#how she was smart and brave

[alwayshinny]

Ginny Weasley ❤️

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

my favorite scully moments from s2

after the x-files are shut down, she gets moved to teach at the academy, and in episode 1 she does a little monologue on how a person’s body is a physical manifestation of a lifetime, which one of the students describes as “spooky”

when mulder sneaks off to puerto rico in the same episode, she goes into his place to try and figure where tf he went, and prevents his sneaking about being caught by the investigators who broke into his home with the power of feeding his fish

lecturing about the dangers of eating raw steak in episode 2, then getting lost down a rabbit hole of worm science

when no one was answering the door in episode 3, she just walks in. this made me laugh hysterically, i cannot explain. both of these guys WILL enter your home.

every single time she is a bit of a medical nerd, like when she learns about the surgery that allowed people to survive without sleep in episode 4, which she describes as “incredible”

(and the freckles + flower earrings combo were also a fave)

when she scans the piece of metal that came from duane barry in a grocery store in episode 6, and the cash register goes crazy. and she denies involvement and just walks away LMAOOO <- honestly i'd do the same!!

she wakes up from her coma in episode 8 and wants to write a thank you note to the nurse that took such good care of her, only to learn no such nurse ever existed. scully got to witness the paranormal for once!!!!

in episode 9, someone brings up a volcano scientist in conversation, and she says she had heard he was brilliant, which means that somehow she is keeping up with volcano news. she is a woman of many layers.

being deeply worried about this scared looking grad student she just met, and once again not waiting for an answer to enter her room and figure out if she is okay

(and when said grad student is being consumed by a fungus, scully thinks quickly enough to get herself locked behind a door, keeping herself safe, despite being handcuffed and otherwise looking death by fungus in the face)

in episode 11, mulder walks into his office, only to learn she has been there and has been going through his stuff since 6 in the morning. queen of getting results!

in the same episode, an old man overdoses on mushroom pills, and she shifts into Doctor Mode, yelling about “ventricular fibrillation” and “milligrams of lidocaine” and it was, like every other time she goes Doctor Mode, so deeply satisfying to watch

when she meets the two cops in episode 12, and can immediately tell they are having an affair and that the detective is pregnant, and despite the detective pleading with her not to tell a soul, the absolute MILLISECOND she is reunited with mulder, she spills the tea. and he is SHOCKED! <- arguably my favorite moment in the entire series so far

(and, to make the woman feel more comfortable, she confesses to also having had feelings for coworkers before which. elaborate on that, please)

but she really does care; when the detective ends up in the hospital, scully brings her a change of clothing <3

when she is so shaken by what she sees in episode 13 that she goes to the FBI’s onsite therapist; she’s too scared to tell mulder how she feels because “i don’t want him to feel like he has to protect me”

(as if there was ever going to be a choice; he is the protector and he Will protect, it's just his nature)

((and then later sobbing into his arms, realizing she doesn’t have to always put on a front))

toads start falling from the sky in episode 14, so she rationalizes that they likely came from a nearby tornado. this is a scully-approved theory.

they’re investigating a murder in the same episode, and a teenager starts pouring her absolutely horrific trauma out to both of them, scully holds her while she sobs into her jacket

honestly any time either of them know weird information, i love it. she says that it would take hours for a snake to eat a man and then weeks for it to digest in episode 14, and mulder makes some funny remark but it’s sooo endearing to me. she knows her snake facts.

then in episode 15, she notes poison in someone’s blood, but specifically that the poison comes from pufferfish eaten in Japan… girl i’m crying, she just knows stuff!

during that same case, they get rooms near each other like always, and she knocks on a door thinking it’s mulder’s. he doesn’t answer. she walks in and hears water running, so she just talks to him through the door to the bathroom. and i love this so much. i love that they are close enough to just walk into each other’s rooms and talk from behind the door while the other showers. it’s such married behavior.

working on the case in episode 16, we see her at home wearing a flannel, checking her computer, still serving looks but now giving casual

(and seeing the art she keeps on her walls- little postcards of beach scenes <3)

in the same episode, she knows mulder left to go get himself in trouble, so she bursts into skinner’s office to ask for help. but she feels bad for barging in on skinner, so she apologizes to him. which was very sweet.

when mulder is gone, she goes to his apartment to look for clues, and falls asleep on his couch

(and when X knocks on the door, she knows he is hiding something, and screams at him to tell her where he is)

this whole monologue from episode 17, which i loved more than life itself:

“several aspects of this case remain unexplained, suggesting the possibility of paranormal phenomena. but i am convinced that to accept such conclusions is to abandon all hope of understanding the scientific events behind them. many of the things i have seen have challenged my faith and my belief in an ordered universe, but this uncertainty has only strengthened my need to know, to understand, and to apply reason, to those things which seem to defy it”

(and that is just Her, isn't it? the need to understand, to rationalize. the worldview shaped on science- if she doesn't understand something, it's because a key piece is missing, and she'll find it. because the world Has to work that way, has to be bound by a greater logic, even if it is yet to be understood. to imagine otherwise would be impossible, to imagine otherwise would be to abandon hope in everything, and she cannot abandon hope)

((and maybe the idea that the world being something she cannot perfectly comprehend is a failing of her own understanding makes me a little emotional. but still))

she says that the whole loaves and fishes deal was a parable in episode 21; she is not a biblical literalist

(she then makes some sassy remark about things generating spontaneously, and mulder laughs in the corner. good to know he thinks she is funny)

every single time she answers the phone, she says “mulder, it’s me”, and idk i just think it’s so endearing

she thinks she might have been infected with a killer disease in episode 22, but mulder calls, so she tells him she’s okay and to take care of himself out there.... those are the last words she chooses, just in case they never talk again </3

and every time she says unsettling things, like “could be the residue of burnt human flesh” or “darkness covers a multitude of sins”, both in episode 23, i eat that up

reassuring her student who has just become a detective that she is doing just fine!!!

and then going to said student's funeral when things do not turn out fine... she loves her students that she taught for like 3 months so much :(

getting pulled aside by skinner and her bosses after mulder just acted wild in episode 25, and denying that she had seen any top secret files even though they say they will fire her if she lies lmaooo <- she is a ride or die!!!

but also going to his place, demanding assurance that she is doing the right thing by assisting him, and i love that. i love a character who will break all of the rules as long as they believe they are doing the thing that is morally Right, and that definition is so deeply her own, but she is committed to it, and she'll do anything to stick by it. and he just says something about getting the code that he wants broken, and despite how awful he's being, she goes through with it anyway because it's the Right thing to do.

later, her being the one to realize that mulder should not leave the house after his father was killed because he will be the prime suspect (he does not listen to this sound advice)

he stumbles into her place with a million degree fever, and she carefully lays him down in her own bed, despite the fact that he is soaked in his dead father's blood. and she takes care of him.

this one honestly deserves its own post because it is so incredible, but: shooting mulder with enough precision to get him to knock off his wild behavior that was going to make him look like he killed his dad, but not actually HURT him, then finding out krychek was putting LSD in his water, knocking him out, and driving 2 days to New Mexico to get him where he needed to be. AFTER he had been acting wild because he was inadvertently drugged, and had accused her of spying on him and being a traitor. that level of love is deep. very very deep. she is a Lover.

[tariah23]

Waiting on my friend to send me her amazing Goiji hc’s….

[countlessrealities]

Send me ∞ and my muse will tell about yours... || Always accepting !

@timelessstories sent: ∞ Marsha for Morty?

If I Think They Are: Ugly || Plain || Alright || Cute || Freaking Adorable || Pretty || Beautiful || Hot || Stunning 

If I Would Go On A Date With Them: Not even if we were the last two one earth || No || Maybe || Eh….Sure || Yes || WILL YOU MARRY ME

If I Trust Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || With My Life

If I Care About Them: Not At All || Not Really || Kind of || Yes || Deeply

My Comfort Level With Your Muse: Keep a Distance || Okay You Can Stand There, But Don’t Touch Me || Let’s Get Coffee Hot Chocolate and Talk || Let’s Cuddle || I Can Change In Front of You || Let’s Take a Bath Together

If I See You As: A Stranger || An Acquaintance || A Friend || A Close Friend || My Best Friend || A Crush || The Love of My Life

[piastriprincess]

here the whole time  ⸻  oscar  piastri  x  reader  .

featuring  oscar  piastri  ,  uni  au  ,  oscar  and  reader’s  relationship  is  kinda  two  dumb  bitches  telling  each  other  exactlyyyyy  ,  lando  and  george  haunting  the  narrative author’s  note requested  by  anon!  i’m  sorry  this  took  so  long  but  i  hope  this  lived  up  to  your  expectations  <3  this is my official contribution to the oscar piastri cringefail loserboy agenda !! i’m  still  getting  the  hang  of  smaus  so  don’t  hate  me  too  bad  for  this  .  as  always  please  lmk  what  you  think  ,  i  love  to  hear  from  yall  !  title  is  from  you  belong  with  me  by  taylor  swift  !

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff and 549 others yourusername breaking news: local girl is cold but she’s being really really brave about it

student1 giving editor in chief OF MY HEART ♥ liked by author student2 hiiii i hope this isn’t too weird but i’m a freshman and i really wanted to join the chronicle last semester but missed the app deadline, is there still a way i can get involved? ⤷ yourusername omg of course!! dm me, we’d love to have you on board 😎 ⤷ yourbff best co-EIC frfr!! ♥ liked by author georgerussell63 Looking forward to working with you again! ♥ liked by author ⤷ yourusername george we’ve been friends for 4 years why are you in my instagram comments like you’re my 40 year old coworker 😭😭😭 student3 she edits, she writes, she gatekeeps the google drive, she looks good doing it!!! oscarpiastri Cool photos 👍 ⤷ yourusername thanks osc!!

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to: Campus Cupid <campus.cupid@youruniversity.edu> from: Oscar Piastri <ojp81@youruniversity.edu> subject: Crush advice?

