow does have this awful habit of wearing ugly shoes - and if the gowns hit the floor it just wouldn't matter. It was a shame.

Still a solid week and a decent performance, don't get me wrong; I just keep wishing for her to really pull it out and succeed, and she's just slightly missing the mark for me at the moment.

Okay, now I'm gonna say something kind of controversial about this season; I wish Jan, Jackie, and Widow weren't on it. I wish they were on next season. I'm saying that because I think they're all so incredible, and I think they all could potentially win a season - if they weren't on with Gigi Goode and Sh***y P**. Gigi has been so unstoppable, and I love her, but she's kind of overpowering, and I really want to see someone other than her (or Sh***y P**) win a challenge. I mean, it's no secret that Sh***y P** was pre selected to be top 4, and this season has been geared towards her, so of course she's been winning challenges. It just has almost become like a 2 person competition, and it's a shame! Because there's so many other queens who deserve wins, and deserve recognition, and they're not getting it because the top 2 is like always those 2. I'm not mad at Gigi, bc she's slaying the competition and she's working really hard; I just feel like there's been seasons where Jackie, Jan, or Widow would have absolutely killed it and won, but this season they're just not getting the recognition they deserve. Just my opinion!

[watchoutforthefanfics]

Request

For @weird-is-my-middle-name-i-swear

Logince // "I thought I was going to lose you."

(I chose Logince because I love writing some angsty Logan.)

Buckle up, buttercups. I was crying at 2:40 in the morning finishing this. I'm sorry in advance, it does have a happy ending though.

TW: "Death" mention, car-crash mention, panic attack, essentially griefing, pretty heavy angst.

Logan was unfocused, his mind hazily reading over the crisp pages in the brisk daylight of the afternoon.

Roman had gone off that morning, he had went to go out and grab some groceries and some art supplies; Logan had wanted to come with, but Roman --for some reason-- had insisted on his boyfriend staying home.

However, he wasn't upset about it; Logan respected his choice (although it was confusing as to why he seemed so defensive) because he wanted to get caught up on his new book series anyway.

So he stayed home, the quiet hum of a documentary in the back of his head; just until it wasn't a soothing voice talking about nature's food pyramid anymore.

Logan flinched at the distant sound of sirens, aimlessly grabbing at the remote to turn it off; which took longer than he expected.

Just as soon as he grabbed the remote, the voice caught in his head with a familiar street; "-this morning, a tragic car crash on Lakens Drive just on the way downtown has been reported-"

Logan, had a little bit of fear in his stomach and the thoughts were making it climb into his throat.

"L-Lakens Drive-" he muttered to himself, trying to remember it's familiarity, trying to remember where it was.

It was the road that connected their house to 'Ally's', the discount grocery store Roman had gone to.

Logan sat up, the book forgotten in his mind as it fell onto the couch, his hand eagerly turning up the volume.

The view was devastating, as the woman continued explaining, "As you can see, the car was struck in the third lane and flipped reportedly three times into a ditch just off the side of the road."

Logan was trying so desperately to see the car, trying so desperately to see something he didn't recognize; everything was unclear. He found himself begging the woman to speak, to tell him, to tell him what had happened.

To tell him that it wasn't Roman.

"News of this story is flooding in as we air-" the woman spoke with a pained voice, as there was a deep regret in her eyes, "-the car, although too damaged to view it's original color, has been confirmed to be-"

Logan clenched his fists, his chest beginning to heave, "Not a 2018 Lexus RX, not a 2018 Lexus RX, not a 2018 Lex-"

"-a 2018 Lexus RX. It's inhabitants are still unclear, and the police have yet to release a report-"

He could feel his mind crumble, the only thing keeping him steady was a broken hope that it wasn't Roman, because it couldn't be. Right?

Roman wouldn't- Roman couldn't die going out and getting groceries, the probability of that was so minimal; he couldn't believe he was thinking about such small statisti-

"This just in," the woman grimaced, "-the driver of the Lexus is an unidentified male guessed to be in his mid-to-late 20s, and is currently on life support at Lynidor Hospital."

Logan felt a lump in his throat, his body jerking and hands shaking; he felt like he was going to throw up.

