#but I love writing about pain in this show

[wcnderlnds]

love dust | kwon ji-yong (g dragon)

・❥・summary: jiyong has been your closest friend for many years but what he doesn't know is you like him a lot more than that. ・❥・word count: 1.4k ・❥・warnings: none! ・❥・authors note: first time writing for gd so go easy on me <3

“You should let me borrow this one when you’re finished with it.” Your delicate fingers played around with the rings decorating Jiyong’s hands. His accessory game was always on point — you were always asking if you could borrow the things he wore and he would always very happily oblige. Something about seeing you in the things he wore made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

His arm was wrapped around your shoulders as the two of you laid out on the couch in his dressing room, legs stretched out. Jiyong's other hand lay on his stomach where you were playing around with his fingers. It was soothing, putting him in a calm frame of mind before he had to go out and perform later in the day. Nobody could calm him better than you. He gently rested his head on top of yours, squeezing his eyes shut as he laughed softly.

“I should start charging you for the amount of things you take from me,” he joked.

“You’d double your fortune at this rate,” you grinned over at him, tilting your head. “Not my fault you always have the best stuff. Stop being such a style icon and I wouldn’t have to.”

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Jiyong’s fingers playing with a strand of your hair, soaking in the quiet. It had always been like this with you. Jiyong was your closest friend — you’d known him before he’d even debuted. Every step of the way you had been by his side. Nobody knew him better than you and vice versa. He had been there at your lowest, you had been there at his. There wasn’t anything you hadn’t experienced together. It was easy to say that without each other, neither of you would be the person you were. It wasn’t often in life people found someone they connected with so easily, so deeply which is why Jiyong could never know how you really felt about him.

Over the last couple of years, your feelings for him had shifted. At first you’d brushed it off as just a crush, a silly little thing that would pass as time went on. Except it didn’t pass. It only got stronger. Every single day it was like a weight on your chest knowing that you could never tell him. Not only would it be humiliating but he definitely wouldn’t feel the same and that would be it. The friendship would be over and he’d be out of your life.

A sigh escaped your lips before you could even realise. Immediately, it caught Jiyong’s attention. His eyes that had been closed now opening to look at you with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me,” you assured him. He looked at you as if he was examining you, trying to figure out if you were lying to him but as he opened his mouth to speak, the door to the room opened.

Daesung and Youngbae walked in, laughing at something. Their eyes caught the position the two of you were in, mischievous grins slowly creeping onto their faces. Oh no. You know what was coming next. It had been like this for years now. They’d catch you and Jiyong cuddling or being close to each other and never let either of you live it down.

“Did we interrupt something?” Daesung raised a brow. Jiyong rolled his eyes, sitting up with you and giving his friend the middle finger.

“I think we did. You know, next time put a sock on the door or something so we know you��re busy,” Youngbae teased. Your cheeks flushed red as you hid your face in your hands. This only caused the two men to laugh.

Jiyong got to his feet, holding his hand out to help you to yours. “You two are a pain in my ass.” He turned to you, his hand lingering on yours for a beat longer than normal. “I need to go get ready but I’ll see you after the show? We can go get food or something.”

You simply nodded your head, waving goodbye as he and Youngbae left the room. Daesung remained behind, looking at you with a soft smile. “You should tell him, you know.”

“Huh?”

“You should tell Jiyong how you feel.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you said, trying to hide the blush on your cheeks. How had Daesung even figured it out? He really was more attentive than you gave him credit for.

“Sure but I’m just saying, I think you’d be pleasantly surprised if you told him,” Daesung shot a wink your way, running out of the room to meet up with his friends.

Now, what the hell did that mean?

——

The show had gone amazing. It was like Jiyong had never been gone. Each show he performed he got more and more confident, G Dragon coming out in full force. Honestly, seeing him on stage and fully embracing his G Dragon person was hot as hell. Nobody did it like him. He was the king of K Pop for a reason.

You had slid away to the dressing room as the show ended, giving the three boys time to thank the crew. It was Taeyang’s tour but you knew how much all of them appreciated the people who helped them. It was one of the most endearing qualities — it’s what made them some of the most loved boys in the industry.

The door to the room opened and in came Jiyong. He hand a towel in his hand, dabbing at the sweat on his face. The second he laid eyes on you, he smiled. His heartbeat speeding up everytime he looked at you. He had it bad. So damn bad.

“You did so good out there!” You beamed, throwing your arms around him in a hug. Without hesitation, he dropped the towel, wrapping his arms around you. If he could keep you this close to him forever, he would. Hopefully you couldn’t feel how hard his heart was beating right now. The best feeling in the world was you waiting for him after a show. It felt like he was on cloud nine knowing that he had the most supportive, loyal and kind person by his side.

He pulled back, only slightly, his hot breath fanning across your face. You couldn’t place the look in his eyes but it cause a shiver to run down your spine. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Couldn’t do any of it without you.”

Time seemed to stand still as you locked eyes with each other. Was this it? Was this the right moment to tell him how you felt? 

“Jiyong, I….” You started but he cut you off.

“I’m sorry for cutting you off, I need to say something to you and if I don’t do it now, I never will,” he cupped your cheek, taking a deep breath as he found the words that had been on the tip of his tongue for so long now. “I’m crazy about you. I have been for a very long time but you are so important to me that I didn’t want to ruin the friendship. I can’t lie to myself or you anymore. I understand if you don’t feel the same way but I owed it to myself to at least tell you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you listened to his soft, rushed words. You could tell how nervous he was, how much he wanted to probably run out of the door and pretend he never said anything but he didn’t. He was stood here being brave so you had to be too. “Jiyong, I’m crazy about you, too. You drive me insane. It’s kind of terrifying how much I like you as more than a friend. I just… didn’t think you’d feel the same so I never said anything.”

“What? Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t I feel the same? You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re biased.”

“Yeah, well,” he grinned one of those signature Jiyong grins. His eyes flickered down to your lips then back to your eyes as if asking for permission. You nodded your head and that was all he needed. He leaned forward, closing the distance to meet your lips. The kiss was gentle, a declaration of his feelings for you without actually giving them words.

It was short and sweet. It was perfect. 

Pulling back, he smiled at you. Seeing you stood there with your flushed cheeks and nervous smile, he felt like he could burst from joy. He was so head over heels for you. “Come on,” he said, linking his fingers with yours. “I believe I promised you some food.”

But before he could pull you off, you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him back down to meet your lips. Food could wait for now.

taglist (ask to be added): @ldydeath

[froggibus]

Hay, I recently found your stuff on here. I really like your writing. I'm not really sure how the request works? I hope i'm doing it right:)

Can you do DC characters/Batboys finding readers self-harm scar's/marks and how they react

(I've struggled with self-harm off and on for a long time, and at least for me, I've kind of like thinking about how my favorite characters would react/try and support)

Also, if you do, can you do some about Mark some on the thighs. it's hard to find stuff about other then on the arms

Im dyslexic, so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense.

Leaping Into The Light - Batboys + Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Tim Drake x reader, Wally West x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.4k (Dick), 1.3k (Tim), 1.5k (Jason) and 1.2k (Wally)

Summary: their reaction when they see your old self-harm marks/scars

CW: mentions of self-harm (past), self-harm scars (thighs mostly), awkward conversations, embarrassment, mental health, allusions to depression and suicidal thoughts, injury & blood (not from SH), insomnia, nightmares, Wally walks in on you changing, maybe some corny dialogue, mentions of sensory problems, recovery and healing this is at least the second fic ive wrote where Jason brings you chinese food--no clue why.

hi lovely, hope you're doing alright :) so sorry its taken me so long to get to this, january was a bitch for me. i also struggled on and off with self-harm before starting this blog, so writing this was incredibly personal to me <3 thank you for requesting, and i want you to know that my inbox is always open if you ever need to vent i really wanted to go for a more recovery-based fic where you're healing. i wanted to show that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, it does get better, we do recover. you will be okay.

Dick:

It’s a rare, sunny morning in Bludhaven when you wake up and stretch your limbs. The sunlight filtering through the window catches on the bare length of your arms, casting brilliant patterns across your skin.

A newfound warmth filters through your apartment as you pad across the wooden floors and make your way to the kitchen. The sunlight seems to follow you, dancing across walls, door handles and cupboards as if saying hello.

The sight of Dick Grayson hunched over a laptop greets you at the kitchen island, his black hair almost brown in the morning light. 

He offers you a sleepy smile, “I made coffee.”

Your eyes move from his pyjama clad figure to the fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, tufts of steam still flowing from its spout. A smile breaks across your face, your eyes falling shut as you inhale the scent of fresh coffee.

Yeah, it’s going to be a good day.

Dick watches you from over the rim of his ‘World’s Best Detective’ coffee mug, blue eyes tracing your figure as you shuffle around the kitchen.

Dick watches as you cut open one of the croissants you’d picked up from the bakery yesterday and slather it in a generous coating of butter. He watches as you open the cupboard above the coffee machine, the one where you guys keep your dishes, and stretch up on your tippy toes to reach your favorite mug. 

This is his favorite part of any day—watching you. The soft domesticity of the morning blankets him, soothes him. It’s his daily reminder that there’s still good in the world around him.

His eyes stay on you as your fingers brush the handle of your mug, tugging it towards you little by little. He watches as it slides to the edge, your fingers just barely grasping it and—shit. He watches as the mug falls from the cupboard, shattering on the edge of the counter into a dozen pieces, the largest of which embeds itself in your leg. 

Everything happens so fast, you barely have any time to react. The ceramic shard slices through the leg of your pyjama pants and you keel over, clenching the skin of your thigh. The pain is searing and carries an unfortunate familiarity that has tears bubbling up in your eyes.

Dick’s at your side within seconds, an arm wrapping beneath your shoulders to keep you steady. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” You suck in a breath and risk glancing down at your leg, noting the splotch of red starting to soak through the fabric of your pants.

A sigh slips from your lips. So much for today being a good day.

Dick’s hand wraps around your own, positioning your fingers on either side of the wound. “Here,” he says calmly, “try and apply as much pressure as you can.”

Dick guides you to the bathroom with a steady confidence that only someone who’d trained under Bruce could have. He helps you onto the bathroom counter, your legs splayed out in front of him.

“Keep applying pressure,” he commands. 

You watch as he ducks beneath you, rummaging through the cupboard to pull out the first aid kit you’ve seen him use countless times. A weak laugh bubbles up inside of you—usually it’s the other way around. 

Dick holds up the kit triumphantly, dark strands of hair bouncing as he stands. He fixes you with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the familiar blue filled with concern.

You force a smile despite the aching skin of your thigh. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you assure him. “It's just a flesh wound.”

It’s not the physical pain that has tears pricking your eyes and thoughts racing around your head. No, it’s the reminder that comes with it. The flashbacks of nights spent entirely alone, of nights where the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. 

Dick exhales in what seems to be a laugh, the tension in his shoulders falling. “Alright then,” he rubs his thumb along the seam of your pants, “let’s get these off before they get stained even more.”

