#can’t lie it’s not what I was expecting

[mosabsdr]

🌍✨ A Voice from Gaza: Holding onto Hope ❤️‍🩹

Hi, my name is Mosab, and I just want to take a moment to say thank you. Your kindness, your generosity, and your willingness to listen have meant more to me and my family than I can ever express.

When I first shared my story, I didn’t know what to expect. I was scared, exhausted, and uncertain if anyone would care. But you did. You showed up. And because of you, hope feels a little less distant today.

💛 Our Journey So Far

With your support, we’ve been able to find small moments of relief in the midst of overwhelming hardship. Every donation, every share, and every kind message has given us the strength to keep going.

But our struggle isn’t over. Every day, we are reminded of what we’ve lost and the challenges that still lie ahead.

🏠 Still Searching for Stability: We are doing everything we can to secure a safe and steady future. 😢 The Pain of Loss Never Fades: The absence of 25 loved ones weighs heavily on us every day. 💔 Dreams Still on Hold: Survival takes all our strength, but we still believe in rebuilding.

🚀 How You Can Help Us Keep Going

Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

💛 A $10 donation may seem small, but to us, it’s a lifeline. 💛 A reblog can help us reach someone who can support us.

If you can’t donate, just sharing this post helps more than you know. Every share is another chance for someone to see our story, to care, and to help.

🙏 You Are Part of Our Story

Your support isn’t just about donations—it’s about reminding us that we are not forgotten. That there is still kindness in the world. That even in the darkest times, there are people who care.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for helping us get this far. You are part of our story now.

With love and endless gratitude, Mosab and Family ❤️

[onelonelyghost0]

Danny was pissed.

Sure, he got his two weeks, but Clockwork could stretch one week into an eternity, and Danny doesn’t see the problem. Well, he does, but he also sees all the solutions.

“My boy, you don’t know the repercussions you could have!” Clockwork worries for the umpteenth time, “ The GIW could find you, you could’ve been killed, Dan-“

“Alright! I get it!” Danny cuts him off.

“I know what could happen! I’ve seen it! I’ve fixed it! I do all of your dirty work and barely take off days from work! I have their trust! The Justice League may be shit, yes-“

“Language,” Clockwork corrects absentmindedly.

“-but they don’t work with the GIW! I helped them, they’re more apt to help me now! If I’m King of the Infinite Realms and I’m to be the Ancient of Space, which you haven’t exactly been as sneaky with that training as you think you have, but I can’t protect?”

Danny stalks away from Clockwork, the predators grace he fights so hard to keep hidden on the Watchtower now on full display as he looks back as Clockwork, his words full of fangs and power.

“You’ll starve me. And you’ll be stuck with whoever kills me for good.”

Clockwork floated still, stunned by the Kings sudden resurgence of his Obsession, unable to see what the action will bring.

—-

Meanwhile, the Justice League wonders why Danny is suddenly away, and why Batman is lying so poorly about it.

Bruce was told not to tell, but he never was told to lie convincingly. He learned this particular loophole from Jason, after he told him not to tell his siblings about the gunshot wound. And Bruce learns his lessons well. So he not only lies to the Justice League, but to his family as well.

His children are like bloodhounds, sniffing out whoever has their father acting like this, and finding almost everything. The firewalls around Amity Park. The GIW. The experiments. How the ghosts weren’t even named, just numbered.

And how one Daniel Fenton, who bore a striking resemblance to one Daniel Nightingale, was in a near death accident with a portal that was Lazarus green.

And maybe, one of the Bats got a bit territorial. Making sure he got home ok. Asking oracle to keep an eye out. Seeing him in their civilian personas.

Danny knew he’d have a headache, but he didn’t expect one this big. Not one that gave him this many casseroles.

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[evesedenramblings]

Highlights of the “In-Character” portion of the Project Eden’s Garden AMONG US stream in no particular order:

Damon introducing himself as “the Ultimate Debater. A prodigy among prodigies. Someone who simply can’t be outmatched.” And everyone going dead silent before making fun of his egotistical ass

Eva hiding in the corner of the waiting room

Diana going to the corner of the waiting room with Eva to keep her company

Kai being the reason the stream started late because he couldn’t decide the perfect look for his Among Us character

All their little characters matching them so well; Wolfgang in a little suit, Grace with bunny ears, Wenona with bear ears, Tozu’s goat horns, etc, and Eva just having absolutely nothing on

Wolfgang and Jean not knowing how to play video games and just doing their best

How utterly excited Tozu is that everyone is playing a killing game and he gets to play too

Damon yelling OH GOD DAMMIT so bad the mic reverberated after Wolfgang killed him

Wolfgang being imposter, killing everyone, and going “that was fun! 🙂”, followed by Jean going “I didn’t know you had it in you!” and Wolfgang replying with “I didn’t know I had it in me either 🙂”

Ulysses mention that apparently in-world he was supposed to attend but overslept (possible explanation that is why Wenona attended)

Wolfgang doesn’t know what tiktok is

Kai and Damon sticking together and doing tasks and everyone going “yeah okay”

^^^ My personal favourite is Cassidy telling everyone to come look at them doing tasks together on the cameras and Jean going “oh so those two were off canoodling somewhere”

Cassidy being the kind of Among Us player who bets everything on “you’ll be sorry” or “do it then” and expects it to work and is shocked every time when it doesn’t

Tozu dying early on in every game

Damon catching an imposter in a lie by saying he couldn’t have been the killer, because he was with “Kai, his very good friend”

Jean saying “a princess has to look her best” when Cassidy makes fun of Kai taking too much time in customization menu and then adding “welcome back princess” when Kai finished

Wolfgang hitting Damon with “it’s just a game” when Damon was locked the fuck in on busting Wolfgang as imposter

Diana going for Tozu first as imposter and still being an absolutely terrible liar

Cassidy correct guessing Damon as the imposter begging him loudly not to kill her in voice proximity, so he actually can’t kill her anymore, so instead he scoffs and goes ���wish” before trotting off

Damon being revealed as imposter last minute and Eva yelling about how she trusted him. Kai also being there.

Grace and Wenona very clearly not knowing how the game works but refusing to admit it

Cassidy calling Wolfgang Grace’s boytoy

[ghouljams]

Ghoul i’m so sorry, this AU has taken over my brain and i can’t stop thinking about this you said:

Sitting in your slick for the rest of the night? If you're that excited for it he can leave a load in them.

like it’s stuck in my mind.

your dad has fucked the 141 over yet again, not only that, fucking asshole is there at the ceremony that takes place when the task force miraculously comes back from a death trap mission.

funny thing is, it’s not just dad there, you are too.

anyway, i’ll say it quick before i black out and write way too much: ghost pulls you to the bathroom, ruins both you and your underwear with his load just in time. as soon as you’re out you’re pulled along by your dad.

because now you have to go up to the stage to stand pretty beside your dad while he gives his speech.

and ghost has to hold back from having the cheshire cat grin because the whole time you feel his cum spill out of you and onto your already debased underwear.

- Morph

You're so fucking wet when he tugs your panties down, it makes him puff out his chest, victorious. You must be so used to being fucked every time you see him that your body responds easily now. Not that Ghost particularly cares, he's rough fitting his thick cock against your cunt and filling you quick. He wraps a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that threatens to burst free. He's got to be quick, your father (and the press) will wonder where you've gone, not to mention he's supposed to be on stage himself. Honestly this is going better than he expected it would. Humiliating you, and your father, is his favorite past time, and now he gets to do it in front of an audience.

Of course he'll leave you with come staining your panties, pasting them against your cunt like a terrible bandage as he pulls your skirt back over your ass. He gives you a neat slap on your backside when you leave the little bathroom he'd dragged you into. He can't wait to see you squirming on stage, maybe someone will ask you what's wrong and you'll have to lie. Oh it's too good a show to miss.

Except you're perfect the entire ceremony, smiling amicably and standing politely still with only the occasional shift in weight that anyone would blame on your high heels. It pisses him off. You should be as uncomfortable as he is in this bloody dress uniform, and you're simply not. You didn't even seem surprised to see him when he'd grabbed you.

It's only when Price comes back to the 141 during the post awards cocktail hour and clears his throat that Ghost feels some internal weight shift.

"So," Price says over the rim of his glass, "'O else is fucking the girl?" It's only too bad that the sergeants both stiffen at the same moment Ghost does.

[coichii]

winter ✭

—(🎧)—> when han realizes something’s wrong with you before you realize it yourself

pairing - newbf!han x fem!reader

genre - comfort, cheers to me failing a test !! ☻

word count - 0.8k

warnings - implied seasonal depression & post hiatus writing

Maybe it’s the winter air, maybe it’s the warmth of the beach being replaced with snow fall of small ice crystals in the sky. You don’t know, but it’s making you feel off.

It’s a feeling quite indescribable, but if there were a you could equate to it, it would be numbness. The source? No idea.

It always comes and goes during the cold, a shiver cold air radiating through your body as the feeling of winter does.

It’s hard to stick to a routine during the winter. Getting up at 7:00am, taking walks, exercising, drinking water? You can pretty much say those are all in the garbage.

The only sense of consistency left in your life is Han, and even that is a fairly recent addition. Knowing him isn’t, but kissing him and cuddling him? Yeah, that’s different.

It hurts so say the feeling doesn’t go away with him. It definitely gets lighter and fades away, but it’s still there lingering.

It could be school too, and you’ve already noticed the A’s slowly fading into B’s, into C’s, and slowly but surely, D’s.

To say it’s taking a toll on you would be an understatement.

< —— >

Fuck. No no no.

31% is what the computer screen infront of you reads. A final score for a critical quiz in your major class.

A buzzing starts in your head, one that rings your ears like a gong had just been hit next to them. One that is so heavy that it begins to blur your vision alongside the fresh hot tears in your eyes.

As if it couldn’t get worse, a faint knock is soon heard on the door of your college dorm room. You begrudgingly get up, groaning as you quickly shut your laptop and wipe the moisture from your eyes.

God I swear. I can’t deal with my roommates right n-

“Y/n? I’ve been wondering why you weren’t answering my text. It’s been days.”

Definitely not who you were expecting to be on the other side of the door.

“O-oh hi. Come in.” You usher, pointing him and softly closing the door behind him.

“I didn’t know it’s been that long, I’m sorry, Hannie.” You say half heartedly. You did genuinely feel bad, but you can’t muster up the energy.

You move to peck a small kiss on his lips, but he places his hands on your cheeks to stop you. He places his forehead on yours, eyes staring into yours as if he’s trying to read what your lips won’t give up.

“Is everything ok?”

You can feel a sting make its way through your body, but you ignore it. You have to ignore it.

“Yeah, I am. I promise I’ve just been b-“

“Baby, don’t lie to me. I’ve known you for long enough to know when you are. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been building up for so long, or it’s the look on his face or the tone of his voice. Whatever it is, it’s coming out.

“I-I really don’t know. I’m sorry Han, I don’t even know what I’m feeling.” You choke, a feeling of helplessness escaping its way from your heart.

“It’s like everything that I’ve been working for is falling apart in front of me, and it’s scary.” By now, he’s already wrapped his strong arms around your body, enveloping you in a comforting scent of lavender and love.

“I know. I know it’s scary. But you want to know something?” He proposes, and you sniffle and look at him, eyes filled to the brim with sincerity.

“You’re doing so well. You’re so smart, so strong, so independent. It’s okay to take breaks, it’s ok to struggle. Especially, it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to have moments where you feel like every thing is falling apart, but it’s important that you know it’s not.”

Have you ever felt a feeling like an immense weight being lifted off your shoulders? A feeling like a deep breath even though there’s no oxygen? If not, that’s surely what you’re feeling now.

“I love you. I’m sorry I’ve been ignoring you.” You sniffle, scrubbing dripping tears off with your fist.

“Don’t say sorry. I forgive you. Forgive me for not coming sooner.” He says, rubbing the silk of your hair in a comforting manner.

“You have nothing to be forgiven about.” You mumble, clutching a fist onto his shirt where you hold yourself, still in the same area from where he had come in.

“Now you know how I feel when you keep saying sorry.” He teases, a small chuckle coming out as well. “Cmon, let’s get you something to eat and I’ll help you with anything you need.”

“Ok” you nod, following him as he opens and walks out the door of your room.

That’s what it will be. Everything will be okay when you have him.

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

Pieces of Her - Chapter Three

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

All OC Characters belong to me

Summary: Five months away from her dream wedding, Kenya’s world is turned upside down and her heart is shattered leaving her heartbroken and confused.

Keyna sighed as she shut off her car and looked at the house before her.  She pulled the ultrasound out of the sun visor and stared at it. After taking the pregnancy test at her studio the other she called her doctor for an emergency visit. Her doctor confirmed that she was three months pregnant. 

She spent three days sitting with the news and debating whether she should tell Jon. She still hadn’t spoken to him since the night she left. He had called her a couple of times but she had let them all go to voicemail. 

Sighing, she ticked the ultrasound into her bag before getting out of the car and walking up to the front door. She didn’t know if she should knock or just use her key to get in. What if what Talisua said was true? What if Jon really had moved Trinity back into the house? 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before knocking on the door.  She didn’t have to wait long to hear someone on the other side of the door. A small smile was on her face as she heard the sound of nails tapping against the floor before a loud bark. 

“Zeus, chill.” She heard Jon grumble on the other side before the door opened. 

Jon looked shocked to see her. “Kenya?” he called out, lifting his hand to touch her. She flinched and he immediately put his hand back down. She couldn’t stop staring at him, he looked… bad. His beard was unkempt, his hair was greasy like he hadn’t washed it in weeks and he had dark circles under his eyes. 

Their staring contest broke when Zeus let out a loud bark, pushed past Jon, and jumped on Kenya. Kenya laughed as Zeus tried to lick her face, she gently pushed him back. 

“Zeus, chill,” Jon said again and whistled. Zeus stopped jumping on Kenya and walked back into the house. 

“Can I come in?” She asked

“Of course, this is still your house, too,” Kenya said nothing as she followed Jon into the house. She toed off her UGG slippers and walked into the living room. Jon followed behind her. He watched as she sat on the couch, her posture rigid, as if she would rather be anywhere but their shared home “How have you been?” He asked, his eyes still on her. “I missed you.” 

Kenya scoffed and reached into her bag to pull out the ultrasound. “Here.” 

She heard Jon suck in a deep breath as he took the ultrasound from her. With a shaky hand, he brought the picture up to his face. “This forreal?” he asked and she sucked her teeth. 