It wasn't possible, it wasn't possible, Roman wasn't, he couldn't be-

Logan's vision began to blur and the lights seemed so bright, he could hardly feel the carpet under his toes; the carpet Roman got as a housewarming gift the first day they met.

With shaking hands, he ransacked his pockets and yanked his phone out, clicking on his contact and hoping deep, deep in his chest that everything was okay that he'd hear his stupid, arrogant voice over the phone.

It was sent to voicemail, as Logan scrambled to do it again, "Maybe, he-he just didn't see it."

And yet again, he was greeted with the oddly pleasant but eerie, "Hello there, you've reached THE Roman Elliott's cellphone! Sorry, I couldn't get to you, I'm either working on the newest success or wooing my beloved. Leave a voicemail at the tone, and I will get back to you... eventually."

Logan's fingers lead the way, as he kept calling; like his mind was so numb and it was all he remember how to do. His breathing was deep sighs that he couldn't get back from and his heart felt like it was ripped out of his chest.

He slowly sunk to the floor, holding himself with his open arm; he couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, and his life wasn't functioning without Roman.

He couldn't function without Roman.

But he had to calm down, because all of these overwhelming feelings of his heart racing and his mind plummeting; he... needed someone with a clear head.

"L? Do you know how early it i-" a groggy voice echoed into his ear, a taste of bitterness in his tone.

Logan interrupted, holding back a strangled sob, "Virgil, Roman... isn't answering his phone."

"Woah, Logan, are you crying? What's going on? Do you want Patton and I to come over until he gets back or-" Virgil rambled, obviously not used to Logan being the one crying.

"It... It was a 2018 Lexus RX, Virgil-" Logan said breathily, his heart pounding and his brain frozen he couldn't think, he couldn't remember how to speak, "-o-on Lakens Drive and Roman had went to get bread --bread for my stupid Crofters toast-- and he isn't responding to me, I-"

Virgil was calm, his tone confused, "L, slow down. I can't understand you. Here, I'll put you on speaker, but you need to breathe with me, alright? 4, 7, 8."

Logan's breaths shook, and they weren't stable and he keep messing up- but Virgil was there for him; restarting the count like nothing had happened.

And finally after enough time had passed and Logan could speak, he did so, simply and straight to the point, "Turn on channel 6."

The two males on the other line, did so, he could hear the sirens through the phone and the silence that swallowed him whole was all he needed to feel. They knew the implications.

"Roman... H-He went to get bread, for toast, and he isn't answering my calls. And I..." Logan swallowed, "-I don't know what to do."

Patton let a desperate, raspy tone escape his lips, "Y-You don't think-"

Virgil was silent, the kinda silence that pierced Logan, another pain and hurt to add to his thousands; he was... frozen, like it hadn't happened and like his heart was still in tac.

He... He wanted to be with Roman forever, he realized it then, on the carpet that felt like clouds; he realized that he had missed out on so much. He realized he wanted the cliche pageantry just to see Roman in a gorgeous gown, and to love him until the end of time.

He wouldn't mind doing anything for Roman.

"Logan," Virgil spoke, careful but determined, "-we don't know it was him. And we need to have hope until we know it isn't, it isn't... logical to assume it-"

Nothing was logical with Roman; not with the first day he met him, not with the feelings he got when he brought him coffee every morning, not when he sowed him a scarf out of the softest fabric he could find, and not when he had taken him to the citiy's biggest library as their first date.

"Y-You're right, Virgil-" Logan began shakily, as his heart mended just a little bit at the idea of hope, "-I'm going to call him one more time, and if he doesn't answer..."

It was remorseful on both sides on the phone, "I will get in touch with the police."

Logan was quick to hang up, a sob breaking through his body; he needed to cry, like a body-racking sob before he could face it again.

But, he got the courage, taking the phone in his hands as he gently pressed on his contact, bracing himself for whatever was to come.

He didn't expect it to answer with the next few seconds, nor did he expect the line to be filled with distant chatter, like other people.

And Logan, with one last breath of hope, asked with a broken voice and stifled heart, "R-Roman?"

It was quiet for a moment, like the distant talking had halted in shock, maybe? And it took more than just a few seconds for a voice to answer back, flooded with concern and immediate curiousity.

