#but he rarely ever sleeps through the whole night because he has so many nightmares

[braveburned]

the only time gregory actually looks at peace and like his defenses are lowered is when he's sleeping and that kills me a little bit

[charliedawn]

hi charlie ^_^✧*。i hope you're well. i'm not sure if you're accepting requests atm, but i had an idea which is how would the slashers react to a siren nurse (fem or gn) who walked the corridors of st. louis late at night singing haunting and alluring melodies as they went about their job, or whatever song was in their head? one of their favorite songs would be "curses" by the crane wives. maybe they would sing brahms a lullaby sometimes? but a creepy lullaby that was also strangely soothing to him. anyway, i would just like to see what you'll do with that idea. make any changes or adaptions u like, feel free to put your own spin on it. and take your time bc i know u get a lot of asks ♡

this is that song:

(Thank you for the request and the song ! It’s beautiful. 10/10. 🤩 Hope you like it.)

The Right Wing of St Louis:

Michael Myers:

Michael rarely sleeps. He doesn’t need to and is unable to. Too many nightmares and concerns about his own life and duality. And he usually sleepwalks too. So, really…He doesn’t like sleeping. But, this is why you were put in charge of the night shift.

"Sleep, Michael. Sleep your sorrows away in the darkness of the night. Let your dreams take over…" You whispered to him, but he only looked up at you with a saddened expression and shook his head.

"I don’t dream." You read when he gave you a piece of paper before bedtime and you smiled knowingly before looking back at him. You then stroked his cheek.

"You will tonight. I promise. Rest, Michael. You deserve it."

He seemed skeptical at first, but finally complied and went to bed. You then tucked him in and started humming next to his bed. When you started singing, his eyes started to slowly close and strangely enough…He dreamt that night.

Penny:

"P-Pretty voice. Soooo pretty. Such a pretty bird." Penny giggled and looked at you with a wide grin. He knew you were a siren, but he had never seen one before. He was curious and whenever you would start singing, he would appear behind you and just squeeze you tightly or just start tilting his head to the rhythm.

Penny doesn’t sleep like normal people do, so he can appreciate the music fully. Most people would sleep, but he would take your hand and start dancing with you. Unlike his brother, Penny is no singer. But, he is one hell of a dancer.

He would smile and laugh while you keep singing and he’d even watch over you when it’s YOUR time to sleep.

Penny *watching over you.* : "Sleep sleep, little bird. Sleep well."

Pennywise:

Pennywise also has the power to sing people to sleep. But, he doesn’t use it because a) He doesn’t like to and b) He doesn’t want to. He only ever sang to the children he ate and his past family. It isn’t a memory he likes to keep and he would simply hum along to the songs you are singing sometimes. He’s also move forward and backwards on his rocking chair as you sing. Sometimes, he’d sing with you and even dance when it is the middle of the night and no one is around to witness this moment, but he’d never do it in front of the others.

Pennywise *smirks* : "A siren, huh ? I wonder how a siren tastes…"

He would never eat you of course. He likes to joke a lot, but he would protect you and feel affectionate towards you. He would listen to you and sing along sometimes and then…the most beautiful and sweet melody would put the whole hospital to sleep.

Brahms:

Brahms remained silent as your majestic self walked through the halls of St Louis—your magic voice singing everyone and everything to sleep. Your voice was soothing and deep, so deep he was afraid he might fall asleep and never wake up. He laid down on his bed and waited for your arrival—as per every night.

He never locked his door at night.

When you arrived, you sat next to him and kissed his forehead. He closed his eyes and when you started singing, he felt at peace and relaxed. He held your hand and smiled when you whispered.

"Sweet dreams, Brahms…"

Jason Voorhees:

Jason is the same as Brahms. He likes physical touch and be reassured. He waited for your voice to soothe him to sleep. You usually slept in their room at night because both babies wanna hang on to you and they both feel safe in your presence.

Jason would sleep on your lap and have a good rest. He would slowly fall asleep to your gentle words.

Arthur Fleck:

"Y/N. I knew it was you. Come in. Come in. Please."

Sometimes, Arthur asked for private sessions. The man had nightmares and dark thoughts that none could even begin to comprehend. But when you sang, he forgot his troubles and worries. You would sometimes take his hand and softly lull him to sleep. He liked it.

Freddy Krueger:

"Yo ! Who’s singing ?! Shut za hell up, bitch !" Freddy shouted before shoving a pillow on his head. Freddy is the sleep demon. He isn’t one to sleep with siren songs. He prefers silence. But sometimes…He would stay awake to hear you and a small smile would appear on his face.

Secretly, he didn’t mind your singing all that much…

Bo Sinclair:

"Hello, birdy. Come here. Come to Papa."

He literally tackled you to the ground his first night in St Louis. You must understand that Bo was raised by fishermen and bars. He knows what a siren is and knows that whoever owns a siren is supposed to get extremely lucky. He would want to capture you more than anything and make you sing ONLY for him. Fortunately, Brahms and Jason would never allow you to get hurt or captured. So, they’d defend you and fight the Sinclair brothers if necessary.

The Left Wing of St Louis:

Father Paul:

The first time Father Paul heard you, he thought he was losing his mind. Your voice was like an angel’s and he truly believed his time had finally came. But, it didn’t. And every night, he would hear you and his mind would settle for a little bit. He would hear your song and find mercy in that moment.

The only link the Right Wing and the Left Wing of the hospital ever had: You.

Your voice would make them feel a little better in their misery and Father Paul enjoyed hearing you, when all thoughts of happiness and hope was lost…one beautiful thing remained.

Jonathan Crane:

Jonathan Crane was laid down on his bed—locked up and attached securely. He was staring at the ceiling and let out a small sigh. He was restless. It was the third day in the row that he was being tested on and he had no moment of peace…not until night fell and a voice came from outside. A quiet lullaby. So beautiful and peaceful. His eyelids felt heavy and he finally found a certain inner peace within.

"…Thank you, lady of the night." He uttered in a whisper before closing his eyes and sleeping soundly.

[kifkay]

Winx Headcanons, part 2!

Riven is a genuine fan of Musa’s music.

Musa is an early riser and annoying about it. Flora is also an early riser but is chill about it. 

Stella can sleep for like twelve hours straight and not give a damn. 

Tecna and Bloom stay up late at night, Tecna more so than Bloom. She will maim whoever wakes her early. 

Aisha loves to take naps whenever she feels like it, and sleeps like a baby. She also kicks at night.

All the Specialists have to be early risers because paramilitary school. Sorry, boys :(

Bloom and Sky sometimes fantasise about owning a menagerie of pets, if they were ever to move in together. 

Riven is genuinely a fan of Musa’s music.

Specialists vis-a-vis combat: out of all the boys, Sky has the best technique. He is also intuitive, able to read his opponent’s body language and easily predict what step they might take next. Timmy’s a short shooter, their main pilot, strategist and handler. He’s a whole unit on an actual mission, but is pretty useless in hand-to-hand combat. Brandon is the strongest, yet the most reckless with himself. He relies on his raw power and stamina to carry him through fights; a DnD Barbarian through-and-through. Riven, like Sky, is an excellent marksman. He has a knack for improvised weaponry and utilising his surroundings.

Helia is on par with Brandon vis-a-vis strength. He is agile; capable of dodging attacks and outsmarting opponents. Usually prefers to detain enemies and knock them out, and rarely engages in actual combat. When he is angry, there’s less technique, and more of self-destructive, horrifying beating.

Nabu is a warlock. He makes duplicates of himself that are capable of fighting but are glass cannons. He can detain and blind enemies, become invisible, make a fog, etc. In hand-to-hand combat, he lacks experience and stamina, but has a couple of tricks up his sleeve.

Sky is surprisingly a very good cook. All of the Specialists are not half bad at cooking, except for Nabu (that nepo baby never cooked a meal for himself in his life). 

The Winx are mostly bad at cooking. Tecna is ok; she follows all recipes to a T and ends with middling results. Musa is the best among the girls and actually enjoys cooking. 

Aisha likes sleeping with the lights on.

Since Aisha and Stella room together, Stella commissioned a Solarian engineer to create quality, magic light spheres that last months. They float near the ceilings and Piff likes to try and catch them. 

One side effect of prolonged psychic intrusion on a mind is the nightmares that follow afterwards. Riven struggles with them after Darcy.

Nabu also struggles with nightmares, due to him being a warlock and having battled/spared with many other psychics. As well as Darcy. He’s more humorous and dismissive of them; he says that he cannot remember his nightmares aside from a vague feeling of emptiness and anxiety. After meeting Aisha and working against Valtor, his nightmares would become way more concrete and terrifying. 

All the Winx adore Miele, and she loves them in turn. Tecna is probably her favorite though; she just finds her “the coolest and the bravest”!

Miele definitely had a crush on Brandon and Helia, although it was short-lived. 

Helia and Saladin have a very close, very complicated relationship. 

In childhood, Helia was entranced by his “Company of Light, Brightest sorcerer of Magix” grandpa Saladin. His father Rames was a pacifist and had a strained relationship with Saladin, but didn’t want to deprive little Helia of his grandfather. When Helia’s father and mother were in the midst of divorce, Helia, under Saladin’s guidance, enrolled in the Red Fountain. Rames raised his voice on Helia for the very first time and they had a big argument, which resulted in them not talking for a few months. 

They made up, but their relationship remained strained until Helia dropped out of school and came home to his father. 

Saladin instilled perfectionism in Helia, always expecting excellency and above. Saladin, being a military man, didn’t believe in “expressing feelings” or “being pacifist”. 

Saladin truly only wanted the best for Helia, but he never understood him or his own son.

Rames absolutely adores Flora. He is the crunchy-muchy granola dad, Henry Oak style, and how could he not love an eco-terrorist icon, the gentle Flora? 

[msommers]

SFW 2, 11, 13 and NSFW 9, 13 for jorina/aleksi and meredith/alistair!!

we're pretending this was posted on time, yeah xoxoxox // shipping headcanons

2) Who’s the messiest? The cleanest?

JORINA/ALEKSI — Aleksi strikes me as the “this chaos has a method, trust me” type of messy (if incorrect, scratch the following 💚), which drives Jorina (the local scout who would used a label maker if they existed) so far up the walls she may as well be climbing into the breach. her spaces are always neat, her packs have specific layouts, and she craves the control of organization. if any of Aleksi's things look out of order she's shaking, screaming inside, dying to get a hold of it and fix it herself before the needless anxiety of it gets to her. it's truly not that serious but there she goes.

MEREDITH/ALISTAIR — it would have to default to Alistair just because Meredith’s every bit the prim and proper lady, she’s finding ways to stay clean and organized even through a whole year of blight where it’s the least important focus. that being said! i don't know, i can’t see him being that messy as to be noteworthy?? his first decade was spent in an arl’s home, and then he followed it with another ten~ years with the Chantry. in my head—aka i don’t remember if it’s ever mentioned in canon, but it makes sense to me—i see templar training as being a meticulous and painstaking thing, which included tedious standards about cleanliness/organization. if that’s wrong we can ignore it but i’m living that truth for now. 

11) Baths or showers? Together or separate? Any bubbles or bubble fights?

JORINA/ALEKSI — they have the unique case of having frequent opportunities to get close to a shower as they're constantly traveling and nearby the many waterfalls of the regions they're sent to, and bathing in the various bodies of water is kinda close to baths sometimes, so like,,, both and neither lmao. i think Jorina has fun sharing those out in the field but prefers baths on her own when they're staying at Skyhold, they help to settle her thoughts and recharge her social battery without boyfriend interference. she just needs her space sometimes y’know 

MEREDITH/ALISTAIR — they're stuck with the #ThedasLife baths fate, not that they're complaining tho. shared baths would be more of a rare occurrence but that means the romance~~ of them is almost assuredly hammed up every time. candlelight, rose petals, scented oils, expensive ass soaps, you name it and they have it at the ready. the unspoken rule is that this activity is reserved for affection and relaxation, not work or other responsibilities, a guaranteed bit of tenderness amidst the never-ending cycle of bullshit beyond the room lmao 

13) Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most? Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up?

JORINA/ALEKSI — i can see them both having a decent schedule tbh. Jorina because she finds comfort in the routine and Aleksi simply because he strikes me as more of a morning person than a night owl (correct me if wrong). Jorina would likely be the one to occasionally stay up late for work if it's urgent. he sleeps more because she's probably insane and has adjusted to 6 hours each night. i don't think forcing to sleep or wake up is required but i imagine Aleksi has to coax her into relaxing and enjoying the early hours of the morning rather than burying herself in work straight away, whether that be with cuddling or sitting down for a proper breakfast and chat or some other way he's come up with. 

MEREDITH/ALISTAIR — they both had horrendous sleep overall during the blight, but had opposite problems with Meredith staying up far too long and Alistair being practically dead come morning. with their powers combined they were a fucking nightmare to wake for the others at camp 🥰 i like to think they were able to find a better, more restful routine after settling into Denerim. sturdy walls, a cozy bedroom, and [mostly] trusted allies can work wonders for the rest routine. Alistair occasionally has to wake her from nightmares, they're rare but always intense enough to have her moving and making sounds in her sleep. 

9) Quickest turn ons? Immediate turn offs?

JORINA/ALEKSI — i can’t remember if it’s ever been discussed but i know in my core that Aleksi would be into talking dirty, and that’s an excellent candidate for the fastest way to get Jorina squirming, especially if he’s getting handsy at the same time. she’s bright red and mortified about how much it affects her but we know she gets off on that anyway so it’s fine, homeboy can have her knees shaking in 30 seconds flat if he’s got the right teasing lined up lmao. i’d say her immediate turn off would be the abrupt realization that they’re actually in risk of being caught while having sex in a public space. it’s usually exhilarating and arousing because she’s engaging in a big display of trust that she’s allowing him to lead her through such risky acts, there’s a pleasure she finds in showing that vulnerability and embracing the thrill of such a reckless decision—but all of that immediately shatters if she believes they’re 2 seconds away from being discovered. i imagine there could likely be a security-focused moment leading up to many of these public acts where he’s assured her that they’re not truly at risk where they are and she feels certain enough to indulge in the play-fantasy of it, but girl. she’d be dried up and looking for the nearest black hole to jump into so quickly if she thought they were about to be found fr

on Aleksi’s end i don’t know about turn ons but i can say that i personally wouldn’t blame him if he got turned off quick on the nights he’s putting in work to set a mood and ease her away from work and that insane stubbornness of hers kicks in and she’s too in her own head to notice/appreciate/engage it. 

