#getting through despite everything- and not letting those who hurt you do so any longer’

[aleielle-of-roshar]

I- apologies my answer is kinda loaded and touches on mental health (in relation to one of my ocs)- but is the absolute truth f the question

Basically uh, my ocs tend to be either an overly dramatized mirror of something I’m going through, I trait I wish I had or hadn’t turned extreme.

Gwinvenin, my absolute favourite oc, is a more dramatized shifted version of well a few bad key things I went through- and eventually turned good

so uhhhh my answer in the tags IS positive, I just suck at tone and english

I can delete this if you want- /gen

so, mentioned a bit ago doing a sketch giveaway as a thank you for how many of you there are and how kind you've been. i decided i would go ahead and follow up on that for those of you who said you were interested!

rules:

gotta be following me. that can be here, on my main @crawlingpossum, or my art blog at @salemelas. one of the three. (following multiple of them won't get you more entries.)

one entry per person

tes characters and tes ocs only

you have to have a visual reference of the character you'd like drawn. it can be art, a screenshot, a picrew, whatever. just gotta have a visual reference for me to use.

how to enter:

like this post AND reply/reblog with who is your favorite tes character and why. it can be your own character, i just wanna hear why ya like em. if you only like it, that is not an entry.

deadline is september 10

the sketch will be done in grayscale. if you wanna know what my art looks like, again, my art blog is @salemelas. there's a good few sketches posted there to look at.

the art will be a bust shot, sternum and up.

there will be 3 total winners. the art will be posted on my art blog and reblogged here with the winners tagged in their respective posts.

that's it ( . .)

[jaysng]

post arguement — lee heeseung

pairing: bf!heeseung x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

synopsis: heeseung wants to get reader’s heart back after the arguement so he decides to read the poetry he has hidden since her for a long time.

• REBLOG if you enjoyed

The room was quiet, filled with the tension that had settled in after the argument. You and Heeseung sat on opposite couches, the distance between you seeming wider than the physical space. You had been giving him the silent treatment since the argument, unable to let go of the hurt his words had caused. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, was drowning in regret. He could barely look at you, knowing that he was the one who had pushed you away. But he couldn’t stand this silence any longer. He wanted—no, needed—to make things right, to show you how deeply he loved you and how sorry he was for everything.

His eyes darted to the plushie you always kept on the couch beside you—a small, soft stuffed animal that you had cherished for years. Heeseung had always teased you about it, calling it your "little buddy," but now, it seemed like the only way he could reach you.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up the plushie and cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling like a fool but too desperate to care. Holding it up, he made the plushie "walk" across the couch towards you, its little arms waving in the air as if it had something important to say.

You glanced at the plushie, and despite the lingering tension, you felt a flicker of curiosity. Heeseung was never one to do something like this, and the sheer absurdity of it almost made you smile. Almost.

When he saw you look, Heeseung, still holding the plushie, began to speak, his voice soft and trembling with sincerity. 

“You cannot love her,” he murmured through the plushie, his voice barely above a whisper. “For it is a sin.”

You frowned slightly, puzzled by the words, but something in his tone kept you listening.

“I only smile at their words,” the plushie continued, “knowing that they have not knelt at her altar nor tasted the divinity staining her lips. They have not heard her giggles murmured between every kiss.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat as the words sank in, each one laced with a tenderness and reverence that you hadn’t expected. Heeseung had never been one for poetry, or so you thought, and hearing him speak these words through the plushie was almost surreal.

“So be it then,” the plushie said, its little arms flopping in what could only be described as a dramatic gesture. “I will walk into hell gladly knowing I've held heaven in my hands.”

Your heart clenched at the last line, the sheer vulnerability in his voice cutting through the wall you had built around yourself. You wanted to stay mad, to hold onto the anger that had kept you from breaking down, but his words were too powerful, too filled with the love you had always longed to hear.

Heeseung, still holding the plushie, hesitated before speaking again. He knew this was his chance, the moment where he could either mend the rift between you or let it grow wider.

“If equal affection cannot be,” the plushie said, its voice quieter now, “Let the more loving one be me.”

“oh what am i without you?”

The room fell into silence again, the weight of those words hanging in the air like a delicate thread connecting the two of you. You felt a tear slip down your cheek, but you didn’t brush it away. Instead, you let it fall, your heart overwhelmed by the depth of Heeseung’s feelings.

He watched you closely, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for your reaction. He had laid himself bare, exposed the most tender parts of his soul, all through the plushie that now seemed like his last hope.

You reached out slowly, your fingers brushing against the plushie before gently taking it from his hands. You held it close to your chest, feeling the softness of the fabric against your skin, but it was the warmth of Heeseung’s words that truly enveloped you.

“Why didn’t you let me hear these earlier?” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. The question wasn’t accusatory; it was filled with a kind of wonder, a quiet yearning that had been buried deep inside you for so long.

Heeseung’s face softened, and he slowly moved to sit beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence but still giving you space. His eyes were downcast at first, the weight of his guilt pressing heavily on him.

“I was scared,” he began, his voice low and shaky. “Scared that if I shared this with you, it wouldn’t be enough, or that it would be too much. I’ve never been good with words when it matters most, and I thought... I thought that maybe keeping them to myself was better than risking saying the wrong thing.”

He looked up then, meeting your eyes with a vulnerability you had rarely seen in him. “But I realize now that keeping it from you was the real mistake. You deserved to hear these words, to know how much you mean to me. And I kept them locked away, thinking I was protecting us, protecting myself. But all I did was push you away.”

His hands trembled slightly as he reached out, gently taking one of your hands in his. His touch was tentative, as if he was afraid you might pull away. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his emotions. “I’m sorry for not listening to you, for not being the boyfriend you deserve. I know I hurt you, and that’s something I’ll never forgive myself for. But I promise, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Heeseung’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading with you to understand the depth of his remorse. “I don’t want to lose you,” he continued, his voice thick with desperation. “I can’t lose you. You’re everything to me, and I don’t want to spend another day without making sure you know that. I’m going to do better—I’ll share everything with you, every thought, every feeling, every word. Because you deserve that. You deserve all of me.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity and love. You could see the tears welling up in his eyes, the way his shoulders shook slightly as he tried to hold back the emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

And in that moment, you knew he meant every word. The walls you had built around your heart began to crumble, the anger and hurt dissolving under the warmth of his apology. You could see how much he regretted his actions, how deeply he was affected by the thought of losing you.

You squeezed his hand gently, your own tears flowing freely now. “I love you too, Heeseung,” you whispered, your voice trembling but filled with warmth. “And I want us to be okay. I want to hear all the poems you’ve written, all the ones you’ll write.”

Heeseung’s face broke into a relieved, tender smile, his tears finally spilling over as he pulled you into his arms. He held you close, his embrace strong and comforting, as if he never wanted to let go. You buried your face in his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, and in that moment, you knew that everything would be okay.

Heeseung kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering as he whispered, “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ll never take you for granted again. I promise.” His voice was thick with emotion, each word carrying the weight of his sincerity, his regret, and his overwhelming love for you.

As you held each other, the plushie still nestled between you, the room seemed to fill with a sense of peace and understanding, the tension from earlier fading into the background. The argument was behind you now, a lesson learned, and the bond between you felt stronger, deeper, forged in the fire of your love and forgiveness.

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your eyes meeting his with a new understanding. “We’ll be okay,” you said softly, your heart swelling with love for the man who had just bared his soul to you. “As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”

Heeseung nodded, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, sealing the promise between you. In that kiss, you felt the unspoken words, the love that had always been there but was now stronger than ever. And as you leaned into him, your heart felt lighter, filled with the certainty that no matter what came your way, you would face it together.

do not copy or repost my work — @/jaysng

[xo-cod]

forgive the inaccuracies, idk much about babies <3 ooc/rushed :)

simon w his baby but she has a preference for one parent and it's not him

simon finally coming back to his safe place, his sanctuary, his home, all but eager to spend some needed time with his family. be had been off to a mission, the last one for a while to make sure that everything was okay. he had already been incredibly reluctant to leave you but now that you both had a baby, it was hard. not a second was spent on the field where images of the pair of you blazed through his mind, almost nearly costing his arm and leg in the process of being too distracted. it had been hell to say the least

but the day finally came, there he was finally on his way back after an intense gruelling month. simon saw you first, bundling you up close in his built arms enjoying your little chuckles that fell from your lips. removing his balaclava as he peppers tender kisses across your cheeks before your lips, his soft smile growing at how happy he was to be back. before he set you back down, eyes scouring about for his bundle of pure joy

"where is she, lovie?? i missed her so much, i got her a little trinket from the place we were deployed in, hope she likes it" he chuckled softly, opening one of his pockets to reveal the gift as he catches his baby on the carpet playing with toys babbling away. his heart was practically bursting at its seams, shedding away his utility vest and his gear to make sure nothing could hurt her before he gently padded his way over. he had different ways the evening would pan out but he hadn't expected this.

he didn't ever expect to be met with a blank stare in return

his heart dropped when he picked his little girl up, she was too busy playing with her favourite toys to even react to him. he hadn't anticipated her looking at him like a stranger. he could've cried with the way she wriggled out of his grasp and wanting to be let down as if he was some enemy. as if instead of being the protector he was now the very thing he swore to keep away from his child, a stranger.

his face like a kicked puppy when he looked at you with pure shock and pain, looking back at the baby who was eagerly crawling back to you having wanting nothing to do with him despite him trying to come closer. you could see all the happiness he previously had practically disappeared from his body, his shoulders deflating with sadness and pain

she couldn't recognise him, she was no longer a daddy's girl

"honey.... sweetheart, it's me, dad. daddy's here. c'mon, c'mere munchkin" he tried to chuckle, kneeling down opening his muscular arms only for her to blink at him and then look back at her toys again

"lovie.... what's going on?" his voice is so soft with hurt and shock looking back to you with huge shining eyes as if he had encountered the worst loss till date. suddenly the mission he had just been on was nothing, the weight of his child preferring you over him was crushing his heart into pieces he didn't think he would come back from. how he'd do any mission 10x over if it meant his child, his treasure would love him again

•••

and it remained that way for the next week, he tried his utmost best but it never seemed to be good enough for her. you tried to console him but he remained dejected, she was always wanting to run back to you. to be comforted by you and to be held by you. every time he tried to tuck her in, his efforts simply proved fruitless. she would cry and cry until you came back in and he watched from the side never feeling like he had failed so hard before in his life.

it hurt more than any of the superficial wounds he ever managed to get in battle, it hurt more than him being on his literal deathbed all those times he was caught in the cross fire. and it only propelled him further into despair when he made the mistake of googling it and realising that this phase may very well last years.

you could see him break with everyday, doubting himself as a father and as a husband. blaming himself and letting the doubt plague his heart and mind. it seemed nothing could comfort him apart from his baby that wanted nothing to do with him. he hadn't managed to hug her at all, he missed being able to snuggle her soft skin for hours. lounging around the home with her cuddled up in one arm as the other gently rubbed on the back of her head soothingly holding her close to his heart. and the thought of never being able to cuddle her without the cries that accompanied it was more than he could bear, it hurt more than anything he had gone through

that was until one night, he was tiredly going to the bathroom and pausing over the nursery. he hadn't meant to but he peeked in and saw her laying in her crib half asleep. her eyes big and brown exactly like his, blinking up slowly at the lieutenant. she was quiet apart from the small sounds she made sucking on the pacifier, a soft bunny in her hand as she peeked back at her father.

"hey baby...." he whispered so softly, he didn't even think she had heard. but her head tilted in curiosity and he chuckled, his hands coming to rest on the walls of the crib. desperately aching to feel her soft skin but too nervous to agitate her

"it's me honey, your dad. i really.... really miss you" he broke off, his heart feeling so heavy as the guilt came barreling in once more. it was his fault that he left her for a month, he shouldn't have been so surprised when he came back and preferred you. you had been there when he couldn't, she developed an attachment with you, not with him

"i'm so sorry to have left you for a month, honey. if i had known- if i thought for a second you'd hate me-" he didn't have the heart to finish the words, the guilt overriding his senses. with a soft sigh, his forehead leaned against his palm for a moment. his own baby didn't like him, he hadn't felt this low in a long time.

he promised he would never raise her in a volatile environment like he had grown up but already he hadn't been any better. he left her knowing for a month, coming back to see her favouring you. and it wasn't easy on both of you, he knew that. he knew he was being irrational but it stung more than any cut, the fact that if he hadn't made the choice to go on the mission that his baby wouldn't be acting so strangely around him.

simon didn't expect anything more tonight, too scared to touch her in case she started crying so he settled for placing the blanket back over her and heading off to bed with a heavy heart. what he didn't expect was the small coo coming from her lips, her tiny fist wrapping up over his index finger. his heart was in his throat, eyes wide at the sight as he looked back to her sweet innocent face again

"me?? you want me?" his voice was so gentle, too scared to speak loud as if this was all a beautiful dream he would wake up from. hesitantly he had reached down, his breath held as his large hands wrapped around his baby so delicately as if she'd shatter beneath his fingertips. slowly sitting down on the rocking chair, the moonlight pouting through the window illuminating her features.

how everyone around claimed she was a carbon copy, how proud he was to call her his daughter. all the moments that they shared running through his mind like a montage and she tilted her small head up at him, a gentle giggle falling from her lips before she rested her weary head against his warm chest. he could've cried and he did, gently but firmly holding her body between his hands. thanking whatever goodness he had done in his life that she was back, his baby was back. and she loved him just like before. she recognised him, she wanted him willingly. it was enough to break him out of whatever funk he had been in, trying desperately not to sob happy tears after a long gruelling two weeks.

you woke up the next morning to see simon laying on the rocking chair, one hand protectively over her small back while the other locked around her little legs as they both slept peacefully. his cheek leaning against her forehead as they cuddled up close on the rocking chair, both making the exact same sleeping face causing you to hide your growing smile and snap a little picture of the tender moment.

she truly was his little mini.

