#i always had more fun being myself even when i was alone than submitting and trying to be someone else to make others happy

[snekdood]

No one accepted you and loved you unconditionally and instead of doing it for yourself you take it out on anyone who has figured out how to do it for themselves.

[poetrysmackdown]

some informal thoughts

hello! hope the holiday season has been kind to all of you. and i hope all my jewish followers had a lovely hanukkah! anyways, since i said a few months ago that i’d pick poetry smackdown back up sometime around this time of year, i thought i should make a post. the gist of it is that i’m still quite busy, i have a break that’s about three weeks shorter than I was planning on, and i don’t currently have the mental bandwidth required to read, contemplate, and sort through poem submissions in a way that does justice to them, even if i were to recruit some friends to help out. since running a tournament format requires at least five weeks of continued engagement once it’s underway, and since i’m not at capacity to offer that right now due to the change in my schedule, i’m gonna have to bow out for now. sad bc i was looking forward to it!

my hope is that i’ll have some more time over the summer to hunker down with it, in which case you’ll be hearing from me. it’ll frankly depend on the kind of job i land in for the summer, but i find that my unemployed spirit can typically keep me doing stupid shit regardless of workload...to a point. i don’t want to make any promises because i don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up just to let them down again LOL. i do admit the amount of exposure the first tournament got has made me feel like more of a perfectionist this time around, doubly because i don’t feel that i’m very suited to being a public online presence (even a relatively quite small one)—i’m bad enough at responding to emails for my own real life responsibilities, let alone tumblr asks for the silly responsibilities i invent for myself lol. that’s not to say i no longer want to do it, or i don’t enjoy it, or even that i don’t feel capable of making a really interesting bracket—just that if i am working to put something new together, and if people are taking the time to submit poems they care about, then i don’t want to half-ass it.

my second admission is something like this. I made the original bracket as a celebration of poetry and our relationships to it. yes it was silly and competitive, and the poems were very tumblr, but still, celebration was the intention—I wanted to have conversations about poetry. I stand by the bracket format as a fun and valuable way to foster conversations about poetry, but truthfully, the poems i’m wanting to have conversations about right now—the poems that we should be talking about right now—are ones that i'm not comfortable putting in a bracket. I reblogged The Baffler’s Poems from Palestine collection on here earlier, and Najwan Darwish’s “Who Remembers The Armenians?”, which I still often find repeating through my head when I'm traveling from one place to another, walking home or riding the bus. I came across this beautiful thread recently where people have been translating Dr. Refaat Alareer’s “If I Must Die” into their own languages (this just makes my translator's heart sing!!!!!!). @havingapoemwithyou has been posting some great poems from and for Palestine as well—check out their tag here.

There's always more to add, and I'll be posting more on here as I come across it, but that's what I feel anyone should be focusing on right now when it comes to poetry. i think poetry can be an escape but it should never be a distraction. does that make sense? i wouldn't be against doing a one-off poll here or there, but it feels weird to be making a tournament for poetry right now, or anytime soon. i feel like what free time i have right now is still best utilized helping my friends with organizing in the real world. and god, a bit off-topic but while I'm talking, fuck poetry foundation—I have so much respect for all the poets keeping up the boycott, because while i think it's a simple decision, it's not always an easy one (Aurielle Lucier discussed that here).

anyways, if you read all of this, thank you for your time!! I could go on and on, but really this was just meant to be a message telling y'all that there won't be another tournament for a while lol. even so i'll be trying to use this small silly platform as best i can until palestine is free because that's the absolute least i can do.

[mlwritingprompts]

Submitted Prompt: A wish for Solitude

This is the accessible version of this prompt.

The special-text version can be found here.

- - -

Hi Rjalker, I'm kinda back! So after who knows how long since I wrote my prompt about Serrah, and the show's ending of the fifth season being a dumpster fire like always (actually, even worse than usual, I seriously miss the finales like the ones of the first and second seasons), I decided to write this because... something. I myself aren't sure, but I guess I will just write something different than cosmic entities trying to fix the universe (or doom it because their existence requires the universe's own oblivion) because I'm not planning to rewrite the entire plot of this idiotic show.

I will be honest and say that this is a completely new territory for me, so if you spot mistakes and see something that needs to be changed, please do so.

So, have fun?

Occurs after Strikeback (season 4 finale).

My try at an Akumanette prompt.

Pronouns: lon/lones/lones/loneself (same as she/her/hers/herself)

TW: mention of sexual harassment, and a character experiencing touch revulsion

-----

It was so hard.

It was so hard for her.

Marinette thought as time kept moving too fast, yet it felt like everything was crawling to a halt.

Everything was becoming too hard, too difficult, too unbearable.

It was so painful, dealing with it. Being Marinette. Being Ladybug. Being the Guardian.

"Marinette, how did you forget to go to our planned party?"

Because Ladybug's job is too important than Marinette.

"Marinette, is there something bothering you? I heard you've been skipping classes."

Forgive me mama, papa, I can't schedule for when an Akuma strikes. That's the sacrifice I must make.

"Marinette, cheer up! We will defeat Hawkmoth in the end!"

Yes, Tikki, in the end. And what about my life?

"Marinette, I know that Chloe is a bit too much but..."

I know, Ms. Bustier, I must forgive her, for I am Marinette and I am nice, forgiving, no matter how many times I and others get hurt by her.

"Meowch Bugaboo! You know that you always have me!"

Leave me alone. Don't call me by that. Don't come closer to me. Don't flirt with me. Don't touch me. Don't try to kiss me. Leave. Me. Alone!

"You still are in denial about Adrien, Marinette?"

I didn't want this, Alya. Your question isn't funny. I don't love this. I don't want these feelings. I hate them. I despise them. They were why I lost the other kwamies. Love only hurt me.

"You must be responsible, Marinette!"

It's difficult to be responsible. It hurts to be responsible. I don't like this. It's so painful. So suffocating. So tiring. So dark. So cruel. I don't want more even if I have to take more. I want to be alone. I want to be left alone. Alone. Only alone. No one to nag on me about something. No one to have me deal with their problems. No one to guilt trip me and shame me for not doing what they want.

I want to be alone, with only myself being the only company I need.

"Hello, Solitude. I am Hawkmoth. I will give you the power to be alone, free from responsibility, at the price of giving me the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculouses."

It was so wrong to accept. She knew it. It would be admitting defeat, admitting that evil had won in a way. But why bother? She was so tired. So exhausted of fighting, fighting when everything she tried to do backfired on her.

What's the worst to happen if the accepted? Surely, Alya and that harasser Chat Noir can deal with it. They seemed to never run into real problems or face truly permanant consequences.

Oh how jealous she was.

"Yes, Hawkmoth."

And Marinette ceased to be. ---- When lon opened lones eyes, Solitude felt it, the desire burning from lones being.

"I want to be alone. I don't want anyone else with me."

That was it. Simple, yet clear. To be alone on lones own. Lon only wanted to be alone with loneself. No one to bother lones with anything.

No responsibility, no demands, nothing but simple, and sweet solitude.

Yet it just wasn't so easy.

"What is this?" lones expression looked repulsed.

Something was wrong, something was feeling off.

Solitude's body felt something uncomfortable, disgusting, hateful.

Something that just felt like something was touching lones body. Something that just refused to leave lones alone.

What is this? Lones body feels heavy. Breathing and moving feels difficult.

Nothing was touching Solitude, yet the feeling only grew stronger, the repulsion and hate for this thing that was seemingly crawling all over lones, seemingly invading lones blood and skin only continued.

Solitude hated this. It felt so wrong, so awful, so utterly-

"Marinette!"

A voice screamed as lon saw... a girl closing towards lones. Rose? That was her name, right?

Immediately, lon jumped away, as if burned by her presence, almost screaming and attacking her and the others that came alongside her.

How dare they come so close? How dare they call lones Marinette? How dare they try to touch lones?

"Leave me alone!"

Solitude ignored their pleas to come, to wait for Ladybug to help her, to fix her, to heal her.

There's nothing to heal or fix. Nothing wrong with Solitude. Solitude isn't Marinette. There's no need for Ladybug to heal lones.

The awful feeling seemed to diminish, it wasn't as bad as before. So this sensation of pure disgust relates to lones presence with others? Or when others enter lones comfort zone without permission?

Solitude felt that this was the correct answer.

Then, Solitude might go to a place far away. ---- Lon was on the top of the Eiffel tower for nearly half an hour now.

It was a calm area, and there was no one around lones from what Solitude can feel.

Yet...

The sensation of something surrounding lones body still persisted.

Solitude couldn't comprehend it. Nor did lon like it one bit.

What's going on? Why doesn't this feeling leave lones alone?

Lon could feel it, something was seemingly demanding for lones to do something. Something that Solitude doesn't want to do, and it is getting almost physically painful to deal with.

What is this? Why is this happening? Solitude wanted to be alone. Is that really so much? What is causing this? Who? Why?