You’re quick to agree, if only to not make him worry even more. You scoot to the edge of the counter and let Dick hook his thumbs into your waistband. The action is so casual but so intimate, and it has heat rushing through you.

The warm air of the apartment meets the bare skin of your thighs and Dick’s hands still. Realization flashes through you and by instinct alone, you grip the fabric of your pants and try to force it back up your legs. Dick catches your hands in his, gripping them just tightly enough to keep you from moving.

The pain of your wound is forgotten, replaced by a sudden surge of embarrassment. Your gaze lingers on your thighs, on the scarred skin that reminds you of the hardest time in your life.

Your mouth is impossibly dry as you force yourself to look at Dick. You expect disappointment, that annoying older brother look you’ve seen him use a thousand times. You’re wholly unprepared for the softness in his gaze, the kindness and warmth that radiates off him.

“Dick,” you say softly, ready to explain yourself. “It’s not…I’m not—”

You’re thankful when he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You scrunch your nose. “But—”

He brushes a thumb across the faded marks, his touch delicate and firm. “It’s alright. I know what these mean.” A new intensity flickers through his eyes, but as soon as you see it, it’s gone. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Dick kneels down and gets to work soaking up the blood while you stare at his working hands in confusion. You’d told him before about the hard times you went through, the mental state you were in.

That was part of the reason you moved in together—so Dick could help you and keep a better eye on you. But you’d never told him about the self-harm or the scars that speckled your skin.

Yet, his reaction is so normal it has your head spinning.

He finishes wiping up the blood and gets to work disinfecting it. The rubbing alcohol stings but the burn is quickly snuffed out by polysporin.

“It’s been a while.” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Sometimes I still think about it, miss it, even. That probably sounds strange but…it’s hard sometimes.”

Dick glances up at you but says nothing. 

“I-I have bad nights sometimes, and it’s all I can think about. But it helps. Living here with you, I mean. It helps.”

Dick secures a thick piece of gauze over the wound, patting it gently to ensure it stays in place. “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

“I know, but—” You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut. “You already have so much on your shoulders, with work and your family and…other things. The last thing I want to do is weigh you down even more.”

He rests his hands on your thighs and levels you with a serious look. “That’s ridiculous. The only thing that would hold me down is knowing that you’re hurting alone. You’re so incredibly important to me, how could you ever think you’d be a burden to me?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“I want to take care of you, I want to help you.” He traces circles across your skin with his thumb, “I don’t want you dying in the dark, y/n.”

Tears prick your eyes once more, a heavy warmth settling into your chest. “Dick…”

“C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest, settling between your legs at the counter. One of his hands wraps around your neck, petting the back of your head slowly. 

“Just promise me this,” his voice is soft. “If it gets bad and you need help, promise you’ll reach out. Call me, come to me—whatever. We don’t even have to talk about it, just let me help you. Please.”

You nod quickly, burying your face further into his chest. Don’t want you dying in the dark, his words echo inside your head. 

Within the warmth of his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is a step forward, and with Dick by your side, you’ll be leaping into the light in no time.

Jason:

It’s midnight when Jason Todd comes banging on your door, takeout bags in hand. Despite the late hour, he still sports his day clothes—grey cargo pants and a black compression shirt over a pair of combat boots.

Setting your book down on the couch, you stumble to the door as quickly as you can, if only to keep his incessant banging from waking your neighbours. You swing the door open and raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“Hey.” He holds out the takeout bags for you to take, “have you eaten yet?”

“At midnight on a Saturday? Yes.”

In spite of yourself, you reach out and take the bags from his hands. You shuffle back into your home, gesturing to him to follow after you.

Jason shuts your door behind him and locks it in one, smooth motion that has you wondering if he’s been here one too many times. You try not to dwell on it, just like you try not to think about how easily he finds a spot on your shoe rack—the same one he always uses—and seats himself on a stool at your counter.

Jason watches while you unpack the takeout, cardboard contains billowing with steam lining your counters. The scent of fresh Chinese food fills the room, a heavy sort of comfort settling over it.

“So,” you say, propping yourself on your tiptoes to reach the last container in the bag, “what brings you over?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders falling heavily. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d check in.”

A frown flashes over your face but you quickly mask it with a tight lipped smile and a nod. It has been a while, and any hope that Jason wouldn’t notice is immediately snuffed out. 

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

It’s a half-truth at best but you’re not quite sure what else to say, how else to explain what you’ve gone through lately. 

Jason squints, examining you. If it was anyone else, they might not have noticed something was wrong. They probably wouldn’t notice the shadows beneath your eyes, or the slight shake to your hands as you bring out plates and cutlery. If it was anyone else, they’d probably believe you.

But Jason doesn’t.

You get to work dishing up a plate, sucking in a breath when Jason sidles up next to you to dish himself up. The sudden proximity has the breath leaving your body and heat climbing the back of your neck. God—how long has it been since you touched another person? Since you’ve seen another person?

You force the feelings down and finish grabbing your food, making your way to the couch you’ve been rotting on for days. A small stack of books and a few empty glasses scatter the side table—clear evidence of your struggle.

Jason sits at the opposite end of the couch, balancing his plate on his lap. You don’t miss the way his eyes skim over the room, taking everything in. He takes a bite of his fried rice but his blue eyes remain on you.

He clears his throat. “That’s a good one,” he points with his fork at a romance book near the bottom of your pile. “A little racy for my tastes, but the worldbuilding was insane.”

“Something’s a little too racy for you?”

“Hey,” he rolls his eyes, “believe it or not, I do have standards.”

Joy swells in your chest and threatens to bring tears to your eyes. You’ve shut yourself away for so long, you’d almost forgotten what normalcy feels like. But this? You and Jason, eating takeout and talking about books on your couch? That’s the most normal thing in the world to you. 

You snort. “Sure you do.”

“I do!” He protests. “I loved the first four books, but that one? My god. Half the book was just them going at it.”

You laugh, your chest aching with longing. You missed this, god, you missed this, One minute you’re laughing over Jason’s review and the next you’re sobbing, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your voice cracks, a horribly cry ripping free of your throat.

“Woah, woah.”

Jason’s voice is soft, a beacon of light in the sudden storm of emotions that’s gripped you. He sets his plate on the coffee table, scooching down the length of the couch to your side.

“I don’t, I can’t—” 

“Hey,” he says calmly, taking your half eaten plate from your hands and setting it on your side table. “It’s alright. Shh, it’s alright.”

You let yourself slump into the couch, your feelings eating away at your physical strength. Jason throws an arm around you, pulling you into his side. The warmth of his body floods you.

You sob and Jason speaks, though you don’t quite catch what he’s saying. The world around you fades to a mosaic of tears and sorrow and guilt. Your heart is so heavy in your chest you worry it might fall out and drag you down with it.

“Talk to me,” Jason says softly. “Please.”

A calloused hand lifts to your cheek, wiping away wet tears. You want to give in to his touch so bad, give into what he’s saying. But how can you take his comfort when you’ve avoided him for weeks? When you’ve pushed yourself so far away that it feels like there’s no hope of coming back?

You tear yourself away from his grip, forcing yourself to your feet. Your hands shake as you turn to face him. When your eyes meet, his are filled with something entirely new to you���concern.

“I-I can’t.”

He sets his jaw. “Why not? You’ve been away from me for so long, you’ve been avoiding me,” he forces himself to keep his voice level. “I just want to know why. I just want to help you.”

His sudden pleading tone has you freezing in your tracks. You look at him seriously, “swear?”

“Swear.”

You sigh and slip your fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. For a second, you clench your fists, trying to ground yourself. The world around you seems to still as you tug your pants down, shimmying out of them until they lay in a pool around your ankles.

Jason watches silently, his head cocked to the side in visible confusion. It’s only when you self-consciously rub a hand over the skin of your left thigh does he notice.

The breath leaves his body, his lungs squeezing so tight he’s afraid they might burst. He’s no stranger to scars—he has at least a few dozen himself—but these are entirely different. 

The scars scatter the surface of both thighs, long and thin. Most are completely healed, some just barely finishing the process. The size, the shape, the distance…intentional is the only word that comes to mind.

Jason feels his heart break in his chest but he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re hurt—you’re hurting, and he can’t do a damn thing to help. “Y/n,” he says softly.

You shrink beneath his gaze. You can’t think of a single time he’s looked at you like this—scared and worried and broken. It has the guilt rising in your throat once more, threatening to suffocate you.

“I’m better,” you try to assure him, your voice hoarse from crying. “I’m getting better. It was bad but—I’m getting better now. I-I’m okay. I swear.”

You wait for him to say something, anything. You wait for the anger, for a lecture about how stupid and dangerous this can be. You wait for him to scoff at your problems. 

You’re utterly shocked when Jason falls to his knees in front of you, head tilting up to look at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

“Jason…”

“This is why you’ve been avoiding me?”

You nod slowly, as if moving slower will keep the ice from breaking.

“Fuck, y/n, why didn’t you—god, you should know that I of all people would understand.” He traces a finger across a particularly fresh scar, “this isn’t something you needed to hide from me. This isn’t something you ever have to hide from me.”

“I—”

“I’m not finished.”

You’re taken aback, the words ripped straight from your mouth. 

“Let me help you. Come to me and let me help you. Don’t shut yourself away in the dark and suffer all by yourself.” He runs his fingers through his hair, cracking the ghost of a smile, “god, who are you, me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob leaves you. “I just don’t like bothering people.”

“You think you could annoy me? You overestimate yourself, y/n. The only people who annoy me are Waynes and Wayne-adjacent.”

He rises to his feet in front of you and tugs you into his chest before you can react. His grip on you is tighter than usual, the warmth of his arms threatening to consume you. 

“You’ll come to me next time you feel this way, yeah?” He says, and he feels you nod against his chest. “Swear?”

“Swear.”

Tim:

Your chest burns as you sit up in bed, lungs heaving as they try to force some air into your body. Your ribs ache from the way your heart hammers against them.

Rubbing your aching eyes, you force yourself to swing your legs over the side of your bed and reach for your lamp. The light comes on with a click, illuminating the walls of your room. Finally, you manage to take a deep breath, the cold air soothing your burning chest.

It was just a dream. You’re safe here. But the words taste bitter and empty, the images you’d seen while you were asleep still spinning around your head. You rub at the exposed skin of your thighs where the seam of your shorts come to an end. The friction barely manages to warm you among the cold night air.

Before you can even think, your feet are meeting the ground and you’re padding across the room. You hesitate for just a second when your hand meets the door handle, but the hesitation melts into need and you continue on your way.

Your steps are quiet through the hallway, unimposing. When you find yourself facing the closed door, identical to yours, you knock softly. Once, twice, and then the door is swinging open.

Tim stands on the other side, bleary eyed and messy haired from sleep. He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey,” his voice is raspy, “everything alright?”

“I can’t sleep.”