"Logan? Is everything alright? You had called me three times, and I thought something was wro-"

Logan sobbed, a desperate sob that reached through his soul and back; his voice just stitched his heart and all the nonsensical pain.

"Hey, Logan, honey. I'm coming home-" Roman sighed, concern evident in his voice, "-okay, sweetheart?"

"D-Don't hang up on me-" Logan spoke, in a strangled sob, "-please."

"Never, bee-" Roman hummed, "I'll just hook you up to bluetooth. So, that I'm safe alright?"

Logan sniffled, tears flowing freely down his cheeks again; God, he felt so much better, but worst at the same time.

Roman did most of the talking, just chatting about everything; things he found at Michael's, about his new projects, and about a girl named Tiffany who had given him a weird look when he said 'boyfriend' (to which he raided the Pride merch in Hot Topic and wore it around the rest of the visit).

"I love you, Roman," Logan spoke with as stuffy nose and not a single moment of hesitation.

Roman obviously still a little concerned, but he didn't second guess it, "I love you too, Logan."

Roman started up again, this time about old memories and distance dates and quiet nights and days that Logan could remember so vividly. Just until Roman said he had arrived, and after making sure it was okay about 20 times, he hung up.

Shooting Virgil a text, Logan felt a rest deep within his chest and he felt the pain fade just as he did with Roman's voice.

He didn't move, he couldn't, everything was just so numb and hurt and sore; he had thought Roman was dead, he had thought the love of his life was gone forever. He couldn't just recover.

Then, the door opened and slowly and carefully; Roman was safely back into the house. The feeling of relief that drenched him whole, was so liberating that he began crying again, just a few silent tears running down his cheeks as his fingertips ached to grab onto Roman and never let go again.

"Sweetheart?" Roman spoke, "What happene-"

The tv was just loud enough to gain his attention, his warm brown eyes locked onto a familiar screen with a familiar car and a single tag: One Dead In Tragic Crash.

Roman, slowly walking to his boyfriend as held out his arms, spoke calmly and sympathetically, "Oh, Logan."

Logan desperately latched onto his boyfriend, his hands gripping at his shirt, feeling his heartbeat deep in his chest, and feeling the fall of his chest: he was breathing, he was alive.

His hands wrapping around his boyfriend, he sobbed into his shoulder, "I thought I was going to lose you."

Roman, biting back tears, spoke soft and careful, "I know, I know, baby. I'm here, and I'm never leaving again."

And if there was a velvet box tucked away in a pocket, now was not the time to deal with it.

Because all Logan needed was Roman, and Roman didn't think there would ever be a day he didn't need Logan.

[sirduck45]

Book 10

Hey this is just a chapter from a book I’m writing I hope you enjoy. I was also told that someone actually enjoyed reading something of mine???? Im gonna push through and finish the other half of that story for you, thank you for supporting me!!!

1 “Ok you need to tell me what’s going on right now,” Rebel demanded as she slammed the cellar door behind her.  

2 “What do you mean?” Fly said nonchalantly leaning up against a few crates full of booze.  

3 “You know damn well what I mean! You don’t drink, you said you had problems with these guys!  How do you even know them?” Rebel sputtered her fists clenched, she just hoped that the men in the bar wouldn’t hear her yelling.  

4 “Here,” Fly sighed and extended her arm which held out her almost empty glass. Rebel’s nose scrunched up in disgust, she wasn’t about to let the person who dragged her across the country for the past few months get her wasted when they were supposed to be in hiding. If Fly wouldn’t protect them then it was up to her.  

5 “Just smell it,” Fly groaned. Rebel stood for a second with her arms crossed, but soon gave in to her curiosity and stepped forward cautiously. With two short sniffs she couldn’t smell anything. One step forward, nothing. With another step forward and another deep breath she could almost taste it: lemons.  

6 “I told you I didn’t drink anymore,” Fly took a sip from her glass. “Something happened with these guys and I promised myself I’d never let it happen again. So, this was the solution.” Her gaze seemed to be fixed on something far away as the terrible memories replayed in her head. At times like these, her age showed through her young exterior. All the pain and suffering could be seen in her eyes as she recalled all the mistakes she made, all the people she left behind.  