“I wouldn’t lie about no shit like this Jonathan.” Kenya snapped with a roll of her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Jon muttered. “I just wasn’t expecting this.”He was happy. Before everything happened, he and Kenya were trying to have a baby. Jon’s eyes lingered on the ultrasound, his hands trembling as he stared down at it, “How far along are you?” 

“Three months.” 

“This is good right?” Jon asked and Kenya turned her head to look at him. “Kenya this is so good, I- We can get back to how we used to be.” 

Kenya’s eyes flashed with pain, and she turned her head slowly to look at him. “How we used to be? Jonathan, you moaned your ex-fiancee’s name while you came inside of me! There is no getting back to what we used to be. I only told you because I didn’t want my child to grow up without a father.” 

“Kenya, please. I love you. I fucked up, but I can’t live without you” 

Kenya scoffed and rolled her eyes.  “Yeah, right. Your mom already told me what the deal is.”  Jon furrowed his eyebrows. “Your mom came to my studio last week, she told me to come and get all my shit from my house so Trinity could get herself comfortable in my house. That’s so fucked up Jonathan. Now you tryna tell me you can’t live without me?! Fuck off.” Kenya snatched the ultrasound from Jon’s hand and stood from the couch.  “I’ll text you to tell you my next appointment.” 

“Kenya!” Jon called out as he jumped from the couch and followed her to the front door. She didn’t stop though. She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. “Please, just listen to me.”  

Kenya stopped walking and turned around to glare at Jon. “There is nothing left for you to say! I only came here to tell you about our child, nothing more.  I’m not doing this for us, Jon. I’m doing this because that’s what’s best for our child.” 

Jon stood there frozen. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. He wanted to yell at her, make her understand how sorry he was.  But he couldn’t he could only watch as she turned to walk out of the front door, down the driveway, and to her car. She didn’t even look back at him before pulling off.  

Jon closed the door and slowly walked back into the living room, he dropped down on the couch and put his head in his hands. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to breathe through the ache in his chest. He had no right to stop her, no right to expect her to stay. She had every right to walk away, she had every right to not want anything to do with him. 

The only thing he knew for sure was that he had just let the most important person in his life walk away. And he didn’t know how to get her back.

It had been two weeks since Kenya told Jon she was pregnant. And it was now time for her first checkup. She had texted him and told him the time of the appointment. He had responded that he would be there. 

Kenya sat in the waiting room, her nerves on edge as the seconds ticked by. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. 

“Kenya?” 

Kenya took a deep breath as she stood up, she checked her phone again and sighed when she had no new messages from Jon. He was late. Grabbing her bag, she followed behind the nurse to the exam room. She remained quiet while the nurse got her vitals. 

“The doctor should be in shortly ok?” The nurse said with a warm smile. Kenya nodded and returned the smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. 

“Thank you.”  The nurse nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. She checked her phone again, but still no messages from Jon. Her nerves were now gone, she was pissed.  He had said he was going to be here. He said he was gonna be there for their child. 

She heard a soft knock on the door before it opened slightly. The doctor walked in, a warm smile on her face. "Hi, Kenya! How are you feeling today?" 

“Excited,” Kenya replied. She was excited and she wasn’t going to let Jon’s absence and broken promise upset her. “But also a little nervous.” 

The doctor nodded understandingly. "That’s totally normal. Let’s get you checked out and make sure everything’s looking good. I’ll do a quick ultrasound, and we’ll go from there."

Kenya’s mind wandered as the doctor prepared the equipment, and soon the cold gel was pressed against her abdomen. The buzzing of the ultrasound machine filled the quiet room,

The doctor hummed thoughtfully as she examined the screen, clearly looking for something specific.  “Oh!” She said and Kenya started to panic. Her eyes flickered from the screen to the doctor. “Well, double congratulations. You’re having twins.” 

“Oh fuck” Kenya’s breath caught in her throat. “Twins?” 

Doctor Monroe nodded her head with a chuckle. "It looks like there are two little heartbeats in there. Two babies. Healthy and developing right on track." 

TWO?! Kenya couldn’t believe her eyes or her ears. Before she could say anything, the door opened and Jon stumbled through, out of breath and holding two gift bags, one blue and one pink. 

“I’m so sorry,” He blurted out as he rushed to Kenya’s side. “I wasn’t sure which one to get and shit, I spent too much time in that damn store.”  He stopped rambling as he noticed the look of horror on Kenya’s face as she stared at the screen. “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m - we’re - twins.” That was all Kenya could get out. Jon looked towards Doctor Monore for confirmation and she nodded her head. 

“Twins, here look.” She placed the transducer back on Kenya’s stomach.  “One baby here,” she pointed to one of the images, “and the second one right here. You can see both heartbeats. Everything’s developing normally.”

Jon’s breath hitched as he saw the two tiny forms on the screen, side by side. His chest tightened as the reality of two babies settled in. He couldn’t deny the rush of emotions, but there was still that undercurrent of anxiety. Twins. It was so much more than he had expected. He already had two kids from a relationship way before Kenya. They were both teenagers with his oldest now in college, it was like Jon was starting all over. 

“Everything looks great, Kenya. We’ll schedule another checkup in a few weeks.” Doctor Monroe smiled at the two of them. “I’ll get these printed out and have my nurse bring them in.” 

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, her voice steady, though still distant as her thoughts swirled.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, her voice steady, though still distant as her thoughts swirled.

The doctor gave them one last glance before she stepped out of the room, the soft click of the door behind her somehow making the silence feel even heavier.

“You cool?” 

Kenya rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache start to creep in as the reality continued to sink in. She glanced at him, then quickly looked away, her gaze landing on the ultrasound images, still clear on the screen.

“What are the fucking odds?” 

“I mean…” He trailed off with a chuckle. “But everything it gonna be okay. Imma be here for you and our children. Diamond and Jordan are gonna be ecstatic.” 

Kenya tried to hide the grimace on her face at Jon mentioning his other children. Now, she loved them but they could care less for her. Diamond, Jon’s 15-year-old daughter hated Kenya and no matter what Kenya tried to do, nothing ever worked. 

Kenya had gotten Diamond and her friend backstage passes to a Chris Brown concert, Diamond barely said two words to Kenya the whole night and only thanked her father for the tickets. 

It seemed like everyone in Jon’s family was against her and it made her second guess if she wanted to bring children into this dynamic. Because they could hate her all they wanted, but she be dammed if they hated her children. 

Authors Note: OMG ABOUT TIME 😬

Sooo twins... were we expecting that?

Lemme know your thoughts on this chapter!

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[dollfacefantasy]

DARK SIDE OF THE MOON ♡

pairing: redk!clark kent x fem!reader x soulless!sam winchester

summary: your boyfriend sam has been acting strange lately. good thing your other boyfriend clark is willing to help you figure out what's going on with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't get very far before he starts acting weird too.

cw: nsfw (18+), au, smut, mild dubcon, threesome, p in v, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, facefucking, overstimulation, praise/degradation, hints of asphyxiation kink

a/n: comm for my wife @fearcvlt. thank you to the anon who infected us with the sam-clark disease 🙏 also i know sam doesn't lose his soul till season 6 but it's my fic so this is early seasons sam. don't like it kiss me about it.

Sam has been acting weird lately.

You’re not sure what it is. You can’t pinpoint an exact detail about him that’s shifted. From the surface, he looks the same. He still dresses the same. His voice sounds the same. His hands and mouth feel the same. It drives you crazy, not being able to narrow down what you mean. What you know has changed. 

Because while the alterations are imperceptible, you know they’re real. All of that stuff hasn’t changed on a technical level, but to you, his girlfriend, someone who knows his very being like the palm of your own hand, it’s not the same.

Physically, he’s your Sam. The one you’ve been with since your second semester of college. His dark brown hair hangs too close to his eyes like always. The warmth in his hands radiates with regularity as they coast across your and Clark’s bodies. His words reach your ears in the soft, calculated manner you’ve come to expect from him.

But you swear on everything you have in this world, on both your lovers’ lives, that all of this comes with a new note of unfamiliarity.

While his appearance hasn’t changed, the way his eyes land upon your face has. His gaze feels cold. It nearly stings when it connects with your own. You may recognize his touch, but he’s rougher now. He doesn’t handle you like a cherished doll, nor does he explore Clark with his usual reverence. Instead he tugs and he grabs. His fingers dig into flesh harder than ever before. Scratches and bruises litter the two of you after a night spent together. And while his voice rings out just like it did when you met him in your first criminal justice class all those years ago, the tender embellishments in his sentences have vanished. Vacant silences lie where sweetheart and honey used to appear. 

You sound like a lunatic describing it.

“Can’t you just talk to him?” you plead with Clark for the third time this week. You attempt persuasion by flaunting your puppy eyes at him, but he just shakes his head.

He stands before the full length mirror in the corner of your bedroom while pulling on his shirt. The hazy morning light shines through the nearby window onto his physique, highlighting the contours of muscle decorating his abdomen before they’re covered up by the scarlet sweater he chooses to wear today.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, baby,” he responds, gazing at you through the reflection.

You boost yourself off your mattress where you’d been sprawled out. Approaching him from behind, you snake your arms around his waist and press your cheek to his firm back. He doesn’t have to face you to know the pout that’s taken residence on your lips.

“Well, I can’t think of everything,” you huff, “Just maybe see if something’s wrong. Like maybe we did something and we don’t know-”

“You’re overthinking,” he cuts in while fastening his belt into place.

“You don’t know that because you’ve never actually asked. Maybe he feels like he can’t tell us what’s bothering him for some reason. Or it could be like a guy thing. He blows me off whenever I try to help, so maybe he’ll be more comfortable with just you,” you insist.

He sighs and shakes his head again, reaching for the brush nearby. Clark’s hair rarely ever falls out of place. The only moments you can recall seeing him disheveled are those when he lays in bed with you and Sam, nude body coated in a light sweat and pressed against each of yours. Yet he tends to his black tresses more often than you take care of your own hair.

“It’s not a guy thing,” he chuckles, “He just doesn’t wanna talk about whatever’s going on in his head. You know how he gets sometimes. I’m sure he’ll bounce back soon.”

“But it’s been like over a month. Ever since he went on that trip with his brother, he’s been weird,” you continue, squeezing him as if that would somehow convince him of your point.

“You know his childhood is a sore spot. Maybe being around him brought up some bad memories,” he offers and shrugs.

“But he would have told us about that,” you refute.

You release Clark from your hold as he turns around, his outfit all ready for the day. As you look up at him, your eyes remain full of concern for the absent part of your trio. Your present boyfriend smirks at the worried expression before cupping your cheeks and planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“It’s gonna be ok, babe. He’ll be ok,” he murmurs.

You nod. “Just if you get the chance… please talk to him,” you try once more.

“I will,” he agrees. His hands fall to your waist where they knead the flesh lightly.“Try not to worry too much today, alright? We got that party tonight. You’re gonna look all pretty, we’re gonna have fun, and everything’s gonna be fine.”

He kisses you once more before walking towards the bedroom door. You nod in response to his words and force your shoulders to relax. The mention of his work party you were all going to attend later helps a little to distract you. At the very least it gives you something else to think about for the time being.

Before he heads out, you blow him a kiss like you always do. He pretends to catch it, flashing those fangs of his in a lazy grin.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says before finally leaving your view.

Despite your assurance to Clark, you spend much of the day thinking about Sam and possible causes for his perpetually sour mood. Unfortunately, you can’t think of anything that seems like a realistic possibility.

While your anxiety wants you to blame yourself, you really don’t believe something you did is responsible. And he had gone on that trip with his brother a month ago, but they’d been going on their ‘hunting trips’ pretty regularly for the last two years. He never got like this afterwards. Even when his brother annoyed him, he’d just vent about it to the two of you before letting it go.

You try to reason that law school might be getting more stressful. All of his free time not allocated to you and Clark, or to his brother in the Impala, goes to textbooks. He spends hours poring over notes and articles and journals. Maybe that’s it. You try to convince yourself it could be. At least until he and Clark come home for the night with hopefully a more concrete answer.

As the day shifts into evening, you busy yourself with getting ready for the party tonight. It wasn’t anything too fancy. Just some gathering the paper Clark now worked at was throwing. As a new hire, he was one of the employees being celebrated, warranting your and Sam’s invitations.

It’s around six-thirty when you finally hear the front door open. Two pairs of shoes shuffle in. Good. That means Clark met him on campus or Sam drove over to Clark's job after his last class. There would be plenty of time to talk over the course of the distance between your shared house and either of those locations.

You put your earrings back down on the dresser and approach the door, straining your ears in hopes of scoping out any tense silences or relieved chatter. In the kitchen, you can hear the fridge open and then close. A sigh. You narrow your eyes. Was it a sigh of tiredness from work or frustration at the other man? The words that follow answer your question.

“She’s just worried about you,” Clark says. You bite your lip, sensing this may not be going well.

“Yeah, I know. She doesn’t do a great job of disguising that,” Sam responds.

“Then just talk to her. It’s only still a problem because you’re being cagey.”

“I’m being cagey because there’s nothing to talk about. She’s looking for something that isn’t there, insisting-”

You step through the doorway and head towards the sound of their voices. Barefoot and with the zipper on your dress only halfway pulled, you enter the room to join them. Sam finishes his sentence as both his and Clark’s eyes set on you.

“Hi,” you interrupt weakly.

The taller of the two rolls his eyes while your other boyfriend raises his brows in acknowledgement before taking another sip of his drink.

“I just… heard you both talking and thought I should come in here…” you continue. It’s only been a few seconds, but already, it’s starting to feel like you should have waited for them to come to you.

You walk a couple more paces into the space, finding yourself standing equidistant from both your lovers. Your gaze alternates between them before focusing on Sam.

“I know I’m probably worrying over nothing. And I know you said nothing is wrong,” you say, keeping your tone as neutral as you can, “You just seem different. And maybe nothing is actively wrong, but I just want you to know if something happened or like if you’re thinking about something differently that me and Clark-”

“You’ll what? What will you both do?” he asks, “I don’t know what you want from me. Do you want me to make up some problem that doesn’t exist so you can feel accomplished when you fix it?”

“No,” you answer right away, hurt infecting your features.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know…” you say. Your resolve wilts away with each second his harsh eyes stare at you.

“Just stop then. Stop asking me to give you a reason, stop talking about me behind my back, just stop,” he rants, “Did you ever consider you might be projecting? That maybe something is different with you that you don’t want to accept.”

“What?” you ask. Your pained expression infuses with a bout of confusion.

“Think about it. Me and Clark, we know what we’re doing everyday. I’m going to school, he’s going to work. We have our plans in place. You? What are you doing? Ever since you graduated last year, you’ve been floundering, bouncing from idea to idea. Maybe you’re the one who’s fallen off the tracks, but you can’t admit it,” he accuses.