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 5

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of cheating, heartbreak, lots of angst

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader , Steve Harrington x Nancy Wheeler

Summary: Everything comes crashing down on you and Steve.

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: @wroteclassicaly thank you for the angsty suggestion, I put it to good use hehe

series masterlist

-

You have been through so much pain in the past couple of weeks, heartbreak and sadness. Sadness that you have turned into anger because you would rather deal with that than with anything else that heartbreaks brings you. It was easy to pretend not to care about him any longer when you have settled for the anger that he brought to you.

You finally put those rose colored glasses down and saw him for who he really was all along. He was by no means a good boyfriend or a good guy for that matter, he hurt you and then he did the worst thing that he could ever do to you – he cheated on you. That was one thing that you have been so deeply afraid of. That was the only thing you had asked him not to do but he did it anyway. He kissed another girl, he would’ve done much more if she let him, you know it, you know him. And in the end he left you for her. 

He made you feel like your whole relationship was a lie, that the love he felt for you was never real. That you never mattered to him.

Weeks of self doubt, questions and what if’s haunted you. Crying yourself to sleep or drowning yourself in things that aren’t good for you have become your reality in the past few weeks. You were suffering but you wouldn’t let anyone see. You’ve put on an armor and found out that you should’ve done that a long time ago, it protected you from him and the things he still made you feel. 

You found peace in knowing that this was over, that no matter how much you love him, you could still let him go. 

You let him go. 

The walls have moved up higher and higher around you, despite the pain deep in your bones, you have started to feel stronger again. It took you weeks to get there. And it only took him a minute to strip you of the armor, to destroy the walls that you have struggled to build up. He took away all your power, all your strength with just a simple touch. 

The moment you feel his lips on yours, you push him away before it can fully turn into a kiss. A cold wave washes over you, your heart begins to pound faster than it did before. You feel so many things at once, shock, confusion, longing, sadness and anger. 

“What the hell, Steve?” 

He blinks and the softness in his eyes begins to fade away. His lips part and he frowns a little as he stares down at you. He takes in the angry look on your face – the tears in your eyes that he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Get off of me!” 

Realization rushes through him, a shiver runs down his spine and the feeling of guilt and regret starts to take over. He moves away instantly. He sits back on your bed and runs his hand through his hair, not looking away from you. You scoot away from him and get off the bed, tucking your hair behind your ears, you cup your cheeks as you begin to pace around your room. 

“S-Shit, y/n. I’m sorry.” What exactly is he sorry for? For wanting to kiss you? For feeling like it was the right thing to do? 

“Y-You’re sorry?” You laugh, turning your back to him, you stare at the ground in disbelief. 

He is sorry, he is sorry for trying to kiss you the way he kissed her when he was still yours. 

You try to fight the tears but you can’t, right now, there is no fight left in you. 

Steve stares at you. His heart is pounding in his chest, dread begins to take over. Why did he do that? He gets up and walks towards you, he hesitates when he hears your quiet sniffle. He places his hand on your shoulder, instantly regretting it when you flinch at his touch. You turn around to face him. Your glassy eyes meet his, his breath gets caught in his throat. 

The last time he saw you like this was the morning after the Halloween party. Back then, his own feelings confused him, he didn’t know what he was feeling when he broke your heart. Now he realizes that what he was feeling, what he is feeling right now is sadness. 

“D-Don’t touch me, Steve!” 

Your words are out of anger but your voice is shaky and filled with sadness. 

“I-I’m sorry, y/n. I-I didn’t mean to upset you–”

“Why did you do that?” You ask. You step towards him. “W-Why did you try to kiss me?” 

He blinks and stares at you for the longest time. The room is silent, the energy is heavy. 

“It felt right,” he says without thinking. 

A laugh of disbelief falls from your lips, you shake your head. 

“Just how it felt right to kiss her when you were still with me?” You finally ask. 

He furrows his brows, his eyes flash with confusion. Shaking his head, he steps closer to you, “w-what?” He asks. 

If you weren’t so agitated right now, you would see the genuine confused look on his face. 

“Nancy!” You say. “You kissed Nancy a-and don’t even try to deny it, Steve! Billy told me that he saw you kissing her in your car!” 

Steve feels a little defeated when he realizes what you are talking about. He doesn’t even blame you for believing Billy. Steve had met up with Nancy at Benny’s Burgers to work on the group project, when they went back into his car later that night, she kissed him – he didn’t kiss her back, in fact, he was frozen in place when he felt her foreign lips moving against his. Steve had pushed her away when he realized what was happening. Billy must’ve seen them at a bad moment and of course he had to tell you. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, he pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows that whatever he will say won’t get you to calm down. You won’t believe him and he doesn’t blame you. 

“I didn’t kiss her, y/n. I swear to god, I didn’t.” 

This whole thing – this conversation is ridiculous, how he is standing in front of you, trying to make you believe that he didn’t kiss his girlfriend. 

“She kissed me, I pushed her away – I would’ve never done this to you.” 

“You – what?!” You scoff, shaking your head, “you would’ve never done this to me?” You ask and point to yourself, a look of disbelief crosses your face as you stare at him. He broke your heart, he told you he never loved you, he fell in love with her while he was still with you, he dumped you and now he is claiming that he would have never done this to you? 

You never wanted this to happen, you never wanted to show him how hurt you still are, you never wanted him to know that he still has so much power over you, you never wanted him to see how much you still love him. 

The anger and the heartbreak takes over you and you lose the control that you have had all these weeks. 

Why did he have to do this to you? 

“Y-You left me, Steve! You left me for her! You fell in love with her while you were with me a-and now you wanna tell me that you wouldn’t have done this to me? Y-You did so much worse, Steve!” 

Steve feels his heart dropping to his stomach. The tears that roll down your cheeks, the heartbroken look on your face and the pain in your voice makes him feel like he has finally crashed back into reality. These past few weeks have been a blur, it felt like he was in a constant state of haziness, like he wasn’t himself, like he wasn’t there. 

But now he is here and the realization of what he has done to you finally comes rushing in. 

“You said you never loved me, o-our whole relationship was a fucking lie a-and I knew it! I always knew it, you treated me like shit! You stood me up, you talked to other girls, y-you could be so fucking mean to me and I still stayed b-because I loved you – I loved you so much, Steve.” Your voice cracks and you have to take a deep breath. You don’t even see him clearly, your eyes are blurred with tears. “I-I hoped you loved me too because you were still with me, despite everything b-but then she came along a-and then everything got so much worse and I realized, you were never actually with me. You put a label on us but you never took it seriously. You took everything from me but you never gave me anything in return! I was yours but you were never mine.” 

Steve’s face becomes etched with sadness. He can’t remember what it feels like to have tears welling up in his eyes but he gets reminded again when he feels them, when his vision blurs the longer he stares at you and realizes how much pain he had caused you – how much he regrets hurting you. 

Your eyes are filled with betrayal and heartbreak. After all this time, you are still hurting, maybe even more so than you did when he left you. He remembers the shock on your face when he told you that he is not in love with you anymore or when he told you that he was never in love with you in the first place. What a lie. He always loved you, he never stopped loving you. 

“I-I’m so sorry.” Is all he manages to say. He doesn’t recognize his own voice, it’s shaky and filled with grief.

“Y-You’re sorry?” You whisper as you tilt your head. A single tear rolls down his cheek, the sadness in his features makes you angry. 

He takes a step towards you, close enough to reach out to touch you but you slap his hands away, “don’t touch me, Steve!” You snap at him as you place your hands on his chest and push him away from you. 

“Y/n, please – I-I lied to you, I loved you, I love you!”

For some reason, your heart breaks even more at his words. You stare at him, hoping to find the lies in his eyes but the worst part is, you can’t. You can’t find it – he is telling the truth and somehow that makes it all worse. He loved you, he loves you and that wasn’t enough. The one thing that matters the most in a relationship wasn’t enough for him. His heart chose you but he didn’t want you. 

You raise your shaky hand up to your face and wipe the fallen tears but the moment a sob breaks free, you begin to cry harder. Your chest aches more than it ever did. 

This is all you wanted, for him to love you but now you wish he never did. To know that someone loved you and still chose to break your heart and leave you for someone else hurts more than to find out that you were never loved in the first place, at least that would have made sense. 

Steve watches you, his bottom lip is quivering, his heart is beating wildly in his chest, tears roll down his cheeks. He regrets it all. He wants to pull you into his arms and comfort you but how can he do that when he was the one who put you into this place of pain and suffering? 

It feels like he has just woken up only to find himself in a nightmare. What has he done? He did the worst thing that he could do to you. Your quiet sobs break his heart. He did this to you. 

“I hate you,” you whisper through the tears, “I hate you so much. I hate that I love you.”

He feels like the worst person alive. He feels miserable. 

“Y/n–”

You keep wiping your tears away, as though it will help. You shake your head. Your eyes meet his glassy ones. 

“Why are you crying?” You ask, angrily.

His shoulders slump as he takes a step towards you, “p-please forgive me, I never wanted to hurt you–”

“Fuck you!” You cry, “that’s bullshit, Steve! Everything you do, everything you say is bullshit! Y-You’re bullshit!” You place your hands back on his chest and try to shove him out of your room and he lets you, he doesn’t fight back. 

Your words cut him deeply. His throat thickens and feels like he is about to break down in front of you. 

He whispers your name when you stop pushing him. He takes hold of your wrists and for a moment, you let him. 

His hazel eyes are filled with pain, regret and sadness. He is crying and even through the hazy anger, you realize that you have never seen him cry before, not in all those years you have known him. It hurts to see him like that – after all, you still love him. 

“I regret you, Steve,” you whisper, not looking away from his eyes, “I regret you all the time.” 

“What?” 

“If I could turn back time, I would’ve never fallen in love with you, I would’ve never given you my heart, I would’ve never slept with you.”

He shakes his head, more tears brim his eyes. 

“I want you to leave me alone – I want you to forget that I exist. You got what you wanted, you got her, the girl you love. Now get out of my life and don’t fucking look back, I want nothing to do with you.” 

Your words may come from anger but he will never know how much it hurts you to say them.

“No..”

“You did this. You wanted this, remember? You threw me away, you threw us away.”

He holds your wrists tighter as though it will get you back. He shakes his head, “please..”

“You’ve done enough, asshole. Now get out of my life, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want anything to do with you,” you spit, ignoring the tears that stream down yours and his face. “Just leave, I’m done with you.” You say and finally rip your hands free. 

Steve feels like falling to his knees and begging for forgiveness but the damage is done. He ruined everything. He ruined the only real thing in his life. He ripped open your wounds that have just begun to heal. 

He looks into your eyes and finally everything begins to make sense. Why he can’t get you out of his head. Why it feels so wrong to be with her. Why he thinks of you when she lies beside him. He is in love with you, he always was, he just didn’t understand it. You have always been there, you have always been the one. 

But he broke you, he broke what you two had. He did this. And he only sees it now. There is no apologizing for what he did. There is no making up for it. It’s too late for it all. 

There is love in your eyes but there is also something that tells him that it’s all over. You have let go of him a while ago, you draw the line that can’t be crossed anymore. Whatever he will do, won’t be enough to get you back. 

It’s over. 

You still love him and the look in your eyes tells him that you always will but that doesn’t mean that he will ever get a chance again. You closed the door, you locked it and destroyed the keys. There is no way back for him. 

He can see that you are barely holding yourself together, you are shaking, your bottom lip is trembling and the tears continue to roll down your cheeks. The urge to pull you into his arms and comfort you in a way he never has before is so strong but he knows that he will only make things worse if he tries to touch you again. 

He lifts his hand towards his face and wipes away the tears that you would have kissed away if things were different. Your heart jumps in your chest when you notice the hair tie around his wrist, it belonged to you. 

“I’m sorry, dolly.” He whispers softly, using the nickname he used to call you when you were children. He turns away from you and unlike the last time, it hurts. Because back then, he never truly walked away from you, he left his heart with you, he never took it away, you always had it. He never truly knew how deeply in love with you he was but now he knows, now that he has to walk away from you. 