It’s all you have to say before he’s opening the door as wide as it goes, gesturing you to the disheveled navy covers of his bed spread. The sleepiness fades from his body as he watches you closely, examining your every movement.

Your eyes are red-rimmed and sweat beads along your temples. Despite wearing pyjamas—patterned shorts and a t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one of his—they don’t look wrinkled with sleep like they should be. 

Tim frowns. Something’s wrong, and it’s more than not being able to sleep.

He shuffles in after you, closing the door and clicking the lock behind him. His examination continues as he reaches the bed and crawls in next to you. You fit together so easily, so perfectly, it’s hard to believe this is the first time you’ve ever sought him out.

In all the time you’ve known each other, never once have you ever gone to Tim when you can’t sleep. He’s known about your sleep problems for a while, from even before you’d told him. Yet, never once have you asked for his help.

Until tonight.

Tim’s arms fall easily around you, one gently across your waist, the other falling on the side of your thigh. You’re so tired, so shaken from your dream, your head falls easily into his pillows and your eyes flutter shut. 

It’s not so much sleep that hits you as much as it is contentment. Tim’s hand trails up and down the side of your thigh, fingers exploring the soft skin while he tries to soothe you to sleep.

His hand shuffles sideways, just a tiny bit more, and then pauses. His fingertips graze something rough, something raised slightly, and the breath leaves his body. His hand trails further and he’s met with another, almost perfectly parallel to the first.

No, it can’t be.

Trying not to startle you, he moves the arm around your waist as slowly as he can. His fingertips make their way up his own body, finding their way to the scar on his abdomen from when he lost his spleen. He swipes his thumb over the area, feeling the rough patch of raised skin.

His other hand trails over your thigh again, feeling the rows of similar skin. For a moment, he swears the world stops turning.

The feeling is unmistakable, and even though it’s dark and he hasn’t laid eyes on them, he knows exactly what they are.

He wraps his arm around your waist once more and pulls you closer. “Y/n,” he whispers.

You whimper, the exhaustion weighing heavily on you. Tim’s hand rubs over the scars on your thigh once more, and suddenly your weariness is replaced with an icy feeling in your veins.

You sit up abruptly, forcing your body away from his. 

“Y/n.”

You gasp, looking up at him through teary lashes. You draw your knees into your chest, the pressure helping soothe the sudden cold in your chest. You bury your face between your knees.

The longer Tim stays silent, the worse your anxiety gets. You wait for the familiar cold logic, for the warmth to fall away and the sarcastic, callous detective to show up. You expect it any second.

But Tim does something that surprises you even more.

He wraps an arm around you, letting your head lean on your shoulder, and murmurs, “how long has it been?”

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings and realize what he’s asking. You blink a few times, slowly unfurling your body. Though you know it’s too dark for him to see the scars, you see his eyes fall on your bare thighs anyway.

“A while,” you admit. “It comes and goes.”

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. “Is that why you came to me?”

You swallow, remembering the horrid dream you’d had earlier. “Partially.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

The pet name takes you by surprise, washing away the cold shame that threatened to drown you. You relax further into Tim’s side, relishing in the heat of his body.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” you say quietly. “I know it’s bad, that I shouldn’t do it. And I try not to. I’ve been really good about that lately. It’s just…”

Tim stays silent as you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain yourself. He keeps rubbing the skin of your arm, as if reminding you that he’s still there.

“Things get hard sometimes. I don’t like asking for help, because I don’t want anyone to think less of me, or think I have problems and—”

“Why would anyone ever think less of you?”

His words stun you out of your speech, every thought you had falling away. You take a few deep breaths, letting them echo around your head.

“God, this is so hypocritical of me but,” he sighs, “there’s nothing wrong with needing support or asking for help. You’re not any worse off because you needed a little comfort on a bad day, you’re not a burden just because you’re hurting.”

“I just—”

“You came to me tonight because you needed comfort, right?” He gestures around the room, “did anything bad happen because of that?”

You shake your head.

“Did I question you at all, or make you feel like it was a problem?”

Realization dawns on you. “No.”

“That’s because it’s not a problem, you’re not a problem. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, but the first step to feeling better is helping yourself.” He offers you a sleepy smile, “and that’s what you did tonight. You helped yourself by asking for help.”

“Tim…”

“I’m really proud of you for coming to me tonight, y/n. Whether it was consciously or not.”

A stray tear rolls down your cheek, his kind words washing over you in waves. 

“Keep coming to me when you need it. Let me shoulder your problems with you. Please.”

The sudden plea catches you off guard and suddenly more tears are falling down your face. You wrap your arms around Tim and let your head fall into his shoulder, burying your face into the side of his neck.

He holds you tighter, letting you cry it all out.

Wally:

The sound of rain on your window seems to taunt you as you struggle out of your soaking wet jeans. The fabric sticks to your skin, chafing as you try to force it away from the chilled skin of your legs. 

As if the sudden torrential downpour that had ruined any hopes of a morning breakfast run wasn’t bad enough, now you seemed to be forever trapped in your sensory nightmare—wet denim. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you abandon your jeans and instead tug away the sopping fabric of your t-shirt.

Goosebumps rise across your damp skin the minute the air touches it. You shiver slightly and wrap your arms around yourself, stumbling across the room to find a sweatshirt.

You settle on one you’d stolen from Wally months ago that you’re partially convinced he’d stolen from Dick. Still, the worn cotton warms your skin as you make the trek across your room and to the full-body mirror resting against a wall. 

You use the guidance of your reflection to peel away your jeans, shimmying awkwardly until finally the heavy fabric gives way. They land in a wet plop on the floor, splattering water that you can’t be bothered to clean up.

Just as you turn away from the mirror, one of the shiny scars on your thigh catches the light and draws your attention back to it. You frown, pulling the marked skin of your leg tight, examining the scars in the mirror. 

Most are small and thin, luckily not bad enough to leave more than a faded, dark mark on the skin. You cringe at the ones that are worse—raised and puffy and shiny in the centre. They’re still healing, you remind yourself.

“Hey, no way you’re still changing in here—” the door clicks open and Wally’s voice trails off.

You whip your head to him, watching as he stumbles into the room. A flush falls across his face. His eyes trail over you, tracing your figure, falling onto your underwear and the uncovered skin around it.

Wally freezes, green eyes glued to the scars you’d just been examining. His brows scrunch together, his lips twisting into a frown.

Oh, goddamn. 

Any other time, Wally would feel mortified—and somewhat blessed—to walk in on you changing. He’d cover his eyes and stumble around awkwardly, mumbling out some goofy apology laced in innuendos. 

It’s clear now from the frown on his face and the hard set solemnity in his eyes that that Wally is gone. 

He’s at your side before you can react, falling to his knees in front of you. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did someone—”

His words trail off, his face falling as realization dawns across his features. He traces a thumb across the biggest of the scars and you swear you see tears prick at his eyes.

“Wally, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” He looks up at you seriously. 

And you pause, reconsidering your words. Wally’s always been the kind one, the goofy one, the comedic relief. It’s rare that you see him serious, rare that he wavers like this.

You lower yourself to the ground beside him, cringing at the unpleasant cold meeting the bare backs of your legs. Wally keeps his focus on your thighs, fingers tracing over every scar, every mark, like he could somehow erase them.

You stay entirely still next to him, letting him calm himself with your touch. “It’s not really something I do anymore,” you say quietly.

His hand stills, the warmth of his clammy palm resting on your upper thigh. In any other situation, it would feel intimate. But right now, all it feels like is a slap to the face. 

“I still have bad days, but I manage. This,” you gesture to your skin,“was a last resort. I know it looks bad, really bad, and that it probably seems so—so stupid compared to what you face and—”

His voice is barely a whisper. “It’s not stupid.”

You scrunch your nose. The normal, goofy Wally you’d just gotten caught in a rainstorm with is gone, and you’d give anything to bring him back right now. 

“You don’t have to be a superhero to be hurt, y/n.” He clasps your hand tightly. “I know I joke a lot but I am capable of being serious. Especially when the people I love are concerned.”

He looks at you so intensely when he says the word love that it sends shivers down your spine. You can’t bear to meet his gaze. His hands find your waist, tugging you to sit between his legs. It scares you how easily you settle into him, how well you fit together.

You sit in silence for a moment, letting the beat of his racing heart thump against your back.

“I can’t stand to see you hurt, or know that you were hurt. Emotionally, physically, whatever.”

“I’m doing okay now,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s rough sometimes, but I’m okay now.”

His shoulders slump slightly, but his jaw remains clenched in an un-Wally way. You can’t help but wish in this moment that you could have his powers, if only so you could run to the past and stop this from happening.

“You could’ve told me. I might have made a few stupid jokes but you could’ve told me. God, I want you to tell me. I want you to want to tell me.”

“Wally.”

“I want to help you, y/n. Always. Please,” he sighs, “please, want my help. Let me make you want my help.”

And for a moment, you see a glimpse of an awkward teenager. You see a yellow costume and a scared kid just trying his best to help people. To save people. You see sleepless nights and the burden of a power that makes him both the fastest man alive, but never fast enough to save the people who matter most to him. To save you.

“I just don’t know where to start,” you admit quietly.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, crushing your body against his. “You start here. You start today. You start with me.”

You cross your arms over his in what you hope is a gesture of affection. 

“Say the word,” he leans in so his mouth is only inches from your ear, his voice dropping an octave, “and I’ll be there for you as soon as you need me. Ask for my help and I’ll be there in, well, a flash.”

You can’t help but laugh at his pun. It’s dumb and silly and so unserious for such an uncomfortable, serious moment. But it’s Wally and it’s you and his joke has you thinking that maybe, maybe things really can be okay.

“I care about you so much. All I want is for you to be happy. Got it?”

“Got it,” you echo.

He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head before loosening his grip on you, rising to his feet. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up.

“Now,” he grins, “let’s say we forget the pants, and order in some breakfast, hm?”

thanks so much for reading! ^^

masterlist | dc masterlist

[luffydotcom]

sharing their interests

synopsis: what happens you have the same interests as them (sword-fighting and cooking)

feat: zoro and sanji

notes: could've included the other characters for this, but i feel like for zoro and sanji this would work best!! i've honestly ALWAYS wanted to learn to use a sword. also don't mind how i can't write a fight scene to save myself 💔

also i will make a masterlist soon i just barely have any posts right now RAH

zoro

ZORO has lived by the ways of the blade his whole life. he eats, sleeps and breathes his training, and takes pride in his abilities. but for him its more than just a display of strength, and not limited to protecting others, but what he enjoys doing the most - he wants to become the greatest there is after all - so he is genuinely passionate about it.

so one day, when the crew stops by a marketplace on a new island, and you take keen interest in a display of swords, he is very much intrigued that it also caught your attention. even he can't help admiring the designs of the swords, despite being perfectly happy with his own.

"i didn't know that you were interested in this sort of thing," he folds his arms, looking down at where you're squatted.