MEREDITH/ALISTAIR — Meredith is a lady of refined taste who also has a massive brain, so obviously her quickest turn on is watching Alistair doff his armor or dress down for bed. can she truly be bullied about being so basic if these things give her such a lovely view of his muscles? his soft tummy?? his thighs??? the hairy chest and happy trail that we all know is there???? exactly. thank you. ANYWAY. her quickest turn-off is him saying one too many jokes when they're getting into the mood for anything sexual. it's more slow-rolling because she can take a few and may even find them funny, but then it'll hit that limit and she's abruptly finished. clocked out for the evening, try again tomorrow.

first of all, i refuse to believe this guy doesn't have a blatant praise kink. second, Meredith 100% starts to use that to her advantage to have him immediately snapping to attention with targeted compliments and approval. turn off would have to be the occasions where he sees that she's clearly not present and her mind has drifted off after they've already started to get hot and heavy. nothing kills the vibe quite like “you're thinking about the food shortage in amaranthine again, aren’t you?” while he's nearly through unlacing her underclothes, bc they both know she can’t deny it lmfao

13) Who’s loud? Who’s quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?

JORINA/ALEKSI — Jorina is louder than she's entirely comfortable with but it can be managed. dunno about Aleksi's volume level, but in general i see him as being on the chatty side rather than quiet. almost certainly they both enjoy the act of him whittling away at her composure until she can't control the sounds coming out of her own damn mouth, even if she tries to scold him for it after (neither of them buy it, she's a terrible actor).

MEREDITH/ALISTAIR — in my heart Alistair is a little noisy and i can't be convinced otherwise. you trying to tell me that boy isn't prime for whining and moaning and babbling?? yeah, ok 🙄 Meredith's a bit quieter but can get pretty mouthy in drawn out sessions. i don't think they purposefully try to make each other louder, but it's a good deal of fun when it happens naturally from somebody's efforts.

[secretadmirations06]

This is a short story I had to write for a personal response to text for English (well I got to decide between an essay or not so I chose short story). It’s a story I completely made up based off of the picture above ‘Like Son’ by Robert Gawthmey. I wanted to share it :)

I also listened to this song over a few times while writing if y’all wanted to listen to it while reading

WARNINGS: mentions of a passed parent if that is a hard subject for you

Why can’t you hear me?

Deafening silence filled my father’s study as he shrunk down in his seat. He knew I was right, he knew what he’s done, my father was merely oblivious to it and I finally had the courage to speak up. It took him 7 weeks, almost two whole months, for him to recognize how broken I was too, he wasn’t the only one who lost her, and it was only because I was sitting here now with hot tears running down my face begging for him to hear me. I couldn’t do this alone anymore, I’m not strong enough for this. Ever since the accident, the day our world came crashing down, my father had completely shut out everything and everyone, leaving me the weight of keeping it all together. That day turned into a nightmare that plays on repeat in my head, no matter how hard I try, it just won’t go away.

It was a calm Monday morning, I had woken up earlier than usual to watch the sunrise with my mother, it had become a weekly ritual she insisted we all do to welcome the new coming week. She always created an essence of beauty in everything she did, my father often stated it was one of the many reasons he fell in love with her. I remember this sunrise being one of the most colourful ones I ever witnessed. I looked over at my mother seeing a sparkle in her eyes as she watched the new day form in front of her, while my father took endless amounts of pictures to capture the moment so it would last forever. At the time, it hadn’t occurred to me just how special this moment really was, I was more focused on how tired I was. She left the house later that day to buy some groceries to make her favourite pot roast for dinner while father and I played a few rounds of cards. I had almost finally won a round when the house phone rang. The news I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Everything seemed to turn dark that day, we lost our light, how was I supposed to move on? There was no more joy in our household, her loud giggles wouldn’t be heard when my father came up with a terrible joke, I wouldn’t come home from school to hear her singing along softly to the radio, she wouldn’t be pulling me out of bed with a bright smile to welcome the new week anymore. Suddenly, all of those became past memories, it physically pained me to imagine any of it without her. It’s been almost two months, father lost his job, he only ever moves from his and mother’s bed to his study, otherwise I rarely saw him anymore. Most of the time I was alone, not a person to talk to. I'm sure my father has heard me crying myself to sleep some nights but chose to ignore it so he wouldn’t have to face it with me. He didn't even realize that I had been flunking in school either, I can’t remember the last time I showed up, I couldn’t, I had to take over at home because it was just us now. I got two part-time jobs while also balancing school work and grief. I taught myself how to do the taxes, I did the grocery shopping and the cleaning, I made sure my father and I got taken care of because if I didn't, who would? I was so exhausted and he was unbeknownst to it all, he had no clue of the stress he was putting me through. I've tried to talk to him but he just doesn’t hear me. He refused to do anything but dwell on something we have no control over anymore and the pressure was too much for me now. I missed my mother as well and I needed this man to be my father again. He sat there with guilt ridden all over his face, saying nothing, I don’t think he even knew what he could say after everything.

So here we are, sitting in our field on an early Monday morning, my father had walked into my room and insisted I get up with him. Tears pricked my eyes as we welcomed a new week into our lives. I couldn’t help but smile as I took in all the beautiful colours, the air falling to a peaceful silence as I looked over at my father who had that same sparkle in his eyes my mother once had. I understood him through the silence, it was going to be alright. He had finally heard me.

[from-the-clouds]

moonlight on the river - joel miller x reader

masterlist | song inspo

summary: Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter.  Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true. Takes place during episode one of the TV series. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2.4k warnings: angst, fluff, good ol' fashioned hurt/comfort. depressive thoughts, reader sort of has a death wish, references to alcohol/drug abuse, death, loss of family members & loved ones. implied age gap, references to casual sex, heavy petting (no smut). a/n: it's been months since i posted a fic on here! some of my best work comes when it’s 2am, i’m emo and touch-deprived and i have an 8am appointment so i stay up until 5am to write. this was actually supposed to be fully a fluff piece but the angst queen had to strike.

You wish you could drown in the pile of blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in. Wish the couch would swallow you whole, like a whale, then drag you down to the deepest depths of the ocean and leave you there until you can’t hold your breath any longer, until the cold pricks the tips of your fingers and toes, until you succumb completely. 

But in some ways, you’re already existing like that, in the sea-level equivalent of the Marianas Trench. One of those sea creatures that look not of this Earth, features warped – adapting, evolving, surviving, despite your environment’s best efforts to eradicate. Your mother had once shown them to you in her old textbooks and shown you the photos of anglerfish, frilled sharks, phantom jellyfish. The memory of your mother makes you wince, and you try to think of something else.

How anyone else around you managed to put on a brave face and make their way through each day was beyond your comprehension, even though you do it, too. They probably all feel the same way about it as you do, but no one talks about the collective trauma you’re all slogging through. No one has anything new to add, and it’s foolish to believe that anyone’s insight could somehow take the pain away. Even if you have a chance to tell your story, there is always someone who has it worse. 

Get in line. 

Exhausted as you are, you don’t sleep much. Most of your nights are spent at the precipice of unconsciousness, and you can never quite make it over the edge, the helicopters, radios, sporadic gunfire always manages to rouse you first. When you do manage to sleep, you’re plagued with nightmares. You prefer perpetual fatigue. 

A knock at your door comes suddenly, and you start, sitting up quickly – but quietly – to not alert the unexpected guest that someone might be in the tiny studio you call home. It’s well after dark, which makes you doubt that whoever, or whatever is at the door, isn’t there for a friendly drop-in or a cup of tea, not that friendly drop-ins or cups of tea ever happened. 

But before you grow too panicked, your name is muttered, accompanied by another impatient rap of knuckles against the hollow wood. It’s a familiar rasp, even-toned and calm, and your shoulders sag in relief before you abandon your post on the couch. 

“Joel?” you ask softly, squinting in the dim light of the hallway through the crack in the door. He doesn’t look any different, though it’s been about a month since you’d last seen him. You’re not sure what to expect, but he’s the same as always, wearing a worn, tight denim shirt and fraying jeans. He looks tired, but you can’t recall a time when he doesn’t. Everyone looks tired all the time, it just only concerns you because it’s him. 

Not waiting for an invite, he steps through the small opening you allot for him and into your place, wordlessly.

“What the fuck, Joel, it’s past curfew are you trying to get yourself killed?” 

“I’ve done worse,” he says, dismissively, and yanks the door from your hand to close and lock it behind him. 

You don’t argue with him. You rarely do – which you think is partly why he likes you – but especially now, you don’t have the energy. And when you do, he’s too stubborn to listen. 

Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter.  Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true.

So when he steps forward, crowding you backwards until your rear hits your kitchen countertop and you have nowhere to go, you don’t ask questions. 

His hand cradles your chin, tilting it back to look into his sad eyes, and he kisses you. For a split second, it’s chaste, and you’re almost confused, until it’s suddenly not, and his grip on your jaw tightens, his lips parting. Joel stakes his claim, his free hand winding into your hair and pulling. You sigh, closing your eyes. 

He moves both his hands to cup your ass through the flimsy athletic shorts you’re wearing, lifting your hips up and against him, making to carry you to the bed, or maybe even take you on the countertop – it could be one of those days. Everything he’s doing would normally light you on fire, and there’s a primal instinct that’s telling you you like it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

Joel senses it right away. You’re not sure how. And you don’t want him to. You’re prepared to submit, even though you feel numb everywhere, because you hope for the chance to feel something, anything other than what you’ve felt the last few days. He pauses, too, pulls back. 

You expect to meet his eyes when you look up at him, but they are fixed on something else. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you try to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, until you follow his eyes. An empty bottle of liquor sits on the bar behind you. Fuck.

“You’re drinking again.” It’s not a question.

“That was actually from yesterday,” you say, like it would make any difference. The remnants of a hangover have been tweaking your temples all day, biting the back of your eyes. It was half empty when I got it. It was just one night. I can have a couple drinks without getting out of control. Your brain cycles through several more excuses before you decide not to waste your breath. 

“What did I tell you about this?” He reached behind you and lifted the bottle, holding it in front of your face like you hadn’t been able to see it clearly enough before. 

“You should talk,” you don’t like being cruel, but you’re already desperate to end the discussion. He’s probably drunk or high right now, but it’s none of your business, and you’d given up trying to save him a long time ago. 

You shift your weight to lower yourself off the counter and move away from him and the once-inviting warmth of his embrace. Joel doesn’t let you make it far, reaching out to grip your upper arm and tugging you back to face him with little-to-no effort on his part. His strength always startled you, even though it shouldn’t, considering his size. It also should’ve scared you, but the manhandling mostly just turned you on. Not enough that you were going to keep letting him lecture you.

“It’s different. You’re still so young.”

“What does that matter?”

He doesn’t have an answer. 

You lift your chin, squaring up to him. “That’s what I thought.”

He puts his hand on hip and studies you carefully. Despite your attitude, you’ve never liked disappointing him. He’s the closest thing you have to a father, which you can recognize is an awfully fucked up way to feel about someone you regularly have sex with, but you lived in an awfully fucked up world.

There’s a wistfulness to Joel’s expression you’ve never seen before. He chooses to change the subject, and you’re thankful until what he says registers. 

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night. You might not see me again.”

It takes a moment to process, but it hits you like a blow to the gut. So hard, you’re surprised you don’t stagger backwards with the force of it. Even when it settles, you know it hasn’t even sunk in all the way.

“Well…” you take a long, thoughtful pause, and offer the only thing that your brain can come up with, “....stay safe out there, then.”

“Yeah,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at you. “You want to tell me what’s going on?” 

Snorting, you know it’s important to remain as blase as possible so you don’t cry. Although, you don’t really cry anymore. Even when you want to, the tears never come. At some point, after watching every person you’ve ever cared for die in uniquely devastating ways, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit. 

“I know you. Something’s up.”

No, you don’t! You want to scream, but that would be a lie. It’s been three years since you met, maybe one since your….arrangement, or whatever you’d call it, had begun. 

How the two of you had become so close was a mystery even to you. It’s not like you were charming or charismatic, or willing to put up the innocent act. You didn’t try to inflate his ego, which most men loved. At first, you didn’t even really like him at all. That changed with time. Somewhere along the way, things just clicked.

“It’s nothing that no one has ever felt before,” you shrug. Joel has his fair….or rather unfair share of demons, and is the last person you want to complain to. Most of the time, he’s unflinchingly guarded, but he’s shared enough – secrets whispered in your ear while tangled in damp sheets, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart – to make you wonder if you have it so bad. Focusing on a fixed point, a crack in the tiled floor, you avoid his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice pulls you back. “Don’t do that.” 

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “I’m just having a d-a week.” A month, a year, a life. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze.

His face softens, his hand reaching to clasp with your own, thumb grazing across your palm. “Come here,” he murmurs. He pulls you against him tightly, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers weaving into your hair. 

“You’re going to be alright. You’re a strong girl.” He’s too smart to believe that, you think. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips against his sternum. His broad chest is sturdy, firm, and you close down your eyes. 

Neither of you speak, and one of his hands begins to stroke your back in soothing circles. You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had. Just one last time. 

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can tell you’re exhausted, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

There’s no reason to protest, he’s right, so you let him lead you to the bed. You’re already in your pajamas, and he draws back the covers and tucks you underneath them carefully. 

“You’re staying,” you say. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out like command, and although you can’t stand the idea of pleading for it, would if you had to. You’re that desperate. 

You hear the clunk of his boots landing on the floor, feel the dip of his weight on the opposite side of the bed. 

“Of course,” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper as he slides underneath the covers. 

Joel’s arm snakes around your waist, and you’re being pulled back against his chest. You wriggle to be closer, even though it’s not possible, his nose resting on the crown of your head, stroking your hair softly. He’s being so tender, so sweet, it makes you feel sick.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” you turn your head slightly, so you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You want to be able to remember his face, in case you never see him again. He was handsome, you’d always thought that, even despite the years between you. 

“It’s my brother. I don’t have much of a choice, baby.”

Joel had told you all about Tommy. You wished you could be resentful at his leaving to find his brother, but you knew you’d risk pretty much anything for the chance to see anyone in your family again. 

You shake your head. “This…sucks.” 

He offers a rare chuckle, one that vibrates through his chest and straight to the ache in your stomach that started when he told you he’d be leaving. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Joel sighs, his breath on the nape of your neck, and you shiver. “I’ll miss you.” It’s a simple truth you can hear in his voice without even needing to look in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you.” You reach for his hand. 

You roll over to face him, his head propped on his opposite hand, looking down at you. 

“You remember everything I taught you?” he asks. “Be smart, keep yourself safe.”