Hi Cupid,

This is slightly embarrassing, and I’m not totally sure how this works because I’ve never actually read your column, but my friend Lando said you give decent advice. Honestly, I could really use some, because I’m properly hopeless at this stuff. So here goes. 

There’s this girl I like. We’re not super close or anything, but we kind of orbit around each other if that makes sense? You know, a few mutual friends, some classes together, that kind of stuff. She’s brilliant — like genuinely really smart, and always has takes that make me see things differently. And she’s funny too. She’s got this way of making little offhand observations that just make me laugh. Stunning as well, but honestly that doesn’t crack the top 10 of things I like about her. She’s just… amazing, basically, and ridiculously out of my league. 

The issue is I have no idea whether she thinks of me as more than a friend. I’m not great at the whole romance thing to begin with, and I definitely don’t know how to figure out if she likes me or not. And even if she did, how am I supposed to tell her I like her? Do I just say it and hope for the best? Drop hints and pray she picks up on them? Keep emotionally repressing the feelings until I explode (which at this point is kind of seeming like the most likely option?)

I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for her or put pressure on her, but I also don’t want to spend the rest of the semester pretending I’m not interested when I definitely am. Would love some advice from the romance expert. 

— Sincerely, A Very Lost Cause (you can pick something less cringe if you want. I couldn’t really think of anything good. Yikes, I’m overthinking the sign-off too, aren’t I?) ───────── ☆ ─────────

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January 24

Welcome back to Cupid’s corner, where your love life is my business. Whether you’re falling in love or falling flat on your face, I’m here to help! XOXO, Cupid 💌

Q: My situationship told me he’s “emotionally available in theory,” but when I asked him to share how he’s feeling about us, he didn’t respond until 2 AM asking me to come over and talk about it. What does this mean? — Theoretical Thot

A: Dear Theoretical Thot, it sounds like he’s “emotionally available” the way that your professor is “available outside of office hours” — AKA, he’s not. Plus, the 2 AM text is the emotional equivalent of suggesting you meet up to discuss your relationship at a frat party: technically possible, but the environment isn’t exactly screaming meaningful conversation. If he was really willing to talk, that’s great, but make sure he’s not just creating an excuse to find you in his bed again! You deserve someone who doesn’t treat their feelings and yours like a part time job.

Q: I want to do something cute for my girlfriend for Valentine’s Day, but I spent my extra money on this fancy protein powder and now I’m completely broke. What’s a good budget Valentine’s idea? — Rich in Love (Poor in Cash)

A: Dear Rich in Love, it’s so sweet that you’re thinking about Valentine’s Day plans already. Broke V-Day is basically an extreme sport at this point, but it doesn’t mean you can’t still score! Being creative is wayyyy sexier than throwing a bunch of money. Write her a love letter! Or make her a playlist! You could even do a scavenger hunt connected to moments in your relationship. Years from now, she’ll remember the thought you put in, not the money you spent. Whatever you do, just make sure it’s from the heart! And maybe lay off the protein powder.

Q: I’ve got a crush on a friend of mine, but I have no idea whether she sees me as more than a friend or how to tell her I like her without making things weird. Help! — A Very Lost Cause

A: Dear Lost Cause, this is a tricky situation. I get the urge to go full rom-com and just confess your feelings, but maybe you should pump the brakes a little. If she IS interested, she’s probably already picking up on your energy. Maybe act a little bit less available? Sometimes people need space to realize exactly what… or who… they’re missing. But (out of purely professional curiosity, of course) what kind of friend are we talking? Lab partner? Frat sweetheart? My advice might change with a little more background info. 

Campus Cupid will run weekly until Valentine’s Day. After that, I turn back into a pumpkin (or just another regular student who cries in the library). Need help with a crush crisis? Email me at campus.cupid@youruniversity.edu. XOXO! ───────── ☆ ─────────

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───────── ☆ ───────── to: Campus Cupid <campus.cupid@youruniversity.edu> from: Oscar Piastri <ojp81@youruniversity.edu> subject: re: Crush advice?

Hi Cupid,

Me again (still a Very Lost Cause, I fear.) Thanks for answering my question last week. 

I tried your advice about pulling back and being less available, but I think it didn’t work. Or maybe I’m just shit at following advice. Probably both. The thing is, I think I’m sort of terrible at playing it cool. Every time I tried to give her space or forced myself to wait before texting her back, I was pretty much just staring at my phone like an idiot. And when I canceled plans with her, I spent half the night feeling like a complete dropkick and wishing I hadn’t. I ended up messaging her anyway — couldn’t even ignore her for more than a few hours.

The really pathetic thing, and I can’t believe I’m admitting this, is that I got jealous. Like properly jealous over nothing, which is insane, because I have no right to be, especially when I’m the one who backed off. But she was hanging out with this guy I thought might be into her, and for a few hours I genuinely considered transferring uni's. Turns out he’s not (thank God), but it kind of proves my point. 

I can’t play it cool with her. I don’t want to pull back. I like being around her. I like talking to her. I like the way she scrunches her nose when she’s confused. I like how she always has something smart to say even when she’s completely exhausted. I like that she always remembers the small things I say even when I don’t think she’s listening. I like her, full stop. And the more time I spend trying to act like I don’t, the worse it feels. 

So. Since pulling back didn’t work, what do I do now?

— Sincerely, your Very Very Lost Cause ───────── ☆ ─────────

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February 7

Welcome back to Cupid’s corner! Because nothing says happy Valentine’s Day like mild emotional panic sent to an anonymous advice columnist. Let’s fix your love life (and maybe mine too!) XOXO, Cupid 💌

Q: I had one too many cups of jungle juice at my frat’s mixer this weekend and accidentally liked my crush’s Instagram post from 2013. Should I transfer schools? — Butterfingers

A: Dear Butterfingers, take a deep breath. Although I get your impulse to flee the country, this is not a transfer-worthy offense. Here’s a wild idea: use this as an excuse to actually talk to them! Apologize for your social media snafu and follow it up with actual conversation. Or just pretend it never happened and continue living in denial like the rest of us. 

Q: I matched with my econ professor’s son on Tinder. We’ve been talking a little, and I kind of like him, but now I’m starting to feel super weird in lecture. Help! — Hot for Teacher(’s Son)

A: Dear Hot for Teacher(’s Son), what do you value more? The class or the guy? It sounds like it’s still early enough to drop either one. If you keep talking to him, you're going to spend every lecture wondering if Professor Dad knows you're the one sliding into his son's DMs. And if things go south romantically, you'll still have to sit through a whole semester of avoiding eye contact while learning about supply and demand curves. My advice? Be upfront with the guy about the situation and let him decide if he's comfortable with it too. If you're both cool with the weirdness, go for it. Just maybe don't bring him as your +1 to any department events.

Q: I tried to take your advice and pull back, but I don’t think it worked. I’m not good at playing it cool. What else could I do to make it clear that I like her? — A Very Very Lost Cause

A: Dear Lost Cause, I’m glad you’re back! Look, if playing it cool isn’t working, maybe it’s time to go in the complete opposite direction. Sometimes you have to be bold and put yourself out there in a big way. Here’s what I’m thinking: make a public gesture. Do something that gets people’s attention — at a party, or in front of your friends, or somewhere on campus where people will see. The bigger and more public, the better! 

Campus Cupid will run weekly until Valentine’s Day, after which I disappear into the mist like every good university urban legend. Time is running out to send me your burning questions and bad romantic choices at campus.cupid@youruniversity.edu. XOXO!

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liked by yourbff, lando, and 632 others yourusername working hard or hardly working? (hint it’s working hard we are working VERY HARD)

yourbff putting the DEAD in deadline ♥ liked by author student7 shoutout to red bull and crying in the print lab!! georgerussell63 You said you wouldn’t post it!!!!! ⤷ yourusername me when i lie :) ⤷ yourbff thank you for this GIFT student8 if we die bury us in the layout room prof.hamilton Amazing work!! So proud of my advisees ♥ liked by author oscarpiastri Killing it!! ♥ liked by author ⤷ yourusername my emotional support oscar 🥹 student9 she’s beauty she’s grace she hasn’t slept in 48 hours lando can you send that picture of gorge to me please

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to: Campus Cupid <campus.cupid@youruniversity.edu> from: Oscar Piastri <ojp81@youruniversity.edu> subject: re: re: Crush advice?

Hi Cupid,

Me again — for the last time, I swear! Although I think your inbox is probably closing anyway, given that it’s almost Valentine’s Day. 

First of all, thanks for your advice. It pretty much all terrified me, but I think I needed the push to stop overthinking everything. You made me feel a little less like an idiot fumbling around in the dark with this stuff, which honestly is a minor miracle. Even though your advice didn’t work out, it was definitely better than Lando's. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have gotten where I am without you.

Which brings me to where I am, I guess. As much as I want to beg you for more advice, as much as I want to stall and make it absolutely perfect for her, I think I’ve gotten to the point where no guidance, even from the self-proclaimed campus love expert, is going to make this any easier.

There is no perfect way to say it. There is no magic sentence, no secret signal that will make everything fall into place. I like her, and I don’t want to waste any more time pretending I don’t or hoping she figures it out on her own. 

So I’m just going to tell her. No schemes to figure out if she likes me too. No grand gestures that I forget to put my name on. Just us — just me, finally saying what’s been on my mind for a while. And whatever happens, at least I’ll know I said it.

Wish me luck, Cupid. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get another success story out of it.

— Sincerely, Oscar

PS: Also, I’m sorry I never answered your question about who she was to me. Maybe it would have made for better advice, but since you work for the Chronicle you probably know her, so I didn’t want to risk it. ───────── ☆ ─────────

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you have (1) missed call from osco • listen to voicemail? 1:21 ▶‖ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

“Hey, Happy Valentine's Day. Okay. Um… okay. [soft laugh] I really don’t know what I’m doing, or why I thought I’d be able to say this without getting nervous, but, uh, here goes. [sigh] This wasn’t how I planned it, you know. I was going to tell you after class like a normal person. But you didn’t show up, and now I’ve got all this stuff I want to say to you and nowhere to put it but your voicemail. I — I like you. A lot. Like, emailed Campus Cupid multiple times trying to figure out how to tell you, a lot. I tried to follow their advice and pull back, but I couldn’t really… stay away from you. [laugh] I mean, I bought the entire Chronicle donuts and a coffee machine because I thought it might make it obvious to you that I liked you. But even after all of that, I don’t know if you feel the same way. I really don’t. Just… I don’t know, I couldn’t not tell you, even if you don’t feel that way about me. [pause] And now I’m running to yours because I just realized I’m a complete idiot for not saying this to your face. I’ll be there in 10 minutes, just — please answer the door? Oh. Shit. Uh, this is Oscar by the way.”