Your eyes widen. That statement cuts you deep, through multiple layers. It is the truth in a sense, but to have it thrown in your face by someone who supposedly cares about you hurts worse than you would have anticipated.

“That’s not true,” you deny.

“Yes it is, and you know it. You wanna blame me for how you’re feeling. You’re losing control of your own life so you want to find something you can fix,” he continues.

“Sam, stop,” Clark interjects on your behalf.

You just stand there, feeling even more lost than you had earlier. He was acting different. You were sure of it. But now you also feel like he maybe has a point. What if he is acting the exact same, and you’re the one losing your grip? Clark hasn’t been as concerned as you, and maybe that’s for a reason.

“What?” Sam says, his eyes flitting towards your other boyfriend, “She’s allowed to talk about me, but I can’t defend myself?”

“You’re not defending yourself, you’re attacking her,” Clark responds before sighing. He puts his drink down and walks closer to the both of you. “Both of you just need to take a second and calm down.”

In the pause that follows, the pain Sam’s words caused doesn’t subside. The throb only emanates from deeper inside your chest. You glance up at your darker-haired boyfriend before turning to the one you could barely recognize.

“I’m not trying to make you defend yourself. I really just feel like something’s been up with you lately. But if you say there isn’t, then there isn’t, and I won’t mention it again,” you finally say.

“There isn’t,” he tells you without more than a second of consideration.

Awkward quiet settles for more than a pause now. You’re not sure if you can just act normal after that, but you don’t want to create more tension by hightailing it to the bedroom. Both of them seem to go with the former. Clark meanders his way back to the counter while Sam turns and digs through his bag for something.

You decide it might be best to follow along. Swiveling on your heel, you walk away from the kitchen and down the hall towards your shared bedroom to finish getting ready. The silence no longer feels calm; it weighs down on you, pressing hard enough to crack.

As you dust powder across your cheek bones and eyelids, you force your breaths to remain even. You swallow hard to prevent your eyes from watering. The mascara wand coats your lashes with black that will stream down your skin if you shed any tears. For a final touch, you spread some sticky gloss over your lips, watching in the mirror how they shine with the glittery substance.

When your face is painted to your liking, you pull on a pair of tights under the crimson fabric of your dress and then sit on the edge of your bed to slip on your shoes. While fumbling with the one on your left foot, you hear another person enter the room.

Your pupils dart towards the door to find Clark there with a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he starts gently, “You almost ready?”

You just nod, not really in a chatty mood.

He returns the gesture and comes closer, approaching as if you’re a wounded animal.

“You look really beautiful, baby,” he compliments.

“Thanks.”

“Here. Let me help,” he offers and crouches before you. 

He takes your leg between his large hands, rubbing up and down over the smoothness of your tights for a moment. His fingers then fall to the sleek strap causing you hassle. He pushes the little piece of material through the metal clasp. Despite the size of his digits, they move with nimble precision.

“He didn’t mean that stuff he said,” he tells you, voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t leave the bedroom.

“Then why didn’t he come in here?” you ask. Your voice quivers a little bit. You know Clark hears it from the way his big, blue eyes lift to connect with your own.

“He’s just being pissy right now. But I know he didn’t mean it, alright? Neither of us think you’re off track, but even if you were, it’s not the end of the world. You still have time to figure things out. We love you either way,” he says, patting your leg. 

Almost as an extra gesture of reassurance, he plants a soft kiss on your kneecap. It’s intended to be innocent. Something wholesome to let you feel the pure love he’s trying to pour into you with his words. But you can’t help but feel a flicker of desire in your belly. The sight of it only serves to remind you of how he does that when he’s spreading your legs apart and kissing up your inner thighs to somewhere much more intimate.

“He’ll come around. For the record, he is acting different. It’s not just you,” he reassures, reaching up to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

The look in your eyes has softened from one of hurt to something more tender. You nod in response, and he smiles.

“That’s my girl. Don’t look so sad anymore. I wanna show off how beautiful you are tonight. Can’t do that if you don’t let anyone see that pretty smile,” he praises.

Your face lifts with the expression he describes. It only increases the curve of his own lips. He rewards you with a small peck. When he pulls away, you can see a splotch of lip gloss on his cupid’s bow. It’s tempting to try and wipe it away with another kiss, but instead you take the more effective route and swipe your thumb across the skin.

“Ready?” he asks and reaches for your hand as he rises to his feet again.

You clasp your smaller fingers around his and stand up. “Almost. Zip me up?” you say and turn to show him the semi-closed fabric.

He chuckles fingers finding the zipper and adjusting it for you with ease. “Always.”

You stand with your back pressed against the wall, drink in hand, eyes surveilling the room. It’s only around nine o’clock, but you’re more than ready to go home. You keep a smile on your face for Clark’s sake, not wanting to look miserable around the people he has to see on a daily basis.

The party isn’t even horrible. It’s just fine. The ritzy hotel dining room they rented out is fine. The music playing at a reasonable volume in the background is fine. The food is fine. The drinks are fine. The smalltalk is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. It’s all fine.

Including you. You’re fine too. Not at all upset about earlier. The car ride here had been dead silent. No apology from Sam. Not even a word of acknowledgement. But that’s ok! You could deal with it.

Once the three of you had arrived and made your way inside, you introduced yourselves like you always did, clear enough to convey that you were all a package deal but vague enough to not draw the ire of less open-minded people. From there, you let Clark tell some stories about the both of you. You made sure to laugh at all his jokes, smile at him with the most adoring eyes, and sing his praises to any person who wanted to hear them.

After a while of that, he turned you both loose. You first grabbed some appetizers and a drink and then landed where you are now. Sam had trailed close behind you even though he still wasn’t saying anything.

He’s beside you against the wall. His shoulder leans against it, his body angled towards yours. You can feel his eyes drifting along your figure, but you don’t give in to the temptation of a response.

“You gonna freeze me out all night?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Do you plan on apologizing at all?” you ask, passive aggression lacing in every word.

He exhales a laugh and reaches for your face. His fingers guide your head, forcing you to look at him.

“Is that what you need, baby?” he mocks, “You need me to say sorry?”

You scowl and try to look away, but his digits dig into your skin. He keeps you right where he wants you. Leaning in close to you, his breath fans across your neck.

“Would it really make you feel better if I said I didn’t mean it? Would it really change anything about how you feel? I don’t think so,” he murmurs, “I think you’d like it more if I kissed it better.”

The low tone of voice combined with his proximity fires up that warmth in your tummy you felt earlier. You try to suppress it and maintain your glare.

“What are you doing?” you ask with annoyance, craning your neck for some space.

“What? I thought you’d wanna make up,” he says.

“I- It’s not that. We’re at a party for Clark’s work. It’s not like we’re high schoolers who can just go find some closet to make out,” you huff, “Plus, you definitely are acting different now. You’re always the explainer, and Clark is always the one who wants to kiss things better.”

That brings a small smirk to his face. “We can’t? Or we shouldn’t?” he teases. He moves in again, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I have been a little different lately. But why is that a bad thing? I feel great.”

“Yeah, but it’s not great when you’re being mean all the time now…”

“Mean? Or direct?” he asks, “I’ve never said anything to hurt you. Even when you think I’m being mean, I’m only speaking without sugar coating because I know you can take it. And I know that sometimes you need to hear it. You’re strong. Just as smart as me and Clark. You just need a little push sometimes.”

Your heart beats quicker in your chest. His words are one thing, but the way his rich eyes peer into yours are another. His thumb drags back and forth across your bottom lip now, almost as if coaxing some form of a response.

“It’s still mean even if you don’t intend it that way. It still hurts,” you say. Even if your face can’t move, your eyes fall. “I miss the you who wasn’t so sharp all the time.”

You soften your words, hoping to break the tough exterior that had shielded him for the last month. Though you see no change in his expression. No shift in his gaze.

“You’ll have to learn to love this one just as much then,” he replies.

It stings. The words slice like a blade. He doesn’t care about the falter on your face though. He ducks in, kissing along your jaw to your earlobe. A small gasp leaves you at the soft, wet touches. You squirm in place, nearly spilling your drink as the liquid sloshes within the confines of the glass.

“I can show you how. Just gotta let me,” he whispers. His hand falls from your face to your neck, wrapping it in a seductive embrace.

Your eyes flutter, and for a split second, you want to give in. His lips on your skin feel like traces of heaven. The soft words he speaks hit your ears like gentle caresses lulling you into compliance. But then you remember where you are and who you're here for.

“Sam, stop,” you whimper.

But he doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t just stay in place either. His hand tightens around your throat. It digs in a little, pressing you against the wall. You can still breathe just fine, but the threat of air loss is right there, teasing you just barely.

Your eyes widen now. Sam had never been so aggressive in the bedroom before, let alone in public.

“We’re here for Clark. You’re gonna embarrass him,” you remind.

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it,” he breathes.

Before you can squeak out any more words of protest, a large hand is curling over Sam’s shoulder and tugging him back. Clark looks at him with a raised brow before his focus shifts to you.

“I guess you two made up?” he asks.

You open your mouth to clarify with some version of what actually happened, but Sam cuts you off. “Something like that.”

He takes you by the wrist, spinning so that he’s against the wall while you’re in front of him with your back against his chest. His chin rests atop your head as his hands rub your arms. Clark looks on, almost suspicious at the complete flip in attitudes.

“So how much longer do we have to be here? They’ve already played ‘Mr. Brightside’ like three times. This thing’s gotta be winding down soon, and I’m pretty eager to get back so we can make up some more,” Sam says.

“Not too much longer,” Clark says, the words slow and edged with uncertainty, “I’ll start saying goodbyes.”

You nod gratefully, your appreciation shining through even without words. Sam smirk prevails on his face yet again.

“Sounds good. Just don’t take too long or we might have to get a head start without you,” he says. His tone indicates he’s teasing, but with how he’s acting, you wouldn’t put it past him to try something like that.

“I won’t. Just give me a few,” Clark responds simply before drifting back into the crowd to say bye to the important people.

He keeps his word and only takes a few minutes. If he had taken any longer, you aren’t confident you would have noticed. You feel like you have whiplash from the way Sam has latched himself onto your body. Earlier he spoke like he couldn’t stand you, but now he clings to you like he’d be willing to bend you over one of the nearby folding tables and bring some real excitement to this party.

You try brushing him off, redirecting his hands to places that wouldn’t earn you side eyes from your boyfriend’s colleagues. He’s not interested though. Every few seconds it feels like he’s nuzzling into your neck or smoothing his hands over your sides.

“Sam, quit it,” you whisper.

“Why? I don’t need Clark’s hearing to know how fast your heart is going. I know you like it,” he purrs.

The best you can hope for is guiding him to the exit and letting Clark meet you there. When the man in question finally does make his way in your direction, you can see a bit of frustration on his face. Annoyance gleams from his eyes as they sweep over how Sam holds you like a territorial dog with a chew toy.

You want to apologize. You hate when Clark isn’t happy with you, and you really don’t want to end the day having fought with both of them. But before you could get any words of remorse out, Sam’s already leading you through the front door. He keeps a tight grip on your wrist, now allowing you even an inch to pull away.

Clark follows along. His hand lands on the small of your back. The faint touch grounds you a little, but before it can have any real effect, Sam’s yanking you closer, nearly causing you to stumble over the steps that lead you three into the parking lot.

The confusion that permeates your mind has now spread to Clark’s face and replaces his prior irritation.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, trailing behind in broad strides.

“What do you mean?” Sam laughs. He turns around, holding you close again once in range of the car. “You got the keys?”

Even though he does in fact have them, Clark makes no move to fetch the small metal keys from his pocket.

“No, seriously. What’s going on with you? One minute you’re ready to bite her head off for worrying about you, and now you wanna jump her bones in the middle of a parking garage?” he says, not letting up.

“I can’t win with you two. She doesn’t like it when I’m being serious, you don’t like it when I’m not. What’s a guy supposed to do, huh?” he says.

“It’s not like that, and you know it,” Clark challenges, “You have been acting weird lately. I let you deny it because I know what it’s like having to keep something to yourself. But pretending like it isn’t happening does nothing, especially when it’s affecting us.”

You stand there with Sam’s arm over your shoulders, looking back and forth between them. It’s not even an argument yet, but with a few wrong words, it would have no issue transforming into one.

“Please. You didn’t care how it affected me and her when you kept your secrets for years. So spare me a lecture,” Sam dismisses, “I don’t have some great secret. People just change over time.”

“Not so rapidly!” Clark fires back, “You went away for one weekend, and a different person came back.”

“I’m still me,” he says, “If you have such a problem with the person you think I’m becoming then maybe I’m not the only one we should be evaluating. Maybe something’s changing between all of us.”

You look at Clark with pure worry now. He hasn’t outright said it, but these words border on the worst potential outcome. Reaching for his hand that dangles off your shoulder, you give it a squeeze and gaze up at him.

His attention shifts to you. He smiles at the nervousness written all over your features.

“Don’t look so scared, baby. We’re not gonna break up. Unless that’s what you two think would be best,” he says. It’s almost a threat. He puts the power in your hands, but it’s not by choice. He’s not offering it to you. He’s forcing it between your palms and pushing your fingers to close around it.

“No,” you respond instantly.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Clark backs down, his voice dropping a bit.

“Then what did you mean?” Sam asks.

“I just want to know why. Why are you acting like this now? You used to be the reserved one. The one who was always careful about everything. You kept me and her on track. Now, you’re in there acting like a high schooler and making me look like an idiot, being all over her like that.”

“All over her?” he repeats with a chuckle. His arm slithers off your shoulders, leaving your skin exposed to the chilled night air. He takes a few steps towards your other boyfriend. “You jealous, Clark? Because as soon as we got home, you know I’d be all over you too.”

He scoffs and looks away. Truly, you doubt jealousy had been the root of Clark’s discomfort. You would’ve been irritated too if they started getting handsy in front of people you wanted to make a good impression on. But it was hard to not get flustered when confronted so directly. When Sam stalked forward like that.

The brunette slides to Clark’s side and maneuvers himself behind him. His hands flatten against his muscular biceps, rubbing the skin softly through his suit jacket. You watch as his lips brush the shell of Clark’s ear in the same way they had to yours.

“C’mon. You know I don’t play favorites,” he coos.

Your darker-haired lover has his eyes fixated on the car beside you three. You knew the feelings coursing through him right now. The same ones that swirled within you fifteen minutes ago.

Sam’s long fingers move South on Clark’s arms. The tips coast over his elbows and along his forearms before getting to his wrists. You know the exact sensation. Like little lines of fire being drawn across your limbs. Similar to you, Clark goes to resist. He just has the actual strength to carry it out.