7“What happened?” Rebel asked cautiously. Hoping her leader might divulge her in a bit about her past. Fly looked up at her breaking herself away from the daze that she caught herself in.  

8 Right, like Fly would tell her. But in Rebel's eyes, there was something else. An almost understanding, but how could she possibly understand what it was like to be her, to be a...  

9 Fly shook her head and looked away. This wasn’t happening. Introducing all the other girls to the guys who ran the bar was a trip enough down memory lane.  

10 Rebel took a small step forward, not wanting to let her leave without knowing what had happened to her. “Fly? You can tell me.”  

11 Could Fly even do this? Tell her about what she did? About him? All of it? Fly looked up into Rebel’s eyes, the same soft green eyes that she had, stared back at her. How could the two of them be so alike and so different at the same time?  

12 After a moment of pause Fly spoke, “It all started... back in World War II.” She hesitated for a moment, allowing all the bitter memories to come back. They bit at her like Hellhounds come to take her back to where she belonged. “It was just a regular mission; I was leading a small group to go take down a Nazi official.”  

13 “Well, I say leading but –uh- you know, they had these -uh -handlers, to- um... keep me in check.” She paused remembering what happened when she got home. Fly stood up a bit taller, now looking at the wall past Rebel. Her fists clenched remembering the crack of the whip, the blood, the scars. “They never really could trust something like me.”  

14 “But uh...” Fly smiled remembering the only reason why it was worth it all. The only memory that wouldn’t cause her this pain. Rebel captivated by this indulgence into Fly’s past leaned up against an adjacent crate.  

15 “There was this guy,” Fly explained slowly as she recreated his face in her memory. “He was a bit of an asshole at first but uh... we um...” She paused unsure of how to explain the feeling without sounding like an idiot.  

16 “You fell in love?” Rebel’s voice was quiet. Fly nodded not wanting to admit anything out loud.  

17 Rebel’s eyes softened as she looked upon her leader in a new light. Her fearless leader has never shown such insecurity before, and most likely never will again. After months and months of being dragged around this was the most that Fly had ever talked about herself.  

18 “We... had a few nights together, never really thinking about the future, which I guess was for the best,” Fly’s smile quickly faded. “Last day of the mission we were meeting at the rendezvous but there was an ambush and...” The blood was all over her hands again. The pounding of the gunshots in her ears. The screaming and crying. Unable to see his face as tears blurred even her memories.  

19 She took a ragged breath and continued, “I got back to the states and in all honesty, I was lost. One day I wandered out here and found these guys.” She chuckled at the memory, “They had made a bar based on me when I was a cowboy.” Rebel had figured that when she saw the theme of the bar, every old man up there was saying that everything on the walls was once hers. From the cowboy hat to the Harley in the garage.

20 “Things were great for a while, you know, taking our hogs for rides, they even gave me the nickname Lady. But after Nam we were all changed, the ones who were left anyways. I guess I was... drowning my mistakes seemed better than facing them you know?” There was a brief pause as Fly thought back to those dark days of blackout drunk men and her just sitting alone with a half-empty bottle.  

21 “... I don’t know why or how but we ended up having like a little fight club at the bar. Really it was just them getting drunk and trying to wrestle me as a bear or a gorilla or something.” Fly forced a small laugh as her free hand gripped the crate she was leaning up on.  

22 “But um... one night we all got wasted, like borderline blackout, and I got rough... really rough.”  

23 “How bad was it?” Rebels voice seemed loud as it echoed in the small dark cellar. A twinge of regret spread through her as she hated making Fly remember all this pain.  

24 “He ended up in the hospital,” Fly’s eyes glistened, but no tears fell. “When he got back nothing was the same. They all said it was fine, but I knew it wasn’t... I... I feel like I can’t control it sometimes. This monster inside of me... I just decided to leave. On my own, things would be better.” Fly sniffed as she rubbed her nose, she probably looked so pathetic. With a small cough to clear her throat, she composed herself and stood up straight.  

25 Rebel stood there ashamed. Ashamed for accusing her. Ashamed for not trusting her. Ashamed for blaming everything that went wrong with the ship on her. Rebel took a step forward, but Fly put up her hand.  

