#can’t imagine that I was so depressed when I was young that I wanted to die before I was aware of life

[yurious-george]

Things that knock sense back into you

[sukirichi]

WHEN I SEE YOU AGAIN | G. SATORU x READER

You’ve been pretending not to see ghosts your whole life in order to blend in perfectly, but you can’t ignore the cute ghost with a bright smile standing in front of your door.

cw. ghost! gojo. fem! reader. minimal fluff. graphic depictions of murder. angst. hurt no comfort. mentions of grief. mentions of being under the influence (alcohol and drugs.) characters with depression. unedited.

notes. wrote a lil something for gojo since it’s been a while since i wrote any jjk fics and i missed it :( also should i open requests again? i miss writing one shots lol

wc. 7k

You met him on the first night of winter.

Eager to get home after a long and tiring day at work, you blow hot air on your freezing palms to keep them warm before stuffing it deep in your coat pockets. The walk home was less than fifteen minutes, and you’ve always refused to buy a car because you enjoyed the journey and wanted to familiarize yourself more with the city. You previously lived in the outskirts, but after a phone call from the main department telling you you were promoted and had to transfer in the city, you found yourself packing up on the weekend and renting a cheap apartment.

Located in the middle of everything – convenience stores, medical facilities, popular bars, and a quaint looking flower shop with a cute florist – you thought your apartment was perfect. It was a little shabby, you had to admit. The plumbing didn’t work well and electricity got cut off at random times in the night that resulted in a headache because you couldn’t send that damn email, but the landlord offered an extremely cheap rent that you couldn’t refuse. Plus, it was only a few minutes walk from your office and your neighbors were peaceful.

Well, most of them anyway.

Your neighbors consisted of mostly old couples who were so silent and desolate that you often forgot they existed, your eyes widening whenever you saw an unfamiliar old lady walking and asking you how your day was before realizing, Oh, she’s Mrs. Oliver, I completely forgot. Save for the married couple who were always throwing pots and pans at each other because darn Ronald couldn’t put the toilet seat back down, your place was placid. The landlord was ecstatic when you saw her poster and inquired for a unit, muttering something about not getting enough tenants to keep the place going because of ‘a traumatic issue.’

You’d really rather not ask what it was.

Besides, you’ve never been curious enough of what the world has to offer, simply because you see things – or rather fragments of people – that you’d rather not see. Ever since you started seeing ghosts at a young age of four, people avoided you like the plague, calling you a ‘freak’ and whatnot. Your family soon moved away to a much smaller place in the city because they couldn’t handle seeing their child who often talked to ghosts and sat in corners alone while laughing by herself be criticized by others. They didn’t believe you, of course, often calling it a ‘lonely child’s imagination.’ They sent you to multiple therapists who always assured you that they would listen to whatever problems you were having to cause you to be this way.

Unfortunately for them, there wasn’t anything wrong with you. You weren’t lonely at all. You saw a dozen ghosts every day who were always ecstatic at finding out you could see them, and they were more than willing to interact. As a child, you always thought ghosts were more interesting than actual people because they had an unlimited amount of time to converse with you, and they have had so many experiences to share with you. 

When you grew older, however, you started to see yourself in other’s eyes, realization dawning on you that on social norms, you are, indeed, a freak.

Determined to fit in more and also sick of being faced with countless counselors who strongly believed you had a traumatic experience when your whole life has been nothing but bland and plain, you started ignoring them. It wasn’t easy at first, though. These ghosts have always kept you company while everyone gave you the side eye without knowing who you really were, and you admit you felt lonely in the beginning and a little guilty when they were convinced you couldn’t see them anymore.

You participated more in school activities and even joined a photography club in high school (you had to quit a month later because ghosts kept appearing on your photos, and you had to burn them in order not to freak anyone out) and with each baby step you took, you started to fit in more. The proud look your parents had on their faces when you had finally become ‘normal’ and even got an award for being an exemplary student was enough to keep you going on this journey, and you ignored the lonely spirits so hard that you eventually started seeing less and less of them.

Until now.

Standing in front of your door was a young man, his back awkwardly bent and long, beautiful fingers fiddling awkwardly with one another. He stood barefoot yet wore a comfy looking blue university hoodie and grey sweatpants, and his silver hair seemed shiny and healthy enough to  not consider him a homeless man who was lost and simply wandering. Tipping your head to the side, you rack your brain to remember if you had any neighbours like him. 

His head snaps in your direction. 

He is definitely not your neighbour. You would have remembered such a cute looking guy.

He had unnaturally ethereal futures, prominent cheekbones becoming more pronounced when you meet his eyes, and you blink to gain control over your body when you realize you’ve been staring too long than what would be considered acceptable. You don’t even deny you’ve been checking him out, although you do ignore the almost puppy-like way his eyes lit up at the sight of you, causing your heart to jump a little. Just a little. You also liked how his hair complimented perfectly with his pale skin – he seemed like an exact embodiment of winter. 

You walk forward, spinning your keys at the end of your pointer finger. Smiling at him politely, you paused in your tracks. He’d been blocking your door. “Hello, is there something I can help you with?”

No matter how cute he was, you wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose if he was a criminal.

His pretty hands come up to his face to cover his mouth falling open, and you take a step back when he does a little jump and starts laughing. “You can see me?”

“Uhm, yes,” you answer. “You’re blocking my door, so yeah, I can very much see you.”

As if realizing just now he stood in the way of you and your comfortable bed, who was calling out to you by now, he mutters a quick apology under his breath before stepping aside, a goofy grin remaining on his face and his childish behavior makes you scoff in amusement. He was still watching you even after you’ve unlocked your door, and you sigh at him. “Is there any reason you’re still standing outside my apartment, or should I call the police?”

Instead of looking worried like you expected him to, his smile only gets bigger. “Actually, I live here, well… I used to.”

You stare at him blankly with a slack expression on your face, watching as his features turn sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. Looking down on his bare feet, you mumble a curse under your breath when you realize he’s hovering. 

“Not again,” you say to yourself before placing a palm against your forehead. It’s been years since you last saw a ghost, why did you have to see them now out of all times? A new branch is opening up and your superiors have given you the project of making sure the launch goes well, and you didn’t really want a ghost bothering you with your biggest task of all time. You worked hard for this promotion, you didn’t want to take one step forward and two steps back. Glaring at the undeniably attractive ghost who still hovered in your doorway, you decided he wasn’t your problem. 

“Well, goodnight.”

You slam the door on him and trudge towards your bedroom, ignoring his “Wait!” as you unwrap the red scarf around your neck and plop on your bed almost lazily, moaning when your stiff muscles finally relax. The bed was so soft and warm because you’d left the heater on accidentally, and you’re about to be sent to dreamland when a voice beside you speaks up.

“You should take off your makeup before going to bed.”

Opening your eyes and coming face-to-face with the ghost who was resting his chin in both of his hands and laying on your bed, you grab a pillow and throw it at him, and he grins when the object goes past him completely. “Get out of my house, stop bothering me!”

“Technically, darling, this is still my house,” he tells you and starts sitting up before crossing his legs. “The unit was still named after me before you came.”

“Then why wasn’t I informed about that?”

“I was murdered here four years ago,” he deadpans, soft voice flitting into a murmur as he plays with his fingers again, refusing to look at you. “That’s why I never left. Judging from what you said earlier, you can see ghosts, and you know exactly why we’re still here.”

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you stumble over your words. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know and–”

“It’s quite alright,” he shrugs. 

Silence soon joins the two of you; the ghost playing with the ends of your blanket with a far-off look in his face while you study his features, and something tugs at your heart. The reason why ghosts remain here instead of passing on like they were supposed to was because it meant someone was still holding on to them and absolutely refused to let go, or if they had unfinished business that needed to be resolved before they could go in peace. You’ve met ghosts like him who were murdered, and all of them remained with a seething rage and insatiable need for revenge, unable to accept that there wasn’t much they could do in their state. 

As for the one sitting in your ghost, a small smile tugs at the end of his pink lips as he takes in your bedroom, amusement dancing in his eyes at the amount of stuffed animals you had and some framed photos of you as a child. 

“You decorate much better than me, and you’re a lot more organized, too. This place was such a mess back when I was still alive.”

There was an unmissable hint of sadness behind his voice, and you can’t help but ask his name. “I’m Satoru,” he grins, “and for the record, I’ve always been here, just floating through time and space, but not the afterworld yet. For some reason, ever since you arrived, I just appeared back where I left off.”

You nod and take in his words, noticing how he clears his throat and sends a sheepish look your way. “If it’s not too much of a bother, can I ask for your help?”

“What is it?”

He stands up and heads toward your desk, although you supposed it was his since the furniture had already been here before you came. You didn’t think too much about it back then and only felt grateful that you had one less piece of furniture to buy, especially since it was empty. Apparently not, because Satoru keeps digging around through your files with his tongue peeking out his lips, and you vaguely recall that ghosts are able to touch things after feeding off of energy from living beings.

Letting out an ‘aha!’ when his hand finally lands on what he’s looking for, he tenderly places a photo on your outstretched palm with a shy smile. Inside the photo was a beautiful man, probably in his mid twenties, his hair up in a messy bun as he grinned at the camera. Beside him, Satoru’s eyes are closed with his head thrown back in laughter, relishing the feeling of that warm sunny day, and you unconsciously frown at it.

“His name’s Suguru,” he began, his eyes turning glossy at the sight of the polaroid. “He was my best friend before I died.”

Pursing your lips and feeling the tension thicken the room, you ask him, “Why are you telling me this?”

“He’s the reason why I can’t go,” he admits, shoulders dropping while his eyes remain trained on her. “He blames himself for everything and refuses to accept that I’m gone, that’s why I’m still here.”

You remain silent and take a deep breath, your head pounding at the situation. It was a beautiful first night of winter, the perfect weather for you to do your work from home while nestling a cup of hot cocoa in your hands, yet it seems your plans changed and you have to help this ghost out. A part of you wants to reach out and embrace him in a hug, but you know you’ll only end up stumbling on your own feet and clearly, Satoru wants to move on to the next chapter of his journey.

“Can you please tell him I’m okay now?”

When he looks at you like that, shoulders hanging low and an almost shy smile decorating his innocent features, it’s hard to say no.

“I will.”

Through the past few weeks since you’ve met Satoru, your life seemed to light up like a Christmas tree without you noticing. He was a funny guy and often pulled pranks on you, like slamming the cabinets open and closed or leaving your window open in the middle of the night, laughing when you shout at him as your teeth chatter and you slam your windows shut. 

“I could have died from the cold, you idiot!”

He keeps laughing as if he didn’t nearly kill you with hypothermia, “Well, if you die, I guess we’ll be together then,” and even has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows. You scowl at him and pull your jacket closer to your body, asking what he wants from you because he never goes this far to demand for your attention unless he wants something from you.

“What do you want this time?”

“I wanted to finish that series we were watching the other day,” he pouts rather childishly, “You always tell me not to watch it without you.”

On a particular weekend where you felt like your brains were about to explode from exhaustion due to your work piling up, you refused to wake up until noon, and you felt thankful Satoru knew how tired you were and let you have your much needed rest. When you woke up, a bowl of cereal was already waiting for you in your kitchen island, meaning the reason you felt tired even after that long slumber was because he fed off your energy to give you food.

Feeling thankful for the simple, sweet action, you munched on it happily. It wasn’t anything special and the corn flakes had gone too crusty for your liking, but Satoru’s happiness at you appreciating what he prepared was worth it. After breakfast, you dumped the bowl into the sink and planned to wash it later, opting to flick through Netflix for a good show. Satoru had excitedly pointed at one title that he said he’s always wanted to watch, and the two of you became hooked on it soon enough. Lunch and dinner were both forgotten as you two sat beside each other, your leg against his. Although you couldn’t exactly feel him, his presence was warm.

You and Satoru had been so immersed in the show and unexpected turn of events that time flew by and it was already half past three. He was the first to notice and he jumped from his seat, his hands waving worriedly in a comical manner. “I’m so sorry I made you skip your meals! Aren’t you hungry, you should have some pizza delivered or something.”

Glancing at the clock, you hummed when you realized it was indeed late. You weren’t feeling hungry since you were mostly abeyant, and nothing was open to deliver food around this time anyway. “It’s okay,” you shrug, “I’m not really hungry, and that show is addicting. Oh, and don’t watch it without me! I know you always go ahead when I’m not home!”

Satoru huffs and plops down next to you dramatically, rolling his eyes and taunting you. “Then don’t go to work, Little Miss Manager.”

You poke your finger with his forehead but it only passes through and he laughs, “I need money to survive, idiot.”

“Whatever,” he dismisses and points to your bedroom. “You’ve still got to edit your final draft, so you have to wake up early. Go to bed, don’t worry about the dish, I’ll handle it.”

“Liar, you’ll only feed from my energy so you can play video games!”

“Hey, you can’t blame me!” He counters back as he proceeds to your sink and pumps out soap to the sponge, “You were the one who bought me that console!”

“Only because you kept whining to me how much you wanted it,” you retorted before yawning, and his eyes softened at the sight of you. He rarely gets to see you dressed so comfortably in a loose shirt, cardigan and pajama pants since you were such a busy woman whose fashion sense monotonously consisted of pearl white button-up blouses and knee-length pencil skirts. Prudish and preppy, he thought, but it suits you just fine.  

“You should sleep now,” he reminds you with a nod of his head back to your bedroom, and you obey, simply because your eyes were sore and tired from binge watching. You’re in the process of cocooning yourself under the covers when he calls out in a sing-song voice, “Thank you for the console, by the way. I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“Shut up!” You scream, and his rambunctious laugh was the last thing you heard before your body wholeheartedly welcomed sleep. 

You’ve been thinking about that day ever since, the moment replaying over and over again in your head, successfully distracting you from focusing on your work. Even your co-workers have noticed that you’re lusterlacking lately, but how could you focus on anything else when you had a charming yet lonely ghost who was waiting for you at home?

For days on end, you can only think about the cheerful and carefree sound of his laugh as if he had so much happiness in his lithe body that he couldn’t contain. Your heart always got tugged in its heartstrings whenever you had trouble falling asleep and he sat beside you in your bed, singing you lullabies and caressing your cheek. You started to feel him now – the gush of air in your skin meant he was pressing onto you, and the more you got attached to him, the more you got confused with your feelings.

He never told you how he was murdered and you never asked, figuring it would be too sensitive for him, and your hands balled into fists each time you remembered he was dead. Satoru is such a precious person who only has too much love to give, and it was completely unfair and outrageous that his life was taken away from him in a single flash. You’ve done your research at work, and only a few articles came up regarding his death. The case remains a mystery and still unsolved until it was completely closed due to lack of leads or suspects, but the police force highly suspected someone had broken in and committed homicide without theft, since not a single belonging of him got touched. They concluded that the murderer was drunk and lost, because he was a well-loved person in their campus, and they couldn’t find anyone who could possibly harbor abhorrence for the sweet boy.

But most of all, a part of you wants him to stay. He frequently asks you if you’ve talked to Suguru, and you always denied it, making up an excuse about how he was hard to find because he graduated years ago. ‘He’s hard to find,’ you would tell him one day, and ‘He doesn’t have social media,’ the next. Even though he told you he majored in Forensics, you couldn’t find anyone in the city. 

It’s a half lie. You never found Suguru, because you never looked for him in the first place.

You know it’s selfish of you to be this way, because you know Satoru wants to move on. He doesn’t say anything about it and keeps laughing instead, but sometimes when he thinks you’re too immersed in your work to notice him, you look at him. Being around you only reminds him of what he no longer has, and one look at him has you knowing he was someone who loved life. Satoru loved to travel with his friends, and he still had so many dreams left unfulfilled that made him feel empty yet desperate to be in the afterworld.

However, it is hard for you to let him go. 

No matter how much you try to fit in, deep inside, you know you will always be too different from the rest. You still struggled with socializing and didn’t have a single friend yet a hundred acquaintances, and you never realized how lonely you were until he came. His smile lit up the whole room and his laugh was melodious, and you don’t think you’ve ever met anyone who cared so much for you. He liked to play games and pull pranks on you quite often, but underneath all that lies a kind heart.

Satoru knows exactly when his jokes go too far and apologizes right away, promising not to do something to upset you again and always doing something entirely new to cheer you up. On nights where you’re feeling absolutely drained or you carried home your anger at your co-workers, you go to sleep without taking off your makeup. When you wake, there’s used wipes in the bin, the hovering boy in your apartment proud of his work. Sometimes you forget to cover yourself in blankets too, plopping on top of the sheets almost lifelessly. It’s in those times that he shows how much he cares for you, and you soon wake up feeling warm surrounded by heavy blankets and freshly cooked breakfast.

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were falling for him. It made interacting with him difficult, because you knew you had to let him go, yet you couldn’t.

He watches you carefully and gauges your reaction, waiting to see if you’ll finish the series with him or not. It’s a Wednesday night, or more accurately an early morning on Thursday and the launch happens in less than a week. Logically, it is much better to go back to sleep and refuse, but he is rocking his weight on his heels back and forth, and you realize perhaps he has been lonely since his death too.

“Fine,” you agree, and now he’s bouncing excitedly next to you on your couch as he keeps pressing buttons in your remote.

“You’re the best, you know that?” 

You only hum in response, and Satoru soon becomes lost in the show. Your eyes aren’t focused on the screen – on him rather. Placed on top of your fist lies your cheek as you study his side profile, trying to memorize the slope of his nose and the snow-white hair that keeps falling onto his eyes that makes him flip it to the side every now and then to watch the show. His right leg keeps bouncing up and down, a habit he had when he was anxiously anticipating something, and then stopping before his left leg went bouncing instead, meaning he didn’t like the situation.