Joel had proven to be a pretty valuable resource when it came to survival skills. He’d taught you how to shoot a gun, to load and reload it, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. You recalled the feeling of him leaning over your shoulder, adjusting your grip to shoot at a target. And even if most of his lessons in hand-to-hand combat resulted in him having his way with you on the kitchen floor – you didn’t mind it at all – you knew enough to defend yourself. 

“I do,” you answer. “And I will.”

You think of all the time you’ve spent with him the past few years. How it has made things bearable. It’s likely the last time you’ll ever see him, and you know what you’re supposed to say. But for the life of you, you just can’t say it.

Instead, you lean in to kiss him, lazy and lingering, both your hands on the side of his face, palms pressed against the scruff of his beard. You pull away after awhile.

“Tell me about what it was like. Before all this.” When the outbreak began, you were just a child. It felt like a dream, your memory so fuzzy it was hard to recall anything except the worst parts.

Joel does, and you listen, captivated, though it’s not the first time you’ve heard it. For such a gruff man, he paints a pretty picture.

It’s easy to imagine what your life might be like if none of this had ever happened. It would have been better, infinitely better, for yourself, for Joel, for everyone. It would be better, but if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have met him. For some reason, something about that doesn’t feel right.

[astaroth1357]

How Often They Worry about MC…

For those who don’t know, I have a little dog named Charlie and she is a large portion of my world. There's no need to be alarmed, my dog is fine, but there are days where I hold her and all I can think about is how much I worry about her health down the line… I suppose we often do that for the people we love, particularly the ones who may not last as long as we will. Take that as inspiration if you'd like.

Lucifer 

Near constantly. 

If you tracked his blood pressure on a grid, you'd see it start to continuously rise about when he decided they were worth having in his life.

Lucifer is the eldest sibling to a whole crew of brothers so he's no stranger to worry. He worried about his brothers when they were young, he worried about them after the Fall, and he still worries about them now (even if he's less open about it).

But a part of him knows that his brothers can handle their own, at least to varying degrees. The MC, though? He's far less sure…

They've proven rather resilient, but also headstrong and reckless. Neither of which are good things to be in a place this dangerous...

If Lucifer isn't careful, he can catch himself staring at a wall or window just wondering where they are and if they're doing alright… If he called them every time he had a passing worry, their inbox would be full by the end each week.

He holds himself back because he doesn't have the time to constantly protect them, but that doesn't stop him from sending a text once or twice a day. They better respond or he'll start (secretly) panicking.

Mammon

He forgets their mortality from time to time, but every time he remembers it hits like a ton of bricks…

Mammon is a pretty "in-the-moment" person. He doesn't spend a lot of time dwelling on the future, but whenever he does the thought of losing MC always comes back to him again and again.

Like. It's gotta happen eventually, right? They're human, humans die, hell they don't even live that long to start with!

The MC can always tell when Mammon's getting worried because he'll get uncharacteristically quiet and pace around or hover by them…

Every little injury or strenuous task will suddenly seem like too much to him as well. 

If they need to carry some boxes, he'll carry them all.

If they have to jog to class, he's carrying them. 

If they so much as get a papercut, he'll have a heart attack.

It's not very hard to get Mammon out of these funks - he really does want them to reassure him that they're okay - but he's never going to get fully over it…

Not until he can steal whatever top secret immortality formula Solomon must have used anyway… He'll get it off that bastard eventually.

Leviathan

Thinks about it so often he has to actively try not to just to get any peace…

He dodges his fears for MC like a protagonist dodges lasting consequences. Every time he feels one creeping up, he's always got a distraction waiting…

"Hey where's MC at? I hope they didn't fall into the riv-OH HEY CHECK OUT THIS NEW GAME!!"

"What are they doing over there…? That looks hard, what if they bre-WAIT DIDN'T MY FAVORITE VOICE ACTOR JUST RELEASE A NEW PODCAST???"

"What if the MC dies tomorrow and they leave me all alo-DEVIL FIGHT 200! YOU CAN'T BEAT DEVIL FIGHT 200, LET’S BREAK MY HIGH SCORE!!"

Cut him some slack, his psyche cannot handle the idea of losing them on top of everything else he grapples with every day.

If, on the rare occasion, he does let himself fall down that rabbit hole he becomes extra clingy and practically begs MC not to leave his room… like ever. He'd bubble wrap them if he could.

Anytime they get really hurt or really sick he refuses to leave their side even if it means he has to awkwardly sit on the floor. He just needs to be able to glance at them every so often to be sure they're alive… Still breathing?? Phew…

Satan

He worries, preps, rationalizes, then worries again…

For Satan, knowledge is power and every scrap of information he can learn about MC is more power he can use to keep them safe and healthy.

Yes, he will want their medical history. Yes, he's going to need a list of prescriptions. Family members too. And no, you do not get a choice.

He'll read up on as many things as he can - pawn medical journals off of witches and get magical alternatives from Solomon.

The cycle usually goes: 

1. He's lying awake at night because he just heard about some terrible bacteria that makes human's skin peel off or something.

2. He does all the research he can on this bacteria, its treatment options, best prevention methods, etc.

3. Gets right about to break out the rubber booties for MC to wear around, then realizes they have a very slim chance of catching said bacteria since it's only native to incredibly remote parts of Indonesia.

4. Feels instant relief that MC will probably not catch flesh-eating bacteria and can finally sleep again…

5. Hears of some other human medical horror from Solomon and starts to worry…

It's a vicious cycle indeed… But at least he's getting a lot of medical training. Soon enough he'll be the Devildom's version of a human vet (which I guess is just a doctor, come to think of it. 🤔)

Asmodeus 

Lives so "here-and-now" that he doesn't remember often, but when he does it's always heartbreaking…

Asmo usually tries to worry about things as little as possible. It’s bad for the skin, you know? But when the MC is involved, all of that goes out the window.

Like how a delicate blossom eventually wilts in the snow, the MC is bound to leave them in time… Usually there's supposed to be something beautiful in that kind of tragedy, but perhaps he's just too close to them to find any romance in it.

The thought of their death gives him breakouts and anytime they get hurt or sick he's the first brother to offer them comfort. Every time.

Because he doesn't feel like he's as physically strong as he brothers, he tries to make up for it by minding their health in other ways. Anything to keep his MC strong and beautiful as always!

If Asmo is in a worrying mood, then he may also compensate by trying to take the MC out to a party or some fun event. Why sit around worrying by himself when he could be making memories with them now, right?

Beelzebub

It comes in waves, mostly at night.

When your thoughts throughout the day are mostly, "I wish I wasn't so hungry," it doesn't afford you a lot of time to think about much else.

In a way, it's a good thing since he experiences a lot less stress. But those worries are still there and they mostly plague his dreams…

Beel doesn’t feel hungry when he's sleeping, so a lot of his fears will make themselves known overnight. An injured or dying MC is often in his rotation of nightmares though, of course, he'd rather it not be…

After having one of these dreams, his first instinct is to always make sure the MC is okay. If they're with him, he'll hug them and check their heartbeat. If they're somewhere else, he'll go to them or shoot a text.

He has woken up without realizing his nightmare was all a dream though, and usually it's up to Belphie or MC themselves to console him while he cries… It's so heartbreaking, sweet boy just puts a lot of pressure on himself to be sure they're safe…

When he worries, it's like they're the most beautiful and expensive China set in a room full of bulls and hammers. If he could tape them to his side, he probably would. He gets scared for them that much…

Belphegor 

More scared about it than anyone else in the House.

Despite his calm demeanor, Belphie is truly afraid of losing his loved ones beneath the surface… He's already lost one of his most dear siblings before, going through that again may just break him.

Unfortunately, he's also felt just how fragile the MC is firsthand... He's not even the strongest of his brothers, yet he was able to snuff them out so easily… Who's to say someone else won't try?

Like Beel, MC's death is a recurring nightmare for him but he can usually shake off his dreams fairly well, if not change them mid-sleep. More scary is when something is actually wrong with them or they're not feeling well.

Belphie always sets his inner laziness aside for the MC when he can. If they get sick, he'll usually be right along with his family to take care of them - even if he has to skip school to do so (not that he cares about class anyway).

When he's worrying about them, he tries to play it off at first, but soon enough they'll notice him acting overly concerned and losing sleep… Best to calm him down before he starts getting cranky.

[callingsergeantbarnes]

Maybe my door is always open with bucky and it end all fluffy and fun

Thank you for the ask Nonnie 💜💜, I hope you enjoy this...

My Door Is Always Open

Pairing:- Bucky Barnes & Reader

Word Count:- 1223 

Warnings:-  Fluff. Insomnia. Comfort. Hinted at past hurts and violence and PTSD

A/N - I should probably work on making these drabbles shorter, but for now my writing is running away from me. 

Divider by @firefly-graphics banners by @maysdigitalarts

 Any mistakes are mine - checked over with ProWritingAid, but still one or two things are going to have slipped through. 

Summary:-  A sleepless night has you remembering offered words to you by a friend. 

My door is always open. 

Five words shouldn’t have such a hold of you, yet they did. 

My door is always open. 

They churned around and around as you stared up at your bedroom ceiling, watching the shadows dance across as the moon moved through the night sky. You rarely slept with your curtains closed. Wanting, no needing to see the outside world, even in the dead of night. You had spent too long trapped in a windowless room for you to ever feel comfortable in a space that you couldn’t at least glimpse the outside world from.

Often that was enough to soothe you to sleep. Some nights it wasn’t enough. Tonight was one of those nights. 

You had lost track of how long you had stared at the ceiling above you. Thoughts spinning and spinning, unable to switch off all the noise. You’d counted sheep, in the hopes it would make you fall asleep. It hadn’t. You had listened to the monotone voice of a hypnosis download, hoping it would work. It hadn’t. The man’s voice was not soothing and grated on every single nerve you had. You’d drank your herbal tea that Wanda swore helped her mind relax, but all it did was leave your mouth dry as a desert and in desperate need of water. 

My door is always open.

It was probably why his words were playing on a loop. You remembered the night he had uttered them to you, as clear as day. Another sleepless night, where you had inevitably given up the pretence of sleeping and got up, making your way to the communal area. You hadn’t been the only one awake that night with that same thought. 

Bucky Barnes.

You both sat there in silence, sipping on your hot chocolate in the early hours until the sun rose, where you parted ways. It was the first of many. A ritual between the two of you. 

Two hot chocolates, followed by a comforting silence and side glances, for nights at a time until eventually you had plucked up the nerve to speak to him. 

Bucky. 

The man more lost out of time than Steve had been. 

Both of you nightmare filled and trying to put back the pieces together into something new and whole that wasn’t so tainted by your pasts. 

It had surprised you at how easy it had been to talk to him, or that fact that he seemed interested enough to talk back to you. And as the sun slowly rose, casting the communal area in warm orange and golden rays, you had bid each other goodbye. 

But not before he had uttered those words. My door is always open.

He did offer, that pushy niggly voice in your mind reminded you. You could go to him. 

What if he is asleep? Doubt countered, because the idea of being a burden to the man who had fast become your friend was not something you ever wanted to be. 

Because, friend or not, you could admit in the shadow filled room of your bedroom, that you had developed a crush on Bucky, and it would crush your heart for him to think of you as a burden. 

He wouldn’t have offered it if he didn’t mean it.

Another truth you couldn’t quite deny as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. Bucky wasn’t the type of man to offer things he wasn’t prepared to give or follow through with, and outside of Steve, Sam and Natasha, you were the only one he seemed to interact with regularly or even talk to. 

With a frustrated huff and a new found bravado, and before you could change your mind if you thought about it for too long, you pushed the covers off you and slipped out of bed. The cold floor had your toes curling, but you didn’t stop to put socks on your feet. If you didn’t keep moving, you were certain you would back out and get back into bed to continue to stare at the ceiling. 

The halls in the Compound were silent and still, dim lights switching on as you approached lighting the way. It was nice walking around the Compound in the dead of night, when no one else was around. Either asleep or away on missions. Sometimes it could all get a bit too much for you in the light of day. Agents, scientists, doctors all coming and going, as the Avengers went about their day to day. You preferred the night, and the quiet and the stillness. Even on the nights where your past wouldn’t leave you alone.  

It didn’t take you long to reach Bucky’s room. But it took you longer than it should to actually knock. You didn’t like to think what you would have done had he opened the door to find you standing outside like an idiot, not having the courage to knock now you had brought yourself to his door. 

He was wearing a loose t-shirt and sweatpants when he answered. His gaze was awake and alert and not showing any sign that you had woken him. 

“Y/N.”

Your pulse fluttered at the way he said your name. It shouldn’t have had that much of an impact on you, you had heard it called enough times in your lifetime, but the way Bucky said it differed from how other people said it. You just weren’t sure how. 

Hesitation tied your tongue as you swallowed up the sight of him.

Understanding filled his gaze, as though he was reading your mind, and silently opened his door a little wider for you to step inside. 

“You want to watch a Disney film?” he asked, not voicing the question why you were here. As though one look at you had been all he needed to know what you needed. Even if you didn’t know what it was yourself. 

“Treasure Planet?” You asked, twisting your fingers in the hem of your pyjama top.   

Bucky gave you a warm smile. “Sure, I know it’s one of your favourites. Get yourself tucked in.”

And it was. There was something about the idea of flying amongst the stars that always brought a smile to your lips. Even though the reality of aliens had turned out to be one filled with invasions, death and bloodshed.

Neither of you spoke as Bucky put the film on, and you curled up on one side of his bed, waiting for him to join you moments later. He pulled the covers over both of you, and lifted his arm up so you could nestle into his side, head resting on his shoulder. 

You had done this more often than not on the couch in the communal area, but it was the first time you had done it in his bed. The warm scent of him wrapped around you, teasing at your senses, and you couldn’t help but move closer to him. Soaking up his warmth and the comfort he was offering. 

He pressed his lips to the crown of your head. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“Ready,” you said. 

He pressed play to the film, and the tension that had coiled within your shoulders, and the whirling thoughts and noise that rattled in your mind stilled. Finding a peace with Bucky you hadn’t felt all night. A small smile crossed your lips, soothed by the steady rhythm of Bucky’s heartbeat, as you both turned your attention to the film on the screen.  

[stuckwith-harry]

Hide-and-seek

A/N: Oh, to be a chicken in times like these. (CW for discussion of death, nothing graphic.)

In the chicken shed it might as well still be the eighties, as though time had only gone on for the humans living in the house on the other side of the fence, but not in here, where the hens are quietly clucking and cooing and enjoying their naps, until Ginny shakes a handful of lettuce in the air like an invitation, a beckoning – then they come hurrying towards her, beaks tearing greedily at the green leaves.