"i have learnt how to sword-fight in the past... but i wouldn't exactly call myself a pro," you tell him as you trace your finger over the blade, careful sure not to cut yourself. "even though it's been a while, i still enjoy it and admire people who are great at it."

zoro quickly looks away just for a second, before looking back with a small smirk. "is that so? i want to see for myself." he tried to hide his interest in seeing the skills you claimed to have had.

"i guess i could try, but i'm probably rusty now and these swords are pretty expensive." you sigh as you stand up and face him.

before zoro could argue, you hear loud voices chanting not too far away from you both. you and zoro turn your heads to see some marines not too far away, obviously having recognised you both, charging faster in your direction with weapons in their hands.

zoro was quick to draw out his swords and fight, however you had an idea, and a highly impulsive one. you quickly snatch one of the swords from the display, much to the dismay of the stall's owner as you let out a short "sorry, but i need to borrow this!" and follow zoro into the fight.

with all your strength, and despite how unsure you were of yourself, you grip the sword tightly and slice the marines, making them fall onto the ground and heave in pain, then turn around to fight off the rest that are behind you. having been victorious, and seeing them on the ground, you laugh, pleasantly surprised at yourself. from the corner of your eye, you catch zoro smiling at your show as he deals with the last marine.

after that day, zoro now felt a new level of respect, but also admiration of you, stunned that you also had an interest and talent in the same thing as him. he even bought you the sword that you had used, which nami wasn't too happy about at first, but he wanted to see you in action again, better if by his side.

he mentally made note to ask you to train with him one day and even show you techniques that you might be interested in - he's excited to have a sparring partner to practice with!

sanji

cooking is SANJI'S whole life, it was his very first love and he would never trade it for the world. he loves the feeling of making and serving food to hungry people with a smile, even if he's the only one doing it on the ship.

when sanji discovers that you have a knack and enjoyment for cooking yourself, his love and admiration for you grows tenfold.

after returning to the sunny with groceries for dinner, sanji notices a heavenly smell coming from the kitchen. he knows it can't be luffy - he would never be able to make food smell that good without burning the kitchen down. when he opens the door, he is surprised to see you busying yourself rolling dough and pressing it into shapes, while something is baking in the oven.

"mon chéri, are you making something?" he sets the shopping down on the counter and comes to inspect what you're doing.

"yes, luffy was getting hungry and you weren't here, so i decided to make pastries for us all to share," you indicated to what was baking in the oven. "sorry, i didn't want to use the kitchen without asking you, but i didn't want luffy to wreak havoc with his hunger..."

"it's no problem, love," he smiles warmly, then glances at the pastries you're moulding, each in pristine and neat shape. "they look amazing, i didn't know you were so experienced!"

you laugh quietly. "i love cooking so much - and baking - but i love your cooking much more."

sanji flushes for a second, taken aback by the sincerity in your compliment, but also your modesty. "you should've told me sooner, dear. and you don't need to ask to use the kitchen - in fact, i'd love it if we cooked together."

after the rest of the crew joins you both and share the finished pastries together, sanji feels so happy that he's discovered that he has a common interest with someone in the crew, especially because it's his number one passion!

that same night, after you tell him about how much you love cooking and what you've made in the past, he practically begs you to cook dinner with him - not because he can't manage on his own, but he knows it would be more fun if he was doing it with someone who is also passionate as he is. after, he even lets you borrow his favourite cookbooks, lets you in on his best recipes, and makes it a personal mission to cook with you more!

[literallyjusttoa]

Realizing I also want to keep track of the songs Apollo mentions, so I'm gonna go back real quick and mention "You Send Me" by Sam Cooke, released in 1957, which he mentioned in chapter 2, and "Rise to the Sun" by Alabama Shakes, released in 2012, which he mentions in the opening of chapter 10. Listened to them both, and honestly, they're both great songs! And Rise to the Sun actually fits Apollo really well, I was genuinely surprised.

Going back also makes me realize that Apollo was going to sing an honest to god love song to stop Cade and Mikey. That image will stay with me for years, I think.

Rhea is described as dressing like a "Libyan queen of old" which is interesting, bc I couldn't find any reference to Rhea being an important figure during the period where Ancient Greece had footholds in the region. What's interesting though, is that Apollo definitely was. One of the two cities Greeks established in Libya was Cyrene, and some myths even call the native Libyans the founders of both Delos and Delphi. So like, I have no idea where Rick got the idea of Rhea being connected to Libya, but it helped me learn new things, so that's cool!

Another anecdote: When Apollo drives the sun chariot as a bus, Hermes always sits in the back, because that's where troublemakers sit.

The way Apollo describes his physical state, I'm convinced he's just constantly in excruciating pain. Like, all he does is get off the cot in the Apollo cabin, and he says that his "eyes felt as if they were being microwaved in their sockets." Bestie, what? Are you dying, wtf lmao?

Anecdote: Apollo once attempted target practice in Zeus' throne room. That feels like it might have been a more pointed thing.

Apollo sees Nero in his dreams for the first time in chapter 10, but he doesn't recognize him yet. He spends the rest of the chapter simply referring to him as "The man in the purple suit", "The ugly mauve-suited man", and simply "the ugly man" King behavior, honestly.

I know I made a post about it a while ago, but I still can't get over Apollo's outrageous claim of 33 mortal girlfriends and 11 mortal boyfriends. He has past that in Ancient Greek lovers alone lmao.

Rick does a really good job of writing these long flowing internal monologues for Apollo, only to cut them off with a short sentence that both allows for an easy transition out of Apollo's head and back to the action of the scene, but also simulates Apollo getting distracted in his own ramblings and then abruptly coming back to reality. Like, he goes on for three paragraphs about Nico and will, and then his past loves, and then his embarrassment over sharing his love for Hyacinthus and Daphne, only to end it all off with the short line "I am so confused." and then we're right back into the scene. It's a really great comedic bit, and it does wonders for Lester's characterization. (Also my god does Lester read so much like he has ADHD. Almost more than Percy to me, but then I think Lester's flavor of ADHD is much more similar to my own than Percy's is)

Anecdote: Apollo cosplayed Rocky at midnight showings of Rocky Horror Picture Show. Queen.

Apollo mentions that he filmed the orientation film on "a tight budget in the 1950's" which like, why? Maybe it's mentioned in the supplemental books somewhere, but why would a god ever be put on a budget for something lmao?

"Had I been a god, I would have turned her into a blue-belly lizard and released her into the wilderness never to be seen again. The thought soothed me." One, Apollo she is twelve dear god. Two, I love this as a character moment for Apollo (Stay with me here). Apollo comes from a culture that is so focused on strength and power and violence. The moment he loses control of a situation, he grasps for any way to get power back into his hands. And in these moments, his way of giving himself power is by reassuring himself that he could totally murder everyone here if he wanted to. Killing people is a way to assert control, it's a way that Zeus and the other gods assert control all the time. And there's an implication with Apollo using these lines too. By asserting that he can kill people, it's also an assertion that the people he is threatening cannot kill him. Idk it's just a very interesting way of coping.

Real quick fun fact! Lester describes the Oracle of Delphi in Greece as a "cavern filled with volcanic fumes" but that's not actually 100% correct. The oracle of Delphi in Ancient Greece was actually in the Temple of Apollo, with descriptions from ancient scholars putting her either in the cella or in an adyton that was below the main temple. There was a opening in the ground in this chamber, but it certainly wasn't a cave. Furthermore, the whole idea of Apollo fighting Python in a cave? From what I can tell, this is also not based in myth! Most descriptions of the fight between Apollo and Python that I can find in myth describe Python being coiled around the mountains of the Parnassus range, which is a terrifying image honestly. Just find it interesting that none of the cave stuff is actually a part of the Delphic Oracle. I mean, from what I can tell, the nearest mythologically important cave is the Corycian cave, which has nothing to do with the oracle and is also like a 45 minute drive away from Delphi.

I usually try to read three chapters before rb'ing, but I had so many notes on these two that I'm gonna cut it off here. Also, this has kind of just become pointing out shit I find interesting instead of focusing specifically on Lester-isms, but I'm def still gonna point those out, so the tag will stay. I just have so much to say about my little blorbo, sorry guys.

I think I'm gonna make a reblog chian of all the little phrases and Apollo uses throughout ToA, now that I'm rereading it. Bc like, he has such a unique way of speaking, and I really wanna dig into it, you know? Ok let's start.

He says "heavens help me" instead of "heaven help me" using the plural the same way demigods do with "oh my gods". I'm guessing this is an acknowledgment of other pantheons? Or I'm looking too far into it, I've just never heard this phrase with a plural "heavens" before.

He calls Cade and Mikey "Ruffians" . And he makes fun of the arrow for being Shakespearean.

He also refers to people as "Mortals" a lot here, which I remembered him doing, but now I want to keep track and see if he keeps that up throughout all the books, or if it peters out near the end.

"I thought how amusing it would be if I could make the snake tattoos around his neck come alive and strangle him to death" I honestly love how violent Apollo's thoughts can be sometimes. Like, you can tell he's someone who has done shit like this before.

I also want to keep track of all the little anecdotes Apollo brings up, so we'll start with the guitar contest against Chuck Berry in 1957, which apparently ended with him getting repeatedly stomped on.

"But something told me this was not she" II love how it's the little things that really get across how old Apollo is. Rick could've easily just said "It wasn't her" or something, but instead he had Apollo phrase this in a way that is far more formal, and more reminiscent of the grammatical patterns of old english. Idk it's just really cool.

(Side note that's not connected to Apollo: Meg's glasses are black? I feel like I've been living a lie, I've been coloring them red for years lol)

God his metaphors are just so striking. Like, I can imagine the phrase "Whatever was left of my pride turned into ice water and trickled into my socks" but I don't want to, because that's such a visceral feeling. I like that Apollo inadvertently proving how poetic he is by making the reader as uncomfortable as possible.

I think I'm gonna start crying out "Horrors!" when I'm upset to. I think I deserve that level of drama.

ahh the classic "My blessings upon you!" Again, I love how every little line characterizes him. Either it's overly formal, like before, or subtly arrogant, like here, or both. It's so fun.

I need to write him saying "Sacred Sibyl!" more. Because that is such a fun little term. Rolls right off the tongue, honestly.

I think I'm gonna leave it there for now, but trust that I will definitely be adding more to this later. Bc Lester-speak is so fun to really look into.

[shitpostingsapphic]

"I hate Caitlyn because of the system she represents. I'm so tired of people acting like we can'thate her for that."

Let's have a long, hard talk.

This argument IS made in direct comparison to the oppressive systems we see in real life, so let's first talk about how Caitlyn compares to real world oppressive systems, her faults and the ways she fails the people she serves, and then let's talk about how you're just fucking wrong about her and how you hate the wrong character.

Caitlyn is an enforcer. Stating the obvious. She is a member of a larger system she chose to be a part of, because she wanted to serve the people. She was ignorant of the system's corruption as we see throughout season 1. Her initial intentions with becoming an enforcer are because she wants to fight injustice, defy the stuff politics of Piltover that she was raised under, and have her own identity.