Lon would like it if they stop continuously touching and crawling all over lones bod-

"Hello, mademoiselle!"

A voice that feels extremely, horribly familiar resounds, and Solitude feels all sensations go overdrive.

Chat Noir was so close-

So close, too close, that repulsive smirk, that leering look, that uncaring posture, too dirty, too repulsive, too hateful.

Lon hates it. Hates him. Hates that person. He will touch me, he will ignore my boundaries, he will torment me, will not leave me alone.

For just a moment, Marinette's memories resurfaced, and nothing but pure rage and hatred consumed lon vision.

A blast of pure, unbridled energy of repulsion and exclusion consumed the part of the Eiffel tower they were in, practically erasing it from existence, and that hero harasser being thrown away, far away so he couldn't violate lones boundaries anymore.

Solitude's body shook from the sheer disgust lon felt, lones mind already making possible connections to why lon felt so much worse with that guy around.

"Is it because Marinette suffered the most due to him?" Solitude thought in rage.

Is that why? It made sense, right?

But before lon could fully calm down, the sensation returned once more.

Why? Why? Why don't they leave lones alone!?

"Good job, Solitude! You've lured Chat Noir! Now go and take away his miraculous and Ladybug's!"

Lones heart raced with pure rage as Solitude felt the connection linking lones with Hawkmoth.

It's this guy...

Lones eyes seemed to look somewhere, what Solitude felt to be Hawkmoth's direction.

This guy was who was crawling over lones body using that link...

Hate and energy, already twisted due to the corrupted magic, twisted even further as it followed Solitude's desires.

If only he didn't exist... if only he and Chat Noir didn't exist...

Then Solitude would be already happy, alone with nothing bothering lones...

Solitude must destroy them first... And make sure not even a shadow of them remains...

---

End?

Or at least until I might write a sequel.

Hope you liked it.

[icemasquerade]

The Boys Preference In Bed

CW: sexual themes and kinks

⟭⟬ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ⟭⟬

Jungkook wanted you all the time. He was on you if you even got a moment alone together. Whether it's sloppily eating you out or having a quick fuck with his fingers, he needed you. He loved when you were in skirts and dresses, giving him easy access to get to you. Sometimes he couldn't even wait til you were alone. Even if there were one or two other members in the room, he'd pull you onto his lap and help grind your hips against him. You acted like you couldn't see their stares as your boyfriend used you to get off.

"Your cunt is practically sucking me in."

"Been waiting all day to fuck you."

"Your outfit is so slutty today, hard to control myself."

Everyone would assume TaeHyung's cold demeanor would transfer over in bed. It was furthest from the truth. TaeHyung's main focus was you. He wanted to figure out how to get you off with the most pleasure involved. He wanted to know all your kinks and turn-ons. He didn't care if he could never reach another orgasm as long as he got to see the way your toes curled and the face you make as you cum at least once more.

"I'm gonna eat you out now."

"So pretty for me."

"Tell me how good you feel"

YoonGi was possessive. As long as you were his girlfriend, you were his. It definitely showed in the bedroom. He loved when you submitted to him, loved when you told him how much you belonged to him. When he told you what to do, he expected you to listen. The only time you didn't was when you were begging for a punishment. He always made it hard for you to sit during the next few days.

"Your pussy is squeezing me so fucking tight. Cum for me, Princess."

"I own you."

"Look at me when you do it."

NamJoon liked to show you off. He liked the idea of the boys looking at you and wanting you. He knew at the end of the day you were his and they could have their fun by looking but they would never touch. He happily watched you parade around in tight revealing clothes, watched as the others couldn't take their eyes off you. He fucked you extra rough those days, dirty talk featuring the various names of the other members. You've cum more times to the idea of his friends than you can remember,

"Don't act so shy. Everyone knows you're a slut."

"Show me how pretty your cunt is."

"Shut up, whore. Do you want the boys to hear you?"

Jimin loved to praise you. Seeing your embarrassed face was better than any other expression you could make. He wanted you to know just what you were doing to him. He loved whispering in your ear while inside you, loved feeling you tighten up and try to cover your face. He never let you hide, knowing that was his favorite part.

"Doing so well for me."

"Good girl."

"God, you feel incredible."

HoSeok loved the memories. Being on tour meant there wasn't a lot of time to be with you and he preferred not to have quickies in cramped spaces. He really didn't want anyone walking in on him or you. So he treasured the moments, taking videos and pictures whenever he could. He kept them in a locked file on his phone, only pulling them out when he was lonely and knew he was alone.

"Gonna cum to this later."

"Smile, Baby."

"Just one more photo."

Jin was more of a submissive than he'd like to admit. The first few times you guys had sex, he had put on an act, playing into a dominant mindset. It wasn't until he had accidentally begged for you that you guys actually sat down to discuss your kinks. You'd never tease him for anything he likes, willing to try anything for him. You were surprisingly into it once everything was settled.

"Please let me cum."

"I love when you ride me."

"I've been such a good boy."

⟭⟬ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ⟭⟬

I do not usually post on tumblr so I hope this fits in on here

[hot-take-tournament]

sorry if my take sounds deeply incomprehensible i just kept going back on submitting it and knew if i didn’t ramble it all out in one take i was gonna chicken out again LMAO

don't worry about it at all!

i think an incoherent infodump every once in a while is good for the soul!

look, if we're being totally candid -

i have pretty severe adhd comorbid with bipolar disorder, which i do my best to mask - yeah yeah, i know you're not supposed to, but i doubt i'll ever truly shake the shame, especially given the things i've done as a result of failing to mask, both online and irl (the latter being much, much worse) - so i've resolved to do it for the rest of my life

i did talk a little bit about what i was like on my main blog here, which you might need for context:

(speaking of which, please don't actually follow or even go to my main blog just because you like this one - i'm 100% fucking serious. i'm a very different person over there to the point of being almost unrecognisable, even to myself - and i guarantee that side of myself wouldn't recognise me either; we're like two parts of a very fucked up whole. so for that reason i want to keep these two blogs separate; like i said, i'm bipolar, so that's where i let the venom out, and when i feel joyful again, i come back here. i'm more active here anyway, to the point where i basically consider this my main blog now - i mean, my bio isn't even up to date over there)

the point is although i plan to mask for the rest of my life, even i'm partial to an unprompted infodump or oversharing session every once in a while

that's the reason i want this blog to be a safe place for people to vent/infodump/just share their wildest takes anonymously, while still having a little fun by making it a tournament - it's partly to atone in a cringe kinda way, but also because this dumbass site has actually been a huge source of support in some of the darker points in my life

it's almost ironic in a weird way - i spent so much time targeting other people for their mental health problems, but when i had some of my own i came crawling back to those same people. maybe karma does exist lol

no, i didn't ever interact with any of them; but just lurking on their blogs and reading their posts helped normalise what i was going through when i felt so alone after receiving my diagnosis; though it was always in the back of my mind that maybe a year earlier i would've seen those same posts and done my level best to make them feel like shit for it just for the sake of a little dopamine hit

i'm a proud airhead, but i'm not naive - i'm not going to lie to you and say that tumblr is a safe space, partly because nowhere on the internet is safe, partly because i've read some of your takes and they terrify me, but mostly because i'm living proof of how awful this site can be

but i do want to at least create one semi-safe place on the internet after ruining so many other people's

jesus i'm fucking crying that's new lol

anyway sorry for taking your incoherent infodump and exchanging it with one of my own, that's probably more info about me than you ever wanted to know

but i hope this provides a little context for why i decided to start this blog

the point i was actually trying to make, because i'm pretty sure i never actually responded to what you were saying - never feel embarassed to submit anything! trust me, i totally get it; but i promise, even when i make jokes about some unhinged takes, it's all light-hearted, and if it ever comes across otherwise, please let me know! <3 <3 <3

i'm gonna take a quick break, i'll catch up with you all again later

[impolitecanadian]

you’ve done a lot of school. Last week I was really stressed out and recovering from strep throat and I submitted a bad assignment. on purpose. because I got tired of doing it. I told myself it was because I needed to move on so I wouldn’t fall behind, but I really did have time to make it better. it hasn’t been marked yet but I know it’s gonna be bad and I can’t sleep. I feel like no one is going to love me anymore if I do badly in my classes. I’ll just be useless. I feel horrendously guilty. anyway. has this ever happened to you before?

Okay, there's a lot to unpack here. First, you were sick, which happens and you are allowed to take the time to heal and feel better. Prioritizing your health is important, and school will always be there when you're ready to get to it. You will always be more important than school work.

Second, everyone submits bad assignments. I've submitted bad assignments in my PhD program because I ran out of time or felt off. It happens. That doesn't make anyone less smart or less capable. Not everything you write will be the best thing ever because that's not how being human works. It's okay to submit things that aren't your best work. Sometimes done is good enough and that's how it has to be. I've always told undergrads that any grade is better than a zero. A bad grade is okay! It happens to literally everyone! And there will be more assignments. You can always go and talk to the prof once you get your assignment back and tell them what happened and ask for how to do better on your next assignment. This will show them that you care (which you obviously do).