Tearing your eyes away from him, you smile sadly when you realize his favorite character had been betrayed. “Did you see that? That freaking woman, he only loved her and she snitched him out like that?!”

Shrugging one shoulder and feeling your eyes become droopy, you reply, “Well, he’s a grave robber, Satoru, he was only nice to her because he liked her. She had every right to mislead him.”

“I don’t understand, but okay,” he relents and leans back, eyes closing before he intertwines his hands behind his neck and murmurs, “I hated the ending.”

“Not everyone gets happy endings,” you add grimly, watching the muscles underneath his hoodie flex at your comment. The two of you remain silent for a few minutes, and plucking up the courage, you breathe in sharply before slowly lowering yourself until your head is on his shoulder. 

You keep yourself still in order not to fall, and your eyes remain fixated on his hand, silently yearning to be able to touch him. If he was alive, would his skin be as warm as his presence? His hand flexes and trails from his lap until it’s beside yours, and you hear him swallow audibly before locking your fingers with his.

A tear falls down your face. You could feel him. 

Satoru hums a familiar tune, and you chuckle happily when you recognize it’s the song he always sings to you to make you sleep, his fingers rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles.

His other hand tilts your chin upwards until you’re looking directly at his eyes. You hold in your breath, his lips only a centimeter away from yours. If you lean forward, you could kiss him… but you don’t. 

“Why are you crying?”

Because I don’t want you to go.

“Nothing,” you lie and offer a forced smile which he notices, but doesn’t comment about it. “I just feel happy.”

He nods slowly before leaning forward, and he gets so close that you can faintly see his freckles that dot across his cheeks lovingly, and your eyes flutter shut when his lips press against yours. Satoru sighs as if he’s been waiting too long to do that, and he is pushing against you so softly, so tenderly, that it almost fits the same atmosphere your heart creates. He is soft in everything he does, from his innocent features and smile that puts the stars to shame, to how he holds you and caresses you. His hand trails from your neck to pull you closer, and you moan when his tongue peeks out and playfully coaxes yours out to play. Tears are streaming down your face when you kiss him back slowly, tongues moving in sync as they danced harmoniously instead of battling each other for dominance. Caressing your face that fits perfectly in his hand, he brushes away your tears with the pad of his thumbs. 

A moment passes before you two are breathing heavily with your foreheads pressed against each other, and the silence is broken when he speaks, his voice coming out raspy and out of breath. 

“Suguru… has been struggling long before I died.”

“What?”

“My best friend… he got into a rough patch. Had troubles with his parents, went down the wrong path, and met dangerous people. I’d heard rumors he was going around skipping class and talking to people I’ve never seen before, but I chose to ignore it. Suguru would’ve told me everything once he was ready. And I was stupid, you know? I saw it. I saw how he stopped smiling, how he’d lost weight. How his eyes no longer looked happy,” Satoru’s hands trembled, the blue of his eyes hauntingly dark. “One night, I overheard him talking to someone on the phone. I’ve never heard him that angry, and I got worried. I wanted to stop him from whatever he’ll end up doing so I invited him over but… Next thing I know, he came over here, drunk and high, and stabbed me until I bled to death.”

You gasp and shudder as you imagine the scene, Satoru lying on his bed as he waited anxiously for his friend. You see him smiling at Suguru excitedly because he’d actually come, but fear replaces it when his friend succumbs to the madness. The image of Satoru drowning in his own pool of blood made you clench your jaw.

“There had to be evidence left.”

Satoru smiles sadly as if to tell you it doesn’t bother him anymore, but you can’t shake it off. How can a man be so blinded in his own misery that he could take his own best friend’s life? “He was a forensics major; he knew how to cover up his crime.”

A pregnant pause fills the room as you furrow your brows, the sound of the cold wind tapping against your windows as you rack your head to make a decision. Now that you knew the truth, you had to tell the police about it, but how would they believe you if there was no evidence found? And if the case was cleared, and Suguru had finally moved on, that means...

“You can ask me to stay.”

“What?” You breathe out, looking at his eyes with sadness pooling in them. He’s smiling, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You pull away from him completely until he’s at an arm’s length away. He doesn’t look hurt by your action but he sighs, reaching out for you and pausing with his hand mid-air when you raise a palm to stop him.

He must’ve known you’re in love with him. Just as he also knows that once he leaves, you’ll be hurt, and he doesn’t want you to feel that.

You shake your head and stand up harshly. The tears now uncontrollable as you slam your bedroom door to his face. You’re slightly thankful he doesn’t come after you and leaves you alone instead. You needed time. Time to think, time to put his needs over yours - time to forget him. Rummaging through the documents on your desk, you keep looking for it until the polaroid is clutched between your fingers, and you silently place it in your handbag.

Tomorrow, you would set things straight.

Suguru Geto was a hard man to find. He’d fled from the spotlight as one of the  best students of his university after Satoru Gojo’s death. The image of his best friend, who was always in high spirits and laughed without a care in the world, covered in his own blood was a sight that scarred him for the rest of her life. 

But there was one more person who hadn’t moved on from that night.

Ieri Shoko, the woman who ran first at the hospital when Satoru’s parents were away for a business trip. She didn’t want to believe it at first. Satoru had always seemed so full of life, so in love with what the world had to offer. He’d been so young – it just couldn’t be. They had to be lying, right?

But when she finally saw her friend’s bloodied corpse on that cold hospital bed, she’d fallen apart.

She went to sleep crying to herself every night, regretting and blaming everything on herself. Her instinct told her it was Suguru who had done this to him. She barged into his dorm room, screaming and flailing, punching the taller man and effectively breaking his nose as she dragged him down by the collar. Suguru was already questioned by the police after Satoru’s murder, but his alibi of being in a bar was factual, and they had proven his innocence after checking surveillance cameras. He was only gone for a few minutes before he appeared on the dance floor all over again, and they believed him when he said he only disappeared to go to the restroom.

Presumably to wash the blood off his hands.

Shoko didn’t believe it. “Tell me you didn’t kill him, tell me!”

Suguru growls, frustrated at her for even accusing him of doing such a horrendous thing, and he feigns his innocence as he pries her hands away from his collar. “I didn’t do it, Ieri, I was at a bar!”

“Bullshit!” She screams, slamming a vase onto the floor and dropping down to the floor as sobs wrecked through her body. “I smelled your perfume the moment I walked in. I know it was you…”

His eyes widened, but he remained silent because she had always been smart and too observant for her own good. He shrugs his collar back into place and goes back to his bedroom, but not before darkly muttering, “I didn’t do it, I didn’t kill him…”

Four years later, and you’re sitting in front of Officer Kento, an intimidating man with empty eyes staring at you hardly, his face devoid of any emotion. He’d been the same officer who worked on Satoru’s case before it was closed. “And why should I believe you? Ghosts don’t exist.”

You snap your head up from your lap to him and scowl, “I just want to help you here, Officer.  You need to re-open this case.”

He abruptly stands up and slams his palm harshly against the desk, his eyes filled with rage as he stares down at you. “You don’t think I haven’t tried before?!”

“Well then, try harder!” You fumed, standing up. “If you don’t resolve this case, he’s going to remain here forever, lost and nowhere to go. Do you really want him to suffer even after his death?”

“How am I supposed to believe everything you say is true?”

Plucking out their polaroid from your bag and shoving it to his chest, you watch as he crumbles piece by piece. He holds the photo tentatively before cradling it to his chest, and what you presumed was a cold-hearted man was actually just a lost person.

“I don’t know why you closed that case, but it isn’t over. He’s still here, and he needs our help.”

You turn away from him to give him peace and wrap your fingers around the doorknob, “Suguru Geto is out there walking freely. You can still make a difference, Sir. It’s not too late.”

Happiness was a concept you believed to be fleeting.

One moment, you are giggling with the ghosts who tell you funny stories and whisper mischievously in your ear the correct answers in your pre-school days, and the next moment you are pressing a hand against your car windows, watching as the only people you considered friends are witnessing you leave without a goodbye.

That feeling comes back again and again, from little moments such as eating lunch with your high school friends and making empty promises to keep in touch after graduation, giggling when a cute boy comes by and asks for your number. But like any other moment in your life where you feel happy, that feeling dissipates as fast as it came.

The bell attached to the door chimes to signal a customer, and the cute florist you met on the first day you moved to this city, Choso, looks up from the pot he’s currently watering. Bowing politely, he sends a pleased smile upon the sight of you.

You tuck a stray hair behind your ear and return the smile back, his musky perfume blending in well with the sweet aroma of flowers as he stops in front of you. “Hi, I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize sheepishly, “Our latest branch just opened downtown, so I was a bit busy with that.”

“Oh, you work for that bookshop everyone’s been talking about non-stop?” You nod and laugh at his question, proud of yourself that the new opening had been successful. The state campus was only three bus rides away, and with the extensive amount of books your bookstore offered, along with its affordable prices, everyone’s been talking about it. “I’m proud of you, it was a success,” he commends, rubbing his dirties hands on his apron before opening the door for you. What can I get you?”

Personally, you thought Choso was a bit too rugged to be working in a floral shop. He always seemed to carry himself in such an awkward manner and had an authoritative yet welcoming aura to him, his shy smiles the highlights of your day. “I want to give it to my friend. Today’s their special day.”

“I see,” Choso’s eyes are already scanning the plethora of flowers he has in his shop, his brows pinching together in thought. “Can you tell me a little bit about them? It’d help to make their bouquet more personal.”

A smile makes its way to your face. “They’re… bright, carefree, innocent, and pure. They almost seem like an angel, if you ask me. I was also thinking about something that represents young love, and… new beginnings?”

You have absolutely no idea what you’re saying. The words coming out of your mouth are beyond your control. You’re sure you’re making a fool out of yourself, but Choso nods understandingly, frows burrowed before he snaps his fingers and turns to you. “White roses describe all of those, but if you want, I can whip up more flowers for you.”

He makes a move to get his scissors and starts listing off flowers with the same meanings, but you run up to him and not so accidentally wrap your hands around his to get him to stop. His eyes widen at your close proximity. You clear your throat and take a step backward, fighting the urge to smile when his cheeks are dusted a fine pink. “White roses itself are fine, thank you.”

He gulps and heads towards the back door, coming out later with a bouquet of white roses. You reach for your wallet before his arm wraps around your wris, his smile wobbly and hesitant. “It’s on the house. You can pay me back with a cup of coffee next time.”

Eyebrows rising at his smoothness, you gratefully accept the flowers and cradle it near to your chest. “A cup of coffee it is.”

Choso chuckles shyly and ducks his head, and you leave the shop with a wave of your hand before walking further and further. Your surroundings shift from the high-rise building and busy streets to a hill covered in trees sprawled out everywhere, flowers blooming and withering at every corner. Sitting down on the soil with your legs crossed, you place the bouquet in front of his headstone, his framed polaroid with Suguru standing in front of you. 

It’s been exactly seven days since you last saw Satoru.

After countless sleepless nights of phone calls from Officer Kento, he’d finally cracked the case with your help. Suguru Geto was found. He’d confessed to all his crimes, his handsome face weary yet relieved. It seemed he’d never once forgotten about that night when he betrayed his friend, and just before he was ushered behind bars, he turned to you. You wished you felt anger towards him for what he did, but there was only sadness. Only regret in his eyes. He looked so tired, so hopeless.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “Thank you for finding me.”

A nod was all you could give. Suguru felt so familiar, yet so strange. You’ve heard tons of stories about him from Satoru, all about their happiest moments together. He’d been his closest friend, the one he shared so many dreams with, and the one who knew him the most. Maybe he knew Satoru wouldn’t fight back once his demons consumed him. Maybe when Suguru was holding his friend’s bloodied hand in the night, he knew – Satoru was never mad at him. He only wanted to save his friend. Maybe he knew Satoru wasn’t completely dead yet, not when he lived in everyone’s heart, and most especially yours.

That night when you returned home, the apartment felt colder than ever. Normally, it would mean a ghost lingered. But there was no longer the sound of Satoru’s humming, and the dishes were left half-washed in your sink. And for the first time in your life, you hated your eyes and how it gave you the ability to see the traces he left behind. 

Because you wished you had enough time to say goodbye. You wish you had told him everything, but the thought of being another tether to the living realm weighed down on you. You couldn’t do that to him. He had to go. For Satoru to truly move into the next life, you had to close your heart and forget him. Just as Suguru’s forgiven himself, and just as Shoko’s accepted her friend’s death - you too had to say goodbye. 

Tears clouded your vision.

The white remnants of his soul sparkled in your apartment. For the last time, you watched as the blue of his hoodie finally disappeared, his hands scrubbing your dishes away fading into nothingness. The plate drops and breaks. Satoru stood, his legs vanishing bit by bit as he saw the running water through his hands. He’d wanted to return your apartment to the way it was before he’d met you, but he knew – his time was running out. He didn’t have energy left to turn everything off.

The water floods your apartment. The new series he’d dearly loved still plays on the TV. 

But he was here – hugged by the earth and decorated with flowers, smiling at you from far away even when you could no longer see him. Placing the bouquet of white roses down at his grave, you smiled at the photo they’d taken months before he died. He still looked just as beautiful – all wide smiles, kind eyes, and soft hands.

To you, he was still alive in your heart.

“I’ll see you around, Satoru.”

[nikovraskol]

Yk what would be crazy if past reader (16 year old version of them) got transported to the future in which they’re dead. Like imagine seeing ur kid (that you’ve neglected for so long ) just show up to your doorstep again but it’s the young version of them. Like what would be their reaction? I imagine reader just being so confused bc one minute they were at school and the next they’re being hugged by the batfam.

I love your batfam series and I honestly can’t wait to see more omlllll I love the way this is headed 🫶

thank u for this delicious request.. yall.. i've written soso many drafts for all ur requests but i dont want to overstimulate yall..its important to make sure to go at a pace your partner is comfortable with :(

masterlist

at sixteen, i imagine reader to be very nervous for the future, sixteen is two years from eighteen and i believe that they're scared that once they're a legal adult they'll no longer have any chance to be accepted -- that they'll be too old.

also, i know some goober is gonna ask so let's decide that 21 y/o (name) was able to return their 16 y/o body while 16 y/o kept their body, well, 21 y/o's body was drained of their life force and unlike jason with superboy indirectily healing him.. can we understand what im tryna say

so let's paint a picture, you're casually in school, feeling depressed because when are you not? your teacher drones on in the background as you scribble notes in your book lazily.

you're trying to drown out in your teacher one minute and then the next you're staring at the door to the manor.

oh. okay.

you're understandably a little puzzled but you brush it off, it's not the first time you've disassociated, it hadn't happened in a while but you're under a lot of stress with school and the crippling sorrow threatening to swallow you.

so you open the door, completely unaware you're walking to your doom, you step inside, your head hung low as you morosely walk in, not excited to be back in this manor of gloom and doom.

and then you hear it, a loud, absolutely offended shriek -- to which you don't look, it's not any of your business, they're probably just playing around without you, indulging in their inside jokes.

and then you're embraced, tightly, too tightly.

"what the--" you're.. being hugged? is alfred feeling alright?--

and then you see the jet-black hair you've seen countless times in passing, and then you feel the warmth of his body against yours, and then he looks up at you -- eyes wild and focused on you. only on you.

"what the fuck?" you're genuinely, so unbelievably confused. have you died? is this heaven?

"you're-- you're alive? this is real?" bruce breathes out, your father is looking at you. looking at you like you're his child, your lips tug into a thin line as you watch as the rest of the clowns join the circus.

oooh boyy.

you probably don't even notice the fact that you've switched universes at first.

like, you're so confused but also lavishing in the attention-- i mean, this is what you've wanted your whole life, right?

bruce is hanging off your every word, no longer does he brush you off or ignore you, he stares at you intently -- memorising every part of your face, every twitch of your muscles, every single detail of you, his precious child, alive in the flesh.

dick clings onto you way too much. every waking moment of the day he's by your side, sometimes he'll hug you tight, his hand gently snaking to press against the pulse point on your wrist, his eyes strangely darkened as he feels your pulse thumming against your skin.

jason is similar to dick in this scenario, the guilt from the incident weighing heavy on his mind, he doesn't let you out of his sight, he's always lingering. he's also way more protective in a smothering way, you're cooking? don't be silly, you might cut yourself! you're running around? slow down, you might fall! you're leaving the manor? why? what do you need? don't leave him, please, never again.

tim is a lot more .. atuned to your emotions. he regularly asks how you feel, at first it's more-so because he is truly glad you're back, he wants to make up for the past! but after a while, it gets to a point where it feels like you're being studied. he's just making sure you're not upset, that you're not thinking of leaving, again.

damian is downright terrifying, not in a violent way, but in a way that you're not sure how to react.. i mean, he used to be the one to belittle you the once, seeing him being so.. gentle. it's unnerving! he's almost kind to you? he'll soften his words, urge you to rest, it's .. strange. very strange.

after a while, the attention gets suffocating. very suffocating. you enjoy the attention, in fact, you've never been happier. but since coming home since that one day, you've not had a moments peace.

you wake up, someone's hovering over you. you go to eat, someone's making sure you don't choke. you're going for a walk? no, you're not.

it gets loathsome, you feel like a porcelain doll. you're not allowed any freedom, you don't go to school anymore -- anytime you bring it up you get strange looks.

that's not the only oddity. you feel different, stranger. not only are you taller, but your mind is different, and while buying something from the store, you notice an id. what? an id that says your age is twenty-one.

and another thing, alfred, the man you consider a father, is dead. dead. like, buried in the ground dead.

if you try to bring it up with your family, they share strange looks. they won't tell you, no, they want to keep you happy -- want to ignore the fact that you're not really their y/n, so don't bring it up too often. kay??

[eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove]

Hey, i read the “Bat-boys finding out your pregnant” and may i ask for more? It was sooo cute that i need more of it 😭💕

The Batboys fathers HCs

A/N: this request is long overdue that I’m sure the requester doesn’t even remember it, but I’ve arrived at last. I hope this is what they wanted. The Absolute Power run has restored my love for Nightwing and comics. ❣️

Dick Grayson is a fun dad. At first, Dick suffocated beneath the weight of fatherly duties. He wanted to be better than Bruce. Dick loved him, but he could admit that his boyhood wasn’t a salubrious environment for the young mind. No child should have to carry the weight of Bruce’s mission. Thus, Dick’s mission became ensuring yours and the baby’s lives were secure, safe, and joyous.

Pale beams of sunlight kissed your cheeks good morning. The aroma of maple syrup wafted throughout the house, tickling your nostrils as you carried yourself down the stair steps, footfall by footfall. There Dick stood at the stove, scooting the black spatula beneath a golden pancake and flipping it into the air, causing your baby to burst out into a fit of giggles before the pancake hit the skillet with a sizzle. He was proud of himself for making his baby laugh.

“Well, well, look at mama.” A grin crept across his lips as he spotted you creeping closer, supernovas bursting in his electric blue irises.” You were snoring in a pool of drool when I awoke, so I grabbed the baby and started breakfast.” Vibrant seas of pacifiers, rattles, and toy pianos adorned the house.

Dick attempted to rush the developmental process. Not out of callousness, but sheer excitement to have a child. He had already stocked the baby in dolls, trucks, pacifiers, fruit snacks, apple juice (watered down, of course). He even installed a nightlight that short circuited the house at first, but Bruce helped him fix it. Reading is good for the baby right? Dick is on it. He’s already ordered the best and most classic tales; Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, Alice in Wonderland, Dr. Seuss, Little Red Riding Hood.

Dick Grayson has read multiple novels on fatherhood, motherhood, child development, postpartum depression. He hates surprises, and babies are the breeding ground of surprises. He will pack the go-bag full of onesies, pacifiers, diapers, wipes, toys because he doesn’t want you to be in public and not have the materials.

“Give me a few days to install the new changing table. You’ll love it.” Crimson blush adorned his tanned cheeks, a proud grin dawning on his lips, showcasing his pearlescent teeth.” It broke when I weight checked it, thank god. Damian, albeit reluctantly, is coming out here tomorrow to translate the instructions.”

Jason Todd is the protective, paranoid father because he’d placed a bullet in the worst humanity had to offer, witnessed otherworldly horrors done to the little guys, the folks who lack billions of dollars to hole up on secluded islands and cabins. He can’t eradicate all the scum, can’t caulk the fractures villains seem to keep slipping through—and that terrifies him.

Jason never imagined a life worth living to be possible. He’d thought himself a sentient zombie, an unlucky boy yanked from the eternal peace of a cold, soundless grave and forced to enact vengeance on behalf of the common folk who lack the means to undertake the mission themselves. He never considered Red Hood to be a hero; merely a restless phantom with nothing else to bide his time until the sweet release of the afterlife deigned to shatter his manacles to the mortal world. That was until he’d fallen over the sun, offering endless devotion to his goddess, and you’d rewarded his offering with a daughter, a lovely girl. He’d abduct the moon and wrap it in a silken bow if only you’d give him permission.

“Catch, papa,” your daughter had called out, retrieving the little football and sprinting toward him, tiny feet carrying her over the damp and verdant grass of y’all’s backyard. Jason never brought the both of you to parks—an excess of people to watch, different personalities and behaviors; a myriad of possibilities for tragedy. Too much room for error in a vast, leafy expanse.

“You’ve gotta bring it to me first,” Jason called back, outstretching his muscular arms, awaiting her arrival. He was paranoid and distrustful of the world, not a killjoy. Y’all’s daughter’s bedroom was littered with vivid nail polishes, fluffy scarves, glittering tiaras, and Monster High dolls. Your daughter had always adored Frankie Stein and Frankenstein because they reminded her of Jason and herself, the dolls and humans both sharing pale white streaks of hair. He hadn’t known whether to laugh or weep upon hearing those words from her lips, innocent and completely unaware of the accuracies spanning far past hair color.

“Jason, I love you, but we are not cooping ourselves up in the house this summer.” The words were firm and unyielding—but lacking any true bite.

“ I’ve given you grace. I let a lot slide because I understand your background. But we’re just not doing it this summer. Its too hot to not go to waterparks and enjoy ourselves because of possibilities.” A damn good point rested upon your tongue, and he knew it.

“Fine.” He relented with a jocosely petulant huff.” But we take a gun with us.”

Tim Drake is an ambitious father. It’s been said before, but I don’t believe he’s as active as the fandom would believe. Though, his absence isn’t born of malice or indifference, but ambition, a thirst for a legacy. He wants to be a man his significant other and child can be proud of, a father worth bragging about. There’s also a large chamber seated within his mind that knows not how to be a father, for his parents were cold, choosing to throw dollars at his gripes and needs rather than be present.

One of his greatest fears is disappointing the both of you, like he was disappointed by his own parents, so disappointed he couldn’t even despise them. Tragically, the mission to avoid history’s repetition had placed him before a mirror, his parents gazing back at him, a smug smirk curled on their lips because they know that he’ll be on their end of the glass within a few decades.

Can he be blamed? Tim wants the absolute best for his family. The best grades, the best schools, the best scores, the best scholarships. He’s not naïve enough like Dick to believe hard work and persevere can lift a nobody anywhere. There are no bootstraps to be pulled taut. It’s an illusion, a sauce wealthy people spoon over their meals to disguise the taste of nepotism and privilege. Manipulations the rich regurgitate to excuse themselves from having to acknowledge the unfair, biased system they’ve upheld.

The door to his limousine slammed closed, his child seated beside but, but farther than ever. What could be said? Jerking forward, the limousine rolled into drive, coasting beneath autumn streaked clouds, as though her father had gifted her the sky from a florist. Bruce hadn’t prepared Tim for the teenaged terror years. He couldn’t help but wonder if he himself had been this capricious and fickle as a teen, or if he were merely that bad of a father.

“Do. . . do you want a Milkshake? From that one place by the house, like we used to when you were young.” Tim couldn’t help but raise a hopeful raven shaded brow. He could smell the stench of sweat, an anxious perspiration, cleaving to your school uniform. It must’ve been a test day.” I’ll clear the rest of my schedule for us. . . if you want, of course.” He extended an olive branch, granting her the choice to engage and accept, or set the course for the rest her teenage years.

Damian Wayne does not want children. He doesn’t know how far his taint would bleed, and all he can envision are the ways he could disgrace the mind of a child. His village was rotten and evil. Bad fruits bear worse seeds.

Damian’s devotion was love, the purest kind he knew, a primal desire to protect and cherish that of which he adored. You forged suns in his heart, set the butterflies in his belly aflutter. Beneath a weeping of sheet of violet sky, the both of you had sworn to love the other until Earth imploded—and when it did, he would find you in another universe.

He doesn’t hate children. In fact, he would be a decent babysitter for Dick and Jason, and whenever Tim deigned to grace the BatCave with his presence. But, Damian is staunch in his childfree attitude, and you respect it. Truthfully, you weren’t even sure you wanted kids. No, you and Damian battled crime, traveled the world and experienced culture, learned histories outside of the filth pumped into his mind by the Al Ghuls. Bruce was saddened by Damian’s decision against children, but he ultimately respected it—and him.

Damian knew he was poisoned and rotten and always would be, no matter what emblem was sewn over his breast. He was content with the life the both of you had, and knowing Dick, many more children are to come, so he’d never get lonely.” Beloved, what do you make of Italy? Not the tourist parts where the history is washed, but the ripe lands.”

Bruce Wayne is a weary father. He knew the birth of his youngest child was redemption, his last chance at preserving the Wayne name since Damian had sworn off children. But Bruce was aged, hardened, jaded, weary. He had scars to last a lifetime, some worn on his heart, though majority were worn on his skin.

The Wayne brownstone was eerily silent since Alfred’s death. Bruce’s son sat around the oaken table, coloring a picture of Superman, Wonder Woman, Batman, and Alfred. Bruce’s heavy lids fell over exhausted, dim blue irises, his brain flitting back to the memories of Alfred, gathered at the stove and learning a recipe. I am. . . old, Master Bruce. My time on this earth is not infinite. You must learn more than the ways of fists, the words echoed in his mind. Reminding him that old age wasn’t even the murderer of Alfred Pennyworth.

He fetched an inhale before pulling himself off of the couch, and padding over toward his son at the dinner table.” What’s that? Oh, a pretty picture. A real artistic talent, like Damian.” Bruce was unsure of his fathering more often than not. He knew how it appeared to his son’s school counselors and the principal—old, washed up playboy Bruce Wayne saddled with another young son. That was far from the case, but the masses will believe anything when they’re given nothing.

Bruce fetched a pot and skillet from the creaking cabinets of the brownstone, far from the elegance and cleanliness of the manor. Alfred would’ve been mortified to see the mess, he almost chuckled, but withheld it. Lest his son raise a question, for the explanation would be too complicated and long-winded for his young mind.” So, what do you see for dinner tonight? What makes that belly growl like a lion? Mac and Cheese? Lasagna? Hamburger Helper?”

Bruce knew exactly what his son would choose. Asking was merely a courtesy. Bruce knew him, raised the boy from the minute he was weaned. He knew what his son would do before his son knew what he himself would do. The Batman wasn’t a slacker, wasn’t lazy.

[bitchface24-7]

Absolutely angsty idea, reader is a mortician and after JayVik disappear with the Hexcore they work on their funeral shroud and grapple with the feelings of being left behind. 😌

WAITING FOR YOU… - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: they’re dead. Your boys are dead. You’ve always held sympathy and empathy for the dead, caring for them, cleaning them up, ensuring they look just as their families remember them; it’s your job. But you boys are dead. And there’s no bodies to care for. So you make a shroud for them with items of there’s to burn in the furnace, it’s the best you’ll get. Your boys are dead, and you’re alone.

warnings: major character death, feelings of loss, mourning, depression, remembrance, angst, implied suicide, pre-established relationship

genre: m/m/f or m/m/m

p.s. now why would you do this? This was a great request and such an interesting plot idea, but goddamn it’s sad :(

The lyrics are from “Time in a Bottle” by Jim Croce. It was between this or “Fourth of July” by Sufjan Stevens

If I could save time in a bottle

The first thing that I'd like to do

Is to save every day

'Til eternity passes away

Just to spend them with you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your boys are dead, you know it deep down. You swear you felt your heart stop when theirs did. You weren’t there for their death, you don’t even know what caused it, but they’re gone.

And they’re not coming back.

As a mortician, you care for the dead. You give them the honour and respect they deserve. You clean them, care for them, make them look like themselves so the families and friends can grieve in peace. It’s your job.

You never thought you’d have to do your job on your two loves.

They were so young, just barely in their thirties. Full of bright ideas and world changing plans. But things got out of hand, people got hurt. People died. Your boys died.

So now you’re here, in your mortician lab crying silently as you sit by your desk. There are no bodies. Nothing to remember them by, as if they never even existed.

You were all supposed to grow old together, live your lives, and love each other unconditionally.

But they’re gone now, they left together. And you’re all alone.

You know it wasn’t planned, but your heart still aches. It’ll ache until the day you die. You can’t imagine a world without them in it, but now you have to.

You’ll make a shroud for them. Just one. They died together, you’ll bury them together. You just need some items of theirs to use.

So you have to go to their lab.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If I could make days last forever

If words could make wishes come true

I'd save every day like a treasure and then

Again, I would spend them with you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Their lab is a wreck. Broken windows, papers on the ground, their desks are splintered, the blackboard is ruined.

You see their wheelie chairs, and you break down sobbing. You remember how they’d sit there and bicker. Work on equations and prototypes. How your conversations would flow late into the night as you all sat by one another and appreciated the company. You’ll never get that again, your boys are dead.

And you’re all alone.

You pick some things to put in their shroud. Some pens, notebooks, a few hexgems, you even take a spare cane and hammer.

They’re your boys, and they deserve a proper burial. Even if you can’t give them one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want to do

Once you find them

I've looked around enough to know

That you're the one I want to go

Through time with

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You go back to your lab, ensuring none of the other residents of the academy or the enforcers see you. You won’t let them stop you from honouring them, both of them. You can already see how Viktor will be forgotten, ignored, and villainized. You won’t let that happen, you’ll never forget him.

You’ll never forget his passion for helping others, helping the world. His sarcasm, his humour, how sweet he was.

No, you’ll never forget him.

You’ll never forget Jayce either.

But the rest of Piltover won’t forget Jayce. They’ll purposely leave out Viktor, and you won’t allow Viktor’s greatest fear come true.

You won’t allow him to be forgotten.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If I had a box just for wishes

And dreams that had never come true

The box would be empty

Except for the memory

Of how they were answered by you

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You finish the shroud, a basic linen fabric. You put all their items inside as carefully as you can. This is their stuff, it’s them. It’s a replacement, but it’s good enough. You won’t harm your boys, they’ve already been through enough.

You hum a melancholic melody as you write their names on a slip of paper. Your scrawl encapsulating the love you have for them, and your loneliness. You won’t ever see their smiles again, hear their laughter, watch them grow old.

You just pray as the years catch up to you you never forget them. You’re one of the only people who’ll remember the real them.

You place your shroud onto the incinerator and gently place the slip of paper on top. You start the fire and conveyor belt, and watch as your two boys leave you for one final time.

You can’t help but whine when you see them enter the blaze, the paper incinerating almost instantly as the shroud slowly burns. Eventually all that’s left is the cane and the hammer, and it takes a while for them to melt down.

As if they’re fighting, as if they’re trying to stay with you. But they can’t, your sweet boys are dead, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

You know they’d want you to live a long life without them, but you can’t imagine how. How will your life go on without them in it?

Hopefully you can still see them in your dreams.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

But there never seems to be enough time

To do the things you want to do

Once you find them

I've looked around enough to know

That you're the one I want to go

Through time with

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

What you don’t know is they can still see you. They see you cry, they see you scream in agony, they see you make their shroud, they see you break and become numb.

They desperately want to reach out to you, they want to comfort you, have you back in their arms as they fight away your worries and fears. They want to kiss your lips and hug you close.

But they can’t.

They don’t know how to get to you.

So they’ll sit and watch as you crumble apart, your sadness enveloping you in ways they’ve never seen before.

And they’ll pray.

They’ll pray to gods they don’t believe in anymore to save you, help you, love you. Maybe they can visit you in your dreams, maybe they can comfort you in the dead of night.

They just hope you don’t follow in their footsteps. Their hearts wouldn’t be able to take it.

(You do.)

(And their hearts shatter.)

I wrote this like the flash. Honestly the prompt really inspired me and it absolutely shattered my heart. Wtf y’all, get your tissues ready cause this is a doozy.

[loves-alibi]

changes

or: you married a butcher, not a martyr.

MDNI simon "ghost" riley x f!reader word count: 2.7k warnings: mentions of sex, mentions of torture, reader is hashtag depressed, mentions of death (assumed death), simon is a weirdo at the end <3

*****

He’s a butcher, an apprentice actually. Every Monday through Saturday, regulars flock to the shop, where Simon, the gentle giant behind the counter, takes their order with a smile. Kids love him, always excited to see the man who tells droll jokes when their mothers, who are more interested in the way he winks at them after throwing in an extra quarter of a pound of meat, aren’t listening.

Simon is the talk of the block. Every nosy soul wants to know his deal. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Simon was born and raised on the streets of Manchester, but there’s an intrigue about the young man that was never tapped into until he took up working at that shop, chopping and slicing up people’s dinners while asking 'how's the family?’.

So it’s no surprise when one day an old lady, a regular at the establishment, asks Simon, elbow-deep in raw lamb, if he’s single.

After breaking the news that he wouldn’t like to make a habit of dating customers, she explains that her granddaughter (“She’s about your age and– you’ll see –she’s the prettiest girl in all of England.”) is in town.

Before he even thinks, the woman scribbles on her receipt for three lamb chops an address and 8pm.

Eight hours later he stands outside of her house, a bouquet of flowers in hand and the receipt folded neatly in his back pocket. Before he has the chance to ring the bell, the door flies open, bombarding Simon with the scent of roasting meat and floral perfume. Standing barely at his chest height is the woman from the shop. She calls a name, and round the corner comes her granddaughter.

Simon almost drops the bouquet in his hands. Your grandmother really didn’t lie about how lovely you are. Even as you abscond her (“You didn’t tell me he was actually coming tonight!”) Simon can’t stop staring at you.

Dinner goes by as awkwardly as you could have expected. Your grandmother sits at the head of the table, you and Simon at opposite sides, kicking each other awkwardly each time either of you crossed or uncrossed your legs. She prompts you two with conversation starters.

Darling, tell him about your job.

Simon, I hear you have a brother.

It’s like pulling teeth. The whole night Simon is kicking himself for not meeting you elsewhere, where he could make a real and good impression without watching eyes. It’s over, he thinks when you finally pull the plug on the evening, dismissing Simon with the excuse that you have to work early the next morning. It’s a shame, he really thought that, despite everything, you two had a connection. There were enough fleeting glances and shy smiles from you for Simon to really believe.