26 “I don’t need your sympathy,” Her head was still down, but her voice cracked. “I-I don’t need-” But before she could protest Rebels arms were wrapped around her. She tensed up and didn’t move, not used to close contact. But it felt ...nice.  

27 Slowly Rebel could feel a pair of arms gently embrace her. No words were spoken. Both girls had been broken by this world and the next. Their worlds had been taken from them. Friends killed before their eyes. It was at this moment Rebel realized how similar they were.  

28 Fly let go, her voice hoarse, “don’t tell anyone about this.” All of her respect from the others upstairs would be lost if anyone knew about this exchange. With a small smile Rebel nodded at her leader.  

29 The two girls moved towards the door, but Rebel had paused. An old picture that was lying on a crate had caught her eye. Black and white unsmiling faces stared back at her. Fly stood in the picture in front of a line of four men, looking the same as she did today.  

30 Fly picked up the picture and inspected every face. Jaqu, the French sniper who barely talked. Morgans the medic who would faint at the slightest mention of blood. Patell, Fly’s handler who was supposed to keep her in check throughout the missions. Then there was...  

31 “Is that him?” Rebel asked as Fly’s finger brushed against the picture. His laugh, and sarcastic comments, the way he would show off, it all came flooding back to her. She had been alive for nearly three hundred and fifty years. Memories of her parents, homeland, all the other people who have helped her on her journey had faded away with time. But not him, only three days she had known him, and yet she would never forget.  

32 Fly nodded as her fingers curled around the frame.  

33 “What was his name?”  

34 “Mark.”

[the-canary]

4 A.M - S.R (2/3)

Summary: 4 A.M – it’s the worst and best possible time for the two of you, if only you could just admit it. (Modern!Reader/Steve Rogers)

A/N: This is for @barnesrogersvstheworld writing challenge and an l shout out to @daenyara for the idea! it’s still july 4th somewhere, right? 

Prompt: “For the record, I can’t even begin to tell you how sweet I think you are.” + “That sounds awfully patronizing.”

“So, how was the last date?” Nat can’t help but ask over the latest app date that you had gone on since she had signed you up for the app. You can’t help but frown and shake your head.

“Maybe this just isn’t your scene,” Nat remarks with a shrug before taking a sip of her coffee. She tries to ignore a certain man standing in the hallway to the back, “I could set you up with someone, if you like.”

 You give her for now as Steve decides to finally make his entrance.———–

Having your birthday in the middle of the week is strange because you are nowhere wanting to celebrate it . But if it falls under a certain holiday you get the day off anyway, even if you don’t want to celebrate it at that exact moment . Steve felt that same tired emotion when his birthday rolled around on Thursday. Everyone he knew had gotten the day or the whole rest of the week off. They were ready and willing to be there for him despite other plans.

But, Steve didn’t want any of that. He wanted to stay home and lay about the whole day. He wouldn’t have work until Saturday and despite his orderly habits, thinking current state of living made him want to ignore the rest of the world .

It didn’t help that a certain someone had gone out the night before with Nat. He knew that you were both going to stay out longer than usual since the rest of the week was yours.

Don’t wait up for me, Stevie!

He didn’t, but after finding nothing of interest within his own apartment or outside of it - he ended up going to bed early. Now, it was 4 in the morning and he was wondering where the hell his roommate could be. Yet, he wasn't in the mode to answer the ringing of his phone that has started last night with early birthday wishes.

Steve Rogers hadn’t realized that falling in love one of his closest friends would put him in such a limbo on his birthday, though it wasn’t like he had any better plans . At least not until Bucky or Sam called him.

Steve gets up with a heave and sigh, gets some fresh clothing and prepares to take a shower. It's outside of his normal time and not after his early morning run, but he feels that it might do him a little good to diverge from his daily plans .

Someone else decides to change their plans for the day as well, as they stand in front of his door in last night’s clothing . She's smiling and holding a stack of IHOP pancakes with a candle placed on top of them in the middle of the humid doorway .

“Happy Birthday, Steve!”

You declare with a huge grin as Steve turns to look at his digital clock once more for a split second.