At the end of season 1, several things happen to Caitlyn. She is abducted naked from her home, held hostage for at minimum 24 hours, during which time an array of things could have happened to her but of which we know for certain left her TERRIFIED of the young girl with blue hair she was abducted by. She watches that same girl fire an explosive that kills her mother. Preceding this, she has been witness to the ways Silco has harmed the people of the undercity and how he had the enforcers in his pocket in order to do it. Ekko explicitly tells her this. He tells her how Silco has ruined lives and how the enforcers were the manpower that let it happen.

Caitlyn walks away from season 1 changed in many ways. She is brokenhearted and traumatized, but still holds a strong desire to protect the innocent people of both cities. Because of who she has been up to this point, her belief is that she can rectify the wrongs by using the power of her position to do good instead of aid corruption. Her asking Vi to become an enforcer to do as much is in bad taste, yes. Which she later apologizes for and takes ownership for. That doesn't remove the good intention behind it. And it doesn't negate that Vi can later see the logic behind it. Being able to take control of a bad situation and use that power to do good instead of abusing that power to do bad, is an incredibly shaky but important position to be in. And the whole point of Caitlyn's character is how she navigates that--can she use her position to do good? As per GOOD WRITING, she's not going to get it perfect until she learns and grows.

We can acknowledge the moral ambiguity of using the grey, how it does harm, while also acknowledging the WAY it was used and for what purpose was both smart, economical, and GOOD. Doing bad things for good reasons. That's what the use of the grey was.

I'm not going to get into the memorial much, but all I will say for that, is it's an excellent example of people twisting Caitlyn's words and underselling the pain she's going through. If you can't acknowledge the right Caitlyn has to be upset at the people who just violently disrupted a memorial for mourning the loss of loved ones, I don't think you care to have a conversation about the humane treatment of others. And using Caitlyn's anger and grief as a "see?? She hates Zaunites!!" is so fucking stupid I'm not going to entertain an argument for that.

Caitlyn's setback is her trauma, her ignorance, and her heartbreak. She still isn't a fully realized character throughout most of season 2. She's learning and growing and unfortunately that is at the expense of the people she lords over while enforcing martial law. But if we acknowledge that, we also have to acknowledge the ways she changed the system so that needless suffering and punishment didn't happen. Confronting Ambessa when violence is used unlawfully. Improving the prison food and banning the use of the most inhumane cells in Stillwater. Bare minimum? Yes. But still ways she showed that she saw the Zaunites as humans and not as flesh covered problems the way Salo does. Not as problems to get rid of the way Ambessa does.

If the reason for your ire is because Caitlyn is a figure in a corrupt system, then your hatred is misdirected. The point of Caitlyn is to show the ways the system needs to change, and how the people within it who want to do good can often be misguided, but that doesn't mean they aren't good people or that they can't do good within their position.

If you fundamentally disagree with that, there isn't much of an argument to be had, but I will say that your ire is still misdirected.

I never see you guys discuss Salo or Ambessa.

Salo represents true bigotry in the system. It's a position he maintains all the way up to when his mind is commandeered by Viktor and the hexcore. Salo is the type of person who functions on confirmation bias--he already has a prejudiced view of Zaunites, and will use any opportunity to say "see? Told you so! We should put them down." Compared directly to how Caitlyn talks about them, asks Vi to help fix the system, fights against the system going too far, actively makes adjustments to change the way the system treats Zaunites, the claims that Caitlyn is a bigot don't hold up.

Ambessa IS the system. She IS the oppressive force that indiscriminately will take and take and take and sees violence as a tool and not a consequence to be avoided at all costs the way Caitlyn does. And for some fucking reason, no one who criticizes Caitlyn gives any weight to Ambessa's actions, ever. They don't discuss the way she manufactures the attack on the memorial to manipulate public opinion on Zaunites, as well as manipulate Caitlyn. They don't discuss how she sets Caitlyn up to be pressured to take the position of Commander and uses her grief, promises her justice, in order to warm Caitlyn to her and keep her as an ally, a pawn she can use. They don't discuss how she sent Maddie to be a spy, to be in Caitlyn's bed and to be as intimately close to her as possible, to make sure Caitlyn still was behaving the way she needed in order to see her plan through.

When discussing the manipulative, exploitative, and violent nature of oppressive systems, Caitlyn has become the scapegoat, when it is people like Salo and Ambessa who deserve your blame and your ire.

You wonder why people don't take your complaints about Caitlyn seriously? That's why. Because the show gave you very bold examples of oppressive individuals in control of the systems you hate, and you ignore both of them for the sake of hating on a beloved lesbian character, who is beloved because she is flawed and good natured and whose journey we enjoy because it's all about learning what to do when you're within a system that pulls you at every direction to do evil, and you still find a way to do good.

Do some more think pieces on Salo and Ambessa. Then maybe we can have nuanced discussions on Caitlyn.

[rik0shii]

Hihi! Can I request an angst fic for g dragon and kpop idol reader and they broke up after a while of being together (they were like the IT couple of yg and the Internet) and haven’t interacted since but just stolen glances in public but then meet again after his comeback era (maybe reader was in 2ne1 group 👀)

Sorry if this isn’t specific enough ^^”

I'm so grateful and happy that you and the other writers decided to write for bigbang. AND NOT YOU SPOILING US WITH FICS EVER NOW AND THEN you eat everytime istg

Lysm <3

Lost in the Echo

Years after their breakup, G-Dragon and the reader reunite at a YG concert, exchanging stolen glances and unspoken words. When they finally meet backstage, the past lingers—but before they can confront it, they part ways once more, leaving everything unfinished.

part 2

hii tysm for requesting! im glad you enjoy my writing<333 reposts and comments are appreciated!

The energy inside the Seoul Olympic Stadium was buzzing. The YG Family Reunion had been years in the making—nostalgia wrapped in flashing lights, explosive beats, and voices that once defined an era. It was a dream for the fans, a moment frozen in time for the artists who had built their legacies under the same roof.

But for you, it was something else entirely.

It was a battlefield.

The dressing rooms were loud with stylists running back and forth, fixing makeup and adjusting outfits, but you barely heard any of it. The weight of anticipation pressed down on your chest, and despite the years that had passed, you knew exactly why.

Kwon Jiyong.

You hadn’t spoken to him in years.

Once upon a time, you had been inseparable—the golden couple of YG, the muse and the mastermind, the chaos and the calm. There wasn’t a headline you didn’t dominate, fan edits that didn’t romanticize your love, songs that weren’t indirectly about each other. You were the epitome of what it meant to be untouchable in the industry.

Until you weren’t.

The breakup had been inevitable. Too much pressure, too many expectations, too much everything. It had ended without a dramatic scandal, without a public fallout. Just an understanding—a quiet, painful one—that loving each other wasn’t enough anymore.

And since then, silence.

No texts, no late-night calls, no accidental run-ins.

Just stolen glances when fate was feeling particularly cruel.

But tonight, that distance would be shattered.

“Unnie,” Minzy’s voice pulled you back to the present. “You okay?”

You blinked, exhaling sharply before forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just nerves.”

Minzy gave you a knowing look but didn’t press. CL, on the other hand, wasn’t as subtle.

“He’s up next,” she murmured, handing you a mic. “You sure you’re good?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the cool metal.

No.

But that didn’t matter.

Because just as she said it, the stage lights dimmed, and the first beats of his new song Power boomed through the speakers.

And then, there he was.

G-Dragon.

The crowd erupted.

Dressed in all black, his platinum hair messy yet somehow intentional, Jiyong commanded the stage with an effortless arrogance that only he could pull off. He rapped with the kind of fire that made him untouchable, like he owned every inch of the stadium, every heartbeat in the crowd.

And then—he looked at you.

You weren’t sure if it was intentional, if he had known exactly where you stood at the edge of the stage, waiting for your cue. But the second his dark eyes met yours, the air shifted.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. Not quite surprise, not quite pain, but something dangerous.

And then, just as quickly, it was gone.

“Missing you” started playing, your song, a song that between his powerful rap you can almost hear the laughs and “i love you’s” that you guys shared while producing it.

The song continued, the moment swallowed by the deafening cheers, but your pulse was racing. It felt like those stolen glances from across award show tables, those fleeting seconds in airport lounges where neither of you spoke but everything was too much.

Except now, there was no escaping it.

By the time his set ended, your heartbeat was still erratic. And before you could steady yourself, a staff member was already ushering you and the rest of 2NE1 towards the stage.

Your legs carried you forward out of habit, but your mind was somewhere else. On him.

On the way his voice had faltered for half a second when he saw you.

On the way he had smirked after, like the ghost of something familiar.

The music started. You went into autopilot, singing, performing, doing what you were meant to do. But you could feel his presence lingering just offstage, watching.

And the worst part?

You were watching too.

Backstage was suffocating.

After the final bow, after the encore, after the screams of thousands faded into the distance, you slipped away from the crowd. Your heartbeat hadn’t slowed down since the moment you’d seen him again, and it was infuriating.

You had moved on.

You were supposed to have moved on.

But the past had a cruel way of dragging you back, no matter how much distance you put between you and it.

“Still running away from me?”

The voice stopped you cold.

You turned, pulse jumping, only to find him standing there, leaning against the dimly lit corridor wall like he hadn’t just ripped open every old wound you had carefully stitched shut.

Kwon Jiyong was a lot of things, but subtle was never one of them.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you met his gaze head-on. “I’m not running.”

He arched a brow, the corner of his lips tilting up in amusement. “You sure?”

You hated that he could still do this to you—make you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something intoxicating.

“You did well out there,” he said, after a beat of silence. His voice was softer now, lacking the teasing edge.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. Instead, you nodded. “You too.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid, everything unfinished.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he admitted, and for a moment, you thought you heard something real in his voice.

You hesitated, the weight of years pressing down on your chest. “Yeah… me neither.”

And there it was again—that flicker of something in his expression, something like regret, like longing, like the echo of a love that had never fully faded.

But before either of you could say another word, before the past could demand to be rewritten, the sound of approaching voices cut through the air.

The moment shattered.

Jiyong sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping back, retreating into the shadowed hallway. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

And just like that, he was gone.

Leaving you standing there, heart still racing, drowning in the echoes of what could have been.