He pushes Sam’s hands off and looks over his shoulder. “We’re gonna talk about it. You can’t keep avoiding it and expecting us to just go along with this forever,” he says.

Sam smirks at the assertion. He lets Clark move him away. You notice one of his hands slip into his pocket, but before the act can even register, it’s back out and reaching for your other boyfriend’s wrist again.

“We will talk about it. But not tonight,” he says.

The beginning of a disagreement begins to leave Clark’s lips. But the hand that had reached for his cuts his statement short when it flexes and spreads a thin band over his wrist. Clark looks down at it while you observe with confusion. But then you see a sparkle of red.

Your pupils dart back to Clark’s face. You watch as his eyes flicker with that same ruby color. His shoulders rise, and his chest puffs out with innate pride. He doesn’t have that sweet, lopsided grin; now his lips look sinister and menacing as they curl. You don’t even have to ask what it is. You recognize that look. You know the effects of red kryptonite.

“You’re such an asshole!” you explode at Sam. You step towards him, practically shoving Clark behind you. “Why would you do that?! You know he hates that stuff!”

Your arm swings forward, smacking at his chest. He just laughs and dodges your weak blows. “Calm down. He’ll be fine. I just wanted to help him unwind for the night,” he says.

You go for another strike, aiming for his bicep this time instead. Before your limb can connect, two strong arms have looped around your waist and tugged you back against a firm body.

“He’s right,” Clark chimes in. His chin hooks over your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck, planting kisses there that make you squirm. “I was letting you get me all wound up. Just needed to take the edge off.”

Without responding, your hands fly to his wrist, desperate to get the bracelet off for him. You’d only seen Clark under the influence of this stuff once before. You really weren’t eager to relive the experience.

But he’s quicker than you. He slides his arm away and spins you around to face him in the process. No longer does your boyfriend have his usual look that likens him to a carefree puppy. Now you stare into the eyes of a wolf.

“Clark-” you start and grab for his wrist again.

He laughs and lifts his arm in the air, dangling his hand a foot over his own head. Much too high for you to reach. Still, you jump and try to pull it down by his elbow.

“That’s not my name you know,” he teases.

You stop jumping and glare at him. “I’m not calling you Kal,” you say flatly, “Give me that. You’re not yourself when that stuff is on you.”

“I’m more myself like this than I am any other time,” he disagrees.

Sam comes up behind you and places his hands on your hips. “Come on. Don’t spoil the fun before it’s really started, babe,” he taunts.

“Get off,” you shoo and shoot him a harsh look as well.

None of your efforts have the intended effect though. Nothing you do intimidates either of your boyfriends whose frames dwarf your own against the side of the car.

“So angry,” Sam mocks. He ducks in and kisses your cheek while Clark grabs your chin and makes you look at him again.

“We just gotta find something that calms you down. You need to let loose sometimes. You’re always so worked up and high strung,” Clark says. He strokes your jaw as Sam brings his mouth down to your throat. He starts laying kisses there, the affection more intense than it had been inside the hotel.

His soft lips glide across your sensitive skin. He licks your pulse, scrapes his teeth over the thumping artery. Your breath hitches. They both can hear it. You know that from how Clark’s smile grows that much more smug.

“You know it feels good,” he coos. He leans in, teasing you with the idea of a kiss. His mouth hovers not even an inch from your own. The warmth of his breath puffs against your skin. With the slightest move the two of you would be touching.

“I can feel how bad you want it,” he murmurs, “So why not give in?”

“It’s not like you could get away anyways,” Sam whispers.

And you know it’s true. You can’t do anything they don’t want, especially not something Clark doesn’t want. They’re bigger and stronger. With Clark’s heightened senses, there’s no hope of hiding either. You know the smart decision here is to give in. To give in and then wait for an opportunity to get that bracelet off him.

However, you can’t even say this is a choice based solely in logic or survival instinct. You want Clark’s lips on yours. You crave more touches from them both. While your rational mind hates these versions of the two of them, your body doesn’t care. Your skin breaks out into chills while your heart rate speeds up all the same.

“You’re gonna regret all of this later,” you whisper to Clark, letting your eyes fall to his plush lips.

“Maybe. But I’m not worried about that. I’m living right now,” he responds.

He closes the gap between the two of you. A soft moan creeps up your throat, escaping against his mouth. You feel him smirk. The sound encourages him to deepen the kiss.

Sam presses closer behind you. He pulls your ass flush against his pelvis and kisses your neck some more. It’s like a flurry all around you. If any of Clark’s coworkers were leaving the party now, this sight would only add to the embarrassment Sam and you caused earlier.

None of you are thinking about that though. You’re completely wrapped up with each other. Your hands have found their way into the dark locks on either side of you. The left one grips Clark’s while your right extends back and tugs on Sam. Heavy breaths blow against your face from multiple angles. Large palms grope at the different curves of your body.

Clark reaches down into his pocket. His fingers fish around for a few moments before pulling out the small set of keys Sam asked about earlier. He pulls off your lips and tugs you to his chest away from Sam.

“You drive,” he says simply, sliding the metallic object into the other man’s hand.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Seems like you’re more eager than me now.”

He doesn’t resist or argue though. Instead, he taps the unlock button and slides around the back of the car to head to the driver’s side. At the same time, Clark opens the door to the backseat and ushers you in with a pat to your ass.

“You had a taste of her in there. Now it’s my turn,” he grins.

The drive home was a quick one.

It felt like a right turn, a left turn, and then the car slowing as Sam parked it in the driveway. Clark had made good on his words. He took his turn with you. The entire time his hand was up your skirt, his fingers beneath the thin cotton of your panties, drawing little whiny moans from you.

When the vehicle finally came to a full stop, Sam cleared his throat to alert you and Clark. They spoke back and forth a bit, but their specific words eluded you. Before your mind could come down from the high Clark was working you into, they were hauling you inside.

Clothes came off along the way to the bedroom. Clark’s jacket pooled on the floor in the entryway. Your red dress decorated the bannister. Sam’s belt hung around the bedroom door knob.

Now they have you spread before them on the bed. Your panties have abandoned you like the rest of your outfit. You lie bare for their eyes. At the foot of the mattress, they finish undressing themselves. Sam’s in the lead, his fist already stroking his cock while he stares down at you. Beside him, Clark finishes shimmying off his trousers.

“Think it’s my turn again,” Sam says before getting on the bed with you. He takes hold of one of your ankles, pulling the limb aside to spread your legs.

“We can share now. I’m not feeling too patient,” Clark adds. He follows right along with the other man’s movements.

Grabbing your other leg, he pushes it farther away from the other as he crawls towards you. They both descend upon you in sync. With their broad frames, it’s a tight fit, but they manage to both position themselves at the junction of your thighs.

Clark looks to Sam with a big smile across his face. “More fun when we do it together anyways.”

Sam hums in acknowledgement. He stares into those round, blue eyes for a moment more before rotating them to focus on your glistening center. You’re thoroughly slick from Clark’s fingers in the car and all the attention they lavished on you in the parking garage. Two of his digits spread you open. They both gaze at your drippy entrance, your poor swollen clit.

“You don’t even need a warm up tonight, sweetheart. You’re soaked from a few touches,” Sam mocks.

“It was more than a few,” you whimper in defense of yourself.

“Either way… be grateful we’re so nice, willing to give you all this extra attention,” he continues.

“Yeah, especially when you were being so bratty earlier. Talking back, carrying on,” Clark adds.

You whine softly and squirm your hips in an attempt to speed along the teasing. Even with your pouty denial, you know how bad you want them. These words only add to that needy sensation in your belly.

“So desperate,” Sam croons in a low voice.

Luckily for you, Clark doesn’t say anything back. He must have been honest about feeling impatient because instead he just leans in and connects his mouth with your cunt. A sigh bursts from your lips and you tilt your head back against the pillows.

He boosts your thigh over his shoulder and holds it like some sort of handle. His lips kiss your clit a few times, mashing the little bud with their delicate, smooth surface. He then sticks his tongue out and drags it through your arousal. The tip of it sweeps up over your velvety folds and swirls around your button.

Your back arches off the bed. Sam grabs your thigh closest to him and takes it on his shoulder as Clark had done. He turns his head, trailing some kisses over your inner thigh. They start innocent enough, chaste pecks at the most. But as they get closer to your center where Clark is, they grow sloppier. You feel his tongue gliding around in figure eights before his lips engulf the saliva-traced flesh.

When he finally reaches your pussy, you whine loudly. Your eyes flutter, and your heels dig into their backs. They keep you pinned in place, not allowing you to squirm too much or to buck your hips in excitement.

“Good girl,” Clark breathes in a husky tone before sucking on your pulsing clit.

A sharp squeal comes from you. Your toes and fingers curl at the sensation. In the meantime below, Sam prods at your leaky hole with his tongue. At first, he uses broad strokes. He flattens the muscle against your desire-soaked entrance, lapping without shame or hesitance. You moan appreciatively, nice and shameless just how you know they like.

More juices seep out of you as they work you up. That combined with their spit has you thoroughly soaked between your legs. It doesn’t bother them in the slightest. You can see the shimmer of your essence on Clark’s jaw. His eyes are shut, his features relaxed as he showers your tender nub with attention. Sam’s head nods as he licks. It bobs lazily, his nose occasionally bumping Clark’s jaw. He also sports a peaceful expression. It’s the first one on him you’ve seen on him in weeks. He isn’t annoyed or tense or bitter. He’s just lost in the bliss of how good you taste.

Soon, fingers start to get involved. Sam brings his long, slender digits up to slither their way inside of you. He moves his lips North to get more room for them. Clark moves ever so slightly to accommodate him but not by too much. He’s close enough that his nose can still brush against his skin. Close enough that he still feels the occasional swipe of his tongue against his own.

You feel release boiling in the pit of your stomach. Sparkling bursts of ecstasy fizzle from there through all your limbs.

“You gonna cum, baby?” Sam rasps. He pumps his fingers in and out faster, curling them against your clenching walls.

“Mhm,” you force out. Your eyes screw shut while you nod, your head wagging rapidly.

“Go ahead, honey. Cum for us. Show us how good you feel,” Clark hums. He flicks his tongue at your clit just as quickly as your head moves above.

In a matter of seconds, you shriek. Your thighs quiver against the sides of their heads. You roll your hips into the pleasure while clutching at the sheets. Sam’s fingers dig harder into the malleable flesh of your leg. Clark latches his lips onto your bundle of nerves and works you through the high.

At the point where you would normally start to come down, they still haven’t let up. Sam’s fingers don’t recede any. They stay snug in your cunt while Clark continues to make out with your center. You whine. Your hips now buck with the purpose of getting them off. The motion doesn’t achieve that though. They stay right where they are.

“Clark-” you squeal for the main offender. Your eyes roll back and ragged pants of air puff from your lungs. You grab at the two mops of hair between your legs. “Sam...” you whimper with desperation.

Your pleas go unanswered at first. Clark chuckles while Sam grins against your leg. The latter continues to thrust his hand between your thighs.

“What’s the matter?” Sam croons, his brown eyes gazing up at you.

Words tangle up into a needy whine. You bite your lip to suppress the noise before attempting to reply with the sentiment you know they anticipate.

“It’s too much. Too sensitive,” you mewl.

As expected, they only look at you with patronizing smiles.

“Too much?” Clark repeats mockingly, “It’s not too much. You can take it. Can’t she, Sam?”

“She can take it,” the man to his left affirms before redirecting his words at you, “You know you can, baby. You know you like it. You just can’t help yourself. You always need something to whine about.”

“I do not! Ah-” you say, cut off by your own moan.

It’s the feeling of one of Clark’s thick fingers joining the couple of Sam’s that are already inside you. Your toes curl at the minor stretch you feel. It’s nothing compared to the times you’ve taken both of them at once, but still, it brings slight discomfort.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Clark praises as you lose yourself to the moans.

They both duck back in and work with their mouths again. The tips of their tongues brush against one another as they lap at you. Clark moves in impossibly closer, angling his mouth slightly to the left. It leaves him more open to Sam. It gives him easier access to the other man as well.

Sam knows it’s on purpose. This isn’t coincidental positioning. Clark can be just as needy as you. He just has an aversion to acting so openly pathetic about it, especially with red kryptonite on him. 

His head drifts a little more inward, bringing their mouths even closer together. Sam doesn’t hesitate before taking the leap. He tilts himself towards Clark. His tongue slides out against your cunt, but this time it makes full contact with the other man who moans at the warm, wet caress and reciprocates in full.

Your head pops up at the needy sound leaving his throat. You watch with lust-lidded eyes as their tongues tangle with each other against your folds. Their mouths are still touching your skin. The focus has just become split, flowing to all three points of your triad.

It helps to ease the sting of overstimulation that had been nipping at you. You’re able to actually make the descent back to a normal state of arousal. Reaching towards them, you lazily stroke Sam’s hair. You brush his bangs back from his warm forehead before swapping over to Clark and combing your fingers through his tresses that have become damp with sparse drops of sweat.

As they feel your touch, they become more focused on each other. It’s as if more subconscious parts of their minds understand you’ve been attended to. You’ve been sated. You’re not going to get up and leave, so it’s ok to play with each other a bit.

Sam’s the one to deepen the exchange. He draws his fingers that had gone still from the warmth of your cunt. They land on Clark’s shoulder, sliding up to the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Your other boyfriend doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves in for more, his nose bumping against Sam’s. Their breaths grow louder. You can hear every desperate inhale.

A low hum reverberates from Sam’s throat as Clark pushes him back on the bed. He kisses with the same overeager tenacity of a pup desperate for attention from its master.

Sam crumples on his shoulder, letting his back rest against the blankets beneath the three of you. You rise on your elbows and sit up, readjusting your legs. Your eyes trail over their nude bodies. They catch on the way Clark ruts himself against the crevice between Sam’s hip and the mattress. Sam’s flushed length stands stiff between their bodies, oozing the first beads of pre despite being untouched for the most part.

You’re only left neglected for a few seconds more. Sam manages to guide Clark’s lips down onto his neck. He then tilts his head back and reaches for your wrist.

“Don’t think we forgot about you,” he says with a small tug.

You follow along with the direction and scoot closer. Clark’s still got his mouth attached to Sam’s neck, kissing and licking at the curve of his throat. The recipient of the touches sighs at the dull sense of bliss it brings. Clark grinds himself harder against the bed, letting out a strangled moan before lifting his head.

His eyes are drooping with desire too now. The blown out pupils flit from Sam to you.

“We couldn’t forget about you, baby,” he adds, his mind seemingly just catching up with the words your other lover said.