You at least have the decency to walk him to the door, thanking him for entertaining your grandmother and for being such polite company. And, with a glance over your shoulder confirming that the coast is clear, you pull Simon in by the lapels for a kiss, it’s chaste and quick, but has Simon’s chest heaving up and down.

“There’s a pub down the street, you know it?” You ask. Simon nods his head dumbly, his lips still tingling. “She goes to sleep early. Meet me there in an hour, yeah?”

He practically skips to the pub. He orders two pints and waits and why did he order you a pint? It'll be warm by the time you get here and he doesn’t even know if you like beer. This was such a bad idea, you’re probably not even going to–

Fifty-two minutes later you walk through the door, chest heaving and hair tousled. You ran. You really ran to see him.

As you down your pint, he sends a silent thank you to whoever answered his prayers because– wow –you’re here and even more beautiful than he could imagine, with a bead of beer slipping out of the corner of your mouth and dripping down your neck.

The next morning, you two wake up naked in Simon’s bed with headaches and a ring on your finger– his nan’s ring to be precise, the one she explicitly told him to give only to the girl. There’s a voice in the back of his head that says he should be mad to have given it away in a drunken stupor to some girl he just met. But then you laugh, saying, “I’m engaged.” And he laughs with you, a sinking feeling telling him that drunk Simon may have gotten it right.

Simon watches you observe the ring glitter in the morning sun. “Do you want to be?”

You scrunch your nose at the question. “Depends,” you say, dragging out the final ‘s’. Simon blanches. “What’s your last name?” You ask, scrutinizing him.

Simon loses his breath as he stares into your eyes. You’re laying naked, halfway on top of him, and yet it’s the way you look at him that makes his world tilt. He barely manages to stutter out, “R–Riley. Simon Riley.”

“Riley… Mrs. Riley.” Your features soften. “Yeah, I think I want to be.”

In three months, you’re married. It’s a real, proper wedding with both sides of the family there. Simon washes the sinew and blood from his hands and gets all dressed up. He’d pick his bloody apron over a suit any day, but the smile on your face when you see him down the aisle is enough to make getting all dolled up worth it.

Your grandmother dies a happy woman shortly after your wedding. She leaves you the house and well wishes for your future (and with the request to name her future great-grandchildren after her).

Marriage suits Simon. He leaves you for work each morning before the sun is up. You wake hours later to a cold bed yet a warm cup of coffee in the kitchen. He comes home at five o’clock on the dot with a pound of meat cut and ready to cook, which he does. It fills some caveman-basal part of him– the ability to provide for his wife, melting away his worries every time you sigh in delight at the taste of the meal he oh so lovingly set out for you.

Three days after your first anniversary, Simon comes home with a pamphlet. Her Royal Majesty's Armed Service. You laugh, tell him there’s no way he wants to enlist. He almost believes you, sounding so sure in your words. Maybe he is being ridiculous, but then he turns on the news and sees the chaos of the world and realizes that chopping meat wasn’t all he was meant for.

He sits you down again. This time you don’t laugh.

“You will not make me a widow, you understand?”

“Of course not.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, love.”

He enlists, joins the infantry, and you wonder if you made a mistake marrying that man. Then 30 weeks later, he comes back and you almost forget the heartache until he’s standing right in front of you, this time without a pound of meat and the smell of blood clinging to his skin.

He fucks you. You fuck him. It’s only natural after so long. He’s missed you. You’ve missed him. And you have plenty of frustration to get out.

It’s when you’re laying in bed, fingers trailing his abs– yes, abs, born out of the weeks of grueling work– that it strikes you how much this means for you. You squeeze what used to be the loving layer of pudge that circled his waist.

“You like it?” he asks, his smirk pressing against your head.

But the energy to lie doesn’t exist in you. You tell him no, that you miss the Simon that walked out of your door thirty weeks ago, that– sure –abs are nice but you liked the Simon with a little fat, that you didn’t want him to do this, that you didn’t want to have to waste away, alone and worrying about him.

Yelling ensues. You cry. Simon cries. You sleep in the guest room. Simon sleeps on the couch.

He’s a good soldier, you learn. Not from him of course, Simon’s too humble to brag about his achievements like that (plus, he’s afraid that his growing accolades would just remind you how you never wanted to marry a decorated soldier, you wanted to marry him). You always come to base to pick him up from deployments. Soldiers give you respectful nods and tell you how good of a sergeant your husband is.

You and Simon had a distinct separation between work and life. As soon as your car is through the base gates, not a word is spoken of his deployments. It always gets you in too much of a fit. So it was agreed upon: you didn’t have to hear about it.

Until one day, work shows up to your front door step. Simon’s on a deployment, and you’re finally unwinding after a long day of your own. As you begin to pour a glass of wine, there’s a clinical knock on the door.

Two men in uniform are on your porch. They hold their hats in their hands, as with solemn voices they try to explain it all to you. It’s strange– you don’t cry. They ask if you need anything and you simply say no. After all, what could they give you– Simon? You have a chuckle at that after you finally send the soldiers off.

You continue your normal routine: finish that second glass of wine, tidy up the house, and cook dinner. You burn your thumb on the cast iron pot. With your finger in your mouth to soothe the burn, you think to dial your grandmother’s number. If anybody needs to know about Simon, it’s her. Except, when you dial her number all you get is a robotic voice explaining that the number you are trying to reach is not available.

Oh, you realize, that’s right– nan’s dead!

You lose it on the kitchen floor. Your sobs are so loud, the neighbors come to check on you. They find you right there on the kitchen floor, dinner burning on the stove, and paperwork from the army on the counter.

People treat you like a widow after that. You don’t consider yourself one. It just doesn’t feel right. He left without a goodbye, and now you’re supposed to accept that he’s gone?

You’re a celebrity around town– poor Simon’s widow. You quit your job, the widow’s pension being enough to get you by for now. Simon’s old boss starts giving you cuts for free– not even the shitty ones. You get filet mignons from him, aged wines from neighbors, extra pastries from the bakery, and pitying stares from strangers.

In three years you went from a complete stranger to Simon Riley’s widow. Three years and that man tore your life apart. The six month mark is approaching. It’s funny, really. That’s twice the time it took for you two to get hitched.

There isn’t even a body to bury, only a plain gravestone with his name and dates. You don’t visit it. There’s no point. What’s there to mourn? Instead you dig a hole in your back garden. It isn’t very deep, and the garden’s long dead. You don’t dare touch the shovel, it had been Simon’s– used when you needed a hole dug for flowers or bushes. Instead the hole is dug with your bare hands, like a dog searching for something.

In the pathetic pit in that dead garden, you put your ring– the one Simon gave you, that his nan gave him –wrapped in his apron.

The backyard burial doesn’t make you feel better. It just puts dirt under your nails that won’t wash away no matter how hard you scrub at it.

You consider selling the house. That leads to another breakdown. You were supposed to raise your kids there– Simon’s kids. Nan wanted you and Simon to have that house. Now nan’s gone. Simon’s gone. But for some reason you’re left to wander the ruins.

Six months finally comes. People stopped giving you free shit by month three. It’s not like you ever wanted their gifts. It’d come to you with a smile and some bullshit about how we get it or we’re here for you. You laugh at the notion when you wake up on the six month anniversary of your fucking husband’s death alone and…

It’s not the anniversary. Not the real one, at least. It’s only been six months since those men showed up at your door, like the grim reaper dressed up for Queen Elizabeth. He had to have died some time before then.

You don’t even know when your husband died.

It has to be on the paperwork they gave you. Six months after however many days since your husband’s death, you tear apart your house. Every drawer is pulled out, every cabinet yanked open in the hopes that you can find the paperwork that has Simon RIley’s death date.

Not on the pension form.

Not on the letter from the crown.

Not on the invitation to the fucking widow’s club.

When the hell did he die?

You fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, surrounded by every piece of paperwork you could locate. It’s still dark when you wake up, mind clouded with exhaustion. You almost fall back asleep right there on the floor, but when you let your head fall back down on the hardwood, you feel rhythmic vibrations travel through the wood to your cheek. Footsteps.

“Love?”

Only one man has ever called you that.

It’s like you lose the ability to speak. Any thought you could have dies on your tongue as two familiar arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you into a lap. He holds you on the floor, lets you cry it out until the sun comes up.

The first words to come out of your mouth: “You said you wouldn’t make me a widow.”

He holds you tighter, “And I didn’t.”

Simon doesn’t tell you what happened. All you know is that he had been taken, tortured, and somehow rescued. 

He looks different. He’s gots lots of scars now. They bother him, he covers up in long shirts and pants more often than not, no matter how much you tell him he doesn’t need to. He says that he doesn’t want to worry you with them.

It’s not the scars that worry you. Simon’s different. Whatever happened to him back there had made him needy. He doesn’t let you out of his sight. At night, you’re adhered to his side by an impossibly strong grip. He whispers in his sleep, don’t leave me, as though you could possibly escape his iron grip. Maybe needy isn’t the right word. Obsessive, more like.

He digs the ring up just like you did– all bare hands and fury. You don’t know how he found it– you never told him. You just wake up one morning to him pawing furiously at the ground. He pulls it out and presents it to you like a cat with a dead mouse. He puts the ring on your finger before even rinsing the dirt off.

In bed he consumes you. Where once sex was fun and playful, it now is a ritual, like Simon is claiming you. It’s enjoyable, yes, but overwhelming. You don’t think he blinks anymore. It’s like he’s worried you’re going to be ripped away from him, like every time is the last time.

Two months after he comes home, papers arrive for him in the mail. He’s being deployed again. You’re worried. It’s too soon. You can’t lose him again, and you tell him as much.

Simon placates your worries with a kiss on the head. As he pulls you into a hug, he utters, “Love, I crawled out of the grave for you once. You best bet I’ll do it again.”

Somehow, you don’t think he’s lying.

[thepersonnamedsam]

Could you do reader gets her wisdom teeth removed and the drivers take shift in watching her ?

anesthesia

pairing: the genz!driver x '23!grid

summary: the genz!driver wakes up one day with so much pain that she has to take out her wisdom teeth

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of depression and anxiety, reader on a high

note: sorry, it got a bit depressed here and there, but it’s still a very fun post to read, well at least i hope so

masterlist / taglist

Everything hurt, like everything. Not just a limb or a stomach, her whole body hurt, but mostly her mouth, her teeth actually. But she would never say that, afraid someone would accuse her of not brushing her teeth.

Oh and she was whining. Everybody she encountered had to listen to her whine. Show her body hurt and everything pulsated and how she just wanted to sleep and it was the worst. People war starting to worry about her. And Charles was the first one to suggested to pay a visit to the medics.

��Would you like me to bring you to the medics, y/n?“, he had asked her. But she just whined and shook her head. „Are you sure, you seem like you are in a lot of pain“, he checked with her, but she still refused. She didn’t want to know, if she had a bad tooth.

It was only Wednesday, so just media for the day, or that’s what y/n thought. When you’re in pain, even media is hard. She was thankfully paired with Max, Lando, Fernando and Kevin. At least she had some people she felt comfortable with. Max sat on her left, whilst Fernando sat on her right. Next to Max was Lando and Kevin sat on the other side of Nando - she was squished between the drivers. Her body leaned slightly into Nando and he just let her, he had heard about her pain and was just glad she was up and walking.

They asked some questions, y/n not really present and not actually listening, until Max poked her and pointed to an interviewer with his index finger.

„I am so sorry, what was your question again?“, she asked the nice looking lady. She smiled and repeated her question to the young driver: „There were some rumours going around that you are in pain, is that true and can you elaborate?“

y/n groaned internally, of course her pain made the talk. She was half expecting the question, if she could race this weekend with her pain and if she would’ve answered truthfully, she would’ve said I don’t know.

„Thank you for your question. Uhm, yes, I am experiencing some pain at the moment, but it’s not as bad as it seems. I can still race on Sunday“, she talked into the microphone. The interviewer seemed only kind of content with her answer, but it’ll have to do, because y/n was back on leaning against Fernando and had closed her eyes.

When she woke up on Thursday morning, she had to clutch her cheeks. Groans left her mouth and she was ready to die, or that’s what she thought. Something wasn’t right. She wanted to call Seb and ask for his opinion on things, but when she opened her mouth, she almost screamed. She opted for a text, explaining how much her mouth hurt and what she should do.

Seb immediately saw her message and had to ask Hanna. His wife told him to ask someone on the grid to take her to the dentist - immediately. So, that’s what he did.

„Hey Lewis, what’s up? Listen, I have a request for you“, he told Lewis over the phone. He explained how the young driver has felt pain in her mouth for the last two or three days and how she woke up that day with unbearable pain. „Aw man, that’s bad, she can’t race with that now, can she?“, the Brit asked back. Seb shook his head no, even though Lewis couldn’t see the action over the phone.

„Hanna said to take her to the dentist, and you know I would do it myself, but you guys are in Silverstone and I myself are in Switzerland.“

Lewis promised him to take the girl to the dentist as soon as possible. Seb exhaled, glad to have helped in some way. He texted y/n back, told her that Lewis was gonna take her to see someone for the pain.

You can’t imagine how glad y/n was, that Seb handled all of that for her. She texted him a thousand thank yous and she hugged Lewis so tight when he was standing in front of her hotel room.

„Ready to leave?“, he asked her. She nodded and the two left the hotel together. As always, paparazzi were waiting for the drivers and flashed them with their questions and pictures.

„Where are you going?“

„Is it related to your pain, y/n?“

„What do you think about the track, Lewis, will you bring it home?“

y/n‘s eyes hurt, well everything hurt, but the bright flashes didn’t do anything against the pain, it much rather made it worse. Lewis saw how y/n had to shut her eyes closed, so he took off his Mercedes hat and placed it on her head. The journalists would have a feast with that.

In Lewis‘ car, she took his hat off and placed it on the dashboard. The car ride wasn’t long, only about twenty minutes. And as the two walked into the dentists office, her heart started racing. The last thing she wanted to hear, was her having a bad tooth.

y/n struggled with depression and anxiety, so normal tasks as brushing teeth, was sometimes very hard to maintain. Her daily trains and meals were easy, because she had her personal trainer who tracked her and was always by her side. But as soon as she was all alone again, the easiest daily routines became the hardest. Brushing teeth and hair, showering and washing her hair. Cleaning the kitchen or the bathroom. Washing her clothes on the Monday after a race. It was all so hard, but she didn’t want anyone to know. She didn’t want people to know and pity her.

That’s why people noticing her unfinished tasks or her habits, it made her anxious. So, so very anxious. And she especially didn’t want Lewis to know. He would just tell Seb and Seb would probably order her to Switzerland and make an appointment with the best psychiatrist he knows and she could forget her racking career. No, that was not gonna happen.

„Lewis, can you please wait outside?“, she begged him. But he wasn’t budging. He knew of her fear of dentists and was not having it. He was going in with her. So, he took her by her hand and dragged her to the treatment room.

Her mind raced with anxious thoughts, but the dentist did not confirm her worst fear. Her wisdom teeth were growing and they had to be taken out eventually. But not at the moment, because she had Free Practice, Qualifying and a Race she had to attend in the next four days. They made an appointment on Monday, they would bestanden out under anesthesia, because of her fears.

The dentist sent her home with some pretty strong pain meds, which she was glad, because for the first time in a week, she didn’t feel any pain.

The days flew by, she placed P11 on the race. She was so happy for Lewis and Lando, a bit sad for Oscar. But so, so happy for the Brits. As she was standing from the sidelines, Lando offered her a the champagne bottle, but she couldn’t eat or drink 14 hours before her surgery and definitely no alcohol. So, she kindly declined and opted for a quick thumbs up and a air kiss for her favourite boys.

Fernando had heard from Lewis about her wisdom teeth and offered to come with Lewis, so he wouldn’t be all alone with the young and high driver. He may have also talked to Carlos about it, who told Charles, who told Daniel, who told Max. They were all coming with. Some to help the young driver and some to laugh at her. Their group chat was going to be full of videos and photos of her.

Monday morning, the girl was waiting anxiously for Lewis‘ car. And when he finally pulled up and she saw who were sitting in it, she groaned.

„Lewis, I told you not to tell anyone“, she whined. The addressed only laughed, so did the whole car. She squeezed herself between Charles and Carlos, who were sitting behind the drivers seat and the passenger seat. Lewis was driving, obviously, Fernando was sitting next to Lewis and Max and Daniel were seated in the backs seats. Even though it didn’t make much sense with Daniel, because of his long legs, he had to sit in a weird cramped position.

When the seven arrived, the assistants looked at them funny and the dentist had to hide a snort. The young girl with her seven bodyguards.

The procedure was short, all four teeth were removed and now they were waiting for her to wake up. The dentist warned them, that the anesthesia doesn’t wear off for about ten more minutes, so she’ll be sleeping until then. And after that, she’ll still have some after effects. Max was waiting for that to happen.

Her mouth was dry and it felt like she had sand in her mouth? Anyway, her body felt like she was hit by a truck, possibly a Haas or an Alfa Romeo. She blinked slowly, why was it so bright? And why were her hands not moving up to her face like she wanted them to? What was going on?

Something loud an obnoxious forced herself through her ears, it was almost painful. What the fuck was happening? She tried to wiggle her toes, but they didn’t move. She looked panicked and tried to find a familiar voice. That’s when she saw Daniel laughing, pointing his phone at her, probably filming this whole thing. Her eyes followed his movements and she found Lewis slightly smiling at her. She saw him move his mouth, but she couldn’t hear anything.