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liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff and 1,092 others yourusername turns out my “bad advice” was some of my best. campus cupid signing off, xoxo 💌

yourbff pause for the big reveal… ♥ liked by author ⤷ yourusername and they never saw it coming babyyyy yourbff i called oscyn btw 😤😤 never back down never WHAT student12 YOU’RE CAMPUS CUPID???? georgerussell63 Blimey are you serious? Never would have guessed it, well done xx ⤷ yourbff george try not to sound intensely british challenge [FAILED] [NOT CLICKBAIT] ⤷ georgerussell63 @ yourbff you love it ⤷ yourbff oh 🫠 i kinda do ??? student13 absolutely iconic announcement + hard launch student14 OBSESSED WITH THIS you two are so cute !! oscarpiastri Love you (even though you sabotaged me) ♥ liked by author ⤷ yourusername love you too (i looked really cute doing it though right?) ⤷ oscarpiastri The cutest ⤷ lando gross get a room

[bi-writes]

deranged ex husband!ghost thoughts:

he lives up to his nickname. he's not ex husband price who simply Does Not Stop and shows up all the time to demonstrate to your new partners that he is fundamental anatomy to your life.

he haunts you. tampered amazon packages, a room slightly altered when you return from work, he's in your phone, he's in your inbox, he fixes things while you're away just as often as he breaks them.

is there someone in the other room? you bought a travel door lock and replaced every piece of home security tech with something new but you can swear you can hear a window shimmied open, a door lock whirring. you think you're losing your mind. who do you call when you think you're being stalked? when security is your greatest fear? your ex? his friends?

a wriggling and primal part of your mind warns you this is a bad idea. but you unblock his number, you text simon to see if he's still in the area. how are you doing? i know it's been a while, but i need a favor.

oh my goodness............................. (18+)

he says nothing as he does a walkthrough of your new divorcee flat. one bedroom in a nice-enough neighborhood, but you saw the twitch of his eye when he noticed the front lobby doors could be jimmyed open with the edge of a credit card.

the cat greets him like she always does. slender, grey thing that slithers between his thick legs as he moves through your space. you notice his gloved hands ghosting over divots in entryways that he made, flicking the useless lock of your window that he's already broken himself twice. you follow him like a puppy into every room he studies, rocking back and forth, wet eyes and trembling lips realizing as he moves just how unsafe you are.

he says nothing when he stands in your foyer again after doing his thorough once-over, turning to face you silently, where you're already crying. he just stands, not touching you, tilting his head to the side as he watches those glassy, salty tears fall down your puffed cheeks as you sputter through soft breaths that you don't know what to do.

ghost just kisses his teeth and stands there. he's an asshole—he's not going to do anything unless you ask him to. he's mean like that, likes to be wanted. he wants you to open your pretty, wet mouth and ask for it like a good girl. he's not going to assume you want his help; he wants you to put your hands on his thick chest and ask him all pathetic that you need him to do something about the thing that's been breaking into your house.

ghost is not your husband anymore though. when he was, he would've gladly fixed all your things for you. he would've gladly spent the entire day installing cameras, fixing your locks, getting you proper deadbolts, but he's just some man to you now, and his labor isn't for free.

he wants to feel nasty about it, but he can't. you don't even have to ask what he wants—you know what it is. you sniffle, blubbery and whiny, as you put your thumbs into the gusset of your sleep shorts and pull them to the side as you bend over the kitchen counter.

he keeps a big hand tangled in your hair as he fucks you. he yanks your neck back, bending you at the hip, an angle so sharp that your back arches uncomfortably as the edge of the counter digs into your tummy sharply. he barely makes a sound himself, but the slick between your bodies makes up for it.

slap, slap, slap—you're soaked between the thighs, all wound up and hot and breathless after watching ghost be so capable and confident and smart. he's so intelligent. he's so big and brawny and brave. you'd trade anything to feel safe again after living on your own after so long, and honestly, paying for fixed locks for a wet shag with your ex-husband isn't the worst price at all.

the problem between you two was never the sex, that's for sure. in fact, you think the connection alone kept you around longer than you meant to be. ghost would light a cigarette and stick a thick hand down his trousers, and you'd all but fall onto his dick just to placate the heat of attraction that always wound you like crazy.

your eyes roll back in your head when he cups your pussy with a big, hot hand. you grip the counter and grind against his palm, sticking your tongue out as he pounds into you deeper, more forcefully. he's close, you know it by the falter in his breaths, and you can't help yourself.

you just can't.

"inside—" you whine. "don't pull out—"

ghost laughs—why the fuck would he ever pull out?

maybe if he breaks a window next, you'll let him try for a baby.

[dollfacefantasy]

bucky barnes x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, public sex, boss/employee relationship a/n: i just watched brave new world so <3333 this is based on the request i am going to answer in a few moments.

1:30 pm, and a quick call to your desk. "sweetheart, could you come in here for a minute?" his voice crackled through the receiver. you knew what that meant.

not even five minutes later, he had you bent over the dark mahogany in his office, your pencil skirt hiked up around your hips, the pretty pink panties you'd worn for him pushed to the side so his cock could pump in and out of you with ease.

"fuck, mr. barnes," you whimpered, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. your hands slid as they pressed down on scattered papers beneath them.

a chuckle came from behind you. his hands gave your hips a squeeze. you could feel the mechanical flex on your left side.

"what'd i tell you about calling me that?" he asked.

"that- mmm- that i should only do it at work, but- ah!" you tried to explain, cut off by his tip brushing against a sensitive spot inside you. gripping the edge of the desk, you steeled yourself to finish your sentence. "but, technically, we're still at work, sir."

you heard him hum in acknowledgement, and in your mind, you could all but see that cute little smirk on his face. the one reserved for you. even when you were just his secretary, you were still the only one who got to see it so freely.

"smart girl. i guess that is true," he said, completing his statement with a particularly hard thrust.

you squeaked at the impact, and your eyes rolled back. despite your own noise, you were just happy the desk wasn't budging an inch under his momentum.

"but since we're 'at work,' you also know that you're supposed to be quiet," he said, his voice much lower and much closer to your ear. you could feel the crisp fabric of his suit against your back. his tie feathered along your side, causing you to squirm back on him.

"i- i am," you stammered.

"yeah? you think this is quiet? quiet enough that if anybody walked by those doors, they wouldn't hear you whining for me?" he whispered.

words of defense didn't come to mind. instead, you gasped as he nuzzled into your neck, planting open-mouthed kisses along your throat. your walls clamped around his length. you squeezed him, sucked him in with everything you had, your body wordlessly crying more, more, more.

"we wouldn't want any rumors going around, would we? people already talk about how cute my little secretary is, how she chases after me with stars in her eyes," he practically cooed. "they warn me about you, you know. i don't wanna get caught up in a scandal after all."

your knees almost give out beneath you, but being squished between him and the desk keeps you in place.

you knew what he was saying was true. people did talk about you and him. speculated if your relationship went beyond what was appropriate for a representative and his secretary. but fuck, you didn't care. not while sitting at your desk during the day or laying in his arms at night, and you certainly didn't care when he was fucking you like you'd been made just for him.

"they won't," you finally answered, words closer to a babble now. "they won't hear. only you can hear."

his lips curled into a smile against your skin. "that's right, baby. only me," he said with a soft peck to your cheek.

the moment of tenderness was brief though. his mechanical hand slid around to grasp your throat, giving him more leverage to drill into you.

at this point, you were right on the edge. he had settled into a rhythm that stroked you just right every time. your release was coming closer and closer every second.

you sucked in another ragged breath, unable to get the words out to articulate what you felt inside. but that was ok. he knew all your tells. he recognized the shaky legs and grabby hands and pulsing grip of your cunt.

his hand that wasn't on your neck wrapped around your body and snaked its way between your legs. the warm flesh of his fingertips swirled over your clit, rubbed back and forth in rapid stripes to give you the final push.

"i know, baby. i know it feels so good, and i know you're gonna be a good girl and stay quiet. so cum for me," he murmured.

just in case, you covered your mouth with your palm. your body spasmed as you let release wash over you. to your surprise, you did remain quiet for the most part. only a few little sounds of ecstasy escaped your lips for your hand to muffle.

he groaned right into your ear, the noise quiet to the entire world except for you. it was only a matter of seconds before you felt the familiar burst of warmth and the uneven jolts of his hips against your backside.

once the two of you had both finished, you each took a few seconds to catch your breath. you couldn't take too long however because his lunch break was ending, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out the both of you were doing a little more than going over briefings in here.

he eased out of you and then helped you clean up a bit. your panties fell back into place while your skirt unbunched to cover up your thighs again. you glanced in the mirror on the wall to make sure your makeup hadn't smudged. with a tug of your blazer, you were ready to go back out there.

"not even gonna give me a kiss before you go?" he asked.

that brought a little smile to your face. when you turned to him once again, he was put back together too. no remnants of you on his suit, all the buttons together again, every strand of his hair in place.

you leaned in for what was supposed to be a quick peck. but his arm looped around your waist and held you close for a few moments longer. your shy eyes connected with his when he finally let you pull away. he gave you a pat on the ass as you went to walk away.

"i'll see you after work, mr. barnes," you said with a little laugh.

