#he gets dimmer when he's sad too

[mapledrawsarts]

Headcanon Leafy design 🍃

[michuga]

dream encounter

you meet the man of your dreams. literally.

pairing: jeongguk x reader

warnings: swearing, 18+ content, usage of violent terms, reader is hoooornyyy

wc: ~3k

a/n: inspired by personal experience. i'm still grieving.

you stumble into a dark alleyway, lips locked with another's. coming up for air, you inspect the man practically attached to you.

tall, buff, tattooed, smooookin'. lips plumper than ripe berries and eyes brighter than stars in a pitch black night sky.

god damn.

no time to think.

you grab him by the collar and devour him anew.

you tangle your hands in his soft locks, and he impatiently gropes the flesh of your ass. sighing into the kiss, you rub against his hard bulge.

you have never been so content. truthfully, you can keep going just like this for a few hours, minimum.

"need you," you mumble.

swiftly turning you around, he pins you against the wall. you're sandwiched between the wall and his firm body, pressing against your core just right.

hot breath against your ear, he whispers behind you, "make pretty noises for me, beautiful."

with you distracted, he sneaks an arm across your waist and dips it into your panties.

right as his fingers brush your lower belly and reach where you need him most desperately,

you wake up.

and you scream.

loud.

"jesus did someone die?" your roommate busts into your room, frantic and concerned as ever. "what the hell is the matter with you?"

in silent defeat, you grab your pillow and smash it against your face.

sighing and no longer concerned for your wellbeing, she leaves your room confused but somewhat used to your antics.

rubbing your legs together, you almost cry under your covers. guess your fingers will have to do, yet again.

"you do not understand. that was my fucking soulmate."

"a guy your brain made up touches you once and he's your soulmate?"

"shut up. you literally don't get it. i am so utterly devastated i could kill someone."

"you know what really is devastating? being in a dry spell so severe your brain has to resort to making up hallucinations."

"you have 3 seconds to run before i kill you."

"the only way you'll be killing me is with your delusion. i think i'm good."

"it's not funny! i saw his face, i physically felt his hands! this was like, cosmic. otherworldly. life-changing."

"you mean panty-changing."

"you dare mock my feelings? i woke up and felt like someone ripped my heart out and stomped on it. like my other half was ripped from my hands. like we were connected in a past life. like-"

she snorts, "yeah, connected by divine pussy."

"i'm mourning. i'm mourning and you're laughing."

"mourning!!" she laughs in disbelief, "you sound like you just got dumped by casper the horny ghost."

"i swear to god-" you chase her around the apartment for a solid 15 minutes after that.

two weeks have passed since your.. very realistic dream.

you've forgotten about it, but you could feel it in your body that your brain chemistry was altered. people may think you're exaggerating, but you really mean it when you say you haven't been the same ever since.

food doesn’t taste right. music doesn’t hit the same. the sun? dimmer. the first sip of hot coffee on a chilly morning? slightly colder.

maybe your roommate was right. maybe you're simply too touch deprived.

god, this is sad.

as you finish adding the last few things on your grocery list to your cart, you turn around to head to checkout. until you accidentally bump into someone.

"sorry! sorry!" you blurt, immediately bending down to help the stranger pick up what he dropped.

"shit, no worries," he says, crouching down to help you.

and that's when you see it; his tattooed hand.

what is it with you and tattooed men? the universe must really be torturing you. this was like dangling candy in front of a child then snatching it away, knowing you were never gonna give it to them in the first place. cruel.

"you really don't have to, it's fine," he adds.

wait.. that voice? sounds familiar?

you slowly, slowly stand up, heart pounding in your chest, finally meeting the stranger's eyes.

your soul leaves your body. your eyes damn near pop out of their sockets.

you stand there silent, like a damn fool. smiling awkwardly, he takes his stuff and walks away.

you don’t move. you don’t breathe. was this… was this another hallucination? are you so horny that your brain has started projecting men into real life like some kind of thirst-induced hologram?

you slap yourself once. no, surely not.

you slap yourself again. nope. pain is real. surely you’re not that mentally unwell. right? right? you had your mental issues but you were certain none came with hallucinations.

peeking over at checkout, you see him there, bagging his items like it��s just another tuesday. then he leaves, disappearing out the automatic doors. just like that.

you’re frozen, gripping your bag of frozen blueberries like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality.

he's real. this has to be some cosmic joke.

"babe, life isn't a k-drama," your roommate says, voice dripping with sarcasm as she flops onto the couch, completely dismissing your very real emotional crisis. "listen. i know how you feel. dry spells are no joke."

you facepalm.

"no, really!" she continues, undeterred. "one time i went 3 months without dick thought i started having revelations from the heavens above."

you glare at her. "cut your shit, i'm serious! he was real and he looked exactly the same as the dream. maybe slightly taller and definitely hotter, but it was him."

she raises an eyebrow, not even trying to hide her amusement. "so, let me get this straight." she leans in, finally entertaining your story for a minute.

"you mean to tell me that you experienced textbook soulmate-ism; seeing a complete stranger in a dream and then accidentally bumping into him a few weeks later? that you’ve met in a past life, or that your souls are like, intertwined in some deeply meaningful, cosmic way? a destined interaction?" she mocks as she wiggles her fingers, mimicking magic.

she wiggles her fingers dramatically, mimicking magic, and you groan so loud it echoes.

turning on your heel, you storm back toward your room. you don't know why you even bothered to begin with.

"wait, wait!" she calls after you, cackling. "you know, taehyung's not dating anyone right now. want me to send you his number?"

you ignore her, marching faster.

"ooo, since you're psychic now, can you tell me my grade on tomorrow's test? or what my mom's cooking for lunch today?" she adds, trailing behind you like an annoying toddler.

you slam the door in her face so hard the hinges rattle.

serves her right.

you are going to kill your roommate.

one, for not believing you.

and two, for dragging you to a club where taehyung conveniently happened to be, and her only informing you as you were literally walking in.

he's not bad by any means, not at all. in fact, he's got the whole package. good looks, charismatic, talented and has men and women tripping over themselves for his attention.

your point is proven when you immediately spot him speaking to three women. you're no body language expert, but five more minutes of him entertaining them and they're gonna pounce on him.

you're just.. not interested.

you had met before at one of your roommate's work outings. you chatted for a bit, shared a drink. it took you, what? an hour? maybe less, to realize that friends were all you could ever be. the chemistry just wasn't there.

you don't actually hate your roommate for it, you know she just wants you to be happy. you're just irritated because you're so horny. and the only relief you've gotten in the past two years was your recent sex dream. that one touch was enough to send you spiraling into madness. she was right, dry spells really are no joke.

after 20 minutes of forced small talk, fake smiling, and one or maybe two shots later, you excuse yourself to the bathroom; thankful for any relief from this endless and agonizing night. horny and bored out of your mind do not go well together.

in front of the mirror, you stare at your reflection. get it together.

you fix your hair, touch up your makeup, and give yourself a little pep talk.

tonight this ends. you’re not walking out of here empty-handed.

be it taehyung or literally anyone else, someone is coming home with you. no more of this pathetic nonsense. your fingers deserve a break. so do your batteries.

as you dry your hands and exit the bathroom, you almost trip. before you faceplant into the floor, firm hands grab your waist, steading you.

you sigh in relief. a broken ankle definitely meant no dick tonight. you were that desperate.

"easy there," a voice says, rich and smooth like velvet and honey. sugar, spice and everything nice.

oh, no. no. no. no.

cosmic joke? this is a full on prank.

your guy, yet again.

at this point, you're convinced you're either in a simulation or someone is filming this for a prank show. whoever was controlling your character needed to grant you some reprieve. some grace, please!

he’s smiling down at you, eyes glinting with amusement. "are you ever gonna say anything?" he teases. "so far you've just ogled me and stayed completely silent. have we met before?"

your brain short-circuits. the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a dreamy and borderline pathetic sigh, "yes, we have."

"we have?" he asks, brows knit together in confusion, head tilting slightly.

"i think i'd remember you," he adds as he grins. that smug, boyish kind of grin.

your heart is doing somersaults, but your brain kicks in just in time. shaking your head quickly, you wave it off like you didn’t just sound like a lovesick creep.

"sorry, no we haven't." you force out a chuckle. "must have misheard."

idiot, idiot, idiot.

he laughs softly, extending his hand, "jeongguk. nice to meet you."

you take his hand, trying not to combust from the electricity that shoots up your arm. instant sparks. "sorry for being a freak. you just... reminded me of someone."

his eyes twinkle. "all good memories, i hope?"

you laugh, nerves making it come out a little breathy.

"thank you for saving me."

you internally cringe at your choice of words. throwing yourself off the nearest bridge would be less painful than this.

'thank you for saving me?' what is this, a disney movie? It’s not like he pulled you from a burning building.

he chuckles, unfazed, and waves it off like it’s no big deal. "see you around, then."

walking away, yet again, he leaves you burning up and in awe.

many drinks later, you end up on the dancefloor, your roommate, god knows where, doing god knows what with god knows who. you've learned not to ask.

you dance (the testosterone) your heart out. you close your eyes and you let go for the first time that night.

swaying your hips, you feel a hand slide around your waist from behind, firm and confident. a spark shoots through you, electrifying every nerve. you're caught off guard, but you don’t stop.

leaning into the touch, your body instinctively recognizes the connection. the hand tightens slightly, fingers splaying against your hipbone, guiding you in perfect sync with the music. the warmth of a chest presses against your back, and your skin prickles with electricity.

you turn your head slightly, stealing a glance at the stranger behind you. but when your eyes catch his—your breath hitches in your throat. all words die right then and there. futile devices.

turning around to face him, you throw your arms around his neck, pressing your body dangerously close to his. instinctively, he makes a home for his hands on your hips, and like an intruder, makes way for a muscular thigh right in between yours.

"i think you're gonna kill me." he murmurs, his voice low and laced with lazy lust.

looking up at him, you're unable to hide the need that kisses every delicate feature on your face. eyes twinkling, lips slightly agape, eyebrows knit.

you can’t take much more of this.

without thinking, your hand finds his, and you tug him toward the edge of the dance floor. he follows without hesitation, his grip firm, a clear indicator of impatience rivaling yours.

stumbling out of the club, the night air hits your skin like a slap. pure whiplash to your practically scorching hot skin. a giggling mess, your hands tangle with your hot dream man's.

as he calls for a cab, you stand behind him. emboldened by the alcohol and adrenaline, you rise on your tiptoes and press your lips to his neck; inhaling the scent of sweat and cologne. oh how you've missed that smell.

his breath hitches, but he doesn’t stop you.

minutes pass. no cabs. no patience.

without a word, he grabs your wrist, his touch sending another jolt through you, and pulls you into a dark alley.

holy.

shit.

holy shit?

before you can process it, his lips are on yours, hot and demanding. you moan into his mouth, equal parts pleasure and relief. your dark days are behind you. the curse has been broken, your dry spell is finally over.

his hands find your waist as you press into him, mouths moving like you’ve done this a hundred times before. then, with a swift motion, he spins you around, your front hitting the cool, rough wall. his body is a furnace against yours, hands exploring like a man starved.

you can take a wild guess what happened next. only this time, there was nothing to wake you up.

maybe you'll become a psychic medium for a living.

a few months later, you and jeongguk start officially dating.

it was nice to finally put a name to the face.

one lazy sunday afternoon, you're both sprawled on the couch, his head resting in your lap as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair. the soft hum of a movie plays in the background, but neither of you is really paying attention.

"you know i had a dream about you before i met you?" you blurt out, your voice casual but your heart racing the moment the words leave your mouth. sometimes you really are the very cause of your own demise.

jeongguk's eyes snap open, and he tilts his head to look up at you, a curious smile tugging at his lips. "come again?"

instantly regretting your admission, you try to brush it off, waving your hand dismissively as you shift, attempting to slide out from under him. "oh, it's nothing. forget i said anything."

"no, no. get back here," he chuckles, sitting up quickly and grabbing you by the waist before you can make your escape. with surprising ease, he spins you around, pulling you onto his lap.

"finish that thought," he says, his voice low and teasing, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"nothankyou!" you squeal, trying to wriggle free from his grasp and attempt to escape once more, but he’s stronger, and it's far too late now.

laughing, he hoists you up and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing as he gets up; trapping you in bicep jail.

"jeongguk! put me down!" you whine, your fists playfully pounding against his back as you kick your legs in protest. "let me oooouuutt!"

"i will," he says, taking slow, exaggerated steps toward the kitchen, "once you spill."

"fine, fine!" you huff dramatically. "put me down before my head explodes!"

he finally sets you down gently, but not without keeping his hands on your hips, his gaze locked onto yours with an expectant grin.

"well," you start, biting your bottom lip, "before i bumped into you that one time at the grocery store, i had a dream about you. and, uh… you looked exactly the same."

his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and for a moment, he’s silent. then, a wide grin spreads across his face. "that is the craziest thing you've ever said. and you say some pretty crazy shit, might i add." he leans in closer, fully invested. "what kind of dream?"

you feel your cheeks heat up, turning beet red as you avert your gaze.

"baby...?" he draws out the word, his tone laced with playful curiosity. his fingers start poking your sides, making you squirm and giggle. "what kind of dream?"

"well, what do you think?" you yelp, your embarrassment reaching new heights as you cover your face with your hands. you find yourself wishing once more the earth would swallow you whole.

still confused, he racks his brain for a few moments before it finally dawns on him.

and then, laughter erupts. hearty and unrestrained, gradually making his whole body shake. "so that's why you were so weird back then?"

"gee, thanks!" you shoot back, rolling your eyes, though you can’t help but laugh along with him.

"am i wrong?" he teases, raising an eyebrow. "you had your mouth open like a fish. i was half expecting a fly to stumble right into your mouth."

"you've made your pointtt," you groan, dragging out the last word dramatically. "it's not every day you meet the man from your wet dreams, so yes, forgive me if i was a little tongue-tied."

crossing your arms, you try to look annoyed, but your smile gives you away.

"oh, i'll knock that attitude out of you," he grins mischievously.

before you can react, he scoops you up again and walks you over to the couch, dramatically plopping you down with exaggerated care. you squeal, laughing uncontrollably as he pins you beneath him, his face hovering inches from yours. you immediately regret your life decisions.

you never believed dreams came true.

but you are so, so thankful this one did.

taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @dollyunjinz

[pillow-coded]

Five Hours

Summary: After weeks of pleading, Y/N is granted five rare hours alone with her husband, Spencer, inside prison for a conjugal visit. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) MDNI!!!!! Content Warning: Angsttttt but also kinda fluff and then angst again, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, prison!reid, crying during sex, aftercare. A/N: loosely based on CM S12, prison Reid arc. Word Count: 7.8K

According to the Oxford Dictionary, a conjugal visit is a visit to a prisoner, by the spouse of the prisoner, especially for sexual relations.

However, Definitions are cold and stripped of nuisance.

They don’t tell you about the ache in your chest that doesn’t fade with time, or the way silence settles into your bed when the person you love isn’t in it.

They don’t tell you how it feels to wash your hair and suddenly remember the way his fingers used to rinse the shampoo out for you, gentle like he was afraid you’d break.

So no. Sexual relations is definitely not why I spent two weeks calling people, filing paperwork, arguing with strangers in suits and uniforms.

It wasn’t for sex. Even if it happens, even if we need it like oxygen—that’s not why I did it.

I did it because Spencer’s been in prison for a month, and I don’t know how much longer I can go without holding him.

All I want is to hold him in my arms. To kiss the corner of his mouth. To brush those soft curls away from his forehead and whisper that he’s going to be okay—that no matter what this place is doing to him, he’s still himself.

But I’ve seen it happening. His eyes have been growing dimmer with every non-contact visit. That’s all they’ve allowed me—cold chairs, thick glass, a phone pressed to my ear while I watched him shrink in real time. The only people granted private visits until now were Emily, and Fiona.

And now, finally… me.

I pushed, pleaded, filed the paperwork, followed up, waited. Jumped through every hoop they put in front of me. Some of the guards smirked when they handed me the forms—like they thought I was here for something cheap, something selfish.

But I would’ve done anything to get this time. I did do everything for these five hours they gave us.

And now I’m being escorted down a long corridor toward the conjugal suite—a room designed to look almost like a motel bedroom. Almost normal. Cream-colored sheets, a nightstand, dim overhead lighting. A sad little lamp that tries too hard to feel homey. There’s even a fake window with a painted blue sky outside of it. Like that could fool someone who hasn’t seen the real one in thirty days.

My palms are sweating. My heart won’t stop pounding.

In just a few minutes, I’ll get to touch him. I’ll get to kiss him.

I’ll get to breathe him in, memorize the sound of his voice without static in the way. I’ll get to be his again, not through glass, not with guards watching, but here—in this tiny, borrowed pocket of time where the world outside doesn’t exist.

I didn’t tell him about the conjugal visit.

I wanted it to be a surprise.

I wanted to see his face soften the moment he sees me sitting on the bed. I wanted to watch the disbelief bloom in his eyes, see the guardedness fall away. Just for a second. Just long enough to let him remember he’s loved.

Just long enough to let him feel free—even if it’s only for five hours.

“The prisoner will be here in a few minutes,” The guard says, voice clipped, bored, like this is just another Tuesday. “We’ll call eventually, when your time has run out. If you do not answer this call, we will be coming in regardless of what you two are doing. Got that?”

I nod, throat tight.

She gives me a look—somewhere between warning and pity—then shuts the door behind her.

And just like that, I’m alone again.

In a room pretending to be a bedroom. Waiting for my husband like I’m not half shaking.