And he doesn’t know how much it hurts you to see him walk away again. Despite the anger inside of you, it hurts you more than it did last time. 

You slam your door shut and place your palms against it. You close your eyes and try to take deep breaths. Don’t cry, just stop, stop crying. You don’t listen to the voices in your head, you don’t bother to. You are so sick of it, of crying but you can’t even stop yourself from breaking down again. 

You have let go of him, you have come to peace knowing that he never loved you. Why did he have to do this? 

You turn off the lights and walk towards your window nook, you sit down and make the mistake of looking down into your driveway. He is still here. Standing by his car and looking down at the ground. 

Your heart longs for him. 

His heart longs for you. 

But everything is too late now. 

Steve had never felt heartbreak before, this is the first time and he knows there is no one to blame but himself. He ruined the best thing that he had. 

He can’t fight the tears away, he can’t stop himself from crying. Not on the drive home and not when he walks into his house. He drags himself upstairs and the moment he takes a seat on his bed, he breaks down and he hates himself for it, he hates himself for feeling so sad and broken knowing that it was him who did all of this. 

He never felt that tight feeling in his chest, the emptiness inside of him that begins to eat at him as he sobs into his hands when he thinks about you, about what he had let go off. What he had ruined. What he had lost. 

It’s not just his pain that is making him cry, it’s also the regret and the guilt of hurting you. 

When he left you, he kept thinking about the tears in your eyes, the shocked and hurt look on your face when he told you that he never loved you, it made his chest hurt but he distracted himself with other things so he wouldn’t think about it, but now it all hits him. He will never forget the look on your face, the tears of heartbreak and anger. The thought of what he had done to you. 

Your words cut deep but he knows he deserved it. 

He deserves so much worse. 

While you regret him – he regrets her. He regrets everything. 

The next day at school both of your seats stay empty. 

next chapter

-

This was a bit of a short chapter but I feel like it was the right moment to wrap it up.

@wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @mysticmunson @screammunson @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sherrylyn628 @somethingvicked @nemesis729 @taintedcigs @hellfire--cult @take-everything-you-can

[simpforwebtoonmen]

★lookism characters with an s/o with a similar fighting style as Bayonetta pt.2

feat. Johan Seong, Zack Lee, Mira Kim

So the first one did pretty good so im gonna do a second one :) (edit: it's been ages since i've posted (i fell out of my hyper fixation on lookism BUT NOW ITS BACK YIPPIE) and college is sort of kicking me in the ass rn) not proofread

sorry zack fans but his part is really short...

★Johan Seong

Everyone knows of his "copy and paste" abilities, right? Even with little knowledge of a fighting technique, he's almost always been able to pull it off without any difficulty.

So why is it that he can't copy your technique?

He groaned, his hands on his knees as he panted, letting beads of sweat drip from his forehead and his shirt just slightly damp from the sweating. He hasn't been able to catch up with you at all during this training session. The way you'd fly through the air with no trouble, as if there wasn't such a thing as wind resistance. You were so quick with your movement, making it hard for him to even catch up with you. And even if he could predict your dodging technique, he couldn't predict where you'd dodge or if you'd try and land a blow onto him. You were so predictable yet so unpredictable as you'd never do the same thing twice, there was always something new with you.

"Goddammit," he muttered to himself, growing frustrated with his own slow movement, or rather what's slow compared to you. Usually he's quickly against most opponents, but of course you aren't one of those opponents. You giggle, "uh oh, looks like someone's struggling. Wanna call quits? No shame in doing so, Baby," your words were not comforting in anyway, your teasing tone giving away your true intentions. And who was Johan to not give into your obvious trap.

He wiped the sweat off of his face, and with a deep breath in he straightened himself up. Getting into a fighting position, one you havent seen before, he raises a hand, beckoning you to come forward with his pointer and middle finger, "you fuckin' wish."

With a laugh, you got into position as well, "finally gonna take me seriously?" you teased, your lips curled into a beautiful grin.

And with that, you finally make the first move, jumping up and forward toward your boyfriend. Your left leg winding back just as quickly as it landed a kick on your boyfriend's face.

-

"aww, you poor thing! I'm so sorry! lemme kiss it better," you apologized, taking Johan's face into your hands, careful to not grab too hard and to avoid bruises and bumps. Softly and gently, you peppered his face with kisses. And despite his frustration towards you, he let you do as you pleased (as if he didn't enjoy your coddling and kisses. The pink on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know).

★Zack Lee

"Do I look like I need help?"

"yes, very much so."

He sighs, "alright fine, but don't you dare get hurt!"

You laugh, "yeah, that's funny." that earned a confused look from zack and an even funnier look when you stood on your hands kicked your heel into a workers nose, causing a messy nose bleed and most likely a broken nose.

"what the fu-" his distraction and attention on you left him open, a rather weak punch to the jaw causing him to get his head back in the game.

Just as he takes down the second to last worker, he's almost taken out by the last one but is saved when a chain wraps around his torso and is yanked against the ground, his head hitting the ground first causing him to pass out.

On the other side of that chain was you. How were you able to slam a man 3x your size to the ground with a chain no less? Zack has dated you for a pretty long time but has known you as a friend for longer, and he's had no idea how or when you've acquired such skills. but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't thinking about marriage right now.

"hello? Zack? Earth to Zack!...what the hell is wrong with this dude-"

"marriage..."

"okay, what the flip man."

★Mira Kim

it was supposed to be a peaceful and fun date. And it was for a while. You and your girlfriend, Mira, first got coffee at your favorite cafe, then went shopping at the local mall, and now as your leaving the mall's arcade, hand in hand with Mira, a group of mall stop you from exiting.

"what do we have here?" the one in front, who also happened to be the tallest and most menacing, mocked the two of you. Mira, unafraid and not one to give into bullying or intimidation, replied, "we're on a date, can't you see that?" she raised hers and your connected hands, showing them evidence.

The tall one laughs, his three lackeys laughing along with him, "oh sweetie, I know you can do a lot better than," he looked you up and down, "that." He takes a step closer to Mira, though she stands her ground, refusing to move or let go of your hand. She already knew you had her back, though she's never seen you in action, the stories told from Zack is enough to tell her that you're more than capable of protecting her and yourself.

The man smiles, his hot breath wafting in Mira's face causing her to scrunch her nose in disgust. "I'm a much better person to be going with, doncha think?" it was much worse for Mira when he talked.

And just when the man was about to move closer, he was rough shoved backwards. "yeah, that's enough," you step in front of Mira, realizing that this man was taking it too far and would go farther if he could.

But apparently, the shove backwards was not enough hint for him. "mother fucker!" he wasted no time throwing a punch at you. You deflect it by simply shoving his arm away followed by a kick underneath his chin. he damn near flies backward and onto his back, your leg straight upward in front of you for a few seconds before you slowly lower it back down.

Mira stood behind you, stunned with her hand covering her mouth. Her shock increases when she realizes that the man was now unconscious as his three goonies try to shake him awake. They try to point fingers at you, blaming him for his 'death', which was ridiculous because it was very clear that he was still breathing by the way his chest rose up and down. Of course their accusations cease when you smile down at them, your smile full of mischief and malice.

They end up dragging away their leader and you and Mira were able enjoy the rest of your date in the mall in peace.

"(name)"

"yes, sweets?"

"that was really hot..."

[awkward-walking-potato]

Guess

Remy LeBeau x reader

Gambit returns to the woman he hurt, admitting his fear of commitment and asking for a chance to prove his love. Despite her lingering pain, she decides to give him one last chance, hopeful that this time might be different.

Inbox open for requests for any X-men imagines

The night was thick with humidity, the kind that clung to your skin and made everything feel slow, heavy. New Orleans was alive, though—a cacophony of music and laughter spilling out from the bars and into the streets. It was a city that thrived in the night, much like the man who stood in the shadows, watching the world with eyes that burned like embers.

Remy LeBeau—Gambit to those who knew him well—was a man of the night, a man of secrets. He moved through the world with an effortless grace, his charm as dangerous as the cards he wielded. But tonight, something weighed on him, a tension that even the city’s intoxicating rhythm couldn’t shake.

You were the reason for that tension.

He’d been with many women before, each one as fleeting as the last. He was good at keeping things light, never getting too attached, always moving on before anything got too serious. But you were different. From the moment he met you, something had shifted. You weren’t just another pretty face, another thrill. You had gotten under his skin, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake you loose.

“Guess I wasn’t enough for you,” you’d said the last time he saw you, your voice cold, but your eyes betraying the hurt that simmered beneath the surface. He hadn’t known what to say, so he had just left, the silence between you hanging heavy in the air.

Now, he found himself standing outside your apartment, the faint glow of your window the only light in the otherwise darkened building. He had told himself he wouldn’t come back, that it was better for both of you if he just stayed away. But here he was, unable to stay away any longer.

He took a deep breath, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a flick of his finger. The flame danced for a moment before he inhaled, the smoke curling around him like a ghost.

“Guess I’m just a fool,” he muttered to himself, exhaling the smoke into the night.

He thought about leaving, about turning around and disappearing into the night like he always did. But something kept him rooted to the spot, his feet refusing to move. He couldn’t keep running forever.

With a sigh, he flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. Then, before he could change his mind, he made his way up the stairs to your door. His heart was pounding in his chest, a feeling he wasn’t used to, a feeling he didn’t like.

He raised his hand to knock, but before he could, the door swung open, and there you were. You froze for a moment, your eyes widening in surprise as you took in the sight of him standing there, looking as conflicted as you felt.

“Remy,” you breathed, the hurt still lingering in your voice, but something else was there too—something softer, something that made his chest tighten.

“Chère,” he said softly, his voice rougher than usual. “I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, your eyes searching his for a long moment. “Sorry for what, Remy? Sorry for leaving? Sorry for making me feel like I wasn’t enough?”

He winced at your words, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For pushing you away when I should’ve held on tighter.”

Your gaze softened, but the hurt was still there, lingering just beneath the surface. “Why did you do it, Remy? Why did you leave?”

He looked away, unable to meet your eyes as he struggled to find the right words. “Because I was scared,” he admitted, his voice low. “I’ve always been good at keeping things casual, at not letting anyone get too close. But with you…it was different. You were different. And that scared the hell outta me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the doorframe as you listened to him. “So, you ran,” you said, your voice laced with a bitterness you couldn’t hide.

He nodded, finally looking back at you. “I thought it would be easier. I thought I could just walk away and forget about you, but…I can’t. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t want to.”

There was a long silence as you both stood there, the weight of his words hanging between you. You wanted to believe him, to forgive him, but the pain he had caused you still lingered, a wound that hadn’t fully healed.

“Why now, Remy?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why come back now?”

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. “Because I can’t keep running,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your skin. “And because I love you, chère. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched his eyes. You could see the sincerity there, the vulnerability that he so rarely showed. But still, the hurt lingered, a reminder of the pain he had caused.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

He nodded, his hand dropping to his side as he took a step back. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m just asking for a chance—a chance to prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

You looked at him, your emotions swirling inside you like a storm. You wanted to believe him, wanted to give him that chance, but you were scared. Scared of getting hurt again, scared of letting him back in only to have him leave again.

But as you stood there, looking into his eyes, you realized something. You still loved him. Despite everything, despite the pain and the hurt, you still loved him. And maybe that was enough—at least for now.

“Okay,” you said softly, taking a deep breath. “One chance, Remy. But if you hurt me again…”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, his voice filled with determination. “I swear, chère, I won’t.”

You nodded, stepping back to let him inside. As he crossed the threshold, he reached out to take your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead.

You closed your eyes, leaning into him as he pulled you into his arms. The road ahead was uncertain, but for now, you were willing to take that chance. Because in the end, love was always a gamble—a game of chance that sometimes paid off in ways you never expected.

[sc0tters]

Better Off Apart | Luke Hughes

summary: the long awaited day has finally come! Luke is in New York and the Devils are set to play the islanders, but now a third person as slotted themselves into your love equation.

request: yes/no

warnings: this became a bit of a sad chapter, Luke is a boy who doesn’t know how to process his emotions, Mat gets jealous and also doesn’t know how to handle that. The reader is finally in a position where she’s reader to move on.

word count: 1.76k

authors note: I wrote this in an hour I was so excited. I saw that in some requests you guys actually wanted the mc of this to get with a player from the team but I sort of put my twist on that. The rest of the full length chapters for this story have been planned out but I think it could be cool doing a few blurbs for these two, so if you want to see anything in those let me know!

previous part | next part

It had been circled in red pen.

The date on your calendar had been marked the moment you got the NHL calendar announcement.

It was the date that you had been counting the sleeps down to like a child counting down the sleeps till Christmas.

It was the date that you felt so excited for but were also so nervous for that you wanted to go to the top of the Empire State Building and scream.

It's the date that the Devils were coming to town to play the Islanders.