Most importantly though, you cannot tie all of your worth as a person to grades. I know this is really difficult to learn, and it's something I am absolutely still working on as a PhD student, but it is very important. What you do outside of school matters more than a single grade ever will. Life is about how you treat other people, how you laugh, how you enjoy the world that surrounds you. It's about fun little drinks, and seeing the leaves change colour, and loving others. It's not about how well you do on a single assignment. We do not love others in our lives for the grades they get on a paper, and their use does not stem from performance in a class. I have never once loved my friends because they get good grades; I love them because they are the people they are. Those who love you will feel the same.

You might want to consider talking to someone about this pressure you're putting on yourself. It's not healthy, and it's something I've seen undergrads I teach do all the time. I've often had to refer students to university counselling for it. What I mean is that you are not alone in thinking like this, but you need to remember the value you have outside of school. When I'm feeling down about school I list 5 things I'm good at that have nothing to do with academics. And these can even be silly small like "I'm really good a petting dogs" or "I never burn popcorn" but those things matter, because I matter outside of what I can do academically. So do you. So does everyone. A grade does not alone define you.

For a funnier story about a bad paper: I was once so rushed on a paper in third year that I claimed a very famous abolitionist supported the slave trade so you can't do any worse than that.

[archivistseye]

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Jonah Hare, regarding a boy they met at summer camp. Original statement submitted September 24th, 2012. Recording by Vester Moth, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

Before we continue I must apologize for any inconsistencies or vagueness. You see, this all happened a long time ago, back when I was about fourteen or fifteen. I'm in my thirties now, and my memory was never my strongest point.

But, my statement. Right.

It was at a summer camp.

School had ended for break, and parents were trying to figure out ways to get rid of their kids for just a bit longer. My parents were no different.

So despite my protests they tossed me into a summer camp. It was six weeks long for kids of ages eight to sixteen. I had just had my birthday so I didn't want to hang out with anyone younger than me. I didn't want to hang out with anyone, actually.

I was never the most social child. I had a multitude of reasons, but it was mostly a cycle of deciding I wanted to be alone, to bullies targeting me because I was alone, to me deciding I wanted to be alone because I didn't trust people, to bullies targeting me.

During the first week I kept to myself. I stayed quiet, I spoke when spoken to, and participated in activities as little as possible.

As an alternative, I took to reading the many books on fungus they had in the main cabin. I had always had a bit of an interest in them, something about them being such large contributors to the decay part of the life cycle had me enamoured, so when I saw their large selection of books from local fungi to those even across the world? Well, I was ecstatic.

I spent hours going through the books, reading each page over and over. I loved it.

And I wasn't the only one. I forget his name. I believe it was Stanley or Stokely, perhaps even Sydney. It's not all that important, but what was important, is that he loved fungi just as much as I did.

After years of being alone I finally had a friend who loved what I loved. It was a feeling I'd never felt before.

We would spend all of our spare time talking about our favorite mushrooms and how fascinating each type was. It was some of the most fun I'd ever had.

One day, the camp counselors revealed to us that we would be going on a hike, and that we were to bring journals and write down, draw, and describe all the things we found interesting. It was only natural that the boy and I team up.

At the end of the hike, the kids had the choice to go back to camp, or spend some more time finding things in areas of our choosing. Most kids went back to camp, with only a few of us staying behind. We all decided to split up, save for the boy and I.

It was just the boy and I in the area of the forest we had chosen. We were supposed to be watched by a counselor, but she disappeared at one point and we didn't particularly care to look for her, too wrapped up in our search for fungus.

And fungus, we did find. Of all different shapes and sizes. We had so much fun identifying what mushroom was what, going mostly by our memory of the books we'd read pretty much dozens of times.

It was all smooth sailing, until the boy stumbled across something he didn't recognize. When he called me over, I prepared to identify it and one-up him, but when I looked at it, I was completely and utterly stumped.

It was a bright cyan, frilly and covered in bulbous orange spots. It was beautiful. And something I had never, ever seen before, book or reality.

We stared at it for a moment. My mind was going a mile a minute, debating on whether this may be a mushroom from a county or two over that somehow managed it's way here or if it was an unidentified species.

That thought thrilled me. The idea of finding something new was so incredibly exciting, especially when it was something fungal.

It was then I noticed that during my inner debate, the boy had started poking at the mushroom with his finger. He was tapping and poking at the large orange spots. It snapped at him, told him that he ought to stop. What if this was a mushroom no one had seem before? We must tell someone!

As I say this, he gives one final poke to the bulging spot, and it bursts.

Puss spews out of it, covering his hand in a vile liquid. Some even managed to land on his cheek. It reeked of a smell I would later discover was rot.

I bite back the bile rising in my throat, and tell him we should head back and get cleaned up. He says nothing, and merely nods.

I, fortunately, was far enough away from the mushroom when the spot burst that I didn't get any on me. I certainly felt as though it had.

The boy was... Odd. After that event. He woke me up that night. He asked me to come with him, to see our "secret mushroom." I said no, and that I was sleeping. I told him he should he asleep too. I couldn't quite tell in the dark, but I think his face may have scrunched up. He sighed, and told me he'd go back to bed.

I dont think he did.

He wasn't quite right the day afterwards. Or the day after that. Or the day after that one. He disappeared often. In the time between activities, it seemed no-one could find him. One night, I'd awoken from a puss-filled nightmare and glanced over to his bunk. It was empty.

I knew where he was going, but I didn't say anything. I mean, it wasn't harmful. He was just looking at a mushroom. I figured it would be fine. And it was! For a few days. He... He went missing after the sixth. He left after some camp activity, I don't remember what it was, and he just didn't come back.

I could've told a counselor where he was, should've told them where he was, instead of watching them run around trying to find him. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe I felt like I'd be in trouble for not telling them sooner. Maybe I didn't want them to see the mushroom.

A week after he disappeared I thought it had been long enough. I would go out and find him and that damn mushroom he was obsessed with.

And I did.

I found him. He was sitting next to that cyan abomination. The fungus covered every inch of his arm, it crawling onto his chest and buried itself into where his heart were once located. There was even some on his cheek, right where that foul puss had gotten him.

Everything combined with the smell, a hundred times stronger now that it was a much, much larger mushroom, was too much, and I threw up.

He didn't spare much glance to the vomit. He simply smiled as he looked at me. He told me about how happy he was. How much he loved this revolting fungus and how much it loved him.

He spread his arms open, and his smile widened as he told me it loves me, too. He told me we could continue being friends if I joined him.

I turned, and I ran.

I never saw him again. The counselors had to call his parents. Camp continued on as normal, barely a dent in schedule.

I didn't say anything for the rest of camp. I didn't say anything for a long, long time.

And there we have it. My memory of what happened gets fuzzier and fuzzier each day, so I figured I'd give you my statement now before I forget too much. Thank you for your time.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends.

Interesting. Mushrooms, decay, love. What do they mean?

I wonder how much of this actually happened. It's not that I don't believe M. Hare, I simply can't help but notice their mentioning of their bad memory. But, due to the fact this statement didn't record digitally, I'm compelled to group it into the real statements.

M. Hare didn't give us much information to do research with. They did not tell us when or where this took place, and I found it very difficult to find anything

I really need some assistants.

Recording ends.

[CLICK]

[oftenderweapons]

YOOOOO ITS MY BIRTHDAYYYYY🥳🥳🥳🥳 that is all sending a big hug

YOOOOO HAPPY BIRTHDAY MATEEEEE!!!!! Congrats, you have won Loyal Reader extra points, I have this commission you asked a century ago so yeah, happy bday sweets

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 1.8k

Genre: smut, basically pwp, mild angst

Rating: 18+ I DON’T WANT TO SEE ANY MINOR CLICKING ON THAT “READ MORE”, ARE WE CLEAR?

Trigger warnings: swearing, hard domme!Vixen, brat!Vixen, hard sub!Joon, strip-tease!Vixen, bondage, vibrating cockring, dildo, overstimulation (male receiving), daddy kink, mention of gagging (with panties), mention of porn, voyeurism and exhibitionism, cumplay, suspension of powerplay. And Switch!Joon, i guess, too. Very unprotected activities USE CONDOMS!!! Don’t eat cum unless the other person/people can prove they’re clean.

“My hands, please. I’m sorry,” Namjoon whined, breathing through his mouth, his chest gluttonously naked, your lipstick marking it here and there. “Vixen, baby.”

“No.” You spoke it with a smile, gathering some saliva in your mouth, your head ten miles ahead of you, already planning what to do after you got up from your legs-spread-bent-over-ass-right-in-front-of-his-eyes position.

He had been whimpering since the moment you found out he wanted you to go cougar on him.

And he’d enjoyed being the prey for once — however, technically, even though you always let him take control, he knew he wasn’t preying on an innocent lamb. You were his vicious fox even when you submitted to him.