I glance at the mirror in the corner, force myself to sit on the bed—knees together, hands folded in my lap. I don’t want him to see the nerves first. I want him to see me. The real me. The one that still believes he’s coming home.

I smooth down my clothes and stare at the door like it might open by magic.

Any second now.

My fingers twist together in my lap. I force them to still. The bed creaks under me when I shift, and I flinch like I’ve broken something sacred. Everything feels too loud. Too sharp. Like the silence in here is made of glass and I might shatter it just by breathing.

Then—The sound of keys, a bolt turning, footsteps. My heart stumbles in my chest, the door opens.

And there he is.

He steps inside slow, cautious, eyes adjusting to the low light. For a second, he doesn’t see me. He’s still in that survival state—shoulders tense, gaze scanning for threats before comfort. His hair is longer, curls hanging low over his forehead. His jaw looks sharper, like he’s lost weight again. His posture is too straight, too stiff. His body has learned prison, and it shows.

And then he sees me—Really sees me.

His breath catches.

That’s when everything changes.

His eyes widen like he can’t believe I’m real, like maybe the prison food’s finally driven him to hallucinations. His whole face crumples—relief first, then disbelief, then something wordless and raw that makes my chest ache. He takes one shaky step forward.

“Y/N?” he breathes.

I nod, standing up slowly, cautiously, as if I might spook him.

“Surprise,” I whisper, smiling through the lump in my throat. “You didn’t think I’d let them keep me away forever, did you?”

He’s already moving.

Crossing the room in a few long, clumsy strides until his arms are around me—tight, desperate, anchoring. I don’t even remember closing the distance. We just fold into each other like we never learned how to be apart.

He buries his face in my neck. I feel him inhale deep, like he’s starving for something only I can give. His whole body trembles against mine.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers. “They didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t want them to,” I say softly, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform. “I wanted it to be a surprise”

He pulls back just far enough to look at me, his hands coming up to cup my cheeks like he needs to memorize every inch. There’s so much love in his eyes, but it’s cracked around the edges. Worn thin.

“You’re here,” he says, as if still not believing it. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here, baby,” I nod. “For five hours… I’m yours.”

His voice breaks on a sound that might be a laugh. Or a sob. I can't tell. I don’t think he can either.

Then he kisses me—soft at first, reverent, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he moves too fast. I kiss him back like I’ve been waiting for this every second of the last month. Because I have.

Because I’d wait forever just to feel this again.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against the crook of my neck. He clings to me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear—arms tightening around my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my dress. “I missed you so much.”

“So did I,” I whisper back, barely holding it together. I run my hands over his back, exploring every new ridge, every place this month has hollowed out. “So, so much.”

We’re still wrapped around each other when the door clicks again—followed by a voice that slices straight through the moment.

“Your wife’s already been informed,” the guard says dryly, arms crossed over his chest like he’s seen this scene too many times to care. “But I’ve gotta say it for the record: we’ll call in when your time is up. If you don’t answer the phone, we’re coming in. It’s protocol.”

He pauses for effect, then adds with an unimpressed glance toward the bed, “So please answer the call. We don’t want to walk in to see… well. You know.”

Spencer flinches, just slightly. Not out of embarrassment—out of habit. Like he’s bracing for punishment, even here, even now.

I feel his breath hitch against my skin. His fingers twitch where they hold me.

“We’ll answer,” I say flatly, shooting the guard a look that makes him shrug and back out without another word.

The door shuts again, but the spell is already bruised.

Spencer doesn’t pull away from me. If anything, he holds me tighter. I press a soft kiss to his temple, breathing him in.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, rocking us slightly like I’m trying to soothe both of us at once. “They’re not here now. It’s just you and me.”

“Just you and me…” he repeats, but it sounds more like a question. Like he’s trying the words on his tongue, testing if they’re real. If this is real. His voice is thick with disbelief, the kind that comes from a month of fluorescent lights, shouted orders, and not a single safe place to land.

I pull back slowly and meet his eyes. They’re wet—but not broken. Not yet. There's still a little spark behind them, flickering like a candle in wind.

I reach for his hand—cool and calloused from rough sheets and cold routines—and he lets me take it without hesitation. His fingers thread through mine like muscle memory.

“Come here,” I murmur.

And I lead him toward the bed.

It creaks when we sit, but we don’t notice. We’re too busy drinking each other in like we’ve been wandering through deserts and finally found water.

He looks around the room, almost bashful now. “This feels… surreal,” he says. “Like I’m not allowed to have this.”

I bump his knee with mine, gentle. “Well, you better enjoy it,” I say with a teasing smile, though my throat is tight. “I busted my ass trying to get this visit. Took a whole week of phone calls and paperwork and playing nice with people who looked at me like I was asking for too much.”

His eyes snap back to mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t be.” I squeeze his hand. “It was worth it the second I saw your face.”

He swallows hard, blinking faster now. I can tell he’s trying to stay in control—but emotion’s already slipping through the cracks.

“I’m sure I can get another visit,” I say softly, brushing my fingers against his. “But it might take a while. So for now… just let yourself have this. Please.”

He nods, slow and deliberate, like he’s promising me something sacred.

And then he leans in—forehead to mine, breath to breath—and for the first time in thirty days, we let the world fall away.

“How’d you manage to arrange this? A conjugal visit is rare in most of America.”

His thumb brushes over my cheek, barely there. His eyes are on my lips like he’s forgotten how kissing works but remembers that it mattered once.

I smile, just a little smug. “I know.”

“Seriously,” he says, brows knitting. “You must’ve pulled some impossible strings.”

“I did,” I admit. “There were forms. So many forms. And begging. And calling. And smiling at people I didn’t want to smile at.”

He huffs a laugh, the sound small but real. “You charmed the system?”

“I bullied the system,” I correct, grinning now. “Emily helped push it through once I got it on paper. Fiona found a loophole in the visitation code, and I… well, I gave one hell of a speech to the warden’s assistant.”

His mouth tilts up at the corners. “What kind of speech?”

“The kind that makes people uncomfortable if they say no,” I say, lifting a brow. “A little desperate. A little dramatic. Very persuasive.”

He laughs again—really laughs—and I swear I feel his body melt just a little more beside mine. Like the weight is starting to come off, molecule by molecule.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs.

“No,” I say, reaching up to trace the outline of his face. “I’m your wife… and your wife has been desperate to hold you again,”

And then, like gravity shifts between us—he kisses me.

Slow. Intentional. Like he’s trying to relearn me by feel alone.

He pulls back just slightly, his breath shaky against my lips. His forehead rests against mine again, eyes still closed like he’s afraid they’ll betray how close he is to breaking.

“I was terrified that you would forget about me,” he says, voice cracking on the edges.

My heart squeezes. I cup his face in both hands, forcing him to look at me. “Spence… how could you ever think that?”

“I don’t know…” He swallows hard, like the words are knives on the way out. “This place… it’s dark. It changes you. You start to doubt everything.”

His eyes shine wet. He doesn’t blink.

“My mind keeps going to places I’ve never dared to think of. I imagine you moving on. Laughing without me. Falling asleep next to someone who isn't waiting for a phone call to say goodnight.”

I shake my head fiercely. “No. That’s not real.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. But in here, knowing isn’t enough. The silence gets inside your head. It starts sounding like truth.”

I press my forehead to his, trying to pour every ounce of love I have back into him. “You haven’t lost me. You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to forget who I am,” he confesses, voice barely there. “And I’m scared I already am.”

“You’re Spencer,” I breathe. “You’re brilliant. And soft. And good. You’re mine. And no steel bars or sleepless nights or whispering doubts will ever take that from me.”

He closes his eyes. A single tear slides down his cheek, and I catch it with my thumb before it can fall too far. He’s holding back. Like he didn’t want to ruin the little time we had by breaking down.

“You’re still you,” I whisper again, like a prayer I refuse to stop saying. “Even here you’re you.”

And then I kiss him—deeper this time, slower—both hands buried in his hair like I’m trying to hold all the broken pieces together before they slip through my fingers.

When I pull back, he’s staring at me like I’ve just given him air.

“I think about you all the time,” I say softly, brushing my thumb across his cheekbone.

A real smile—small but real—tugs at his lips.

“I think about you too,” he murmurs, his voice steadier now. “All the time. Every second I can spare.”

He exhales, long and slow, like he’s trying to let go of something he’s been holding in for too long.

Then he looks at me with that kind of aching desperation only someone truly starved can have.

“Tell me…” he says. “Tell me something about the outside. Anything. I just want to hear your voice talk about something normal. Something real.”

I smile, blinking back tears, and thread our fingers together.

“Well…” I begin, letting my voice soften like we’re already under blankets at home, “Henry won the spelling bee.”

Spencer lets out a small, breathy laugh—surprised and tender. “He did? What was the word?”

“‘Ephemeral,’” I say, and that makes him laugh again, fuller this time, like it physically lifts something from his chest.

“Of course it was,” he murmurs, pride shining through the exhaustion in his eyes.

“And…” I glance at him playfully, “Penelope and Luke seem to have something going on.”

His eyebrows lift. “Really?”

“Really,” I nod, grinning now. “They think they’re subtle. They are not.”

He chuckles and shakes his head like he can’t believe he missed that part of the story—like he’s trying to stitch himself back into a life that still exists without him.

“And I…” I pause, brushing his knuckles with my thumb. “I learned a new recipe. A fancy pasta dish with fresh herbs and this creamy lemon sauce. I think you’d love it.”

He closes his eyes and hums, like he’s trying to taste it in his mind.

“I can’t wait to make it for you,” I add, quiet now. “When you come home.”

That makes him open his eyes again. They're glassy, full of something that isn't quite sadness—but close. Hope, maybe. Or the kind of grief that comes from knowing hope is still possible.

He blinks once, then cracks a crooked smile.

“I can’t believe you managed to make a meal without burning the kitchen.”

I scoff, nudging his knee with mine. “Oh, like you’re any better. The only thing you’ve successfully cooked is cup noodles.”

“Excuse you,” he says, mock-offended. “I’ve made grilled cheese. Twice.”

“Spencer, you set the second one on fire.”

“That was a structural issue with the toaster oven.”

“You tried to grill it in the toaster oven.”

He shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Details.”

I laugh, and it feels like something sacred. It’s small, but it fills the space between us like warmth in winter. For a second, we’re not in a prison conjugal suite. We’re just… us.

He watches me like he’s memorizing the way I laugh. Like he doesn’t know when he’ll get to hear it again.

And then, softer—barely above a whisper—“God, I missed this. You. Us.”

My smile fades into something quieter, deeper. “You missed us?” I murmur, a hint of competition laced in my voice. “Spence… I can’t stop thinking about you. Twenty-four seven. You’re all I think about.”

Spencer’s heart swells at the words, something warm blooming in the hollowed-out space inside his chest. He knows this is hard on me—knows I’m carrying the weight of both of us on the outside—but still, hearing it… hearing that I ache for him just as much—it’s almost too much.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” he says, and it comes out like a confession. “All the time. I just… I wish I could hold you, kiss you, touch you. I miss everything about you.”

My hand reaches for his cheek, thumb brushing beneath his eye. “Honey… don’t cry.”

He blinks. His brows pull together slightly, like the realization only just hit. He hadn’t even noticed the tears until my touch caught them.

He wipes at his face with a shaky hand, a flush of embarrassment rising. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “I just… I can’t believe this is happening. That I’m stuck in here. That you’re out there, living our life without me. And I can’t be with you.”

My fingers curl gently under his chin, coaxing him to meet my gaze.

“You are with me,” I whisper. “Right now. I’m here. You’re not alone, Spencer. Not even for a second.”

He leans into my palm like it’s the only steady thing in the world.

“I’m here now,” I say again, firmer. “And for the next five hours, I’m not going anywhere.”

I lean in and press soft kisses to his cheeks, one after the other, catching the tears as they fall. Salt and skin. Love and ache. I kiss each one like I can take it away—like I can undo the weight this place has put on him, one touch at a time.

He lets out a breath of a laugh—a soft, bittersweet chuckle that trembles in the space between us.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter this time, like he knows it’s unnecessary but still feels the need to say it.

“Don’t be,” I whisper, brushing my nose against his.

He tightened his hold on me, his fingers trailing slowly up and down my back—gentle, reverent, like he was trying to memorize me. Every curve, every freckle, every breath I took beneath his touch.

Then he lifted his head, propping himself up on one elbow to study my face. His eyes softened as he traced the line of my jaw with his fingertips, feather-light and full of quiet awe.

His gaze drifted downward, lingering at my neck. He leaned in, pressing a delicate kiss to the pulse point just above my collarbone. It was slow. Intentional. Like he was grounding himself in the rhythm of my heartbeat.

“You know,” he murmured against my skin, “I dream of you every night.”

He kissed me again, lower this time. Another soft press to the side of my throat, then another—each one careful, reverent. Like prayer.

I shivered beneath him as his hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers skating across my skin. His touch was feather-light, almost hesitant, as if I might break under it. He brushed the curve of my hip, pausing when he felt me tremble.

“You do?” I whispered.

“I do,” he breathed. “It’s been hell in here. A constant loop of missing you. Of dreaming about you. Wishing I could hold you, touch you, just… be with you.”

His hand moved to the front of my shirt now, fingers brushing each button with aching slowness. He began to undo them, one by one, savoring every inch of exposed skin like it was a miracle.

“Spence…”

“Shhh,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss me—soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world. “Just let me look at you.”

His hands moved reverently across my body, rediscovering me inch by inch. His mouth followed—kissing along my shoulders, the hollow of my collarbone, the gentle rise of my chest. Each touch was a vow. Each kiss, a homecoming.

I let out a breathless laugh, unable to help it. “This isn’t looking,” I teased.

He smiled against my skin, warm and unhurried. “Then let me look with my hands.”

He hummed, his fingers undoing the last of the buttons before slipping it off my shoulders. He paused then—really paused—his gaze sweeping over my bare torso like it was something sacred. Like I was something sacred.

No hunger. Just awe.

He leaned down, lips brushing softly against the skin just above my navel. Then he kissed lower—slow, tender kisses that trailed along my stomach, his tongue flicking out now and then to taste my skin. He moved upward again, mouth worshipping a path back to my chest, my throat, until he hovered above me—eyes burning, but gentle.

“Honey…” I whispered, voice breathy and reverent. Like the word itself was a prayer.

Spencer gazed at me adoringly, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the setting sun filtering through the small window of the visitation room. In a voice low and thick with emotion, he murmured.

"Beautiful... You're so beautiful, Y/N."

His fingertips traced the delicate curve of my cheek, slow and deliberate, like he was carving the shape of me into his memory. He leaned in closer, nose brushing mine, breath mingling with my own.

"I want to remember every detail of you," he whispered. "The softness of your skin. The rise and fall of your chest when you breathe. I’m terrified of forgetting… of losing this. Of losing you."

Coming from Spencer—someone with an eidetic memory—those words shattered something in me. He could recall entire textbooks word for word, yet here he was, terrified that even his perfect mind wouldn’t be strong enough to hold on to us.

His eyes fluttered shut, and a single tear slipped free, trailing down the sharp line of his cheek. But still, he didn’t stop. His mouth continued its journey, kissing down my neck with a reverence that made me ache—each kiss warm, wet, and trembling. Each one a vow.

His hands drifted lower, abandoning the bare skin of my torso to fumble at the waistband of my pants. I didn’t hesitate. My hands moved to meet his, tugging gently at the fabric of his prison uniform, desperate to strip away everything that stood between us—between now and before.

“You’ll never lose me,” I murmured, voice firm even as emotion caught in my throat. “We’re gonna get you out. I promise.”

“Promise?” he asked, forehead pressing to mine, like he needed the contact to believe it was real. Like he was anchoring himself to my warmth.

“Yes,” I whispered, resting my palm over his heart. “Promise.”

Something in him broke then—not in a destructive way, but in a release. Like hearing those words gave him permission to let go. To feel. To want. To have me, even just for tonight.

He kissed me again, slow and deep. Not hungry. Not rushed. Like a memory being rewritten—carefully, reverently. His hands moved over my body like he was afraid he’d miss something if he moved too fast.

I peeled off the top half of his uniform, it was easier than I expected—like the fabric was eager to fall away. I wanted to touch him. To feel all of him again. But then I saw them.

The bruises.

They weren’t clustered, but they were everywhere. Spaced out and blooming beneath his skin—angry shades of violet and blue, like ugly secrets painted across his ribs and hips.

“Spencer—” I breathed, my voice catching with horror. My hand reached instinctively for his torso, but he stopped me.

His fingers closed gently, but firmly, around my wrist.

“Please don’t,” he whispered, voice raw with shame. “Please just… let’s not talk about it. Not right now. Just... let me have you. Please, Y/N.”

His eyes found mine—desperate and pleading—not for pity, not even for comfort, but for escape. For something pure. Something real. Something to remind him that he hadn’t been ruined completely. That there was still softness in the world, and it lived here, in this room, in me.

So I leaned in and kissed his forehead. Then the bridge of his nose. Then each of his cheeks—tender, deliberate—until I had touched every part of him that looked like it might be hurting.

When I pulled back, I met his eyes again and gave the smallest nod. No words. Just yes. Just I'm yours.

Then I kissed him.

He cupped my face the moment our lips met, like he needed the contact to tether himself. And he kissed me back like he needed it—like this was his last breath and he chose to spend it here, on my lips. There was nothing hurried about it. No urgency. Just heat and devotion, building slow and deep beneath the surface.

His hands slipped down to my hips, guiding me gently onto my back. He followed, hovering just above, not rushing—just looking. His gaze roamed my face like it was the first time he’d seen it. Or maybe the first time he was allowing himself to believe it was really here. That I was really here.