It's the date that you were going to finally see Luke again.

You knew that you shouldn't have been excited, shouldn't have let your grow full and your palms grow sweaty at the thought of seeing him again.

All of your efforts to forget about him were now nonexistent as you spent moments every day staring at his social media's.

After a drunk night out with friends you unblocked and unrestricted everything that had to do with him, when you woke up much more sober you simply couldn't find it in your heart to or in your head to shut him out anyone.

A few nights ago whilst being sat in front of the tv with a meal from your favourite restaurant, you did something you never thought you would.

You wrote Luke a letter.

Just like you had for each of his teammates.

So you sat and you wrote, making sure to mention everything from how you felt to why you left. Writing that letter was better than any type of therapist as it had brought up things that you had seemed to compartmentalise. There were seven different editions of this letter.

The first two had to be rewritten because you zoned out and came back to see that your tears had soaked the pages.

The next three had you swearing like a sailor as you told him to fuck himself for making you fall so deeply in love with him.

The sixth letter just didn't feel right. You assumed that it was the lack of sleep that was getting to you, so like any mature adult you got up and went to bed deciding that the letter writing efforts would continue the next day.

The seventh and final letter was perfect, you were honestly tempted to email it to your high school English teacher you were that proud of it. It was the perfect way to tell Luke that you were okay that this was goodbye and that you didn't hold anything against him for how he treated you.

Yes you told him that he had hurt you but it helped teach you that some loves just simply weren't worth it.

It was like you had been put through the grieving cycle over the last fifteen hours as you learnt to accept that Luke just wasn't on your cards and that it was probably for the best.

Mat hadn't slipped up from his role of your new best friend, if there wasn't a game on Thursday you two would go get dinner and then sit at his apartment playing card games until the early hours of the morning.

The Canadian had quickly learnt why you were so popular in New Jersey amongst the players and it was one of the things that he was actually so attracted to.

Yes Mat found himself growing more enamoured with you by the day and despite his best efforts you never seemed to notice it.

You never noticed how his eyes lingered on you far longer than appropriate for just friends, or how he'd glare down every man and woman who dared to even look at you when the two of you were out in the town. You never noticed the way you squeezed the life out of his heart the moment you came to Mat's apartment in tears one night as you missed Luke.

The Canadian was hurt, it wasn't even the fact that you weren't interested in him that haunted his thoughts at night. It was the fact that you gave your love to someone who was so cruel to you.

But Mat put on a comforting smile each time he was forced to listen to you spill your heart out on his sleeve as you couldn't get over your failed attempts to get over the Hughes boy.

At one point the Islander player was ready to rip the bandaid off and tell you everything.

He wanted you to know that you were loved.

He wanted you to know that you were wanted and it was by a man who was sat right next to you.

But deep down inside Mat knew that those words would mean nothing to you unless they came from the Hughes boy.

That was the thing about love that was so cruel. Here were two people that wanted nothing more than to be happy. But the reciprocation of those emotions from the people they craved them from the most weren't there.

Yes you loved Mat but you weren't in love with Mat and that different meant everything to him.

So he kept his feelings to himself as he watched you count down the days until the Devils came to town.

He sat there dreading the moment he had to face Luke on the ice, Mat had been watching the meditation videos that you had sent him on repeat as he tried to memorise the various methods of calming himself down that he’d had to use in other to not hit Luke.

It wasn’t because Mat wanted to protect the boy, in fact he wanted to do the opposite. He wanted to hurt Luke for all that he had done to you. The Islanders player wanted to see the Hughes boy finally feel some sort of remorse, but he knew that if he laid a finger on Luke you’d get upset. So he was going to have to try to behave.

You woke up practically running out of bed ready to take on the world when the day finally arrived. Part of you was excited to see your friends from the team too and that’s what you told yourself made you so happy.

Luke swore he was going to throw up when he got on the team bus. Sure he was excited to see you in the flesh once more. But after seeing how the every gossip account swore that you and Mat were dating after someone spotted you on another on of your excursions, hope for him was running out. So he spent the last week forcing himself to accept that fact that this was all his fault. Yes he wanted to blame Mat instead but he knew he couldn’t.

If Luke couldn’t be the one to love you then he then simply hoped that the man who loved you, loved you even half as much as he did.

The young Hughes boy felt trapped inside of his mind as he had yet to reveal how he felt about you to anyone. It was partially due to the fact that he knew they’d all laugh at him especially after how he treated you. Yet there was another much larger part of Luke that didn’t want to admit it because one he admitted that he did indeed like you, it meant that it would really be real. At least for now he could act like you were all just simply a figment his dreams and hopes for in the future. He told himself that all he needed as a simply protein shake and his usual pregame playlist blasting through his headphones at a volume that was enough to make his mother cringe as she reminded her son that she didn’t want him going deaf.

Jack noticed the way that his younger brother had gone quiet since he stepped on the bus, the whole team did. As bad as they all knew it sounded none of them bothered checking in on the boy as they all just put it down to him not wanting to see you again.

If only they knew, right?

The youngest Hughes boy knew your routine on game days from your time with the Devils. It was something that he made an effort to learn early on in his attempts to avoid you.

He hoped that you had the same routes mapped out here because Luke knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it if he caught sight of you.

Now more than ever though it was because he knew he’d start crying on the spot.

Luke wasn’t a crier naturally but he had no clue how he was going to say his apology to you. All of the emotions that you made him feel just made him want to cry due to the sheer panic that was going through his mind.

As the team walked out of the away locker room he heard it.

The sound he had grown to miss.

The sound that brought him this warm sense of comfort in his stomach that he could only describe as funny.

It was the sound of your laugh.

Mat had been telling you a story as you two made your way over to the home dressing room as you had forgotten your folder in there when you took some guests around earlier.

As Luke saw the sight of you it was enough to knock him off of his feet as Jack walked into the back of him “dude,” the middle Hughes boy groaned as he lifted his brother off of the ground totally unaware of the fact that you were stood there.

It was like time stopped for the youngest Hughes boy.

He watched as your eyes locked with his and your lips formed a smile as you sent him a nod.

Mat had seen how you had stopped listening to his story were just simply looking in front of you.

It made the Canadian angry as in that moment he wanted to throw out all of those stupid meditation lessons.

He knew his next move was childish but he didn’t care he sent Luke a harsh glare as Mat threw his arm around your shoulders.

That moment dropped Luke back into reality as he felt like he had just hit a cement wall.

“Luke c’mon!”

There was a game to be played but it seemed that it was quickly coming off of the ice as well.

And you were right in the center of it,

But you didn’t even know it.

[cursedkeyboard]

Funnily enough, I've never been too big of a Jason Todd fan. Not because I don't like him, he's a great character, but because DC fails over and over again to give him justice and treat him right.

The number of times alone this boy has been beaten by his adoptive father, betrayed, and forgotten are far too many, far too much.

And the constant portrayal of Jason as this volatile, violent, mindless man is tiresome, lazy in all senses of the word and overdone. I understand that Jason was unstable after he left the pit, I mean, who wouldn't? The trauma of his death alone could've sent anyone crazy, but then to experience everything else afterwards, including having to come to terms that Bruce not only did not kill his murder but also replaced him, leaving Jason to grieve what was once his and what he should've gotten, of course he'd be less than okay.

Again, I'm not the biggest Jason Todd fan but I do wish more people would see just how much good Jason has in his heart, how kind and gentle he can be once his walls are down, when he's no longer constantly analyzing your actions and wondering why would you bother talking to him, getting closer to him.

In my opinion, a man who is so gentle with children, who constantly gives second, third, and fourth chances to people who don't deserve it, who despite it all still wants to make a change and protect the city that failed him, couldn't possibly be anything but the most caring partner. Not just partner, no, also brother and friend.

We all know what he did to Tim and Damian, there are reasons, such as his mental instability at the time and rage, and though those are not excuses, I believe Jason would still drop everything to go save his family. He might complain, he might brood, but family is something important to him even when just looking at them hurts him. He lost his loving mother, stepmother, far too early and it's not hard to imagine that even with all the pain and grief inside his torn heart, the little boy inside Jason still craves the warmth of a family.

Just look at the way he treats his friends, at the way he helps them through situations no one else would, how caring and attentive he is. Jason is gentle, sure, he is rough and mean and he's got blood on his hands, but Jason is made of love.

Jason was made to be loved.

So I think, whether platonic or romantically, Jason would treat you so well. He'd scold you for not wearing warm clothes during winter, "We're in Gotham, you fucking moron, you wanna freeze to death?", all while wrapping you with his jacket or scarf. He'd make sure you're eating at least something every day, and if not, he would immediately put you under his arm, maybe over his shoulder, and take you to the nearest food chain he could find, "I don't want to hear you complaining about headaches when all you had today was a cup of coffee and gum.".

Lord, he'd be torn between freaking out and being extremely annoyed that you got hurt, be it at work, a fight, or just out of clumsiness. But no matter what, his hands would always be so, so gentle when touching you. The tip of his fingers brushing under the injury, as light as a breeze, his other hand holding the back of your neck, or your bicep, perhaps even your hand just to make sure you're there, with him.

Jason would both hush you gently, "I know, sweetheart, we're almost done.", and also tease because he's a little shit at heart, "If you had a little more awareness than a ten year old this wouldn't have happened, idiot."

And physical touches? Oh, love, Jason is a sucker for intimacy.

I know for a fact he wouldn't be comfortable for a long time with anyone in his personal space due to the torture he went through. The trauma would make his skin crawl any time someone got too close or brushed past him, he'd hate it so much because it makes him weak but also because he can't let anyone try to hug him without feeling sick to his stomach.

And with you it's no different. It would take a long time, a lot of trust being built up, conflict and confessions, maybe he'd even open up to you with his head on your lap as you brushed his hair softly, a big, big step for him after years of not letting anyone close. He'd tell you about the Joker, about having hope in Bruce, about his biological mother. And he'd feel vulnerable like a child when you wipe his tears gently without a word.

Once he starts craving your touch, though, regardless if you two have a platonic or romantic relationship, Jason is putty in your hands. Forehead kisses when you part ways, cuddling on the couch while he reads and you're on your phone, thighs touching when sitting close, even a little bit of hand holding when he's stressed and needs to play with your fingers.

He's like a big cat that's constantly making his way onto your chest, stealing your breath and making biscuits on your skin, making sure you're giving him sufficient pats every day.

It's a little part of him that he's barely able to properly allow space for. There's still so much hurt in Jason, so much confusion and desperation, hatred and upset, that he'd probably still close off sometimes, try acting tough so you'd see how fucked up he is, how he's not truly worth of your love.

And yet.

And yet all it'd take for him to go soft and pliant in your hands would be a single touch, cupping his cheeks, brushing his skin softly with your thumbs, right under his pretty emerald eyes, making sure his gaze is on you and only you. Just like that, he'd slump his shoulders and bring you into his arms, breathing a sigh of relief and squeezing you close, your heartbeats synching.

He wouldn't remember when he started feeling safest in your arms but it'd feel like it was since forever. Like there was no one else but you.

Jason was made to be loved, though he is a little broken and a little tainted, lost like a child and hateful like a sinner, your love might just be his salvation, something he's greedy for, selfish for, even when he's so hesitant of somehow hurting you.

[icycoldninja]

I’m feeling angsty today so I came up with the idea.

Can you write the DMC men when they’ve been in a relationship with the reader for a relatively long time and they thought that they’ve been truthful to one and another and understand their flaws and uniqueness but one night, while in bed, the reader mutter under her breath:

“ You’re too good for me, how? And why? To be loved and desired…is one’s closest feeling to being immortal in this vast universe yet…why me? Of all those out there?”

She muttered as she thought they were still sleeping, but in fact they’re listening very carefully what she says, the quiver in her voice and the cracked tone of one’s suspension of crying

Then they turned to ask her why she thought she didn’t deserve to be loved, she kinda replies that it feels wrong to be loved and feels wrong to love someone knowing you can’t return the gesture how you want due to wither their financial limitations or emotional limitations, even though one should never be deprived of such feelings disregard of race, gender and class

Then she muttered that:

“If anything were to happen to me, you need to move on, forget about me, fall in love with others and treat them like how you treated me and start a family with them, okay?”

“You should not bind yourself in the past for my sake…even though it pains me to see you with others…but to not let you move on would be my biggest guilt”

How would they initially react?

This one's gonna be a bit different since they're more like reaction headcannons than anything else. Enjoy.

Sparda boys + V reactions headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante cannot believe you just said that. He's shocked, genuinely, undeniably shocked.

-He loves you because you're an awesome, sweet person who dared to get close to him despite all his issues and emotional baggage; someone who stuck with him through his crazy highs and depressed lows, and he'll forever be grateful for that.

-Then he hears you yammering on about how you want him to move on if something happened to you, and wonders if you've gotten amnesia.

-What kind of monster do you think he is?! He could never get over you even if he tried, and besides, with him around, nothing bad could possibly happen to you.