Lewis saw the watery eyes of her and wanted to reassure her that she was safe and all went well, but the more he spoke, the more tears spilt out of her eyes. She full on started crying. You could sense, that everyone in that room was overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do. Until Fernando went up to her and took the girl in his arms. Shushing and humming a light tune. Soon her tears turned into hiccups and she was calm again.

„My body isn’t moving they way I want it to“, she whined, but it was hard to understand her with all the gauze in her mouth. „And I’m thirsty.“

Carlos stood up and got a cup of water for her, which she was very grateful for and she met him know very much.

„Thank you so much, Carlito. I love you, I hope you know that.“

The boys laughed at her, but she looked at them mean and said: „Don’t be jealous because he receives my love. And stop laughing, it’s so loud.“ That made Daniel laugh even louder and she just glared at him. Max was snickering silently and hit Danny on his arm, to signal him to turn it down a nudge, but that he was enjoying that just as much as he was.

„Danny, I heard you’re gonna be back on the grid in Hungary?“, she smiled at the Australian. „Yeah, yeah, but different than you might think.“ He smiled back at her and she made grabby hands at the older driver. He laughed and went to hug her. She nuzzled her head into his crook between shoulder and head and sighed.

„You know, I don’t think Heidi would enjoy you snuggling like that with y/n“, Max made the remark, but Danny just showed him his middle finger and put his arms more around y/n. It was soon time to take the girl back to the hotel, but that was harder than it sounded. Her limbs were still not reacting at the same time and walking was a no go. Lewis and Fernando immediately backed out of carrying her to the car, reasoning with their age and their backs. So, Charles was the one volunteering to piggy back ride her to the car.

„It’s like she’s drunk. Has anyone ever seen her drunk, by the way?“, Carlos mentioned. „Oh, yes. Let’s get drunk, guys. Carlito, that’s a very good idea of yours, that’s why I love you so much“, y/n responded to Carlos question. Max started to laugh and got out his phone to record the conversation.

„Okay, let’s not address some stuff with her in the car, okay? Stuff that could make her cry, or bring stupid ideas to her head or any stuff like that“, Lewis said from the drivers seat, his head turning slightly to look at all his passengers. „Agreed“, said Fernando.

„Can we listen to some music?“, she whined. She was whining for everything, so you couldn’t really call it whining anymore. Fernando turned on the radio and Speak Now was playing. „Omg, Nando! It’s your girlfriend!“, she patted Fernando excitedly on his back. He just grinned and said: „Hasn’t she been linked with someone else now?“ - „Well yes, Matty Healy, that greasy singer from The 1975, but you were a much better candidate for mother.“

„Is it Taylor’s Version“, she asked. „What is Taylor’s Version“, Max asked. She gasped and turned around to face the Dutch driver. „You don’t know what Taylor’s Version means? Shame on you!“

The car ride was short and they were soon in the garage of the hotel. This time it was Daniel who was carrying y/n to her hotel room. Charles was still rubbing his shoulders, as she gripped him so hard, out of fear she could fall off. Until then, everyone on the grid knew about the girl getting her wisdom teeth removed. That’s why Lando, Oscar, Alex and Lily, George and Pierre were waiting in front of her room.

Fernando was the first one to notice the bunch and laughed out loud. y/n covered her ears, as she was still thinking that laughter is too loud and was hurting her head. Lily was the first one she noticed, so she sprung from Danny’s back and sprinted towards Alex‘ girlfriend. „Lily, hi, what are you doing here?“, for Lily it was hard to understand her, not yet having learnt what her gibberish meant. For the others in the car, it became noticeably easier the more she talked.

„Hi y/n, I heard about your wisdom teeth and I just wanted to check if you were good and if you need anything. But I see that you already have a bunch with you.“

The young driver nodded and hugged Lily once again. She looked at Lewis so he would open her door. He smiled and made his way through all the drivers. And as soon as he opened the door, y/n was on her way to lie on her bed. The others went one by one into her room and either sat on the few chairs or opted to sit on the floor. She soon was snoring slightly, y/n was out cold.

„So, how do we do this? We can’t all be watching her or can we?“, Pierre asked the group. „We can take turns“, suggested George. „I would probably go, I mean, we, right babe?“, Alex turned towards his girlfriend who nodded her head. „I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t alone, s‘all“, she said.

„We can take the first round, right mate“, Lando looked towards Oscar, who nodded at his teammate. „Okay, thanks guys, I think me and Fernando will be back in, let’s say, three hours?“, Lewis asked. „We can look after you guys, me and Carlos“, Charles said and everyone nodded. „Max? You and me?“, Daniel wiggled his eyebrows at Max who laughed in response. That only left George and Pierre, who were content that they were last, which meant, they had a high chance of not looking after the driver.

Everyone left, expect the two McLaren drivers. Lando soon set up his phone and would start recording everything when she woke up. She did after a 20 minute nap and was very confused where all her favourite people went. She started to cry and Lando tried hard not to laug. „Hey there, what’s wrong?“, Oscer asked the girl. „Where did everyone go?“

They explained the situation to her, but she didn’t stop crying. She wanted to drink something, but the last time she couldn’t hold the water in her mouth. „I can ask for a straw, maybe that’s better?“ Lando frantically searched for the phone to the reception. Unfortunately they didn’t have any straws. „Oscar, go to McDonalds or so and get a straw!“

„Lando, I love you so much, the things you’re doing for me“, she whispered and Lando almost didn’t understand her. Nevertheless, he was still touched.

She mostly slept, took some pain meds and slept again. It wasn’t really necessary to watch her anymore, but all of them still stayed. Even on the next morning, where most of the grid flew home again. Lewis accompanied her home and they facetimed Seb together. He’s seen all of the videos already - she doesn’t remember a thing. He was just glad that she was okay.

y/n said her hellos to Hanna and his two girls and cooked for Lewis - vegan of course. She was so glad to have all of her friends working with her, she wouldn’t know what to do without them.

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @topguncultleader , @biglittlesecret, @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @youkissedareaderinthedark , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @whatthefuckerr

[georgiapeach30513]

Two Good Reasons, Part 2

Summary: The truth comes out

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings:  language, mentions of cheating, mention of fertility issues, depictions of depression, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Your leg bounces up and down when you look at your phone. You are late. And knowing Scott, he’s going to use this against you. You rarely went out. But this…

You look down at your clothes. His clothes. What else were you supposed to do but grab his button up, and some sweats. It still smelled like him, and you’re swooning. You can still feel him in your body. On your body. He didn’t just fuck you, he made sure to implant his entire soul in you, and it leaves you longing for more. Things with Andy have always been good enough for one time.

It was beautiful, and perfect, and just like how you would imagine seeing him again. But you can’t want him. Your life is a mess, and you can’t bring him into it. You give a nod to the Uber driver as you get out of the vehicle. Your heeled shoes oddly matched with his clothes, and make too much noise as you walk up the front steps.

Walking into the house, you’re met with Scott glaring at you. You don’t answer. You want to see your babies. But he makes a show out of looking at his watch. “You’re over an hour late.”

“Sorry, I ruined your Sunday morning, Scott.”

“And what the hell are you wearing?” His hand gestures down your body, and you feel your cheeks flare up in anger more than embarrassment. Like he had any room to talk. He smirks. Reaching across the counter to slide your wallet towards you. “The District Attorney dropped this off for you. Guess I know whose clothes you’re wearing. My god. How can you be so fucking stupid?”

“I’m stupid? How’s Taylor? Your twenty-three year old fiancé? She’s just waiting for the damn divorce to be finalized, huh?” He hates when you bring up the engagement, or her age. Hell, everyone could tell she was young. Most thought she was younger than twenty-three.

Scott takes a deep breath. His fingers tap on the counter. “If you give us the house, I won’t fight you for full custody.”

Your eyes immediately well with furious tears as you stare at the man that you loved so much. You gave up everything to give him the family and home he wanted. The only thing you couldn’t give him anymore was children. Taylor could. He made sure of it. Plus her boobs weren’t droopy from breastfeeding. Her hips weren’t wider from bearing children. Her hair wasn’t thinner because you gave to your babies.

“Why are you always crying? My god, we’ve been over this. You’re getting alimony. Why do you need this house?”

“Why do you?” you counter immediately.

He sighs, shaking his head, “Because we’re going to have a family. You’re — not.”

“You son of a bitch. You're bargaining my kids for this ugly house? You think you have a leg to stand on for full custody?” This is the thing that infuriates you most about Scott. He was a good father, but now that the veil has been removed, you see that his children were more of a show for him. Something to talk about at meetings. Brag about when Audrey got into the best Pre-K in the city. Not because he actually enjoyed them. That was you.

“I have a career. You have…”

“I was your wife, and their mom, nurse, teacher, friend, entertainment, cook, maid,” you would do it all again to spend time with them. Them. It pains you knowing that Suede is at a center, when with Audrey you spent every waking minute with her.

“Yeah, I get it. You did all that for me, but that still doesn’t mean anything. I paid for this house. I’m the one that makes the money.”

“Get out,” you answer blankly. Don’t argue with him outside of the courtroom. That’s what your cheap lawyer told you. Don’t give him ammunition to take your children away. He wanted you to stay at home. He wanted you to not use your college degree. He wanted you to give everything for the family.

“We’re not finished. I am trying to negotiate things with you. Especially since you’re running around sleeping with the DA. You think that’s going to actually help your case? Seriously?” Of all the things to say, this was the worst. To think he thought so little of you that you would sleep with someone that could leverage the case. He’s an ass. But he also knows about your Andy. Too bad, he didn’t realize they were the same person.

“Andy is not just the DA,” Scott looks over your features, and your mouth turns up into a smile. Is he really lecturing you about sleeping around? At least you chose someone that was more than a tight body and big tits. You chose someone you loved, could see a future with. And you were pushing him away, “Andy is an old friend.”

“You bitch,” you shrug, starting to walk backwards towards your children who should be taking a nap. “Are you fucking kidding me. That’s — you — don’t tell me you fucked him so…”

“Mommy!” You shoot him a glare as Audrey comes running down the hallway. Jumping into your arms, and you hug her so tightly. “You smell nice,” you hope Scott hears her. You weren’t into playing games where your children are concerned, but you hope he feels even a tiny prick of the pain you felt when you found him fucking Taylor in your bed. “Me and Suedey missed you.”

“I missed you, too, baby. You want to go get Suede, so you guys can tell daddy, bye?” She furrows her brows, while she looks at you confused. “Baby what is it?”

“It’s nothing. Audrey, go get Suede,” he gives her a little wink, and you place her back on the floor, and turn to look at him. “It’s nothing.”

“If that woman was in my house again, so help me God, Scott,” it’s the one thing you hated. Her being here. Of course you didn’t want them at her apartment either, and neither did Taylor. It was too small and they caused a mess, which is why overnight stays with their dad were few and far between.

“She doesn’t like being alone.”

“And the agreement was for her to not be in my dwellings. This is my dwelling.”

“And it should be ours! You don’t even want it. You hate it here. You’re just doing this because you don’t want Taylor and I to have it.”

“I’m doing this? Who is the one that said you won’t go for full custody if I give you the house? Taylor put you up to that?” Scott stops his retort as a swollen eyed Suede comes waddling into the room, and you lift him up. “Why is he snotty? I was gone one night, why is he snotty?” You hate being that mom, but with Suede, you have to be careful.

“He petted Trixie,” you look up at Scott dumbfounded. “It was just for a little bit and then…”

“Audrey,” Scott warns, and you want to throw things at him, and scream. She did nothing wrong. She is the child, and he is the adult. “Come give me a hug. I need to finish talking to your mom," you let your chubby toddler waddle off to his daddy. And Audrey gives you a lingering look before grabbing her brother’s hand. Apologizing as she drags him to the play room.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“He’s allergic to cats.”

“I gave him a Benadryl. He’ll be fine.”

You hate him. It isn’t much to ask for Taylor not to be here. And for her not to bring her fucking cat. “And what happens if she feeds him something with eggs?” Scott looks at the counter, and you wonder if he ever regrets getting involved with her. He’s the type of man that will force something to work. Because you didn’t stand for cheating, so he didn’t have another option.

“What happens if she gives him walnuts? Or milk? Or…?”

“Or gives him shell fish? Or strawberries? Or pineapples? Or whatever made up bullshit you have for him. She’s a kid and doesn’t know how bad his allergies are.”

You stare at him, and let him think about his fucking words. Seething because he sure knows how to piss you off. This was a good day. You stared at Andy’s sleeping body for too long before you tiptoed around his bedroom. Having sex so many times exhausted him now. “You’re right, she’s a kid. And had no business being with you. But our son’s health is not made up. I held his body when the nurse pricked his skin forty times, and he was wailing in my arms, and not understanding why his mommy was forcing him to do this. Don’t tell me it’s fucking made up Scott. Get out.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Get out. Leave. I can’t even look at you. This isn’t the you I married. You would never put our children’s health at risk,” he continues to stand there. Opening his mouth a bit, but you’re tired. You’re sore. And all you want is to play with your children. “I don’t need you to ask me if I’m going to use this against you. Yes, when it comes to my children’s lives and their safety, you’re damn straight I will make sure my children are alive to see another day, and not because some tramp thinks Seude’s allergies aren’t that fucking serious. Get. Out.”

He bites his lip before spinning on his heels quickly. You watch him walk out of your house, and life again. Sniffling when you lock the door. You take a few deep breaths before you have to put on your mommy shoes. It isn’t easy being a mother. Especially a single mother. It’s not easy seeing the man that you built a life with walk away so callously. To see him building a life with someone younger. Someone who can give him what he wants.

Someone who didn’t spend months and months on fertility treatments that made her feel like her skin was crawling. Like her mind was shattered. Having to schedule sex, and hope and pray that it will work. All the useless damn pregnancy tests that were always negative. Stressed, and trying to be what he wanted, only to find him fucking the babysitter, while your children slept in the next room. And it was your fault you caught them, you got back home early.

Scott didn’t even begin to understand stress. He could never understand the ups and downs your mental state went through just trying to give him what he wanted. You had Audrey and Suede. One of each, you weren’t greedy. But everything you ever did was always for him. Put on a smile when you’re hurting so bad internally. Smiling to the neighbors because everything was perfect. And you had a perfect home, and inside you were screaming because that wasn’t happiness.

The only happiness you currently have is your kids. They’re enough. They’re the reason you wake up every morning, and take them to the nursery school. They’re the reason that you get excited that Audrey wears a little uniform now that she’s in Pre-K. They put a smile on your face everyday. And those hard days when they test your every patience, and you are the one that has to be the positive one and get them in the bed, but who takes care of you?

You wanted a family and a partner. Someone that would team up with you, and take some of this load off. Someone that could entertain the kids, while you had one hour to yourself, just so you can take a bath and read. You wanted someone you could trust to be around your kids, and you’re wondering where things went wrong with Scott. Yeah, you’re sure he was stressed, but what about your stress? You’re the one who didn’t even enjoy sex anymore because it was a chore. And you did it for him.

Gods, Andy wasn’t a chore. Minus the ache in your core, that you know is going to be there for awhile. Bruised, raw, stiff, sore, and stretched. He fucked you, and fucked you so hard and deep. But then — later in the night, he kissed you. He kissed you so hard that your body prepared for him in seconds. You craved him. But he didn’t fuck you. He pushed into your warmth so slow that you knew he was making sure your body memorized him. That wasn’t fucking. That was claiming. It was euphoric. It was making love, and hoping that his body can make you change your mind. He still wants you.

That is what you want with sex. Not to just lay there, and let them take what you want, while you count the cobwebs on the ceiling. But Andy didn’t deserve whatever is going on between you and Scott. Andy deserves the world. He always has.

It isn’t anything, really. Just the average separation, and fighting for custody that Scott didn’t deserve. But you want to be divorced. You want these conversations to be done with. You want him to man up, and just be the part time dad. It’s what he was anyways. But you made it clear that Andy had you for one night. And even now saying it out loud, you hate yourself. But it’s the right thing to do. Because had Andy been present for this, his usual calm and collected demeanor would have been tested.

“What are you two doing?” You jump around the door, and both kids squeal. Suede gives a few strides before he’s crashing into your legs. “Bubba, I think you’re going to have to get your nose cleaned out at bathtime.”

“Nope. Me pay Sis,” he hates getting his nose cleaned out, and you hate that he has done it enough to know what you’re talking about.

“Mommy, I didn’t mean to get daddy in trouble.”

“Shh,” you sit on the floor, and pull her close to you. Kissing on top of her head, and she fumbles around with her little figurines. “The important thing is you told mommy that Suede was around something that can make him sick. That’s called being a good big sister, okay?”

“You promise?”

“I do,” and you curse Scott for making her worry about a grown man. It was something Scott wouldn’t have told you. Bending the truth because Suede was fine. Audrey, your strong sweet girl, knew it was wrong, and knew it could make her brother sick.

“Can we go to soft play tonight?” You look at her confused. Scott said that he was going to take them there with Taylor. Since she was supposed to be here. “Daddy said that they were closed. Do you think they’re closed today?”

“No, baby. They’re not today,” you always had to go with Scott’s lies. Taylor never wanted to do ‘baby things’. You wondered how that was going to work when she had children of her own. “You think mommy can take a shower with the door open and you and Suede not get into trouble?”

“Can we get ice cream, too?” She gives you a devilish grin, and you nod your head with a smile. “Are you going to use your bathroom?”