“I love you,” he whispered again, as if repetition might stitch the moment into reality. “So much.”

“I love you more,” I whispered back.

His hand slid down the soft curve of my side—the one he knew by heart, yet had missed so deeply during his exile. He touched me like he was trying to memorize me all over again, as if he didn’t quite believe I was real. As if this was the dream.

His forehead pressed gently against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. I felt the brush of his eyelashes against my cheek, and then his voice—ragged, trembling—barely a whisper in my ear.

“Stay with me,” he breathed, half plea, half prayer. “Stay with me, Y/N.”

My heart clenched at the sound of my name. Stay with him... God, I wished more than anything in the world that I could. But our clock was ticking—fast. Too fast. That’s how time worked in here. Warped. Cruel. We had a couple hours left, and it already felt like sand slipping through our fingers.

“I’ll stay with you,” I whispered, breathless, trying to hold on to the fantasy that we could keep this—this closeness, this moment. “I’ll stay with you forever.”

And with our bodies entwined, he entered me. Gently. Slowly. Like it had been years. Like it hurt to be apart, and this—this was how we stitched ourselves back together.

My fingers tangled in his hair, soft and slightly damp with sweat, and his arms tightened around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer—like he was trying to erase every inch of space between us. Seal me to him completely.

The world outside vanished. No guards. No concrete walls. No ticking clock.

Just us.

Just breath.

Just the steady rhythm of our hearts beating in sync, echoing through the small, borrowed room.

“Do you remember…” I whispered against his lips, the words tumbling out in broken pants, my body trembling beneath his. The feeling of him inside me—of us—was almost too much. “Our first time?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes locking onto mine with a kind of reverence that stole the breath from my lungs.

“Every second,” he said, his voice thick, trembling. “Etched in my mind. In my soul.”

I chuckled, but my voice cracked right in the middle of it. “You head-butted me when you came.”

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, forehead dropping to rest against mine. “I was nervous,” he whispered, smiling despite the tears still threatening at the corners of his eyes.

“You were flustered,” I corrected, running my fingers through his hair. “And apologizing for like ten minutes while I couldn’t stop laughing.”

He shook his head, burying his face in the curve of my neck. “I still think about that. How embarrassed I was. And how beautiful you looked… even when you were laughing at me.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you,” I said softly, smiling into the memory. “I was laughing because you were embarrassed over an accident. It was sweet.”

His arms tightened around me, pulling me closer—like he didn’t want to miss even a second of this. His movements grew slower, more deliberate. We hovered at the edge of everything—not just release, but the kind of closeness that makes the world go quiet.

“I think…” I whispered, voice catching as I pressed a kiss to his temple, “I think that’s when I realized I was in love with you.”

Spencer stilled, just for a moment—his breath faltering against my skin. Then he looked up at me, eyes wide, glassy with unshed emotion.

“You did?” he asked, barely audible.

I nodded, holding him close. “You were so sweet. So nervous. You cared so much about how I felt—how I was. It was messy and imperfect and real. And I just... I knew.”

He kissed the side of my neck, a soft, trembling press of lips.

Spencer lost himself in the sensations—in the feel of me beneath him, around him, enveloping him. Every curve, every dip, every soft swell of my body pressed against his skin, and it was almost too much to bear. It was perfect. It was everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d ever dreamed of.

His movements grew more urgent, more deliberate—driven not by lust, but by a desperate instinct to make sure I knew. That I felt it. All of it.

“I love you,” he gasped, the words torn from his throat—raw, broken, honest. He needed me to know. To understand. To feel it in the way he touched me, the way he kissed me, the way he breathed me in like he couldn’t get enough.

His control was slipping fast, the edges of the world blurring until there was nothing left but this. Me. This moment. This love, in its purest, most desperate form.

I didn’t want it to end.

But it was building—rising, unstoppable.

I could feel him unraveling in my arms, every breath he took getting shakier, every movement deeper—more desperate. Like he was pouring everything he had into me. Every ache. Every prayer. Every silent scream he’d swallowed behind prison walls.

“I love you,” he said again, and it was almost a cry this time—like the words had clawed their way out of him, like they couldn’t stay buried a second longer.

“I love you too,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

His forehead pressed against mine, and for a moment, he stilled—our hearts racing together, bodies trembling as if trying to memorize the exact shape of each other. Then I felt it—that last, broken wave washing over him. The way he buried his face into my neck, his fingers digging into my hips, his whole body surrendering to the feeling as he finally let go.

I held him through it. Anchored him. Whispered his name like a balm.

He collapsed onto me, not heavy, just present. Just Spencer. His breath was warm against my collarbone, soft and uneven. His arms never loosened, like if he let go, I might slip through his fingers again.

I cradled the back of his head with one hand and traced lazy shapes across his back with the other. Stars. Spirals. Infinity signs.

He didn’t speak, not at first. Just breathed. Listened to my heartbeat. Grounded himself in the soft rhythm of the only thing that hadn’t left him.

Then he whispered, “Please don’t let this be a dream.”

His voice was so quiet, I barely caught it—just a fragile breath against my skin.

I tightened my arms around him, kissed the crown of his head. “It’s not a dream,” I murmured. “I’m here. We’re here.”

His breath stuttered, and I felt the tremble in his shoulders before he pulled in a deep, shaky inhale.

We lay like that for a while. Twined together. Skin on skin. Nothing but our bodies and the quiet hum of fluorescent lights overhead. It wasn’t a hotel room, or a bed at home. But right now, it was the safest place in the world. Because he was in my arms. Because he still felt like Spencer.

I ran my fingers through his hair, curling soft strands behind his ear. “You’re okay,” I whispered. “You’re okay now.”

His body trembled against mine—not from what we’d just done, but from the release of something heavier. Like tension stored in his muscles had finally found an exit.

He was quiet for a long time.

Then, barely above a whisper: “You know I have an eidetic memory. I can remember what you wore the first time we met, what song was playing the first time we kissed…”

He swallowed, voice catching.

“But lately, I… I’ll be lying in bed and I can’t recall the exact sound of your laugh. Or how your hair smelled that morning you fell asleep on the couch. I know it’s in there, but it’s like I have to dig for it, like it’s fading behind noise.”

I felt him tense again, like he was waiting for me to flinch. I didn’t.

I pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “It’s not fading. You’re just exhausted. You don’t have to hold on so tight, Spence. I’m here. I’ll remind you of everything.”

He nodded against my forehead, the motion subtle, like it took effort just to believe me.

We shifted slowly until we lay side by side, still tangled under the thin blanket. His body curled slightly toward mine—unconscious, like instinct. Like a plant bending toward light.

I rested my head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. It was slower now. Grounded.

But I could still feel it—the tension he hadn’t released. The thoughts that hadn’t been said.

For a long moment, we just lay there in the hush, the kind of silence that feels full, not empty. His fingers brushed absentmindedly against my arm, over and over, like a reflex. Like he was still making sure I was real.

Then his voice, low and raw, cut through the quiet.

“I don’t even know if I did it.”

I stilled.

His breath hitched, just slightly. “The murder. The setup. Whatever this is. There are hours of that night that I… I don’t remember. And that terrifies me.”

He swallowed hard, like the words had burned on their way out.

“I keep thinking—what if the reason I don’t remember isn’t because someone drugged me, or manipulated me, or because I was targeted—what if it’s because I did it? What if I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be?”

He laughed then—quiet and bitter. A single breath through his nose that didn’t even try to disguise the self-loathing underneath.

“I mean, isn’t that the irony? The guy with the perfect memory, the one who can’t forget anything… can’t remember the one thing that could save him.”

My hand found his, instinctively, lacing our fingers together.

“Spencer—” I whispered.

But he shook his head, eyes glued to the ceiling. “I’ve been going over it again and again. I’ve reconstructed the timeline. I’ve looked at it like I would any other case. But when it’s me... everything blurs. I can't trust my own mind. And if I can’t trust that, then what do I have left?”

He turned to look at me then—finally—and it gutted me.

Not because of the tears in his eyes. But because he wasn’t fighting them anymore.

“You didn’t do it,” I said, firm despite the lump in my throat.

His brow furrowed, bitter and disbelieving. “How can you be so sure of that? I mean—I went to Mexico without telling you. I’ve been lying. Hiding things. Being secretive about this whole mess since the beginning.” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s not exactly the behavior of an innocent man.”

I reached for his hand again, squeezing it tightly. “Honey, I know you didn’t do it,” I said softly. “Because I know you. As cliché as that might sound.”

He turned his face slightly toward the wall, like he couldn’t bear to look at me while I said it.

“I know the way your voice goes quiet when you’re scared,” I continued. “I know the way your hands shake when something feels out of your control. I know how hard you try to do the right thing even when it hurts you. I know how much you love. How deeply. How fiercely. And I know you would never—never—hurt someone like that.”

I swallowed hard, pressing my forehead to the side of his.

“You're not perfect. You mess up. You shut people out. But Spencer... you are not a killer.”

His jaw clenched, a tear slipping down the side of his face and into the pillow.

“But what if I’m broken?” he asked, and it came out so small, it didn’t sound like him at all. “What if prison is breaking me, and I don’t even realize how far it’s gone?”

“Then we’ll get through it together.” I whispered. “I’m not saying I can put you back together, because I cant… but I sure as hell will try to help you through this.”

He let out a shaky breath—half a sob, half a sigh—and pulled me into him like I was the only thing tethering him to the world.

We stayed like that for a while, curled into each other. No sound but the ticking clock we were both trying to ignore.

But I felt the shift in him—the way his grip loosened, the way his breath hitched again. He was spiraling. Quietly, but fully.

I reached up and cupped his face in my hands.

“Spence, look at me.”

He hesitated, then let his eyes find mine. They were glassy, full of fear. Shame. Exhaustion.

“You're still in there,” I whispered. “Even when you feel lost. Even when your mind starts telling you lies. You're still in here.”

I took his hand gently and guided it to the center of my chest.

“Feel that?”

He nodded, lips trembling.

“That’s yours,” I whispered. “You’re still in here with me.”

His face crumpled then, and I wiped the tears that spilled over before they could fall too far. My thumbs brushed his cheekbones, my forehead resting lightly against his.

“You’re not alone,” I breathed. “You never were.”

We held each other like that as the minutes slipped away from us. Soon enough the minutes turned to hours, all spent with us talking and holding each-other.

I didn’t want to remind him of the time, but it reminded us anyway.

The sharp ring of the phone on the nightstand cut through the silence.

I flinched.

Spencer didn’t move at first. Just stared at it. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled like the air had been knocked out of him.

I reached for it, hand trembling.

“Time’s up,” the voice on the other end said. No warmth. No pause. “You have five minutes to dress and prepare the inmate for escort.”

I didn’t respond. Just hung up.

Spencer sat up slowly, moving like his bones didn’t want to cooperate. Like gravity had gotten meaner in the last hour.

I helped him dress, my hands moving on autopilot—straightening seams, buttoning cuffs, smoothing down the stiff collar of his prison uniform even though it didn’t matter. It was a pointless gesture, but I needed the contact. I needed something to do. Something to get my mind off this awful feeling of leaving him.

My fingers trembled, clumsy and obvious, and I hated that I couldn’t stop it. That I couldn’t hold it together for him, even now.

He watched me the entire time. Quiet. Still. His hands stayed at his sides, balled gently into fists like he was physically holding himself back from touching me. His jaw was tight, lips parted slightly like there was something he wanted to say—but couldn’t.

Then he stood.

And I stood.

And something in the room shifted. Broke.

I stepped into him without thinking—without breathing—and he caught me like he’d been waiting for it. My arms wrapped around his torso, and his came around me just as fast, one hand splayed across the back of my head, the other curling around my spine like he was afraid I’d disappear.

I pressed my face into his chest and let myself fall apart. The sob started in my throat and cracked its way out, ugly and trembling and loud. I didn’t try to muffle it. Not anymore. My whole body shook with it, and he just held me tighter, swaying us gently like he could rock us back in time.

“I don’t want you to go,” I choked out, the words barely making it past my grief. “I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I know,” he whispered. His voice sounded scraped raw, like he’d been crying on the inside for weeks. Maybe he had.

He kissed the top of my head, soft and lingering. Then my temple. Then my lips—a kiss with no pressure, no heat. Just ache. Just love. His eyes were wide open the whole time, like he didn’t want to blink. Like he didn’t want to miss me for even a second.

Then the knock came.

Two sharp taps against the door. Not rude, but not kind either. It was the sound of routine. The sound of time’s up.

Spencer stilled. I felt the breath leave his lungs like he’d been punched. His arms didn’t drop right away. He lingered, like his body hadn’t caught up with what had to happen next.

Then, slowly, he stepped back. Not because he wanted to.

Because he had to.

His eyes darted over me like he was taking inventory—my face, my hands, my mouth. He was memorizing again. Storing me somewhere safe.

And then he turned toward the door.

But just before it opened, he paused.

He turned back, and for a moment, we just looked at each other.

I was standing there, my hands on the hem of my shirt, clutching it like it could keep me together. My tears had blurred everything, but not enough to lose him. Never enough to lose him.

His face was unreadable—but not empty. It was full. Of everything he couldn’t say. Of every goodbye he couldn’t bear to speak aloud.

His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for me again.

But he didn’t.

And then the door opened.

He looked at me one last time.

And then he was gone.

[eufezco]

HEART TO HEART — FINNICK ODAIR x FEM!READER

Synopsis — It's hard to get your life back on track when the Capitol has gotten inside your head but Finnick is there to help you. You were enjoying a party in District 13 when you discovered something that triggered you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ And I break down, then he's pulling me in. In a world of boys, he's a gentleman ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Finnick looked at Katniss and considered himself a lucky man.

Although both of them had managed to get back the loves of their lives, their situations now were quite different from what they were used to. Finnick now looked at Peeta and realized how the Capitol had completely destroyed the friend he made in the games, making him incapable of telling the difference between what was real and what the Capitol put in his head. Finnick saw the sadness grow in Katniss' eyes as she and Peeta couldn't spend more than five minutes together without him wanting to jump on her neck.

You, on the other hand, had your moments of lucidity.

Finnick considered himself lucky for being able to enjoy the person you were before the Capitol took you, but the longer those moments lasted, the worse your breakdowns were.

Even though he considered himself luckier than Katniss, it wasn't being easy for him either. He hated to see you fighting the medical team from District 13 while they were trying to inject you with a sedative and the way he had to hold you so they could do it. He hated to see you with your hands and legs tied to the bed as you tried to free yourself from the straps that held you to the mattress. He hated to see your eyes red with rage, the way you flinched when someone made an unexpected move next to you, and how you could not help but be alert to everything that was going on around you.

But Finnick also appreciated when he saw you smile, or talking to someone who wasn't him, or seeing that you had changed your clothes that day or enjoying your meal in the dining room. The way your eyelashes fluttered when he spoke to you like he was the most magnificent thing you had ever seen, how you were always looking to have some sort of physical contact with him whether it was sitting too close at the table or something more subtle like seeking for his hand in the crowd as you listened to the words that Alma Coin pronounced.

The Capitol caused irreparable damage but they had not been able to take everything from you.

―Let's give a huge round of applause to Sarah and Mike from District 11!

The two siblings had been singing since dinner was over along with their band. The lights in the dining room were dimmer, not the cold white ones that gave you a headache every time you went inside. They had set up a small stage and some decorations on the ceiling. Alma Coin knew that Christmas was close and wanted to do something special to raise people's spirits, and it seemed to be working because after dinner, people had stayed to listen to the siblings sing, and some had even encouraged to go out and dance.

―We still have time for a couple more songs, any requests? ―The boy spoke into the microphone, looking at the audience.

It was your hand that rose.

Finnick and Katniss who were sitting at the table with you looked at each other. You got up from the table and walked to the stage, well, you didn't feel your feet moving on the floor, it was more like you were floating. You were enjoying the little concert so much that you had managed to remember all the lyrics of the songs that they had performed when just a few days ago you couldn't even remember your name, your feet moved under the table following the rhythm of the instruments and you even hummed some of the words.

Both siblings approached the edge of the stage and bent down to listen to the title of the song you were asking for. They looked at each other, satisfied, and more than approving your request. You went back to your seat at the table, happy, and before Katniss and Finnick could ask about the song, the little girl called your name through the microphone.

―Why don't you come and sing with us? ―She asked you in her sweet voice. All the people in the dining room were waiting for your answer, some you knew were encouraging you to come up like Haymitch and Effie, and others you knew were judging you just by the way their eyes were on you like Gale, but you didn't care because since your return you had never wanted anything so much as to get on that stage with those two kids.

Finnick held your hand, his eyebrows drawn together. ―Are you sure?

You nodded and showed him a little smile, reassuring him.

They welcomed you with smiles and sweet gestures to show you where to stand. They had placed a microphone in the middle of the two siblings for you.

―May I? ―You asked for the guitar the young girl was holding. She showed you a smile and gave it to you. The guitar felt out of place in your hands, as if it was a stranger and it was the first time you were meeting each other. That was not the truth, the truth was that you had been playing the guitar for as long as you could remember. You liked to play it for the children at District 4 while they sat around the campfire in the sand accompanied by Finnick and they sang with you. But now it all seemed so far away and the instrument felt odd in between your fingers.

You coughed to clear your throat without realizing that you did it right into the microphone. Finnick smiled at how innocent that had been and you smiled embarrassed. ―Sorry.

The two siblings from District 11 were looking at you with their big eyes and with smiles of comfort on their faces, waiting for you to start singing but all those people staring at you was all you could think about. You couldn't remember how the lyrics started.

Finnick nodded at you from the audience.