-That's it, Dante can't stay silent any longer. He decides to wake from his pretend slumber like Dracula and tell you all this straight to your face.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil, the ever alert insomniac, heard every word you said and was quite upset about it.

-He chose you because you had the strength to stand before a son of Sparda and not quaver in your boots. You accepted him for what he was, and loved all of him equally, from Urizen to V.

-He was insulted by the next string of blasphemous words that left your mouth. How dare you suggest that he, the King of Motivation, would allow you to get hurt? Did you really have such little faith in him?

-He would not let you die--he would sooner kick the bucket than let you meet your demise, and even if you did pass away by some unfortunate turn of events, Vergil would never get over it.

-He could see it even now, how he'd lay his remaining human half to rest alongside your corpse, fully embracing the demon within him and going on to conquer the world, disregarding his brother and all that you'd built together.

-Vergil probably should have told you this, since the only reason you were saying such depressing words was because you needed comfort, but decided to keep silent. After all, he wasn't supposed to hear what you said, so he'll pretend he didn't. However, he will snuggle up to you so you can at least feel the comforting warmth of his presence.

□ Nero □

-Nero was awakened by your mumbling and managed to catch most of what you said. It took him some time to process everything since his brain was foggy, but once he understood what you meant, his heart broke.

-Why is that even a question? Why do you sound like you're about to cry? Are you considering leaving him? Are you terminally ill? What would make you say such a thing?

-Nero loves you because you're sweet and you care for him in ways no one else can. You're ready to die to protect him, and so is he--no one else could replace you.

-How dare you ask him to move on if something happened to you? He loved you, and only you! If you died, Nero would be inconsolable, he'd probably fall into a deep, deep depression and overdose on painkillers or something, but this is all speculation.

-Nero would sacrifice anything and everything if it meant keeping you safe, do you should have nothing to fear.

-Nero knew the only reason you were mumbling such things was because you thought he was asleep, meaning you intended for these words to be kept private. As much as he wanted to keep that illusion alive for your sake, he couldn't let you say these things and go to sleep thinking so negatively. Thus, he arose from slumber and pulled you into his arms, repeatedly reminding you of how much he loved and needed you until you fell asleep.

● V ●

-V happened to flutter awake at the exact moment you began your nocturnal lament, mumbling about how you didn't deserve him, or something like that.

-V was taken aback, wondering why you would even think that when it was clear he was the one who didn't deserve you.

-Then you started muttering about how you wished he would move on, forget about you, and start a new life if anything was to happen to you. This made V's heart shatter.

-He could believe you would say that; you were the love of his life, the one woman who cared enough to stay with such a weak, physically pathetic, borderline invalid for so long and enjoy the experience. You'd left a lasting imprint on him, one that he wouldn't forget anytime soon.

-The very fact that you'd suggest such a thing was not only heartbreaking but also insulting. V wouldn't let you continue thinking like this any longer.

-He got up and immediately wrapped you in the tightest hug he could muster, whispering sweet words of affirmation into your ear until you broke down in tears, then covering you with kisses till you calm down.

[sarahjtv]

My Hero Academia Chapter 426 Spoiler Talk: The Hellish Todoroki Family Conclusion

Whew, what a chapter goddamn. The Todoroki Family, especially Shoto (my favorite character 🩵), is one of my favorite and one of the best arcs in My Hero Academia. We all knew that their conclusion was coming this chapter and now that we're here, let's talk about it:

First off, in case you didn't hear, Weekly Shonen Jump and MHA mangaka, Kohei Horikoshi himself, confirmed that this is the first of the last 5 chapters of My Hero Academia. The series will end in early August with 430 chapters total if all goes well. I made a post about this when it was announced 2 days ago, but I want to briefly say that I am going to miss this series so much. It has had such an amazing impact on my life and surely saved me during many rough times. I will be so sad to see it end, but happy to see Horikoshi finish his beloved story on his own terms after 10 long years of publication. I will make sure to see it through myself.

We start off the chapter with a Todoroki Family reunion. We see the whole family about a month after the war ended. Everyone has burn scars of some kind now with Rei's having the largest that even covers the left side of her face like Shoto's and Endeavor's do ironically enough (I see what you did, Horikoshi). We don't see if Endeavor got any burn scars on his face because it's covered with bandages, but given he has the highest fire resistance next to Shoto, I doubt it.

Also, pretty much everyone got a haircut from their bodies getting torched trying to stop Touya (I'm going to call him that from here on). Fuyumi and Endeavor got a few inches off, Natsuo cut quite a bit off to the point where he's looking like his father again (oh, the irony), and Rei got a significant portion cut off to the point where it's back to the length it was when she and Enji first met. I think Shoto got a slight trim, but it's hard to tell. His hair is definitely scruffier than it was before, though. Honestly looks-wise, they all still look really good. Those Todoroki/Himura genes are doing good work.

But, despite those good looks, everyone is here to see Touya in his own operating tube (?). The doctor says that Touya's slowly dying and Endeavor tells everyone that he's retiring. Both things are what everyone saw coming. There was no way Endeavor was going back to hero work after everything that happened to him during the final war. It was just never possible. Even with prosthetics, I think his own mental state and where he is in life with his family would have prevented that from happening. I'm surprised that Touya is alive at all, but I'm glad to see that he's alive to see his family for a little longer before he eventually dies which I assume may happen in the final chapter of the series.

Also, Touya can still talk! Bro still can't move for shit, but he's conscious enough to talk to his family. He still hates his father and I get it. I don't think there was any way Touya was going to forgive his father after everything that happened. It's good to see that Endeavor still is trying to atone and wants to talk with Touya as much as he possibly can to his eldest son, but that won't change anything right now. The least Endeavor can do is listen to what Touya might want to say.

Fuyumi and Rei try to talk to Touya too, but the doctor is telling them that talking more would be a burden on Touya's heart. And then Shoto asks his oldest brother "What's your favorite food?" and Touya responds "Soba..." just like Shoto. I can't do this tonight, guys! I'm screaming, crying, throwing up! WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN! THEY COULD HAVE EATEN SOBA TOGETHER IN ANOTHER LIFE!!! HOW DARE YOU, HORIKOSHI! I'M IN YOUR WALLS 😭

And right as his family leaves his room, Touya slowly cries tears and says "Shoto... I'm sorry..." I don't need to explain this one. This fucking hurts. Touya has regrets, but it's too late. Touya may be Dabi the murderous villain who ruined a lot of lives, but he's also still a young man who deserved a better life than what was handed to him and does still care for his family even if only a little. All around a tragic character. If this is the last we see of Touya, I think it's a good albeit sad send-off.

As the Todorokis start to part ways, we get an idea of where their lives are going now:

1. Natsuo wants to start a family with his girlfriend (isn’t he only 20 btw and he started dating her like, what, a year ago? I get it, Natsuo, but this is too early don’t you think? 😭) but has no intention of having a ceremony for it specifically because he doesn't want her or himself to ever see Enji again. I don't blame him for this. Even though he helped stop Touya from literally exploding which did save his father, Natsuo made it clear from the start that he was never going to forgive Enji no matter how much he atoned. The reason why he was even born was because Enji wanted a perfect Ice/Fire child, but he didn't get that until Shoto was born afterwards. Natsuo saw Enji hurt and abuse his family for pretty much his entire life and Enji suddenly wanting to fix what he broke wasn't going to change Natsuo's mind on what he thought of his father. Cutting ties with his father is for the best. It's a miracle the rest of his family still want to see Enji at all, especially Shoto.

2. Fuyumi has also quit her teaching job, but a mother of one of her students found another one. This is also understandable. The public slander of her family on her is what probably pushed this and I'm sure her good reputation got inadvertently damaged from it. I hope she is treated better at her new job.

3. Enji is going got continue to pay for his crimes for the rest of his life whatever that takes. He even understands if the rest of his kids never want to see him again either. He will still do everything he can to make sure his kids are unharmed by the whole Dabi thing. He even accepts that he's going to dance with Touya in Hell one day. Honestly, regardless of what you think of Endeavor, I honestly think his atonement/development arc is one of the best in the series. He has definitely become a better man than what he started out as when we first met him during the Sports Festival Arc, but what I love about this is that Horikoshi never let him off the hook. He made Enji face his sins head-on and suffer through every consequence that came from his abusive actions. If Enji Todoroki is going to atone, he's going to atone the very, very hard way. Enji may be a better man and father, but that doesn't mean he's going to see the pearly gates when all is said and done. The best he can do is pay for his sins for the rest of his life and pray that Rei, Fuyumi, and Shoto don't leave him completely too.

4. And finally, there's my favorite, Shoto 🩵! He's going back to school and reassures his parents that he will be fine with his friends as they help him become who he wants to be. This essentially concludes Shoto's arc as well. When we first met him, he was a cold, anti-social teen who didn't want to make any friends. All he wanted to do was to become a hero with his ice alone to spite his father. Since then, he's opened up to his classmates, made amazing friends especially in Izuku, Iida, and Bakugo, rekindled his relationship with his mother and siblings, come to terms with his father and Touya, and finally accepted his Ice/Fire powers as his own. He says he's on the path to becoming the hero he wants to be, but I'd argue that he's already there. Again, it's an incredible development for Shoto and I think this is a great conclusion to his own character arc.

After Shoto leaves, we transition to Hawks! He's still there for Endeavor if he needs him which is nice. He's also the president of the Public Safety Commission! Dude may be Quirkless, but that doesn't mean he can't do anything! I'm happy to see him thrive in this new role of his and I hope he can reform the PSC into something good as opposed to how they treated him in the past.

We also catch up on Lady Nagant WHO IS NOT DEAD 🎊, but chooses to stay in prison for a bit longer. And Gentle and LaBrava are ok and free too! Good endings here!

The final panel shows Spinner and someone is opening his hospital door 🤔

Phenomenal chapter! 10/10 would read and cry over again. Thank you and fuck you for everything, Kohei Horikoshi. 4 Chapters left. Fuck, my hands hurt 😭

[lvlyghost]

In the Midst of War: III

PAIRINGS: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Shadow!Reader

SUMMARY: Home is no longer where it used to be. Left with no one else you wonder who your friends and foes are.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

TW: blood, descriptions of wounds, an old friend shows up. feelings! attempted fluff. mind the english🐸!

A/N: this GIF is my new fixation and i will not stop posting it in a long time so be advised 🤩 things are hitting the fan next chapter💗as usual thx for reading 🍁🩵

Masterlist✨Masterpost

"𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔?"

Heavy boots, a ragged breathing caused by adrenaline and the sound of his heart thumping inside his ears, those are the things that Ghost can hear as he approaches the white van. Price shouts behind him but he can't make out what he's saying.

The blood... crimson blood that spills from her wounds is frightening. He's a man accustomed to witness horrible things. Seen the worst the world had to offer. Experienced in the flesh what evil can do to a human being. And simply because the woman that he holds in his arms is supposed to be his enemy that didn't mean he wanted to see her bleed out to death. Especially when they learned the truth.

Ghost had a moral code. Things he never wanted to see people go through despite being consequential to their own decisions. She had decided to join the army. She had decided to join the Shadow Company. It was bound to happen. Still it was hard for him.

That very moral code was to not hurt women nor children under any circumstances, and may God —if it even existed— help him when he'd have no other choice.

"Open the fucking door!" He yells, accent becoming more prominent; the door instantly sliding open, readjusting her near dead body in his arms to get them inside. "Gaz, give me everything you have." He commands the Sergeant, who's quick to open his medical pouches as well as the first aid kit they had loaded just in case someone needed it. The eyes of the woman flutter shut and then open slightly again, drifting back and forth between consciousness and the arms of the reaper. Ghost barks again at Gaz, so he helps him undoing the straps of her vest so he can check the wound properly.

"There's another one on her leg, Lt." he points out, moving around him as much as he can with the vehicle moving. With no time to waste he rips the lower part of his shirt, long and wide enough for his Sergeant to work. "Tourniquet , now." Gaz nods, at the harsh and cold commands of his superior. He then turns, lifting her shirt to inspect the wound. The bullet is still lodged inside her stomach, he notices sucking in a sharp breath; part of Ghost wonders who could've been the one who shot her? What if it was him? Taking the disinfectant from the kit he poured a generous amount on her wound. Her face scrunched, lips pouting and a low whine leaves her mouth. "Sorry about that, kid." He muttered, before pressing down on her wound every single gauze he found only to slowly start tainting red. He knew well she couldn't hear him her mind far away from where she physically was.

"We're back." one of the Vaqueros announced, as the van comes to an abrupt stop.

"We need to get her to the helo as soon as possible. She's lost too much blood." Price orders.

The three men get down, military doctors rush to them.

"We'll take it from here." One of them declares, patting Ghost on the shoulder, he nearly growls.

"Let's go. This isn't finished yet."

So Price dragged him in the opposite direction where they were taking her. He didn't know if she'll make it. But that was everything they'd do for her.