“No, I’ll use yours. That way I can still hear you, if you need me,” Audrey isn’t dumb. She knows you’re lying. In reality you couldn’t use yours and Scott’s bathroom anymore. It had the beautiful tub that was part of the reason you and him decided on this house. You couldn’t even sleep in your bed. Not after they defiled it.

You knew that was the real reason, and still you made excuses as to why you slept on the couch. Your favorite was to make sure nobody came through the front door. Whatever lie helped you sleep at night. Maybe you should just give Scott the house. But it’s the principle of the matter that he used your children as leverage. You want him to pay, and you want him to be their father, you want them to have a good relationship with him and Taylor, and you want things to not be so fucking difficult. You never get what you want.

You remember the most beautiful parts of your marriage. Audrey in a world of her own, while Suede goes from watching her to rolling his cars around. They were your sanity. Your saving grace, and the only reasons you’ve survived thus far. Your thumb trails over your naked ring finger. You didn’t realize you would miss it so much. But was it the ring you missed or the husband you had? You can’t even think of Scott in the same way as before. He sullied your relationship and has proven too often that Taylor is more important than your everything’s.

“So,” Sloane says as Andy walks past you and into Ransom’s office. You didn’t question why Andy needs to meet with him. It goes with the territory and the less you know the better off you are. “Big dick daddy doesn’t pay you any mind anymore?”

You choke on your coffee as you glance up at her. How the hell would she know about Andy’s dick or your involvement? “I mean, the man prances around the courthouse like he’s got a dick made out of lead. Acts like he owns the whole court system. And for a while, he always made a point to ask you for coffee, or dinner, or brought you pastries. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” you go back to your work. Sloane could be a nosy woman. Always digging for more information. And even now, she’s eyeing you like you’ve done something wrong.

“You when I think that things changed?”

“Nope,” you sigh, but she sure is going to tell you. Andy respected your wishes for just one night. But you hoped that he wouldn’t. And you know you’re acting silly. There was this part that is bigger than you really want to admit that hoped he wouldn’t give up on you. Because maybe once things are settled with Scott you might consider it.

“It might have something to do with his celebration of another year as District Attorney, and the two of you not so casually leave together. You kinda forgot your car here,” your fingers freeze, and you look up at her curiously. “You two left out the door together, and your car was here? Seriously?”

“I had a flat tire.”

“No, you didn’t,” there isn’t another way you can lie, so you just sit at your desk, staring at her. “So how was it? I’m assuming that you had sex. You’ve got kids, you’re not a virgin. So why not? Is he as big as people think?”

“People talk about his dick size?”

“Not just talk about his dick size, but have tried to break his impenetrable force field of his private life. And you come in here, and everyone is envious because he immediately showed interest in you. Why?” Her eyebrow cocks up, and she smiles. “Keep your secrets. Cause I know you fucked him, and I know now that he barely even looks at you. So either you told him how it was going to be, or…”

Her voice trails off as she walks away from your desk, “Or what?” That sounds ominous, and you didn’t want an or. You want to know that Andy doesn’t hate you. But what could make him hate you that much? The only thing would be, “Scott…”

—

“Stop moping,” Ransom rolls his eyes, but Andy is so far lost in thought it annoys Ransom. “You’ve been like this for a couple of weeks,” Andy ignores Ransom, stirring his coffee. “What’s wrong, your highness?”

“Your office manager.”

“Was the sex that bad?” Andy looks up at him confused. Scrunching up his brows, while he wonders when Ransom thinks he had sex with you. “You two weren’t subtle. She was all giggly, and you were dragging her out the door. Liquid courage I guess. Not to mention, Sloane said that her car was here once everyone left. Office hookups are severely frowned upon, but you needed laid. But I guess…it was bad.”

Andy shakes his head no. “And we had agreed on sex while she was sober,” you were sober. And cute. And flirty. And Andy was not going to miss an opportunity. Until he found out you are married.

“How romantic. Now, since the sex was good, let’s get to work.”

“She told me that I could only have her one night. We have a bit of a history, you see,” Ransom rolls his eyes, twirling his hand and motioning Andy to speed up the conversation. He didn’t care what kind of history you had. He just wants the conversation to end so he can get down to business. “She’s married.”

Ransom shakes his head no, and leans to reach in a bottom drawer of his desk. Grabbing up a file folder, he drops it on the desk in front of Andy, and he pulls it towards him. Opening up the folder, he reads through it, and looks at Ransom, holding his breath. “Yeah, that’s a petition for full custody of her kids from her wonderful estranged husband, Scott Huffman. Her working here wasn’t just because she needed a job. She actually went to college to be…”

“A CPA. I’m aware. We have a history.”

“And didn’t know about her legal separation?” Ransom is annoyed. Ransom hates getting off track. There is a schedule, and Andy isn’t sticking to it. “Her lawyer is one of the cheapest ones. She needs new representation, and for some godforsaken reason, I pity her. Scott doesn’t need his kids full time. He’s got him some blonde that’s too young for him, but he’s got the money. She was a stay at home mom, and she deserves her kids, so I’m trying to make that happen. And no, you cannot intervene. You actually met him didn’t you? Scott?”

“I’ve met him in court a few times.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Don’t get involved. She’s not married. Well, she’s legally separated. So if that’s what the issue is, get over it,” Ransom is sometimes way to blunt, but it’s the reason Andy admires him. His pension for being a spoiled brat helped him be a better ADA. “That fucker is still calling her his wife isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Men like him love to show that they still own her. Using her kids against her, no doubt. But,” Andy holds his hands up in surrender. He knows Ransom can see right through him concerning this situation. “I won’t interfere.”

“Was her pussy that good?”

“It was always that good, but it was never about the sex,” he meets his eyes before he closes the folder, and extends it to Ransom. He misjudged the situation. And then he probably has been making you feel like a wet hole by ignoring you these past couple of weeks. “God, I'm an idiot.”

”Yeah, now if you can stop ignoring her, and go back to your obvious shameless flirting. It sounds like the two of you, if you want a future, need to fucking talk. Just like we’re supposed to be doing.”

Ransom is right. About a lot of things. He pushes the urgent need to talk to you aside. He wants to apologize for ignoring you, and even the horrible things he thought. He wants to understand what really happened in your marriage, if you want to talk. He wants to let you know that you have a friend in him. Not just a sexual need. He cares about you. And knowing that a ruthless man is trying to get full custody of your children, sickens him. Scott worked too many hours to ever need those children.

But mostly, he wants to know the new you. The one you kept hidden, and the one that grew up and created a new life. He wants to know that you are okay. And that you have someone with a steady head to lean on. He wants you. He always has. And he’ll be whatever you need. If you’ll let him.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

[dreamdazedworld]

YINGXING BRAINROT

Synopsis: Yingxing x Genshin! Youkai! Gender neutral Reader and the both of them are hopelessly in love.

Note(s): I was listening to 愛き夜道 on Spotify when I suddenly got this idea, now it won’t leave me alone. Anyways, I think that this is the first post I actually wrote, so yippie? Eat up, my children, you won’t be having these Yingxing crumbs for some while. This might actually turn into a full blown fic, though it depends on my motivation LOL

Warning(s): Both of them are hopelessly in love with each other, death mentioned (nothing serious, dw), oops now you have a Yandere! Blade chasing you around Teyvat

Art credit goes to my favorite artist, void/Re:era on X! Their art is really pretty, check them out if you can :o

Imagine a Genshin! Youkai! Reader who’s a fox/kitsune (like Yae), and fell in love with YINGXING, like it has all of the potential fr.

So! Of course, Reader here is from Inazuma, and their… clan (let’s all pretend that the Youkai has separate clans) feeds only on the feelings (and emotions), positive ones, to be precise, of humans (like the dementors from Harry Potter!). Negative ones are like poison to them- And the only antidote for this is the Sacred Sakura, however, there are lasting after effects. Once poisoned, the kitsune will be significantly weakened for a long period of time, ranging from a few decades to centuries on end, depending on how much the kitsune consumed.

Kitsune! Reader, unlike the others from their clan, doesn’t like feeding on humans (because it ends up driving their victim mad and they like humans). Of course they understand that it’s necessary for them to survive, they’re not dumb, they can feel their hunger growing with each day they refused to feed on humans. So, with no more options, decides to blend into human society by protecting mankind from the ‘evil’ Youkai, and occasionally feeding on people who are about to die (with guilt). Their love for humanity and stubborn determination to protect humans ends up earning them a Pyro vision that supplies them with some energy to keep them going, since visions are literally wishes with a physical shape, and wishes have positive energy.

One day, while resting on the Sacred Sakura, Reader accidentally finds out that the Sakura has clones, which are spread across multiple worlds by waking up in the Xianzhou Luofu. There, they meet young Yingxing, who’s still learning under that grandpa, when he stumbles into the area where the clone is located. There, they become friends, and as years pass, eventually drinking buddies as well. After Yingxing meets the High-Cloud Quintet and as years fade away, our dear Reader here realizes they’re hopelessly in love with….. Yingxing!? Instantly gives up on their love as soon as they realize, because they think he doesn’t see them in that light (honey, he does), and to rub salt to the wound, in love with Bai Heng, since Yingxing talks about her a lot. But of course it doesn’t go as easily as they want it to go, so the Reader just silently suffers with their emotions.

When shit starts to go down in the Quintet after Bai Heng’s death, Reader goes “Oh fuck, Yingxing’s negative energy is going to make him choose the shittiest life options, won’t it?” and starts to suck away his pain (by kissing him in his sleep because YES). Yingxing starts getting better in exchange for Reader’s health, and in the end, Reader fucking COLLAPSES, forced to go back to Inazuma to recover, Yingxing learns about everything they were keeping from him through a letter, depression hits and oh wow, Yingxing chooses the most shittiest life decision he has ever made by teaming up with Dan Feng to cause the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, turning him immortal, and eventually into Blade. (I forgot to mention it but only the original Sacred Sakura has the ability to heal away the poison.)

As thousands of years pass, Reader fully recovers, though not exactly since they can’t let go of Yingxing. The Sakoku degree is lifted, and everything seems fine in Inazuma, until they come across a person who they thought were already dead- You guessed it, Blade! But not just typical Blade, Yandere! Blade who is on the brink of insanity and is hellbent on bringing Reader along with him. And so, the game of cat and mouse ensues.

[turtleblogatlast]

“Hey, Hueso.”

Hueso sighs.

Moving his gaze to his left, he sees Leo casually leaning up against the wall next to him. The turtle isn’t looking at him, instead he seems to be staring at nothing at all. Strange, but not necessarily unheard of from him.

“We’re closed, Pepino.” Hueso states, moving a little away to continue closing down his restaurant-

“Can any portal be portal-jacked?”

Hueso pauses.

It’s a simple enough question, one that Hueso’s fairly certain he’s given an equally simple - if not a bit harsh - answer to. Granted, it was more in regard to the likelihood of bad portals being jacked rather than any at all, so maybe now that Leo has admittedly become much more competent with his portals, he’s just worried it’ll happen again.

The invasion certainly made the boy more…cautious. Quieter, too.

“Well…” Hueso runs a bony hand down his face, “From what I know, the possibility always exists, Pepino. However, it is far, far more unlikely to be portal-jacked when the portal is made by a master, rather than some reckless amateur.”

Leo nods his head, almost vacantly. If Hueso wasn’t paying so much attention he may have missed the way Leo seemed to look a little sick. Despite himself, concern builds within him.

“So-“ Leo starts, his voice soft in a worrisome way before he clears it, “So…if the portal was just- really strong, it could still be jacked if made by a beginner?”

Hueso watches closely even as he nods in answer, “Sí. Your own portals are strong, no?”

Leo shakes his head, “No, like- imagine a portal way stronger than mine ever were. Something huge and stuff. More, uh. More locked up dimensions and time, less…just space.”

“Hm.” Hueso frowns, considering the strange question. “Well, in truth I have yet to come across many portals on that level, but there’s nothing to say that it’s not possible-“ The smallest furrow of Leo’s brow makes Hueso hurry to add, “-ah, but there’s also nothing that says it is possible.”

“So…it could happen? It’s not a definitive “no”?” Leo asks, the smallest of shakes present in his tone.

Hueso puts a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “No lo sé, Pepino. I haven’t come across such portals enough to give a good answer to you.”

Something in him hurts a bit when Leo visibly plasters on a grin. “Ah, man. Well- Gracias, Hueso, this was just a stupid thing to get all hung up on anyway.”

Hueso looks closer at this annoying, insufferable, horribly quiet and reserved boy. He sees the dark circles peaking, barely visible thanks to the mask. He sees the scars of healed injuries never to be forgotten displayed all across the boy’s body. He sees the look in Leo’s eyes, a depression and worry that is…hard to look at, in someone so young.

He sees all of this in Leo, and as much as he sometimes wishes to deny it, he cares enough about him to gently ask. “Are you okay, Pepino?”

“Oh- yeah, yeah, don’t worry, Hueso, I’m not about to whine to you again or anything.” Leo laughs, backing away out of Hueso’s reach. “It’s just a little question, just something that’s been bothering me, y’know? Wanted to ask an expert.”

“Pepino-“ Hueso starts, not quite sure what to say. The words “you can come to me whenever you need to” are true, and yet he can’t bring himself to say them before Leo already is swinging a katana.

In the light of his blue portal, Leo sends Hueso his signature, manufactured grin. “Thanks for listening, Hueso!”

And then he’s gone. Just like that. Standing tall and confident with not a shred of that worry and reservation and fear left behind. It was the look of a soldier heading off to a battle he knew was terrifying, but one he also knew he needed to keep a brave face for.

It would have been a commendable look, if not for the fact Leo was heading home.

Hueso stares at the residual sparks of the portal for just a moment longer before moving to continue closing. Next time, because there will always be a next time, Hueso will have a fresh pizza waiting.

And, hopefully, a bit of that insufferable turtle he knows so well comes back to grab a slice.

[rubyclover]

I said I can’t write but if felt nice getting that other idea out of my head. So I wrote this and will post. Technically I started trying to write this like a month ago… Please ignore the constant switching between past and present tense. It’s something I never seem to notice until someone else points out where it is.

Prompt: Professionals hate him but he was right! [Adam] Heaven and Hell come to the realization that The First Man played a larger part in the three realms’ political/social ecosystem than they thought. His absence leaves a vacuum that Lute is unable to fill but she may not need to because Hell is solving the problem themselves… The Morningstar Family can’t run from this.

No ABetaO we expire like Adam~

Imagine that Adam dies, the hotel has never looked better, the residents have healed up and Charlie gets another TV appearance. Lucifer is even more depressed than before but hides it. Adam is gone She’s going to reveal Sir Pentious’ redemption with evidence that is NOT childishly scribbled on key cards. Instead of the interview taking place in the 666News studio it’s held outside the hotel. She will take questions, live, right after the interview. Katie Killjoy wants to give the public a chance to cause chaos for ratings, so she puts Charlie in a vulnerable position.

Things go great… for the first 20 minutes. The interview isn’t even half way done when someone from the crowd interjects after Charlie says ‘The Sinners have a better life now that the Exterminations are permanently canceled.’

That person’s voice is calm but still pissed as Hell. They fire back that no, Sinners don’t have an easier life now that the Exterminations are over. It’s worse! Charlie and the crowd perk up.

The voice moves to the front. They’re short with plain street clothes, hood up. It’s obvious they’re poor and at the bottom of Hell’s pecking order. A couple of Imps are with them equally disheveled and tired looking. The man goes on to point out some rather hard truths.

Thanks to the last Extermination, angelic steel has become a hot commodity. While uncommon right now, there’s a pipeline to obtain an angelic weapon. All you need is enough money. Carmilla Carmine doesn’t care about how her product is used after purchase.

‘Permanent Murder’ is a new trend on HellTube netting ridiculous profits. The main targets are vulnerable Sinners, usually the scared and alone new arrivals, Imps and Hellhounds. All killed by beautifully glowing angelic weapons.

Overlords are more formidable with these weapons so the chance of contractees escaping, like Angeldust, has become damn near impossible even if they destroyed their contract. Some desperate souls were happy with their messed up immortality. It gave them some hope, ‘at least I have a chance to turn things around eventually,’ but that pathetic security is gone.

The Exterminations kept said Overlords in check to a degree. They were more inclined to take care of their underlings because that guaranteed their safety. Now? Just get an angelic gun for all your troubles. Valentino is having a fucking field day.

The ‘permadeath’ toll for one year will be ten times the amount of one Extermination Day considering how much Hell’s citizens like to kill Sinners…

Not to mention, whole industries in Hell, from top to bottom, are starting to crash. Their purpose or sales revolved around the Exterminations. Some workers cannot afford to lose their job and have to sell their soul against their will.

Etcetcetc

As the man speaks Charlie is surprised to see heads nodding in agreement! Someone comments that they hadn’t seen their Sinner friend in a few days and tries not to panic while another face falls in the crowd and wrings their hands together. An Imp with curved horns standing beside a young Hellhound sweats profusely and starts to leave. Tension moves through the public. Not just the ones in front of the stage but also those watching TV.

Despite her best efforts Charlie cannot lift the crowd’s mood. She realizes prematurely revealing Sir Pentious’ redemption is the only way to salvage this growing disaster. Unfortunately the man’s timing is perfect because the second she opens her mouth he turns his anger on the Morningstars.

He calls out how much her family misrepresents themselves as rulers. They don’t do anything for Hell anymore. They spend most of their time fucking around while the Sinners suffer. The other Sins manage their rings and hellborn, not Lucifer or Lilith. All three of the Morningstars can’t truly understand human suffering yet they profess to know how to best handle it. With no idea what it means to be human yet they pass judgement on them.