[sapphicides]

call me crazy or gay but i genuinely think the writers, directors, and hell, even the actors knew what they were doing when it came to how they portrayed shauna and jackie's relationship in the pilot. watching it for the first time, i went in completely blind, with no exposure to the fandom, the ships, or anything beyond the core premise of "a group of teenage girls get stuck in a nightmarish lord of the flies/lost scenario after a plane crash and do crazy shit to survive." i fully anticipated any romance in this show, if at all, to be straight. yet i still saw how they established shauna and jackie and immediately thought "my god, these bitches are gay"

from the very first scene we see of jackie (almost) by herself being her faking an orgasm with jeff, clearly implying that she's disinterested in her own boyfriend, to the very first scene we see of shauna and jackie alone together starting with this rom-com esque image of jackie stepping out of her house while music plays in the background and shauna goes from resting bitch face to all smiles

from the longing stares they give each other in their school gym, to shauna responding to tai's "freeze allie out" proposal simply with, "jackie wouldn't like it"

from the scene of shauna dressing with jackie in her room before the party, her snapping at jackie when she merely suggests that shauna sleep with randy and jackie looking genuinely hurt and apologetic by it, to the infamous party scene where shauna looks on at jackie and jeff longingly– except, she's only really looking at jackie, because the entire shot is framed around jackie. for the majority of that scene, jeff is barely even in frame, a faded blur in the background, until he puts his arms around jackie and physically puts himself in shauna's line of vision

the way she immediately takes a pained sip of her beer after

the way she turns around to randy flirting with her, only to turn away with a look of disgust on her face (just like how jackie looked disgusted during jeff's attempt at getting her off)

the way she can't pull her eyes off jackie even when jeff is dropping them off, even when she knows she's about to fuck her boyfriend once she's gone

the way she says goodbye to jackie, tells her she loves her, and jackie doesn't say it back, so she asks jeff to say it to her when they have sex

the show sets up their dynamic to be one that feels inherently romantic to first-time viewers, only to flip it on its head when its reveled that shauna's true interest is in... jeff. she's really in love with jeff? the guy who's face we see maybe a couple of times total, that jeff? the guy who's basically a background character the entire episode, that jeff? yeah, i don't buy it

you could argue that the show places so much emphasis on jackie because it's trying to convey that the affair is eating away at shauna. to some extent, i agree with this, but i really doubt that it's only this. it would explain shauna's snappy and, at times, cagey behavior around jackie, but it doesn't explain the way that jackie is framed by the camera, music, or even some of the writing choices. whenever we see jackie through shauna's eyes, the camera is always focused directly on her, often times with her face illuminated brighter than anyone else. the music that plays behind her is shauna's kind of music (both supernova by liz phair, which shauna chooses to listen to in her car's tape deck, and miss world by hole, which undeniably fits her grungey music taste). she's joined at the hip with shauna, even in scenes where she's with jeff– seriously, there's only one scene where she's completely alone with jeff without shauna, and it's that one. and the same goes for shauna

for the entirety of the pilot, they are in a constant state of push and pull with each other, almost all of their actions being dependent on one another. jeff feels like a plot device at best, a character designed to come between them and to be thrown away once they realize who each other's real love interest is. even upon several rewatches, it still feels this way. even in the adult timeline, it still feels this way. we barely see adult jeff, but we feel both jackie's literal absence and her metaphorical presence in the form of shauna's collection of porcelain bunnies

there is so much foreshadowing and detail packed into the pilot that i have a really hard believing that this was just an oversight or mishandling of their relationship on the show's part. do i think there's going to be any kind of big love confession from shauna any time soon? no. but do i think they intentionally laid the groundwork for her to realize the feelings she had for jackie at some point? yes, i really do

[the-fyre-flie]

A Dad!Batman and Shazam au oneshot for this one commenter in particular and also me because I love this concept, hehe! Also I physically cannot keed writing this on tumblr so like if this does well I'll move it to AO3 and write some more Batfam&Shazam...

@spiritdancer9000

This is INCREDIBLY long btw...

-

Bruce didn't know when it started. He couldn't pinpoint the exact moment in time he started treating Shazam differently than the other heros, but at one point or another, he began treating the young man like... one of his own kids. Billy was just a kid himself, but it wasn't like he was inexperienced or powerless. The boy didn't need Bruce's parenting. Yet, the big bad Batman had a soft spot for him.

Bruce adjusted his cowl slightly as he stood from the rubble, grunting in pain as he pushed a large chunk of fallen building out of the way. This fight against a hypnotized Superman was going very poorly. His kryptonite had been sent into the bay, and he was still waiting on one of his various robins or ex robins to answer his distress call and show up with backup. Until that happened, he had to call in Shazam to help contain the alien. Their similar powers meant that while the rest of the Justice League was busy with off planet matters, Billy was the best option to take down Clark. Or at least keep him from causing more destruction. With how many times Clark gets hypnotized or brainwashed, this situation wasn't new or important enough to call back anyone from their missions. They just had to make do and figure out how to break the hypnosis.

"Shazam, can you redirect Superman to the west side of the city? Nightwing will be coming from that direction." For a man heavily bruised, stressed, and in the middle of grappling up to get as close as he could to the dueling supers, Bruce's voice was surprisingly gentle when he spoke to Billy. He almost never raised his voice at the magic infused boy, even in the middle of fights. Tho, once again, Bruce felt like he had to parent Billy. The kid was taking a beating, and he needed a level-headed adult to trust and rely on. Bruce had to be that figure, lest Billy panic, and begin letting Clark cause more damage than necessary.

"I can! I just gotta-!" Billy let out an 'oof' as he was interrupted by Superman landing a sharp hit on his jaw, sending him flying back. The sound was brutal, a loud crack followed by an even louder thud as concrete crumbled around Shazam, the hero leaving a Shazam-shaped crater in the exterior of a building. He groaned as he regained his bearings, floating to Batmans side as Superman prepared a second attack. "Okay, maybe I need a little help..."

Bruce would have chastised the boy for getting distracted for letting Superman get in a blow. That answering was less important than just doing in a moment like that. Instead, he just... let it go. Which is so very unlike him. With any other hero, including his own brood of bats and birds, he would have chewed them out for not reacting properly. With Billy, he didn't even blink, instead focusing on what to do next.

"Grab his cape and get him as close to the outskirts of the west side as possible. I'll keep him distracted."

Shazam flew into action, not one to question Batmans plans. Grabbing onto the cap, Superman immediately shifted to try and grab at the young hero. Only for Batman to begin... threatening Superman? Billy wasn't exactly sure why Batman decided that was the best way to keep the Kyrptonian distracted, but it was working somehow. The more Batman spoke about Lois and Jonathan and all the horrible ways he could take out Clark's family, the more scared rather than aggressive Clark became. For a man of steel, Superman bent easily. Within half a minute, they were touching down in the city limits, Superman not even fighting back anymore, seemingly spiraling, head in hands.

"Why did you say all that stuff to him, mister Batman?" Shazam asked, letting go of the man's cape and joining Bruce's side. As they spoke, Nightwing pulled up, his bike screeching as he came to a sudden stop. He was waving a small thermos looking thing back and forth before tossing it to Batman, disappearing again before he could even be questioned.

"Superman, at his core, is a gentle giant and family man. Threatening or insulting his family makes him depressed. As any father would become if someone like me threatened his son the way I did. I'll apologize to him when he's back in his right mind." Bruce stated gruffly as he unsealed the thermos and waved it under Clark's nose like smelling salts. Usually, he would have been far less gentle with Clark. The alien man could take it. But he couldn't bring himself to he overly violent in front of Shazam.

As the kryptonite was held in front of Clark, he finally snapped out of hypnosis, groggily looking up at Bruce. He squinted a bit, groaned, and stood. Of course, he apologized and offered to help with whatever damage he caused, but Bruce simply dismissed him, telling him to go rest and recover properly.

Sat in a local diner, Bruce watched as Billy stuffed his face with food. They both changed out of their hero persona's, and Billy had been ready to go do whatever orphaned kids do in this day and age, but Bruce had insisted on treating him to food. Bruce watched as the boy rambled and ate, talking about some show he had seen recently. Every time Billy opened his mouth, Bruce was reminded of just how young he was. Just how innocent and alone in the world he was. Bruce nodded and sipped his coffee, Billy almost flinging his waffles as he spoke, the enthusiasm almost contagious. Almost.

"Do you need a place to stay?

Bruce had blurted it out before he even had time to think about the implications. He, Bruce Wayne, THE Batman, had blurted something out. In front of him, Billy was staring, wide-eyed, fork of waffles held up mid bite. It was a long moment of silence before Billy spoke.

"...yes?"

The Wayne manor was quiet. A vast empty building, the echos of their footsteps loud as they made their way through the halls. Billy had to jog to keep up with Bruce's long strides, his sneakers squeaking against the perfectly polished wood floors. As Bruce turned a corner, Billy skidded after him, nearly bumping into a large, scarred man.

"B, why is there a new kid? I thought we all agreed you reached your adoption limit." His voice was almost as gruffs as Bruce's, the scars along his jaw and brow shifting when he spoke. Bruce sighed and placed a hand on Billy's shoulder.

"Jason, this is Billy. He's a... coworker. Billy needs a place to stay. I'm not adopting him." Bruce replied, the man named Jason crouching to match Billy's eye height. He offered a hand, Billy carefully accepting it. They shook before Jason stood, smiling as he walked off.

"You'll probably eat your words by the end of the day. Welcome to the family, Billy."

"What does he mean?" Billy questioned as he continued following after Bruce, brow furrowed as he struggled to match Bruce's pace. Gosh... how did a man so big move so fast?

"Jaylad is just joking around. Don't worry about it." Bruce shook his head as he led Billy down a hall, the sounds of a few boys yelling and video game sound effects getting louder. When they came to a door, Bruce pushed it open, revealing a large game room/theater. A huge TV, a pool table, shelves full of books and board games, and a trio of boys sat on the couch in front of the screen, two of them holding controllers while the third did his best to get in the way.

"Move, Grayson! I need to win and show Thomas that he can never defeat me!" The smallest boy shouted, trying to push the young man out of the way.

"Keep distracting him, Dick! I'm almost there!" The other boy grinned madly as he leaned around Dicks side to get a better view of the screen, his character seemingly ahead of the others in whatever racing game they were playing. After a few more moments of shouting, the race ended, and the boys became a loud tangle of limbs and arguments. Accusations of cheating were thrown around, followed by claims of it being fair game, only to suddenly stop when they noticed Bruce and Billy.

"This is Damian, Dick, and Duke. my youngest, oldest, and most recent." Bruce spoke, and Billy offered a small wave. Why did Bruce have so many kids? HOW did Bruce have so many kids? Why is Damian the only one who looks like him? Is this what Jason meant by Bruce adopting him?

"Another one? Duke hasn't even had time to bask in his newness. He's still got New Adoptee Smell." Dick laughed a bit as he returned Billy's wave, Duke rolling his eyes from beside him.

"Billy isn't being adopted. He just needs a place to stay, and the manor has rooms." Bruce once again corrected. But as Bruce talked with Dick and Duke, Billy couldn't help by shiver at the feeling of someone glaring at him. Damian hasn't taken his eyes off Billy, his stare cold and hard and very judgmental. Yup... that one was %100 Bruce's kids.

"Billy? Let's go." Bruce's voice pulled the boys from the staring contest, Billy quickly following after the man as he left to show him more rooms. When they came to a new door, Bruce gestured for Billy to enter. Inside was a large room, a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, pretty much what you'd expect from a rich family with extra rooms.