“Vixen.” It was cruel. Feet? Bound. Hands? Bound. Dick? Very fucking trapped in a very fucking vibrating cockring.

“Do you need my panties in your mouth to stay quiet?” You rolled your eyes at the fact that you had to swallow and change your plans because he couldn’t for the love of him keep his mouth shut.

“But I’m gonna cum.”

You kneeled on the floor and smiled. “Not my problem.”

He sobbed and threw his head back. “Come on. How fucking long has it been, three hours?”

“Based on my playlist, only six minutes.” You loosened his necktie — currently around your neck — and undid the first couple buttons on his shirt — which of course you were wearing rather sluttily. And that little plaid skirt? The one he always teased you about when he gave you assignments and tests?

He was regretting it now. A lot. It slipped down your legs so torturously as you stood, planting a foot between his parted legs.

He stared at it — at the Louboutins he had bought you after you spent one entire weekend oversexing him — and regretted them too.

You cocked an eyebrow and forced him to look at you. “Still thinking about that stripper?”

“Which one?”

You smirked. The answer was, after all, correct. “I don’t know if I should be happy you forgot or be worried about you seeing way too many of them.”

“It was just porn. Come on. You know I belong to you. Head to toe—” He shivered his glutes flexing a couple times before he growled and arched all the way, his orgasm spilling over his stomach and abdomen. “Fuck— Fuck, fuck, fuck, Vixen!”

“Language,” you chirped, slipping three fingers into his open mouth and pressing his tongue down, drool dripping out causing you to smirk and giggle. “Such a sorry mess.”

He hummed, his hips still swirling as he still tried to find some relief.

You took a step back, wiping your hand against your mouth, Namjoon whimpering as the vibrations didn’t stop. “Switch it off!”

“What? The music?” You tugged the necktie off you, eyes on him as you faked realisation. “Oh! You mean the lights!”

“Don’t you dare act all that smug. Don’t you—”

“Can’t hear you,” you spoke back, undoing the buttons slowly, shrugging off the shirt and turning around, dropping to the floor, grabbing your ass and squeezing it as you rotated your hips slowly, kneeling forward on your elbows, crawling forward until your arms adhered entirely to the floor, your back fully arched as your cheek met the floor.

“Touch yourself,” he growled darkly and needily.

“Do I need to remind you who’s in charge?” You sneered as you turned around to look at him. He had recovered from his post-orgasmic blues and sensitivity and was well on his way to a second high.

So you stood up and turned to face him. The remote to the toy was safely strapped between your breasts, hooked on your bra. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

“Vixen.” He loved how flawless your evil plan was. You had designed it to make him livid. And it was unwillingly playing out to the T. Knowing you, he realised you had probably calculated him being obnoxiously talkative.

He tried his theory. “Come over here.”

You were entirely lost in the music, eyes closed, jamming to it almost naked in front of your tied up boyfriend. Well, fiance. “Or what?”

“You damn brat—”

“Are you gonna spank me, daddy?” you taunted him coquettishly. The laugh that followed had Namjoon considering whether he made the greatest mistake of his life by getting addicted to you.

“I swear, if I get my hands on you—” he said, his voice raspy.

“I’m wondering how that is going to happen…” you mused, still moving to the beat of the music, the swaying of your hips reminding him why he always let you ride him that much.

He shrugged and shook his head, a drip of precum reminding him he was definitely overestimating his liberties. “I won’t be tied up forever.”

“I can lock myself in the guestroom,” you reminded him.

“But you can’t stay locked in there forever,” he replied with a sadistic smirk.

One more shrug before you lowered the vibrations — he was enjoying the toy way too much. “Too bad you’re a workaholic and I’m alone most of the time I’m in here.”

He kept a straight face at the stimulation fading, but he was not as serene about the reminder. “I’ll work from home.”

“Don’t bother yourself for me.”

Your remark poisoned him. “Come over here, babylove. Please.”

You obeyed. Not without grabbing the dildo that had been mocking Namjoon from the very first second of your striptease. He knew you would fuck yourself with it and keep him salivating, watching.

You placed it between his legs and kneeled, untying his ankles. “Keep it still.”

“Please, Vixen.” He wouldn’t be able to stand that.

You shook your head. “Maybe you don’t get it yet, but you must do what I tell you.”

He followed your instructions and stayed quiet. He watched you drool all over the toy before you collected his sticky cum with your fingers. You observed your fingertips for a second, then drew the tip of the silicone cock.

“Miss.”

You looked at him. His eyes were darker, his face more relaxed, no scrunching or pouting or begging. “Yes, Joonie bear.”

“Are you going to lick that, miss?” He had given up. He had pushed you too far.

“What would you like me to lick, Joonie? The dildo? Your cum on my fingers?” Your voice was more gentle and calm this time, no mocking in sight.

“The cum.”

You didn’t think twice. You licked your fingers clean, then straddled Namjoon comfortably, holding the toy as you tried to insert it.

“Doesn’t it hurt, Miss?”

You smiled. This was the submissive you wanted from the start. “It feels just fine, Joonie bear.” He was drenched in sweat, and you had to push his hair off his face to look him in the eye properly. You kissed his jaw, eyes rolling shut as the toy — significantly smaller than Namjoon — slipped in effortlessly. “I'm sorry I was mean to you, love.”

“It's okay.” Seeing him from this up close, so tired and weak, softened you a little.

“I said bad things about your job. I didn't mean it.” You pressed your lips to his, and he whimpered into your mouth, moving the dildo as he shifted for relief. “Do you need me to slow down? Are you still into this, baby?”

“Yes, I'm feeling good, Miss. Please, use me.” He looked so broken. “Use me.” This time he was truly begging.

“Can I use the toy just once? I'll use you afterwards, I promise, darling.” You stretched to kiss his brow. “I promise.”

He nodded, speechless, his head falling to the crook of your neck as he smelled the way his cologne changed as it mixed with your perspiration. It was more opulent and decadent, it became more exotic and dark, almost sweet.

“I wanna put the vibrations on max so I can press your ring to my clit and cum like that.”

He stretched to your mouth. “Please, do it.” He licked your jaw, his arms twitching. He would have grabbed your ass if he were free. He would have helped you grind on him, on the toy, on whatever.

You changed the setting quickly, feeling Namjoon exhale against you, slowly, his breath so cool on your burning skin. “I'm gonna cum again. I'm not sure I can fuck you after that, if that's what you were thinking.”

“You can,” you reassured him. “I'll give you a pause and fuck your face in the meantime.”

He cackled. “That's what I meant by 'use me'”. He groaned once you grabbed his cock, fixing its angle so that the knob of the ring rested on your clit perfectly. “Are we still power playing?”

You shook your head. “We're back to us if you want to.”

He nodded. “I want to.” You both hummed as you started undulating a little on him. Your tummy stroked his sex, the ring took care of your clit, your front adhered to his as you abandoned your body on top of his. “It was fun. But extenuating. I miss my daddy.” You kissed his neck, nipping at it very lightly.

“Daddy's always here, Vixen. Always yours.” He recognised your approaching high. Maybe you would be faster than him and—

There. You were done. Your thighs tightened all of a sudden, your body tensed for maybe five seconds before it all came loose. “Joonie,” you whined out, relief washing over you as you found the utmost pleasure. “Daddy,” you called, Namjoon fighting against the manacles restricting his wrists.

“I'm here, baby. I just need my wrists free, baby fox.”

You stayed loose and lazy for half a second before switching off the toy. Namjoon sighed in relief, your body once more abandoned against his. “Baby fox, free my wrists, please.”

You did as you were told, your hands skillfully operating without you even looking.

“Good girl,” he rewarded you as you undid the first cuff. He stayed still until they both plopped onto the comfy pillow of the armchair. “Get off that toy, babylove. Now.”

You lifted high enough for him to remove the dildo from inside you.

“I told you I would destroy you once you'd free me. Am I correct?”

You looked up at him. And there it was, that little cocky grin. “You said you would spank me.”

“I did not. I let you believe it.”

You faked outrage as you unglued yourself from him and stared. “Unfair!”

He pulled you closer and slid inside you, almost impaling you. “Fuck!” you squeaked before he grabbed your face.

“What?”

“Fuck,” you spat out. “Me,” you added, a look of challenge in your face.

He grabbed the back of your thighs and next thing you knew, your back was pressed to the wall, his hot chest against yours. “Hold on tight.”

[a-pretty-nerd]

“I Wanna Push Your Limits”

Dom! Klaus Hargreaves x fem! Reader

Request: "Hi l love your writing so muchh! Do you think you could do something Fem!reader x Klaus Hargreeves where he's dominant for once and tries to make her come as many times as possible.." ~ Anon

A/N: Dear lord this ask has been in there for a while, I am SO SORRY ANON! Thank you for submitting a request, I really like this idea. I think it's super fun! As always, don't be afraid to make a request. I also write for anime too, like MHA and Jujutsu Kaisen so hit me up!