Grabbing you by your waist, he drags you over Sam’s body and gets you flat on the mattress under him. You can feel the heat of his length against your thigh. Sam sits up beside you and strokes your cheek with two of his long fingers. He studies you for a few moments, looking at you with such intensity. Even in the heat of the moment though, you know he’s different. His normal reverence is absent. There’s hardly any affection in his gaze. It feels empty in a sense. As if his actions are guided by pure carnal need.

“I’ll let you have her pussy, Clark. Think her and I need to make up with something closer,” he says as his thumb pulls your mouth open by pressing on your bottom lip.

The plan receives no argument from Clark. It probably would have had he been the one resigned to your mouth, but he had no protests about getting to fuck you.

“Sounds good to me,” he grins and moves to kneel between your thighs. He tugs you closer by your hips, getting you in the position he wants. “You ready, princess? This won’t be too much for you?”

It’s not said with genuine concern. You’re sure the result would be the same regardless of if you nodded or shook your head. His tip is already nudging at your hole, more than ready to be inside.

You feel his cock sink in and split you open in time with Sam pushing his thumb further into your mouth. A moan bubbles up from you before you close your lips around the digit and suck. You shut your eyes too, allowing the physical sensations to overtake you.

Clark works himself in inch-by-inch. To your surprise, he doesn’t jerk himself all the way in, but he doesn’t go slow either. His desire rolls off him in waves. It’s only a matter of seconds before his tip is kissing your cervix and the thin patch of dark hair above his cock is pressed to your pelvis.

Sam pushes down on your tongue with his thumb. You continue sucking. Having it there soothes you in a way. It staves off any remnants of overstimulation, gives you something to focus on besides the thick cock stretching you apart.

But then he removes it. You whine. Moments after it leaves you, Clark draws his hips back and then slams in again. Now he’s set on picking up the pace. You don’t get a break. He doesn’t take a while to figure out a rhythm. He pounds back and forth, already settling into the one he likes.

Sam is rising up next to your head too. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s tapping the head of his dick on the seam of your lips. Your eyes lift to his face, which looks down at you with a condescending smirk.

“Open up, baby,” he purrs.

Obediently, your lips part. He thrusts himself inside with the same force Clark used on your cunt. You screw your eyes shut to try and repress the urge to gag. He chuckles up above, though it sounds distant to your ears. Being full of them on both ends spreads your senses thin. They try to keep up with everything happening, but they can really only catch the most intense pieces. Everything else blurs into a flurry around you. Clark’s needy grunts, Sam’s satisfied hum, the wet squelches coming from your core. All of it mixes together into a hazy bluster.

Sam’s cock drags over your tongue. It’s much heavier than his thumb. Warmer too. You suck on it all the same. You don’t use too much force or bob your head more than necessary. Even if his personality had been different as of late, you know what affects him on a physical level no matter what. You swipe your tongue over that specific vein and press up on the sensitive ridge that makes him buck. He hisses as you’re able to get him going with only a few small maneuvers.

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” he grunts. His hands land on either side of your head and hold you in place. “It’s much better when you’re using your mouth for this instead of all that worrying.”

As he grips your skull and begins rocking his hips back and forth, Clark rabbits himself harder into you. His fingers dig into you with such force, you’re sure you can feel the bruises forming on your skin. Normally, Clark was more conscious of his strength. He made sure to never pull too hard or hold too tightly. But when that little red stone sits strapped around his wrist, all concern for those kinds of things leaves his mind. All he cares about right now is the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock.

“She’s so fucking tight. Like more than usual. Thinks she likes us better like this,” Clark moans as he continues fucking into you with fast, needy strokes.

“Yeah? That true?” Sam huffs. He thrusts forward and drags your head all the way down on his cock. 

In place of an answer, you gag. One set of your fingers claws at the bedding while your other clutches one of his thighs. He holds you in place for a moment. You can’t breathe. Your heart pounds with panic while your pussy squeezes extra tight around Clark. You hear him whimper at the sensation. It sounds far away, fading almost.

You blink slowly. Your head jerks a little. It’s not a conscious choice. Just the natural survival instinct that drives you to fight for air. You don’t receive it at first. Sam keeps your throat full for a few seconds more before pulling out and allowing you to suck in a breath.

You cough at the sudden influx of oxygen. A few droplets of spit spew forward and flank his v-line. He pets your head, stroking you in a way that seems almost caring.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, “You didn’t even move that much. Kept nice and still like you’re supposed to.”

“Of course. She knows just how to take us,” Clark agrees.

“I guess that’s true,” Sam says, thumbing at your cheek before sliding his cock between your lips again.

He’s not as forceful this time. You don’t stop breathing as you suck and lick at him. He keeps his thrusts pretty shallow. One of his hands rests on the top of your head, maintaining contact without grabbing you.

Simultaneously, Clark’s cock throbs inside you. It aches with the urge to spill. His balls that slap against your ass feel tight, more than ready to drain into you.

Sam can tell he’s close from how hard he’s panting. He doesn’t say anything, just watches. His eyes linger on Clark’s hips as they lose rhythm. They buck against you, sputtering as the rush of release creeps up on him. Sam can feel it approaching for him too. He tilts his head back and lets his eyes fall shut. His hand stays firm on the top of your head, using its position for leverage to start thrusting with a little more fervor again.

You whine around his cock. The faint vibrations only serve to coax Sam farther along. Things feel more blurry for you than it does for either of them. While they feel the clear signs of their impending orgasms, yours arrives suddenly. It explodes within you, snapping like a taut rubber band. Your body twitches and spasms. You feel the urge to arch your back and buck your hips, but you’re stationary for the most part between them.

Clark cums after you. He bursts with a sharp groan. His hips slap against your ass, jerking you upward. He maintains the same firm grip he’s had the whole time. You feel the thick, warm ropes flood you in a few spurts. It feels good, relaxing in a way to know the end is near.

Then your attention is swept up by the man occupying your mouth. Another hiss zips through his lips before you feel the sticky heat of his spend hit the back of your throat. You swallow every drop. It’s not like you have much of a choice. He doesn’t pull out or give you any room to do anything else but accept it.

He holds himself there as his length twitches and then softens. When the pleasure has reached its zenith, he finally begins to slip himself out. A thin string of saliva hangs from your lips and the head before he falls from his knees and sits beside you. He watches as Clark slides out too. Unlike the man by your upper half, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he collapses on top of you.

His body heat seeps into you, his weight crushing your smaller frame. He nips at your neck. “See? It’s so much more fun when you’re not so tense, baby,” he breathes.

“Mhm,” you hum and let your eyes shut.

Sam sinks down next to the pair of you in bed. He doesn’t speak for a couple minutes. Wordlessly, he observes the way Clark holds you beneath him.

“You are much cuter when you’re tuckered out like this,” he says, his voice low and quiet.

You tilt your head against his shoulder and keep your eyes shut, a gesture to show that you’re trying to doze off. Your main hope is that they’ll follow suit. Luckily that seems to be the case as they remain quiet. You hear Sam’s breath even out beside you. Clark stays still on top of you, pressing a lazy kiss to your skin every so often, but it’s not long before you can feel those puffs of air become deeper and more steady.

Once you feel semi-confident they’re both asleep, only then do you open your eyes. As carefully as you can, you shift slightly and reach for Clark’s arm. You keep your movements slow so as to not wake either one of them. When you have his muscular limb held up enough, you hook your fingers around that bracelet and pull. With a little force, it pops free. You don’t know if it’s real or imagined, but you swear you feel his muscles relax.

From your spot on the bed, you toss it towards the closet. The farther it is from Clark the better. You suppose you should probably try to hide from Sam, but for some reason, you don’t feel like he’s set on using it again. Getting it off was pretty easy. Maybe he planned on you doing exactly this from the moment he slid that thing onto your other boyfriend.

Either way, you shut your eyes. You won’t let yourself sleep, but you can at least rest for right now. You and Clark could deal with Sam later. With one of them back to normal, you could figure out how to do the same for the other.

[blue-aconite]

"Would you please just kiss me?" With Jake Seresin!

I would apologise for not posting sooner but we all know how life gets. Without further explanation, here's your blurb ♥️ Thanks @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over!

Blurb Night Masterlist

It’s been over half an hour since she left the Hard Deck, wandering out onto the beach and walking along the shore. She hadn’t gone far, close enough that the light coming out of the windows was still visible but far enough that she could no longer hear the people out on the patio. 

The sun disappeared some moments ago and the moon is taking its place, casting a cold grey light over the sand. 

“What are you doing out here?”

She keeps her eyes on the waves, tracing the overlaps and motions, even as she answers him. “Thinking.”

She’s hoping the short answer will be enough, that he’ll go back inside and leave her alone but fate has other plans. She should have known it wouldn’t be enough. Like a dog with a bone, Hangman wasn’t the one to let things go. 

Her hope is further crushed when he comes closer, taking a seat in the sand next to her. He’s close enough so that she can feel the heat emitting from his body, his cologne invading her senses. Not in an unpleasant or unwelcome way, just in a way she hadn’t expected. 

“You know, there’s a party going on inside, yet you’re out here alone, thinking.” Hangman says, leaning back onto his elbows and stretching his legs out. She doesn’t look away from the water but his movements can be seen in the corner of her eye. 

“Which is exactly why I’m here. Too loud to think in there. Out here though? It’s quiet, simple.” She murmurs, drawing her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.  She can feel his eyes on her, watching her. “What do you want?”

Hangman takes a moment to answer, as if he has to decide what to say. “I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m good, thanks.” She’d rather lie than tell him what’s really bothering her. There’s no reason for him to know. He wouldn’t even understand.

Unfortunately, Hangman sees right through her. “Could have fooled me.”

He pulls himself upright, matching her position. It’s odd seeing him look so vulnerable, smaller than he usually presents himself to be. 

When she doesn’t reply, he hesitantly continues, as if he’s afraid she’s going to run off if he pushes too far. “You can talk to me, you know. If something’s bothering you. You’d probably prefer Phoenix or Bob but I don’t see them running out here to check on you.”

She rolls her eyes at the last bit. Even when he’s trying to comfort her, he can’t help but take a shot at their teammates. It’s all in good nature nowadays, but it’s so predictably Hangman that it makes her smile. His concern is touching but she still keeps her guard up. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she pauses slightly before adding, “but thank you.” 

Hangman shifts, turning his body sideways so he is closer than before. “I think there is something to talk about, you just don’t want to.”

If getting on her nerves is his mission, he’s succeeding at an alarming rate. Gone is the gratefulness at his earlier offer. “And pray tell, Hangman, what would that be, hm?” She spits out, unsuccessful in keeping the annoyance out of her voice. She knows it isn’t fair to react this way, not when he’s been nothing but kind to her but anything to steer him away from the conversation she doesn’t want to happen.

Hangman holds his hands up, as if to placate her. “Maybe the fact that you’ve been avoiding me ever since Payback’s birthday? The fact that whenever we’re off base, you slink away to sit somewhere by yourself? Or maybe we should talk about how we kissed and you refuse to talk about it?”

Fuck.

The last part of his rant makes her tear her gaze from the water, swirling around in the sand to face him. They end up close, too close, but neither moves. “You remember that?”

It’s a weak response, she knows that but it’s the only thing she can come up with. 

The look in his eyes portrays disbelief. “Of course I remember. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you were drunk? And you didn’t talk to me for the whole day afterwards, so I figured it was just something.. -”

“I didn’t talk to you because when I woke up, you were gone. I wasn’t going to hunt you down over something you clearly regretted but I still think we should talk about it.”

She knows they need to address the whole situation but as he speaks, she can only focus on one thing. “You think I regret it?”

Now he’s the one refusing to meet her eyes. “What was I supposed to think? Like I said, you’ve been avoiding me ever since, so I figured you were just trying to let me down easy without having to say something, which is a shitty move by the way, even for you -”

“Let you down easy?” She’s full of bewilderment at this point and while she knows what he’s insinuating, she can’t make herself believe it. There is no possibility, she’d been telling herself for months. 

“Oh, spare me. You can’t honestly make me believe you don’t know. I think I’ve been very clear about my feelings for you.” Jake declares, a distinct look in his eyes as he straightens up. But the vulnerability on his face betrays his emotions, even if his voice stays strong. 

She feels like she’s falling, a wide black abyss consuming her entire being. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she’d find herself in the situation. “You have feelings for me?”

She’s well aware that she should probably try to unearth more but she’s still not entirely sure she isn’t hallucinating. This can’t possibly be happening.

Jake laughs incredulity. “Are you telling me you actually don’t know?”

“Well, you never said anything!” She implores.

“I didn’t think I had to! It's pretty obvious.” He responds, shrugging his shoulders like he didn’t just drop a major bomb on her.

She throws her arms out, almost whacking him in the face. “OBVIOUS? How about you use your words instead of just thinking I can read your mind? I had no idea!”

“Why would I kiss you, if I didn’t like you?”

She stares at him blankly, at a loss for words. Everything she had wanted since her stupid crush had manifested itself was happening but for some reason, she couldn’t respond in the proper way. How many times had she wished he would reprecipitate the feelings she had developed for him during their time together? How much had she beaten herself up over kissing him back at Payback’s birthday almost a month ago, knowing that he didn’t feel the same, knowing it was the alcohol? 

She’s vaguely aware that he’s speaking again but her mind is racing, as is her heart, and she blurts out the only thing she’s thinking about. “Would you please just kiss me? Again?”

[imsogonesposts]

A Night at the Grammys

|| ao3 || an: this is part of a series, but each fic can be read on its own || I'm With the Rockstar series Masterlist || steve harrington masterlist ||

summary: Steve invites you as his date to the Grammys after being nominated for Best New Artist. (wc: 1,823)

Steve had never expected to be nominated for a Grammy. He was aware that his manager, and friend, Nancy had submitted him for a handful of different nominations: best new artist, best pop vocal album, and song of the year, but he never expected to actually be nominated for them. So, when you woke up one morning to Steve yelling a “holy shit” on the day nominations were supposed to come out, you had a fair idea as to what could cause him to be so excited so early in the morning.

“Good morning,” you grumble, still half asleep as Steve pulls you into a hug, not having to use much effort as you willingly let him pull you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbled as he pressed a series of kisses to the top of your head. “But I just got nominated for a Grammy,” he finishes, hugging you even tighter.

“You did? Which one?” You ask, pulling out of his embrace just enough to look at up him. His eyes were shimmering with happiness and pride.