[bananafieldnotes]

baby love

★ abstract: bo chow’s engaged to the wonderful grace. but seeing you waltz into his shop after so much time apart may change his answer at the altar

content disclosure: smut, black!reader, allusions to segregation, dirty talk, unintentional grace slander, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, spit, canon deviation

author's note: the poll was extremely in favor of a bo chow x reader, and i was feeling inspired to write a little something lusty with a pinch of angst. deviates from canon of course, and the timeline is flexible. hope y'all enjoy! i wrote this quickly and skimmed through to proofread so apologies if i missed anything

Butter. A whole 'nother trip to the store because you didn’t buy enough butter. The cornbread would be nothing without it, and you had no business hosting Sunday dinner without it. And that’s why you pushed through the frustration of stepping back out into the sweltering heat once more, huffing only to yourself so people wouldn’t go around whispering about how grouchy you were. Word ‘round Clarksdale got around like wildfire, and reputations were hard to reconstruct. It’s how the twins kept their status on coldhearted gangsters, and why you kept your lips pursed.

Normally, if you weren’t in a time crunch, you go back to Jiffy’s Grocer on the further side of town. The prices were decent and they treat you like family down there. But it was a hike from your current neck of the woods, and you were racing the clock against the roast chicken you kept in the oven on your dash out the door. Just this once, you’d have to go to Bo’s store.

The people of Clarksdale loved his stores. Business was always booming, and his fiancée knew exactly how to work the whites only storefront. Oftentimes, they’re regarded as the perfect match— and that was exactly why you avoided them at all costs.

It all felt like a million years ago, but it was only eight short years ago when you were calling Bo yours. Every Wednesday for months, you’d swish into his shop, the Black side, ready with money in hand for his priciest vanilla and another sack of flour. He knew you and your grandmother were the ones behind the underground cookie business Mary was running. She got 10% of the profits just for being the face, so that white customers wouldn’t have to contend with the fact that their sweet tooth was being fed by Black women. It was lucrative enough for you not to care.

You were smart with your money, and Bo was too loyal to say anything to anyone. He admired your wit, your drive, your passion. It didn’t take him long to work up the courage to ask you out on a proper date, one with drinking and blues music and half the town watching his hand sneakily graze your derrière. It didn’t matter how different the two of you were under the scorching lights of Mezzanine’s— he was your Bo.

But you should’ve known it wouldn’t have lasted. Bo was too public facing to have a Black wife, and both of you knew it. His white customers would never buy from a Black worker, and he didn’t even like the idea of leaving you to brave the shop on your own. Things were changing in Clarksdale by the day, and he wasn’t gonna gamble on your life.

Choosing the store over you was the end of the whirlwind romance, and the beginning of the whispers from fellow patrons. It no longer served you to shop there, to be reminded of him and his annoyingly handsome face all of the time. And when your grandmother passed, you didn’t dare read the note he sent with the egregiously large bouquet he sent to the house. All curiosity died the second you saw him toting Grace around town, taking her to all the places he took you first. Clarksdale was small, and your only guaranteed respite during the early stages of their relationship was during your grocery shopping.

Crossing your fingers, your gloved hands gently pushed open the front door. It had been years since you last saw him, and today didn’t have to be any different if you were quick enough. You winced at the sharp ding! that alerted your entry. So much for slipping in unannounced. The store was crowded, customers whizzing through pockets of space around others and all the while concealing themselves; your timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

There was a fridge of butter right near the checkout counter, and the line was short enough for you to get out sooner than you could’ve hoped. You grabbed a few extra sticks just to avoid the possibility of repeating history, and you kept your face hidden behind the rim of your hat.

“Here, I’ll take over. Next!”

It was unmistakable, that drawl of his. Goosebumps rippled across your skin as you lifted your chin to see him staring back at you expectantly. He was already searching your every feature when you locked eyes, recognition washing over him in a glacial wave of disbelief. His mouth was left ajar as you placed all the butter in front of him, heat rising to your cheeks. “You’ll catch flies that way, Bo.”

He stuttered, glancing around the room to see if anyone was watching the two of you. “Where did you go?” His voice was just above a whisper, the instability evident is his quiver. Eight years apart and that was the first question out of his mouth.

“You think I wanted to stick around and watch you two live happily ever after? I made changes.”

You were never this stoic with him. Bo was used to the you who couldn’t stand to be apart from him, who couldn’t help but giggle if he looked at you too long. He was used to you using any and every excuse to kiss him, touch him, lick him. Nothing about your cold distance was normal.

Except it was normal. The new normal. He has a new woman in his life to crave him, to love him, to intertwine with him. It couldn’t be you anymore because he’d made sure of that.

“Can we talk?”

You stuck out the exact change for your items, refusing to look him in the eyes again. His eyes were too powerful, their emotion too potent. You weren’t here for him, you remind yourself. Butter. Just butter. “I’d like a small bag if you have one.”

“___. Will you forget about the damn butter?”

You huffed loudly, dropping the money on the counter to grab the butter and make a dash for it. He couldn’t force you to talk to him, and you still had a chicken to baste. “Goodbye.”

Bo knew better than to yell after you. Grace would hear all about his improper power struggle of a woman she knew nothing about. He’d buried his past with you so he’d never have to revisit it; out of sight, out of mind. If only love were truly that easy to manage.

It was nothing but the grace of your ancestors that the chicken hadn’t dried out in the time it took you to get back to your secluded home. You still had about an hour left to prepare for your guests, and it seemed futile against the constant reminder of Bo. These dinners were something the two of you started together as a way of making extra effort to connect with your friends and loved ones. You loved hosting and you loved the glimpse of your future that it brought you. A lifetime of Bo Chow distracting you with kisses and sly touches, helping you clean up since he was a sous chef at best.

The scars on your memories ran deep, but you had mastered the art of pretending they hadn’t. Your friends were careful not to mention his existence which you were eternally grateful for. You healed, you grew new roots. New traditions. A new life, a beautiful one, without. You couldn’t help the Bo shaped storm cloud that lingered every now and then, but you could be ready with shelter.

Gumbo, cornbread, chicken and greens. A freshly baked pecan pie bubbling in the oven. The timer went off just as the first of your friends knocked at the door. You were expecting Sylvie since she was always the first to arrive, but the door opened to reveal no such thing. In front of Sylvie, Annie, Smoke, Simone, Albie, and Michael was none other than Bo Chow. Holding flowers, no less.

“I-I forgot about Sunday dinners.”

Your friends cleared their throats, making their way around him and into your home as he stood at the doorstep gawking at you. “What are you doin’ here, Bo? Don’t you got a store to run?” The hesitation in his response led you to believe Grace was running the store in his place, which only served to make the present moment feel that much more ridiculous. “Say something, don’t just stand there.”

“I shoulda never ended things with us, ___,” he pushed the flowers on you, stepping closer to you underneath the door frame. “Look, I know how this sounds. I know I look like a piece a’ shit comin’ to you like this, but I can’t make the same mistake twice. I still love you, dammit.”

The flowers were the last thing on your mind as he pulled you into his arms and kissed your forehead, sweeping you in his embrace like you were still his. Your friends were surely listening from just around the corner but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. He was holding you again, confessing that he still loves you. Eight years vanished in an instant, all with the soothing sincerity of his voice and the soft juxtaposition of his calloused hands on your body. One dinner wouldn’t hurt.

“I tell ya, I ain’t neva seen nothin’ like it!”

The table erupted in laughter at Bo’s anecdote, silverware chiming against the plates in the background of his story. All was forgiven amidst the chuckles and tears of fellowship, at least it seemed that way. No one took notice of the way Bo was squeezing your hand under the table, or the way he’d whisper a compliment of innuendo in your ear when it was someone else’s turn to speak.

“I like this dress on you,” his breath against your ear made you shudder, eyes threatening to close from the intimacy. “You already know that, though. Bet you remember that night like it was yesterday.”

Time stood still at the memory. The twins invited anyone with a pulse to come celebrate their birthday, and Bo had just bought you a new dress. An elegant sea of lilac satin, squaring your neck and plunging ever so slightly in the back. It cascaded your curves perfectly, framing your physique in a way that made his mouth water every time you moved in it. You’d spent half the night glued to Bo, material of the dress bunched around your hips as he fucked into you frenziedly. Only Stack suspected where you disappeared off to when he plucked a twig from your slightly disheveled hair. You winced at the memory of being so young together.

You felt your nipples harden through the thin material of said dress, the flashbacks of your slippery thighs quivering around his waist too much to bear. It was like you were there again, even just for a fragment of space and time, returning back to the way he ravished you. His lips peppering kisses along the column of your throat, one hand massaging your breast underneath your gown. If anyone saw the two of you it would be the talk of the town, the kind of scandal that was life ruining. But it only fueled the fire between you, thriving on the nerves of someone wandering across you.

It was electric, and it was off limits to think about now. That Bo only lives in the corners of your mind now that Grace has a ring on her finger, and a quick declaration before Sunday night's feast couldn’t change that. It was all talk so far, and it had to stay that way until you saw the walk.

The flush left your face as you sipped on iced tea, pulling the hair away from your neck. Bo could tell you weren’t as unaffected as you feigned, smirking to himself as he took another bite of gumbo. The way you shifted in your seat told tale enough of how the memories had stuck with you, too. Annie chimed in to talk now, looking to Smoke to confirm the details as she drew out her own event.

Bo’s hand rested atop your thigh, discreet and comfortable as he continued talking to your friends. His thumb rubbed against this softer skin of your innermost part, inching dangerously close to the apex but remaining just shy of it. The right thing to do would’ve been to remove it, but you just couldn’t. Your heart hadn’t raced this way since you were last together, tracing every inch of his skin in effort to memorize him.

He slipped into helping you clean up, washing up while you stored away leftovers. Your friends were long gone by the time you finished, and you could feel your heart thrum at the realization that you were fully alone with him. In your house. Hidden under the cover of night, under the protection of magnolia that shielded you from outside judgment.

Bo, who had spent the better part of the night pushing your boundaries, stood across the kitchen towel in hand. The moonlight cast a halo over his bronze toned skin, the Mississippi sun baking him after long days moving shipment. Sun-kissed and lovestruck, he looked up at you.