Warnings: Dom/sub, butt stuff, light bandage, daddy kink (kinda, I guess), multiple orgasms. Damn this bitch be S P I C Y

Time is an illusion. But, if you had to make an educated guess as to how long you've been laying there, it would have been between 1 to 2 hours. In reality it was more like 30 minutes but time ceases to exist when you're gagged, blindfolded, and tied to your bed frame.

Not to mention the obnoxious buzzing against your poor clit. The sounds echoing off the walls, the vibrator torturing you. Two clitoral orgasms had already ripped through your body and a third threatened to erupt.

"Are you gonna cum again, baby girl?" Klaus whined. Even in a dominant position, Klaus's voice moaned and whimpered so sweetly. It sent chills down your spine. You whimpered back, nodding your head as your teeth knawed on the rubber ball tied to your mouth. Fuck this was a big one. You felt yourself reached the edge again, hitting you harder than the last two. Your legs bobbed from side to side as you came. The vibrating sensation continuing through your orgasm. Your muscles tensed and relaxed, only then did the buzzing stop.

You huffed, catching your breath as your toes curled from the remaining pleasure. Finally, he'd fuck you now. Or so you thought. You felt the bed move under you as he adjusted his position. You felt him between your thighs, pulling them aside to look down at your arousal. Suddenly you felt his wet tongue come down to your poor clit. He licked at it a few times, watching you loudly gasp and whimper as you tried to pull away. He chuckled to himself.

"You make the most adorable sounds when you're like this." He cooed before lapping at your pussy, playing with your sensitive flesh. You eased up as the pleasure began to build again. He really didn't need the vibrator at all. He was fully capable of torturing you without it. He continued to tease you before denying you a fourth climax. He sat up and wiped his slick covered face before smiling down at you.

His hands came up to caress your body. Groping your breast and hips as he pleased. He took deep breaths and moaned out words of praise. The fabric of his boxers coming to rut up against you. You moaned, wishing he'd just fuck you already.

"God, you're just...magnificent." He purred as he came down to pepper kisses across your chest and neck. Working up to nibble on your ear before whispering, "I wanna know how much you can take." Suddenly his hand came down on your clit in a harsh but not harmful slap. It stung your clit, forcing a sharp gasp from you. "I wanna push your limits." Another slap. Fuck, it felt good. "I want you to cum, over," slap "over" slap "and over," slap "again."

You whimpered in response, raising your hips for another slap. You swore you would have cum if he just touched you one more time. But no, he didn't. Instead, he took your gag off and rutted his clothed cock up against you once more. Your poor little pussy quivered at the action.

"Do you remember our safe word?" He asked.

"Mmhm." You bit your lip and moaned. He smiled again before kissing you, passionately. He quickly released you from your bed frame and had you get on all fours. Finally, finally he'd fuck you. But suddenly you felt something cold and wet drip over your back door. Fuck. You'd prepared physically but mentally- "aaaahhh." You let out a small gasp as his finger entered your ass. He curled his finger down repeatedly, adding another finger with some more lube.

"Gooood girl." He praised, his other hand coming down to rub lube across your ass as he fondled you. Fuck, it made your toes curl. Was he gonna make you cum from fingering your ass alone? Fuck, it sure felt like it. Your pussy clenched and you felt the knot in your stomach tighten as he continued to curl his fingers, playing with you. You let out a long moan as it built up, finally a smooth and warm orgasm washing over your body.

"F-Fuuuuuck babyyyy." You moaned as you rested your head down on your pillow.

"That's it, good girl cumming on Daddy's fingers." He pulled out, his fingers soon being replaced with a cold metallic plug that continuously pressed against that perfect spot. You wiggled your ass from side to side, hoping to persuade him to fuck you already. He smiled and gave your ass a good smack that made you help and giggle. "Naughty girl, you want my cock already, don't you?" He moaned. You nodded and continued to wiggle. He moved to push down his boxers and let his hard cock spring free. You smiled at the sight, anticipation building.

"Please Daddy. Fuck me." You whined playfully. He giggled, his tip sliding up and down your soaking wet slit. He held his tip still against it for a moment, teasing you. You pushed back against him, his tip entering for a moment before he pulled out and watched you whine in protest.

"Alright, fine. Have it your way." He scoffed before sliding inside. You let out a content sigh as he filled you, his hips slowly rolling back and forth. You happily moaned and relaxed as you let him slowly fuck you. Almost, too slow. The dragging of his shaft inside you hit all the right spots but the pace was tortuous. So...slow. Too...slow? No, wait, he's teasing you. He's being mean again and teasing you. But the knot in your stomach continued to tighten. The pleasure was still there, it was just slow and sweet. He made your body work for it's orgasm.

Much like the last, this orgasm washed over you. Forcing out more long and loud moans from your chest. Suddenly, he stopped. You pulled yourself up to protest but before you could say anything, his hips bucked into yours. His cock slamming into you abruptly.

"Ah!" You cried. His hands grasping onto your hips as another came. And then another, and another until he was fucking you hard and fast. Pouding into you. He reached out and grasped a handful of hair to pull your head back so he could whisper in your ear.

"You like that? You like it when Daddy fucks you like this?" All you could do was moan out a string of bouncing noise.

"Uh- uhhuhuhuhuhuh." As he bounced you on his cock. Your eyes rolled back in your head. Yes. This. This is what you wanted. To be fucked senseless. The absurd smack of skin filled your ears as you came around his cock again. This one racing through your veins to make you weak. Continuing to pump into you, he reached down and roughly played with your clit. You cried out in pleasure as you quickly came again. Fuck, the pleasure was slowly turning to pain.

"That's it, cum for me. Cum for me baby. Fuck yes." He panted in your ear. His tongue lolling out for a moment before he adjusted himself to fuck directly against that spongy spot. Your toes curled. Fuck. FUCK. You couldn't possibly be cumming again, and so soon. He felt weak. Your head dropped back down to the pillow as his cock plowed into you. Your mind going blank with nothing but feeling. Nothing but the motion of him. The plug aided in his mission, as another slap to your twitching clit brought another orgasm crashing over you.

Too much. You thought. It's too much. You should say...you should say the safe word. Right? Uh...maybe one more- fuck! He began to loudly pant and moan your name. His hand occasionally coming down to spank your ass, of play with your clip until you came yet again. Finally, his thrusts started to sputter. He let out a loud whimper as he came inside, filling you as your pussy clenched around him, your last orgasm milking him for all he's worth.

"F-Fuuuck." He panted. He leaned down to you, kissing up your back until he reached your neck. "Hey, you alright?"

"Mmmmh..." you sighed, still coming down from your finally high.

"H-H...How many was that?" He asked, dazed and still regaining myself. You shrugged in your bliss. "Fuck. I should have kept track." He sounded disappointed in himself. "Neck time I'll write it down." He joked, pulling himself out. You let out a sharp whimper. His cum oozing out of you. "Hey." He layed his hand flat on your back. "You okay sweetie?" You nodded. "Okay. I'll go run you a warm bath, okay?" You nodded again with a content hum. "Okay."

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"Could you grab me some tea while you're up?"

"Tea? Sure thing baby. Honey?"

"Yes please." He smiled and kissed your cheek.

"Okay."

[mlwritingprompts]

Submitted Prompt: A wish for Solitude

This is the special-text version of this prompt.

The accessible version can be found here.

- - -

Hi Rjalker, I’m kinda back! So after who knows how long since I wrote my prompt about Serrah, and the show’s ending of the fifth season being a dumpster fire like always (actually, even worse than usual, I seriously miss the finales like the ones of the first and second seasons), I decided to write this because… something. I myself aren’t sure, but I guess I will just write something different than cosmic entities trying to fix the universe (or doom it because their existence requires the universe’s own oblivion) because I’m not planning to rewrite the entire plot of this idiotic show.

I will be honest and say that this is a completely new territory for me, so if you spot mistakes and see something that needs to be changed, please do so.

So, have fun?

Occurs after Strikeback (season 4 finale).

My try at an Akumanette prompt.

Pronouns: lon/lones/lones/loneself (same as she/her/hers/herself)

TW: mention of sexual harassment, and a character experiencing touch revulsion —–

—–

It was so hard.

It was so hard for her.

Marinette thought as time kept moving too fast, yet it felt like everything was crawling to a halt.

Everything was becoming too hard, too difficult, too unbearable.

It was so painful, dealing with it. Being Marinette. Being Ladybug. Being the Guardian.

“Marinette, how did you forget to go to our planned party?”

Because Ladybug’s job is too important than Marinette.

“Marinette, is there something bothering you? I heard you’ve been skipping classes.”

Forgive me mama, papa, I can’t schedule for when an Akuma strikes. That’s the sacrifice I must make.

“Marinette, cheer up! We will defeat Hawkmoth in the end!”

Yes, Tikki, in the end. And what about my life?

“Marinette, I know that Chloe is a bit too much but…”

I know, Ms. Bustier, I must forgive her, for I am Marinette and I am nice, forgiving, no matter how many times I and others get hurt by her.