When the hens have had their fill, Ginny looks over the gaggle of bickering ladies and finds her favourite amongst them, Genoveva with her warm brown feathers and clever eyes, who yells and shrieks when Ginny lifts her up by her impossibly soft belly, crouching down in the chicken shed, and pulls the disgruntled hen to her chest.

“Look, I’ll make it up to you”, Ginny tells her quietly. She fishes sweetcorn out of the front pocket of her dungarees and holds her open palm out to Genoveva, not flinching or grimacing when the sharp beak leaves little red marks on her skin as the hen gulps down her treat.

Ginny smiles.

The summer after her first year, she climbed into the chicken shed every day. She was soothed, then, by the arrhythmic clucking and the smell of fresh hay and the fact that the hens allowed her to share their company, that they did not recoil in horror at her sight.

It was her that named them, while she sat here for hours and hours with a chicken in her lap, more often than not Genoveva, who, for all her complaining, was easily the most patient of the bunch, and who nestles into her lap now, blinking slowly in the twilight while Ginny strokes her feathers, the burning inside her ribcage dull and pulsating like that of an infected wound.

Like it was her that took the damn Killing Curse to the chest.

“You’ve no idea how lucky you are”, she mutters, meeting Genoveva’s sharp eyes. “Nothing in those little heads of yours except earthworms and soft hay.”

She sits there for ages and ages like she did that summer, willing the comfort of the soft animal to sink into her like warmth. When she finally gets up to leave the chickens be, she tosses the rest of the sweetcorn into the hay (Genoveva looks utterly betrayed), fills up the grains in the feeder, and climbs out of the shed with the smell of warm feathers and wheat straw still in her nose.

“Chicken-feeding duty?”, calls a voice from near the house as she swings her bare legs over the wooden fence and strolls back towards the Burrow. When she looks for the voice’s owner, she discovers Ron, sitting on the weathered bench below the kitchen window.

“What’re you doing out here?”, she calls out as she comes closer.

“Hiding”, he says dully. “Mum’s crying again.”

Ginny feels something inside her chest take a tumble. “Is anyone with her?”

“Yeah, I’m not that much of a dickhead. Dad and Percy and Bill are all in there.”

“You’re not a dickhead”, Ginny says automatically, surprising them both. Then: “Mind if I stay?”

He shrugs. “Be my guest.”

So she sinks on the bench beside him, joining him in his grim silence. They gaze aimlessly over the soft green hills all around, the shape of the lake like a blue thumbprint in the landscape, where they whiled away so many happier, warmer days than this, and Ottery St. Catchpole’s mismatched roofs in the distance, smoke rising from the chimneys.

Ron finally looks over at her. “Were you with the chickens this whole time? I thought you’d grown out of your obsession with them.”

Ginny musters up a grin. “Never. I love those stupid hens. That was just an elaborate ruse so I could hide in the chicken coop when we used to play hide-and-seek. It never occurred to any of you to look.”

“Well, you stopped growing at about five feet, I figure you fit right in.”

Ginny whacks him in the knee. In a true testament to the severity of the situation, Ron does not retaliate.

She tells herself it’s that, not how much they aged him, the few short months that he was gone.

It’s less blatant now that Mum has shorn back the unkempt mop of hair that was falling into his eyes and growing down the back of his neck like wild weeds when he walked through the secret entrance of the Room of Requirements with Harry and Hermione; now that he’s shaved the patchy stubble on his cheeks and his face has regained a little fullness. But sometimes she still looks at him and wonders how ten years have not passed since she watched him slip away into thin air at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

“Did anything happen?”, she asks. “With Mum?”

Ron shrugs, expression blank. “Some fool said his name again. I never noticed how rarely we actually said the twins’ individual names until we had to break the habit of saying Fred-and-George all in one go. It’s like he’s Voldemort.”

Ginny doesn’t laugh.

“I know”, she mutters. “Don’t think it’ll ever come naturally.”

He nods mechanically. “Anyway – I made a run for it. I just couldn’t do it right then, having to comfort her and everything.”

Ginny looks over at him. “Funny, you’re so good at it.”

“You just say that because I make the best tea.”

“Well, you do.”

The same way that children can recognise each of their family members by the sound of their footsteps as heard through a wall, or the rhythmic pattern with which they knocked on the door, the Weasley siblings have learned to read each other’s silences since they’ve come home. Often now, they appear at each other’s bedroom doors at all hours of the night, shaken from nightmares or too restless to sleep or, rarely, weeping.

Most nights, two or three or four of them eventually find themselves in the kitchen, where Ginny turns on the lights, and Ron puts on the kettle, and they sit there and while away the small hours in each other’s company, in silence, in quiet understanding, in murmured chatter about nothing at all.  It’s good comfort, the idea that even after everything, there’s nothing in this world that a hot cup of tea can’t fix.

Ginny shifts on the bench next to him, pulling her knees to her chest. “Remember when that fox got one of the hens? I was inconsolable, and you were so nice to me when we put her in a shoebox and buried her behind the house, you didn’t even make fun of me.”

“You lot are different, that’s easy. I just can’t take it when it’s our parents.”

Ginny hums in understanding. “I think seeing Dad cry was worse for me. At the memorial.”

“Cheers, thanks for bringing it up again.”

She snorts.

“You’re good with Harry”, she says softly. “D’you miss him at all?”

He rolls his eyes. “He just sleeps two floors below me, it’s not like he died.”

Ginny winces.

Ron does not miss the look on her face or the heaviness of her silence, as they have all learned to do, and asks in an unnaturally light tone: “How’re you coping with him waking up three times a night?”

He seems relieved, for a moment there, when she smirks.

“It’s not too bad, actually. At least he makes for a great pillow.”

Ron looks appalled. “What the hell happened to the camp bed?”

“Oh, we just keep that around for decoration now.” She grins, comforted by the opportunity to tease him. “And he doesn’t wake up as much anymore.”

His face lights up. “That’s good news, at least. Lead with that next time.”

“Oh, he’s just … stopped going to sleep altogether.”

“That really solves that problem”, he says darkly. “The idiot.”

“I don’t think it’s purposeful”, she says. “He’s always pretending to be asleep when I look at him, but I can always tell. And when he does doze off, I’ll just stir next to him, and that’s enough to wake him up again.”

“He’s a really light sleeper these days”, Ron says apologetically. “The worst camping trip in the world will do that to a person.”

Ginny grins faintly. “Yeah, he’s mentioned it.”

“He’s talking, then?”

“Hm-hm.” She wraps her arms a little tighter around her legs. “Which is good, I guess.”

He watches her for a minute, as though unsure what to make of her tone. “Anything on your mind?”

She laughs. “Anyone ever told you you’re turning into Mum?”

“Well, we’re here anyway!”, Ron says, ears flushing. “Spit it out, will you?”

“He, uhm –”

It has not occurred to her, until right now, how difficult it would be to pass the story on, even to someone who has heard it before. Harry handed it to her because she asked him to, and still it knocked into her like a wild animal, pouncing, the weight of it like a Hippogriff standing on her chest, pinning her to the earth.

“He told me about walking into the Forbidden Forest.”

“Ah”, Ron says hollowly. “No wonder you’re hiding in a chicken coop.”

She looks around at him. “It’s not Harry I’m hiding from.”

“But you are hiding”, Ron says wisely.

Ginny shrugs. “I dunno what I expected. Somehow I’d convinced myself I already knew the worst of it. Which, as it turns out, was a bit stupid of me.”

She draws in a shaky breath.

“I thought he was in on it. Ever since I watched him come back to life at Hagrid’s feet … I thought there was some sort of plan. But there wasn’t, or Dumbledore didn’t tell him, anyway. I thought he knew he was going to survive, and it turns out that, uhm – he didn’t know shit. He went there to die, for real.”

Ginny looks back at him, words coming faster now. “And I’m – I’m so angry, and I don’t know why. Or who I’m angry with. It can hardly be Harry.”

“In all fairness, I kind of felt like punching him when he told us”, Ron says quietly, and her mouth briefly twists into something like a smile. “If anything we should be angry with Voldemort, or Dumbledore, even – but they’re not within punching distance, so what are you gonna do?”

“If Dumbledore wasn’t already dead, I would kill him”, Ginny says. “I swear, I would kill him.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable”, Ron says good-naturedly, patting her arm.

“And Harry – Harry keeps apologising, and I don’t know what for.”

Ron’s expression is pained. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

He sighs. She handed this to him, and now he is steeling himself to hand something back to her. She can tell.

“My best guess is … for not saying goodbye.”

Ginny does not look at him. Suddenly she is blinking rapidly in the fading light, sitting there as the blow rolls over her, something blunt and violent that should have broken her ribs like the impact of a Bludger; but there is no injury, only an ache that does not abate, that sits all around her, inside her. She doesn’t think it’s ever going to go away, all that hurting, writhing and straining inside her like a second skeleton.

“How could he have? We would’ve dragged him back to the castle by the damn hair.”

“Of course we would have”, Ron says robustly.

For a moment he looks like he’s going to reach out to her, hold her, maybe. He seems to think better of it in the end, and she’s almost relieved, dreading what she’d do if someone hugged her.

It’s another thing that won’t ever come easily: showing up on someone’s doorstep, weeping.

“If it’s any consolation”, he says after a while, “I think that’s the worst of it.”

“I’ve been wondering”, she mutters. “Can’t think of very much that beats walking to your own death. No fucking wonder he doesn’t sleep.”

“It’s funny”, Ron says, “I talked to him less than an hour ago, and he seems alright, almost.”

Ginny shrugs. “Isn’t he always? Remarkably functional, considering.”

Ron makes an attempt at a smile. “It’s such a Harry thing to do, though, isn’t it? Always dying for other people. Or trying to, anyway.”

“Hardly just a Harry thing, it turns out.”

It’s all shit, she thinks when he looks at her. Being the person knocking at the door, and the one listening on the other side, opening it.

“He told me about Malfoy Manor”, she says softly.

“Ah.” Ron kicks at the dirt to his feet. “Well, then you know what keeps me up at night.”

“He said – he said you offered to swap places with Hermione. Let Bellatrix have you instead.”

“And? You would’ve done the exact same thing for him.”

Ginny almost smiles. He might as well still be the boy who stuck stubbornly by her side next to the chicken fence all night, when she couldn’t bear to head back to the house, in case the fox ever came back.

“Yeah. I would have.”

It settles on her shoulders as quickly and unnoticeably as night, rapidly falling all around them: everything she would’ve done, in a heartbeat, in an instant.

“I would’ve taken the forest, too”, she says, more to herself than to Ron. “I would’ve done it all for him.”

It seems significant, somehow, that Ron does not resist this. That maybe he knows what it felt like, to Ginny, when they walked out into the courtyard and saw Harry.

That, too, felt like a Bludger to the chest: the sight of him, a kid in Hagrid’s arms, his glasses askew. How she wished it was her lying there, dead in his place.

“Those two”, Ron says abruptly. “Some day they’re really gonna be the death of us.”

Ginny almost laughs.

“So you won’t strangle him for abandoning the camp bed?”

Ron eyes her for a moment, a sort of benevolent sternness in his expression – and Ginny was right, that’s all Mum. “Yeah, I’ll consider it.”

“I’m sorry, anyway”, she says, half-smiling. “For costing you your roommate.”

Ron sighs. “They grow up so fast.”

“And for all this, too. You were trying to hide, I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s all right. You had to find me eventually.”

[whatanoof]

Cal Kestis Headcanons that No One Asked For

So I’ve slowly been going through story mode of Jedi: Fallen Order, and I’m about to go to the Fort Inquisitorius so I haven’t even finished yet but I’m absolutely in love with Cal Kestis, so here are some hc about him, romantic and non-romantic.

SPOILERS FOR JEDI: FALLEN ORDER

Cal x female!reader

You both love it when you play with his hair. The first time was almost an accident on your part, because you were just sitting behind him on the bunk while he’s tinkering with his saber and staring at the back of his head. It’s so red, and you’d honestly rarely seen such a bright color naturally occurring, much less growing out of a human head? Your hand brushed a strand almost of its own volition, and you both just froze. He slowly turned to look at you, and you almost stopped breathing because Did you just mess up did you just fuck up the relationship oh shit shit shit--. And he just whispers, “Uh, could you do that again?” And you’re in such a state of shock and relief that you just scoot back on the bunk and gesture at your open lap. Cere walks in on the two of you later, him dopey and almost asleep with his head in your lap, your fingers running through the silky strands. She doesn’t say anything, even when Greez points out the two small braids that you left at the nape of his neck.

He’s so competitive. Like come on, this man refused to back down from  two or three separate fights against fully-fledged Inquisitors and one insane Jedi Master while he was still technically a Padawan. So he won’t let you beat him. At anything. You’re watering the latest seed that he brought back from a planet? Bam, he’s got Greez’s special plant food and he’s giving every single one of them a five-course meal. If you’re a Jedi, and you’re meditating in the back of the Mantis? You open your eyes after ten or so minutes and he’s right there in front of you, doing that little concentration face that you fell in love with so easily. If you’re a Jedi, you’re evenly matched in almost everything that you do in terms of abilities, and you teach each other where you’re not. Greez is terrified of watching you two spar, because you don’t hold back, but you’re also so equal to him in skill that it’s a whirl of light and blocking known attacks. 

Him and BD-1 were a package deal, but as soon as you were welcomed aboard the Mantis, Cal couldn’t believe how easily the little droid warmed up to you. Of course, BD sticks with Cal and is his right hand man on adventures, but Cal no longer occupies 100 percent of BD’s free time. You refuse to tell Cal exactly where, but you found a spot right behind BD’s “head” where if you scratch it, the droid is on the ground and kicking a leg in the air in happiness. If you’re a mechanic, you can usually be found in the back, tinkering with BD’s processor to make it run more efficiently, or oiling his joints again, or designing new paint jobs for the happy little droid. Either way, you’ve stolen a decent fraction of the droid’s affection, and none of the Mantis crew has any idea how you did it. It’s actually the first thing that urged you and Cal to start spending more time together, and you remember BD’s happy little hops after you’d finally kissed Cal for the first time.