-

Stepping out of the room, showered and changed into comfortable sporting clothes you look around for Ghost. The safe house is silent. Deadly silent.

You wonder if he's even here, and you wonder if escaping would be a good idea. But as for now this was everything you had, at least a bed to sleep and a roof above your head. Sighing you walk to the kitchen just to find it as empty as the rest of the rooms.

The chilly air of late November causes your skin to erupt in goosebumps the moment you step outside, the backyard stretches farther away in the distance and as if on cue, the tall broad form of the Lieutenant appears walking through massive pines, wearing nothing but the jacket and his mask.

Ghost gradually stops when his eyes land on you standing still right outside the back door, arms crossed over your chest to protect you from the weather. He remains silent for a long minute before taking another

step closer.

"All set. Come with me." He orders you.

Biting on your lower lip, stopping your mouth from saying something you'll regret.

"Are you always this bossy?" Despite not liking his tone you oblige and begin to follow as he turns on his heels. If your question annoys him he doesn't let it show in fact he ignores you completely. "Where are we going, Ghost?"

Suddenly a wave of fear washes over you, steps faltering, hands shaking ever so slightly. What if this was it? The end of everything. You didn't want to believe Ghost could kill you like you were nothing you just don't do that to someone you've taken care of for the past month. Why bothering? Why tending to your wounds and worrying for your wellbeing, even if he was forced to do it. You wanted to believe that at least he didn't hate you. Not the way he hated your former Commander. You thought something had changed between the two. He had seemed more relaxed around you; like he somehow had lowered his defenses around you.

"Silence." he hushes you in a low mutter. "M'not gonna kill you if that's what you're worried about."

His words are cold and measured, as if he doesn't want to be here at all and the feeling, the knowledge that you're a burden to him makes your heart ache. A tiny pang of sadness that that's all you've ever been. All you could ever hope to be. So you ball your clench your hands, head hanging low when the so familiar lump in your throat becomes unbearable.

Both of you make it to a clearing, birds faintly chirping on the horizon. The sun no longer greets you, a storm announces itself with heavy clouds appearing in the sky above.

And then you're not alone. Another person stands in the middle. Hands clasped behind. Your heart skips a beat.

The only person that cares enough to save you. Blonde hair in a low tight bun.

Kate turns around, eyes going wide when she finally sees you. She's about to say something but words die because you're practically running to her, ignoring Ghost's warnings on being careful.

A smile appears on her face when you finally hug her and tears roll down your cheeks.

"What took you so long?" You sniffle. Kate's arms hold you tighter.

"I came as soon as I could. Forgive me, Vesper."

Shaking your head you try to stop the tears. It's honestly humiliating but she's known you since you joined the military. Kate Laswell was the closest thing you had to a family just like Graves. "I hope Lieutenant Riley has been good to you."

You huff, making her chuckle.

"He's taken care of me. For that I am grateful."

So now you knew more about him.

Riley.

Better than just a callsign. And it suited him.

Ghost stands a few feet away, despite this being a secure area he can't afford himself to relax. He can still hear everything you say to each other.

He can hear you crying on her shoulder and bloody hell if that didn't made him feel all sorts of distressed. It was a rare thing. Something he wouldn't have thought when he first scooped you up back on that forgotten highway.

But he guesses that happens when you spend too much time with someone you were supposed to look after. It didn't help that just last night you had asked him to stay the night in your room. All kinds of wrong.

Although he had refused he could sense what was happening and he needed to stop it. Getting attached wasn't part of the plan, and it would end terribly.

Deep in his thoughts he misses the look you send him.

"He really is something else." You murmur to Kate who keeps you know at arms length. "If it wasn't for you, I'm sure they'd have killed me." A sad smile appears on your lips.

"Let's not think about what happened darling, but rather what's gonna happen, yeah? Things have taken... a turn. No, hear me out." She says, interrupting you with a soft smile. "You're not alone. Never have been." Another quick glance at Ghost confirms the both of you that he's heard you.

"You know I don't like it when you say mysterious things, Kate." She sighs, giving you another hug although this one isn't as long as the first.

"Trust me. That's all I'm asking, and hey..." he levels you with a serious look. "Ghost may seem frightening but he's a good man." A low confession that doesn't reach his ears. Your cheeks turn red and you don't know why, leaving you mortified when she notices.

"Yeah..." you mumble.

"I don't have much more time. There's matters that require my attention but you'll hear from me again sooner than you think."

-

"What's that stance?" He gruffly asks as he stands next to you, eyes sliding up and down your body. His arms are tightly crossed over his broad chest. You turn to look up to him and away from the scope of your sniper rifle, blinking rapidly not understanding the disapproving look in his brown eyes.

"Uh, this is how I shoot Ghost." You answer like it was obvious what you were doing. You notice the way he furrow his brows beneath the balaclava.

"Bloody Christ." He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He comes behind you. "Widen your stance." He kicks one of your foot so it slides along the dirty soil.

Yelping you lose balance for a second before he steadies you with a strong hand to your waist.

"Hey! What was that about?"

Ghost tilts his head eyes narrowing.

"That stance was utter shite. Your legs were not separated enough, you'd get knocked down easily by a waft of air."

"I've been doing it like this forever."

"Well you've been doing it wrong."

"But that's..." squinting your eyes you stare at him, fuming. "My legs are not as long as yours, they're like five damn kilometers long." Ghost snorts. "What's so funny?"

"Shocked you know what a kilometer is." Shaking your head you decide to ignore him and readjust the grip on the rifle. "One of his best soldiers, I heard." He points out. He returns to his spot next to you, trying not to think of how you felt under his touch.

"You've never seen someone like me, Lieutenant Riley."

Ghost freezes, heart skipping a beat at the way you say his name. It's soft and endearing. He watches you closely, you're focused on the target one eye closed and the other fixed on the green bottle.

Breathing slowly and steadily, the exact moment when the sky rumbles you press the trigger. The bullet sound echoes through the lone forest as it hits the target, sending birds flying away from their nests. A wide grin makes its way to your lips, turning to look a Ghost who remains silent merely watching the near-perfect shot, the average size bottle shattered in a thousands pieces.

"Bullseye." you comment in a casual tone. "Your turn."

Offering him the rifle you stare at each other for a long time before he shakes his head, refusing to take it.

"Mine's better." Unfazed by his refusal you wait as he goes to the black duffel bag that he previously placed on an old wooden table. He takes out his preferred weapon. Your was... lethal, but his own, the sheer size and way it was customized for him left you speechless. You even doubted you'd be able to hold it still. "And just so you know." coming back to where he was, Ghost readies himself but not before taking off his leather jacket. Only left with his black hoodie he offers you the jacket, eyes serious. Hesitating for a second before grabbing it and putting it on, it smells like him. It's soft and warm around your body. "We're going out tomorrow."

His body prepares to take the recoil of the gun. Yet another perfect shot is made that day; body barely moving, barely flinching when he fires. You hold your breath at the sound of shattering glass and then everything goes silent. Ghost turns to look you in the face, the way his clothes hang around your body swallowing you whole. A sight he finds himself liking too much for his own bloody good.

"Taking me out on a date I see." His lips twitch although you can't see it. "Where to?" You ask rolling your eyes.

Laying down the weapon he motions you to follow him back inside, he'd clean up afterwards.

"Your first mission. Laswell wants you back asap." The air gets stuck in your throat. "Don't look at me like that. We could use a good soldier. And don't worry too much. I'm coming with."

Teaming up with Ghost was the last thing you thought would happen in your lifetime, even if you had before needlessly to say not directly. For all you knew, they considered you a hostile for your connections with the Shadow Company. But your commander was off the equation. Gone forever.

With a final glance to your way he starts to cook dinner for two so you join him.

Your new life starts now.

-

"When does this end, Laswell?" He asks her, it's not that he doesn't want to be around the girl. That is exactly why he's desperate to put an end to this, enjoying her company wasn't a part of the plan.

She breathes the cool air, and tries to calm him.

"Don't tell me you've grown to care about her, Lieutenant."

Ghost doesn't answer but the CIA agent notices the way his shoulders tense.

Part 4

[softxsuki]

Urgent req!

I've been breaking down lately because of the urge to cvt myself . Those breakdowns usually end up with me hitting and punching myself or my walls. I've been clean for idk how long yet but was wondering if you could do a fic with Mikey and Drake related to it. Thanks !

Love your gifs btw:))

Mikey and Draken (Separate) Comfort Reader Who Has A Breakdown

Pairings: Mikey x Gn!Reader, Draken x Gn!Reader

Warnings: mentions of self harm, bloody knuckles, punching walls, punching yourself

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 480

Summary: In which Mikey and Draken comfort you after seeing you breakdown

[A/N: Sorry for writing this so late, October was such a busy month for me. The Holiday season is so hectic BJFEA. I'm also struggling with writers block which is probably evident in my writing, but if you're still around, I hope this helps a bit :)]

Mikey:

Mikey knows first hand what it feels like to be in a bad place mentally

After all he’s lost so many precious people in his life, leaving him feeling empty

Until he met you, you were his second chance at life, and he really would do anything to keep you safe

He knows about your history with self harm and was very worried at first, scared that you’d do it again and leave him just like everyone else

But he saw how well you were doing and was proud of how far you’d come being clean

Though when you fall into those urges again, leading you to breakdown, he’s by your side

Bloody knuckles and bruises on your own body have him beyond scared, but he tries to stay calm to be he there for you

“Hit me instead if you feel that way, please. I don’t want to see you hurt, especially about something that I have no control over. Just take it out on me, I can handle it”

He’s desperate to take the inner turmoil away from you, he’d face it all if it meant you could feel better

Becomes extra clingy in the next few days until those urges cease, but just let him do his thing, he’s worried he’ll lose you, Mikey will be back to normal eventually 

Everything he does, despite how suffocating it may feel at first, comes from a place of love and care for you, he’d do anything, and I mean anything to help you feel better, just tell him how he can help

Draken:

Draken catches you mid-wall punch and grabs your wrist to stop you from hitting the wall any longer, a pained expression on his face at the state of your knuckles

“That’s not how we deal with things,” He says stoically, millions of thoughts going through his mind, picking through what would be the best thing to say to you now

When it comes to you, he’s hesitant with his words even though he’s usually great with his advice, he’s scared he’ll say the wrong thing when it comes to you so he doesn’t verbally express himself often

Instead he sticks to silently wrapping up your wounds, eyebrows furrowed in concentration–he’s not mad at you, just concerned and wondering how he can help

He knows about your past and considering your actions, he assumes you’re probably struggling again, so he just hugs you

“Don’t struggle alone, come to me first before acting on your own like this, please”

He keeps an eye on you and tries to bring you around with him whenever he has to go out, in an attempt to distract you until he can help you get rid of those urges

Draken manages to stay calm and collected though which is very helpful, so I’m sure you’d feel comfortable coming to him about anything after that

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :)

Posted: 11/5/2023

[alcestas-sloboda]

I see so many reflections today from different people: someone woke up from the explosions, some from a phone call, some woke up and saw hundreds of notifications from different telegram channels. It is still so unimaginably bizarre. I have no ability to put into words the feeling of your world falling apart and we didn’t even understand half of the danger that was surrounding us. We were so damn close to disaster with half of Europe believing that nothing good will come out of it.

Ukrainians didn’t care what Europeans thought though, I personally saw news pieces about "Russia will take control of Kyiv" a lot later, somewhere in May, when Ukrainian military took control over the north of the country. And I’m so eternally grateful to every Ukrainian who made sure that all this "experts" sat in those flashy studios red from guilt. I’m grateful for my life, I’m grateful for our Ukraine. She persist. She is still the love of our lives. She’s hurt and devastated but she lives despite all the attempts to destroy her. Same as us. Somehow still here.

Yet I feel more detached from the western world than ever and I’m so fucking jealous of you all. It’s not even about the rockets or shakheds - somewhere along the lines you accept the fact that you may die in any moment - it’s about normal things like your Twitter feed that doesn’t look like a necrology, military terms that don’t make any sense to you, your city that doesn’t stop everyday to mourn the dead, you don’t feel guilty for trying to live a normal life while your classmate, who wanted to be a director, posts stories from the trenches. All of that and more. I’m not even entitled to my emotions because there always will be someone who says that my country is not suffering enough. I no longer react to comments like this as emotionally as I’ve done before but it is still so bizarre to see stuff like that from people whose countries have always been the one to inflict suffering on others.

I may sound mean or sarcastic or whatever but there is so much negativity inside of us that was put there by people like I’ve mentioned above that it is going to be released from time to time. "Your country shouldn’t exist", "Only 9 thousand killed", "You all are nazis/racist/zionists/any of the -ist terms" - yet you should always react in a constructive way because the moment you let your emotions go, you are the worst person on the planet. But who am I kidding, some people here do believe that we are. There is a thousand bad people with sketchy patches in a 40-million country and suddenly "That’s why I no longer support Ukraine". Well, honey, that means you never did. Because Syrian flags were quickly replaced with Ukrainian ones and just as quickly with Palestinian. It’s not about the "Support the oppressed", it’s "Anything to not feel guilty" because then you’ll find the reason to hate Palestinians, just as you did with us. If only you cared about the problematic shit happening in you country as much as you care about our political and social life.