“Meowch Bugaboo! You know that you always have me!”

Leave me alone. Don’t call me by that. Don’t come closer to me. Don’t flirt with me. Don’t touch me. Don’t try to kiss me. Leave. Me. Alone!

“You still are in denial about Adrien, Marinette?”

I didn’t want this, Alya. Your question isn’t funny. I don’t love this. I don’t want these feelings. I hate them. I despise them. They were why I lost the other kwamies. Love only hurt me.

“You must be responsible, Marinette!”

It’s difficult to be responsible. It hurts to be responsible. I don’t like this. It’s so painful. So suffocating. So tiring. So dark. So cruel. I don’t want more even if I have to take more. I want to be alone. I want to be left alone. Alone. Only alone. No one to nag on me about something. No one to have me deal with their problems. No one to guilt trip me and shame me for not doing what they want.

I want to be alone, with only myself being the only company I need.

“Hello, Solitude. I am Hawkmoth. I will give you the power to be alone, free from responsibility, at the price of giving me the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculouses.”

It was so wrong to accept. She knew it. It would be admitting defeat, admitting that evil had won in a way. But why bother? She was so tired. So exhausted of fighting, fighting when everything she tried to do backfired on her.

What’s the worst to happen if the accepted? Surely, Alya and that harasser Chat Noir can deal with it. They seemed to never run into real problems or face truly permanant consequences.

Oh how jealous she was.

“Yes, Hawkmoth.”

And Marinette ceased to be.—-When lon opened lones eyes, Solitude felt it, the desire burning from lones being.

“I want to be alone. I don’t want anyone else with me.”

That was it. Simple, yet clear. To be alone on lones own. Lon only wanted to be alone with loneself. No one to bother lones with anything.

No responsibility, no demands, nothing but simple, and sweet solitude.

Yet it just wasn’t so easy.

“What is this?” lones expression looked repulsed.

Something was wrong, something was feeling off.

Solitude’s body felt something uncomfortable, disgusting, hateful.

Something that just felt like something was touching lones body. Something that just refused to leave lones alone.

What is this? Lones body feels heavy. Breathing and moving feels difficult.

Nothing was touching Solitude, yet the feeling only grew stronger, the repulsion and hate for this thing that was seemingly crawling all over lones, seemingly invading lones blood and skin only continued.

Solitude hated this. It felt so wrong, so awful, so utterly-

“Marinette!”

A voice screamed as lon saw… a girl closing towards lones. Rose? That was her name, right?

Immediately, lon jumped away, as if burned by her presence, almost screaming and attacking her and the others that came alongside her.

How dare they come so close? How dare they call lones Marinette? How dare they try to touch lones?

“Leave me alone!”

Solitude ignored their pleas to come, to wait for Ladybug to help her, to fix her, to heal her.

There’s nothing to heal or fix. Nothing wrong with Solitude. Solitude isn’t Marinette. There’s no need for Ladybug to heal lones.

The awful feeling seemed to diminish, it wasn’t as bad as before. So this sensation of pure disgust relates to lones presence with others? Or when others enter lones comfort zone without permission?

Solitude felt that this was the correct answer.

Then, Solitude might go to a place far away.—-Lon was on the top of the Eiffel tower for nearly half an hour now.

It was a calm area, and there was no one around lones from what Solitude can feel.

Yet…

The sensation of something surrounding lones body still persisted.

Solitude couldn’t comprehend it. Nor did lon like it one bit.

What’s going on? Why doesn’t this feeling leave lones alone?

Lon could feel it, something was seemingly demanding for lones to do something. Something that Solitude doesn’t want to do, and it is getting almost physically painful to deal with.

What is this? Why is this happening? Solitude wanted to be alone. Is that really so much? What is causing this? Who? Why?

Lon would like it if they stop continuously touching and crawling all over lones bod-

“Hello, mademoiselle!”

A voice that feels extremely, horribly familiar resounds, and Solitude feels all sensations go overdrive.

Chat Noir was so close-

So close, too close, that repulsive smirk, that leering look, that uncaring posture, too dirty, too repulsive, too hateful.

Lon hates it. Hates him. Hates that person. He will touch me, he will ignore my boundaries, he will torment me, will not leave me alone.

For just a moment, Marinette’s memories resurfaced, and nothing but pure rage and hatred consumed lon vision.

A blast of pure, unbridled energy of repulsion and exclusion consumed the part of the Eiffel tower they were in, practically erasing it from existence, and that hero harasser being thrown away, far away so he couldn’t violate lones boundaries anymore.

Solitude’s body shook from the sheer disgust lon felt, lones mind already making possible connections to why lon felt so much worse with that guy around.

“Is it because Marinette suffered the most due to him?” Solitude thought in rage.

Is that why? It made sense, right?

But before lon could fully calm down, the sensation returned once more.

Why? Why? Why don’t they leave lones alone!?

“Good job, Solitude! You’ve lured Chat Noir! Now go and take away his miraculous and Ladybug’s!”

Lones heart raced with pure rage as Solitude felt the connection linking lones with Hawkmoth.

It’s this guy…

Lones eyes seemed to look somewhere, what Solitude felt to be Hawkmoth’s direction.

This guy was who was crawling over lones body using that link…

Hate and energy, already twisted due to the corrupted magic, twisted even further as it followed Solitude’s desires.

If only he didn’t exist… if only he and Chat Noir didn’t exist…

Then Solitude would be already happy, alone with nothing bothering lones…

Solitude must destroy them first… And make sure not even a shadow of them remains…

—

End?

Or at least until I might write a sequel.

Hope you liked it.

(From Rjalker: I love it!!!)

[gucciwins]

it’s your birthday?

As luck would have it you once again find yourself in a breakout room with Harry

Word count: 3296

A/N: Hello friends, it’s a new semester and it felt only right to continue breakout room, a story that was well loved by you. The inspiration once again came to me during class and also because it’s Harry’s birthday. Thank you to the lovely @soullikestyles for reading this over. Here it is, enjoy!!!

I hope you love this, it is a continuation from Breakout Room 

Please shoot me a message of what you thought!!!!

i love you, take care xx 

_____

It's the start of a new semester. It's safe to say you did not make any friends last semester due to this ongoing pandemic, but what you did manage to get was a 3.9 G.P.A for the Fall semester. It was probably because you did not leave your apartment, and when you did, it was to go grocery shopping with your roommate, who would be dead without you because, as she liked to put it, you're the chef, and she's the taster. 

Well, you maybe did make one friend. 

Harry Styles.

He was the person to talk to you during a zoom breakout room in your women's gender studies course.

Sure, you were never in the same room again, but you might or might not have pinned his face during one of the professor's long ramblings that is no longer related to the course. 

He was pretty to look at; you would never deny that. 

No, with the floppy curls that he almost always seemed to run his hand through, then stopping when one of his rings got caught in a knotted ringlet. His camera would instantly turn off, and in thirty seconds, he was back as if nothing had happened. The glasses framed his face just right, making his eyes look soft and inviting. Also made his dimples stand out. He almost always wore a different colored cardigan. Your favorite from the semester was when he wore a multicolored cardigan. That looks like it was knitted; there was a hole by his heart. Honestly, you were hoping he had, would have made him even more endearing. 

Also, might one day ask him to make you one, or he could even teach you. You're a fast learner and have patience. 

He's got a great choice in clothing from what you was able to observe in such a short time—also a lovely personality. 

After his initial email, you decided to answer, thus creating a chain of messages back and forth. He was honestly funny, and that was just on paper. He had asked for her number and said no, and he respected that. It doesn't mean they never helped each other in the class; Harry asking for more help than Y/N. She sent him over her notes and explained the readings he found harder to grasp. 

As soon as finals week hit, she received her last email from him with the subject as Goodbye. It took you by surprise, and you erased the draft you had waiting for him that had your phone number wanting to keep talking to him. Still, clearly, he thought of them as just classmates for the semester, so without even opening his last email, you trashed it. 

You felt guilty about it, so you then transferred it to your archives, where it sits with other unwanted emails. 

_____

The holidays are over, and since you could not make the trip home, you celebrated with Amy, your roommate. You both help each other buy your family's presents, looking for the best discounts and adding extra items to get the free shipping. Together, well, mostly you as she handed you pieces of tape you wrapped present after present in brown wrapping paper. It was harder to tear and more comfortable to decorate in any way you wanted. On each box, it had everyone's name written in beautiful handwriting, courtesy of you. Then you would add snowflakes or stripes to make it stand out. 

It was a success from their looks when each gift was open through the zoom call. 

The month break flew by, and the next thing you knew, it was time to be back at your desk for hours of learning. It was fun until it wasn't sure there was a lot to look forward to, but you would miss sleeping all day and eating snacks in bed with no fear of forgetting to submit an assignment. 