“I thought my life had to look a certain way, that’s why my parents came to this country. But I don’t want any of that with just anyone, baby love. I’ve been wired to tick all the boxes, and I’ve been racing toward a finish line I don’t even wanna cross no more. Not without you,” he closed the distance between you, careful not to move too suddenly. “This could be our shot. We deserve a second chance.”

It was exactly what you wished he said years ago instead of completely restructuring his life around her. “What about your life with Grace?”

“I told her we were done the moment you left the store,” he tossed the towel over your shoulder to the sink, pulling your hips square against his. “I’d rather be single than with anyone but you.”

His lips ventured forward at a snail pace, eyes darting between yours and your eyes as he waited for you to protest. To push at his chest or turn away. Instead, your breath was baited, anticipating the taste of his mouth on yours again. The exploratory smack of his lips sucking at your bottom one, tugging at it before swooping in for a real kiss. He inhaled sharply as you melted into him, hands cupping his head as you arched against him.

The thin barrier of your dress did nothing to dull the feeling of his chiseled chest against your pert nipples. Something about the warmth of his body on yours clouded your brain with nothing but unholy thoughts, panties dampening as Bo hoisted you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. His tongue swirled around yours as he unbuttoned his shirt, buff arms freeing themselves from the now suffocating article of clothing.

Shirtless under the soft glow of your kitchen lights was a sight for sore eyes. His hair was pushed back, slick with a mixture of product and sweat that made it glisten. “Let me make love to you, baby.”

Bo’s lips abandoned his wet suckling of your lips and trailed down your neck, between the valley of your breast and down your delicate stomach that flipped at the contact. His head disappeared underneath your dress, fingers hooking into your underwear to slide them down your legs. You didn’t know how you ended up sprawled across your kitchen with Bo Chow lapping his tongue at your dripping folds on a balmy summer night. How you went from forcing yourself not to think about him to now, with his head bobbing up and down as his tongue plunging as far inside you as he could reach.

He still knew your body better than anyone who tried to fill his shoes after your heartbreak— and he still derived pleasure from fulfilling you. His whiny groans into your pussy sent vibrations that rocked your nerves as you pulled him flush into the crux of your legs, basking in every lap of his tongue. “Bo” was all you could manage to cry out, gasping as he pried your legs apart to shake his head back and forth as he ate you.

Orgasm was imminent and he knew it in the way your hips rolled, impatient squirms turning into desperate twitching that only climax could subdue. He pulled away with arousal coating his nose and chin, not bothering to wipe as he kissed you just as messily as he was eating you out. You welcomed the kiss, palming him through his trousers as he leaned over your spent frame.

He unburdened himself of those very pants as your fingers thread through his hair, completely taken with the taste of yourself on his mouth. His cock grazed between your lips to gather your wetness before sinking into you, moaning against the side of your jaw. So wet, so warm, so tight. The slick heat of your pussy in the reunion he feared he’d never get.

With all the buildup from Bo’s ravenous slurping, the pressure of him brushing your g-spot tipped you right over the edge, climax pulling you under the current of waves of Bo’s making. The cabinet beneath you shook as he fucked you through the aftershocks, using the creaminess of your orgasm as extra lubricant. He dribbled an extra splatter of spit on your clit just to be safe before stealing forward again, hips rolling in time with his thumb’s circles against your pearl.

Bo was on a mission to make you see the stars, his own high nowhere at the forefront of his mind. “You gon’ cum for me again, honey?”

There were tears spilling out the corners of your eyes as you clawed at his back. “Bo, please, give it to me.” The wet slaps of his skin with each thrust rang throughout the kitchen, enveloping your ears in a vulgar symphony of depravity. He knew better than to switch up anything he was doing, knowing you’d fall apart as long as he kept doing exactly what he was.

And fall apart you did with one last kiss to your sweet spot, muscles tensing up just to go lifeless in the same breath. Bo kept you from falling over the edge of the countertop as your body convulsed with the current of ecstasy running through it. The wind was effectively blown from your lungs in the midst of your rapture, and you gasped for air as you finally cut through the hazy mist of bliss.

“Fuck, ___, I-I’m—” The intensity of Bo’s climax interrupted his own words, heat rippling from his head to his toes as he came in heavy spurts. Rivulets slipped out of you as his cum filled you up more than you could take, adding to the glossy mess that was already there.

He kept his eyes trained on your puffy pussy lips, watching the cum leak out of you as he pulled his pants back on. “D-Don’t…”

Your breath was shaky, heart pounding in your ears from everything he’d put your body through— and what the look on his face told you he was going to do. “Oh, c’mon, baby love. I just miss you ’s all. Lemme give you a couple more.”

And then his mouth was back to sucking at your clit, shamelessly swallowing the salty taste he’d left behind to pull another high-pitched scream from your throat.

Bo Chow was nowhere near done with you.

[jaycewithawhy]

I'm so emotional about how Niko reacted to Charles forbidding them to come with him to hell

Because like... well, Crystal goes and actively seeks out her asshole ex who she only just got out of her head. Which says so much about how kind and caring and brave she is at heart and I love her for it but it doesn't ultimately end up being all that helpful to the situation at hand.

But Niko... it seems like Niko just passively accepts it. She knows she can't help with literal actual hell so she just stays behind and waits. And no one questions that. Everyone has always respected her ability to tap out of the scary adventures and that's lovely and if that was it that would be perfectly fine storytelling.

But it gets better. When Edwin and Charles return, we realize that she hasn't just been sitting and waiting. She realized that she couldn't help with Hell, so she looked ahead to what the next obstacle would be for her friends, and she looked at the Night Nurse and she realized there was a way she could help. So she sat with this woman who wanted to take away her friends and she played the fool and asked questions and convinced the night nurse to let her see the rules and regulations just to stop her chattering - knowing that if she could just find a loophole, she could buy them some time. So she dove into this book of regulations, and she found a loophole. She probably found a few, just in case the first didn't work.

And no one - not even the audience - realizes what she's done until it's done. It's brilliant and she makes it look easy. It's something only she can do, and it works with Charles' plan, even if he isn't trying to work with her.

Edwin might be book smart but Niko is the one who is willing to ask questions and listen to the answers. And the information she finds this way is always so critical.

I love her so much.

[bitters-n-sweets]

what survived the fire pt. 1 — jack abbot x fem!reader Years after battlefield promises are shattered by war, Jack is haunted by the combat medic who saved his life—until she walks into his ER, very much alive.

warnings: imagine any age you want, maybe the reader is immortal or smth | reader was in the same tour as jack once | blood, almost dying | hints at su1c1d4l tendencies | nothing 18+, but minors still go away masterlist | part two

[flashback]

"Don't you die on me, Jack."

Jack's eyes fluttered, blood staining his teeth when he coughed. You caught the splatter against your cheek and didn’t even flinch. He tried to speak, and you silenced him with a firm shake of your head.

"You promised me coffee when this is all over, remember? You can't go back on your word now."

You pressed harder on his wound, felt the strain in your body, but you wouldn't give up. You wouldn't let him go. The blast had taken out a lot of people, left the rest of the convoy a disaster.

But all you could see was the man in front of you. The surgeon who had come to the field a few weeks ago, who worked with his sleeves rolled up, with his sharp senses and wit, who had made you laugh when you forgot what laughter sounded like amidst the blood and chaos.

And he was dying in your arms.

[present day]

Jack sits upright suddenly as another nightmare courses through him, sweat clinging to his skin. He's been having the same nightmare for the 3rd time this week. Always about you.

He's never stopped thinking about you. You were the one thing he looked forward to on his last tour a few years ago. He didn't even know why he said yes to the deployment in the first place, but getting to know you made it more than bearable.

Jack decides to come in early for his shift. He's got nothing better to do anyway, and it's not like he'll be able to sleep some more.

"Jack?" Robby calls as he sees him, "You're way too early."

"Can't sleep." He says, colder than usual without realizing.

"The same nightmare again?"

Jack's jaw tenses. "Yeah."

[flashback]

“What’s your life like?” you’d asked, your voice low. “Outside all of this mess.”

The two of you were tucked behind a supply tent, sharing a small, half-empty bottle of whiskey passed between gloved hands. It was late. And after a long, hard day, you both needed a friend.

Jack leaned back against the canvas wall, eyes on the stars like they might offer a real answer. “Still in the ER. Still patching people up. Going to therapy. Dodging my self-destructive habits.”

You blinked, surprised. “Therapy? Huh.”

“What?” he asked, almost smiling.

“Didn’t expect that,” you admitted. “No offense, but guys in this line of work don’t usually line up for therapy.”

Jack shrugged, taking another sip. “Guess I got tired of trying to outrun my own head. Figured I’d give something else a shot.”

You watched him in the dim light, shadows softening the edges of his face. There was something vulnerable in the way he said it—something that made you feel warm inside.

“You’re a good man, Jack,” you said, quiet and sure.

He glanced at you then, unsure of how to process what you just said. His hand brushed yours when he reached for the bottle again, but he didn’t pull away. Neither did you.

[present day]

"I can't stop dreaming about her." Jack says, knowing it's Robby behind the railing of the rooftop.

Robby steps up beside him, leaning on the cold railing. "Well what's she like?"

Jack lets out a quiet chuckle, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "She was young. But not really—she had this old soul thing going. Like she’d seen more than most of us and still came out swinging."

"She's smart. Stubborn. Brave. Had this spark that could light up the darkest places... she’d rock anyone’s world."

Robby doesn’t speak, just listens.

"I promised her we’d get coffee when it was over. I’d show her around town, give her something normal... let her into the parts of my life that didn’t hurt.” Jack’s voice breaks just slightly. "I wanted her to see something good for once." Jack fights the tears threatening to fall over.

"She saved my life, Robby. And I couldn’t save her."

"Is she...?" Robby leaves his question unfinished.

Jack sighs. "MIA. That’s all they told me. No body. No signs. Just—gone. So they slapped on a label and called it closure."

He laughs bitterly under his breath, because the system failed them.

[flashback]

"So what's your life like?" Jack asked you this time.

You looked at him and chuckled. "Not much. Been here my whole life, never knew anything else besides GSWs and traumas."