But there are people who still are there for us. Countries that are still here. We may not say it as often but we are thankful. So very thankful for everything you’ve done and are doing for us. Thank you for hearing us and uplifting our voices.

Recently one of the most beautiful people here have lost her life defending me and you. She was always in my notes, always making sure that we didn’t feel uncomfortable even if she of all the people had all the right to be upfront about her thoughts and feelings. I don’t think I will ever get rid of the feeling of guilt. She was there while I wasn’t. She said to mourn her through anger. Anger towards the oppressor. Anger that should be directed into something useful: donations, sharing info, contacting your MPs and so on.

The soldier‘s death is not something out of ordinary during the war, it’s not considered a war crime but what if half of the army are civilians? Volunteers who left their homes to protect them. What if the soldier was a teacher, a poet, an actor, an IT-specialist, a scientist, what then? Isn’t it a tragedy? My country is loosing yet another generation of beautiful talented people and it makes my view of the future even darker.

But what can I say? I’m still here. My country still stands. Ukrainian air defence is doing everything possible and impossible to protect the lives of the civilians. Ukrainian military is still the only thing keeping us all alive. Heroes, titans, gods. Glory to them. Eternal glory to those who lost their lives defending Ukraine.

To Ukrainians: якось буде, прорвемся.

[aiendeeay]

“I fuckin’ love you, Kiyoomi!” Atsumu’s voice cracks and Kiyoomi can hardly bring himself to watch the tears form in his eyes.

“I thought you said that you’d never fall in love,” Kiyoomi replies evenly, cooly, nonchalantly. But he’s panicking. His heart is beating hard enough to hurt, his own eyes start prickling with tears. His entire body is screaming at him to break down, to run away, to tear himself away from Miya Atsumu.

“I know what I said, dipshit. But that was before I knew what it was ta actually love someone, not just volleyball, or my family—before I knew what it was like to love you.” Atsumu’s voice shakes with sobs and Kiyoomi wants nothing more than to stop it. “It fuckin' sucks, did ya know that? Because I’ve grown to love ya, more than anything, more than volleyball, and that’s fuckin' terrifying because I’ve never loved anything or anyone more.”

If Kiyoomi were a stronger man, he would have stopped Atsumu there. He shouldn’t have let Atsumu dig himself a comfortable little nook in his life. He shouldn't have let himself become so smitten with a boy he once despised. But seeing Atsumu cry, seeing his tear-stained cheeks and blotchy skin, Kiyoomi has never been weaker.

“I’ve devoted almost my entire life to this goddamn sport,” Atsumu spits, “and in these last couple years, I realized I’ve devoted a whole lotta myself to you. Do ya know how fuckin’ scary that is?”

Kiyoomi knew. He knows. The only thing he’s been undyingly loyal to was volleyball. He’d spent everything he had in an attempt to reach the top—he’s never wanted anything more. Until Atsumu showed up and flipped his priorities upside down.

It was subtle. Kiyoomi himself hadn’t even noticed until it became too large, too obvious, to ignore any longer. At some point, Atsumu grew to be someone Kiyoomi could trust, someone he could rely on. And despite Kiyoomi’s distaste for loud and brash personalities, despite his aversion to smarmy smiles and cocksure attitudes, Atsumu found a way to make those traits endearing.

It’s his confidence and the way he’s always able to follow through that Kiyoomi has never been able to disregard. Somewhere along the way, his mere acquiescence with Atsumu grew into a twisted sort of admiration, and in turn, that admiration evolved into something else. It was more than his captivation with Ushijima Wakatoshi, more than his adolescent fling with Iizuna Tsukasa. This relationship--or whatever it's called--has been more than every other one of his failed relationships or any of his pitiful one-night stands.

From Kiyoomi’s twenty-year relationship with volleyball bloomed a reluctant sort of love. Of course, that’s just how it is with something you surround yourself with, with something you devote yourself to. Just like he’s come to love volleyball—the exhilaration, the tension, the victories, even the pain—he’s grown to love a boy who shares the same passion for the sport he can no longer imagine his life without. And he's never been more afraid in his entire life.

“Are ya even listenin’ to me, Omi?” Atsumu’s breaths come out uneven and heavy. “Fuckin’ say something! Don’t just stare at me with that goddamn blank expression!”

“I’m sorry, Miya,” Kiyoomi tries to say. “I—”

Atsumu cuts him off. “Don’t even finish that sentence, Sakusa.” His eyes may be filled with tears, but the expression behind them is stony and resolute. “You don’t get ta apologize. You don’t get ta leave. I know yer scared, Omi, I am too. But I’m not gonna pussy out and run away—ya already tried that, and look at where it got us. We’re back in the same damn situation. Square fuckin’ one.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “Somehow, we’re always back at square one.”

[bnhaemporium]

Hello! I loved your pro-heros imagine where the reader was hurt. I was wondering if you'd do the pros again reacting to the reader having amnesia? The doctors aren't sure if it's permanent or not. Maybe the pros try to court them all over again just in case they don't remember them? Thank you! ♡

Hello! Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy!

Characters: All Might, Endeavour, Edgeshot, Aizawa, Hawks

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All Might

Toshinori stares. He knows it’s probably unnerving but he can’t help it, remembering how you looked at him when you first met and unable to maintain his composure fully.

When he snaps out of it, he introduces himself as though he’s never met you before. He puts on the same voice he uses when speaking to the press – the false tone that’s meant to make him sound less human than ever.

He takes a very, very long time before he lets anybody explain he once was in your life. There’s a strange shame he carries with him surrounding your relationship. Despite everything he once promised to you, despite swearing to keep you safe, he feels like he failed.

Even though he’s tempted to try over again and win your heart, he’s not going to. It’s too unbalanced for him to remember everything while you knew nothing. Too hurtful to not be able to feel your care and love.



Eraserhead

Is it a fate worse than death? When Aizawa looks into your unrecognizing expression, he contemplates for a brief second if hearing about your death would have hurt him less.

None of these thoughts show on his face as he reintroduces himself to you and leaves out any reference to your relationship. He speaks as though you are merely somebody rescued in his line of work but try as he might, he can’t bring himself to abandon you alone when you’re like this.

He speaks quietly to you, like you’re an animal poised to bolt. It’s so intensely obvious what your relationship once was, though he may not say it. Even with no memories, his care can be seen.

He won’t try to win your heart for a second time. He says it’s because he doesn’t have the energy to but honestly, he doesn’t want to intrude on your life when you already have so much to try and remember.



Hawks

Keigo doesn’t believe it for a few short, devastating moments when he smiles at you cockily. He waits for your façade to break and listens for a laugh of some unexplained joke. But it never comes and when he slowly realises the truth, he feels entirely lost.

You can’t see his emotions clearly but there’s a shake in his words as he adjusts himself for a reintroduction. His arrogance in telling you about your relationship doesn’t hide how weak his tone sounds.

He’s going to tell you bits and pieces in hopes of bringing back your memories but when it doesn’t work, he’ll shrug as though it’s no big deal. You won’t be allowed to know the truth because he’s barely admitted that to himself.

At first, he promises himself that he’ll leave you to recover in your own time but he won’t hold to that. He’s determined to show you why you fell for him and he’s going to remind you about every part of your relationship he adores.



Endeavour

There are many things in this world that make Enji angry or frustrated but in a situation like this, all of those feel trivial. He doesn’t even recognise the sinking emotion he experiences when you don’t greet him as you always do.

At first, he gets loud and sharp as he almost demands that you remember who he is. His words are harsh and coloured with a grief you can no longer recognise immediately. He eventually has to leave to calm himself down as the anger rolls through him.

It takes him days before he returns and gives you a proper account for what happened, still behaving far too formal. He provides you with whatever he can to prove his point. He knows his stance makes it seem unbelievable.

He’s certain he can win you over a second time and he goes about romancing you as he did the first time. It worked initially. He really takes advantage of what he knows to make you understand his affection.



Edgeshot

Shinya maintains a very calm façade when everything is explained to him and he sits at the foot of your hospital bed, watching your expression with a well-hidden uncertainty.

He goes through your relationship and your life with you to see what parts you remember and what has changed. He doesn’t allow his emotions to get to him until he’s alone later that day. That’s when he gives into grief.

It’s hard not to mourn you as though you had died. Everything he’s built with you has been ripped away but he’s not going to let it be the end. Not when he still has you with him.

He works with you to help get your memories back and to make new ones along the way. He’s learned what you like throughout your relationship and he’s going to make your recovery period as peaceful and enjoyable as he can, secretly ensuring he can keep your heart whenever he can.



[alittlebitofloveliness]

Shepard Angst Fic

Y'all are getting this here before I edit it and post it on ao3 tomorrow because I am desperate for external validation and because I NEED folks to cry over my self imposed Shepard sibling angst.

**************

“Angel!”

Angela Shepard is no stranger to yelling. The name Shepard carries with it the guarantee of a temper hotter than the late Autumn sun and the vocal cords to make sure the whole street knows it. Ma is only ever happy when she’s hacked off, Curly has never once been quiet for longer than three seconds back to back, and she herself wears fury like socy girls wear their hair ribbons. 

So yes, she’s no stranger to yelling– but she ain’t never heard Curly yell like that. He doesn’t sound mad, he sounds scared– and that is infinitely worse. There isn’t a lot that scares Curly Shepard, or any Shepard really. They’ve all seen too much.

“Goddamnit Angel,” Curly roars again, “get out here and bring the first aid kit!”

That spurs her to action and she snatches the small first aid kit out from under the bathroom sink and hightails it to the living room.

Curly is there, wide eyed, Tim propped up against him. For a second Angela doesn’t realize what the problem is. When she does, her brain refuses to let her believe it.

A dark stain is spreading rapidly across the side of Tim’s shirt, even as Curly half drags half carries him over to the couch and deposits him on it as gently as he can. Despite how careful Curly’s being, a pained grunt still forces its way out from between Tim’s clenched teeth.

“Call Manuel,” Curly orders, naming Tim’s second in command, “get him to bring the truck back now and be ready to drive. And get Sylvia down here too.”

Running to the kitchen, she dials Manuel’s home number and hurriedly explains the situation, cold terror making her harsher than usual. She doesn’t bother trying to get ahold of Sylvia- Sylvie knows everything that happens on the east side, she’s probably already on her way.

“What happened?” She demands as soon as she gets back to the living room. Curly’s hands are slippery with blood and he’s got a wad of rapidly reddening gauze pressed tightly against the wound in Tim’s stomach. Her older brother’s face is twisted in pain, his breathing even more laboured than it was a minute ago, tight gasps forcing themselves out from behind clenched teeth.

She’s seen knife wounds before, of course she has. Connor Tyrril from the Brumly gang had died from an infected knife wound last year, and Tim and even Curly had been sliced before, long gashes that eventually faded into rough scars– but never anything like this. The slashes they’d sustained in the past were meant to hurt, but this wound was very specifically meant to kill. 

She doesn’t know what to do. 

“Who did it?” She demands, hands fluttering uselessly. Curly seems to have a handle on what to do, his wide eyes at odds with his steady hands, counting under his breath as he applies pressure, but Angela doesn’t have a clue how to help and isn’t even sure that she can. “What happened?”

“A few of the boys from Tiber street apparently weren’t too fond of Tim’s latest shipment,” Curly explains, pressing a new piece of gauze over the others, already soaked through with blood. 

“Names Carlos.”

“Dustin Blackwell and Ian Forrester. Tried to fight ‘em off but they had about seven buddies backing ‘em.”

“They’re dead.” Angela vows, horrified to feel the way her eyes are stinging. She means it too. If anything happens to Tim those assholes are dead, juvie and jail and records be damned. The steely look buried under the panic in Curly’s eyes tells her he agrees.

Tim groans, despite how hard Angela can tell he’s trying to hold it back, and Curly stiffens, hands jerking slightly and tearing another horrible sound from Tim’s throat.

“Go see if there’s any more gauze somewhere,” he orders, pressing the last of the stuff over Tim’s wound, the fabric reddening as if by magic, “grab some of my t-shirts if you can’t find any.”

Angela runs to do as she’s bid, wishing she could do something, anything else. For all Curly is usually the last person who should be left in charge of anything, let alone any sort of crisis, right now he seems to be about the only person who knows what to do and Angela can’t help but cling to it like a lifeline. She can’t fix Tim, but she can sure as hell help Curly help him and if all she can do is grab t-shirts, you can best believe she’ll grab the whole stack in her drawer and Curly’s too.

She can’t have been gone more than thirty seconds but Tim is noticeably worse when she returns, sweat beading on his forehead, his skin looking closer to grey than its usual light brown. 