There is absolutely no backing for this, but I think that Cal can sing. Nothing fancy, of course, it’s not like there are vocal lessons available on Bracca or in the Jedi Order, but he can carry a tune. It’s sometimes the only way you can fall asleep on the Mantis, because even though Greez and the crew make it cozy, it’s not home. But as soon as you’re curled up in the twin-sized bunk, and Cal starts humming to you, you’re out before he’s finished the chorus. Sometimes the songs are happy, but they’re often little ditties that he heard from the clones before Order 66, or mourning songs that fellow workers on Bracca would sing during the night when the rain was pounding on the metal and creating a natural rhythm and harmony for the tired mechanics. They’re songs of lost love, fallen brothers, and vague longings for newer, better lives. You fall asleep to his soothing voice, but you often wake with an ache in your heart for the suffering and pain that Cal has experienced and witnessed in his short life.

He’s ticklish. He hates that you know. He hates that you told Merrin, and now she can blackmail him into getting her favorite foods from supply markets. But you love the childish giggles that you’re able to pull out of him when you finally corner him and run your fingers over his neck. Tickle fights always end in make-out sessions.

+18 NSFW under the cut

So... Cal never had the chance to understand wanting intimacy before you, sexual and non-sexual. He was terrified the first time he looked at you and didn’t recognize that strange feeling in his chest. He’d never felt it before, was there something wrong with him? Was he sick? It takes a sit-down with Greez for him to figure out what’s going on, and it’s even scarier than the possibility of illness. Jedi were forbidden to love, it had always been a taboo in his mind, even if he had never had the opportunity to find out what it felt like.

He pushes it away at first. He ignores the flutters in his chest when you’re laughing with Merrin at dinner. He denies the complete shorting out of his brain when he accidentally brushes too close to you while trying to get to your shared bunk. 

He has his first wet dream, and wakes up absolutely throbbing with the memory of the dream that involved you and him and way too little clothes for his repressed childhood. He tries to grit his teeth and go back to sleep, but it’s too uncomfortable, and he can’t get the image of your body out of his mind. Jedi Masters always gave their Padawans the sex talk, and Jaro Tapal was nothing if not a good Master. So Cal knows basically what he has to do to relieve the tension so that he can get a little more sleep. He just doesn’t expect to lose control of himself to the point where he grunts your name when he comes. His heart just about stops when he hears the bed above him creak, and he yanks the sheets over his head until he’s sure that you’re not awake. He gets up early the next morning so that he can clean up without fear of you catching him.

After you get together, Cal is even more scared of the relationship. He had checked with Cere, and though she skews more traditional in her beliefs, she knows that Cal’s trauma and overcoming of it is more than she could hope to understand. Maybe this relationship could bring a stability to his life that nothing else could provide. She cautions him on the power of Dark Side, and how the fear of losing love dragged many great Jedi astray. But she also trusts you, and she knows that you would never do anything to hurt him. She hadn’t missed the lovesick puppy eyes you’d been sending his way.

You start out promising to take it slow. Neither of you had much experience in the areas of relationships and dating, much less sex, so at the beginning, you make sure to clarify that there’s no pressure to rush through anything. It’s mostly just spending more time together, slowly exploring each other. You both learn about each other’s pasts, and spend time talking through the different experiences, rationalizing and comforting each other. Before you even begin to experiment in bed, he’s become your best friend.

When you finally do, it’s short and sweet and perfect for two people who are trying to take their relationship slow. You teach him about what you like, and he gasps out in between moans what feels good and ohhh, what feels even better. 

Okay, a bit of a time skip here, but after Cal’s more experienced, he is a sucker for you riding his thigh. He’s built and strong, so the ridge of muscle beneath you and rubbing against every single spot that sparks delicious warmth in your belly brings you to climax so much more quickly than you could have expected. He loves looking up at you, mouth open and eyes half shut in ecstasy as you chase your high, your heat leaving sticky wetness on his thigh that only serves to make him harder. He’ll grind his leg up if only to hear that heavenly little squeal and whimper that he can get out of you. You’re beautiful to him even on the worst days, but when you’re above him, sweaty and on the brink of coming all over his thigh? Stars, you’re the most glorious thing he’s ever seen, and he rode a shyyyo bird over the untouched forest of Kashyyyk.

Sadcanons. Don’t read if you don’t want sad feels tonight

There is no denying that Cal’s not a whole person at the beginning of the storyline. He definitely regains some of himself back, but there are parts of him that I believe died with the clones and died with Jaro. There are times where he has nightmares, and when he wakes up, he doesn’t want to be with anyone. Even you. He’ll lapse into silence for hours and days at a time, staring at the blank wall while you try to get him to eat or drink something because damnit it’s been days and he hasn’t so much as moved. Your heart breaks at every sign of his damage, because you know that there is only so much you can do to help. This is a journey that he has to complete independently, though it doesn’t mean that you won’t be here for him when he wakes up.

You trace his scars to comfort him. He’s insecure about them, and is terrified of the memories that they bring back. But when you’re there, loving even his jagged edges, it’s all marginally better and he can bear to live with himself a little more.

He comforts you too. Whatever your background, the Clone Wars and the Purge gave everyone a little bit of damage, and you were no different. He holds you when you’re crying, and comforts you after your nightmares. He’ll purposefully pick a happy song to sing when he knows that you’re down, and he never fails to make you laugh through the tears.

His psychometry allows him to understand your trauma better than you could hope to understand his. Before you even allow him to sense your past, you make him promise to not internalize any of it. You know that he would, though it makes no logical sense. He promises. 

Oops I made myself yearn. Now back to our regularly scheduled program of single life. School’s kicking my ass right now, but this made me feel better so I can’t complain too much.

But in all seriousness, I recommend this game 10/10. The Star Wars content is absolutely impeccable, the graphics are gorgeous, it gives me a thrill in my chest to know that every single second is canon. Cal is a beautifully written character, and even though his story breaks my heart, it’s written so well. He doesn’t lash out in anger, rather internalizing his fears and pain in a way that I can relate to, and he’s scarily powerful. It’s a feel good story for me despite the pain, and I’m looking forward to finishing it this weekend!

[braindeadbaddie]

The Ghosts That Haunt Us

I know you hear me when I cry

I try to hold it in at night

When you’re sleeping next to me 

But it’s your arms that I need this time

Chifuyu bites his lip, trying to swallow down the sobs that threaten to climb out of his throat. He grabs a pillow, stuffing his face into it and biting to muffle all the sounds that threaten to leak from his overflowing heart. 

The pillow is stained with his tears, his body shaking in silent sobs, and from the ghost of a cold cold body that he once held in his arms years ago.

Besides him, he can feel Takemichi twitch awake, shifting to wrap an arm around him. He feels him hesitate before settling his arm across his waist, pulling him into the warmth of his embrace.

God, what a terrible boyfriend he is. 

Up late, picturing a black sea and a grey sky, when he has the warmth of the sun and a bright blue sky right besides him. 

But he can’t help it. 

Tonight, he misses Baji.

Tonight, he needs him.

Look at the cards that we’ve dealt 

If you were anybody else

Probably wouldn’t last a day 

Every tear’s a rain parade from hell 

He loves Takemichi.

Their relationship isn’t laced in beauty or innocence. It was originally a partnership bred from the need to save the future. But he’s understanding, and kind, and always there to help. He’s sweet and dedicated, fiercely loyal, and so so loving. 

They sought comfort in each other because they understood each other. Better than anyone else. 

He knows Takemichi doesn’t blame him for the days that he can’t reciprocate his love, because his heart is somewhere else. He knows Takemichi understands more than anyone why he can’t share his food sometimes. He knows that Takemichi understands, better than anyone. 

Mistakes were made and there were casualties of Takemichi’s battle against time, and even though they managed to find a future where everyone could be together, the ghosts of the past still haunt them both. 

But sometimes, he wonders if their love is born out of necessity rather than true love.

Baby you do it so well

You’ve been so understanding, you’ve been so good

And I’m putting you through more than one ever should

And I’m hating myself cause you don’t want to

Admit that it hurts you

Chifuyu knows it’s hard. He cries over Baji often. 

The night of his birthday and the day of. The week of Halloween, the days before when he didn’t have his friend. Sometimes, he cries when he sees a black cat or a stray. He cries on dates they had made special memories of.

Some days are a light rain, other are storms that flood.

Chiufyu thinks that he must only exists in tears and in numbness. There are days he can feel, so all he feels is pain, and days where he can’t, so he feels nothing. 

Takemichi seems to be able to handle it so well. But Chifuyu knows. He knows this is too much for him to bear. 

Takemichi already saved the future, so he should be able reap the fruits of his labor. 

And yet here he is, fighting a losing battle to save Chiufyu. 

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again

Over him

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again

‘stead of ghostin’ him

Takemichi, more than anyone, hurts seeing Chifuyu cry. And yet, he has to deal with it the most. 

He feels the most guilty, the most responsible. Because he knew and he still couldn’t do anything about it. 

Chifuyu sees it in Takemichi’s eyes when he wakes up with a start after dreaming of black and grey, and red. So much red. The look in Takemichi’s eyes, screaming that he shoudn’t be here. That there should be someone else. 

Someone to go to the pet store with him every morning. Someone who helps him fight his battles. Someone who will split his yakisoba with him. Someone named Keisuke Baji. 

And Chifuyu wants to comfort him and tell he loves him and loves having him around.

But it feels pointless when his tears later that night wash away all his words. 

We’ll get through this, we’ll get past this

I’m a girl with...a whole lotta baggage 

But I love you, we’ll get past this

I’m a girl with...a whole lotta baggage

On good nights, Chifuyu will lay his head in Takemichi’s chest, curled into his side, letting him run mindless patterns into his back.

Takemichi tucks his head under his chin and whispers sweet nothings to him.

On those night, they feel like a normal couple, instead of a pair cursed by time.

Though I wish he were here instead

Don’t want that living in your head

He just comes to visit me 

When I’m dreaming, every now and then

Its hard to count the amount of times Chifuyu has woken up screaming another man’s name.

But the nightmares are so frequent, it’d probably be easier to count the times he didn’t.

In his dreams, he’s always a first-year in middle school, walking through the hallways to find a nerd who can’t spell or write properly. So he helps the poindexter write a letter and in return, he gives him a friendship with so much love that it’s enough to last his whole life.

And in the dream, he spends so many days on the floor of his or the other boy’s bedroom tutoring him and teaching him all sorts of things. And they play with stray cats that come through the boy’s windows. And there’s so much peyoung yakisoba. And at the end of his dream, he’ll get to hold him at night, and he feels warm…

…until the warmth starts to feel wet too.

And suddenly he’s back in a junkyard, holding the boy he loves as he bleeds out.

Helpless and useless.

So he screams.

And after all that we’ve been through

There’s so much to look forward to

What was done and what said

Leave it all here in this bed with you

“Thank you,” Chifuyu whispers into the dark bedroom.

Takemichi gives him a confused look. “What for?”

Chifuyu draws patterns into Takemichi’s chest. Tonight is a good night.

“For saving me. I can’t even imagine what I was like in that first future. I probably didn’t have anyone to rely on, y’know. In Toman, I’ve only really been close to you…and well…y’know.” He doesn’t want to say it, lest he break the peaceful spell his mind has cast on him today.

Takemichi tightens his arm around Chifuyu. “Ah, well. You don’t have to thank me. I just did it to get out of my apartment. I’ve been stuck there like every future.”

Chifuyu chuckles, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s torso, and rests his head on his chest. He breathes in Takemichi’s body wash and the scent of lavender from their detergent, counting his heart beats.

He’s still here. He’s still alive.

Cherish him.

“Thank you for saving me, for saving all of us,” he whispers as he turns to look up in his beautiful blue eyes.

There’s a flash of sadness in Takemichi’s eyes, before it’s replaced quickly. He smiles softly, though it seems a bit forced around the edges.

“It’s the best damn thing I’ve ever done,” he whispers before planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

Baby you do it so well

You’ve been so understanding, you’ve been so good

And I’m putting you through more than one ever should

And I’m hating myself cause you don’t want to 

Admit that it hurts you

On the days after bad nights, Takemichi makes breakfast. He developed cooking skills at some point in this future, he tells Chifuyu.

But on those mornings, he can badly stomach anything so Takemichi will make him a smoothie and pack a light bento. He makes him fresh green tea that warms him up, and turns on the diffuser mixing eucalyptus and peppermint.

He kisses Chifuyu on the head, never on the lips. He gives him a tight hug and whispers “have a good day”, never I love you. He tries so hard to be a friend, like he knows he isn’t the one Chifuyu loves on those days.

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again

Over him

I know that it breaks your heart when I cry again

‘stead of ghostin’ him

They both have ghosts that haunt them.

Takemichi’s exists on high rise buildings, in truck crashes, and a building in another country with no ceilings.

There are nights that Takemichi wakes up screaming Hina’s name or Mikey’s name or Akkun’s name. There are even days where he screams Chifuyu’s. There are days where the pots will bang together and Takemichi will collapse in fear. Takemichi avoids fires, loud noises, and lives his life as if he’s apologizing for living.

On the rare occasions he’s opened up to Chifuyu about those other futures, they’re usually about the first one, the one before he ever time-leaped. He opens up about how pathetic he was and how he was always apologizing.

And even though he’s a lot more sure than the man-boy in his stories, Chifuyu can’t help but think that old habits die hard.

We’ll get through this, we’ll get past this

I’m a girl with...a whole lotta baggage

But I love you, we’ll get past this

I’m a girl with...a whole lotta baggage

Takemichi takes care of Chifuyu so well, it almost seems like he’s apologizing.

For Baji, for not being Baji, for not being able to time-leap again to save him.

For being here when he feels he shouldn’t be.

He doesn’t ask, but he can suspect that there was a future where things went really bad for him and Takemichi feels responsible.

He doesn’t ask, because Takemichi won’t tell him the truth.

That this relationship is all just one big apology. That Takemichi’s love for him is just one big savior complex. That all of this is out of a sense of responsibility.

[moonknightly]

bittersweet & delicate : modern! poe x reader

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: kes dameron is a dilf

Warnings: i think i said a bad word

Poe’s never been good with silence. He’s always been a loud person with a roaring personality to match, full of charm and charisma that he’d learned from his father. He’s always talking, always spewing stories and telling jokes to the people around him, and in the rare moment’s when he's verbally silent, you know that his mind is racing with ideas and memories replaying through his head.

But now, he’s just quiet. So quiet you’re beginning to worry about him. He’s sitting completely still at the island with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, and you’re leaning against the counter opposite of him, watching him closely, your eyes never straying from his face, just like his never moved from the small yellow envelope in front of him.

He’s been staring at that envelope all afternoon.  

You know what’s in it. You know why he’s quiet, why he can’t do anything but stare.