Can't take my past Can't take my history

The little girl sang for you. There was a friendly expression on her face. Her eyebrows were raised as she was singing the beginning of the song and she nodded as she looked at you, trusting that you knew the words and helping you with her kind gesture to find them.

You could take my pa But his name's a mystery

Her brother continued singing. A similar expression was on his face. Apart from your friends and Finnick, you had trouble finding people who trusted you in District 13. You didn't blame them because even you found it hard to trust yourself.

Nothing you can take from me Was ever worth keeping Nothing you can take Was ever worth keeping

Your voice didn't sound as you expected, it was still the same sweet voice as always. You expected to have completely destroyed it after all the screaming you did at the Capitol, but no, your voice was still there, just as Finnick remembered it. He was trying very hard not to burst into tears because he knew you were watching him.

The band played the song perfectly on their instruments while you tried to follow them on the guitar and more people listening to the lively rhythm of the song came out and danced in the center of the dining room.

Can't take my charm Can't take my humor You can't take my wealth 'Cause it's just a rumor Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping

Those lines you were singing meant so much, it was like pulling the middle finger to the Capitol. He had never seen you so happy since before the Quarter Quell. There was a smile on your lips while you sang, your body moved to the rhythm of the son, your hands moved skilfully on the guitar, and the boy and the girl from District 11 danced on the stage around you.

―Come on. ―Katniss stood and Finnick looked up at her with his green eyes glassy thanks to the tears.

―Come on where? ―Finnick asked.

―We're gonna dance.

Katniss took his hands and dragged him to the dance floor.

Thinking you're so fine, thinking you can have mine Thinking you're in control Thinking you'll change me, maybe rearrange me Think again, if that's your goal

You laughed into the microphone watching them and you handed the little girl her guitar back. You came down from the stage to join them. Katniss stepped back when she saw you coming and you followed Finnick's movements. He had always been a very good dancer so you let him lead you. You twirled around, laughing, until you were so dizzy that you had to wrap your arms around Finnick's neck, your fingers digging into his hair while his arms went around your waist.

―You were amazing. ―He told you, speaking a little louder so that you could hear him over the music. You hugged him again.

―I love you so much.

Finnick cupped both of your cheeks and kissed you. ―I love you too. ―He said before the group of little girls pulled you by the arm so you'd dance with them.

He kept dancing or something like that with Katniss but with his eyes fixed on you. The girls were being so nice; two of them held your hands while the other two were dancing on their own. Their hairs were tied up in braids and they even asked you if they could braid yours later.

But all of a sudden, you let go of their hands and took a few steps backward, bumping into the people dancing. The girls looked at you worried, had they done something wrong? ―No, no, no. ―You mumbled to yourself.

Finnick stopped and approached you quickly, pushing people out of his way when he saw the change in your mood. He took your face in between his hands, looking for your eyes but they were focused on something that wasn't him. You pushed him once his hands cupped your cheeks, only making eye contact with him for a few seconds and then going back to focus on something else.

When Finnick decided to follow your gaze, he felt a wave of heat form in his lower body and rise to his head. Cressida was behind Castor, directing how the shots of you dancing with the girls should look like. By that time you already left the room.

You tried to record a propo a few days after your arrival in District 13. Heavensbee, but especially Coin, were very insistent that you should do it. They said that your rescue and your dedication to the revolution would bring hope to the people resisting in the districts. You weren't too sure about it, much less Finnick and Katniss, who could see how bad was your state to be exposed to something like that.

You were still in a daze, confused with everything that was going on, and very weak physically when you stood in front of the camera in the ruins of District 13 covered with white roses. The smell of the flowers made you fall to your knees in the debris before Finnick could catch you and throw up everything you had eaten since you were taken out of the Capitol.

―I'm okay, I can do this. ―You said, wiping your mouth with the cuff of your uniform, but it was not true and you found out that when you got in front of the camera. Castor pointed the lens at you while Cressida repeated behind him what you were supposed to say. The spotlights were on you and also were the eyes of the president herself, who had come to the surface to see you film the propo, and suddenly you were back at the Capitol, sitting in front of Caesar Flickerman, drugged to the point where you could not remember your name just the words they'd been repeating for you to say during the interview. Your outfit was tight, your face was covered with powder and make-up so that the bruises would not be visible.

―Don't make me regret rescuing you. ―Alma Coin said to you with a smile on her face before the propo. Something similar to what he told you when the Capitol took you out of the arena.

―Don't make me regret not killing you.

After that day, only one type of images of you was broadcast for the rest of the districts to see and they were of you living your life in District 13, recording you when you didn't notice and taking advantage of the moments when you were doing well to show it to the rest of the nation and obviously, without your consent.

Finnick was not happy with that decision and he made sure to make it clear at the meeting at which it was discussed, shouting, running his hands over his face, offering himself to do all the propos they wanted. He was desperate to get them to let you recover in peace.

Katniss agreed with Finnick. She did not like the idea of turning you into a product to fool people into thinking that everything was fine, much less without having your approval. Haymitch and Effie were silent but neither did they agree with what Alma Coin wanted to do with you and Beetee suggested other options but nothing was as valuable to Alma as your image.

The only ones who openly agreed with Heavensbee and Coin were Cressida and Gale. She said that it would be good for the spirit of rebellion and that they would do it so discreetly that you would never know. On the other hand, it seemed like Gale had a lot to say even though he didn't know you at all, and because of that, he ended up in the infirmary that afternoon after he replied to Finnick's complaints by saying:

―There are times when we have to do things we don't want to do, you should know that better than anyone else.

And Finnick couldn't help himself and get up from his seat and before Gale could finish speaking Finnick's fist was already against his cheekbone. That same hand with which Finnick hit Katniss' friend was now smacking Castor's camera into the floor, a gasp could be heard from the people who had stopped dancing to see what was happening. Finnick pointed at Cressida with his index finger, threateningly.

―I warned you to keep that shit away from her.

Katniss was fast to intervene, stepping in between Finnick and the woman. She looked at Cressida with pure rage but knew she couldn't do anything with all those people watching ―Go find her.

Finnick approached the girls you had been dancing with. He knelt by their side. ―Did you see where she went? ―He asked kindly to them, perfectly hiding his nervousness. One of them pointed at one of the doors and he immediately knew where you were. He flashed a smiled to her as a thank you.

―Have we done something wrong? ―She played with her hands.

―No, she was having lots of fun with you. ―Finnick caressed the hair at the top of the little girl's head and stood on his feet.

―When you find her, please tell her we still want to braid her hair.

You were sitting on the floor, holding your legs close to your chest. You had already hidden in that place several times before. It was Katniss who found the first time because it was the same place where she would hide right after she was rescued.

You moved back and forth, mumbling words that Finnick could not decipher, and with your head down, your forehead resting on your arms. When you heard Finnick's footsteps getting closer, you tried to escape him, crawling backward and watching as he quickly approached so that you couldn't get too far away. He fell to his knees in front of you, grabbing your cheeks again to make you look at him.

―It's me. It's Finnick.

You analysed his face, your eyes moving fast across his face looking for any friendly features on that face but all you could see was the face of a traitor. Your lips trembled as they continued to mumble I don't think I can forgive him for what he's doing, Caesar. I didn't know Finnick Odair was like that, I didn't know he would join the rebellion. What you do in the games is one thing but what you do outside the arena is what defines you.

―You're safe. We're in District 13, you're not there anymore.

You're right, Caesar. He has tricked me into thinking he was someone he is not. I thank president Snow everyday for helping me realize.

―You're from District 4. We live together. Our house is near to the beach. You won the 72th Hunger Games. We went back to the arena for the Quarter Quell. The Capitol took you. I'm Finnick Odair. I was your mentor along with Max.

If he were watching this I would tell him to think for himself. It's not too late to start doing things right and stop this war, and if he is unrepentant and this has always been his true self, Caesar, I think I may have never lov...

―You're here with us and we will protect you. Katniss is here at District 13 and so are Johanna and Peeta.

...I think I may have never lo...

―You're okay, baby.

...I may have never...

You hugged Finnick tightly against you, your eyes wide open and your hands shaking from the strength you were putting into holding him to be able to feel he was real. ―I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what's going on. I feel like I'm losing my mind. ―You cried.

Finnick shook his head while he held you almost as strongly as you held him. He kept whispering sweet words until he felt how your body began to relax. Finnick carefully pulled you away from him so he could use his thumbs to wipe away the tears running down your cheeks. ―It's fine, I'm here with you. It's not your fault, they've done horrible things to you but you're with me now, you're safe. They will have to go over my dead body to get their hands on you again.

He helped you to move so that you were sitting on his lap, with your head resting on his chest and his arms around your body. When some time passed and you calmed down, he could see it in the way your body had stopped shaking and also because you had stopped sobbing a while ago but you didn't want to separate from him, Finnick decided to try to cheer you up.

―Do you know who told me where you went?

You shook your head, really curious.

―Those new friends you made on the dance floor.

You pressed your lips into a smile, you were having so much fun with those little girls...―They were so cute, I must have scared them.

Finnick shook his head and kissed your temple. ―Not at all. They told me they'll wait for you. They said they wanted to braid your hair.

Now you really smiled, snuggling into his chest.

―Do you want me to take you to our room?

You shook your head, making yourself comfortable in Finnick's lap. It was not the most comfortable or welcoming place to be but he didn't want to rush you to leave. He was aware that they would be looking for you two, they would take you away from him and lock you in a room next to Peeta's, thinking that you were a menace and putting you in a place where the screams of the boy next door would drive you crazy.

―We can stay here for as long as you want then.

You hummed in response, closing your eyes and focusing on Finnick holding you in between his arms. Thanks to your head on his chest and the silence, you could hear Finnick's heart and you were relieved because it was the realest thing you had ever experienced. Its beats were peaceful but still managed to quiet all the noise in your head.

You were so immersed in Finnick's heartbeat you would swear yours was beating so hard against your chest because it wanted to escape your body so it could be closer to his.

[convexicalcrow]

"Cub, please, go rescue the Allays, please, we can't let them stay there, they're so distressed!"

Scar's voice was also distressed, but Cub hadn't needed to hear him to understand. It had been a long time since Cub felt that deep Vex rage well up inside him, and it was both strange and also familiar. At least he knew why he felt that way.

"I'll get them, don't worry. He's not still there, is he? He's gone to do other things?"

"He's not there, no. Just, hurry. They're so scared! We gotta get them outta there!"

"Alright, leave it with me."

-

Jevin was easily distracted, it's fair to say, and in his Vex form, Cub was able to sneak into the place where he'd kept the allays with ease. He could feel their distress as he got close, and they flew to him once he broke in, clinging to him in fear.

"Don't worry, we'll get you out of here. You'll be safe with us. The Vex will avenge you," Cub murmured, giving as much comfort as he could.

There were small sad trilling sounds coming from the Allays. Cub could see the scars on their bodies where they'd caught Jevin's sword but had somehow survived. Cub wasted no more time in whisking them away to his base, hoping he could find a way to calm them down a little. He wouldn't defeat their trauma, of course, but that wasn't the point. At least he could give them sanctuary.

-

A lot of people assume Allays and Vex are enemies. That Vex corrupt Allays into Vexes. But this isn't true. Vexes are the rage Allays can't express. When Allays seek revenge, it is deep indeed, and handed over to the Vex, who can act in ways they simply cannot. And when the rage is over, the Vex are becalmed by the sweet song of the Allays, both comforted by their own presence. That is why Allays reside in mansions and pillager camps. Anywhere the Vex are, so too are the Allays.

-

"Cub, I've left a creeper in Jevin's house! That'll sort him out!" Scar said as he arrived at Cub's base later on. He wasn't surprised to see Cub still in his Vex form. "I named it CatDog! That'll teach him to kill Allays!"

"Very good, very good. It's certainly a start, that's for sure. I think we can find other ways to torment him, though, as the season progresses. These poor Allays, man, you gotta come see them. They've got scars, it's awful," Cub said.

Scar gasped. "Scars! Oh no! How dare he! Come on, show me where they are, I gotta look after them!"

-

Cub led him down into the basement of his house and flicked a switch. It opened a hidden door that led to a staircase going down.

"They're down here. They wanted to be far, far away, so I dug a hole at bedrock, and that seemed to suffice. They were sleeping last I checked," Cub said.

"Good, I'm glad they're resting. They'll be okay, won't they?" Scar said.

"I hope so, but you never know with traumatised Allays. Sometimes it's just too much. But I'm hoping we can give them enough of an outlet so they feel okay again."

-

It was, of course, a long way down. There was some soft conversation, but both Cub and Scar felt their anxiety and rage grow the closer they got. Part of it was empathetic; they were both feeling that way anyway, but part of it was coming from the Allays as well. Eventually, they arrived at a room, with a door closing it off. The soft sounds of Allays could be heard from within, their songs still very soft and mournful.

"Just be quiet and gentle, they're really on edge," Cub murmured as he opened the door as slowly and carefully as he could.

Scar nodded and followed him in. The room was small and confined, the two Allays sleeping under a blanket on a pillow in one corner. A soul lantern in one corner offered a little light, enough to see how much dimmer the Allays were. Cub sat down beside the Allays, watching over them.

"Just sit and be quiet. They like knowing we're here. I promised we'd get revenge for them. If you want to Vex yourself up a little, I'm sure they won't mind that either," Cub said, keeping his voice low.

Scar grabbed a spare pillow and sat down. He closed his eyes a little and let his Vex features come through a little bit. Vex magic always felt more powerful when he was in Vex form. "We'll avenge them alright, don't you worry about that, little Allays. I'm still so angry! Gods. I'm a zookeeper! How dare he just kill Allays like that!"

Cub shushed him. "There's a time and a place for anger, and right now isn't it." He reached down and gently touched the Allays, who opened their eyes and sat up a little. "The Vex are here, little ones. We'll protect you. We'll avenge you."

The two Allays made soft little cries before allowing Cub and Scar to hold them. Cub held his close to his chest, offering a little Vex magic to comfort the poor creature. Scar wrapped his in a blanket and cradled them in his arms. The rage was building, and for an Allay to feel rage, well, something very bad had definitely happened to cause it.

"This is just like the one I rescued last season. The one Zed got to kill him by holding thorns armour. Man, that Allay was messed up," Cub murmured.

"I did hear about that one. I hope they're okay now."

"It took a long time, but we got there. And these guys'll get there too. And if that means we get to have a little fun along the way, well. So be it."

"So be it. Long live the Vex."

"Long live the ConVex."

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡You're Gonna Go Far｡⋆.

Batsis!reader

We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost

Warnings: older sister syndrome, angst, mentions of Jason’s death (seriously Lou not every fic), hurt/comfort, all platonic

Stick Season (We'll All Be Here Forever)

The letter in your hands felt far heavier than the small envelope of papers should have felt. You knew already what it said, what it meant and by god it was tempting to just shove it into your desk drawer and forget about it.

But you couldn’t forget, not when the words inked on those white pages meant that you could finally follow your dreams. Your thumb traced along the emblem at the top right corner of the letter as you read over the excited paragraph of acceptance yet again. It was a spur of the moment thing, a brief lapse into insanity when everything got to be too much and now, the consequences had come.

Could you go? Could you really leave all this behind and do the things you’ve always wanted to do? The seed of hope began to sprout in your chest, slowly weaving through the years of responsibility and obligation you had used to bury it as deep as you could.

But then, you heard muffled arguments through your bedroom door, seeping in like a thick fog. It brushed against your feet, sending a freezing chill through your body. It licked at your fingertips until you couldn’t stand the cold. 

Quickly, you shoved the envelope and the letter into the bottom of your trashcan and stood. “What are you fuckheads fighting about this time?” Your siblings responded with more shouting and as you left your bedroom, you doused that little bit of hope with the poison of your duty.

——————

“What did you want to be when you grew up?” The question hung in the stale air for a moment, looming over you as you worked on sharpening Damian’s favourite sword. Your father was sitting at the massive wall of screens, wearing all of his uniform except for the cowl. A pensive look on his face, he seemingly couldn’t meet your eyes.

“A dinosaur cowboy rockstar.” You snipped back. The letter flashed through your mind but disappeared quickly enough with another pull of the blade against the sharpening stone. Bruce’s brow furrowed.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You sighed heavily through your nose as your shoulders tensed with the blowout that was about to happen. His eyes pierced into you, watching you with that same bit of intensity they had the first time you donned the Robin suit. 

The leather hilt of the blade creaked with the strength of your grip and the cave settled into a tense silence. But you couldn’t feel that anger that you used to when he asked that question any time before, all you felt was that overwhelming, devastating sadness of what your life could have been.

The first time was when Dick left; Bruce wanted comfort, to know that what he had condemned you and your brother to do was right. You had swallowed down that anger, the urge to scream at him and blame him for everything in favour of telling him exactly what he wanted to hear. “I’ve always wanted to help people and being Robin was the best thing I could be.”

It was after Jason’s funeral when he asked next. Your eyes were still swollen with your tears, your shirt ruined from where Dick had been clinging to you and the bruises from the explosion that took your little brother not yet healed. You had refused to answer him, just telling him to get some rest and that the mantle of Batman would be yours until Alfred determined him fit for the field once more.

You supposed this time had been brought on by Tim’s departure to college barely a week ago. The house was noticeably dimmer without the boy genius and it had quite obviously been affecting your father. You nor Dick or Jason ever got the chance to go to college so it was a massive change.

The bite of your nails into the palm of your hand brought you back into focus where your father was watching you, unblinking. Bruce was a patient man, you’ll give him that.

“Why exactly does it matter? I have a job to do here- protect my brothers, protect the city, protect you in that order, just like you taught me.” His flinch was almost imperceptible to the untrained eye but you were far from untrained.