This semester you had four major courses. Psychology of Personality and Psychology of Aging were the two courses you were most looking forward to. You decided on taking the women's gender studies class called Politics of Sexuality. You had gotten the recommendation from the department's head to take it and did so without a second thought. Yes, fifteen units was a lot, but you were close to graduating, and you knew you could handle it. 

The first week flew by because it was merely going over the syllabus. You had your camera on, but you did not bother to look at your other classmates. Sasha, a fellow person in your major, would be your study partner as she had been all semester. Sasha might not always be in the class section, but she did take the same professors and courses. It makes studying and taking notes easier. You know you won't always have Sasha, but having a study partner has ever made you do better. 

February 1st. The start of the second week of the semester. 

You woke up at seven, got the tea that Amy had ready for you, and were sitting at your desk by eight. Your professor droned on about the first chapter of the book. You felt confident knowing you understood the significant points. 

It's 11:30, and your second course of the day is going to start. You were not looking forward to the class simply because Dr. Rossi had warned you he would be putting you into breakout rooms of two. That person would be your partner for the semester. You had a project due at the end of the semester, and he wanted you to be acquainted with someone rather than having a person working alone. 

You sat there, Baby Yoda ceramic mug in hand, as you waited for your breakout room to load and to see who you were destined to work with for the next fourteen weeks. 

There was a knock on your door that distracted you from seeing the video of someone else load. 

"Sorry, I know you're in class, but I was wondering when lunch was to see how big of a snack I should have." Amy shoots you a small smile. 

"No worries, Ames, I'm out at 12:45 and will need half an hour to cook, so roughly 1:30. Is that okay?" You tell her feeling a little awful, making her wait. 

"It's perfect. Have a good class." Amy shuts the door.

As you hear the click, you turn back to your computer, and they're staring at you in a lavender cardigan with a white shirt underneath is the one and only Harry Styles.  

His curls are shorter, meaning he recently got a haircut, and they are just growing back. You wished he had let it grow out, wanting to see how much more ruly they would have gotten.

You feel your face heat up, remembering you did not do your hair, instead of letting it sit messily in a low ponytail, small hair framing your hair. You were sure the black sweatshirt you had one had a hummus stain but too afraid to look down to check. You weren't even aware he was in this class; it shows you should be paying attention more to your classmates. 

He shoots you a small smile, and you grimace, trying to force one out, but you're still a bit shocked. 

You see his microphone go white, meaning he was about to speak. You leaned forward in anticipation, a bit desperate to hear his smooth accent through your computer speakers. 

"Hello, it's been a while." Harry raises his glasses to hold back his hair. 

You reach forward and unmute yourself. "Hello, Harry. It has been a while. It's a new year and everything." You joke. 

He chuckles, scratching his chin. You aren't sure what to do; it was never this awkward the first time you chatted. 

"Guess we're partners, huh." 

"Apparently." You sigh, a bit loud, forgetting he can hear you. 

"Ouch, don't need to sound too excited." He tells you not at all hiding his frown. 

"No, I didn't." You stop not knowing how to go back from that. "Sorry, that was rude of me." 

He nods, not saying anything more, and you take it as a sign to continue. 

"I-i, well, after our last class ended, I figured that was that. You said goodbye in the last email, so I figured that was the end of our friendship, if you can even call it that." 

"I thought my email would give the opposite impression, but not everything can translate as smoothly when talking." He tells you, which causes you to pause. 

"Your email literally said goodbye," You blurt out before you can stop yourself.

He hides his smile, "My subject said goodbye, the content said quite the opposite. You did read it, right?" 

You duck your head, not allowing yourself to meet his eye even through a computer screen, too embarrassed to be caught. "Well, no, I didn't. Hurt my feelings, just seeing the goodbye." You look up and see his eyes soften, giving you just a bit more courage to continue. "I've always struggled to make friends, I have like three good friends, and it's hard putting myself out there, and I didn't actually if you considered me a friend or not." 

"Y/N" He breathes out your name.

You stop him before he can continue. "Do you mind if I read it now?" 

Harry shakes his head. 

You restore down the zoom and open up your Gmail on the split-screen. You find it reasonably quickly; you look up at him to see him patiently sitting back chipping at his nails. They are a pastel yellow; it makes you smile, knowing just yesterday you went from that color to a deep red. 

hstyles@gmail.com 

Subject: Goodbye 

Y/N, 

It's been enjoyable emailing back and forth. I honestly would not have passed this class without you. I think you are brilliant and if I had you in every course, I would finish with A's in them all. So, thank you for having the patience to teach me. 

Also, thank you for being my friend. I know we mostly talked about school work. Still, you did help me decide on what coat to buy for my sister, so I know that makes us friends, and I did help you get that switch for your little brother. (That was like trying to buy floor tickets for Lady Gaga.)

On another note, after emailing for twelve weeks, I was wondering if I could have your number. I would like the chance to give you a call and formally ask you on a date. I know we're in the middle of a pandemic, and dating is hard, but we can do zoom dates before we try in person. 

I understand if it's a no, but I am really grateful to have met you.

Your friend (although I do want to try to be more)

Harry Styles 

City Pointe Apt 32 (in case you want to send a care package, I would gladly return the favor)

"Oh, Harry," You inhale, "I'm so sorry." 

"No worries." He shrugs. 

You pause, thinking your next words. "I live in Rose Villa." Those were not the words you wanted to say, but you don't take it back. 

"That's across the street from my building." He gasps. "We could have run into each other." 

You nod. "Small world." 

Harry brings his focus back to something you skipped over. "I realize you didn't mention the part of asking you on a date." 

"Oh, I figured you over that now. It's been well over a month since I ignored your email." You grimace, starting to feel awful about it all over again. 

"I guess it was email abandonment this time." He jokes.

You laugh, and it gets Harry laughing as well. He was always good at that, making you laugh and not be so serious even if he didn't know it. 

"Y/N," Harry's voice was strong, no signs of laughter in his trace. You lock eyes as best you can through a computer screen. "I would still very much like to take you on a date."

A date with Harry. 

You want to say yes, but it's like you're frozen. 

"Can I say something else before you give me an answer?" You nod, waiting for him to go on. "Sarah Jones, do you know her?" 

Sarah Jones, you rack your brain trying to place her. 

The theater composer. She's written original tracks for the theatre department for the original plays they've done and remakes. She's won countless awards.

Sarah even won the talent show. Played a killer drum solo that no one else could ever think of topping. 

If you're honest, she's the definition of your girl crush. 

"We follow each other on social media. We met at a paint night; she was really easy to talk to." You tell him, remembering how sweet she was to you when she saw you walk in, and just as you were about to walk out, she introduced herself to you, asking to sit with you. 

He nods. "Sarah is my roommate's girlfriend. Mitch and Sarah practically live together; he's so in love with her it truly is the sweetest thing. Back to the point, she overheard me talking about you to Mitch and spoke how she knew you. Then I proceeded to stalk your Instagram on her account. I hope that's not weird." 

You laugh, and it causes Harry to calm down, "Not weird at all. I would have done the same thing, but as you can see, I rarely upload anything." 

"Well, the things you do have, I think, are wonderful." He rambles on explaining how your beach photo on a bike with a pretty pink basket was one of his favorites and how cute you look wearing sweaters. 

As endearing as Harry was being, you decided to put him out of his misery. "Harry," you interrupt. 

"Yes." 

"I'd love to go on a date with you." 

"You would?" He gasps in surprise. 

"Yes." 

"That's fantastic. I think this is the best birthday gift I could have received." He tells you, but you're stuck on the last thing he said. 

"It's your birthday?" 

Harry smiles sheepishly. "Yes." 

"Happy Birthday, Harry." You tell him softly, a big smile on your face.

A blush overtakes his face; you can tell he wishes to cover up his face with hands but holds back from doing so. "Thank you." 

"Do you have any plans?" 

"No, well. Mitch and Sarah are coming over for lunch in a bit. Then they are off to study at Sarah's for the week. Her roommates are gone for the week." 

You frown, not liking that he'll spend the rest of his birthday alone. 

"Would you-never mind" You stop yourself from being able to invite yourself over to celebrate with him?

"Hey, it's okay. Whatever you wanted to say, I wouldn't judge you, love." His voice was soft and reassuring. 

"Well, I'd love to come over and hang out with you if that's okay. I can make us dinner, I make delicious enchiladas. Also, my carrot cake is to die for." 

Harry is surprised at her offer but nods his head quickly. "That sounds wonderful, but you don't have to cook for me. We can order takeout."

She shakes her head. "Consider it my gift to you." 

"Well, okay. Is six okay for you?" He bites his lip, not believing this is happening.

"Perfect." 

You sit there smiling at each other. 

When a message pops up overhead, "You have five minutes left before we join back as a group."

Your eyes go wide, having forgotten you were in class. "We didn't even discuss the assignment." 

Harry shakes his head in laughter, a smile spreads over your face. He has an adorable laugh that just rings through your ears, and you can't wait to hear it in person. 

"We've got time, now that it seems we'll be getting to know each other better." 