Jack went quiet.

"Sorry, that's too depressing." You laughed awkwardly. "Um, I like jazz, or blues. Whiskey is a new thing I like—thanks to you, and uh.. here's something weird, I used to want to be a writer. I don’t know, stupid dream, I guess. Never really had the time."

"It's not stupid," Jack said. "Wanting something quieter, gentler than this."

"Gentler?"

"Yeah." He said. "You're still carrying something good, something calm in you. Don't lose that."

You tried to play it off, laughing softly as you looked down at your boots. "You say stuff like that and I forget we’re sitting in a field hospital with six wounded and a crate of morphine that’s probably expired."

Jack smiled. "You make this place bearable. At least to me."

You met his eyes then. And something in your chest shifted—makes you want to lean on him.

"Someday," he said, voice low and sure, "I hope you write about it. All of it."

You shook your head with a quiet laugh. "Only if you promise to read it."

"Deal."

[present day]

Jack's back at work, buried with patients and he feels like his head is about to explode. He's halfway through reviewing charts at the nurses' station when Gloria calls him over.

"Got a minute?"

Jack doesn’t even look up. "Robby's not here."

"Wasn't looking for him."

With a heavy sigh, he sets the chart down and rubs the bridge of his nose before stepping around. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Gloria?"

"We’ve got a new trauma fellow transferring in today. She’s doing her first rotation with you."

Jack glances at the folder Gloria hands him, flipping through it without giving much thought. The name doesn’t register at first—he’s skimming more out of habit than curiosity. "Okay, is she here yet?"

"She should arrive any second now—oh, there she is."

Jack turns.

And time stops.

You’re standing just past the entrance, signing in with Ahmad, your coat slung over one arm with a stethoscope in your pocket. The light catches your face—you look older, changed, but he'd recognize you anywhere.

His stomach drops. He forgets how to breathe. Jack hears his own heart in his ears, pounding so hard it’s drowning out the sounds of the ward. He doesn’t move. Can’t.

You don’t see him at first, too busy scanning the ER. But then your gaze lands on his.

You freeze. Your expression shifts—confusion, disbelief, almost afraid. "J-Jack?"

Gloria glances between the two of you, puzzled. "You two... know each other?"

Jack doesn’t answer. He’s still staring at you like you’re a ghost—because as far as he knew, you were.

-----

a/n: i can't get him out of my head help

[yaloellie]

That's how my first Hunter run ended.

One of the most heartbreaking moments I've ever had playing Rain World.

Some screenshots and drawings of Hunter and his pup under cut...

Guardians are cruel

Her name was Lemon Butterfly. She was very brave and smart slugpup who helped me many times.

I made a small (and a bit ugly, but still emotional) comic with happy ending. I needed this

[dykebehaviour]

⋆ ˚｡✞ ⋆˚sanctified⋆ ˚｡✞ ⋆˚

rebel!ellie x preachers!daughter!reader

✞ summary : you, the preacher’s daughter, falls for the school’s rebellious out lesbian. shame, faith, and first love collide in a slow-burning secret romance that threatens to ruin everything - unless you’re brave enough to choose it.

glass saint

✞ cw : religious themes, internalised homophobia, fem!reader, emotional repression, drug use, language, emotional vulnerability.

✞ wk : 4,500

✞ 1 > 2 > 3

you grew up believing heaven was measured in obedience.

pressed skirts, bowed heads, and whispered amens. that was the currency of salvation. your father taught you that. he didn’t say it so much as live it - voice steady at the pulpit every sunday, always dressed in some shade of holy, his faith shining like a sword in the dark. you were raised like a precious thing. protected. sheltered. moulded.

so when you came to saint agnes girls academy - the all-girls religious boarding school nestled in the woods just outside ashland - you already knew how to keep your mouth shut and your knees together. you already knew the words to every hymn, every psalm, every prayer. you already knew who to be.

but nothing could have prepared you for ellie williams.

you’d heard of her before you ever saw her. the whispers started day one. “don’t sit near her.” “she’s a freak.” “she got expelled from three schools already.” “she kissed a girl and told the priest to go fuck himself.” you told yourself you didn’t care. that she was just another lost soul on the edge of ruin.

but that was before the chapel incident.

it was the third week of term when it happened. wednesday evening mass. you were sitting in the front row, back straight, cross necklace gleaming like polished silver in the candlelight. ellie stumbled in halfway through the sermon - late, of course - and didn’t even pretend to be reverent. she slouched into the pew behind you, her uniform a mess: tie loose, shirt untucked, black hoodie poking out from underneath her blazer. her shoes, beat up and definitely not regulated, clunked against the floor as she kicked them up onto the wooden bench, arms stretched wide like she was crucifying herself.

you didn’t mean to look. you really didn’t. but you couldn’t help it. something about her demanded to be seen.

her eyes met yours halfway through father matthews’ reading from leviticus. you hadn’t realised she was staring. her gaze was piercing; sharp, amused, knowing. and when the priest read, “thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind: it is abomination”, ellie smirked.

then, quiet, low, just loud enough for you to hear, she muttered: “guess i’m going to hell.”

you flushed hot all over.

not because you were scandalised.

but because your thighs pressed together, tight.

you didn’t speak to her for weeks after that. you avoided her when you could. she always seemed to be somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be: behind the science labs smoking weed, or carving something into the underside of a desk in ethics class, or passed out in the sun with headphones on during choir practice. people gave her a wide berth. the teachers tolerated her only because she was too smart to flunk and too stubborn to punish.

but you were different. you couldn’t ignore her.

because she was the only thing in this place that made you feel like you were unraveling.

and you hated that.

so the first time you talked to her, it was out of spite.

she was lounging outside the dormitories, sitting on the hood of one of the school vans with a sketchpad in her lap and a cigarette between her lips. the sun was setting behind her, turning the clouds violet and gold.

you stood over her with your arms crossed.

“you’re not supposed to smoke on school grounds.”

she didn’t look up. just exhaled slow and said, “you’re not supposed to lie, either. but i bet you do.”

you stiffened. “excuse me?”

ellie finally looked up. her eyes were green and wicked. “you think no one notices you staring? you practically drool every time i walk past.”

“i don’t-“

“relax,” she said, smirking. “i’m flattered. daddy’s little saint wants to be a sinner. cute.”

you slapped the sketchpad out of her lap.

it fell to the pavement, flipping open to reveal a half-finished charcoal sketch.

of you.

you turned and walked away before she could see your hands trembling.

from that day forward, she started talking to you like it was a game.

little things. snide comments in the hallway. winks from across the dining hall. notes slipped into your locker with things like “tell me again how you’re not gay while you keep staring at the girls in the locker rooms like that.” or “confession at 7? you should really bring up the way you stared at me in theology today. real unholy.”

you hated her.

you hated the way she made you feel.

you hated that she could say those things so freely, like she wasn’t scared. like she’d already made peace with the part of herself you were still trying to drown in scripture.

but the worst part? you started writing back.

the first note was angry. accusatory.

i feel sorry for you.

her response?

that’s funny. i touch myself to you.

you nearly set it on fire.

but you didn’t.

you kept it in your bible. right next to the book of james.

the slow burn wasn’t fire at first.

it was silence. stolen glances. unspoken tension.

it was the way she sat behind you in chapel, always one pew back, always close enough that you could hear her breathing. it was the way your skin burned when she brushed past you in the hallway. it was the fact that you started watching her hands in class, long fingers smudged with ink, drumming against the desk, always restless, always creating.

and then it was anger again.

one day in ethics, when father matthews launched into another homophobic diatribe, ellie laughed. loud. too loud.

you turned around in your seat, furious.

“can you show some respect?” you hissed.

ellie leaned back, one arm slung over the back of her chair. “for what? a bunch of bigots using god to hide their hate?”

“he’s a priest-“

“he’s a coward.”

you stared at her, your face burning.

“you’re disgusting.”

she smirked. “and you’re a liar.”

that was the first time she kissed you.

not there. not then.

but later, that same night, when you found her sitting on the chapel steps, legs outstretched, blunt in hand, sketchbook resting against her thigh. you meant to yell at her again. you meant to tell her to leave, to stop tormenting you, to act like a decent human being.

but when you opened your mouth, all that came out was:

“why me?”

ellie didn’t look at you.

she exhaled smoke and said, “because you’re the only one who looks at me like you want something you’re not allowed to want.”

and then - quiet, almost soft - “because you hate me the way i hated myself.”

she didn’t wait.

she just leaned in, fingers curled under your jaw, and kissed you like it didn’t matter if the world burned down around you.

✞ perm taglist : @yasmilks , @natsheretic , @lovemiraamira , @ellies-real-wife , @wewerewildandfluorescent , @jullsii , @eyesttokill , @dmenby3100 , @bunchogravie , @oneinameliann , @intheshadowofthestars , @pariiissssssss , @vanpalmertruther , @madsxh1022 , @rbnvrnxoxo , @firefly-ace , @alyaserrax , @silly-pigeon69 , @glassofgreenteapls , @pearlsiie , @aj0elap0l0gist , @sincerelyherz , @imsiriuslycool , @0phantom0 , @ggutpunch , @leeidk87 , @mikellie , @celiacallsitcasual , @gurlbownerr , @l0veylace , @bluminescent-moon , @oatmatchalatte <3

[dina-winchester]

Drunk Shenanigans ²

Read part one here

Pairing: Dean x you | Established relationship

Summary: Dean’s the one who gets hammered this time.. oops

Warning: cuteness overload, tiny bit of insecurity (cause we know how Dean gets sometimes), fluff, caretaker reader, no use of Y/N

A/N: I wish I could take care of him like this for real… sigh.. anyway, I really hope you like this one! Let me know what you think :)

Dean stumbles back into the motel room, boots scuffing loudly against the tile, keys rattling as he misses the hook on the wall three times before clattering to the floor. You barely manage to catch the door before it slams.

“Whoooa,” he laughs, grinning wide as he turns toward you, arms flopping open like he might sweep the whole room into a hug. “There she is. My girl. My—my…” He squints at you. “…My everything.”