“Is that really what you want out of your life?” He was probing for something and you didn’t really care. The blade slid easily back into its sheath as you approached the wall of weaponry behind you. 

“What I may want isn’t relevant here, I’m doing what I can- is that enough for you?” With more force than necessary, you slammed the sword into place, turning your back on your father. “I have shit to do, call me if you need backup.” 

——————

You had been avoiding your room like the plague for three days now. Each time you stepped foot in there, all you could think about was the letter and how the deadline for the offer was drawing ever closer. The easiest solution would just be to throw it out or even calling the university to tell them that you were declining their offer but the easy way of doing things was not your style.

Instead, you started staying up all night and crashing on the couch whenever you needed a power nap. You weren’t dense enough to think that your family hadn’t noticed your change in behaviour but they at least didn’t mention it and you were grateful for that.

“Hey Dams, I need you for a second.” Ever eager to avoid his homework, your youngest brother perked up, his undivided attention now firmly on you. You chuckled softly. “Can you go grab my charger from my room, it should be on my desk.”

“Tt, so forgetful.” He muttered but obeyed anyway, leaving you smiling softly as you returned to your book. 

You hadn’t noticed how long he had been gone until it was Jason that strolled into your father’s office. Still donned in his leather jacket, hair still damp from the rain that had only just started, he looked like a mess. “I thought you vowed never to come back.” You quipped. 

“Har har, you’re still annoying as shit I see.” But even with his harsh tone, Jason plopped himself next to you on the couch and leaned his head on your shoulder. “Are you ever gonna get outta here?”

Your eyes flicked to your not so little brother. “Why is everyone asking me that, I mean if you want me to move out, I can.” You brushed off with a laugh.

“You don’t have to stay y’a know, you can go if you want. No one would be angry at you.” Your heart clenched painfully in your chest. That little seedling of hope began to come back to life once again, tentatively putting out roots.

“Where would I go Jay-bird?” He shook his head, forcing his face into your neck just like he would do when he was little.

“Anywhere, somewhere far from here.”

“But then who would be around to protect you Robins hm?” 

“We aren’t little anymore, we can take care of ourselves.” You wrapped an arm around his broad shoulders and kissed the top of his head. Before you could respond, the office door opened once more and most of the rest of your family filed in.

Each of them looked haunted and almost withdrawn, save for Damian who angrily stomped over to you, and shoved Jason off of you so he could crawl onto your lap. “Who died?” You let your youngest brother wrap your arms around him as you made eye contact with your father.

But it was Dick that stepped forward, a piece of paper in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell us?” His voice shook with that unique mixture of rage and heartbreak that it seemed only he could perfect. The paper trembled in his hands, making the embossment at the top visible.

You poked Damian on his side. “I told you to stop looking through my stuff, you little shit.”

“Couldn’t find your charger.” He responded indigently, his fingers curling into your shirt.

“This is a big deal miss, not just anyone gets into this university.” Alfred, ever the peacemaker, laid a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “You should have told us.”

“It’s nothing, it was a lapse of judgement. I wouldn’t leave you all.” You brushed off but evidently, that wasn’t good enough for anyone. Dick and Jason scoffed while Bruce just looked like he was about to cry.

“You could go, leave this place and you’re giving it up for some idea that we need protecting? That’s fucking stupid.” Jason shoved himself away from you, angrily rising to his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. “You have a real shot here.”

“Is that what this is, some kind of fucking intervention? My life is my own thank you very much, I don’t need all of you telling me what I can or cannot do.” You tried to pry Damian from you in some vain attempt to get away from the conversation but that sneaky shit had dug his fingers into your shirt so tightly that there was no way you were getting him off of you without ripping off your shirt.

The roots were taking hold and it made you feel like shit. Who were you to leave this all behind when it could so easily be ripped away from you? You were needed here, your purpose was here not at some college where you couldn’t be there to protect your brothers.

“We’ll be ok, you can go.” You shook your head, biting back tears that were already building. Bruce came closer, taking your face between his hands. “I have put too much on you, I should have realised long ago. I’m sorry Birdie.”

“You haven’t called me that since I was 12.” Your father laughed sadly.

“Oh my girl, I haven’t been a good father to you have I?” His calloused thumbs wiped away the tears that you hadn’t realised were now steadily rolling down your full cheeks.

“You were never a good dad.” Jason scoffed which was quickly followed by a yelp as Dick elbowed him in the stomach.

“They’re having a moment.” 

“I put so much weight on your shoulders, it was my job to protect all of you but I don’t think I’ve done a very good job at that. This shouldn’t be your dream, you deserve to make a life for yourself without having to worry about all of us.” It was so strange to see your father laid so bare in front of you, freely admitting his mistakes. “You deserve so much more than this.”

You looked at your brothers as if they would give you some excuse to stay, to reject that offer but their faces remained stern if not a little sad. “You can go sis.” Dick nodded.

“You’ve done more than enough for us, I think it’s time that we pick up the slack.” Jason bumped him with his shoulder and gave you a big grin. “Besides, I think it would be nice for you to actually have a social life instead of nagging us all the time.”

Alfred spoke again. “I believe what Master Jason is trying to say is that we won’t hold you back from chasing your dreams. In fact, we are actually quite proud of you.”

A solid weight against your chest brought your gaze back down to the youngest of the group. “Damian?” You knew that boy was incredibly attached to you and would take some kind of issue with you leaving to go study somewhere else.

“If you don’t go, I will never talk to you again.” 

“Well I guess that settles it.” You said thickly, struggling to speak through the lump in your throat. “I’m going to college!” Bruce didn’t hesitate to scoop you into his arms in a hug so tight you felt your ribs creak. Damian whined a slight protest but made no move to slip out from your arms.

“Good because Tim already accepted the offer for you, you start in a couple months.” As your laughter filled the room, the hope in your chest blossomed, casting your guilt and pain into the shadows of its petals. 

[Verse 1] The only time I got to praying for a red light Was when I saw your destination as a deadline "This is normal conversation, babe, it's all fine" Making quiet calculations where the fault lies This is good land, or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind [Verse 2] The college kids are getting so young, ain't they? They're correcting all the grammar on a spray paint And I even gave up driving after nightfall I got tired of the frat boys with their brights on This is good land, or at least it was It takes a strong hand and a sound mind [Pre-Chorus] It makes me smile to know when things get hard Ooh-ooh, you'll be far Ooh-ooh, you'll bе far from here And, while I clеan shit up in the yard Ooh-ooh, you'll be far Ooh-ooh, you'll be far, far from here [Chorus] So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost The birds will still sing Your folks will still fight The boards will still creak The leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love [Post-Chorus] And we'll all be here forever And we'll all be here forever We sure will [Verse 3] We're overdue for a revival We spent so long just getting by That's the thing about survival Who the hell— who the hell likes livin' just to die? You told me you would make a difference Well, I got drunk and shut you down It won't be by your own volition If you step foot outside this town But it's all we've had For always [Chorus] So, pack up your car, put a hand on your heart Say whatever you feel, be wherever you are We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we've lost The birds will still sing Your folks will still fight The boards will still creek The leaves will still die We ain't angry at you, love We'll be waiting for you, love [Post-Chorus] And we'll all be here forever And we'll all be here forever [Outro] You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far You're gonna go far Yes, you are (Ooh-ooh) If you wanna go far Then you gotta go far

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3slothy @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @km-ffluv

DC

@snedhdh @kobaltdragon @blackhawkfanatic @8bookishworm8 @honkytonkbabe @certifiedhunter @qardasngan

[bunji-enthusiast]

CAN U DO WHERE GLOXINIA HAD A HUGE CRUSH ON YOU BEFORE THE HOLY WAR AND HE SEES YOU AGAIN AT THE FIGHTING FESTIVAL (WATER FAIRY) (FEM PLEASE)

🂱 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞

Sypnosis [as written in the request!] Character [Gloxinia] Note || Okay! here you go, apologies for the wait friend :)

It'd had been centuries since you last saw him, yet Gloxinia's image verily remained forever etched in your heart like an undying flame. Admittedly it was difficult to forget the first fairy king. His smile, his laugh, the warmth of his presence---it was all a part of your past, one long buried beneath the weight of time. Back then, you were nothing more than a curious water fairy, always following him and his carefree nature like a shadow. His echoing laughter a melody that seemed to speak directly to the windows of your soul, easing the tiredness behind your eyes, and you, though hesitant, felt your heart be swayed in ways you could never have imagined. He was truly an enigmatic being that existence has produced.

But all that had changed when the Holy War had came to an end. With it's chaos and betrayal, your bond with Gloxinia fractured, the memory of his warmth growing in the cold currents of war. Barging in one the once peaceful land, now quite a distant memory.

And now, here you were. Standing at the edge of the Great Fighting Festival, waiting for the spectacle that would unveil the untold abilities of each and every powerful warrior that had traversed the land to get where they wanted.

The Festival was easily alive, yet oh so dampened by cold glares and enduringly painful memories. You could sense the palpable anticipation of the battles that would soon ensue, but none of the beings in the arena gave you focus as the entrance of a familiar figure. He stepped forward with the grace of an ancient king, his crimson hair cascading over his shoulders, vines sporting thorns had easily concealed his presence, but now that he had casted them away, alleviating room for his wings folding; akin to an ethereal curtain. You could sense the recognition from one vein figure, but never having the time to meet face to face, but you too knew. The gasps were quick as his wings shimmered, casting a kaleidoscope of light across his vicinity.

It was Gloxinia.

You froze. The world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only him. The air tasted thick with the weight of your memories, all rushing back to you---the times when his teasing smile and carefree attitude seemed to fill your every moment. The feelings you buried deep inside surged against your will, and you couldn't control them. A thousand thoughts rushed through the depths of your mind, all clamoring for attention. How could you face him? What was left to say after everything? He was no longer the boy you once knew. He was a king, a warrior---someone far removed from the simple fairy who had admired him from afar.

His eyes scanned the duos of fighters who are hungry and waiting to get it over with, before finally landing on you. The recognition was instant, and in that moment, your heart seemed to skip a beat. The fire that once burned so brightly flickered with ease, the breathe of life, even though it's much dimmer now. A fragile ember admist the chaos of time.

"Ah, you're really still here." Gloxinia's voice reached your ears, and much to the confusion of Drole who stood at his side, found understanding quickly as to what was going on with Gloxinia. Despite the years, despite the vast changes, his voice was still the same. It sent shivers down your spine. "I didn't expect to see you in this place."

You swallowed hard, forcing your breath to steady. You had changed—grown, learned, and fought for survival. But his gaze made you feel like the same fairy you once were, lost in his presence. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you responded softly, trying to regain some semblance of control.

His smile was easy, but there was something behind it that you couldn’t place. A sadness, perhaps? Or was it just the weight of what had happened between you two? His wings fluttered slightly, an almost imperceptible movement, and you wondered if it was a nervous gesture. "It’s been a long time, hasn’t it? You’re looking well, though. I see you’ve come a long way.”

“You’ve changed too," you said, your voice barely a whisper as your gaze lingered on the wings he wore proudly now, a stark contrast to the carefree fairy you once knew.

Gloxinia’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “The years can do that to a person. But... some things remain unchanged, don’t they?”

Your heart skipped again as his words sank into your chest. “Some things…” You hesitated. “Do you still... do you still remember me?”

For a moment, there was silence, an infinite stretch of time between your question and his answer. His gaze drifted from you, as if contemplating the depth of your words. And then, finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before, tinged with a nostalgic warmth. "How could I forget? You were... important to me. Still are, I suppose."

Your breath hitched at the simple admission. Important to him? That line alone shattered the distance between you, breaking down the walls you’d built over the years. You wanted to believe it, to hope that the years hadn’t erased the bond you once shared.

Before you could even utter another word, Taizoo, the referee had sounded a victory in one of the battles that had been occurring. Gloxinia's wings flared, leaving him to float backward, his gaze met yours one last time.

"I'll see you later," He said, a soft note of your name left his lips, his voice almost playful. "Perhaps afterwards, we'll have time to catch up."

You still couldn't understand.

---------------------------------------------

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Each movement was like poetry in motion, an intricate dance of power and grace. His spear, Basquias, moved with him like an extension of his very being, the tentacles writhing in the air before striking with deadly precision.

It wasn’t just his power that captivated you—it was the raw emotion behind his every movement. There was an intensity that reminded you of the Gloxinia you once knew, the one who had laughed with you beneath the moonlight, sharing stories of distant dreams. The one who had held your hand as if it were the most important thing in the world.

Even in the midst of the chaos that had ensued due to Escanor's attack on both commandments, you were sure, without a doubt.

Gloxinia stood (along with the other commandments) victorious, his chest rising and falling with the effort. He turned, noting Monspeet's comment about sensing a gaze. Gloxinia indeed wondered what you thought of him now, even if he had seldom felt anguish or hatred, perhaps even wanting to extinguish the races had dulled in the face of your gaze.

You flinched away, the sounds by your acquaintances now dulled out.

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to slow down. It was as if he saw you—really saw you—for the first time in years. His eyes softened, and for the briefest of moments, you thought you saw a flicker of the fairy king he had once been.

Maybe he'd walk from this, once and for all.

'Please don't kill anymore', Your thoughts were almost as if pleading, and he seemed to feel that, your own heart. Gloxinia merely turned away, a sort of subtle apology toward an old friend.

But that never was the case, was it?

[dreamingstraykids]

(I'm writing through a translator so my English is bad. Sorry) can I ask lee seungmin ler 4 members?(In your opinion, but I want there to be two older ones). Seungmin had a bad period when they started writing to him that his smile was ugly. And he started hiding it. The participants wanted to prove that she was a cow.

OPERATION SMILE ATTACK: THE TICKLISH TAKEOVER

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This is a Tickle Fic. If u are uncomfortable, keep scrolling

t/w: Seungmin was pinned and tickled

Lee!: Seungmin 🐶

Lers! : Hyung Line (Bang Chan 🐺, Lee know 🐰, Changbin 🐰🐷, Hyunjin 🥟)

thanks for the request 🫶🏻 I hope u like it.

Note: Seungmin, ur smile is a Masterpiece. 🥹😍

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

t had been weeks since Seungmin started hiding his smile. The once confident, cheeky glint in his eyes seemed dimmer, and every time a joke or funny moment occurred, he would chuckle quietly behind his hand or turn his head away. It didn’t take long for his members to notice the shift. They know something is wrong.

Bang Chan had noticed it first, and soon, the others began picking up on it too. Seungmin's radiant, carefree smile had disappeared.

One night, after practice, the group gathered in the dorm's living room to discuss it.

"Seungmin's been off lately," Chan said, his brow furrowed. "He's not smiling like he used to."

"I've noticed," Lee Know added, crossing his arms. "Even when we tease him, he holds back."

Hyunjin sighed dramatically. "It's like he's afraid to show his teeth. What's going on?"

Changbin leaned forward, a determined look on his face. "I think we all know why. Those comments online... they were cruel. He probably saw them."

Everyone fell silent, their hearts heavy with anger and sadness. They hated how words from strangers could hurt their precious Seungmin so deeply.

"We need to remind him," Hyunjin finally said.

"Remind him of what?" Chan asked.

"How much we love his smile," Lee Know said, a mischievous smirk forming. "And I know just the way to do it."

————————————————————————————

The perfect opportunity came a few days later.

Seungmin was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through his phone, completely unaware of the four conspirators gathering around him.

"Seungmin-ah," Chan called, crouching down in front of him.

Seungmin looked up, suspicious. "What?"

"You've been too quiet lately," Changbin said, sitting on the armrest.

"Way too quiet," Hyunjin added, perching on the other side of the couch.

Seungmin's eyes darted between them nervously. "What are you guys doing?"

Lee Know smirked, cracking his knuckles dramatically. "Just reminding you how much we love that smile of yours."

Before Seungmin could react, Lee Know lunged, his fingers wiggling against Seungmin's sides.

"HYUNG! NO! NO, NO, NO-AAHHHH!"

Seungmin's high-pitched scream turned into uncontrollable laughter as he thrashed on the couch.

"There it is!" Lee Know exclaimed, his hands mercilessly kneading Seungmin's ribs. "That's the sound we've been missing!"

"STOOPPPP! I'M GONNA DIEEEE!" Seungmin howled, his laughter echoing through the dorm.

"Nope! Not until we see that big, bright smile!" Changbin declared, diving in to tickle Seungmin's stomach.

"CHANGBIN HYUNG, PLEASE! АНАНАНАНАА!

I CAN'T!" Seungmin's legs kicked wildly as he tried to squirm away.

"Oh no, you're not escaping!" Hyunjin teased, grabbing Seungmin's legs and attacking his knees. "We're just getting started!"

"ААААНННННН! HYUNJINNNN! YOU

TRAITOR!" Seungmin screamed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

Bang Chan, watching the chaos unfold, chuckled before joining in. He grabbed Seungmin's arms, holding him in place as Lee Know switched to tickling under his arms.

"NOO000000! HAHAHA! NOT THERE! NOT THEREEEE!" Seungmin's voice cracked as his laughter reached new heights.

“NO, HYUNG! PLEASE! I CAN’T—AHAHAHAHA!” Seungmin’s pleas were cut off as Chan joining Lee know am and tickled his underarms, sending him into a whole new level of hysterics.

"Your laugh is so cute, Seungmin-ah," Chan said, grinning down at him. "How could you ever hide this from us?"

Changbin, laughing at the chaos, grabbed Seungmin’s legs and tickled the backs of his knees.

"I HATE YOU ALLLLLL! HAHAHAHAHA!"