“Best new artist,” he replied, pressing his forehead against yours with a smile. A smile you happily reciprocated as you moved to give him a proper kiss. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you say, moving to hug him, your body fully now on his as you both lie in bed. Mornings like this always made you feel just a little lighter and happier. Mornings in his warm embrace, in your soft sheets, with the sun hitting him at just the perfect angle. What more could you ask for? “You deserve it, you’ve worked so hard. Pretty soon you’re gonna be getting Artist of the Year.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at your statement. You’d always been supportive of his music career from the very start, and it was evident you’d planned on staying supportive for a long time to come. “Well I don’t know about that,” he tells you, tilting your face just enough to press a kiss to your nose, a lazy smile on his face as he does so. “But let’s focus on the now,” he pauses, looking at you with a smile that you knew meant he had something important to ask. “Would you like to be my date to the Grammys?” He quietly asks as he brushes some hair out of your face, smiling at the wide grin that crosses your face. 

“The Grammy’s?” You repeat, as if not truly believing his words.

“Yes, the Grammy’s,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Who else would I take, our neighbor?” He stops to laugh at the idea. “No, no, I’m taking the girl of my dreams,” he replies, bringing your face down for another kiss. “In case it wasn’t obvious,” he whispers, “that girl is you,” and before you get a chance to respond or fully let his words sink in, he’s kissing you again.

And when the kiss finally breaks, you can’t help but request, “please don’t wear a black suit, those are always so boring.”

He laughs again. “Babe, it’s the Grammy’s, not the Met Gala.”

“I don’t care, you should still look nice. Well, nicer than usual,” you tell him as he moves a hand to cup the side of your face with a small pout. 

“I thought you always thought I looked nice,” he replies. Though, the pout is quickly wiped away when you move to kiss him again. And again and again and again. He wasn’t planning on leaving this bed any time soon. 

***

Finally, months later, it was the night of the Grammys, and yours and Steve’s shared home looked like a stampede had trampled through by the time the multiple stylists, hairdressers, and make up artists left. 

“This is going to be a mess to clean up tomorrow, and we’re going to be too hungover to do anything about it,” Steve hears you grumble, biting back a laugh as he knocks on the bedroom door. 

“Can I come in?” He asks as you reply back with a “yes.”

“You look nice,” you tell him with a wide smile. He had listened to you and opted to not wear a black suit, instead, wearing a color that looked all too familiar to you, you just couldn’t place where you’d seen that exact shade before.“Why’d you pick that color?” You ask, looking up at his face to notice his staring. 

It was like you came straight out of a movie. Your hair perfectly framed your face, your dress shaping you perfectly, your make up looked gorgeous. You looked perfect. You were perfect, and he couldn’t help but stare. “You look gorgeous,” he quietly replied, still staring at you as if he just saw the Northern Lights. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reply, tilting your head with a smile as he continued to stare at you. 

“You ignored my question,” you tease as he finally snaps out of his trance. 

“Sorry, what was your question?” He asked as he took a step towards you, arm already wrapping around your waist. 

“Why’d you choose that color?” You repeat as a lovesick smile crosses his features. 

“It’s the color of your eyes, dummy,” he answers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Oh, so that’s why the color looked so familiar. “It’s one of my favorite colors,” he mumbles against your forehead. “Let me take a picture of us, Robin’s been bugging me all day about wanting to see the ‘final results’ and whatever.” He suddenly states, pulling away from you to look for one of your phones as if he didn’t just alter your brain chemistry with a simple statement. Though, that was the thing about Steve, he always had a way of saying the absolute sweetest things to you, just to act like it was a normaleveryday sentence. Like those were normal, regular thoughts he had any time he was around you. Like loving you came to him like second nature. Like something he did unconsciously. Like breathing or blinking or scratching at an itch. Like he loved you as easily and as much as you loved him. Though, to be fair, he never made much of an effort to hide just how much love he had for you. 

“Hey, why’d you choose that color for your dress?” He asked as he finally found his phone, moving to your side to take a picture of the two of you. 

“I like the color,” you reply before kissing his cheek. 

***

“So, what do we think?” Steve asks, leaning into your side as you both sit at your designated tables, waiting for the ceremony to begin. You scan around the room, taking in the different singers and producers surrounding the two of you. The Grammy’s was nothing like you had ever seen before. 

“I’ve seen better,” you tell him in feign boredom as he laughs. 

“Better than all this?” He asks, using one hand to gesture around the room, the other moving to wrap around your shoulders. “I’m sorry, babe, but I find that hard to believe,” he jokes, smiling at your shrug. 

“I’m just saying, they could’ve done better,” you tell him as he rolls his eyes, fighting a smile. 

“Well, keep your voice down. They hear you talking smack and they might not let me win tonight,” he jokes, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“They’d have to be idiots to not give you that award,” you tell him, complete honesty and confidence in your voice. He couldn’t help but love how much faith you had in him. How much you truly believed in him. He knew he was lucky to have you in his life, and he was grateful for it every time he got to wake up in the morning and see your pretty face, and every night when he got to hold you in his arms. 

And award after award later, they had finally gotten to the category that meant the most to the two of you. 

“And for best new artist, the award goes to,” the presenter took a pause, opening the envelope to announce the winner. Steve took your hand, unconsciously squeezing it as you both waited for a name. It felt like hours until she finally read the name aloud: “Steve Harrington!” Applause filled the room but none of that mattered to Steve, all he could do was look at you before pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Congratulations, baby!” You said as you hugged him back. You could hear him mumbling “oh my god, oh my god,” into your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but smile. He had put so much work into his last album, so much work into his music career as a whole. In your eyes, there was no one who deserved that Grammy more than him.

You wished you could stay hugging him like that forever in order to celebrate his accomplishment. But you also knew if you didn’t do anything about it, Steve might just stay in your arms forever, so as you pulled away from the hug, you gave him a quick kiss before lightly pushing him towards the stage. ��Go get your award, honey,” you said with a laugh.

His steps were a little clumsy, likely due to the nerves, but you couldn’t help but smile at the big grin that overtook his face. And to think he never thought his career would go this far. 

“Wow, okay, this is crazy,” he said into the microphone after thanking the presenter and accepting his award. “I want to thank everyone that’s helped me get where I am today. My friend’s for pushing me to put my music out there and keeping me humble, the fans that helped me get where I am today, my producers who helped make this album what it is, and of course, my beautiful girlfriend. She’s been my rock this whole time, and I definitely wouldn’t be up here without her, especially since most of my songs are about her.  But she’s been with me through thick and thin, and I’m eternally grateful for her and everyone that helped me get to where I am today.” He finishes his speech by waving his Grammy up in the air,before leaving the stage, making his way back to you. 

“Sometimes I forget how sweet you are,” you whisper when he takes his seat next to you once more. 

He hands you his Grammy so you could get a look at it as he runs a hand up and down your arm. “I should write more songs about you, then,” he jokes, “that way it gets stuck in your brain.” He lightly pokes the side of your head as if to emphasize his point, before turning your face for a kiss. You had to admit, more songs did sound nice. 

[dippindaz]

Aaah you did my request :D it was so good aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa so in character and wonderful and cute <333 i am mentally printing it out and hanging it on my fridge. Also Billy not knowing how to deal with people looking after him?? Please, my heart 😭😭😭

If you're still looking for requests, I'd love to see Billy, Eddie, and Steve (and maybe Robin if that's not too many 👉👈) teaching a reader one of their hobbies (d&d, basketball, etc.) Tbh i don't think Robin HAS any canonical hobbies so I'm excited to see what you hc she does in her free time

Oh my gosh the praise is too much!!! 🥹 Thank you so much and I’m so happy you liked it!! ^_^ I did all four characters :)

I love this idea as well!!!! I’m sorry this took so long to get out, I got stumped on some theseee

Eddie Munson — Teaching You D&D

• Eddie is beyond excited when you show interest in Dungeons & Dragons. He acts nonchalant at first, but the second you actually agree to play, he’s pulling out his DM’s guide and grinning like a madman.

• He insists on making your character with you, talking you through all the races and classes in the most dramatic fashion. “Do you want to be a noble warrior, sworn to protect the innocent? Or a cunning rogue who trusts no one but themselves?”

• When you get overwhelmed by all the stats and dice, he reassures you with a pat on the head. “Don’t worry, my little apprentice, you’ll get the hang of it soon.” (In the voice you’d imagine an old mentor having.)

• During your first session, he gives you just enough guidance to keep you engaged but lets you struggle a little for fun. “Roll for deception. No, you can’t just lie your way out without rolling—welcome to the cruel reality of dice, sweetheart.”

• If you roll a natural 20, he makes a HUGE deal out of it, narrating the most ridiculous and over-the-top outcome possible. “You don’t just convince the guard—you have them questioning their entire career choice.”

• If you roll a natural 1, expect him to cackle and make your failure as hilariously painful as possible. “Oh no, you trip on your own shoelace and insult the king’s mother. Good luck with that.”

• He definitely starts calling you his favorite party member, even if you’re terrible at the game.

Billy Hargrove — Teaching You Basketball

• At first, Billy thinks it’s hilarious that you even want to learn basketball. He teases you constantly. “Think you can keep up with me, sweetheart?”

• He’s surprisingly patient when teaching you the basics, though. He stands behind you, guiding your arms when you shoot, and smirks when you get flustered. “You’ll never get it if you’re too tense. Relax.”

• If you miss a shot, he doesn’t let you live it down. If you make one? He acts like it was pure luck. “Alright, rookie, don’t get cocky now.”

• The first time you manage to get past him and score during a one-on-one game, he pauses. Stares. Then smirks. “Okay, okay, I see you.”

• Absolutely shows off while playing against you—spinning the ball on his finger, dribbling between his legs, pulling no-look shots—just to be extra.

• If he ever catches you getting frustrated, he actually encourages you. “You think I got this good overnight? Hell no. Keep going.”

• When you’re sweaty and out of breath, he rests his hands on his hips and smirks. “Guess I gotta go easy on you next time, huh?”

• If you really impress him, he’ll jokingly challenge you to a real game. “Loser buys dinner. Better start saving up, babe.”

Robin Buckley — Teaching You French

• Robin insists that French is the coolest language and that knowing it makes you at least 20% more attractive. “Trust me, nothing sounds hotter than a perfectly pronounced ‘je ne sais quoi.’”

• The first thing she teaches you? Not useful phrases like greetings or directions. No, she starts with the good stuff—insults and sassy comebacks. “Okay, repeat after me: ‘Va te faire voir.’ It means ‘get lost,’ but it sounds way classier in French.”

• She definitely teaches you how to swear in French and then makes you promise not to use it in front of teachers or authority figures. (“Actually, never mind, totally use it in front of Keith at work.”)

• Whenever you butcher a word or mispronounce something, she laughs but immediately reassures you. “Hey, you’re doing better than me when I first started. I sounded like a drunk tourist for the first month.”

• She randomly quizzes you at the worst times—like mid-conversation or while you’re eating. “Quick! How do you say ‘the cat is on the table’?” If you get it right, she cheers dramatically.

• If you really struggle with pronunciation, she gets unreasonably close and exaggerates how to shape your lips, totally unaware of how flustered it makes you.

• She casually drops French phrases into everyday conversations and refuses to translate them. “If you were paying attention, you’d know what I just said, mon cher.”

• Eventually, she teaches you something actually romantic, like how to say “Tu es magnifique” (you are magnificent), but she says it so casually that you’re not sure if she’s flirting or just being Robin.

• If you start getting too good, she pouts. “Damn, you might actually be better than me soon. I take it back, I’m never teaching you again.” (She’s totally lying.)

Steve Harrington — Teaching You Baseball

• When you agree to let him teach you baseball, he acts like it’s some super serious training session. “Alright, rookie, let’s see what we’re working with.”

• If you miss your first swing, he shakes his head dramatically. “Yikes. We got a lot of work to do.”

• He absolutely uses it as an excuse to stand behind you, adjusting your grip on the bat. “Loosen up a little. Here, let me—” and suddenly, his arms are around yours, and yeah, he knows what he’s doing.

• He definitely teases you if you get flustered. “Oh? Distracted? Can’t imagine why.” (The smirk he gives you is criminal.)

• When you finally hit the ball, he cheers obnoxiously. “Look at that! My little slugger’s getting good!” He even does a little celebratory fist pump.

• If you hit a really bad shot, he laughs but tries to make you feel better. “Okay, okay, that one sucked, but hey—at least you didn’t hit yourself in the face.”

• Eventually, it turns into competition. He steps up to the plate and crushes a ball just to show off. Then he looks at you with the smuggest grin. “Think you can top that, babe?”

• When you do manage to hit a better shot, he stares for a second before pretending to be unimpressed. “Eh. Not bad. Lucky swing.”

• If you lose the competition, Steve is supportive and careful not to make you feel bad. He reassures you that you just need more practice and you’re doing better than he was when he started. If you win… well let’s say Steve is conflicted between his ego and celebrating you. At first he might pout and be in disbelief but then he’d also be saying: “My baby’s a natural! You did so good!”

[nightwingsgypsyrep]

So I definitely feel like I will be adding to this post quite a bit, and this first addition is coming after @jjohnnyutah’s fantastic reply, which kinda summarised the history a bit more.

As I said earlier, I was really umming and aahing about making this post, because I’m still new to a lot of the comics, so this was really inspired by what I have been able to get my hands on (literally… I started out borrowing my friend’s comics last year) whilst I’m slowly making my way through what’s available online. As it is, you can probably see that I was able to read more of the modern stuff than the older stuff so far. I didn’t really want to make a post until I had read more but hey I’m adhd as hell and intended to just make a small one in reply to the tags and it spiralled from there. I did try to find some info of what I missed online but apparently that left out a lot! So this post is gonna have constant updates of me doing a DC and retconning stuff as I learn more.

So, anyway, jjohnnyutah’s reply addressed a couple of things. Firstly was Mary’s origin as a dental hygienist, rather than being from the circus herself originally. Can’t lie, I actually love this for her. Is it super unusual from a how-gypsies-work perspective? Sure. But like I say, a lot of my cousins are Diddakois, and I kinda love the idea of Mary coming into the fold, when just as often, the gypsy partner ends up leaving it. Of course, there’s nothing to say for sure that Mary did not have Romani ancestry (like I say, in the N52 modern stuff, she was friends with other Romani characters, so she wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the Romani sphere) - I, myself, am a gypsy with a degree, so it’s not exactly like getting a different job cancels your Gypsy Card. Although I do really love the idea of Mary being a gypsy and working as a dentist for the simple reason that, although attitudes to education have greatly improved in recent years, my family would have lost their shit if I got my degree twenty years ago, as it would have been seen as ruining my prospects. So from a feminist perspective, I really love the idea of Mary having at least some Romani heritage too.