You blink. “Dean, how much did you drink?”

He holds up four fingers. “Not that much.”

“Baby, that’s ten fingers.”

He stares at his hands like they betrayed him. “…Shit.”

You walk over, steadying him as he starts to lean—right into you, all six feet of warm, sleepy, drunken Winchester, your arms wrapping around him instinctively, steadying him. “You smell like a bar floor.”

Dean hums and nuzzles into your neck like a damn cat. “You smell like heaven. Like cinnamon and calm. Like I’d fall asleep inside you if I could.”

You snort softly, threading your fingers into his hair. “Jesus, honey.”

He grins against your skin. “Marry me.”

“Maybe when you stop smelling like cheap whiskey and regret.”

“’S fair,” he mumbles, words slurring now.

You laugh despite yourself, wrapping an arm around him as he sways. “C’mon, let’s get you outta those boots, baby.”

He resists weakly, arms winding tight around you like he thinks he’s strong right now. “Nooo, no, wait—wait—I didn’t tell you. You’re the best thing. The best ever. Like if—if God made pie outta sunshine and sass? That’s you.”

You snort. “Pie?”

“I said what I said.”

You gently guide him toward the bed, and he flops onto it dramatically, limbs sprawled everywhere like a starfish. You kneel and start unlacing his boots, fingers patient, tender.

“Hey,” he says as you try to unlace it. “Y’know you’re too good for me, right?”

You pause, hands still on his boot, and lift your eyes to meet his. He looks so open in that moment. Raw. Breakable.

“Like, you… you’re all smart, and soft, and real nice to look at, and I’m just this—this mess,” he goes on, gesturing vaguely. “Just broken parts in a leather jacket.”

Your heart clenches, sudden and sharp, at how easy it is for him to believe that and you shake your head immediately, voice firm but soft. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No, it’s not,” you whisper, pulling off his boot and tossing it aside, then moving to the other. “You are loyal and brave and stubborn in all the right ways. You love harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re not broken, Dean. You’ve just… been through a lot. But that’s not the same thing.”

He stares at you and you swallow, heart tugging at the way his eyes suddenly look a little glassy.

You crawl up to sit next to him after removing his other boot and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently over the stubble along his jaw. “You are so much more than what you think.”

He reaches for you, fingers fumbling until he catches your hand and tugs you to lay down onto the bed beside him. “I don’t say it enough. I love you, like… love you. With all my stupid, stubborn, monster-huntin’ heart.”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back from his face. “I know, baby. And I love you, with all of mine.”

He leans in, pressing a clumsy kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, missing your mouth entirely. “Good. Gotta remind you. Don’t let me forget, okay?”

You settle in beside him, pulling the blanket over both of you and curling your fingers through his.

“Never,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

He’s asleep within minutes—snoring, one arm slung protectively over your waist, mouth slightly open.

You stroke his hair once more, settling in close.

And you know in the morning, he’s gonna pretend none of this happened.

But you’ll remember. Every messy, lovable, hammered word.

And as you lie there, watching him breathe, you make a silent promise: You’ll always remind him who he is—until he believes it, too.

[bi-writes]

i wanna know about john n his pretty wife!! i have questions!!! how does she deal with the times he gets called in too much, their first big spat? gimme all the angsty details that end with him giving her a little shake 🥴

today marks 37 days. (18+)

he said he would be home 23 days ago, but it's still 36 days too long for you. you talked to him about this, you think.

no—that can't be it. you talked. john did not listen.

you're tired. you knew you would be. you knew it the first time john looked in your eyes when he came inside of you—really came inside of you. no condom, hand fixed against the bend of your jaw, blue eyes wide and focused. john was chasing something then, determined to make it to the finish line of a race, but the thing that always strikes you as strange is that he is always the only one running. there is no competition, and yet john treats your relationship that way.

he always has to win. the winner of the argument. the more expensive gift. the more thoughtful response. the heavier hand, the fatter wallet, the softer kiss—

but he can shove all of it up his fucking ass. he's a liar.

john likes the red carpet whenever he comes home. he likes routine. he likes stomping his boots out on the welcome mat, dropping his duffel by the door, and eating a big meal before he puts you on your back on the marble kitchen counter and eats you out with a voracious growl.

the ring placated you for a bit. big, sparkly thing, something you loved showing off to your friends, at the office, dangling it in front of the gossips at your spin class just to get them to shut the fuck up for once. it made you docile—you liked it for a little while. you liked playing dress-up.

frilly apron. dutch oven full of tender meat. big, wet eyes as you knelt between his legs and let him come on your tongue for being so brave, so good, such a hero. you put the rose-tinted glasses on and let a man fuck you so brain-dead, you forgot your own convictions.

and for what? a fucking BMW?

you're smiling to yourself when you pull into the garage. john's car is there, and you shut your car door with your heel as you make your way inside. you shut the door hard behind you, barely glancing at john's duffel bag by the door as you hang up your leather purse and drop your keys in the bowl.

john's in the dining room. he's sitting at the table, manspreading, and there's a bottle of some dark liquor and a glass sitting in front of him. there's also an ashtray there, where a fat cigar sits, and you scowl when you see it.

it's not allowed in the house.

he doesn't move when he hears your heels hit the hardwood. he does clench his jaw, however, when you pick up the bottle of liquor from in front of him and tip it upside down over the tray. you watch with a bored expression as you fill the ashtray with liquor until it overflows, putting out the cigar and flooding the wood table with a sodden cigar and ashy alcohol.

you take a swig from the bottle once you're satisfied, gritting your teeth as it goes down hard. scotch. fucking gross.

"welcome home," you say bitterly, wiping your hand off on his shirt before making your way into the kitchen. you reach into the freezer for a pint of ice cream, closing it with your hip as you fish out a spoon and pop the lid off.

john is standing in the doorway when you sit on the couch. he's angry, that much is clear, but you pretend that it doesn't bother you. you stick a spoonful of ice cream into your mouth before giving him your eyes. you smile.

"yes, john?"

"i don't ask for much," he starts. you laugh, tucking your feet up underneath you. you take another spoonful of ice cream—this is gonna be good. "do i, love?"

you raise a brow. "you're asking me, honey? or telling me?"

john crosses his arms over his chest, rocking on his feet as he walks further into the room.

"don't get smart with me, baby."

"oooo..." you laugh, and it makes him flinch. "i'm terrified, john."

"i'm not tryin' to scare you, i'm trying to make you listen," john snaps. you point the spoon at him and wink, nodding your head.

"mmm..." you smile. "now you have it, john. bingo. it feels good when your wife listens, doesn't it? and it fucking sucks when she doesn't, huh, honey? when she doesn't do what you expect her to? when she fibs...when she goes back on her word—"

"oh, that's what this is about?" john comes forward, bending low, cupping your jaw with a soft hand before he grips it tight between his fingers. his paw dwarfs your throat, and you glare up at him. "cause i'm late?"

"i feel lucky when you're late," you push his hand off of you. his brow furrows. "you could be dead for all i know, but at least when you're late, your sorry ass comes through the door and can just pretend all over again like everything is fine."

"you knew," john murmurs. "you knew what you were signing up for."

"i did!" you snap. you throw the spoon at him, but he just hits it away, letting it clatter onto the floor. your eyes water. "i did know, and i told you to let me go! i told you!"

"you knew that was never going to happen," john spits. you're startled by the way he snarls at you. john is normally so good at keeping his composure. he fights, but he does it with a smart mouth and a smug smile, but this—the idea of losing you, of letting you go—that pushes him over some edge? "you knew i was never going to let you go, so i don't even know why you fuckin' asked me to. if you think for one second that what we have isn't until death, i don't mind giving you a reminder."

"john," you whisper. your lip wobbles. "john, i love you more than anything in the world." you blink away tears, but they spill over anyways, unforgiving. "please...i can't do this anymore with you. i-i can't spend weeks in agony thinking that you're dead. i can't do it, john. i-i can't, i can't spend one more night in that bed without you—"

"oh, love."

you hate that the sex is so good. you hate more than anything that john is anything but a selfish lover. he might be a man with a few years on him, but his stamina endures. he tests your flexibility with the way he spreads your thighs to accommodate the width of himself, but you welcome the stretch. thick cock splitting you open, sweaty chest against yours, a big hand under your head to keep you close as he licks into your mouth and tells you how beautiful his wife looks, just like always.

how good she feels. how wet she is. how tight her pretty pussy is, how nice it'll feel when it's full of him—i'll keep you forever, i'll make it forever, in, in, in, inside you—

john tastes the way fine wine does. bitter, warm, better with time. it takes a bit to get used to him. it takes a bit of breathing and a bit of familiarity to realize what it is that you have in your hands, but you are just as bad.

he cannot let you go, and you cannot let him go. you claw, and you scream, and you beg for a life that's different from this one, but you won't walk away because it's just not possible.

but what is love if not something that mends what is broken? that drips glue into the spaces between the cracks and keeps what will come apart from falling into itself?

your kisses taste like chocolate, of course.

it's john's favorite.

[melzula]

Can you please write jealous Zuko? It can be however you like😊

a/n: i love jealous zuko! however this ended up being more angsty than i intended😭 hope you enjoy!

summary: a party at the palace leads to a deep revelation for zuko

He was miserable.

The palace didn’t throw parties very often these days, but the recent conquering of another Earth colony was deemed a call for celebration, and so all of the noble families in the Capital City were invited to attend. A grand feast was held and praises were showered upon Ozai throughout the night. It was one of the rare times Zuko didn’t have to worry about his father’s wrath, and so he should have been enjoying himself.

But he couldn’t, not when he could see that across the way another boy was flirting with you right in front of him.

You were Zuko’s everything- his childhood best friend that he’d always held harbored feelings for. During his banishment he thought of you constantly, and upon his arrival he immediately asked you to be his girlfriend. You were sweet and friendly, easily approachable and always able to cheer him up despite his moodiness, you were perfect. And apparently this other boy could see this too.