"No, you don't," Lee Know teased, tickling his sides even harder. "You love us, just like we love your smile!"

Seungmin saw Hyunjin settling down near his legs, a mischievous grin lighting up his face. The others were already overwhelming him, and he was struggling to keep up with the relentless attack on his sides and stomach.

"HYUNJIN, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Seungmin screamed, his voice going up an octave as he tried to wriggle away.

"Oh, don't mind me," Hyunjin said casually, grabbing one of Seungmin's ankles and holding it firmly. "Just adding a little... extra fun!"

"NO, HYUNJIN, DON'T YOU DARE!

Hyunjin take off socks and start skittering his fingers across the sole of his feet, and that was it.

"АААААННННН! NOOOOO! NOT MY FEET!

АНАНАНАНА!" Seungmin exploded into laughter, his body twisting and flailing like a fish out of water.

"Oh, this is gold!" Hyunjin cackled, focusing on the arch of Seungmin's feet. His fingers danced up and down, hitting every sensitive spot with precision.

"HYUNJIN! STOP! STOOOPPPP!АНАНАНАНА!"

"Your feet are ridiculously ticklish, Seungmin-ah," Hyunjin teased, dragging his nails lightly across the pads of Seungmin's toes.

"NO000000! HYUNJIN, PLEASE! NO MORE! AHAHAHAHA!" Seungmin's voice cracked as Hyunjin repeated his attack, this time focusing on the ball of his feet and the space between his toes.

Meanwhile, Lee Know took advantage of the distraction to tickle Seungmin's sides even harder, and Changbin was relentless on his stomach. Bang Chan still held Seungmin's arms above his head, giving occasional pokes to his underarms to keep the chaos going.

"OKAY, OKAY! I'M SORRY! I'LL SMILE! JUST STOOOOOPPPP!" Seungmin's face was bright red, his cheeks aching from the laughter.

Finally, the tickling subsided, and the members pulled back, laughing themselves at the sight of Seungmin sprawled out, panting and giggling uncontrollably.

"There it is," Lee Know said softly, pausing for a moment. "That smile. It's beautiful, Seungmin-ah."

Seungmin's laughter slowed as he looked at his members, their faces full of love and affection.

"You really mean that?" he asked, his voice small.

"Of course we do," Chan said, pulling him into a hug. "Your smile lights up the room, Seungmin. Don't let anyone take that away from you."

————————————————————————————

After the tickling session, the members made sure to shower Seungmin with affection. Lee Know fetched a blanket and draped it over Seungmin, while Chan handed him a glass of water.

"You okay, puppy?" Changbin asked softly, sitting beside him and ruffling his hair.

"Y-Yeah," Seungmin managed between breaths, his voice hoarse from laughing. "You guys are insane.

Hyunjin sat beside him, holding his hand. "You know, l've always envied your smile. It's so genuine and pure."

"You're the sunshine of the group," Changbin added, patting his knee.

"And no matter what anyone says," Lee Know said firmly, "We love you exactly as you are, and your smile is one of our favorite things in the world."

Seungmin's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but this time they were from gratitude. "You really mean that?"

"Of course," Chan said firmly. "Don't ever listen to those haters. Your smile lights up the whole room."

Hyunjin hugged him from the side. "Promise you won't hide it anymore?"

Seungmin felt tears welling up, but this time they were from gratitude. "Promise. Thank you, hyungs.

A small smile breaking across his face.

Bang Chan ruffled his hair. "That's our Seungmin."

That's more like it!" Changbin cheered, pulling him into a group hug.

The night ended with the five of them huddled together, sharing stories, laughs, and love.

Seungmin felt lighter than he had in weeks, surrounded by the people who cherished him most.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Kinger is Cursed With the Consequences of His Actions, and That's What's Making Him Crazy

Oh yes! The character we've all officially designated as Pomni’s new papa has got me reminiscing about another silly crackpot monarch who is actually an intelligent man in his late forties, an identity that has been buried so deep within the recesses of his altered mind that it can only emerge through special circumstances of which he has no control. But I know I'm not the only one who's made connections between him and Simon Petrikov from Adventure Time.

Btw did you know that they're also nearly the same age?

Yeah, this comparison has already been made by plenty of people. But if I may, I'd like to point out one other similarity that I've noticed; the fact that both of these men tragically lost the love of their lives, yet even in their broken minds the love they felt for them is still remembered fondly.

But, what if Kinger was also indirectly responsible for losing Queenie?

So........what exactly causes someone to abstract?

Of course, this would be an important question considering it's baked into the premise of the show itself, but I find it to be particularly relevant when dissecting Kinger's character because if we only assume that abstraction occurs when a human loses their mind, then how is someone like him still hanging around the Circus?

He’s been trapped there the longest, how long exactly is yet to be confirmed, but it’s safe to say that all those years haven't been kind to him. In the pilot he’s characterized as extremely erratic and forgetful, getting easily startled because his spatial awareness and object permanence are practically nonexistent nor can he retain previously established information for very long. On top of that, he regularly spouts nonsense that seemingly has nothing to do with the current situation. Because of this, his general demeanor tends to range between ridiculous to downright frustrating to the other characters.

So it’s no wonder that his fellow humans have more or less dismissed him as just being insane.

But I think this is a completely reductive view of this poor man because Kinger’s got that “he’s a little confused, but he’s got the spirit” energy that I love about him.

I think this is one of the more adorable aspects of Kinger's character; he's always trying to help. He tries his absolute darndest.

And what makes me sad is that, with the way that he is, he has such little control over how much he can actually help the people he clearly cares a lot about.

In Mystery of Mildenhall Manor, it's revealed that Kinger's lucidity is apparently affected by his exposure to darkness. How this works exactly is a bit inconsistent as we've had scenes of him in complete darkness and still acting pretty goofy.

However, based on my observations, I believe the change is not instantaneous. Like, he doesn't immediately become the Kinger we see in the adventure with Pomni if he is suddenly enveloped in darkness. I think what primarily plays a part is the amount of time he spends in darker settings. The segments we get with Kinger and Pomni are significantly dimmer compared to the rest of the episode, and we even get hints of Kinger progressively becoming more logical before we get to the cellar.

I’ve also noticed a small pattern in which he prefaces these brief moments of clarity with “I think…”.

This could be completely unrelated, but I find it interesting that Kinger's big advice to Pomni on how to overcome something difficult is to try "not thinking about it". I may be reading too much into this specific bit of phrasing but I feel that it's worth noting if this really is the mentality he lives by, because this is the advice he gives her when he's in two totally different states of mind.

Anyway, it turns out that when this silly man finally gets a good grasp on himself again, he’s actually extremely competent. Kinger shooting down the angel is a pretty obvious example of him being a BAMF, but I want to give these two moments a bit of focus.

I like the idea that Kinger has been in the Circus long enough to become so familiar with his weird digital body that he uses his detachable parts and disembodied hands to his advantage. It’s just a neat little detail because we get a taste of just how capable Kinger can be in this world if it wasn’t for his handicap.

And what really sucks is that the amount of time it takes for him to regain his sanity in the dark is really disproportionate to the amount of time it takes for him to lose it when back in bright environments.

Take the scene where Kinger is having a conversation with Ragatha in Candy Carrier Chaos with the bucket on his head for example, which definitely foreshadows this detail since it's the first time we hear him speaking more sensibly.

and then this happens

Notice how he taps the handle of the bucket? Like he's realizing that he does, in fact, have a bucket on his head that's obscuring his vision, before lifting it off of his face and going right back to responding in the way we've come to expect from Kinger.

It makes me wonder if Kinger has ever tried to tell the other's about this, but just couldn't. Ragatha clearly isn't aware of it despite having known him the longest out of any of the current residents of the Circus. And Kinger himself can't seem to pinpoint when exactly he shifts between sane and insane. Like a man who blacks out and feeling ashamed of his drunken actions when he sobers up again, despite having no control or awareness in the moment.

Describing Kinger's usual behavior when not in darkness as a "blackout" is pretty ironic, but I think it fits beautifully because it perfectly explains his short-term memory loss. Or I guess it would be more accurate to call it a "brownout". Either way, the point is that his memory becomes more obscured when he's in the light.

As for what initially caused this impairment, we still don't know.

I also don't want to get too clinical with Kinger's "symptoms" because I am in no way schooled enough to diagnose a fictional character who has only had a single episode focused on him.

But even just one episode proved to be very enlightening (...heh...see...see what I did there? Enlight-eh forget it) because after comforting a freshly traumatized Pomni, our girl interacts with Kinger at his most coherent long enough to learn some very crucial information.

It seems that the abstracted humans are not inherently dangerous, at least not when secluded in darkness, which Kinger was fortunate enough to witness with his own wife before they were separated (not legally, divorce doesn't exist in the Circus).

I've made this connection in another post I made, but yeah I really do think that it's the Circus' garish lights that make the abstracted so aggressive. I mean when you have that many eyes, that shit would aggravate the hell out of you.

But now comes the real question, and I'm tying it back to the one I made at the start, what made Queenie abstract in the first place?

How very convenient, Kinger. How did Jax put it, "gotta keep the mystery alive"?

Well, I'm playing detective here and I say you're the key suspect!

That's right! I'm accusing you! But unlike Baron Moldydick's crime, it twasn't homicide.

Yeah, everyone has picked up on how Mildenhall killing his wife acts as a parallel to what Kinger may or may not have done to Queenie. But I don't think it's as cut and dry as Kinger losing his mind and then somehow putting Queenie in direct danger as a result.

No, I like to think that it's definitely a bit more complicated than that.

It's not clear when exactly Kinger began losing his mind, but I certainly believe it had everything to do with losing Queenie. And it would actually be a pretty fun bit of character design if it does because in chess the King becomes most vulnerable when the Queen is taken off the board.

I know we all want to imagine that Queenie had existed alongside the other characters sometime before Pomni's arrival, but based on what we're given in canon, I'm starting to think that was highly unlikely. Because if everyone knew who Queenie was, then they would also deduce that Kinger wasn't always the way that he is now. I just don't get the impression from everyone else that they know about Kinger's dual state of mind. Otherwise, it'd be kind of awful that they wouldn't do more to help him if they were aware of this fact.

Kinger has always been crazy to them because all they know is that he's been in the Circus longer than anyone else. Which really goes to show how little they truly understand one another despite having only each other for company.

And it's not like they don't care enough (well, except maybe Jax) to want to understand and be there for each other, but it's almost like they are never given enough opportunities to really...bond.

And yeah, unfortunately, a lot of it has to do with each of these characters having their own hang-ups that keep them from doing just that. It's not just Caine constantly shoving them into his adventures to distract them.

Ragatha is dishonest with her feelings

Gangle is insecure when her mask breaks

Jax hates being vulnerable

and Zooble is never comfortable in their own skin (or at least their body's equivalent of skin)

I don't want to downplay it either, these are real issues that need consistent work. These people need help and the only one really capable of supplying that is a little broken himself.

This is why it's so fortunate that Pomni was with Kinger when he started speaking more sensibly. She has already displayed a remarkable level of emotional maturity with Gummigoo, but that's because Gummigoo was the one in need of reassurance at that moment. When exposed to problems far worse than your own, your problems in some way appear much more manageable in comparison. Pomni may be trapped, but Gummigoo doesn't even get the luxury of existing outside of what he was made for. That alone gave Pomni the confidence to live in spite of her circumstances and inspire someone else to do the same.

But it's hard to maintain that confidence when your new support system gets literally deleted right in front of you.

It's ok tho! Thanks to participating in Kaufmo's funeral, Pomni begins to open herself up to the others more, which allows her to have...some faith in her new friends. This is especially good when she gets to finally break down for a minute with Kinger because honestly, it's amazing she's held herself marginally together this whole time without crying at least once.

Pomni experiences her (so far) all-time low, and this segues to Kinger sharing his.

It's pretty terrible, losing someone. The previous episode pretty much forced that onto Pomni. How exactly do you completely move on from something like that? Well see that's the neat part, you don’t. In fact, Kinger even alludes to how you shouldn't. Even though the memory of losing Queenie is painful, it's what anchors him. He lost Queenie, but he still has everyone else, and he refuses to give up on them. So despite his mind constantly working against him, he does what he can to help his friends. In his own clumsy and confused way, he's there for them.

To me, abstracting isn't going insane. It's giving up. Giving up on yourself and giving up on others. It's easy to get to that point without the occasional necessary affirmation that you shouldn't give up.

This was the hardest lesson Kinger had to learn in the Circus. And he's doing his best to get the others to understand as well. But Kaufmo's recent abstraction proves how unsuccessful he's been.

Thankfully, Pomni takes it immediately to heart.

This is crucial, not just for Pomni's development, but for everyone else. Kinger even assures that it's more important for Pomni to remember than for him to not forget. That's why her name is more than just an ironic punchline, it's meant to represent her purpose in the story. As long as she remembers, hold on to the good, she'll get through it. Kinger is putting just as much faith in her practicing what he just preached as she is in letting him lead her through hell.

Oh no I've made more biblical allegories! The Pomni is Jesus theories are winning!!!

Ok but in all seriousness, we see just how much Kinger's words influenced Pomni's actions in Fast Food Masquerade. It's all but said that Gangle was close to abstracting towards the end of the adventure.

Yeah she’s about to turn into an eldritch horror, but c’mon we’ve all been there after a long shift.

Trying to talk things out didn't work, so Pomni then took a more practical approach to helping her.

Something as simple as allowing Gangle to get some rest and verbally reminding her that she doesn't have to handle things on her own. It's almost poetic how although Pomni can't leave the Circus, she's constantly telling others that they can leave and she's going to help them.

And Pomni doesn't save Gangle all on her own either. It was Kinger's insistence to have Zooble take his spot in the adventure that allowed them to witness Gangle's manic-depressive decline. They also had a practical way of showing support by offering to stay past their designated shift and relieve Gangle of the burden of transporting a drunk Ragatha.

Episode 3 really was all about acts of service, wasn't it.

If Zooble wasn't present for that adventure, they wouldn't have had the full context of why Gangle feels like she's not wanted.

Zooble saying "I still like talking to you" carries far more weight than if they had said, "I like talking to you". Especially when Gangle already feels insecure about how honest Ragatha is with her. Zooble got to see Gangle spiral and still accepts her. On top of that they are adamant about calling her their friend despite her doubts. That means something. Everything really.

This is what cherishing someone looks like.

I think Queenie abstracted because, at some point, Kinger began to neglect her. Perhaps he became so obsessed with finding a way out that he forgot what was most important. It's too early to really say if that's how it went down, but it'd be a poignant bullet point to the tragedy that is Kinger.

So I guess the real question is: How does one lose their wife?

Well in the wise words of Cody Martin

[moviememokeeper]

I've been looking at Mr Reca screenshots lately (don't ask) and smth I've noticed is that his eyes only seem to glow bright when he's truly excited about smth

not when he's using his powers mind, just when he's really happy

inverse of that his eyes seem dimmer when he's upset or serious

(bro have you seen screenshots of mr reca looking somber and quiet he's so ngggh)

one reason I bring this up is because I need more Reca angst content. I need to see the light leave this man's eyes and then be restored later down the line (hurt/comfort my beloved)

also if you have any angsty headcanons about him please share, i yearn for Reca content 🤲

I am SO GLAD I’m not the only one who noticed the eye thing. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me or something. I love that detail so much.

ugh. look at him. sad. pathetic. I love him.

I fear I have a lot of headcanons for him and I'm not sure where to start lmao. not all of these exist at the same time if that makes sense? I just kinda pick which one (or more) I wanna play around with at any given day, still gonna list a few

He has a hard time keeping friends around. People often think he can be too much to handle, not that he cares, he'd keep them at arms length anyway.

like, first off (and probably the most obvious), he's famous. I think he's reached the point where it'd be difficult to figure out who's around you for the fame and who's around you because they genuinely like you.

and sure, he can kinda get around that since he's a memokeeper, can just get into your head real quick and figure out, but what if that wasn't the case? We don't exactly know when he decided to become one.

and even with being a memokeeper, bro gets involved in shady shit. like the 2.6 quest literally had him work for profnana for a while. yeah he was basically forced into it (memetic virus & all) but it's safe to assume he'd consider it all too dangerous to be around

shitty childhood. trope has been done to death, I know, but I eat it up each time. We don't know his backstory, so I'm filling in the blanks myself. to make a long story short, parents who don't support his ambitions but he proved them wrong and actually made it in the industry, despite this he still doesn't really talk to them. type of parents you just can't please, who tear you down each opportunity they get.

Okay. also. we don't know how long he's been a memokeeper, and memokeepers are pretty much immortal as long as they aren't taken out by a memetic virus, so imagine he had a past life. One with people who loved him, who he can never go back to because they've all since passed, and he's left to wander the universe alone. (high-key wanna use this in a fic or something)

to add on, imagine he makes movies about them. I don't think he's the type to make franchises, probably would get bored of redoing the same idea constantly, but just one film about his old chosen family. to immortalise them. to prove they were there and they were loved. ack.

Assistant Director breaking. hehe. I really wanna see this happen in canon. I headcanon that AD isn't memetic but rather an actual little mechanical frog (I don't think the game ever mentions if she's memetic or not, so this is just what I think). I also think Reca built her himself but it has been so long since he's done it he forgot how she was built. or maybe he was so confident she'd never break he didn't bother to remember. I'm just imagining her shattering into a million pieces, and Reca staring in disbelief. it all happaned so fast he could barely process it. and by the time he realises what's going on she's a bunch of scrap metal on the ground. he drops to knees, tears forming, frantically searching his memories for something, anything, about how she was made and how to fix her but he's drawing a blank.

talked about this before, but overreliance on his powers and then he ends up losing them. wet cat of a man. have fun imagining this one

crippling fear of failure. this man is a perfectionist to a fault. He can get very frustrared very easily when his projects don't turn out the way he envisioned, though he tries to never lash out at anyone.