"You can stay here as long as you'd like. We have plenty of space, food, etc. With your powers, you can be from here to Faucet in under 2 minutes, so any travel should be fine." Bruce was trying very hard to see like he didn't care too much, that this was all kindness done for a coworker, and not because he desperately felt responsible for the child stood in front of him. Billy was so young, about the same age as Damian, and the kid had nothing. Of course, Bruce had to step up.

"Thanks, Mr Wayne. I... are you certain?"

"Just Bruce is fine. And yes."

[simpingforbots]

hiiii i hope you're fine,I'm really intrigued to know what the tfone transformers think about their silly human being in the sun for a few hours and getting burned, like.

The human is on his robot's shoulder, but from one moment to the next he turns his head to see the little friend and they see that his color has changed a little.

personally because I burned a lot this summer.

(I'm sorry if something is written wrong, English is my second language, I love how you write)

Hello! I am doing alright, hope you are doing fine your self. I knwo the feeling as i burn quickly as well and i know how it is to deal with it.

Sun or no sun?

Leaving underground is not much of a trouble to creatures that made out of metal as they do not require sunlight to function, but something that is organic - it was one of a few necessities just to be able to function properly. First time Orion found out about it, he panicked and kept thinking that he was hurting you by keeping here, with him. It was already dangerous for you to be in mines, let alone surrounded by someone who’s bigger and harder then you. Hell, he even considered to give you up to some reach snob so that you be safer, but the idea of you being in hands of someone like them made his spark churn with disgust and D-16 quickly shut it down, not wanting to even hear Orion’s worries. So to “subsidise” the lost light you needed, he did a little research and got you a small fake sun light lamp, that sort of provided necessary “D” vitamin. On top of that he made sure to get other supplements and that you took them daily. You such a weird little thing, needing so much just to be able to function, and yet they still cared about you very much, no matter how hard taking care of you can be.

When they managed to get up on the surface and survive the train crash with only few scrapes and bruises, you were finally on the surface. D-16 and Orion wath you run around for a bit, enjoying the life of the surface no longer confound to you small den and the limited places they could take you, able to move freely and breath without trouble before Orion picked you up and steeled on your shoulder before continuing on their journey for the Matrix of Leadership, pondering out loud about what will happen afterward. You seamed to also enjoy your natural sunlight, leaning back a bit, not worrying about anything and letting warm sun light land on your skin. At first they did not notise anything, but after some time B-126 was first to see the change in your skin colour.

“Hey, is your little organic pet thing always able to change colour?! This is so COOL? How are they doing it? Can they be yellow? I thingk yellow will look good on them! Can they change their eyes to? What bout the strange thing on their head?” Bee waltz in front of Orion, his eyes glowing with curiosity as he pointed at you. Scared, D-16 quickly grabbed you and held in fron of him self, staring at you and trying not to panic. Your skin was a bit darker, lightly, but noticeable when your little fabric on your body shifted, showing a lighter tone line.

“Is this normal?” Orion asked, looking at you as well, moving your hair away from your shoulders to able to see a strange condition that you seamed to be indifferent to.

“Do I look like I know?” D-16 grumbled a bit, lifting your little hand to see anything else. “Maybe it’s normal for them. But I think we should hurry up”

And back on the shoulder you go, this time under carful surveillance of your “caretaker” bots, who seemed to be warry and did their best to shield you from to much light, but they can only do this much. Sending entire day in direct sun, with no protection, caused your skin to became red and by the night fall you seamed to be going in and out of conciseness. The trouble did not end here as the very next day you were letting chirps of distress and any touch, even light one, caused you a lot of pain and a strange bubbles that appeared on your body to pop, leaking some kind of coolant. D-16 got very concerned with this, trying to carry you while shielding from the light, refusing to let you rest on his shoulder now, grimacing every time you shifted, making your self hurt even more. Orion tried to brain storm what could be causing this yet he can only guess as he did not had access to any research and only hope is that you can push through, with only breaks coming at nights and cold air cooling you a bit. When they reached the green area of the planet, hiding beneath the shade of huge trees, you seemed to relax even more and it was decided to have a little break. B-126 tried to play with you, yet you were in to much pain to even move on your won, just wanting nothing but rest and try get better. D-16 could see it and had to shoo B away so that you can rest all while Orion disappeared off to somewhere, babbling about trying to find somrhitng he read in archives, promising and praying to Primes that he is correct. Another whimpered escaped your little body as you shifted, wrapping your self in the fabric you had on your body, shivering and letting another pained moan. Grumbling to him self, D-16 tried not to move you to much. You are so small and fragile, it’s a miracle that you were able to survive on your own planet. The thunder on the gorund signalled that Orion found what ever he was looking for, quickly kneeling down showing his findings – some water and a leaf that leaked a lot.

“It will help them. I remember reading that organics need liquids to be able to function. Back at Iacon we had enough of it, but not here. I hope this helps” he mumbled on, breaking the leaf even more and lifting your covers to smother the sticky substance al over the red areas. D-16 shuddered at the feeling of it on his servo alone, yet seeing you relax a bit and no longer in much pain, decided to suck it up. Orion quckly finished up, tossing the leaf aside and brought another leaf with water in it to you, slowly making you drink it, with two bots making sure that you will make it and you will be alright, finally letting two bots pet you.

[crimsonnsstuff]

really need mean gi-hun!! my man doesn’t get enough attention and nobody writes anything like this for him, but i know you’ll perfect it 😽

Gi-hun has a bruising grip on your hips as he thrust into you desperately, his cock ramming into your deepest area areas and bullying your insides.

He didn’t bother being gentle, grabbing you by the hair the moment you walked into the door. He dragged you upstairs and just slammed into you raw, no time for foreplay.

It all started because you went out with your friends and came home late. He was blowing up your phone but your phone was dead.

Now here you are, face down ass up as he slams into you. He slaps your ass, then leans over your back, whispering in your ear, “such a bitch, staying out late, leaving me worrying.” It was more of a low growl than a whisper.

He leans back, gripping your hips tighter as he fucks you roughly. You gasp as you feel his vein on the side of his cock rub against your insides.

You grip the sheets, lifting your head up. He’s quick to grip your hair and push your head back down. He grabs a handful of your ass, causing you to whine.

Suddenly, his hand moves down to where your bodies meet. You feel this thumb press against your asshole, causing you to cry out. Not from the pain, but from the fact you know he will push too far.

“W-wait, please!” You cry, but he shoves his thumb into your tight hole :(

You yelp as he does so, crying out in pain. He knew you never had anyone back there, he also knew he was being an ass.

"You think you can just play games with me?" Gi-hun growls, his voice low and menacing.

Before you could respond, he shoves his thumb in deeper, causing you to yell, tears streaming down your face.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his voice laced with a cruel satisfaction as he continued his relentless pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by your own moans, which you couldn't suppress despite the roughness of the act.

His grip on your hip tightened, sure to leave marks that would remind you of this moment for days. Gi-hun's movements were all about dominance, showing you who was in charge, every thrust claiming you in a way that was both primal and consuming.

You moan in relief as he pulls his thumb out, only to push his middle and pointer finger back in. This time, he thrusted them.

“Please stop!” You whine loudly. “Shut the fuck up and take it.” He growls, thrusting them deeper.

As the rhythm built, you felt the coil of tension in your belly tightening, the pleasure mixed with pain, pushing you towards the edge. Gi-hun, sensing your climax approaching, leaned over, his lips brushing against your ear, "Come for me," he demanded, his voice a dark whisper.

And you did, your body shaking with the force of your release, the intensity of it all drawing a sharp cry from your lips. Gi-hun wasn't far behind, his own climax hitting him with a growl, his movements becoming erratic before slowing to a stop.

He pulls out of you, making you slump into the bed. He gives one last thrust of his fingers before pulling them out with a wet squelch. You lie there, panting heavily.

He grabs one of your ass cheeks, spreading them so he can see your cum drip out of you.

“Worthless fucking slut.” He growls, but you know he loves you.

[wellofdean]

I still remember what Jensen said years ago, I think he would disagree with Rob and Rich https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GjTN6m5WUAAxsWG?format=jpg&name=small

Here's the content of that link. Many apologies for reposting, but:

So, my first answer to this is, as I've said before, I am infinitely more interested in the text itself than I am in what any of them say about it, and the text is what it is (GAY). What's nice about these episodes of Rich & Rob's podcast is that they are actually responding to the thing we all saw in our TV box, and saying "Dial it down to 11 guys, geez," which: Yes. Good to know y'all can see a church by daylight.

But also, in the Q&A format at a con, there are loads of different reasons Jensen might say this or that. What's the context here? Who is he onstage with? What's the crowd like? What exactly was the question? Also, this answer rightly acknowledges that the "whole Dean and Cas thing" was poppin' off in season 8. Well spotted. Perhaps he is thinking that the show needed to separate them for awhile so they wouldn't have to just fucking make out already? In fact, perhaps that was exactly the thinking, because honestly, season 9 goes off on the star-crossed Destiel, complete with parallel cross-species romances to interrogate proof of concept and some serious Romeo and Juliet-ass shit:

Dean praying to Cas and saying "I need you here" while he agonises about what to do about Sam; the whole painful kicking Cas out of the bunker storyline with the yearning date prep and the fanfic gap (plus LOADS of other shit in that episode); Cas gets killed by April and Dean tenderly cradles his face and then is jealous about the sex; they have a big vulnerable heart-to-heart about the Sam situation and why Dean kept Cas away and Cas forgives him immediately and helps Dean; Dean takes the mark of Cain and the Crowley/Dean/Cas love triangle start revving up; Collette is invented for the sole purpose of paralleling Cas; the Garth is a werewolf episode is here about finding love in unexpected places! love Is love, yo!; the fitness centre episode with its many implications that Dean is into dudes; Metatron's speech about what gives a story meaning; Gabriel calls Cas Dean's boytoy; Metatron tells Cas "I left you human because I hoped you would live happily ever after" because HE KNOWS; the whole Romeo and Juliet thing in episode 20 with the werewolf/shapeshifter romance that pointedly mirrors Dean and Cas; Dean drops everything to go help Cas, leading to Cas giving up his army for one man; Hannah is invented to throw another triangle into the works; Metatron says Cas is in love..............with humanity; Dean dies (Juliet much?) and comes back a demon.

Like, I am leaving LOADS out.

Firstly? They were 💯 writing it like that. They leaned the fuck in every chance they got. And secondly, y'all get that Jensen pointedly does not talk about subtext, or things that the story is doing on the DL, or about things that haven't happened yet, and he doesn't talk about any of Dean's feelings that Dean would not openly talk about himself? Jensen is actually admirably disciplined and principled about it? And, you know that he could also just be disingenuous on purpose to avoid doing so, and to allow unspoken things to remain unspoken? If he just tells us, where's our joy in figuring it out going to come from? Y'all should THANK HIM for not stealing our joy.