The crowd becomes agitated and the Imps beside the man move closer to him. They aren’t trying to draw safety from the Sinner but are taking defensive positions. Charlie realizes this isn’t someone speaking up in the heat of the moment. This is a planned speech. He’s highjacking her broadcast!

She sees the Sinner clench his fists and feels herself start to sweat. Why was he saying any of that? Yes, life will be a bit hard at first but now everyone can come together and rebuild! There are so many possibilities available to The Pride Ring. It would improve lives. Change was always good they just had to be careful. Yet the stranger goes on.

He claims that Lucifer is a washed up angel that can’t comprehend mortality because of his maladaptive dreaming and pride, Lilith is apathetic to Sinners and wishes to aggravate Heaven no matter how much Hell will suffer and Charlie is so sheltered that she thinks PTSD can be solved by clapping and saying positive affirmations.

Little is known about the royal family but the stranger’s comments sway the crowd. The hotel’s original commercials got the time of day because of Charlie’s status, not because the facility had managed to accomplish anything. Lucifer barely appears at all even when large fights break out leveling half of Pentagram City. And Lilith? Missing for 7 years after riling up all of Hell multiple times, causing Heaven to start the Exterminations.

The stranger calls the hotel a disgusting joke. Calls out how Charlie is trying to ‘pass the buck’ over to Heaven. The Pride Ring’s actual rulers are Overlords and they make sure Sinners suffer and continue to act depraved whether they like it or not. Her family has the power to take control and lessen the city’s suffering but they don’t. Instead they play with their little pet project .

Why are they focusing on shipping problems elsewhere? There’s a better way to solve the pain and suffering at the source than waiting! Fix Pentagram City! Show Heaven that the current number of Sinners isn’t a threat!

‘For all the crying and sniveling you do Princess Charlotte, you sure don’t actually help where it counts! I’m sure you care about Sinners but only on the same level as someone cares about cute public park ducks.’

Vaggie, who had been standing to the side of the stage leaps forward, places herself in between the stranger and her girlfriend. Everyone’s raised emotions have put her on edge. She ignores the harsh gasps when her angelic spear slides free and into her hands. ‘Back up! Now!’

Charlie’s heart sank at the escalation. She understood her girlfriend was still tense from the extermination but all their hard work was starting to fray around the edges! She just hoped her dad didn’t-

The King of Hell himself appears through a portal shortly after gathering himself together. The opening looked angrier in color, matching his mood. Sickly green lines run throughout the glow, radiating blistering heat. Parts of the stage began to melt and the forgotten camera crew swivel to their ruler. Lucifer’s face is set in stone but his bright flickering eyes give him away.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ He snarls, apple topped cane slamming onto the stage causing some of it to splatter. ‘How dare you speak to my daughter that way.’ Lucifer’s face morphs into a more demonic grimace. Katie Killjoy scrambles from her chair and off the stage at the same time as Charlie vaulting up to place a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder whispering ‘dad no!’ She doesn’t want the hotel’s improved reputation to evaporate. A confrontation with someone on live TV would scare people away!

Lucifer growls in the back of his throat, looking at where he assumes the bastard’s eyes are under his hood. Smoke and embers sizzle out from the corner of his mouth and inbetween teeth. He hated acting this way but he had an image to uphold. ‘Answer your King you wretch. Don’t confuse my inaction with benevolence. You’re testing my patience!’

After a beat or two of staring each other down the stranger has the gall to ‘tsk’ off to the side as if spitting. ‘As you with your majesty. It’s all fine by me.’ A small, scared hand reaches up and whips off the dirty hood exposing his face to all of Hell.

People instantly whip out their phones. His face is shockingly similar to Lucifer’s, in fact a basic carbon copy sans a few attributes.

Cameras catch alabaster skin and soft, blond, curly hair, short, wiry build, vivid green eyes, pale coral cheek markings, pointed ears and four demon wings the same color as his skin.

Leaf green eyes stair directly into Charlie’s while electing to ignore both fallen angels. He stands ramrod straight. Cutting a regal silhouette despite the filth on his body and clothes.

‘My name is Cain Adamson, The Wandering Star.’ He bows in a fashion Charlie hadn’t seen in all her galas. ‘Lucifer Morningstar’s first born and bastard son. It’s nice to finally meet you sister mine… I’ll be taking your family’s crown for my father.’

[So in this AU Cain rescued Adam’s body and resuscitated it. They had a familial bond even when Cain got banished for murdering Able and found out his bio dad was Lucifer. Eve didn’t pay much attention to her first born out of guilt so Adam stepped up. No one shamed her. Adam never felt like Cain was separate from his other kids even though he looked nothing like him. Now Cain wants to provide for his father who’s trapped in hell and in really bad condition by booting the Morningstars out of power in the Pride Ring.] Dunno about pairing but Adamsapple or Guitarhero would be a safe bet. Either way Lucifer will suffer lol

[wtf do I call this? Family Feud AU? Chessboard AU? Secret Brother AU? Idk h e l p ]

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories /four/ Azriel x reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

A/N: We're getting closer to her returning to the IC and I'm so happy about that. I also had a lot of fun writing this part, so I hope you enjoy!

Part One Part Two Part Three

The following days were much the same, watching from a distance as Tamlin worked hard to woo the young Feyre. Your eyes rolled every time he tried to complement her. She didn’t belong here. Just like you didn’t belong here. She was too much of a dreamer to become a High Lord’s wife, or little play thing. Too much of a dreamer to be held down by his endless rules and customs. 

She deserved so much more. You deserved more. 

Imagines of wings and starlight fill your head every time you close your eyes. You could see all of them, laughing at The House of Wind over dinner, having a grand time without you. They moved on, you know they had. But you couldn’t move on from them, no matter how hard you tried. You yearned for them. 

You yearned for Cassian and his brutish humor, the kind that always got him in trouble with your mother, but always made you laugh harder than you should. You yearned for Morrigan and her never ending support when your father was being particularly dastardly. And Azriel….oh how you longed for him. The gentle touches of his shadows, the shy smiles, and rare bouts of laughter. Besides your brother, you missed Azriel most of all. 

He was your Az, and yet you had no claim to him. But he seemed to understand that you belonged to one another. Maybe that’s why you made the promises you did. 

Where you go I go, but whatever we do we do it together. 

You made that promise before you flew for the first time. You were too afraid to fly as a child, but when Azriel came along and had to learn so late in life….well you got over your fear for him. You grasped his scarred hand in your tiny one and led him to the edge of the House of Wind. Why they decided that was the best place to learn to fly, you’ll never quite understand. 

But it was then that you looked up at him, tears in your eyes due to fear, that you spoke, “Where you go I go.”

He nodded slowly, hair blowing in the wind, “But we do it together.”

“Together,” You agreed, holding his hand tighter. 

And together you leapt from the ledge and let the wind take hold of your wings. Together you wobbled, but still stayed afloat. Together you figured it out, never once letting go of the other. And when you landed back on the roof, you held him so tightly as he laughed. And it was then that you decided that was the most beautiful sound you ever heard. It was then that you decided you would do anything to hear that laugh and see that smile as much as possible. 

And it was then that he decided he would always protect you, because you were his just as much as he was yours. 

“He’s sending her back,” Lucien’s voice drew you from your thoughts. 

“He’s what?”

“Your brother came,” Lucien says, face pale, “Took her mind, threatened to crush it. It isn’t safe for her here anymore, time is almost up. So Tam is sending her back.”

“He’s a damned fool,” you hiss, “She’s in love with him, it’s plain as day to see! All he has to do is get her to admit it, but he can’t do that, can he? He’s giving up, all because my brother decided to come and scare him?”

“You weren’t there.”

“No, I wasn’t, but when does the brutality of the Night Court surprise Tamlin?” You question, “He’s seen it first hand, he knows what we’ll do to him. Why do you think he keeps me full of Faebane? Huh?” 

“Y/N-”

“He knows I could shred all of your minds so easily,” You nearly laugh, “I could make Rhys look like child’s play if I really wanted to. You think he is vile and violent? See what happens when I have all of my powers, Lucien. There’ll be nothing left to bury. I could raze the Spring Court to the ground and not feel a thing about it.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I’m a prisoner here, don’t think that I wouldn’t take the first chance to escape,” You shake your head, “No matter who I have to kill. I might still be a child compared to the rest of you but I’m a child of the Night. Brutality is in my blood.” 

“You aren’t like them-”

“Oh? Am I not? Just because I’ve been docile so far doesn’t mean it isn’t inside of me. I am a wolf in sheep's clothing. I always have been, dear Lucien. I am the most dangerous person in this manor, and he’s a fool to forget it.”

His face contorts into something that you aren’t quite able to read. Pride wells in your chest knowing you’re doing your job. You want to feel sick about it, want to feel sick about the role you’re playing. But if it brings you one step closer to your brother then you can’t bring yourself to feel bad about it. All you want is to go home again. You just want Rhys to hold you and tell you everything is going to be alright again. 

“Tamlin deserves what's coming to him,” you hiss, “You all do.”

“You don’t mean that.” 

“Oh but I do. I hope Rhys enjoys breaking every single one of you. And if he doesn’t, I will,” You take a step closer to Lucien, “By the cauldron I promise you, I will break this court apart piece by piece and I will laugh as I do it. And I won’t stop until he’s the only one left standing, and all he has to claim is rubble.” 

It rises up in your chest, and you feel it escaping through your fingertips, the darkness you used to run from long ago. You smile at it, feeling it wrap up your arms and cascade down towards the floor. It took a lot of energy to conjure it. You would be exhausted afterwards. But it would be worth it. 

Lucien took a step back, and then another. Head shaking. You knew what you looked like. A vile smile on your face, darkness twirling all around you. You looked like your big brother. You felt the power flowing through your veins, what little you had left of it anyway. 

“Don’t underestimate me, Lucien.” 

Tamlin sent Feyre back to the human lands the following day. You watched from your window with a scowl on your face as the carriage took her away. Tamlin was giving up and damning all of you in the process. Amerantha would come for him soon enough, and then there would be nothing left for you but to run. 

Maybe you could make it to the Night Court, maybe you would be lucky. 

“Once she comes, you’re free,” Tamlin spoke over dinner that night. 

“Perhaps,” You do your best to sound bored. 

You had to control your heart, so you didn’t give away how scared you truly were. If she found you, you would be dead in an instant. Or maybe she’d use you as a toy to get Rhys to do her bidding some more. He was already her whore, but perhaps she wanted more. She wanted him on his knees for her. And even you knew that he bowed before no one but his court. 

“Maybe I’ll stay here, I’ve grown quite fond of this place.”

“Liar.” Lucien bites out. 

One look from you though and he stands down. What he doesn’t know is you slept for almost twelve hours after your little display earlier. It took everything you had, all of your energy and what power you had. But it was worth every second to see the look on Lucien’s face. To know that you were still able to scare him enough. 

“Something you add, Lucien?” You question, venom dripping from your words. 

His head shakes, swallowing deeply. It only makes you smirk. You were so close to going home, to any semblance of home. Maybe your brother wouldn’t be there, but you’d be free. The Court of Nightmares had to be better than living here. 

“You should hide,” Tamlin says slowly, “They’re coming.”

“Now?”

He only nods, and reaches for more wine. He seems too calm. But then again he’s already given up. He gave up the second he sent Feyre back across the wall to her family. You can’t help but scoff as you rise to your feet. You expected him to fight back, maybe even for Lucien to fight. But you didn’t expect them to just lay down and roll over and let Amerantha march her cronies in here and take everyone. 

“You’re a coward, Tamlin.”

“So you’ve been saying for hundreds of years.”

“You should have just killed me.”

“Heard that too.” 

Your eyes roll, “I hope you have fun as her dog.” 

“Enjoy your freedom, Y/N.” 

You scoff again, “You best hope I never get the chance to kill you, Tamlin. I won’t make it as quick as my brother made your family's death.” 

Tag List

@historygeekqueen @wallacewillow0773638 @sstrohma @saltedcoffeescotch @hnyclover @thelov3lybookworm @queerqueenlynn @minnieoo @maddybraps @mariahoedt @witchymomfrien

[yourlocalcryptidbee]

⭐Lucifer Morningstar Headcanons

Headcannons about the lovely Lucifer Morningstar and the ways he acts with the even lovelier reader! Grab some snacks and a beverage, get comfy and enjoy <3

~1k words

GN-ish! Reader (mentions of hair long enough to braid that’s it) NOT proof read.

Dude hates crowds, like has a burning(get it? hellfire? burning…never mind) hatred for them, most of them anyways. Crowds, people in general, can’t seem to think for themselves when around him. It’s always ‘whatever you want, your majesty,’ ‘don’t let us stop you, your majesty’ ‘we’ll do whatever you ask, your Majesty’ It reminds him of Heaven and the councils, and the masses, and the sermons….the list goes on. It’s Groupthink on steroids. A complete echo chamber that a young Lucifer tried to break. That version of Lucifer stood up to the majority and lost everything because of it. Of course that man still can’t stand it, especially now that he’s on the other end of it. He wishes that sinners could at least try to have a personality around him, not just a bunch of spineless pushovers, ready to wait hand on foot in fear of being smote.

He likes to watch you, not in a creepy way! At least he hopes that it isn’t creepy to you. Simply put, Lucifer likes to see you there, see you take up space in his home. Although he isn’t apposed to helping cook breakfast or clean, he’d much rather just watch you do it. It’s a comfort thing for him, watching you physically move around and disturb his space reminds him that you’re real and not something his mind made up as a last ditch effort to fix his depression. In the beginning when you would sleep over at his house, Lucifer wouldn’t make his bed after you left. He’d just leave all the bunched up blankets and sheets exactly how you left them. It made him feel less lonely when he had to sleep by himself the next night.

Frivolous. Like, truly does not care how much he spends on shit. Couldn’t even try to think about caring. It doesn’t matter to him. Partly due to his pride, he’s the big dick in charge of hell! of course he has the money for that 24k gold and diamond encrusted something or other. Especially if he’s buying something for you or Charlie. Your wish is his command after all.

His house is sssssoooo dusty. After his divorce he had quarantined himself to his bedroom, bathroom and office. He never went anywhere else in his house, he would portal himself between the rooms when necessary so he didn’t even use the hallways! Which one could imagine would leave a substantial amount of dust EVERYWHERE. He had invited you to his home for the first time on a whim, feeling proud of himself for finally asking and had coincidently walked through his front door, only to cough from inhaling so much dust. That pride turned to horror as he realized he only had an hour to clean his house before you showed up. That man had never moved faster in his life. He was so focused, unfortunately sometimes on the wrong things, I mean why was he cleaning the support beams that were 15 feet high and attached to the ceiling and not, I don’t know, the kitchen!? 

Lucifer cannot throw things away. Just look how long he wore his wedding band after he and Lilith split. In fact, he still has kept the ring after getting together with you, though he’s not wearing it, Lucifer just couldn’t bring himself to get rid of something like that. It still lives in a nice box in the very back of his nightstand. This is even worse when it comes to gifts from either you or Charlie. It could be the stupidest thing and he’ll cherish it and hold onto it for eternity. All those rocks, broken crayons, leaves, and bottle caps that baby Charlie gave to him? All tucked away safely to this day, hell, sometimes he’ll look through it all as a little pick me up. Maybe this has to do with being physically thrown out of his home in heaven or maybe he just is sentimental, even Lucifer doesn’t know.

Loves having his wings be taken care of. It was hard after he fell from heaven, those beautiful white wings now a blood red? Not something he liked to look at. It reminds of what he failed to do and of the pain he created for all of humanity. Having you take care of that is so special to him. You take the time to preen his wings and make sure they’re perfect. One of the things that are constantly reminding him of his failure as an angel is just so easily accepted and loved by you. Something so small to you, means the world to him. You can look at something that symbolizes failure and still love it unconditionally because it’s Lucifer’s? Yeah, he loves it that you take care of him.

Will 1000% make dad jokes when he doesnt know what to say. It’s honestly adorable. This happened on multiple occasions when your relationship was still new. A conversation would finish and there’d be a lull or a pregnant pause, and then he’d just “what-what do you call a can opener that’s broken?”

.

.

.

“a can’t opener. ” 

Cue his quiet, stifled yet awkward laughter at his own joke and the distant groan from Charlie who has probably heard that a million times already.

Has a gift for braiding hair. Honestly, he’s pretty good at styling hair in general but allow him to braid your hair and his talent just shines through. His own hair has some length to it so he has in fact braided his own hair but come on, his (ex)wife and baby girl have some of the longest blonde hair in the underworld, of course, he knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t matter what style or where the braid originated, he can do it. The cherry on top is that when he’s combing out your hair beforehand, there isn’t a single tug. Could this be magic? Yes. Could this also be a skill carefully cultivated over the literal millennia he’s been alive? Also yes.

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass 9 pt 2

masterpost

The office, as it were, was a dank garage that stunk of dogshit no matter how much Danny aired it out and what he cleaned. Dust motes hung sullenly in the air.

Danny blew some of them out of the way of his workbench and grimaced as he wiped it clean-ish. The dust settled on the rough concrete underfoot, because effort was nearly pointless and he should probably give up immediately.  He heaved a sigh and looked around. God. It was depressing to be here with enough time to think. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a project to start up yet. His contact was supposed to show up today with a new request. 