I know he seems really confident in canon, and they've given us no reason to believe he's insecure, but I really like characters who use confidence as a facade. Also, with Reca being a movie director, the guy already know about acting. do you see what I'm getting at.

I hope you enjoy these anon :3

[tiddie-taylor]

Updated nostalgia info/headcanons

(ref sheets are at the bottom of the Post)

Basic information + personality

nostalgia's sexuality is aromantic-asexual or for short just aroace

she arrived in headquarters a little before the events of io2

Nostalgia inherited Joy's glow but her glow is slightly dimmer than Joy's and is more on the deeper blue side in comparison

She is in between both being pessimistic and optimistic and she is capable of being both or one another

She's caring and sweet for a lot of times but stern/tough about those she cares deeply for

She's also very possessive or her mother's especially Sadness and will do anything for them but she loves them deeply nonetheless

shes the in between mature and childish, she's almost a healthy balance

She's a quick thinker and gathers ideas quickly for the emotions that can help Riley in the future or now

She's very compassionate about a lot of things she's into

She's motherly (even if she's without a child, gets it from her experience of being the only emotion technically raised by a parental figure) to the emotions and will do anything in her helping to give them the advice or help they need

She's a helper around headquarters to make up for the lack of work she has to do on the console and usually likes to help sort things out around headquarters etc etc

little Nostalgia info

little Nostalgia is a curious little emotion and loves to explore headquarters and ask questions about it and how things work around headquarters

She's quite optimistic and a happy child but can be a little fragile when it comes to her feelings being hurt

She isn't the most understanding type of person but is always willing to learn to understand things better

She's very attached to her mother's and can tend to be a little upset when left alone without them or just alone in general for too long

She's quite energetic for her small size and likes to walk around headquarters and play while the others work

She is pretty naive at most times but she tries her best

Little nostalgia (around kid to toddler) is around half the height or just a little above that to anger but is taller than envy

Anger is one of her favourite emotions besides her mother's to be around (he's like a cool uncle to her!)

Physical appearance of both adult and baby version

Adult nostalgia is slightly taller than disgust yet is still shorter than fear while baby Nostalgia is roughly around one and a half memories tall (maybe slightly bigger) while first born nostalgia (around one and a half weeks old) is only one memory tall.

Adult nostalgia does in fact have eye wrinkles/eye bags designed that way just as a simple character quirk and from her lack of sleep

nostalgia has chest scars from a past surgery to help shrink down her bust as she was unhappy with her appearance before surgery

Nostalgia is a little chubby like her mama Sadness but is a little more stretched out body type wise as an adult/teen while baby nostalgia has a more stubby and rounder body type in comparison to her adult self

Just like joy and disgust nostalgia is seen with differently colored lips that being a darker blue then the blue side of her body

Her eyes are the same shade of blue as sadness' eyes

More facts

Nostalgia is ambidextrous

When Nostalgia is nervous or in distress she likes to hide herself in her coat

Nostalgia has the ability to change memories the same way sadness is able to

Nostalgia is slightly nearsighted but her vision is good enough where she doesn't constantly need to wear glasses although she does struggle to read on her own.

She does not create her own memories as often as the other emotions do. her job is mainly to turn memories nostalgic by touching already made memories that she or other emotions bring up to headquarters, but she has a unique ability where her memories move! For example the colours of regular mixed memories stay in place while with Nostalgia's memories the colours move and mix around, the colours are never still.

One of her favorite things to do is to let Riley do the things Riley used to do when she was younger like watching old childhood shows or playing with older toys etc etc

Nostalgia can sometimes go completely non verbal when upset or in distress and it is mostly out of her control

Voice claims

Adult nostalgia: Agnes from fantastic Mr Fox

toddler nostalgia: Socks from Bluey

Parents

Joy

Sadness

Disgust

Adult ref sheet

I've decided to give an update to nostalgia's outfit along with adding some more color (and pockets! :3)

Note: the scars seen are from surgery

Baby ref sheet

mainly made this one just to get a better look at baby nostalgia up close in detail

Also if you'd like to ask questions about nostalgia feel free to ask :3

[blueberrypancakesworld]

hii a little bit ago I ask if you could write loc dead x fem reader who self harms and I loved the one you wrote but could you please write another one 💕

I will hold you

warning : hurt/comfort, self-harm, emotional, kissing, no use fo Y/n

Info : Yeah I remember your request hope you like this one and have fun reading even if it's a little short but regardless have fun reading ;)

masterlist

Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain

Pain is something that everyone feels at some point, whether it's when you hurt yourself cutting fruit, when you get a stomach ache from laughing or when you're just sad.

But there have also been days, weeks, months, years and decades when you can't get rid of pain. Something that gets stuck in you and hurts you with every passing day.

He knew it, the blond singer of the band knew this feeling, he experienced it every day and could only soften it slightly through the music with his heart by his side. But exactly this pain had captured him and his girlfriend, the one he loved, who was like the light at the end of the tunnel. But even this light can grow dimmer from time to time.

A light that is permeated by pain, a light that has been destroyed by fire, by ice, by metal and by his own body. He had tried it himself and had gone into this spiral abyss, but he had overcome it for a few days at a time and had now somewhat accepted it and survived.

But it was always painful for him when he caught his heart interrupting him and he went home to the room in the house they all shared. He didn't feel the smell of fire after a fire, it was different.

,,Darling! I'm back!" he called into the house, hearing something fall to the floor before he ran upstairs to her, the door to the room was torn open without a lock before he saw that she had thrown the lighter to the floor, the knife lying next to her, but the look of fear, rejection, pain he saw on her face was the most painful thing he had ever seen. That look he knew was a cry for help, a scream that only gave surface to her pain.

A pain they both knew, something they shared and yet hid prematurely. Sometimes, however, they bumped into each other and saw what was going on inside the other.

But the fire they both had not seen for a long time. ,,Wait, darling, just wait a moment," he said hastily, running out of the room and into the bathroom where he grabbed the first-aid kit, which was still more than half full, but it would do.

The crying he heard from her was sad and lonely in her current state. Something that bothered him she shouldn't suffer and yet this was easier said than done as he knew it was painful.

They both knew that this life was painful but life should never be like this. ,,Here I am," he said and knelt down in front of her, wordlessly yet gently taking her arm, the burns and cuts not too deep but the pain of this brief redemption was something she had felt without seeing the end.

,,I'm sorry," she murmured, tears flowing down her cheeks and hiding behind her hand as her friend touched her. She tried to soothe a little while he disinfected the wounds and cleaned the burn cream they had bought just for this.

,,It's not okay, I'm here…it could have been worse but my heart I'm here okay it's going to be okay" he talked to her as he sealed the bandages around her wounds with tape and pulled her into his arms.

Her sniffling mumbles of apology only caused him to hold her tighter. Just stay with me for today, we'll get through this," he reassured her, kissing her head softly, listening to her crying gradually become less and less.

Maybe she even had hope that she could now see the light at the end of the tunnel and not the other way around. He was her light in times when she knew how hard it was. But in the end they would make it, they had always made it somehow and they were making it today.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Alpha and Omega: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Summary: When trapping Amara doesn't work, the only thing that might work is killing her. Chuck is dying, so to balance the scales, Amara has to die... which means you have to die. Dean gets ready to do the impossible while you work to remind Amara what family is really about. After all, you've got room for one more.

Season Eleven Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

If Dean is going to die, he has to visit his mother's grave one last time. He and Sam stand in front of it while Rowena, Chuck, Castiel, and Crowley wait by the car not even a hundred yards away.

"Dean, you don't have to do this," Sam whispers.

"I'm the only one who can... the only one who should. It's Y/N, man. She's my best friend. If she goes down, I'm going down with her."

"What about your kids?"

"I am doing this for them, Sam. Y/N has no one on her side. The kids have you and Cas and Jody and the girls." Dean sniffles. "They'll be okay but Y/N won't." He looks at his wedding band. The one that belonged to his father. "Till death due us part, right? I took a vow to protect her. This is how I do that. At least we'll be in Heaven together. Bobby's up there, too. I bet he'd like to see her again. He might kick my ass for bringing her a bit early, but I'm sure he'll forgive me." Dean drops his voice to a whisper. "Robert's up there."

Dean pats his brother on the back and walks back to the group, leaving Sam alone with their mother for a minute more.

"Are you okay with this?" Dean asks Chuck.

"No. Even after everything she's done, Amara's still my sister. She's my family. I can't... I don't want to see her dead, but... I understand."

"Dean," Castiel whispers.

The angel pulls Dean in for a tight hug, and Dean wraps his arms around his waist. He'll allow himself to have this moment.

"Promise me something, Cas."

"Anything."

"Look after my kids and dogs, okay? Look after Molly." Dean tries hard not to cry. "Protect them. I don't want to see them in Heaven a minute before they should be okay?"

"I promise."

"You know they really love you. Joanna especially. You're her Uncle Cassie."

Castiel gets tears. "I really love them, too."

Sam comes back and Dean looks at his brother.

"Tell stories about me and Y/N to them. The good ones. But not so much that they're sad we're gone. Y/N was right. They need to have a childhood, and I need you to promise me you'll give it to them. They deserve to have a life not condemned like ours."

"You got it," Sam sniffles.

"I could go with you," Castiel offers.

"No, I have to do this alone. Thank you for everything, Cas." Dean wipes the tears and slaps his hands together. "Okay, look. I want a big funeral. I'm talking epic. Okay? Open bar, choir, Sabbath cover band, and Gary Busey reading the eulogy."

"Done," Sam nods.

"For our ashes, I think she'd like it here. I like it here. You know, as far as eternal resting places go." Dean reaches into his pocket and takes out the keys to the Impala. He hesitates before handing them to Dean. Sam shakes his head with tears in his eyes. "Come on. You know the drill. No chick-flick moments. Come on."

Sam hesitates but takes the keys. "You love chick flick moments."

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, you're right. I do. Come here."

Dean pulls his brother in for a hug, and they embrace tightly. A tear rolls down Sam's cheek, but he wipes it away before pulling back. Dean clears his throat and looks at Chuck.

"I'm ready."

Check snaps his fingers and sends Dean to the garden where Amara is. The place is empty, free of the old woman and the birds. Dean sees the dead flowers and knows she is here. The sun is getting dimmer which means Dean is running out of time. The garden isn't huge but Dean walks the entirety of it looking for Amara.

"Dean."

He turns and sees Amara standing by the fountain. Only... she's not you. She is herself, the version of her before she connected with you. If she's really out of you and you're safe... No, he still needs to do this. At least his kids will be with you, safe, once this is all over. It'll be nice to spend time with his son in Heaven.

"Where is my wife?"

"Safe. How did you find me?"

"Does it matter? I'm here to give you what you want. Me."

"That's a change."

"I can't just stand by and watch the world, my friends, and my family die." He starts walking toward her slowly. "So, if becoming a part of you takes me away from that, then I'm in."

"You and that bomb in your chest?" Dean stops walking. "Do you think I can't taste the power coming off of you? Please. The problem is you've never been able to hurt me. So, what makes this time any different?"

"I don't have a choice. Look at what you're doing to the sun!"

"That's not me. With my brother getting weaker, the scales are tipping away from light and into nothing. When God's gone, the universe—everything will cease to exist. Including me. My brother betrayed me. He locked me away for billions of years. He sent you to execute me."

"No, he didn't. He brought me here but he doesn't want this. This wasn't his idea. You're his family, Amara. He doesn't want you dead. He never wanted this... Do you?"

Amara thinks back to the old woman and then of you. "No! I just wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him pay."

"That's called revenge. Sure, it'll get you out of bed in the morning. Sure, it feels fantastic... for about five minutes. I've been there. Me, Sam, and Y/N... Do you think we've never had problems? When I couldn't man up and admit my feelings for Y/N, she was ready to leave. I didn't let her. Sam kick-started the apocalypse and set Lucifer free by trusting a demon over his own brother. I still forgave him.

"Y/N got pregnant and got an abortion without telling me. It took me a while but I still forgave her. I... I left her for another woman yet she still married me. Sam did a lot of terrible things when he was soulless yet Y/N and I forgave him. She did terrible things while soulless but I still love her. I'm in love with her.

"When everything goes to shit... At the end of the day... All you have is family. You might be an all-powerful being, but I think you're human where it counts. You just want your brother back like I wanted mine."

"Stop it," she glares with tears.

"You don't want to be alone. Not really. I don't either. I mean, hell. Maybe that's why you wanted me. When really, deep down, you didn't want me because I'm not him. At the end of the day, there is no one like your sibling. No one will ever be able to replace him, so I'm going to ask you again. Put aside the rage, put aside the hate, and you tell me... What do you want?"

Amara sobs once and looks to the sky at the dimming sun. She wants her brother again. She snaps her fingers and transports Chuck right into the garden. He looks around in shock at Dean still alive and Amara... still alive.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Brother, I... In the beginning, it was just you and me, and we were family. I loved you, and I thought—I knew that you loved me."

"I did." He sighs. "I do."

"Then you went and you made all these other things. I hated them. I hated you for needing something else, something that wasn't me. Then you locked me away, and all I could think about was making you suffer."

"You had your reasons."

"I did, and I thought revenge would make me happy, but I was wrong. What you've made..." She looks at the garden. "it's beautiful. It took me a long time to see that. I know that we can't go back to the way things were. I don't want to, but I wish... I wish that we could just be family again."

"I do, too. More than you know."

Chuck reaches out his hand and Amara takes it. Their hands start to glow, and light is restored. The sun is healed from their pain. Dean watches as the sun gets brighter until it's restored to what it was. He has to shield his eyes from it being too bright. Amara holds out her other hand and golden light shoots out in waves.

She heals her brother of whatever she did to him.

"Where is my wife?" Dean asks. "Why did you let her go?"

Amara and Chuck step off to the side, and you come walking out from behind the fountain.

"Hi, Dean," you smile.

Dean is about to say something when he notices your pregnant belly. Nine months to be exact. He knows you didn't cheat. When would Amara have time to go out there and sleep with men? He's just confused as to how this happened.

"She reminded me of what family is all about," Amara says.

"How did this happen?"

"She created life where there was none previously." Amara smiles at you. "The ultimate Sapphire Witch move. I underestimated you."

You close your eyes and blue magic swirls around you like a mist and a cloud. When it dies down, you're no longer pregnant, and you're holding your brand-new baby girl. Dean gasps and walks over to you to get a better look at her. She looks so small.

"Does she have a name?" Dean whispers. You look up and shake your head. He doesn't hesitate with this one. "How about Celeste?"

Tears well in your eyes. "Charlie for short."

Dean nods and he kisses his daughter's head delicately.

"I think we're just gonna go away for a while," Chuck announces.

"Yeah, family meeting. I get it."

"First..." He walks over to Dean and puts his hand to his chest. He removes all of the souls Rowena placed in there, and Dean winces in pain. "Better?"

"What about us? What about Earth?"

"Earth will be fine. It's got you... and Sam... and Y/N."

"Dean, Y/N... you both gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you." She looks at you. "You reminded me what it's like to have a family again, and for that, I will give you back yours."

Amara transforms into black mist while Chuck transforms into white mist. Both of them shoot off into the sky.

"I've missed you so much," Dean whispers. He leans down and kisses you, his heart already healing. "Don't leave again."

"I'll try not to," you smile. "Where are our kids?"

"I sent them and the dogs to Jody. Molly went home. They're all safe."

"Good. Do you know where we are? How the hell do we get back home?"

"I don't know, but let's do it together." You and Dean leave the garden and walk until it's nighttime. Charlie sleeps peacefully in your arms, and Dean smiles down at her. "How the hell did this happen?"

"I don't know. I remember an old radio and my voice telling me to wake up. As much as Amara was learning from me, I was learning from her. She made journals while she was away. I read every single one of them. I knew she'd let me go if I became pregnant, so I did it without even thinking. Now we have Charlie."

Dean blurts out the question before he thinks about it. "Is she mine?"

"Of course. I created her using both of our DNA. You're the only one I want to have kids with. I'm warning you now, she is the last one. I'm thirty-seven. This factory is closed for good."

"I agree," Dean smiles. You get to the edge of the woods, and Dean tries to get a signal on his phone. "Yeah, there isn't any signal. We just have to keep walking. You don't have, like, portal powers do you?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Help!" You and Dean look in the distance where the voice is coming from. "Help me!"

You two follow the sounds where there is a clearing. There is a sidewalk and a trail. You're back to civilization. Only... that's not what you're focusing on. 

The woman standing right in front of you, the one crying out for help, is none other than Mary Winchester wearing the white nightgown she was burned in thirty years ago.

"Mom?"