You know he’s waiting to open it until Kes gets there, but part of you wonders if he’d even be able to do it without him. He’s not ready.

He’s scared.

Fear — another bullet point on the list of things he’s never been good with. It makes him shut down, makes him forget to take care of himself until it passes or until he buries it down far enough to ignore.

But he has you, and if you can do anything, you can take care of him.

You know he hasn’t eaten, there aren’t any dishes in the dishwasher and you’d just unloaded it that morning. You honestly can’t remember if you’ve even seen him drink anything.

So that’s what you grab first. You slide the glass of water across the counter towards him, and he glances at it briefly before looking up at you with appreciation evident in his eyes. He takes it and raises it to his lips, finishing the whole thing in just a few seconds. You immediately pour him another glass, then silently move around the kitchen, trying to figure out what you can cook from what you have on hand.

You decide on some soup and a grilled cheese — simple, easy, comforting and fit for the occasion as well as the cold and snow outside. He finishes the soup first, and though he only eats half of the sandwich, that’s good enough for you.

“Thank you,” he mumbles once he’s finished, and he stands to clear his dishes but you grab them before he can, kissing his cheek in the process.

His cheeks turn a little pink like they always do, and you’re happy to see that even in his current state, your kiss can still make him blush.

“No problem, sweet boy.”

Poe smiles. He fidgets in his seat, and you can tell by the expression on his face that he feels awkward and unsure. Two more things he’s unfamiliar with. You leave his dishes in the sink to worry about later, then move to sit next to him.

You take his hand in yours and immediately notice that his fingers are slippery, covered in sweat but you don’t even flinch. You lean forward and kiss the tip of his nose this time, and the way that he scrunches his face makes your chest bloom.

“You doing okay?” you ask, though it seems a little redundant.

He shrugs his shoulders gently, takes a deep breath and sits up a little straighter. That tells you more than enough — he’s trying to make sure you don’t worry about him, he wants to appear like he’s held together by more than a few frayed threads.

“Just a little stressed out baby.”

“Liar.”

Poe sighs and shrugs again. He’s quiet for a moment, and when he does decide to speak, his voice waivers.

“I just...what if this isn’t it?”

Your arms are immediately around him, your hand on his head so you can cradle him against your chest. He lets you hold him, but doesn’t give you a chance to speak.

“The crash was over twenty years ago, there’s no way-”

He’s interrupted by a knock on your front door, and neither of you get up to answer it. You know it’s just Kes, and Kes knows he can just walk inside. He’s early, and Poe’s face falls. He’s not ready.

But again, you don’t think he ever will be. Even with Kes there to help him through it, even with you.

You listen as Kes kicks his shoes off in the hallway and hangs his jacket up on a hook. He sighs, and it’s quiet for a few seconds before you hear his footsteps walking towards you. He’s nervous too, you could feel it the second he walked through the door.

It’s warranted.

He takes a seat next to his son, his eyes fixating on the envelope sitting in front of him, just like Poe’s.

It still catches you off guard sometimes, how insanely alike the two Dameron’s look, how they share so many of the same mannerisms. Their smile is the same, their laugh is the same. They both rub the back of their neck when they’re embarrassed, and their cheeks turn the subtlest shade of pink.

They both have beautiful, breathtaking brown eyes, but you’ve seen pictures and know that Poe’s are one hundred percent Shara’s.

You know that Kes thinks the same every single time he looks at his son, because he gets this look in his eyes that’s so tender and warm or, depending on the day, far off and distant and sad.

Right now, it’s the sadness that prevails.

Kes sighs and shakes his head just a little bit. He runs a hand through his hair and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose before lightly touching Poe’s shoulder, offering him support and reassurance, but you know Kes needs the contact for himself too. His hand is shaking.

“You okay kiddo?” he asks quietly, clearing his throat a little bit to hide the way it cracks.

You notice, but Poe doesn’t seem to. He only gives his father the same shrug he gave you, but he doesn’t look at him. He just keeps his eyes on the envelope.

Kes sighs again, and you bite your bottom lip, unsure if you should leave the two of them alone so they can have this moment together or if you should excuse yourself into another room. Kes glances towards you, almost like he can sense what you’re thinking — you’d always been close with him. He shakes his head, silently asking you to stay. You nod once.

Another round of silence takes over the room, with Poe still staring at the envelope and both you and Kes staring at him. Again, it’s Kes who breaks the silence.

“Do you want me to do it?”

Poe stays completely still, completely quiet. For a moment, you’re not sure he even heard his father’s question, but he finally shakes his head and reaches forward. His hands are shaking too.

He takes the envelope and turns it over his hands a couple of times, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he prepares himself to open it. Kes keeps his hand on Poe’s arm, and you gently start to play with the hair at the nape of his neck — something you know Shara used to do to calm him down.

“Poe we don’t have to do this right now,” you remind him, your voice as gentle as you could possibly make it.

“No,” he answers immediately after, shaking his head hastily. “No, I don’t wanna wait any longer.”

He tears the envelope open before you and Kes can even blink. He hesitates again, for just a moment before reaching inside and grabbing a small card, a short message scribbled across it in messy handwriting. He passes it to his father, who also has no interest in reading it just then. They just want to see what else is inside.

Poe reaches back in and pulls out a clear plastic bag, but his fingers are hiding whatever sits inside. He stops again, takes a few deep breaths, then slowly opens his fist.

That breath was pointless, because all of the air comes rushing from his lungs in a single second. Kes immediately turns and buries his face into his son’s neck, and you watch as his shoulders begin to shake.

Sitting in Poe’s palm is a simple yet beautiful silver ring, one that you’ve only seen in pictures but instantly recognize. It’s unmistakingly Shara’s — no one had to look at the engraving to know for sure. It’s hers, without a single doubt it’s hers.

“Oh my God,” Kes breathes, picking his head back up to look at it again, almost like he’s making sure it’s still there. “Fuck.”

Poe’s still so quiet, just staring at the ring in his hand, completely entranced by it. You wipe at the tears running down your cheeks, then hug him again, kissing the top of his head over and over.

He brings it closer to his face, wanting to get a better look at the ring he hasn’t seen in over twenty years, the ring he used to play with when he was a small boy and couldn’t sleep at night. He’s told you the story before, so many times.

Shara would slip it onto a chain for him whenever he’d wake up from a nightmare. Whenever he was scared of the monsters hiding under his bed or whenever there was a storm raging on outside, she’d clasp it around his neck to wear for the night. She’d promise him that it would keep him safe, protect him from all of the bad and bring him peace, make him feel at ease enough to rest. It always worked.

He still has the chain, he’s worn it every single day since he was eight years old, but the ring had gone down with Shara, buried in the sand along with the remnants of her broken and charred plane. Kes had gone to look for it so many times after the crash, but he’d never been able to find it. The only thing he’d managed to bring back were burnt pieces of metal — a piece for him and Poe each that they both held onto with pride.

And so a month before, when Poe got an email from a man claiming to have found his mother’s ring while he was surveying the area with his metal detector, from a man who said he’d spent the last six months trying to track Poe or Kes down, he hadn’t believed it. It just didn’t seem possible.

But there it was, sitting in the palm of his hands. The man had even gotten it professionally cleaned.

All three of you sit there and just continue to stare at it, your emotions staying somewhere between disbelief and awe. You don’t know how much time passes before Poe finally shifts, holding the ring out to his father.

Kes takes it. He touches it so carefully, so gently, almost like it’ll break between his fingers. There’s still tears rolling down his cheeks, and you can’t tell if they’re happy or if they’re sad. You figure it’s somewhere in between.

“What are you going to do with it?” Poe asks quietly, his gaze flickering between the ring and the other man’s face.

Kes furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head. Ever since he found out that someone might have found the ring, there’s only been one thing on his mind, one option.

“What am I going to do with it? What are you going to do with it?”

Poe mirrors his father’s expression, and again you’re reminded of how eerily similar they are. “What do you mean? Dad, that’s yours.”

“It was your mother’s.”

“Yeah, and-”

“No.” Kes shakes his head again and reaches for Poe’s wrist. He flips his arm so he can set the ring back into his hand, then closes his son’s fingers around the piece of jewelry. “She’d want you to hold onto it.”

His eyes flicker to you, for just a moment before he looks back at Poe.

“Find someone to give it to one day or something.”

Poe’s quiet again, for almost a minute before he finally speaks again, his voice quiet, almost timid. “Are you sure?”

Kes nods, a small smile playing at his lips. He squeezes Poe’s wrist before letting go.

“Positive kiddo.”

Poe nods too, but he still really only stares, not sure if he wants to cry or smile.  

“I can put it on your chain, if you want,” you offer, already moving to unclasp it from around his neck.

That elicits a smile from him, but you’re too distracted to notice.

So distracted trying to get the chain undone, you also miss the look he shares with his father in that moment.

There’s only one thing on his mind, one option.

That ring, his mother’s ring belongs with you.

Now he just has to find the right moment to give it to you.

[a-cluttered-gordon-freeman]

Unclouded Days, because I'm not an idiot and I definitely remembered this story exists, part 3.

Part 1 | Part 2

"If I wanted to have a family... I'd have it with Alyx... Or Barney... But for right now...."

Gordon looked up from his journal. Taking a glance at his clock, he noted the date and time. 6:37 a.m. on a cold Thursday, April 13.

It had been a whole 2 months since he last visited Alyx and Barney. Gordon could remember the chill of the incoming blizzard as he trudged through the snow, and he remembered the chill coming back home afterwards.

His cabin was a safe haven away from the chaos of the society he helped create. Gordon wanted nothing to do there. He wanted to be by himself, for all too long he had been surrounded by people and he couldn't stand it. He thoroughly enjoyed the moments spent being away from everyone, where he was on his own, doing whatever. Nobody would boss him about. He wouldn't have to fight.

Barney had brought up a good point, but by accident. Gordon had mocked Barney by making such claims as having a family. And with Barney asking if he had one, Gordon spent long nights thinking about it.

No, he didn't have one, but Gordon couldn't deny that he had thought about having one, and having some kids of his own. He was still young enough to, but with whom? Barney would say yes, he and Gordon were always intimate with each other and would be asked constantly at Black Mesa when they'd marry. But it'd rule out children, as niether of them could reproduce with each other. Alyx would be uncertain about getting married, probably, mostly because she didn't know to the fullest what it meant. And niether of them felt a strong attraction towards each other, so would it even be considered a real loving relationship?

Gordon took another look at the clock. 7:15 a.m.. Temperature dropped a few degrees in the cabin. He sighed.

Another night wasted.

Closing the journal, Gordon stood up and stretched before opening the window to let it the sun and some fresh air. He stared outside, some animals crossing in and out of his vision, the leaves from last fall stuck down under the remaining snow. It was cold out, but the kind of cold one craved for in the spring. A nice and peaceful morning with a slight chill, the forestry just now waking up with snow melting around, providing nutrients to the life nearby.

He felt tired. Not unusual, as he lost quite a bit of sleep since that week in February. But Gordon couldn't fall asleep.

It was the entire point of that journal. To write his thoughts until he felt as though he could sleep. Some nights he considered heading back over to Eli and Kliener, maybe chat a bit. But being 40-something miles away would mean he'd arrive there sometime by noon. Other nights he considered working on some projects he laid out. But that would mean Gordon would have to turn on the other lights- all that artificial light would keep him up more than the red-light alarm he used to write in his journal. More often than not Gordon would just sit at his desk, writing away from 8 in the evening to 7 in the morning. The rare nights were when he didn't write in his journal, but instead bathed in the pitch black darkness.

Writing in the journal helped though. Gordon wouldn't have to worry about making sense to anyone, as long as it made enough sense to him. No need to appropriate a sentence, give it structure. It was a place where he could write what he was feeling, with no worry of harming anyone else.

Though sometimes Gordon wished he could actually tell someone, get advice or some help. It would have been useful as hell for him.

To ask for help gave Gordon the feeling of uselessness, a feeling he had been trying to avoid hard. To be told to do a thing gave him a purpose. So he did things that made him feel useful- took care of alien enemies for those that couldn't, provided backup to those who could, saved humanity, rebuilt society. Gordon did it all. There was no way he was going to ask anyone for help. He'd feel guilty as hell.

Gordon decided that he was done thinking such thoughts. And he had also decided that he would relax with a nice, warm shower, taking some time to ease off some stress.

Silence had been filling the lab. It was as if quiet things could become quieter, if it didn't make sound then it would start making other things stop making sound.

Alyx and Barney found it uncomfortable. The silence was deafening, and they could hear their thoughts much too clearly. It also provided a sort of laziness, a feeling of boredom, to the lab. A place once bustling with life and loud noises now only inhabited by two people with nothing better to do that they hadn't done forty times before.

"What if we went out of town for a bit?" Barney broke the silence, startling Alyx, who had been slowly falling asleep.

"What do you mean? To where?" She stretched.

"To Gordon's."

"I don't know, would he even like visitors right now? We have no way of asking him."

"Surprise visit?"

"We can't ask him, Barney! We've got no way to talk to him." Alyx rested her head on the table, letting out a drowsy sigh.

"I know where he lives." Barney said, causing Alyx to look over at him. "He had told me an approximation, he lives east near the giant trees."

"In the shack?"

"Yeah."

"Barney, thats forty miles away. We'd have to start early morning to arrive at his house with some daylight left. And besides, there is no way we'd be able to spend the night there, it has four rooms- a bathroom, a tiny bedroom, a kitchen and a main room."

Silence filled the lab once more. Alyx had a point, it was already too small for one person, much more with three. And there would be no way of confirming with Gordon if they could even get there- if anyone else saw them leave, and it would be a given that many people would see them leave, then Gordon's privacy would be violated by everyone else knowing where he lived.

It'd be rude to arrive uninvited, and unpleasant if he wasn't there or was too busy to let them in.

"Can't you talk to him?" Barney stared at Alyx, who sat up with exhaustion.

"How do you think I would be capable of that?"

"With that weird vort-connection-thingy you two have."

She took a moment to think. "I'm... Not entirely sure. I don't think I can."

"Should we ask a vortigaunt?"

Gordon finished dressing and took a seat on his bed. He was disappointed. His bath hadn't helped to relieve any stress whatsoever, instead he was convinced it added more and made it worse.

Which... Isn't good when you are a sleep-deprived physicist who has just been to a version of hell and back at one moment and wiping the enemy off the face of the planet.

His clock now read 9:00 a.m. exact. He could take a walk around the forest, or maybe cook up something.

Or, instead, he could lay in bed, the window open, the covers over him. Which is what Gordon did.