It’s 4:15 am when you had finally come home and made Steve fall even deeper in love with you.

———–

“So what do you want to do today, birthday boy?” you ask in the middle of the kitchen, after his shower and you had changed into more comfortable clothing. Steve finishes the stack of now cold pancakes you had brought him. He leans a little too much on the counter top and his muscles bulge against the tight shirt more than usual.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe that he was so much shorter and skinnier.

“Why? Are you taking me somewhere?” he answers back You have to ignore the smudge of whip cream on the side of his mouth as he keeps talking. Steve Rogers was a delectable man, but he wasn’t yours. You were slowly ready to put a nail in that coffin – today was going to be one of those days.

“Yup,” you let out with a soft smile, “Anywhere you wanna go. I’m yours for the day, my gift to you!”

“Wow, that sure is something,” Steve can’t help but let out. Though it might sound sarcastic, he means it in the best way possible. You guys haven’t spent much time together in awhile between work, going on failed dates, and realizing that some emotions are deeper than before .

However, that doesn’t stop you from rolling your eyes and pushing his shoulder just a bit. He doesn’t move at all though as he keeps eating his birthday pancakes. 

———– 

All July 4th with Steve means taking the subway into Brooklyn and walking through muggy and humid weather to get to his favorite pizza joint. That is after visiting all the damn art museums that you could find in Manhattan. It means waiting in a long line as he points out all the spots that are special to him and Bucky growing up and even hearing a story or two when he gets too lost down memory lane.

You can’t help, as the conversations stalls, but wonder if this is how it would be like to date. Maybe even how it was to be in a relationship with him. To have what so many wanted, but only one person had really gotten the chance to experience.

“–Why have you been going out so much lately?” Steve’s voice breaks your train of thought. You turn to look at him eating his slice of pizza after asking you that question. You pause for a moment, between fear, desperation and confusion over the question before shaking your head .

Maybe, admitting  it to him (though indirectly ) could be the first step of finally letting him go.

“I’ve been in love with someone for a very long time,” you state. Blue eyes widen, though you don’t seem to notice, “Nat decided that it was time that I should forget about them.”

“And how do you feel about that?”  

“It is what it is,” you shrug it off the best you can, though it hurts like hell, “You win some, you lose some.”

“For the record, I can’t even begin to tell you how sweet I think you are ,” Steve states with a stronger tone than usual, as if he is almost angry for you, “That guy doesn’t know what he’s missin’ out on .”  

“That sounds awfully patronizing coming from you,” you can’t help but remark with a dry chuckle, “But, thanks.”  

The pizza and sweet drink have a bitter aftertaste and you don’t end up talking much through the whole thing. Steve think it’s more due to the lack of sleep you have had within two days than anything else.

You end up clocking out as soon as you get to the safety of your couch. Steve puts a blanket over you and takes the love-seat to binge on Netflix since neither Bucky or Sam had called. However , he finds himself looking at someone more often than whatever movie he put on the screen.

As the fireworks outside start and you grumble at the noise, Steve promises that he’ll find someway for you to fall in love with him .

[screechingtrashcalzonewombat]

"Apopalictic Astral Asending" Reavaluate disassociate my self worth...

The galaxies have birthed an uncontrollable being ....

I've feel as tho Ive seen myself split in two ..

Witch side do u wanna see if ur lucky I'll let you choose .

Cause in the end I loose..

One of hate one of love could both be from up above..

Or down below ...

I've began to show signs of delusions as half my mind goes an tells me it's only mild confusion. As my body fights my brain an heart to escape theys terrible illusions.

Yet the other half tries to start a fusion of body an mind an all the suddently my thoughts are no longer mine..