The other is Dick not knowing much about his heritage and wanting to learn more, and let me tell you, I feel that. Even growing up surrounded by it, my dad’s side of the family never told me anything. I didn’t even get confirmation of how many siblings my grandmother had until she died. My mum’s side was much more forthcoming. Like I say, I’ve had a lot less opportunity to read the (let’s face it) better older stuff so seeing what I have of it, it seemed more of a given that Dick knew something. The reason for this presumption was mostly of how much Romani he’s seen to know even early on?? As I’ve said on previous posts, in the modern day, Romani is a lot less complete for actual use, so how much he knows is impressive. But yeah, this has just made me so much more excited to continue reading. But at the same time, fully expect another post from me six months from now when I’m more caught up calling myself an idiot. Ta x

Ok so I’ve been umming and ahhing about making this post for a while. I’ve always kinda planned on it, but seeing these tags on a previous post of mine (no hate to this user) made me want to post something now. It’s also gone 3am. So it’s not really going to be very clean and tidy, and will probably be a bit rambling, but I can always post a ‘tidy’ version another time.

So! Tackling Dick Grayson’s Romani/GRTSB heritage (warning: it’s a long one)

So, as usual, a few disclaimers: 1) I am not American. 2) I myself fall under the GRTSB umbrella - for clarity, I am from the fairground/circus so a Showman, but my family were simply ‘gypsies’ before getting involved in that in the Victorian period, so I use gypsy/traveller/Showman for myself. I also speak Romani and grew up in the culture and on the grounds. I’m not just talking out of my arse, I promise. 3) I do not pretend to have read every comic. However, this post will be based in things which DC have published (yeah I know it gets retconned every two minutes but hey, I’m working with it), even if some of it is more speculative/Headcanony, it will all be canon-compliant/what makes sense based on my own experiences. 4) That being said, everyone who does in some way fall under the GRTSB acronym will have different experiences and opinions, and all are equally valid and should be respected. 5) I use the term ‘gypsy’ a lot. Where I am from, it is not a slur, but is used almost a catch-all phrase for GRTSB people, by us. We also see Dick use it so I’m going to. I personally don’t mind if people use it (so long as they don’t use it as an insult) but not everyone will feel that way, so it’s always better to ask individuals. 6) this post is intended as a fun exploration of a character whom I relate to based on our shared heritage (when it’s really rare to find characters like that). I’m not trying to dictate to you how you should interpret Dick’s character. You’re welcome to different opinions and interpretations - this is just one of mine! :)

So, first, what is GRTSB? Well, it’s an acronym which covers all aspects of the gypsy/traveller umbrella. It is used in British legislation. It stands for Gypsy Romani Traveller Showman (aka fairground and circus) Boater. Under British legislation, only the first three (Gypsies, Romani, and Travellers) are considered an ethnic identity, whilst Showmen and Boaters are considered a cultural identity.

This is absolutely FULL of problems and has been hotly debated for years, with different people identifying in different ways. People who share the same/very similar ethnic heritage (i.e. siblings, or cousins) can have completely different points of view on what they identify as. As such, don’t take it as gospel - it’s more of a guideline than anything. Especially since a) these groups often intermarry, meaning that someone can be multiple at once; b) if a Showman stops travelling with the fair and settles, they don’t become a non-traveller, because it’s in your blood, not just a job; c) people can trace their heritage back past a particular group - e.g. my own family (circus and fairgrounds aka Showmen) can be traced back to at least the 1600s, before fairs were really a thing - at the time, they simply identified as gypsies. They didn’t stop being gypsies just because they changed their job/founded a circus/fairground. As such, many in my family identify primarily as a gypsy or traveller, and a Showman secondarily, whilst others do the opposite, or identify as just a Showman or just a traveller/gypsy. Like I say, this classification is not perfect, and is hotly debated, especially at the present time.

So, now, onto the subject of Dick Grayson. I included the tags above mostly because of the ‘tell me you don’t know a character without telling me you don’t know a character’, because, firstly, rude. secondly, the poster makes reference to the Golden Age. And yeah, obviously DC aren’t going to make reference to Dick being a gypsy in the Golden Age - do you really expect writers in the 40s to care enough about the nuances of a character’s ethnic heritage, especially a gypsy, at a time when it was still common even in countries like England (where legal segregation wasn’t a thing) to have signs on pubs like ‘no blacks, no Irish, no dogs, no gypsies’ - btw we still get those occasionally? However, if we look at the comics which have been published in the eighty five years since Dick’s debut, we see a lot of references to Dick having Romani/GRTSB heritage. Again, I’m not well read, but in Grayson’s run, at least, we do see Dick speaking Romani and self-identifying as a gypsy (Nightwing #91 btw). So I’m sorry but it is definitely canon that Dick has at least some Romani heritage (since Romani, by culture, is not taught to non-travellers on purpose, and is thus only passed down from parent to child. Hell, even some of my cousins who are half gypsy - Diddakois - don’t know the language!), and the fact that he speaks it and IDs as a gypsy does suggest that this is something important to him and his character. I know that being a gypsy is certainly a big thing to me (with how the world treats us, you have to be proud of it and have it be important to you to make it worth it).

So now we come onto the second part of my rant: wtf is going on with Haly’s Circus.

So, an important bit of context is, what makes a gypsy a gypsy? And the answer to that, in my opinion, is a mix between culture and blood. You can’t be a gypsy (unless in circumstances like adoption) unless you have both. What I mean by that is, if you’ve got one gypsy great great great grandparent, but weren’t bought up with the culture and morals, you have gypsy heritage but are not a gypsy. However, if you are a gypsy and you decide to settle down in a house, work in an office, and never speak Romani again, you are still a gypsy. Similarly, if you suddenly decide to take on the gypsy lifestyle (maybe work on the fairgrounds or in the circus, or go travelling like the New Age lot), you are not a gypsy, because it’s not in your blood - hence why it’s an ethnicity, not a cultural thing really. As such, it is common for there to be a us vs them mentality even with those working on the ground - you have the gypsy/traveller/Showman who tends to own/run things, and then you have hired non-GRTSB staff (traditionally called chaps, but this has fell out of fashion in recent years).

Now, I make this distinction because Haly’s Circus is really odd in that regard.

Most gypsy (or Showmen - like I say, it can be both at the same time) ran circuses and fairs tend to be family affairs. For example, it might be John Doe’s Circus on the tin, but the Smith family (which Mr Doe’s sister married into) will often work with and alongside the Does in the running and operating of the events. Largely, this is on an ownership level, with various relations then owning the surrounding supporting elements (e.g. sideshows, fairground rides and joints, food kiosks). Other family members might then help ‘mind’ the stuff, or you can hire non-GRTSB staff to help.

Now to draw on my own family history: historically, in the Victorian period, etc, it was common for the gypsy family who owned the circus to also perform in it. For example, in my grandfather’s circus, my grandmother was a lion tamer and equestrian performer in parades. They did also hire non-traveller performers, but there wasn’t such a distinct line. However, by the 30s approximately, this had changed to be a more managerial role, with it being more common to have purely hired performers in the main event. The exception here was for sideshows and fairground rides - it is still common today for these to be ran/worked by GRTSB people (e.g. my grandmother did the dookering - fortune telling - and my grandfather did the boxing; today, we still run and operate the rides and kiosks).

However, we know that Haly’s circus was not like that. We honestly don’t know if Haly was a gypsy or not. Also, usually, gypsies have such big families and are surrounded by them, but we know that the Graysons died with no living family (no William Cobb does not count here) and had no relation to anyone at Haly’s. I suppose if you want a canon answer, you could point to how Haly’s was used by the Court of Owls, but it could just be Like That. This is unusual but not unheard of, but still worth pointing out I think. Alternatively, it could originate from one of the non-GRTSB started circuses which were popular around the turn of the 20th century. Since being a gypsy is really tied to your family name and, ethnically, means you have to be born into it - you can’t just start a fair and claim to be one-, even 120 years later, these families are still met with scepticism - they could marry into a 100% gypsy family in 1901, and have all of their descendants do the same, and still the older generation would look at their surname and scoff and say they’re not a real traveller because that one great grandfather 100 years ago was not a born-and-bred traveller. But honestly, I think 100 years is enough to integrate. So, to summarise, Haly’s circus is quite unusual in that it does not appear to be operated by only gypsies/Showmen, even if it still common for circuses not to be performed in by just gypsies.

Now, to answer, how Romani is Dick Grayson?

Like I say, canon does explicitly tell us that he has Romani heritage, placing him firmly within that second category of the GRTSB acronym (and he also identifies with the more general Gypsy identity). However, it’s frankly unlikely that the writers really went in depth with the whole GRTSB thing, so I think we can tentatively suggest that he might have also identified (keyword here being ‘might’ - this is more canon-compliant HC here y’all) as a Showman (called a Carney in the US) because the whole deal with being a Showman is the circus/fairground aspect (but, like I say, it is still a ‘gypsy’ identity as you must be born a Showman, you can’t just sign up, because it is based on a mutual gypsy heritage which predates fairgrounds/circuses, which means it still fits into what we know of Dick in canon. As such, Dick being a Showman is hardly canon, but it is 100% compliant with what we know of Dick in canon). As I’ve said, they are not mutually exclusive. He could ID as both or either, or just prefer the all-encompassing ‘gypsy’.

Now, we also know that Dick is not 100% gypsy (but tbh who is nowadays? I have two non-gypsy great-great grandfathers). Although Dick’s family history is limited, we know that his great grandfather William Cobb was likely not a gypsy (he could be ethnically, it’s not ruled out, he might have just settled, but let’s go for safety’s sake here and just say he’s not). Similarly, his partner was from a wealthy non-gypsy family, meaning that ethnically, their baby (John Grayson’s father) was likely not a gypsy (though could potentially have been a Diddakoi aka a half-gypsy, if we believe William Cobb to be a settled gypsy). However, since this baby still grew up amongst the circus, it is not impossible that he ended up marrying a gypsy, which would make John Grayson half gypsy - aka a Diddakoi. In fact, I would argue that it is even likely, owing to the fact that Dick speaks Romani, and the fact that Romani is only taught to other members of the family, meaning that somewhere in the Grayson family, a Romani speaker had to be introduced. Mary Grayson (formerly Lloyd), on the other hand, probably was Romani/GRTSB herself. I say this, based mostly on her closeness with the OG Richard aka Raptor from Seeley’s run, who was Romani, and the fact that it is really common in gypsy circles to mostly mix with other gypsies, meaning that it would make sense for the pair to meet based on the fact that they were both gypsies/Romani. Therefore, I would argue that even if Dick is not wholly Romani/gypsy ethnically (but, like I say, who is nowadays?), I think there is enough both blood and culturally to make a pretty good case for him IDing as such, and foregoing the need to make any distinction. (Also, especially nowadays when Diddakois are increasingly more common, it’s not even that prejudiced to be a Diddakoi. A lot of my cousins are and you don’t even think to mention it). Aka. He’s a gypsy. Nuff said.

Then, I suppose, the final thing I’ll address is the ‘whitewashing’ issue, or, what I really think is a non-issue.

Sure, a lot of ethnically Romani people are dark skinned. There is a reason why the term gypsy exists. Now, as my grandad will tell you, gypsies originated from Northern India about 2000 years ago, before moving into Europe. However, a lot can happen in 2000 years. There are a lot of people in the UK, at least, who identify as purely Romani who have very pale skin. My family has a real split: my dad’s side of the family is quite dark, and are often mistaken for being South Asian in the summer due to how dark they get when they tan. Meanwhile, he refers to my mother’s side of the family as being ‘poxy and pasty’. My mother is a full-blooded traveller btw, same as my dad (barring their singular non-gypsy great grandad they each had). You just can’t paint everybody with the same brush. Take me for example: I am pale af and take after my mum’s side of the family, but I’ve still got the stereotypical dark curly hair and blue eyes of gypsies (which my boy also shares). Genetics are weird. So whilst I am a big fan of dark skinned Romani Dick Grayson, it’s also still ok and accurate for him to be paler. This does not make him any less Romani. (Like I say, this is all based on my experiences in the UK).

SOOO… TLDR:

Dick definitely has Romani heritage. This has been canon for decades and cannot be taken away from him.

He canonically self-IDs as a ‘gypsy’ (as well as the Romani heritage), and may also be interpreted as being a Showman (even if this is more of a European term) if you want to see him that way, especially since a lot of Showman families (mine included) can trace their families back past the origin of the fairground to when they simply identified as gypsies or Romani (hence why Dick might ID as a gypsy with Romani heritage. Honestly, this is mostly in the realm of canon-compliant Headcanon now)

The GRTSB classification system is a mess y’all and everyone has a different opinion. Just roll with it and don’t get into the debates is my professional opinion.

Being Romani/a gypsy/a traveller/a Showman is something you are born into. You can’t just become one, or stop being one. So, if we presume that William Cobb had no Romani heritage/was not a settled-down Gypsy, even after he joined Haly’s he did not become one. It really is in your blood, and is tied to family.

Haly’s circus is unusual because it’s mostly not a family affair (though points for the Graysons sticking with it and inheriting their roles - that is realistic!). It’s unclear how many of the members of the circus are Romani.

Dick also has non-traveller heritage due to the William Cobb thing. His grandfather, at least, was probably not ethnically Romani (though he might have been half if we want to view William Cobb as having Romani heritage/being a settled gypsy). However, since Dick canonically has Romani heritage, IDs as a gypsy, and speaks Romani (a language which is closely guarded amongst gypsies), it had to come in somewhere. Honestly, I think we can comfortably view him as being at least 3/4 ethnically Romani/a Gypsy, but also since modern Dick Grayson was not born during prohibition, this really isn’t a problem as it’s really common for Diddakois (half gypsies) to be treated as full gypsies nowadays.

As much as I love darker skinned Dick Grayson, it’s not a requirement. A lot of the GRTSB community (especially in Western Europe/Britain/Ireland) are on the pale side. This does not take away from their identity.

So that’s my rant. It’s like 3.30am so it’s probably a complete mess but hopefully it gets down the basics, at least insofar as it relates to my experiences and understanding as a gypsy from the fairground/a circus family. People will probably have different experiences (especially since I’m in the UK). Although I have based all of this on canon, and as such it should all be canon-compliant to my knowledge (I’ve still not read all the comics!), it is also equally based on my experiences, so you may interpret it completely differently. The beauty of Dick’s character is that he has been built up over 85 years, and as such, we have to do our best to interpret what was laid down in the Golden Age by writers with no idea of what Dick’s character would grow to be. As such, canon really is a bit of a sandbox, and this is my own go at it!