He fiddled with his tools as he waited, making sure everything was well-maintained and organized. There was a glut of scrap material for him to use. The local gang had people collect it for him. Danny spent a while sorting it, figuring out what was usable and what was genuinely trash. When that was done he thought about ducking to the corner store to get more cleaning supplies to make being in the garage less painful, but if he wasn’t available when the guy came, well. 

It wouldn’t be good, that was all.

They didn’t know about Jazz. Probably. He was pretty sure that the gang had no concept that he was connected to anyone else in Gotham. He wasn’t on her lease and he didn’t have any kind of legal ID. 

When they’d had to make a break for it, they hadn’t had enough money for everything. As soon as they were stable enough, Danny would ghost this gang and get a new ID. They would set up somewhere else and he could get some kind of unrelated degree so that nothing about them would ever flag as the Fenton siblings. 

There was a bang from upstairs. Danny fixed his slouch a little so that whatever machismo dickbag came in wouldn’t think he was challenging them or whatever. He waited as footsteps thudded down the wrought metal staircase. 

“Mechanic,” called a man that Danny didn’t know. Cocky. Light colored blue jeans, bright orange tennis shoes that were probably expensive.

“Morning.” He nodded genially as his contact came into sight. The new guy was young, weedy, and had a hungry look to his face. Not as in underfed- ambitious. He’d topped his casual look off with a black muscle shirt that showed he didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He had a little mustache that looked like a mistake.

“I’m Brick.” Brick looked around the garage and sneered a little. Fair enough. It was gross. “The boss liked the bazooka. We need two more of those.”

Danny cringed internally. ‘I really hope they’re not imaginative enough to start misusing those for anything beyond theft. I don’t have enough of a money stash for Phantom to confiscate my tech back yet.’

He dodged eye contact and nodded, wiping his hands with a shop cloth just to have something to do. “Right, I can do that,” he said. “It’ll take a couple of days.”

Brick took a big step forward like he was playing a game. “What if it didn’t, though?” He stared a hole through Danny.

It took a couple of seconds to realize that Brick was trying to be intimidating. 

“It’s gonna take a couple of days,” Danny repeated, trying to avoid sounding like he was mouthing off.

Technically speaking, yeah. He could bang those out today. But they didn’t know that. They were paying him by the day and he didn’t want to flood the streets with too much ecto tech.

Brick scowled at him, but let it go. “And you’re sure that shit can’t work on people?” he demanded. 

Danny kept his face still, because grinning would give him away. “Very sure,” he said blandly. It was true. It might knock a human back, but ecto tech didn’t act on living matter. 

As long as this dumb gang didn’t start a territory fight with a local ghost, he hadn’t really introduced anything too harmful into the local ecosystem.

Brick looked pissy about this. “I’ll be back in two days to check in, nerd.” He turned on his heel and stomped away, up the stairs.

Danny waited for him to be fully gone before he snorted. “Nerd?” he repeated under his breath. “Yeah, sure. I’m the nerd, shiny shoes.” He snickered and started to assemble what he would need. “Brick- who are you kidding, string bean?” He mocked his contact quietly as he got to work assembling a matter displacement cannon. 

[sunflowergraves]

Unpacking Will Solace’s Character

I’ve seen a lot of Will Solace hate since TSATS and it’s really starting to bother me. As a person that relates heavily to Will’s character, it’s upsetting to see him get bashed across the internet, especially considering we’ve never actually gotten to know his character. Personally, I feel like a lot of people are basing his character around headcanons and fanfiction (which I am guilty of) and were disappointed when he wasn’t who we saw him as. 

It doesn’t help that the only time we got to see Will’s POV it was short and through the eyes of others. He’s also not this big hero like all the characters in the PJO universe. His powers aren’t that strong, he’s not a prophecy child, and his talents are mediocre. Will is the most human demigod we’ve ever been introduced to. I can understand why his character doesn’t feel multi-dimensional compared to everyone else, but in my opinion, he was fleshed out very well. 

Yes, there are a few things I was disappointed by. I wish they talked about Will’s past more and his grief over his dead siblings. I wanted him to have his own weapon, even if it was an old bow he never used or a lyre like Apollo used in TOA. But I will always love that they changed him from the calm, collected counselor healer to an anxious, depressed, self-doubting person because it fits him so well. How could he not feel these things after losing friends and family? After being abandoned by everyone around him? Or being forced to take on the caretaker role of the entire camp because he was the only one left? 

I’m going to continue this down below, so if you don’t want major spoilers for TSATS, don’t continue reading. Also this is long as hell in case you just want to skim. 

Every time Will was mentioned in the books, it was from someone else’s POV and it was a few lines at best. 

Will has always been described as the cool, relaxed, go-with-the-flow type of guy. He was the person with a level head and knew exactly what to do. But guess what? Underneath that cool exterior was an anxiety riddled people pleaser who threw himself at every problem because that’s what he was told to do. The Apollo cabin was always the head medic team. After Lee and Michael died, Will was basically thrust into that position of power. He was trusted to take care of his younger siblings, trusted to take care of the entire camp. If he let them down, it was going to cost lives. Of course he’s going to be scared and nervous, but he can’t show that. Would you want a doctor with shaky hands and sweat running down their neck? Would you want to be taken care of by a person who doubted and second guessed themselves out in the open? 

As someone who was given a lot of responsibly and forced to grow up at a young age, I completely understand this. You want to try to make everything better for others around you, you get scared when you fuck up, and you HATE when people can’t rely on you. That’s why you will never show how scared you are to fuck up. You will never let people get inside your head because if they can’t rely on you, what good are you? Breaking out of the role that everyone else gave you because they trusted you is scary and hard. 

Nico is probably the only person who knows what Will really thinks. Will trusts Nico with his anxiety and overthinking because he’s comfortable enough around him to show that side. He knows he doesn’t have to Mr. Hero in front of Nico and that’s such a precious and important bond to make with someone. 

Will was valid for being whiny and irritated for most of the book. 

First, Will has ANXIETY. If you don’t know what it’s like to live with anxiety, count yourself lucky. It feels like your thoughts are attacking you constantly. It’s like an uphill battle between rational thought and absolute chaos. I can’t get in my car without thinking of all the ways I could die before I buckle my seatbelt. Imagine going to SuperHell for the first time in your life! Not only that, but people told Will constantly that as a child of Apollo he was basically fucked. The three strongest demigods that made it back almost went insane! Of course Will is going to be upset, irrational, irritated, and uncomfortable. 

In TOA, he voiced several times how he thought it was a bad idea and that he really didn’t like it. This is not a new thing for Will’s character at all. For him to be willing to cross a line he had made concrete shows that he loves and cares for Nico. But that shouldn’t mean he isn’t allowed to be uncomfortable. 

Second, for anyone saying he could have stayed at camp instead of going has never sacrificed their comfort for someone else. There are so many instances in my life where I went way out of my comfort zone because I knew my friends/family wanted me there. Did I complain? Hell yes. Did I still do it? Hell yes! If Will had said, “Nico, I can’t do this and I refuse to at least try,” I would have lost so much respect for his character. Instead he sucked it up, even when he was already practically dying before they got there. 

Three, Will was worried about Nico. He’s never experienced Tartarus, he’s never been to the Underworld. While Will has definitely faced his share of demons, he’s never stood in Nico’s shoes. So when his boyfriend is having vivid nightmares and hearing voices, he’s going to try and rationalize it for Nico because that’s what he has done his entire life. Will is the “healer.” He is supposed to fix things, not let them traipse off to hell like it’s a vacation spot. 

Four, this is a 15 year old. Fuck, even now at the ripe ole age of 20, I’d still be shaking in my boots terrified at the thought of going somewhere that is practically a jailhouse for the worst creatures in creation. Will has little to no experience on the field (He ran from six guards without even trying to pull out a weapon. The worst thing he’s ever said to his enemies was “anemic loser” and didn’t even want to kill Octavian. Every battle before that he had an older sibling to look up to and care for him). So yeah, I’d just be a tad bit nervous and annoying.  

Will asking Persephone how to love someone from the Underworld was honest and raw. 

This scene broke me in ways I can’t even describe because of how real it felt. If you’ve ever been in a deep and caring relationship (friendship counts) you should understand. Like Persephone said, love is something you choose and it’s complicated and messy even for people who were practically made for each other. For Will to ask how to love someone from the Underworld shows that he is actively choosing to understand and love Nico. 

I get that most people interpret Will’s lines as “How do you love someone so filled with death?” but really he’s asking how do you love someone who acts like he doesn’t want to be loved? How do you love someone that pulls away from your light no matter how desperately you try to give it them? How do you love someone who hides parts of themselves from you? 

Will is a healer, he fixes things. It’s not until this scene that Will realizes the only thing Will needs to fix is his perspective on Nico. That darkness and hurt and trauma is okay. It’s also a scene where Will realizes he doesn’t have to force down his own trauma anymore. 

Will loves Nico and it’s so obvious he scared to lose him. He thinks he’s weak and broken and incapable of helping Nico escape his trauma. His insecurities shadow him and he’s confused about how to navigate this relationship because he thinks he needs to be the leader. How can he lead if Nico won’t let him? How can he help when he doesn’t know how? Persephone’s scene was Will’s chance of finding guidance from someone who could understand exactly what he’s thinking

People in their late 40′s still can’t get relationships down. Why are we pushing unrealistic relationship ideations on a 15 year old who doesn’t even know who he is yet?

Will was not useless. 

Sorry that the relationship duo isn’t Mr. Badass and Mr. Badass 2.0. Will not being a fighter is refreshing to see because honestly I’m quite tired of seeing badass couples in every book/movie. Not everyone is strong and powerful and super awesome. Will is a nerd that likes healing people. Why isn’t that enough? 

“He’s described as having muscles,” “He’s a field/combat medic,” “He fought in the wars,” “He carries people all the time,” “He trains with the Apollo cabin.” Okay and? I was raised to work hard and protect myself. I work out and I know how to use a bow and knife. Does that mean I want to? No. 

I’d also like to point out that almost everyone in camp is described as having muscles. You kind of have to when your life motto is Try not to die or get eaten. Also they train on lava walls, jump eight foot pits, and weapons. I get a little bit of muscle going on my silly little walks, I’d be fucking jacked if I was actively training. 

Second, Will has never once been described fighting monsters/demigods. I don’t doubt that he’s had a few encounters, but the boy practically specializes in RUNNING AWAY. He’s a feral little animal that finds injured demigods and sprints them away to the medic center while occasionally bashing monster heads in. He’s strong because he needs to be, not because he wants to be. Strength also doesn’t equal battle prowess. 

Not to mention, he hates killing! He didn’t want to kill Octavian despite Octavian being the actual worst. He runs away as a distraction even though he had weapons on him. He got upset when Nico threw Sherman Yang out of the chariot in TOA. Monsters are different, but monsters are also scary. Will is terrified of demon pigeons, you really think he’s willingly gonna go one-on-one with anything bigger than his pinky? 

I’ll admit, I hated that he didn’t have a weapon in Tartarus. I thought it was really stupid and out-of-character because my anxious ass would have loaded up. Still, it was kind of funny when they described Will bashing rocks over monster’s heads during their fight with Nyx. 

My final point for this: Will was Nico’s support system and that was the point. Will knew he wasn’t going to throw hands with anyone. He went because he knew Nico needed him even when Nico told him to stay. Will was going to trek through SuperHell with the love of his life and hold his hand to remind him that he was loved. Will wanted Nico to know that he’d literally go to Hell and back for him and that’s what mattered. 

Nico didn’t ask Will to be the Hero. Nico states several times that the reason he loves Will is because he wants to heal and he’s so stubborn to find the good in everything. And that’s exactly what Will did. He offered support, care, and reminders. He was going to understand and love Nico, even through the darkest parts of his life. 

Will is one of the best support systems in a PJO couple duo. 

It makes me incredibly sad to see people call Will toxic when he gave his entire life to support Nico. I won’t deny that he complained a lot and said hurtful things and that he occasionally belittles Nico’s feelings. But Will didn’t know he was doing those things. He thought he was helping Nico navigate his PTSD. How is someone who is still emotionally developing his own character supposed to know how to take care of someone else’s? 

Will also clearly showed love and affection towards Nico. He met all his friends and was polite to them even when they looked scary. Will risked his life several times before they got to Tartarus and still insisted on continuing. Built a Minecraft house for his boyfriend and left him a KitKat bar because he knew he would feel fatigued (also Will brought KitKat bars, meaning he was already thinking of Nico’s health beforehand). He tried to be useful by scouting ahead because he felt like he was being a burden on Nico. He kissed him, called him silly nicknames, hugged him, respected his boundaries (asking to hold him instead of trying to comfort him immediately), and oh yeah, went to Tartarus when he was obviously quaking in his flipflops. 

He also helped Bob when he had no idea who/what he was, comforted Nico when he was beginning to lose hope, acknowledged his mistakes and admitted he needed to try harder, realized he didn’t need to fix Nico and that his boyfriend was perfect the way he was, and learned that Nico wasn’t going to leave him. 

Love is complicated. Love is something you choose. And Will chooses to love Nico. Also for everyone saying a year is long enough to learn/realize these problems already and have them solved, you need to take the rose tinted glasses off. I’ve been with my partner for almost four years, and I’m still learning things about our relationship. We argue, we don’t always meet eye-to-eye. Our own trauma and experiences surface and it gets difficult. But do we just call it quits and throw everything into the trash? No. We talk, we problem-solve, we come back and try to understand each other even if we don’t know how to do that. A year is nothing. A year is puppy love and excitement. It’s like your favorite movie on repeat. All the problems are ignored because you don’t want to see them yet. 

So for a pair of 15 year old's who just came to terms with their sexuality, I think that they are doing pretty damn good at this love thing. 

Anyway, that’s all I really wanted to say. Even though we’ve had Will for years, we’ve never gotten to know his true character until now. It’s raw and weird and doesn’t fit the mold of Will Solace, son of Apollo we all created him to be. You can still hate his character or whatever, I’m not going to try to change your mind. But don’t hate on everyone else who loves him and loves this book. 

[see-arcane]

Today’s entry is one of many that really drives home why I can never quite bring myself to get into softer ‘uwu he’s just misunderstood and sexy-liberating’ versions of Dracula. Just. I can’t. I really really can’t.

Up to this point, he’s already had a monstrous moment in bringing the ladies their first on-screen kids meal crying and squirming in its sack. He’s had outright predatory back-to-back moments in imprisoning, coercing, robbing, and getting increasingly threatening and handsy with Jonathan. This, capped with the fact that he plans to kill/drink/gift him to the Undead Girl Gang by the end of June.

‘But what about his, “I too can love,” huh? He’s just loving as best a monster can! He could be tearing everyone around him to ribbons for annoying him, Brides and Jonathan included! Instead he goes out of his way to feed the ladies, albeit gruesomely, and has no retort when they laugh at and insult the lonely old bat. And he isn’t planning to kill Jonathan. He wants to keep him! Sure, it’s a sick version of it, but to him conscripting and collecting Jonathan rather than executing him outright is the height of affection! Surely that’s grounds for some of the more ~romantic~ takes in warped gothic flavor?’

To an extent, yeah. 

But he also just dressed up in Jonathan’s stolen clothes to cover up for the man’s own abduction, imprisonment, and undeadifying, while also increasing the odds of Jonathan already getting mistaken for a vampire, bringing home another child for the ladies to devour, and then ordered a pack of wolves to eat a grieving mother alive for making noise at his gate.

And this? This is just the tip of the iceberg for how downright hellish he gets as the novel progresses. 

Dracula can absolutely be a nuanced character within canon, offshoots, retellings, re-imaginings, and so on. And he should be! He’s a very interesting bastard who’s got so much more going on than a few one-liners and a taste for good cloaks and yummy company. But his actual actions in the book--even the smallest ones--just automatically torpedo 90% of my audience enjoyment when I run into yet another ‘Oh, but he did it all because he was in love!/misunderstood!/depressed!/unfairly maligned by the eeevil human Victorian characters in their journals and newsprint and body count records!’ version of the Count. 

Even sillier takes that try to heroify him for kids like Hotel Transylvania just kind of make my brain trip and fall into a pit of ??? 

‘Look kids, Dracula is really a nice guy and a sweet dad who runs a fun little hotel for his misunderstood Universal Horror monster buddies! Isn’t he neat?’

It leaves me biting my tongue and holding this mental grimace as I think about the sacks full of weeping children, the slaughtered mother, a young man imprisoned for making the mistake of endearing himself so much to a sadistic monster that the latter has decided to keep him as a tortured toy and undead pseudo-slave for eternity, with an entire blood buffet of human cattle still waiting to fill out the rest of the novel with trauma, horror, and death. 

‘Ohhh, but look at Francis’ tragique sweetheart version who stole all his redeeming qualities from Jonathan Harker! Ohhh, but look at the funny silly Adam Sandler cartoon and his new everyman-settling daughter! Ohhh, but look at how #cool and modern-sexyedgy an antihero/villain he is when penned by every projecting director and their grandmother! Lighten up, it’s just a different interpretation!*’

*Of the character whose whole deal is psychological torture, being a predatory creep, casual murder, and worse-than-murder of innocents.

I know it skews me towards being a whiny purist. I know. Let folks have fun. I know. But still, it feels so wrong every time I see someone try to ‘awww, he’s not so bad!’-ify him in new media when. No. He is exactly that bad and probably worse. If he’s not, then that’s not fucking Dracula.

tl;dr: Can people just make some new fun/sexy/antihero vampires instead of stapling Dracula’s name on all of them? Can Dracula just be an interesting villainous monster again?? Please??? (Please save me Renfield 2023 and The Last Voyage of the Demeter, you’re my only ho--)