But a evil so Divine that its wound it's way threw time itself I've fealt the damage the energy dealt. I've yelped in anquish an pain been stuck for 7 long years in the rain with nothing to gain .. I can barely fathom to explain im not fully on earth I'm on another astral plane but i fear i flew out of my lane I've gone insane never wanted fame Ever fealt like bat man I mean oops Bruce Wayne. Nah fuck hes spoiled a wet rat infact I'm more like hulk duck when I'm near i wearly see I'm drowning inside my mind but no one can hear my dear I fear I've lost control again but cant compute I've been booted out of the system I've clawed hit an kicked to try to get to the top but i outta of known I've been ripped an thrown from my throne ive been shown what this beast can do but who woulda thought a demon bought my soul ..a jackal a goul.....you'll see me shift into numbness I suposse it was my own dumbness for being to open now cause of me my body an mind are broken an stole. as I weep an shutter an i try to speak but only stutter I found myself weak in defeat ....as ik this demon reaching its peak will plunder an pillage the town I've found I'm bound to this beast nowhere to run not north south or east I can run it will feast on my soul until the end of time ..

For diamonds cannot compare to the rarity of a soul nor a bowl of Ruby's an jems rolled in gold .....

A bold statement you say........

.. theres no ray of light here they stole it away buried it in your mind but how can u define being locked trapped in yourself ...

You've dealt your own fate ...

Wanting ansers u dint deserve ..

Did you like your just dessert's...no?

Dose it hurt ..... After you itll kill children's childhood freinds like bernie & eart ....whent bizzirk an bashed there brains makeing bloody rains

curking on everyone with cutlery forks an knifes* slice *cook big bird with chives after I've shanked him 900 times... 100 more woulda been devine serve him drink to dry alone cooked an ripped him to the bone but not quite alone u may not be home inside but u can still watch...I thought I taught u better than to close ur eyes dont beg or look surprised look away an I'll adopt another stray to do the same a slow sweet death cure's my hunger anyway

.the wines innocents blood bitter sweet to the taste of the tounge

no one thought it capable I seemed...looked ...so young..

They dint know it had just begun it wasn't me but the evil half committing crime with glee an fleeing repetavidly revealingly images to my mind of times & crimes so sickening I thought I'd die forever scetched seered into my mind .binded with no power as one towers over you using your power you cowar for how dose one define the disasbalment of there an every defined mind while ur inner demon dines on flesh making a mess of your vessel you cant even wrestle your way to the light to stay only break down in defeat that your so far away you've became an internal mess cant even stand on ur feet the beast has u chained in defeat u cry an apologize looking for answers as of how to stop.....an then...you hear a voice .." you outta stayed silent instead of talk back. U shouldn't of complained do u still think ur life used to be pain...... . Ur a sack of shit ur wit is less than that of an ant not to rant but I'm not done yet I have ur soul now I'm never letting go no no no I have plenty more so much to show many souls to reap an emotions to subdue after all u said yes.....

...did you forget ur the one who started this.

mess ......you dressed your mind with fantasy an fiction word to the wise never mess with other worldly friction an your itching for a way out but I doubt ull get there before the end of time .after all you had a devil an an angel on ur shoulder an you chose wrong this time. Only took 666 times but I'm patient an always waiting for 6 years hating an burning flesh waiting for a prayer a call after all Lucifer was once an angel an the most beautiful you just dint get to see from what angle he had beauty wrath an determination but u humans resulted in his isolation incarsorason. So now we will end up being humanity's enialation when were done there entire selves with evaporate for the demons have released self hate to pro create creatures in confidence we annihilate the fate of the human race at least the trace slight like us able to bust threw dementions so weve mentioned a start to find the inordinary soul an heart ......humanity was doomed from the start.. you stole our purpose our reason to be......humans sit in sin an glee.

Your humanitys Pride is overbearing never genuinely caring ..

Greed is sweeping the nation its reached ever state an it's got a hot heaping plate of corruption for mankind's consumption greed is grotesque in its steps of the darkest quest to corupt ur mind an want. .want..want until that's all you are is wanting more

Lusting over losely draped garments you've tarnished ur soul .

Envy of what you do not posses but for all you know that information an life would make you a mess but ud still test ur envious tendencies.....

Glutton glutton what have you gained it's not knowledge no for it's to plain rather glutton uve found a urge that wont go away....

Wrath an vengeance blood draw too no one stops till some dies him or you....

Sloth last but not least cant forget you cause uuuh wait what that fuck do u do....you sleep an sulk sit slither out of simple tasks an that's why ur not 1st no ur last like humanity just ask ....