I personally think? Jensen is clever. He is very intentional and I think he knows what he's doing. If you consider that Jensen talks AS DEAN in cons and never goes beyond something Dean would say, well...then it makes sense he would say that in light of the fact that anyone who understands narrative can see that the text itself is WALL TO WALL star-crossed Destiel, because that's what happens when you separate them and then write them as you have been all along. I'm glad he enjoyed it! Me too!

Like, either you think Jensen is a full idiot, or you have to admit that there might be layers to the things he says.

[witherby]

First of all I LOVE your works i love how much effort you put into them!! You’re keeping this community aliveeee. Second, what would the batfam do if punchline cried? Like I’m talking out of no where just straight up cried. I know it must be hard to show emotions such as sadness because of her past and it would be hard to show such vulnerability to anyone. Thanking for listening to my Ted talk 😎

First of all thank you so much! I wish I could write full, one-shot-length replies to every single question I get asked, but sometimes I simply don't have the energy or skill to execute the idea that might manifest from that question!

Second of all, that's a great question! I think it would take an absurdly long time for anybody to catch her crying. I think it would take an absurdly long time for her to cry at all!

Punchline has Congenital Analgesia, so pain wouldn't make any tears well up. She also doesn't feel or notice any appropriate hunger cues, so exhaustion or starvation wouldn't do it either, especially because she's almost perpetually existing in that state anyway.

We also have to consider who her father is, and how she was raised. A lot of her childhood is left to speculation because she's not exactly opening up to people about the Joker's treatment of her. And why would she? In her eyes, he can do no wrong. Anything he has ever said or done to her was completely justified. What's the sense in crying over spilled blood? She just needs to do more. Try harder. Be greater. But not better. She can't be better than her Popsy. Nobody is better than Popsy!

It's difficult to find out what her triggers are when she isn't giving the bat family much to work with. That's not her job, it's theirs to find out and learn from, but the entire situation is layers upon layers of complicated.

When they first take in Punchline, she's roughly 8 years old and some change. I think they'll see her cry for the first time when she's 10.

Punchline doesn't know her birthday. The Joker didn't celebrate it. The bats don't know it, either, so they choose to celebrate her with the day they brought her to the Manor. They make a cake and set up a small surprise party, with things they know she likes such as more face paint, colorful clothes, books, and maybe some new accessories like bows and ribbons. She wouldn't know how to handle that. A party for her? What did she do? How did she earn this?

I think Punchline would cry over being celebrated just for being alive. She's never felt that way before.

[pinkreveluv6]

I’m glad that my so-called analysis contents you!

To be honest, I write them because they "kill two birds with one stone".

I’m going to elaborate.

As you may or may not know, the sole purpose for creating this blog was to improve my writing. And I know it may not seem like I even need to do that but the thing is writing improves my vocabulary in English and therefore in French since I learn new words in English that can be translated to French and so on and so fourth.

I REALLY HATE FRENCH AND I DO NOT WANT TO WRITE IN FRENCH. Which is why I write in English instead <3

Secondly, whatever motivates me to write these extra long essays on your drawings is because I genuinely really like them. They’re so pretty and I really love your artstyle! And the fact that they are just sketches makes me wonder how good you must be at it.Sadly,I SUCK at art. It’s a concept that’s really hard for me to master no matter how hard I try. I’m just not fit for it, it’s not what I can specialize in.Therefore, whenever I see someone that is artistically talented, I praise them a lot.I can’t fathom the fact that I have an artistically talented moot such as you and I cherish you for it which also motivates me to write a lot.

Thirdly, I also write in hopes of possibly making your days somewhat better. Even if whatever nonsense I write makes them a tad bit better I’d be overjoyed. You may ask why? Well it’s because as I’ve observed your posts, I feel as if you’re either going through a hard time or you’ve experienced hardship and that it has had an influence on you mentally. I know it’s bad to assume but it can’t be helped. I have so many people around me that are mentally unstable but won’t show it including my own friends. It pains me to see them suffer in silence and how they won’t open up to me due to fear.

Fourthly, my dream job is to become a psychiatrist! They usually need to analyze a patient through the unobvious using only their interpretation and experience. I’ve come to realize that as I’m writing those analysis, I find myself trying to interpret whatever the underlying message of your drawings are and how you must feel psychologically through it.

Lastly,it’s in my nature to write overly complex, detailed and lengthy sentences (paragraphs texts,etc.) as you may have possibly noticed.

I hope you know that ranting about your drawings have helped me immensely improve my grammar, my vocabulary and my structure of phrases throughout the process of it.

To resume, all of the things that have motivated me to write excessively long texts about your drawings are:

It helps my overall writing

I admire your art because I could never be as good as you are at it.

In hopes that they somehow help you throughout your day because you seem mentally drained.

Helps me interpret stuff which can be helpful for my future career

It’s in my nature to write a lot.

I’m sorry that this turned out so long.

i know i've been way too chalant today but this is the last post. i swear.

this category got me in a headlock because complicated scenarios are sort of out of my comfort zone. but anyway, as promised, the special guests are @shintarom-png and midorima!! they're contemplating killing themselves after hearing my singing. apologies.

background from pinterest. you already know i don't do this whole "background" thing. i choose photos and that's IT.

🏀 | tags !! @pinkreveluv6 @japeneselunchtimerush @sweijuro @pigeonbksimp @fl0ralsxgar @ilovemaiubo

event by @strawbeaniie

[mctna2019]

he's my dearest friend

Well, we have a lot of missing scenes in mctna, scenes that are made up in our minds instead of being in the series. one of them for me was the gap between Seon-ho's death and Hwi’s death. we almost see a part of it. which is Hwi’s farewell with Hui-jae, but I think those few minutes were a long time for Hwi and he must have been thinking about the past and Seon-ho for most of it. I always remember his tears after Seon-ho's death and my heart is breaking and for the first time I saw him really alone in the series. (I know it's unfair, but I'm glad Seon-ho didn't witness Hwi's death and left earlier) so this came to my mind and I decided to somehow connect these three scenes and writing about Hwi's pain from Seon-ho's death.

+What would you do if you could go back to past?

- If I could go back, I would never have said those words

Hui-jae looked curiously at Hwi as he stared in front of him but didn't seem to be looking at the trees facing him, he was looking somewhere far away.an image beyond the green trees in front of him.Seon-ho's scream rang in his ears.

the emotionless mask on his face broke for a moment and he shouted at Hwi in a way that he had never heard from him before.

+Why don't you understand, you'll die ... believe me, you'll die

he was trembling, scared and worried. he was begging Hwi, begging him with his eyes, his voice, everything, not to go to Namjeon.but Hwi was so angry that he ignored it or didn't see it. he stole his gaze from Seon-ho's eyes.he knew with what cruelty he uttered the words.

-You and I aren't friends anymore

he looked into Seon-ho's eyes again and tried to continue without shedding tears.

-If we meet again, we're each other's enemies and if this happens, I might even kill you

Hwi clearly remembered how he looked at Hwi in disbelief, his eyes fixed on him searching for something missing in Hwi’s eyes.but Hwi didn't give him a chance.he pulled back and his hands were unwilling released and fell. Hwi didn't look behind him but he knew how Seon-ho's eyes were staring at his back, maybe hoping Hwi would come back.he didn’t return even once. he didn't think about how Seon-ho was going to walk out of the flames towards the wild soldiers outside with his unhealed wound from saving Hwi.he tried to forget it.

Hwi blinked to clear the tears that were blurring his vision and stared at Seon-ho's closed eyes, at the trail of tears beside his eyes. At the blood on his face and at his bloody hands lying beside his body, one wounded and the other motionless in Hwi’s hand.his body must have been cold due to the loss of a lot of blood and death, but he could still feel the warmth of his body.he was still warm in his arms.

- So let him go, he is my dearest friend

Hwi was angry.he wanted to kill Bang-won with his own hands, but as soon as he heard Bang-won's name as the cause of his father's death from Lee Seung Gi, the only thing that came to his mind was that torn page of the red book that was definitely torn by Seon-ho.Hwi just wanted to save him, not caring about his own revenge on Bang-won .targeting him wasn't easy after all fighting for him for years , but the one who fell on the ground at Bang-won's feet and in front of Hwi's eyes, the sword pointed at his neck, and even though he was wounded, he was still breathing, was his dearest friend,his only remain family.the one who Hwi wanted to make him suffer by saying that "he was no longer his friend "and he was satisfied by seeing the sadness and pain in his eyes.he was here now to make up for what he lost and preserve it.he would never lose Seon-ho, his dearest friend and the only remaining relic of his childhood.the others were all dear to him, but none of them were like Seon-ho and Yeon. Seon-ho was as precious to him as Yeon and he was like his family to Hwi.when Bang-won let them go, Hwi picked him up regardless of Seon-ho's grumbles, felt his warmth in his own arms and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Hwi looked away from the gate and looked into Seon-ho's closed eyes one last time and held his lifeless hand tightly.

[hypertechnica]

i just finished watching season 3 of house. eric foreman is the best and most underrated character and i will not be taking questions on this.

like yeah, im a huge Big Three (house, wilson, cuddy) fan too, and the shipping aspect is obviously going to be the biggest thing people talk about (it’s tumblr) but if we can look beyond shipping for like one millisecond foreman is such an interesting character and i don’t see anyone talk about him!!!!! he’s an analytical ‘straight man,’ he’s friendly and desires human connection yet pushes people away the moment they start to get close. he doesn’t outwardly care about what people think yet still craves to be the best because if he’s not the smartest person in the room he’s worthless.

he’s morally grey. he’s pinned between his strong sense of justice and his desire for cold scientific problem solving. he’s primarily ethical yet not afraid to prioritize himself over others, even if callously. he has principles. he’s horrified at the side of his personality house brings out in him. he has a complicated relationship with religion and his family. he has imposter syndrome due to racism and classism in the medical community. he has internalized so many biases and when they show, it’s not pretty. he spends 3 seasons simultaneously loathing house and envying him. cameron wants to fix him, chase wants to be him, wilson (and cuddy) want to fuck him, but foreman? he wants to study this man like a lab rat. and possibly strangle him. he’s the ideological bridge between cameron’s ethics and chase’s fuck-all attitude. he tries so hard to be a healthy functioning adult and in many respects he succeeds but he will always be haunted by his chronic loneliness and inferiority complex (one which he hides well with his ego.) he’s just like house and he hates it. he’s a vindictive jerk, but he’s a really good person at heart. he tries very hard to be, anyways. and he’s the only one of his colleagues who actually took the initiative to stop enabling house and just quit. the others will bitch and moan about it but he was the one who actually prioritized his mental health over remaining psychologically obsessed with him. (will that last? no idea, i know he comes back later but shh. spoilers. him folding and coming back would be great though lol)

his character arc so far has been amazing and i hope seasons 4-8 do him justice 💥💥💥

[youchangedmedestiel]

Friend: What are you doing right now?

Me: I have a lot of projects.

Friend: Oh so cool, what are those? New job, new business, new home, new relationship?

Me: Ok, I have a lot of SPN/Destiel projects.