“Hold this for me,” Curly nods to the wad of gauze he’s pressing on with both hands, “don’t worry about hurtin’ him, just press as hard as you can. I’m gonna check his pulse.”

Tim lets out an almost inhuman scream the second she touches him, and it’s almost enough to have her jerk away and apologize if that wouldn’t render the whole thing useless. Curly waits until Angela’s hands are pressing hard beside his before he deigns to move one away, deftly pressing two fingers under Tim’s neck with one hand, counting under his breath. It seems like a long time before he stops counting even though the clock says it wasn’t more than a minute, and the tightness in his jaw belies his anxiety. 

Not good then- or getting worse.

“Well?” She snaps, too full of fear to know what to do with it, trying to hide behind a more familiar anger.

“It’s slow,” Curly snaps right back, her twin in soul and temperament and right now a visceral type of fear, “and gettin’ worse. He’s fucking bleeding out, Angel what’d you expect!”

“Shut up! He ain’t gonna bleed out! Shut up!”

Curly glares a second longer before his mask slips just a bit and she sees herself in his blue eyes. For a second they’re three years old again and Tim is in the reformatory and they’re both so hungry and alone and scared it feels like nothing will ever be okay again. Then she blinks, and Curly’s jaw tightens, and they’re back to now, in a no less horrible present.

“Damnit,” Curly snarls, but his voice breaks, “where the fuck is Manuel?”

“Quit arguin’” Tim speaks for the first time since Curly dragged him in and Angela could sob. His voice is the same gruff bark it’s always been, just as steady as it always is despite his laboured breathing, even as his lean form has started to shake uncontrollably under her hands, making it hard to keep the gauze and now one of her own t-shirts pressed against his wound, “and listen’ to me.”

Curly watches him with wide eyes, forever in awe, the way he’s always been, always willing to follow Tim anywhere, even off a cliff. Of course, Angela can't exactly blame him when she’s the exact same way.

“L-listen,” Tim repeats, his black eyes shining with an emotion Angela can’t place, and she is listening because its Tim talking and he always knows what to do. He’s going to tell them what to do and he’s going to be okay. They’ll do what he says and everything will be fine. “Listen.”

He swallows, grimacing as he lets out another strained breath before his sharp eyes focus on them again. 

“You’re good kids,” he says, fierce, so fierce, and Angela blinks because that isn’t right, it isn’t a plan, it isn’t a way to fix this. And it isn’t even true. She and Curly are about as far from good kids as it’s possible to be.

“You’re good kids,” Tim repeats with conviction, like he can hear what she’s thinking, “don’t let nobody tell you otherwise, savvy? I’m damn proud of you. Both of you.”

“Tim-”

“Good kids,” His eyes have taken on an almost glassy quality, “My kids.”

His entire body goes limp. Angela screams.

Manuel chooses that exact moment to burst through the door, Sylvia on his heels, and there's no time, no time for anything anymore except for Curly to grab Tim’s shoulders and Manuel grab his feet, and Angela try to keep pressure on that fucking stab wound all the way to the truck and then to the hospital until a team of nurses rolls Tim away on a gurney. Even then, the only reason they manage it is because Sylvia and Curly both half drag her away.

“Let go, I’m goin’ with him!”

“You can’t.” Sylvia’s voice cuts like a blade. “They ain’t gonna let you in the operation’ room Angel, so quit havin’ a fit and come sit in the waitin’ room.”

“Shepards stick together.” Angela turns to Curly for support but Curly doesn’t seem to be all here right now, staring vacantly into space and trembling like a leaf. “Right Curls?”

“C’mon,'' Sylvia shakes her head when Curly doesn’t answer, “We aren’t doin’ much good for ol’ Timmy in this parking lot, and we won’t do much more in the waitin’ room but at least there’ll be a place to sit.”

Unable to argue, Angela follows Sylvia inside, Curly trailing dreamlike after them, and they sit in the waiting room and do just that: wait. Manuel had left as soon as the doctors got Tim inside so he isn’t there with them, but Angela can’t find it in herself to care. Tim runs a gang, not a family. Manuel knows that as well as any of them.

Angela squeezes her hands into fists to stop the tremble in her fingers. Wonders how Sylvia can still be so unfeeling when her best friend has just been stabbed. Decides she doesn’t care. Watches as Curly slowly returns to himself, pulling out a cigarette and offering her one. They both pretend it’ll stop their hands from shaking. They’re both wrong.

She wants to do something. To start a fight or cause a problem, maybe kick up a fuss in the food court or swear at a nurse, do something to assuage the fear and the anger burning it’s way through her chest, do anything that isn’t just sit here and wait.

You’re good kids, Tim’s words echo in her head every time she’s about to get up and do something, keeping her rooted to the stupid plastic chair, doomed seemingly forever to the horrific purgatory of the waiting room. She isn’t a good kid, but Tim thinks she is, so she can be, at least for now, at least until she knows he’s okay.

“Anyone here for Timothy Shepard?”

Angela’s on her feet immediately, Curly at her side. Sylvia rises more languidly to face the woman at the nurses station, cool as ever.

“I don’t have any news yet,” the nurse says apologetically, seeing Angela and Curly’s tense faces, “I’m sorry. I just need someone to fill out the intake forms. Is he a minor?”

For a second Angela hates the warm faced woman more than she’s ever hated anyone.

“He’s eighteen,” Sylvia strolls forward, reaching a manicured hand towards the woman’s clipboard, “I’ll fill it out.”

The nurse starts to hand the clipboard to her, then freezes. “Um, I’m only supposed to give it to an emergency contact…”

“I’m his wife,” Sylvia lies smoothly, “you ain’t gonna keep me from seein’ my husband. I doubt he’s even got anyone listed considerin’ we only recently got hitched.”

The nurse checks the chart again. 

“What’d you say your name was?”

“Sylvia Shepard. Maiden name Devares.”

“Well it’s true he ain’t got anyone listed…” Angela can see the nurse crumbling, “I don’t suppose you got your marriage licence with you?”

“‘Course I do,” Sylvia reaches into her cleavage and pulls out the forged marriage certificate Curly had made a few months back when Sylvia needed Tim’s help opening a bank account, “there, see?”

The nurse glances at it and finally passes over the clipboard. 

“My apologies Mrs. Shepard.”

Angela winces. Sylvia is many things, but she ain’t a Shepard, and she sure as shit ain’t Tim’s wife. Still, the charade has worked wonders in the past, and it’s working wonders again now.

“Thanks.” Sylvia offers her a perfunctory smile and turns on her heel, strutting back to her seat, Angela and Curly trailing behind.

“What’s takin’ so long?” Curly mutters to her, while Sylvia purses her lips, flipping through the forms, “we’ve been here an hour. How’s he still in surgery?”

Angela doesn’t know, so she doesn’t answer.

They wait.

Sylvia finishes filling the pages with her chicken scratch handwriting and returns them to the nurses desk. An ambulance arrives with some broad sporting a gunshot wound. Nurses bustle, doctors hustle, people come in and out of the waiting room, and still, they are not called.

Curly’s knee bounces more with each passing minute. Sylvia looks so bored Angela could slap her. Something somewhere is beeping and Angela is going to lose her mind.

“Family of Timothy Shepard?”

He hates being called Timothy, is all she can think this time, when a doctor gives them a practiced sympathetic look and tells them Tim's finally out of surgery and they can see him. He says a bunch of other stuff too, but Angela doesn’t understand half of it, and she isn’t really listening anyway because they can see Tim now and everything's gonna be okay.

Then they walk into the hospital room and Angela’s world shatters.

She is used to Tim being many things- tough and smart, the type of responsible someone only becomes when you walk the fine line between being a father and a brother. She is used to his rage, the one thing he inherited from both parents, is used to the cold fury he tries to mask it with, with the almost inhuman level of self control he wields like a knife. She is used to Tim fighting, lying, cheating. To Angela, Tim has always been untouchable, larger than life. Not a hero, no, but not a villain either, instead something amorphous and not entirely human, more powerful than anyone else she knows. Now though, for the first time in years, he looks entirely, brokenly human. 

And small. That isn’t right, Tim isn’t small, has always towered over her and Curly, even now they're going on thirteen and have finally started to properly grow. 

He’s lying on a pillow, his brown skin still has that same bloodless grey tinge as earlier, even though at least two of the tubes plugged into his arm seem to be giving him more, which is good since half the blood in his body is still on the couch in their living room. Even still, what use is the hospital blood if it isn’t making him better? There’s a bag on clear fluid- what do they call that again? An IV?- in a needle beside the blood going into Tim’s arm, and a tube taped under his nose. At first Angela thought there was a sheet pulled up to his chest but when she stumbles forward she realizes with a jolt of horror that those are bandages wrapped so thoroughly and tightly around Tim’s entire chest she can hardly tell where they end and the actual sheets begin.

Somewhere, somehow, the doctor is still talking, Sylvia taking in each word with sharp eyes and looking anywhere but Tim, but Angela can’t hear anything over the roaring in her ears. Curly trembles almost imperceptibly beside her and she knows he feels it too, the horrible wrongness that hangs in the air, making this room one of nightmares.

Angela isn’t stupid. She knows she’s seen and lived through a lot of terrible things, faced horrors that most kids never dream of. Still, this has to be the worst thing that has ever happened to her.

Finally, the doctor leaves and the room is pitched into silence.

Sylvia pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one carefully, admiring the slight glow of the tip for a second before taking a long, slow drag. Only once she exhales, blowing a cloud of smoke that almost seems to fill the tiny room, does she look at Tim.

Something grim and dark settles in Sylvia’s hazel eyes, hardening more and more with each breath she watches the tube force through Tim’s lungs. The look sends a chill through Angela, a horrible itch starting at the back of her mind. Next to Tim, Angela probably knows more about Sylvia than anyone in the world, but right now she hasn’t got the slightest clue what she might be thinking. 

“Curly,” Sylvia says, in the same husky drawl as usual, disarmingly nonchalant, “you got your switch on ya?”

Curly blinks. “‘Course.”

“Give it here.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument and Curly doesn’t try to, pulling the blade from his pocket and placing it in Sylvia’s waiting palm. Manicured nails wrap around it with practiced ease and that horrible itch in the back Angela’s mind suddenly becomes painful.

“What-” the words die on her lips. She can’t bring herself to ask what Sylvia is going to do. She knows what she’s going to do. The dark haired girl has never been one to get angry, but she always, always gets even. An eye for an eye. A humiliation for a humiliation. A stab wound for a stab wound.

A life for a life.

Without another word Sylvia turns on her heel and stalks away, letting the door slam behind her.

Then it’s just Angela and Curly and the boy in the bed that is supposed to be their brother but isn’t. 

There's a horribly ugly fake leather armchair in the corner of the room Angela drags it closer to Tim’s bed and perches on the armrest, Curly half collapsing into the chair itself. 

She’d thought the waiting room was bad but this is worse, sitting beside Tim but being unable to reach him, watching him fighting a fight that for once neither she nor Curly can fight with him, no matter how much she wishes she could.

He’s going to die. 

The thought rises, unbidden, from the part of her mind that is forever young and terrified and hopeless and immediately she knows it to be true. The earth is round, the sky is blue, and her big brother is going to die.

Panic flares in her chest but the more she tries to tamp it down, to banish the thought back to the depths of wherever it came from, the more it demands to be heard.

He’s going to die. Tim is going to die and there is nothing she or Curly or this entire fucking hospital can do about it. Tim is going to die. She and Curly will lose the only real family they’ve ever had and her whole shitty life will get so much worse without anyone to take care of her. Curly will go off the rails, will end up in jail or dead too and then she will truly be entirely, unequivocally, alone.

“Angel?” Curly’s voice is plaintive, small, and she knows he feels it too, “what are we gonna do?”

She knows what he really means, what he’s really asking. She doesn’t have any answers.

Instead she reaches out a trembling hand and Curly grabs hers like a lifeline, squeezing her fingers so tight her bones creak. Angela hangs on just as tightly.

They haven’t done this in years, not since they were seven or so, have barely touched at all in the intervening years, both too used to physical contact meaning pain to ever really be comfortable touching anyone. Now though, the pressure of Curly’s hand in hers feels like the only thing tethering her to the earth. 

They stay like that, hands clasped together in a silent vigil, until Tim wakes up.

It’s neither a slow, nor a pretty process. First a machine starts beeping like crazy and then half a dozen nurses and doctors rush in and kick her and Curly out again into the hallway, but when all is said and done and they’re allowed back in the room, Tim’s black eyes are open and the breathing tube is gone from under his nose. 

Angela Shepard doesn’t believe in miracles, but in that moment it feels like she’s been granted one. Then again, she thinks, as Curly starts mouthing off in an attempt to hide the unshed tears in his eyes, Tim has been the cause of nearly every miracle she’s ever witnessed, and this one is no different.

As Tim starts to yell and Curly’s unmistakable donkey laugh fills the room  Angela can’t help but chide herself for being so stupid. Tim Shepard never lost a fight. Just because this one looked a little different didn’t make it any different.