So soon the day will draw near the the number 4 is what you should fear our dear old freinds were sending up for a visit so they can reddit ur fate for each a horse an a trait the first out the door with bow in hand riding a white horse with bow in hand

..

Conquest the start of the final test leading the restthere dark version of light on a white stallion he leads the way an soon will follow hades anyway.

War was next on a red steed he rode prepared to purge an quench new blood for the wars an battels would just begin brother against brother an close of kin witch to win?

Famine foe of all on a black horse with the courses hair so fair merely bone but dont let his appearance fool you hes for he is full devouring your greed taking away everything you want or need an now ur rationed to nearly starvation stretching farther than destination world wide sensation...

Pleage reaper of souls slowly apears steadly trotting riding a very sickly steed looking pale an almost gruesome green with sores an sickness best keep a distance. For he shall be the bringer of death an reap you all one by one to the four you shall fall...

Will you be spared are you true....

Are you happy with your life what did you do...?

Rapture no you still must die.....

Say good by to this earthy chapter theres so much more that manifest after.

But only your earthly husk must rust an fall your all energy of grate mass....

It's time to take the task of self evolvment an enjoy an enlightened installment

this world was just step wrench ur third eye wide open an accept the token of eternal life.

Grinded it to atoms a flash of dust all together ur a self fulfilling must memory pass u in a rush.....

. sudently ur bodysuit is gone ....

But it dint felt like it quite belonged.

You were 7 grams of light matter to be exact an sudently you've cracked the atmosphere ..steering energetic waves my metal psyche caves to the new information flying threw stars consolations.

Suddently speeding at the sound of light the stratosphere seems to disapear ..

My fear is gonewithout a trace an freedom transferred in its place

but am waved in infatuation to find out about out true destination...

Restoration of the soul the goal of a higher self being achieved as I crash into the sun 1500°

I feel a warmth like no other each being hues of light I might of missed earth if not I heard a voice but a mental push no need for speech just thinking it shall be done said by the the brightest in the sun.

Rejoice at last but ur journeys yet to pass ..

This is merely were you start ....

Our flames grew high with frantic waves not wanting to give up the new life we were just gave

Suddenly our flames grew dim as we felt a swirling deep from withn sudently the surface of the sun turned to tin an bent in a cracked an caved with itself our time an space sending us ascending in alignment the same assignment.

Because the sun has begun to change ina twisted way a black hole some could say.

As all of our astral beings were ripped an tore apart at the seams we all merged an formed one all knowing creative being an sudently everything I've know has little matter I'm past a point of human chatter i understand infinity the holy trinity I down in the milky way an experienced every life I've relived it twice I've spliced my genetics into over 2000 million beings I've seen good an bad in between experienced every tragedy to build my strength an studyd every thesis an theory thread an chain nearly drove my vessel insane even took knifes threw my veins in anger yet it failed I was just a trailer.ive seen love hate an anger

Comprehension compasing many others I have love an understanding past many beings there anger seems to brush by me cause I'm with 2000 souls an minds that have formed one to reach a state I can medidate in the milky way an force your negative away .

Our astral self has accumulated complete power an understanding by costuming to our full potential our old body's merely a rental.

Gentle at first then bursted into power showered in knowledge I know now much that I wondered before but now I want more an I've thought till I an 2000 shared beings head hurt cause my girth of knowledge will now never be enough it's tough cause now I must find .... how to ascend again but for now i must defend my vast mind defind crime ...?

Keeping 2000 vast voices locked away so I can focus an try to learn anyway leaning in to vast places is I the 1st 2nd or 3rd or other many plains I cant quiet place I'm traveling threw them all searching for everything I couldn't before .

This life isent like the countless other this life I like it has interesting teathers

I've surpass Angel's an there feathers an vison of a hawk.

I've surpass demonds and there demonic temping talk ..

I've walked on water as I was ripped apart an I felt my self rebuilt every cell of my being got hit with rods of power lightning not even myself can fight me god like abilities the universe as built in me theres ben a spiritual shift a tilt in me somthing generations of DNA sprawled out in a numerical display my old life experiences is the price I pay so that I can be god even if only for a day

I think I'll sit an think somewere in the outter spink of the universe I've cursed myself with knowledge an now I'm aware step into my astral space....

If you dare...