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[aticklishpercivalwriter]

Some stuff about me that I've been meaning to get off my chest below the cut (sad stuff in the beginning and happier at the end. If you're worried about the blog, don't worry, I'll still be here but definitely going to be posting much slowly when school starts):

Hey all, so it’s taking me some courage to tell you all this, but I've been struggling for the past few months trying to stay positive. You might be thinking, "What? You always seem happy when you post." And most of the time I am, but sometimes that's just what I want you to think, so you think I have everything under control. More importantly, I didn't want to lose the community I have on here or to make anyone worry. I don't like to talk much about my life here and even irl with other people unless I have to. So, I keep these sad, negative thoughts to myself. Have been for a few years now, actually. But now... they're starting to catch up to me, and last semester was the lowest point of my life. Failure after failure and it hurt. The self-doubt about my abilities and the loneliness. It was painful. It felt like I had lost everything. The only thing keeping me together was texting my irl bestie and you all. That's why I never told any of you... or even my irl bestie. I was scared of losing you all and them. You have expectations from me to deliver great tickle fics. I see the number of notes on my fics, and I'm happy they're increasing as I post. But I get scared, too. As I get better, you will expect as good quality or better, that's what my thinking is. If I deliver something and it flops, I feel like you'll lose interest. I know I can't please everyone, but I feel like I need to. It's ingrained in me to worry about what others think of me. Even with my bestie. Even though we have so much history together, I feel like one screw up by me, and it's over. I'll lose them forever. I have presented the most perfect version of myself over the years, but nobody knew what suffering and fear I carried inside. Now it's affecting me into adulthood and the dream I had to become an engineer became dimmer last semester.

On another note, before I come to a happy ending to this post. Reblogs. I feel bad for not leaving any comments on a tickle work I like. And leaving something small like, "I love this :)" feels too short to me because I was always taught to elaborate on comments and I try to incorporate that online and it felt like a chore or I was trying to hard. I do want to leave a small comment, but I feel that you, as a creator, will think I'm lazy or something or don't mean it. As an author, I actually really like those short comments as much as the long ones. Heck, keyboard smash if you want. That tells me, one, you are flustered from the tickles, two, you’re jealous of the characters being the ler or lee, or three, it's funny to me to see your reactions. To me, that means I did my job right as the writer because I also feel similar emotions like that too from my writing 😅. I sidetracked, didn't I, oops. So, about me commenting on others' work, I feel awkward commenting but if I start reblogging a lot of stuff without commenting, I feel bad and kinda look like a weirdo to creators and to you all who follow me getting a bunch of notifications and not wanting to see the stuff I reblog. I also have self-doubt when reading other tickle fics, too, like they are better than mine, and I go into a spiral, and yeah. I know we all have unique styles, but I can't help compare myself to someone else's ruler. There I go worrying again, huh? It's just in my nature, and idk how to get rid of it.

Lastly, yes, there is some happiness and solace I found thanks to my irl bestie. To keep it short, I hung out with him a few days ago (we only see each other after every semester), got the courage to tell him everything that's been bothering me, we talked about it and I learned some stuff I didn't even now about him (he's always happy and joyful when I see him so it was a surprise), had a new goal for myself to work with him in the future (he's becoming an engineer too) it should keep me motivated to strive to be better in school, got tickled by his dogs (I've never been tickled before believe it or not and let me tell you, it's an amazing, giddy feeling trying to fruitlessly defend yourself from a dog's licks but failing miserably. And then catching your breath when you think the dogs had their fun only for them to just start licking you affectionately again. It's even worse if your best friend took a few pictures of you and you look absolutely lame and stupid 😭. But it was fun!), got to tickle him too and he tickled me back (looks like we're both shy lers 🙃, he's not in the tk community btw but he knows my love for tickling), and yeah I've never been happier in my entire life. I have a new goal and motivation and even got some inspiration and drive to write some tickles!

So, that's what's going on behind the scenes in my world and I really want to get back more into tickling and start reblogging and liking more stuff because there is a lot of good stuff I've been missing out just at a glance.

I still have to do my 2024 year in review and Scara's birthday fic along with some wip stuff that I might not finish in time. Plus, showcase to all of you Aether and his lovers house in my Serenitea Pot. Not to mention school starting again on the 21st 😩.

To close, I want to thank all of you who have supported me ever since I started this blog. I can't thank you enough for liking, reblogging, commenting, and appreciating my work. I'm going to be less active on here once school starts, as in I won't post my own fics, but I'll be reblogging and doing short posts whenever I'm on the app and feel like it. I'll still be here, and I'll do my best in school for myself and for all of you.

And special thanks:

@chibimochii You were the first one that liked my first fic/post [that post is gone though :( ] and I really love your art. Part of why I wanted to start this blog in the first place :) I'm proud to have earned your follow as well!

@kusuguricafe Thank you for booping me during that one event. It helped me get out of my shell a little and feel more comfortable posting here :)

@otomiyaa Thank you for being one of the first tickle blogs I saw when I signed up on Tumblr. You are a huge inspiration. I know I mentioned that already before, but another mention doesn't hurt ;)

@wertzunge Thank you for your comment on My Honey, My Bee. There was something with that interaction that just resonated with me and made me want to write more :)

@vaporized-dimsum Thank you for getting me into SethoScara! I wouldn't have been able to write for them without you :)

Thank you, everyone, for reading this far ❤️

-Perz

~Risus Amoris~

[aaal-iz-well]

What happens when you're tired, and angry, and feeling betrayed

Pairing: Avery and Jameson

Summary:

Jameson fucks up, again. But this time, Avery's had too much, and is too tired to hold back what's in her (heavy) heart.

(takes place sometime during The Hawthorne Legacy)

A/N: hello guys, so this is my first time posting my work over here, and i hope you guys like it. enjoy reading! AO3 LINK

Jameson, never the gentleman, opened the door for Avery before stepping in himself.

The lights flickered on automatically, and as if they knew he’d brought a girl, were dimmer, softer. Which surprised him, because why couldn’t they be like this when he stumbled in drunk? Instead of that eye-wateringly bright, which was mirrored on the insides of his eyelids for hours.

He’d have to look into that.

For now, he was looking at the state of his room, and wished he hadn’t been so bitchy about letting the staff clean it. As if letting someone see his stupid collection of riddles was a clear devaluation of them.

And it would’ve been cool if it was the sort of room that embraced the mess. Instead, the room seemed detached, its pristine surfaces glaring at the cluttered papers, just like Avery probably was.

Only when she quickly strode over to a wad of papers at the center of the mess did alarm bells go off in his head. But it was too late, as she was already straightening one against the floor, and turned to him with eyes that held so much—anger, betrayal, sadness, did he—

“You didn’t tell me about this,” she accused, and he wanted to rescue the paper from her clenching hands. That was the only copy he had; one she’d destroy if she didn’t control those shaking fingers. One he literally went to hell for.

He immediately moved towards her. Damage control. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, “just a—”

He stopped abruptly, grimacing at the way her fingers further tightened over it. “I thought we’d decided to tell each other everything,” she said indignantly. She wasn’t shouting, but the quake in her voice suggested she might as well be if she was that sort of person. “And, then let the other person decide what is and isn’t important.”

Jameson felt chagrined by his words to her upon discovering her letters thrown back at him.

But, he did what he did best in tight situations in front of disappointed teachers, and brothers, and grandfathers, alike. He shrugged in the boyish way he’d seen Avery admire from afar. “Well,” he tried to smile.

This only resulted in her crossing her arms over her chest, and the bitterness in her eyes as she appraised him felt more cutting than any barbs or threats or insults anyone had ever thrown at him.

His mind wanted to default to a wink, but he very much did not want to test her patience.

In a desperate attempt to avoid those eyes, he bent down and started collecting everything he’d discovered along with that zoomed in shot of Toby—which thankfully, wasn’t in a quite so bruising grip now.

Her hand clamped down on his wrist. She all but snatched them off the floor. Without sparing a glance at him, she quickly walked to his desk, and with exceeding force, pulled out the chair underneath it. Changing the lighting to that same blinding setting, she stacked the pages and tapped them against his desk, apparently determined to go through the whole load of them at this very instance.

He thought he saw her discreetly wipe off a tear over her cheek, which he doubted could be chalked up to the lighting.

His whole body felt tight, coiled up within the weight of her disapproval. His hands twitched to give something, that he didn’t think he had; to ease her shaking shoulders.

To convince himself he wasn’t a completely shitty person, he placed a hand on those shoulders, rubbing them slowly. “Heiress,” he said as softly as he could manage. “It’s been a really shitty long day. We- you can pick this up tomorrow. Why don’t you get some rest for now?”

She exhaled, her shoulders relaxing under his hands, and for a moment, he felt hopeful.

“Please,” she choked out, her eyes fixed on a zoomed-in image of Toby. “Don’t touch me.”

Jameson’s heart sunk, literally sunk. He felt it being dragged under, settling somewhere at the bottom of his gut; its rapid beat as it squirmed to be let free. Suddenly, he found his hands were still there, and lifted them as if burned, shifting back brokenly.

And he knew he couldn’t be in the same room as Avery with the knowledge that she didn’t even feel safe, after she’d said that. Before he knew what he was doing, he had collected a towel, and a spare change of clothes, thrown what he hoped was a coherent, “feeling like a shower” and locked himself in the bathroom.

Yes, he was a Hawthorne, hiding in his bathroom.

As he deposited what he’d brought over the hangers, a determination settled over his shoulders, giving them some strength.

An image started to form in his mind: of him exiting the bathroom, tragically handsomely. Steamed glasses, towel around his waist, backlit against the counter lights with steam condensing into his air-conditioned room. And have a heart to heart with Avery.

(He was yet unaware of the effects said heart to heart would have on him.)

As if to warn him, the striking hot water hit his skin, making him yelp, and he quickly switched to comfortably lukewarm. And got to doing something that had helped him crack so many stubborn riddles. Masterminding in the shower. So…

Toby was a mystery to Jameson. Something that made his hands itch to do something, everything, to find him. By hook or by crook. A part of him also thought of it as a race.

But he didn’t put a lot of thought into what he’d do after Toby was found. What was even left of a mystery when it was solved? Now that was a clear devaluation, the loss of allure. But he couldn’t picture anything significantly changed.

It couldn’t have been more different for Avery.

Those nimble hands kept filtering through everything, anything, when it came to Toby, eyes unblinking. Not because: Ha there you’re hiding. Nice place by the way, have to give it to you.

But because Toby was her friend, someone she bought breakfast, someone whom she let buy her breakfast. And by now, Jameson knew what an incredible feat that was, for Toby to have accomplished.

And then they found out he might be her father. Even with his eyes focused on the scribbled wall, he noticed her breathlessness as she ran out. Or how all the colour drained out of her already quite pale face, leaving her looking like something lifeless, when they were faced with the harrowing possibility that he might be hurt, or worse, dead.

For Avery, every thread unravelled was a nail bitten, an extra crease on her forehead, a pound lost.

What an incredibly senseless way to live, especially for someone as sensible as Avery, letting every hope hinge on something so uncertain.

***

Jameson got out the shower, not because he felt nearly composed after considering everything (quite the opposite actually), but because his hands were pruning, and his skin felt raw. He wrapped a towel around his torso, but the idea of going out like this felt ridiculous, so he quickly changed into the clothes he’d brought, and stepped out.

The result was rather anticlimactic, considering all his imagining, because Avery was slumped over the table, head to her side, over all the pages she’d earlier been determined to pour through all night.

Jameson had that feeling again, of those coils around him.

He gently shook her shoulder. “Heiress,” he said, “Avery!” Her eyes fluttered open, and it was a relief to see them look at him confusedly, rather than with malice. “Come on, get up, I’ll walk you to your room. Your back’ll thank you in the morning.”

Avery cracked both her eyes, quite painfully, it seemed, and they looked painfully red as well. It was then that he noticed the dried tears on her cheek. “Jamie,” she croaked.

The boy in question felt a pinch in his throat, at the sight of tears staining her face, and his nickname being used like that. For something other than the upper hand in a petty power play.

“Yes?” he whispered back.

She patted his shoulder, and it took him a while to understand, but he pulled back the other chair and sat down next to her.

He waited for her to say something, feeling uneasy.

She lifted her head up, somewhat. “Why’d you have to do that, Jameson?” she asked. “Every. Single. Time.” Her voice should have been demanding, claiming, but it felt like giving up instead. To sleep, to feelings��� he didn’t know.

Her face scrunched up. “I think we’re even, you know. When I show you everything I’ve collected over the years, praying you don’t think me mad for holding onto garbage.” She stopped, and he noticed the tears pricking the redness in her eyes. “Can you imagine how hard it must be for me in this shiny place? How stupid I feel showing you mum’s postcards, my old life, for what is game, Jameson—” she poked his chest righteously, her voice quivering “—all a game to you.”

“Avery—” he said, shaking his head, but stopped when he realised what a selfish thing he’d wanted to ask of her. Please stop, don’t tell me how shitty I am.

She had paused, and seemed to know this as well. “Yeah,” she said knowingly, mirthlessly. “But it’s okay, I think, because you’re doing the same, like I’m not opening up to be shot at.” She paused again. “But then, then you pull something like this, and I feel so stupid—” she seemed to be clawing for words, but a broken sob was all that came out, tears following.

“I hate being stupid,” she managed. “And over a boy, my god.”

Only when the silence— broken by her trying to compose herself, furiously swiping at her eyes— stretched on too long did Jameson realise she was done.

He felt tears prickling his eyes as well. At his utter uselessness, just sitting there, staring at her; at the urge to spew an excuse, to say ‘oh, guilty as charged’; at his tied tongue.

But, mostly, at his capacity to hurt. So grievously and deeply. For a truly dark moment, he thought there was no difference between him and Emily. After all, wasn’t this exactly how she’d made him feel. He recalled his shrug earlier, how it must have felt like a slap in the face, the way it’d come naturally for him to minimize her anger.

And his thoughts felt scattered, dangerous in the way they were bubbling up, trying to come out his throat. And he knew that anything he said right now might very well break the thread he stood on with Avery.

“Avery, we’ll talk about this tomorrow, I promise,” he told her, just as he saw her head droop to one side. “You should head to bed right now.”

She buried her sleepy face into her hands, and sighed. “I don’t want to go to my room.”

“Oh,” Jameson breathed. “What do you want to do, then?”

Avery rubbed her hands over her eyes, mumbled something unintelligible, and Jameson waited, waited, but she didn’t seem keen to repeat herself.

He shook her shoulder, and when she cracked open her eye, she looked even more annoyed. But before she could say a word, he pulled her up to her feet. Avery seemed to understand, as she walked quickly, following his lead to navigate all the clutter, to the bed.

He let her ease herself onto the mattress, and, then removed her shoes. Picking a thin blanket from his armoire, he draped it over her. As he went to switch off the lights, her hand caught his.

“Jamie,” she said, and it did feel like a powerplay this time. “Don’t you dare hide anything from me again. I’m not lying when I say I’ll kick you out.”

He was certainly surprised by her words, but could only nod. As he was closing the door behind him, he heard Avery call out. “Jameson, please don’t tell Alisa I’m here.”

“Sure thing.”

[cannotgiveafuck]

Have a 2am surprise snippet!

.

Billy's staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror again, and he can't seem to stop.

Not in the Narcissus way, of course. He's heard that story before from Diana. No, it's in the way that he can't quite comprehend what he's seeing. It's in the way that he sees himself and he feels a deja vu, like he's seen a ghost. And Billy has experience with ghosts.

The bruises under his eyes are worse, he thinks, or maybe it's because of the rough couple of nights he couldn't quite fall asleep. Particularly sensitive to the touch. Even if his finger tips weren't slightly calloused. And his eyes are blue, like always, but maybe a dimmer sort of blue? Not as bright as he thought they were, but deeper. There's specks in them, if he looks close enough, but not too close. Doesn't want to be a snake biting it's own tail, forever falling into depths that are a part of him.

He's played out that story before, too. Barely stood a chance.

His teeth aren't quite blinding white and straight, and smiling with his whole face comes easy, but it hurts his cheeks after a long minute. The deep blue doesn't shine as much as he expected, either. And as he rubs his face he can feel the uneven hair starting to come in like patchwork. That beard he's been trying for never quite growing out right, so Billy shaves it clean when he can. And that, too, feels wrong.

Billy stares at himself, expression lax, and he looks wrong, somehow.

He thinks, 'Cause you're not supposed to be like this, and it startles him to blink away from the mirror. Down his hands, fingers a little too boney, palms a little too rough, he thinks again, you're supposed to be more.

His reflection stares back at him now, wonderment gone and replaced with furrowed brows, with mused hair that never sits right.

Nothing about you sits right.

Thin skin tightens over clenched knuckles.

Nostrils flare and his mouth twitches, and it's not at all like the marble stone look Captain Marvel can do. A glance that stops most in their tracks. Billy can't do that. Maybe his jaw isn't hard enough? Or his chest puffed out? Shoulders back, chin up?

Oh Gods, he looks like a fuckin dweeb. Billy, stop that. Ugh.

He doesn't remember if his dad was as big as Marvel, but Billy knows he's much scrawnier than both. Shorter, too. Clark would say something about early childhood development, but Clark is one hundred percent farm raised beef, so what does he know about nothing but day old bread for three days?

Clark looks more like your dad than you ever will.

And that thought burns bright and hot across his brain, sears itself behind his retinas, and he hates it more than he knows he should. He hates it so much. Which is stupid because he likes Clark, but Billy looks at himself with his skinny arms and short legs and crooked smile and just...

There's nothing marvelous there.

He's just plain ol Billy Batson, twenty-three and barely looks it if not for the weight of Magic perpetually on his shoulders, the ghosts lingering in his eyes. Young and old all at once.

And yet, not young enough, not old enough.

Everything and nothing, and ain't that just his life? Gods, he never stood a chance.

Once, when he asked Teth how old Champions got to, Billy did not expect to see the age lines on Teth's face to be so deep, nor his eyes to get so dark. It wasn't a new expression, but Billy knew that Teth Adam tried not to show such sadness in front of him. Toward him.

"Champions outlived their loved ones," he had said, solemn and serious. "Except for the children chosen to bear the mantle. They never had a chance."

Teth's hand had gently clasped his shoulder, and Billy wondered for a moment at it not completely dwarfing him anymore. The squeeze no longer bruising.

As if to say, You never had a chance.