It made the annoying sleeplessness much worse but one could not deny the relaxing comfort it brought. And slowly, just so slowly, Gordon began to drift off to sleep.

"You can communicate feelings and pain without words, but you cannot talk to the Freeman directly." The vorts had answered, causing a sigh from Alyx and Barney.

"Well, then, fuck how are we supposed to get him now?" Barney huffed.

"We wait until he decides to come over." Alyx replied, getting up to go back to the lab.

"Have either of you decides to meet the Freeman yourselves?" A vort inquired, walking up to Alyx and Barney.

"No." The both of them responded.

"It'd be rude to walk up to his house uninvited, seeing as others could follow us." Alyx look over at the vortigaunts, who gave the appearance of understanding.

The two left the vortigaunts and returned to their eerily quiet lab, where boredom struck again.

Gordon shot up, panting hard. Beads of sweat trailed down his face, his heart and mind racing. He glanced at the clock.

5:21 p.m. on a now warm April 13.

Gordon took a second to calm down. He couldn't remember what had caused him to be so hyped up. Was it a nightmare? Bad memory?

What ever it was, it was gone now. Gordon could be thankful for that at least.

Chest still pounding, Gordon took a second to gain his bearings and calm down. He found it extremely difficult to do such on his own. As a result, he went out on a walk. He found it best to take in the nature, listen to the trees and wildlife.

As much as Gordon would have liked to hunt, a gun would raise back past feelings of fear, anger and pain that the Resonance Cascade and the Uprising caused. He couldn't stand to hold such a weapon nowadays, the only reason he'd have one anymore is for safety purposes. But even then, Gordon would much rather fight with a knife.

Bored with his little house and, unfortunately, the forestry around him, Gordon set out to the lab. It was best for an escape, as he wasn't feeling all that great by himself.

It was daybreak by the time Gordon arrived at White Forest. He had taken some time to visit Eli and Kleiner, and had also gone for a bit of shopping in the main town. Once done with that,he made his way to the lab.

"Hey Barney."

Barney turned around and was greeted by Gordon.

"Gordon?"

"Yeah, I'd hope so. How have things been?"

Barney smiled. "Its been good. And you?"

"...not good." Gordon sighed and looked down a bit. "Haven't been getting good rest."

"Would you like to spend a few more nights here? At the lab with Alyx and I?"

"Yeah... I'd appreciate that thanks..."

Barney took Gordon's hand and led him to the lab, where Alyx greeted them both with an excited smile.

Gordon got set up in his old room again. Sitting upon his bed, he stared at the ceiling in silent contemplation. Closing his eyes, he began to silently cry, for no reason he could find.

When Alyx stepped into the room, she caught a glance of the tired and teary-eyed man. She took that as a moment to sit next to him and offer weak support.

Gordon glanced over to her and wiped off his eyes. "S-sorry..." he muttered weakly, his voice shaky as hell.

Alyx smiled. "No need to be sorry. Just let it all out."

END OF PART 3

---------

Heyo! Its yours true. I need help to try to make it towards the end by offerring your support for the story and reblogging/asking more about it/ messaging me! Rb>likes, and the reblogs offer me more motivation to continue writing the stories, and same would go for my ravenholm comics, that you can read at @returntoravenholm-awgag ! I'd appreciate all the support I can get from anyone! Thank you!

-marc

[oasislake76]

I’m hooked on Adam!Dream at the moment so bare with me.

Baby Dream was drastically very different from Levin and Malachi, really any baby to be honest. He’d learn and pick things up much more faster then physically possible. A big indicator that Dream wasn’t human but no one really thought to check into that particular vein of possibility. Apart from his eyes which glowed a lot like Herobrine, Sparklez, and Sky’s he had pupils which almost turned white sometimes. Though only when stressful.

Other things like magical abilities came way quicker then anyone was anticipating. The way everyone found out Dream had possessed some kind of magic was when Mitch, who was babysitting for Sky, had came in to wake Dream up for a nap. Only to freeze in fear as his eyes landed on an empty crib only to look up to see Dream floating in his sleep, still cradled in his blanket just like Mitch left him. It took everything in Mitch’s body not to scream or start yelling in general out of fear and he had to leave the room to go call Seto. He greeted Sky over face call that night with “So your kid can fucking fly-“

Dream teethed on everything and i mean everything. Rings, shoes, toys, clothing, anything his grubby hands could get on. It’s one of the few traits that stuck with him all through out his life. Even know he subconsciously chews on metal necklaces or hard crystals that are sewn into his royal clothing. It’s a nervous tick he’d gotten from Puffy who chewed on her fingers or mouthed on her ear when deep thinking. It was also the one thing that would 100% keep him occupied for hours on end. Though in the end it caused his jaw strength to be wildly strong and both Levin and Malachi still have exact bite marks when they taunted Dream a little to harshly for the blondes liking. Biting is also another way he shows affection so its not uncommon to see Dream flounce over to an older Admin he apprenticed under or one of his friends in the academy and gently bite and tug and their clothes with his teeth.

Head bumping is another affectionate thing he picked up. Though unlike a ram or sheep hybrid who just bump and go, Dream rubs his head/face into the other person. Humming and or giggling all the while. It became an inside joke with his graduation class and they all picked up on it. Some do it to show just general affection, others do it to get attention for a project or problem their on, and everyone uses it to greet each other. It makes Dream smile so soft and warm when he catches then others doing it and he can’t help to take a deep breath of the other person’s scent when they lean into him.

Despite being generally very loud and the type of person to fill up the room no matter the size, a thing Aphmau and Seto taught him in case he was caught by paparazzi anywhere when he didn’t have his mask on, Dream’s naturally silent. Just like a baby when he’s concentrating he damn well disappears. It proved to be very good talent when sneaking around the academy at night or just generally sneaking out of any room. Footsteps nonexistent even while running, in sneakers or barefoot it doesn’t matter though he hasn’t accomplished heels just yet. It scares everyone constantly because a lot of the times Dream doesn’t even mean to go silent. Just to caught up with lectures or watching his family give him demonstrations on things. It’s also very good for prank wars and both he and Brotato stay as an undefeated duo.

Though the two almost look nothing alike, Dream and Sky share almost every personal trait possible. Their laugh is one of the biggest shared traits. High and wheezy or soft chuckling it doesn’t matter, they’ve confused almost everyone in the Admin castle with their laughs. Talent in general is another thing. Unlike Sparklez and Herobrine who just go about their day to day with little to nothing new in their life, Sky and Dream have to constantly find something new or challenge themselves to do something better. It’s a constant back and forth with who can do so many games in a time span or just have as much fun as possible. Their talents range from competitive ice skating (Dream) to archery on dragonback (Sky) and there’s really nothing unturned between the two.

George and Sapnap only really became friends with Dream when they were a lot younger because their parents wanted or suggested they should. It wasn’t really known to the public, and even more so the rich socialist circles that gather every month for charities, what Dream looked like so a lot of them just assumed he was a baby cousin or an apprentice Admin under one of the cabinets when he got older. Even they still don’t know Dream is an Adams until when the server crumbled under corrupted code and they had to be taken to the Admin castle for decontamination. Once they were in the all clear Sky had swooped in, cape majestically flying behind him, and scooped up Dream in a hug who was still to frail and skinny for anyone’s liking. It really showed that George and Sapnap still viewed their level of friendship with Dream as an obligation more then anything else and that Dream knew yet still treated them like brothers.

Kirsten from the start adored Dream to pieces. Every time she was able to be out of the realm she was back at the castle. Never really putting down Dream from the moment she got there. Though it did cause stress between her and Phil and their son Wilbur. Kristen had obligations that needed her time at the castle so she could never really leave the grounds no more then for a few hours but Phil was always welcomed and could have brought Wilbur with him to come see her. Though the man never did. This causes Kristen to believe that their splitting without talking, even if its for a few months or even a thousand years because all three are immortal and time doesn’t hold against them, and so she focuses more on Dream. The boy unknowingly becoming the favorite child out of spite more then anything when Kristen learned that Phil adopted Techno and Tommy as well without telling her. The Angel just assuming she would want more kids and it would cause her to come to him then he going to her. This, of course, backfires drastically.

Sky and Kristen aren’t romantically together at all, much like Tubbo and Ranboo, their what the God’s collectively call it “platonically married”. Just without the rings and everything. Their main focus is on Dream, Kristen more then ever when she finds out Dream is her universal half being the God of Life, and nothing more. They do get odd looks from herobrine and Notch because the two don’t really understand. Everything could easily be misrepresented because Kristen has moved her belongings that stay in the castle into Sky’s room and the two share the same bed and bathroom. There’s no real good excuse why the two did it besides Kristen wanting to be closer to Dream, especially when the boys magic started being affected by his sleep and nightmares and Sky started struggling to contain it safely, but they really don’t care.

Nicknames are a big, and I mean big, thing in the Adams family. No one, not even new friends, get to leave the castle without one permanent nickname. Some only have like two or three while others could fill a whole phone book with names. It’s very rare their actual names are actually said inside the castle walls, Sparkles had to continue to correct himself for years since he was dream’s homeroom teacher till graduation, so it’s just natural for them. Which means when dream called Technoblade Bacon it was never an insult, it just slipped out and Dream naturally clung to the name as he hasn’t called anyone else by a nickname because he couldn’t with the way everything was going. Even Nightmare couldn’t hold his tongue down from continuously calling Techno Bacon while in the prison.

[cdyssey]

Need

Summary: After Nick arrives at the beach house, Frankie escapes to her studio to process her emotions. Post 7x04.

A/N: I've had such Grace and Frankie brain rot these past few days that I figured I should put it to good use and write another fic. It was really fascinating to try Frankie's POV. Lily Tomlin imbues her with a lot of subtle pathos that I totally wish the show would explicitly explore more.

AO3 Link

—

Frankie excuses herself to the studio for dinner, so she can process her very big, astonishingly inappropriate, and entirely overwhelming emotions without resorting to calling Nick a “wavy-haired, Pierce Brosnan wannabe douche canoe.” 

As delightful (and totally true) of a turn a phrase that it is, even she knows that saying it aloud would be trespassing a boundary that she’s sworn herself never to cross: Grace is married.

Unhappily married, maybe. 

Complicatedly married at the very least.

But until the day that they mutually say “I do” to divorce papers, there isn’t enough room for three people in the Skolka marriage, however much that Grace—bless her increasingly unthawing heart—tries to ensure otherwise. 

So Frankie lets the newly reunited couple have their dinner alone under the guise of a generosity that she doesn’t exactly feel, and she takes leftover pasta into her studio to moodily pick around the bowl until her fettuccine looks less like fettuccine and more like unevenly perforated confetti.

(Woo fucking hoo.)

After a few minutes of this aggressively unconstructive practice, she places her nearly full bowl on a nearby work table and stretches out across her paint-stained couch, staring at the ceiling and resisting the reactionary urge to light a joint. Mary J might help her feel better for the present moment, but tomorrow morning, she’d still wake up and feel invaded in her own home.

Paradoxically, she’d also feel alone, goddammit.

She pulls her shawl more tightly around her shoulders against an invisible and piercing chill.

Frankie hates feeling lonely.

She spiraled when Grace lived in the penthouse. She nearly self-destructed to fill the gaping void that her roommate, her friend, her practical and beloved soulmate left behind. There was a period where she didn’t wash her clothes and ate a lot of admittedly non-vegan takeout. There were nights when she’d lay awake in her awfully huge bed, staring at the empty space where Sol used to sleep, and have the familiar waking nightmare of spending her final years in forced solitude. She was happy with Jack, and then Jacob—sweet Jacob—came around too, and she did something she still feels fucking ashamed about: she hurt both of them, and she lied when she said that she had just wanted to have some fun.

She knows herself.

Intimately.

She‘d been scared of being alone again, so she tried to hold on to two people who were helping her to stave the awful feeling away. Those men wanted her, and Frankie used them. They wanted her, and she pathologically loves to feel wanted because she sometimes and irrationally fears that she might not be needed.

To be fair to her irrational fears, all the people she’s ever needed and felt needed by have hurt her before.

Sol cheated on her for twenty years.

Her own sons stuck her in a nursing home.

Grace just fucking left her.

She eloped in Vegas like a blushing twenty-one year old bride and just disappeared.

She says it was a mistake; she sat across Frankie in a sunlit restaurant and candidly told her that she didn’t like the person she had become when she married Nick.

And to be completely fair to her, Grace has been adamant about not wanting to leave again—so perhaps she never will—but if her husband is here to stay, it's also a distinct possibility that she’ll never have to make the choice to physically leave to… well… leave.

She can perpetually honeymoon with Nick and still call Frankie home. 

It could be a happy ending for Grace… and a fresh new hell for Frankie, who'd just started to feel secure again.

God knows she wants her best friend to be happy, but the big man in the sky must also surely understand that she had hoped that she alone could be enough for Grace, that this unconventional life spent together in the beach house—so crazy, so weird, and so inextricably entangled—would be their shared happily ever after.

But even as she thinks it, the vestiges of her clearly misplaced optimism begin to evade her, dregs now at the bottom of an already drained cup.

She and Grace aren't married.

It’s always been an objective fact.

Tonight, it feels more like an unpleasant reality.

When the door leading into her studio suddenly flies open, Frankie barely has enough time to swipe the back of her hand across her eyes before she sits up to find none other than the lady of the hour.

Her collared shirt popped up stiffly around her neck, a martini glass surgically glued to her right hand, Grace looks quintessentially herself as she walks in, even down to the minutiae of her trademark I'm-angry-at-the-world-and-everyone-in-it expression—brow furrowed and eyes Medusa cold. After all but slamming the door, she stalks over within a few clicks of her practical but unmistakably high heels.

“Well, hello to you, too, Sunshine,” Frankie greets wryly, hoping to hell and back that her face isn’t as red as it feels. 

It’s a tall order, though.

Alas, she was gifted (or equally cursed) with an exceptionally expressive face.

“Frankie, this is nonsense,” Grace says bluntly, using her martini glass like a pointer and leveling it straight at her head. “Come back to the house—your house—and have dinner with us.”

It’s the authoritarian nature of the demand that rifles Frankie.

Frankly, it pisses her off.

She’s always been a rebel contrarian.

“And by us, you mean you and your house arrested husband, right?” She returns evenly. She betrays herself by raising a single and devastatingly skeptical brow. “The man with whom you should be having a very emotionally honest conversation with right now about the parameters of your jacked up relationship?”

Grace shifts her weight from heel to heel and glances away a little too quickly for the gesture to be entirely natural. Frankie had blatantly stricken a pulsing nerve, and the guilt of doing so immediately swallows her. 