You smile out of politeness and nod along to the boy’s rambling story about his fire bending skills and high IQ, not very interested in listening but too nice to brush him off. It infuriates Zuko to see someone else take advantage of your kindness, and he’s unable to just sit back and watch any longer.

A harsh hand lands upon the boy’s shoulder, startling both of you in the process. Zuko’s eyes are blazing with fury, his palm scorching the fabric of the boy’s robes and scaring the spirits out of him in the process.

“Can’t you take a hint? She doesn’t want to talk to you!” the Prince bellow angrily, prompting a few guests nearby to turn their heads curiously towards the commotion. A bit embarrassed at the sudden attention, you gently pull Zuko’s hand away and drag him out to the gardens before he can escalate the situation any further. The last thing you need is for him to cause a scene at his father’s party.

“What?” Zuko says defensively as you wordlessly walk through the palace hallways. “I was helping you!”

“You were acting jealous again,” you chide gently.

“No I wasn’t!” He argues defensively only to shrink under your pointed gaze. “…I was.”

“I love you, Zuko, but I don’t love how jealous you can get sometimes. I’m your girlfriend, don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” He interjects quickly, almost offended at the notion.

“Then what is it? Why do you act this way?”

Zuko is silent, his eyes casted sullenly to the floor as you patiently wait for his answer. You take his hands in your own and give them a reassuring squeeze to let him know you’re there for him, and the act seems to coax him out of his stupor.

“I’m afraid you’ll change your mind about being with me, and once the right guy comes along you’ll realize you’re better off without me,” he admits quietly, almost ashamed to voice the thought out loud.

“Zuko…” you utter sadly, heartbroken at the fact that he could even believe such a thing.

“Why do you want to be with a boy who’s been exiled from his own country before? Whose own father burned his face? Who’s so messed up in every way possible?”

Gently carefully cupping his face in your hands, you tilt his head upward to meet your sincere gaze. His eyes are glossy with tears he refuses to let fall, and your heart aches for the poor boy before you. You wish you could take away all of his hurt in agony, but you can’t, so you do your best to take away his insecurity instead.

“I wish you could yourself the way I see you,” you tell him lovingly. “You are more than enough for me, more than I could ever ask for. You’re strong, you’re brave, you’re smart. You’re you. I love you, Zuko. No one’s ever going to get into the way of that.”

He says nothing in response but simply yanks you into his arms for the tightest hug you’ve ever possibly received. You know he isn’t the best at words or emotions, but his embrace conveys that he is grateful for every word to come out of your mouth.

He knows he may be jealous at times, but he also knows that he doesn’t have to be anymore.

Because you’re not going anywhere.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

[kittyfrisk9]

IdeaDpxDc—There are better ways to meet someone.

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Dead On Main. Soul mates.

---

"Exactly... what does this ring do?" The shining ring was still attached to his finger. This wouldn't worry him if it weren't for the fact that, with each passing minute, the ring emitted more light, and that can't be good.

The cult leader refused to speak. He wouldn't even look at him, seeming particularly attentive to the material the floor was made of. Very funny that now he was scared of him when, an hour ago, he was giving a very cliché speech about how humanity was doomed because it would summon the evil of evils.

It wasn't very smart of him to perform his summoning precisely in Gotham City, home of the Dark Knight.

Red Hood was getting impatient. He placed the hand without the ring on his weapon; if words didn't work, a real threat to his life would. And this didn't really break Bruce's 'no killing' rule because the gun was only loaded with rubber bullets. However, just as he was about to advance and shoot the guy, he saw Batman grab the leader's tunic collar and lift him up.

The man, of course, screamed in fear. "Speak, what does that ring do?" No jokes. Batman's voice was deeper than usual, showing that he was upset, no, rather angry.

Or worried, but Jason could never consider that possibility. For the moment, he was only surprised, although it didn't show through his helmet.

"I-I don't know," the leader replied. Poor guy, he seemed about to cry. Batman, not content, tightened his grip even more; he wasn't willing to tolerate a lie this time.

Red Robin raised an eyebrow. "You managed to gather a bunch of magical artifacts for your summoning and you don't know what they do?"

The man looked away. "No..." The rest of the cult members also looked away. Very brave and stupid of them to all agree to lie to the bats. Jason himself wanted to mock them, but the ring kept shining. He couldn't mock when the ring kept shining and he didn't know what it meant.

From the communications, Robin could be heard. "Tt, this wouldn't be happening if Hood hadn't put on the ring." Jason suppressed a growl.

"Kid, I didn't put on the ring. This thing stuck to me the moment I touched it." It was true. In the middle of the operation to stop the ritual, Jason had pulled the ring, which at that moment was a kind of necklace by the chain that ran through it, from a member who was wearing it. The ring in his hand began to glow and suddenly teleported to his ring finger, then stopped shining. It was when everything calmed down that the ring began to release a different, but constant light.

Approximately ten minutes have passed since then, he thought as he looked at the ring, ignoring all the magical stuff; it was actually a very simple ring. Suddenly, the ring began to blink.

Oh, no. That couldn't be good.

Batman, fed up with the leader's silence and his followers, threw the man meters ahead. "Oracle, call Zatanna now, we need more information about the ring," he ordered as he approached the man who was in pain from the fall. The guy, terrified by the violent aura of the Dark Knight, tried to retreat.

Finally, Nightwing stepped between the man and the brutal beating he would receive if he didn't speak.

"It's okay, B, calm down." With his hand on his father's shoulder, Dick tried to ease the atmosphere. "I understand your concern. We are all worried about what the ring might do to Hood. But we can't let fear and anger control us. Hood is important to all of us. He is our brother, your son. We can't lose our cool now. Let's call Wonder Woman. If no one wants to talk, she can help us with the lasso of truth."

Total silence. Jason didn't know what to say; he didn't think his family would react like this over a blinking ring. That is... he doesn't know. Suddenly, the ring's light began to blink faster.

Batman, after Nightwing's words and seeing the change in the ring, understood that he couldn't waste time with someone who wouldn't talk. "You're right, thank you Nightwing." Looking at the others, he said: "We need to act quickly, we don't know the effects the ring might have on Hood. We need to take him to the cave for a thorough analysis, no discussions." The last part he said looking at Jason. "Until then, don't try to take it off or use it."

Jason scoffed, as if he would.

"Oracle, you heard, call Diana. Red Robin and I will take care of the rest of the cult. Nightwing, take Red Hood to the cave." Batman began giving orders as he reached the leader and began dragging him towards the rest of his cult. The leader, in a failed attempt, tried to resist. "Agent A, please prepare a stretcher. Understood?"

Everyone nodded.

On the other hand, the touching speech and the strange family moment of the bats seemed to soften the heart of a girl from the cult, who in a whisper said: "The ring, nothing will happen to him." Although she spoke quietly, everyone present heard her.

The leader, panicking that the information would be revealed, exclaimed: "Catrina, shut up!" However, he was struck by Batman, who was already fed up with the guy.

"What do you have to say about the ring?" he asked.

The woman hesitated to speak. "We thought of using the ring to subdue the king of the dead and make him listen to our orders..." She paused, not knowing how to continue. "There is a real legend about the ring. A long time ago, a witch wanted to know who her soulmate was, so she created the ring. This allows one to be guided to their soulmate through the red thread. I think everyone already knows what the red thread is." Nervous, she looked around. Only Nightwing nodded, and that was enough for her to continue telling. "Well, the witch's red thread connected with a prince. Unfortunately for everyone, the prince was not happy that his soulmate was a witch. So he had her killed." The girl looked at her hands; that part of the story was sad. "The witch was angry, but still wanted her soulmate to accept her, so she rewrote the ring's original purpose. It was no longer something that united you with your soulmate, but now it was something that allowed you to subdue your soulmate... uh, this." She pointed to a book that was lying in a corner. "With another spell, in fact, it can be used to subdue anyone, even a king of the dead."

With the whole story already told, Red Robin asked: "So, what is the ring doing to Red Hood?"

"It's tracking his soulmate. I... didn't get to put the other spell on it. I could only activate the ring's primary function. Your brother will be fine."

That definitely changes things. Jason swore he could hear his heart beating. A soulmate, wow. He admits he's read many romance novels and maybe once dreamed of it, but for it to actually happen, wow.

Suddenly, the ring stopped blinking. Five seconds later, everyone saw a red thread shoot out from the ring's gem. It quickly moved in one direction, went through the wall, and kept going. The process was like a fishing rod when it catches a fish.

"Does this mean it already found its soulmate?" Red Robin asked. Astonished by the red thread, he tried to touch it but his hand went through it; apparently, the thread was intangible to anyone else.

"Yes," the cultist also seemed astonished.

Jason felt a look on him, turned, it was his brother. Oh no, not that look, he knew that smile; Dick would tease him so much in the coming days. For his part, Batman sighed in relief. Well, it wasn't such an extreme danger, but it was still dangerous. "Agent A, cancel the stretcher." He never imagined this would mean a soulmate case. "Oracle, don't cancel the call to Zatanna or Wonder Woman, we need to verify the information. We'll stay here until the police arrive."

How nice it would be if everything ended like that, right? With Dick joking with Jason, Tim analyzing the thread, Barbara laughing at the turn of events, Bruce relieved and Damian surprised. However, one must remember the story.

The witch changed the ring's original purpose. Unexpectedly, the thread began to retract, as if it had caught something. It did so so quickly that Jason grabbed his hand in pain. It was then that everyone had a bad feeling. The wall the thread had previously passed through suddenly exploded, the noise and dust alerting everyone, especially when once the chaos disappeared, something horrific could be seen.

An arm. A fucking arm. Apparently freshly torn from its owner. Oh, no. What did it do to his soulmate?

...

Somewhere else in the world, somewhere in the United States, Danny gasped in pain. What the hell? What was that? Ancients! Where is his arm?

---

Note: Sorry, I don't know English, so please use a translator. I apologize if you don't get the idea.

Edited on 06/21/2024 - Note two: Thanks to redflagshipwriter, who continued this idea below. And to Sakuravalelp who made me laugh with the complement.