If anyone has any questions/wants clarification/notices any obvious contradictions with canon since I’ve not read them all yet, please feel free to point it out! This is not intended to be a lecture/call out post/dictatorship on how you view canon, just a small exploration of my interpretation of a character whom I relate to as a Romani speaking gypsy from the fairground/circus myself.

[slut-strut-satan]

Hi 👋 I just saw your post about the inconsistencies in DA canon, and I very much agree: some things look like the writers themselves are unreliable narrators when it comes to some parts of the lore. But I wanted to ask something - and I hope you don't mind - as someone who isn't a Solas fan and hasn't spent as much time analyzing his story as maybe you did. I see so many vastly different interpretations re: the Veil I'm starting to feel like I'm losing my mind. A lot of people strongly believe that tearing down the Veil wouldn't end the world, but Solas himself says in Trespasser: "I will save the elven people, even if it means this world must die." If you ask him why he helped you with the Qunari plot if he intends to destroy the world anyway, he says he doesn't want people to suffer before it's necessary (which implies that at some point it will be necessary). He seems genuinely sorry for what he believes he has to do. Doesn't it mean he confirms the consequences of removing the Veil would be world-ending? If it doesn't mean the world would be literally destroyed and a great number of people killed, why did he phrase it like this? Why make an enemy out of the Inquisitor and make them believe he is planning to destroy the world if it isn't the case?

Solas rarely speaks in straight lines. He uses metaphors and is generally very vague, which is how he gets around lying. He doesn’t lie, he disguises the truth.

I’ve never understood why people thought he was speaking literally there, because Solas ‘destroyed’ the world of the Elves and yet Elves are very much still around. Changed, but around. Dwarves, too. There’s no reason to believe everyone would just drop dead the minute the Veil comes down, especially since people can go in an out of the Fade physically with no major consequences. I firmly believe Solas would not take action against the Veil if he thought it would just end all life on Thedas. That’s just not the character. People can hate on him all they want, but Solas values life. That’s just canon. He wouldn’t be trying to do what he views as saving the world if he did not care about the people living in it.

And if that’s not enough for you, Solas himself directly tells us that modern people would survive to see the new world. He’s had multiple lines implying that he fully expects the current inhabitants of Thedas to be capable of surviving in the Restored Thedas, hes just not naive enough to pretend casualties won’t be inevitable.

When you ask him what his plan was, he tells us that he took precautions to lessen the loss of life. The estimate he gives us in regards to potential casualties is ‘thousands.’ And whether or not you think a few thousand people is an acceptable sacrifice is irrelevant right now. The point is that he’s not recklessly throwing lives away for no reason. Solas believes that Thedas will not survive long term in its current state and that restoring it to its natural state is the ethical thing. The Veil is an ecological disaster. Think of it as something similar to a Climate Change situation.

We know that the Veil had been growing weaker and weaker over time because it’s been established that mass death and violence weakens it. And Veilguard might not want you rememver that part, but modern Thedas is a hell world of violence, disease, and oppression. It is not a healthy or nice place. Spirits, Mages, and Elves (Solas is all three of these things) are routinely, systematically, and horrifically oppressed, and the Veil has contributed factors which unfortunately lead to this state of oppression. Again, DATV doesn’t want you to know any of that, but they can’t sweep these things under the rug for anyone who’s played the other games.

Solas created the Veil because he’d been forced to make an impossible choice for the good of the world. No one in Thedas would be alive today without him. Now, he’s been forced to make an equally impossible one, and ultimately he decides that he is morally responsible for undoing the damage wrought by the Veil. This is not to make himself happy. This is not selfish. This is a character sacrificing their own sense of self for the sake of duty. His conscience compels him to try and right what he perceives as a terrible wrong. I’m not sure why this is meant to be a negative quality but I’m not a sociopath so I couldn’t hazard a guess.

[coraline-piange]

“bed” or “hair” 💞🤍

hiiii 💞 okay you have somehow hit a magical combination because there's so many mention of both of these words, i could barely choose.

so, in the end i shall provide you with a snippet for each of the three pillars this fic is built on:

1) sillyness and fluff

Edwin rolls his eyes but leans forward to kiss the convincing smile regardless, his limbs looser already. When he pulls back he thumbs at the stubble on Charles’ chin. “You need to shave.”

“Nope. Trying out a new look, aren’t I?” Charles waggles his eyebrows.

“Oh,” is all Edwin can think of to say.

Charles squints. “Not a fan of beards, then?”

Edwin hums and lets his finger trail over the hint of hair above Charles’ upper lip. “Not a fan of beard burn but I will manage. I’m sure you will look roguishly handsome.”

“Like one of them love interests in your racy romance books,” Charles teases.

“They are not racy!”

Charles chuckles and kisses the tip of Edwin’s scrunched up nose. “I’ve peeked into them, you can’t fool me.”

2) horny horniness (this one with both words!!)

He uses his arms around Edwin to tip them to the side, once again grateful that Edwin's a fucking princess who enjoys a bed bigger than Charles’ entire bedroom. Edwin makes a surprised sound but looks quite pleased when Charles scoots down to settle between his legs. He's kneeling in front of the bed now and simply nuzzles his face into Edwin’s covered hard-on. Edwin's hands shoot down and settle in Charles’ hair and he pushes his hips up until he's rubbing against Charles’ face and — Charles lets out a loud moan, pushing back. His open mouth leaves a wet spot on the fabric that's pushed into his cheek when he turns his head slightly to look up to Edwin.

3) so much more angst than expected

“You mustn't lie for my benefit, Charles. It is quite alright.” He feels like he's 18 again, locked in his own body while Simon gives him the cold shoulder. He knows what he needs to do. “I understand that you didn't want to spend the night mopping up my tears. It's okay. I will — we can still… we can still have sex. I'll manage.”

“What the fuck, Edwin?” Charles lets go of him and stands up. “Is that what you're doing when we're having sex? Managing?” Charles sounds furious, pacing next to the bed and crossing his arms.

“No!” Somehow, somewhere, this conversation has gotten away from Edwin. Usually, that works. They should be kissing right now. They should have been kissing this whole time. The bed is shaky ground and Edwin fears one wrong move will see him topple to the side and into an abyss that's suddenly opened up next to him. “Not — not usually.”

Charles stares, opens his mouth a couple times but no words come out.

if you want more snippets, just send me a word 👀😌

[swanqueenffprompter]

Emma wasn’t supposed to overhear it. She’d just stopped by the mayor’s office to pick up Henry when she heard muffled voices through the door—Regina’s voice, tight with restrained pain, and Robin’s, low and frustrated.

"Because of the potion, Robin! I made myself barren. I can’t have more children." Regina’s voice wavered, but she quickly regained control. "I told you this before we—before anything started."

Emma’s heart clenched. She’d known Regina had trouble conceiving, but she never knew why. The thought of Regina, young and desperate enough to believe she needed to sacrifice her own future for power, made something deep in her ache.

She should have left. It wasn’t her business. But when she heard Robin’s dismissive scoff, she lingered.

"You’re the most powerful sorceress in town, and you expect me to believe there’s no way to fix this?" Robin snapped.

"There isn’t. I’ve tried."

Silence followed, thick and heavy. Then Robin’s voice, quieter but no less sharp. "Then I suppose Henry will have to be enough."

Emma didn’t know what possessed her to step inside, but suddenly, she was there, and both Regina and Robin were staring at her in shock.

"Emma," Regina said, blinking rapidly. "What—"

"You could have another kid," Emma blurted. "I mean, with some help."

Regina’s brow furrowed, but Robin's glare darkened. "This isn’t your concern," he said coldly.

Emma ignored him. She looked at Regina, her heart pounding. "I could be your surrogate."

Silence. A long, stunned moment where Regina simply stared at her, lips parted, eyes wide.

Robin broke it. "Absolutely not!"

Emma barely heard him. She was too focused on the way Regina’s expression was changing—shock melting into something like awe, like she couldn’t believe Emma would offer something so selfless.

"You would—" Regina’s voice faltered. "You would do that?"

"In a heartbeat," Emma admitted, and damn it, there was a lump in her throat now. "You’re an amazing mom. And Henry would love a sibling." She swallowed. "I just—I want you to have that chance if you still want it."

Regina’s eyes shone suspiciously bright, and for a second, Emma thought she might cry. But before she could say anything, Robin stepped between them.

"This is ridiculous," he snapped. "Emma, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you are not carrying my child."

Emma squared her shoulders. "It wouldn’t be your child, Robin. It’d be Regina’s."

His expression twisted with anger. "Of course you’d say that. You’d love to tie yourself to her forever, wouldn’t you? Maybe even play house? You’re in love with her."

Emma’s breath hitched.

Regina inhaled sharply. "Robin—"

"Oh, come on, Regina," Robin scoffed. "You don’t see it? Or do you just pretend not to?"

Emma braced herself for Regina’s rejection, the inevitable of course she’s not in love with me, don’t be absurd.

But it never came.

Instead, Regina’s gaze flickered between Emma and Robin, something shifting behind her eyes. She took a slow step closer to Emma, searching her face.

"Emma," she said carefully. "Is that true?"

Emma's throat tightened. She could lie. She could walk away. But she’d already put her heart on the line in ways she hadn’t meant to today.

So she nodded. "Yeah. It is."

Regina inhaled sharply. Robin let out an incredulous laugh. "Well, then I suppose—"

"Leave," Regina said, her voice cool and commanding.

Robin froze. "What?"

"Leave." Regina’s eyes didn’t leave Emma’s. "I think we’re done here."

Emma’s heart pounded as Robin huffed, muttered something under his breath, and stormed out. But she barely noticed, because Regina was stepping even closer now, looking at her like she was something precious.

"You offered me a gift I never thought I could have," Regina murmured. "And now, you’ve given me another."

Emma swallowed. "What’s that?"

Regina smiled, warm and soft. "You."

And then, to Emma’s shock and sheer delight, Regina kissed her.

Henry got his sibling the following year....

[mintyys-blog]

Peter Parker x Drug User! Reader: Relapse

WARNINGS: drug use, drug addiction

Peter always said she was the strongest person he knew.

It felt like a cruel joke now.

She had been doing so well. A hundred and twenty-six days clean. Peter kept track because she couldn’t bring herself to—counting days made it feel like something that could be lost, as easy as flipping a calendar page. But Peter had a way of making her believe in herself. He looked at her like she had already won, like he was proud of her just for waking up and choosing to fight again.

And she had fought. For him. For herself.

Until last night.

Her hands were shaking as she scrubbed the bathroom sink. It was already clean, but she needed something to do—anything to drown out the memory of it. The way her body had betrayed her, the way the needle had slipped under her skin like it belonged there, like it had never left.

She clenched her jaw and scrubbed harder.

She shouldn’t have called him. She should’ve known better than to expect him to drop everything for her. He had a life outside of being her personal safety net.

But she had been desperate. The panic attack had come out of nowhere, squeezing her lungs, making her hands go numb. She’d dialed his number on instinct, whispering, “Pete, I need you.”

And he had sounded so guilty when he told her, “I’m so sorry, I can’t. I—I’m stuck. But you’re okay, right? Just breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

She had tried. She really had. But the walls had kept closing in. Her thoughts had kept racing. Her body had remembered what it felt like to disappear into a high and forget everything else.

And so, she had.

A knock at the door made her jolt. Her heart pounded. She hadn’t told Peter to come over, had she? No—he would have texted first. She wiped her hands on her jeans, shaking off the nerves before opening the door.

Peter stood there, his brown eyes scanning her face like he could see right through her.

“Hey,” he said, offering her a soft smile. “I brought bagels.”

Her stomach twisted. She didn’t deserve this.

“Hey,” she echoed, stepping aside to let him in.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his warmth grounding her for a fleeting moment.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked, heading to the kitchen like he belonged there.

She forced a smile. “Better.”

It wasn’t a lie. The drugs were still in her system, keeping the worst of the withdrawal at bay. But she felt disgusting. Like she had stained something pure.

Peter grinned, pulling out cream cheese. “That’s my girl.”

His girl.

God, if he knew what she had done, he wouldn’t be saying that.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. She had to stop. She would stop. Last night had been a mistake, a moment of weakness. She could get back on track.

But then the itch started.

It was subtle at first, just a whisper at the back of her mind. But as the hours passed, it grew louder.

By the time Peter had to leave for patrol, she felt like her skin was crawling.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, pulling her into a hug.

She nodded, gripping the back of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“I love you,” he murmured against her hair.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I love you too.”

And then he was gone.

She locked the door behind him and pressed her forehead against the wood, breathing heavily.

She could stop.

She just didn’t want to.

The cycle started again.

She was careful. Never too much at once. Never where Peter could see.

She started wearing long sleeves again, even though spring was creeping in. She bought eye drops, chewed gum, showered twice a day just to be safe.

And it worked.

For a while.

But Peter was too damn observant.

“You okay?” he asked one night, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger as they lay in bed. “You’ve been kinda… distant.”

She forced a chuckle. “Just tired.”

He hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push.

She hated how good he was to her. Hated that she was lying to him.

But withdrawal was hell, and she was so, so tired of fighting.

She should have known it wouldn’t last.

Peter showed up unannounced one night, a worried crease between his brows.

“Your door was unlocked,” he said.

Her stomach dropped. She had been high when she got home. She must’ve forgotten to lock it.

“Sorry,” she muttered, stepping aside to let him in.

He didn’t move. His eyes flicked to her sleeve.

“You’re sweating.”

Shit.

“It’s hot in here,” she said quickly.

Peter’s gaze didn’t waver. “Take off your sweater.”

“Pete—”

“Take it off.”

Her breath caught in her throat. He never used that tone with her—firm, unyielding.

She swallowed hard and pulled the sweater off, leaving her in a t-shirt.

His eyes dropped to her arms.

To the fresh track marks.

His face went pale.

“How long?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She wrapped her arms around herself, ashamed. “Peter—”

“How long?” he repeated, sharper this time.

She flinched. “A few weeks.”

His hands clenched at his sides. He took a shaky breath, like he was trying to keep himself together.

“You told me you were okay.”

Her throat burned. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” He let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t care about that! I care about you! You should have told me, I—I could’ve helped—”

“You weren’t there,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Peter’s face twisted in guilt.

She exhaled shakily. “That night. When I called you. I was—God, Peter, I was breaking. And you weren’t there. I know it’s not your fault, I know you would’ve come if you could, but I panicked and I—I caved.”

Tears welled in his eyes. “I should’ve been there.”

She shook her head. “No. This is on me. I made the choice.”

Peter reached for her, pulling her into his chest. “We can fix this,” he murmured. “You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m here. I’m always here.”

And for the first time in weeks, she let herself believe him.

Maybe she wasn’t too far gone after all.

[crazymecjc]

a modern prometheus.