She shouldn’t be so hard on her friend.

(She doesn’t know why it’s permissible to be equally hard on herself.)

“Well, I tried to have that conversation, thank you very much, but then I ended up wanting to claw Nick’s eyes out.” The obvious follow up question must shine in Frankie’s face because sighing infinitesimally through her nostrils, Grace adds, “His attorney argued that my advanced age and apparent capability to croak at any moment were reasons enough to grant Nick leniency. They let him out so he could take care of me—whatever the hell that means.”

Her no-nonsense voice never falters as she delivers the brutal words, but her eyes undermine her, seething with emotion, simply roiling. They tell a story of horror and disgust and searing, absolute betrayal; they’re heavy all over with sadness and the indelicate trappings of all her raw and mercilessly exposed fears. 

Frankie understands immediately.

Nick used one of Grace’s deepest insecurities as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Being eighty-two years old.

But perhaps more accurately, feeling like it.

“Oh, honey,” Frankie melts. She can do nothing else but melt, to be suddenly overcome with fierce, protective, and terrifying love for the woman in front of her. “That fucking bastard.”

Grace immediately laughs, the sound hoarse and watery and a little unhinged all at the exact same time.

“Tell me about it,” she half-smiles and takes the swearing as a rightful invitation to join Frankie on the couch. With a gentle clink, she sets her half-emptied martini glass on the table next to Frankie’s completely full pasta bowl. “I said the exact same thing.”

When she chooses to sit close enough that their shoulders are brushing, Frankie intuitively knows that this is petty defiance against Nick for daring to intrude upon them and the world they've so carefully created together.

She temples Grace’s nearest hand with her own in an attempt to silently communicate that this right here—whatever this is between them—is love.

“So, please”—Grace squeezes her hand back—“please don’t be angry with me… I… I didn’t want this. You know I didn’t want this. I don’t want him to even be here.”

Frankie stares openly at her best friend.

Wide-eyed and hopeful against her self-loathing, self-centered will, she searches her broken face like it's revelatory.

It's stunningly rare that Grace Hanson ever articulates her wants so clearly. Forty years of an emotionally repressive marriage did their number and toll on her. She pedestalized rigid decorum over every conscious desire. 

She played by the rules even if they hurt her.

And drank herself to oblivion on many a night to forget the very fact that she was hurt.

To deny herself the honesty she’d somehow convinced herself that she didn’t deserve.

“… you know this is your husband we’re talking about here, right?” It’s a rhetorical question. Frankie's pretty sure that they both fucking know that it’s insane that this conversation—that this entire situation as a whole—is happening. 

“I know,” Grace replies firmly. “Believe me, I'm well aware. But you’re… you’re my partner, Frankie, and if I can’t be upfront with you, then I don’t know who else I can turn to.”

The very word partner sends shivers down her spine, and the shivers collect like butterflies in her already churning belly.

It’s just a word, she tells herself. 

She scolds.

Grace doesn’t mean anything by it.

It's a label, and Grace doesn't do labels anymore.

“I... I wasn’t mad at you, Grace,” she finally admits. It's easier to do than questioning the extent to which her roommate would give up the world for her, but all the same, her voice is frighteningly weak, a pale imitation of everything Frankie usually projects herself to be: confident, cheerful, unshakeable, unshaken. Suddenly, it hits her that it’s been a very long time since she’s been so openly vulnerable, too. “I'm not even really all that mad at your jailbird husband either. I was just scared, and when I get scared, I skitter like a nervous little bug."

She shuts down.

She spirals.

She tries to put a smile on her face for the people who love her all the same.

And then she lies awake at night, drowning in the sheets of an empty bed.

Thinking about how she should probably tell someone that everything hurts.

But she’s Frankie, and she doesn’t do that.

Grace perpetually convinces herself that she doesn’t deserve honesty; Frankie has come to fear that no one wants her own.

“Were you scared of me?” Grace asks quietly, her grip so tight now that it almost stings.

“Frankie…” She presses when a few heartbeats of silence stagger by, limping painfully on all fours, pronouncing so many unspoken and profound hurts. 

“Of losing you, Grace,” she confesses, the words defeated and scraped raw. She forcefully tugs her hand away from Grace's just to temple her own hands together on her lap, to lick her sundry and shining wounds in a private corner. “I was scared of losing you, of being alone again in this big, empty house… and I don’t like being alone.”

She can’t bear to look at Grace as she says it, staring at the paint-flecked floor without ever really seeing it, her eyes burning.

She wishes they’d stop burning but feels the precise moment when they begin to leak anyway.

It’s all so embarrassing.

And childish.

Frankie is an eighty-year old woman, and she shouldn’t be upset over her best friend having a goddamn life.

She should be happy for her, fucking ecstatic.

And yet, she's—

But before she can complete the miserable thought, her body becomes aware of another sensation entirely—warm arms enveloping her from the side and inexorably pulling her in, turning the space that once existed between two bodies—between them—intangible, negligible.

Grace.

Shock turns into realization, and realization transforms into aching, sweeping relief.

It can only be Grace.

Grace’s soft lips pressed to her cheek.

Grace’s fingertips curling into the fabric of her dress.

Grace’s nose against her neck as she slides her sharp chin across her shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you, Frances Bergstein,” she declares. “Whatever happens between me and Nick, in the end, it’s going to be just you and me in this house that is our damn home. I swear that to you. I’d tell you every day just to prove it to you.”

Oh, these words.

These beautiful, tender, and long-needed-to-hear words.

They’re just words, she could tell herself again.

She could lie.

She could convince herself if she had to.

She could conveniently forget that Grace Hanson uses language carefully, that she employs every sentence with scalpel-like precision.

Or... more complicatedly still... Frankie could believe her.

Frankie could blindly accept these words for what they are, as manifest confirmation that she is loved by another—prioritized and cared for and needed.

She could be Grace’s partner and let that incredible word be electrically charged with so many complex and ridiculous and extraordinary ideas, none of which are traditional, and all of which feel true.

She could believe in her even if belief is not simple, even if belief is a product, first and foremost, of trust.

And Grace has certainly lost her trust before, but goddammit, she's earned it so many times, too.

“Oh, God,” Frankie laughs in such a way that it’s stupidly clear that she’s crying as Grace rubs slow circles into her back with her thumb. “This is all messed up. You’re the one with a house arrested, tax evading husband. I should be the one comforting you.”

“The house arrested, tax evading husband doesn’t particularly faze me,” Grace chuckles, her voice low. “Seeing you hurting and upset does. My priorities are remarkably straight.”

“I’m not sure you know the meaning of that word,” she smiles weakly as they slowly and clumsily begin to extricate themselves from their tangled embrace. 

It’s hard to find themselves again.

To be apart.

“But I do,” Grace protests, emphatic and indignant and maybe even a few shades righteously pissed. “You’re the person I wanna share this crazy life with at the end of the day and every day. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because every day is an incredibly long time to be with me,” Frankie offers meekly, giving her one more perfect and easily acceptable copout, a neatly packaged excuse. 

She can be too much.

She knows this.

“It’s just the right amount of time to be with you,” Grace murmurs, reaching up to brush an errant tear away from Frankie’s cheek, her thumb lingering, her quivering palm. “You’re kind enough to love me, and I’m lucky enough to be loved by you... so let me return the favor, Frankie. Let me be here for you."

And to Grace’s credit in this fleeting moment, she continues to hold Frankie.

It's a promise to never let her go.

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Batboys x Cosplayer!reader (preference)

Requested by the great @middevil465​: Batboys dating a cosplayer,but downside is that they have to put up with their sewing at 2am

Dick: 

Okay so this boy will be your biggest fanboy

ESPECIALLY if you cosplay him as Nightwing

(Not to be kinky on main, but depending on how..uhm... showing... the costume is he might get a bit frisky if ya know what I mean)

He wants to help as much as possible

You have to finish sewing that cape, but your wig isn’t styled yet? Don’t worry, Dick has enough expirence from his long hair phase to take care of that for you!

You want to cosplay a certain hero (or villain), but can’t fid that specific item that would make the cosplay perfect (maybe a weapon, a mask, etc.)? Dick might or might not steal borrow said item from the original hero for you (of course he gives it back after you had a photoshoot or something similar and he always feels a bit bad for the hero (not for the villains tho))

Now to the “downsides”

Dick, unlike some of his siblings, actually rather enjoys sleep

“I need my beauty sleep, all this perfection doesn’t come from nothing”

And he is honestly torn

He loves and supports you so so so much and he understands that you can be your most productive around the nighttimes, but he just came back from like two to three hours of patrol after a whole day of working at the police station and he honestly just want to sleeeeeeeeeeeep

So he finds a comprimise and fucking sound isolates the room your sewing in

It’s a win-win if we think about it and you probably would go as far as to just completely take over the room to make it your own little cosplay studio 

Everyone sleeps is happy 

Jason:

Jason is a whole ass hurricane 

Don’t misunderstand me, he loves your hobby and he thinks it’s cool, but how excited he is depends on who exactly you cosplay

Him? Amazing, showstopping, great, breathtaking, nothing more amazing ever happened in this triste gray world before that

Robin (also slightly depending on which incarnation)? Cute, want to cuddle, 9/10 would do again

Batman? “That looks nice babe, you can take it off now” (Please don’t wear a more feminine toned (or just in general reaveling if you’re not female) batman cosplay. Jason is not ready for that amount of daddy issues) 

Someone like Harley, Ivy, Selina? Hell, even penguine or Riddler? He digs it for some reason and he might even show the respective rouge a picture of the cosplay (if he knows that it’s not possible to identify you).

They all love it, possible have a little fanclub

You cosplay as any other hero? Depending on how much of a little fangirl Jason is he will be really exsited and happy with you

Now, if you, for some unknown reason like losing your brain, because quite honestly that’s what it would take for me, decide to cosplay the Joker...

Welp, you’re single now... Sorry not sorry, but Jason is not okay with that

But that’s just a real extreme so let’s get away from that again, shall we?

Jason is used to being kept awake at night, be it from his thoughts or his nightmares (Housten, we’re sinking to deep)

So when he comes home from patrol around 2/3 a.m. and finds you sitting in the living room or the bedroom on your sewing machine (a gift from Bruce so state of the art technology and relativly silent, BUT NOT SILENT ENOUGH) 

He just sighs

He might just sit down beside you and watch or chat a bit or, if he feels a bit more touchy, stand beside you and braide your hair 

When you’re finished he’ll pick you up and cuddle with you in bed, trapping you effectivly for the next 8 to 10 hours

Tim: 

Did someone say couple cosplay? Because Yes. Yes you do

It isn’t that Tim ever really thought of doing cosplay or plans to use his rare free time to do it, but as soon as seing you cosplay literally anyone, he’s sold

He is a gigantic fanboy, has you cosplaying him (not Red Robin, just Tim) as his lock screen and you cosplaying Red Robin as his home screen

He’s not sure what it is, but one day he’s just sitting at his computer doing Wayne Inc. stuff when you send him a picture of you cosplaying someone and just has a metaphorical lightbulb over his head

He sneakily finds out who you will cosplay next and luckily for him it’s Zelda 

He puts everything in order and the day you want to test the cosplay out, see if everything goes together and you can pull it off, a wild Link appears

He did one hell of a job for his first cosplay (he might have had Wayne Inc. designers for the upcoming clothing line do it, but who cares amiright?) 

After that it’s kind of a tradition that once in a while the two of you pull off a couple cosplay and it’s the cutest thing ever

The highlight was when you cosplayed Batman and Catwoman on a (private) halloween party, just with the catch that you had it gender bend so Catman and Batwoman (not the Batwoman-Batwoman, but y’know what I mean), not breaking the character to the amusement of everyone present (excpet maybe Bruce who acts annoyed, but kinda thinks it’s funny)

So now to the nights

contrary to popular belief I do think Tim sleeps more than an hour or two at times

Maybe not in a healthy rythm or with any logic behind it, but he does 

Mostly

Just not nights for the most part, it’s mostly in the afternoon after a few hours at Wayne Inc, or the homeoffice or college (depending on which Tim!state we’re thinking off) and before Patrol

so when he comes home to find you sewing he’s actually rather happy

He won’t let you go to bed after you’re finished until you’re really tired or if you have something important the next day

You will watch a movie or do something stupid or even go out and see what Gotham city can give you around 3 a.m. (of course with a hidden weapon on tim’s part and him not letting you out of sight) 

Those nights are his favorite

Damian: 

Damian, like so many things, doesn’t quite understand

What’s the appeal of dressing yourself like someone you’re not?

Why do you wear fake hair?

He also doesn’t seem to see any connection between him dressing up every DAMN NIGHT 

It’s two completely different situations for him

It’s not like he does anything against that hobby of yours, but at least at the beginning he just keeps out of it 

That most likely will change if you ever decide to cosplay him (as Robin) 

If he comes to visit you after school at your place and he walks into your room (given your parents opened the front door for you) seeing you in a surprisingly good replica of his costume?

Bby boy is sold

The better the replica looks the quicker he is to fuzz over it

After that he kinda sees the point behind it (or not, but he supports it now and wants you to have even better, more detailed, costumes)

He’ll get you so much stuff

You want to cosplay someone, but the only wig you have that fits is a bit too long?

Well hillerihoo, you got a new one that fits perfectly and is almost life-like now

Don’t ever mention that you don’t feel comfortable with him spending so much money for you, because he won’t stop

He’ll find his ways to spoil you, believe me

quick interruption before we go to the night part:

If you’re Damian’s GF, you’re most likely bound to be good friends with Jon

So it’s only a question of time until he asks you to cosplay him

If you do he’ll be excited like a puppy you just gave a treat while Damian will pout

A lot

And I mean A LOT

You’ll either have to suffer through a few days of pouty Damian or you make an even better Cosplay of him (as Robin) or Batman (both works for him since he sees himself as the future Batman already)

That’ll make him happy again

Now to the night-part

Okay so let’s assume we’re talking about Teen!Damian (obviously also Teen!reader!!!) 

You two won’t be living together so that won’t be a problem and since you’re living with y’alls parents and I will assume they won’t be happy about you sewing at 2 a.m.

Also, Damian will offer to have people make the costumes for you, but he will let that go if you tell him that making the costumes is a big part about all that, the part that makes it so amazing

IF we’re talking about grown up!Damian and Reader and the two of you live together, it’ll be a lot similair to Dick (in as he get’s you your own little cosplay studio) so that he won’t be kept awake by it

but somedays he’s more like Jason and will stay up with you and to keep you company during these creative sessions