You relax, settling a bit, you have weeks before the assignment is due.

"I'll email you my number, love. Easier to communicate for later."

"Sounds great." You respond. 

_____

It's five-fifty, and you're standing outside his door. You're more than a little nervous. You're wearing high waisted jeans paired with a black off the shoulder top with floral embroidered sleeves. You decided against a sweater knowing the short walk would keep you warm enough. Your mask is red, with three small hearts stitched on the lower right side. Perfect for February. 

You shift the items in your hand to the right and lift your hand up to knock. After three gentle knocks, you hear footsteps and take a step back. 

"Hi," Harry breathes out, a big smile on his face.

"Hello, Harry, happy birthday." 

"Thank you." He smiles wide, blessing you with his dimples. Definitely look better in person. "Please come in." He grabs some of the items from your hand and allows you to step in before locking the door behind you. 

"Your mask is lovely. Did you make it?" 

"I did!" You share excitedly. "My roommate, Amy, and I spent lots of our free time making a different kind. We took old shirts we no longer wanted and used for the material. It was a lot of trial and error, but we're pretty solid at it now. My embroidery could use some work, but I think it's lovely. 

"It really is. Would you make me one?" He asks, staring at you as you pocket your mask. No longer needing it in his home. 

"Yes, I'll send you pictures of the fabric I have, or you could come over, and I can teach you as well." You tell him, excited at the prospect. 

"Sounds like a wonderful date." You nod, feeling your body get warm at the word date because today could also classify as a date. 

Harry knocks you out of your head when calling your name. "Turned the oven on like you requested." He informs you. 

"Thank you, my mom showed me how to make them, but I learned about the melted cheese on my own. She wasn't a big fan of it, but everyone else I know loves it, so I hope you will as well." 

Harry grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. "I'm sure it's wonderful." He bumps your shoulder gently. "Go finish up; I'll set the table." 

He pushes you into the kitchen, and you go in and place your stuff. Harry is whistling, settling down on the table two glasses and two forks when you turn back around towards him. 

Harry turns around just in time for you to wrap your hands around his waist. You fit perfectly in his arms, taking in his musky scent. "Happy birthday, Harry." You whisper against his chest.

He squeezes you tighter, leaning his head on top of yours. "Thank you, love." 

He pulls back, holding you by your shoulders. A big smile on his face, you reciprocate it feeling his happiness warm your heart. 

"Run along now; I'm starving." He jokes.

You walk backward, creating distance; as his left-hand trails down your right hand slowly until he's touching your fingertips, do you pull away. Although you, more than anything, wanted to hold his hand. You want to feel the weight of it in yours; you want to know if his hands are soft or calloused. How cool his rings will feel against your palm. All in due time. 

"I'm happy to be here." 

"Me too, love. Me too." 

It's safe to say you were more than luckily going to have yourself a valentine for the first time in a long time. 

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 4 (6-16): Reverse batfamily | Hugs | Soulmate

Warnings: Canon typical violence, major injuries, background character death, ✨angst✨

Note: this one ran away from me. It got a mind of its own. If I had more time, this would be so much longer. I've always wanted to write a reverse batfam story with Damian's perspective. Please enjoy.

---

Damian has only spent a month living with his blood father, and he's felt nothing but miserable this entire time. Somehow, life has managed to become even more stressful and exhausting compared to living within the League of Assassins. He... understands why his mother felt he'd be safer here for the time being, but at least, back in Nanda Parbat he knew what he was doing and what the rules were.

He's not sure where he stands with his father. It's obvious that his father doesn't know where he stands with Damian either. Damian, his entire life, had grown up with the knowledge of Bruce Wayne being his father. Batman. Caped Crusader of Gotham. Hero. Bringer of Justice. His mother's dearest, most precious love after Damian himself. She spoke often of him. Highly. Only when alone and no one else to hear them. His father isn't exactly on high standings with his grandfather nor other high ranking members of the League.

Yet, his father knew nothing of him until the day they met. His mother brought him to the streets of Gotham, lured Batman to their location, and introduced them there. His father seemed visibly shocked under that cowl at the information of having a son, yet he didn't question it.

Damian didn't know what to expect after his mother left him for his own safety. He didn't know all too much about culture outside of the League. He was, of course, taught the basics to blend in with American society—as well as other countries—if the need so came, but other than that... He didn't know what to do with himself when he first stepped in the manor to find only one servant and a new home empty of anything to fill his time. The cave where his father operates was locked to him from the get-go.

His father doesn't seem to trust him. He explained the situation to the servant, and then sent Damian off with the servant to find a room with the warning that if Damian "did anything", he'd regret it.

Damian's hardly seen his father since. When he's not working as a CEO, he's out as Batman, and Damian sits in the manor all day and night running out of ways to keep himself entertained.

Sometimes he sees his father at supper, but he doesn't ever start any conversation. Damian doesn't start any either, thinking it's purposeful. He doesn't ask about Damian's stay, or if he's comfortable here, or anything. He doesn't update Damian on any new information about his mother and the league. The only words he speaks to Damian are gruff good nights.

Miserable. It's miserable. He doesn't understand why his mother is so in love with such a miserable man for company.

He doesn't speak up on it, however. If his father is anything like his teachers or his grandfather, questioning him or speaking out of turn will just get him in trouble. He'd like to keep his stay at a tolerable level of misery, thank you very much.

So he doesn't say anything to his father, even though he's itching to go out with him at night to... to do whatever he does. He's seen the television, Superman has a kid fighting with him in Metropolis. Why can't Damian do the same with his father as well? He can wear a mask and change his name. He can easily defend himself, even against this country's love for guns.

He still doesn't say anything, and he spends the days miserable.

-o-o-o-o-

It's the butler, Alfred as he has insisted many times during his stay (Damian humors him by calling him by his first name, being as he's the only one to speak to Damian in this drab house), who suggests school a few months after coming here.

"School," his father says blankly, looking at Alfred like he's lost his mind.

"He's a young, growing boy," Alfred says. "It's not good for the lad to be inside all day like this."

Damian sits at the dining table, stiff like he's stepped on a landmine and is now waiting for it to explode. However, he can't help but look up at his father through his lowered eyebrows to meet his sharp gaze. School... doesn't sound like something that would be any fun, but... but anything to get out of this manor sounds almost heavenly.

His hopes fall when his father shakes his head. "No. It's too dangerous."

And something inside Damian snaps just a little. "Dangerous for who?" He demands, slamming his hands on the table. "For me? Or for the other children?"

His father looks stunned, and Damian's stomach drops as Alfred's eyes widen as well.

He's running out of the dining room before anything else can be said.

He's messed up. He's definitely, royally, messed up.

-o-o-o-o-

Punishment for yelling at his father doesn't come like he expects it to. A week goes by, and there's not a single word of his outburst.

It sets him on edge. It fries his nerves. It makes him jumpy and paranoid and frightened at every shadow.

So much so that he finally decides, one day, to pull the sword hanging above the library entrance off the wall and practice with it. It's heavier than what he's used to back in Nanda Parbat. British history is in the shape of the blade, but he still wields it and practices rusty moves on it until he's sweating in the middle of the library. Usually training makes him feel better, but the more time that passes, the more frustrated he gets.

He gets so frustrated that he imagines enemies surrounding him. He imagines the warmth of blood splattering against his skin as he swings. The taste as it touches his tongue. Their screams of death. He gets so deep in this trance that he doesn't notice he's broken something until the sound of crashing glass reaches his ears; he's swung right through a glass display case, the unprotected remains of a signed classic novel resting inside.

His heart jumps when the door opens to see what the commotion is about, and he drops the sword like it's hot when Alfred is the one to poke his head through.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Alfred gives him a long look, and then he sighs. "Come fetch the broom with me, and we can clean this up."

"Will you tell father?" Damian asks slowly. He can tell it's a loaded question when Alfred pauses and purses his lips.

"Not this time," he says finally, after a few heartbeats. "But I do think it's time I speak with him about some other things. Come along, the quicker we clean this up, the quicker I can get you a cup of tea to stop you from looking like a frightened racoon."

-o-o-o-o-

A few days pass, and his father invites him to follow after dinner. Out of everything Damian expects to come from this, being led into the batcave through a grandfather clock in the study wasn't one of them.

"You can train here," his father said, showing him a massive room in the cave filled to the brim with practice tools of all kinds. Dulled swords, throwing stars, bo-staffs, and straw dummies to name a few. There's locked cases on the far side of the training room, of which Damian suspects are full of much more sharp, dangerous, and fun tools.

No matter. He's already feeling his blood shake with excitement at the thought of finally getting some proper practices again.

"You can come down here only when myself or Alfred are here to supervise you," his father explains. "Nothing here leaves this room, and if anything breaks you tell us immediately."

"Can I start now?" Damian asks, barely managing to hold himself back from running towards the closest, one-handed blade.

His father, surprisingly, nods. "I'm going out, and Alfred will be down to help me with the computer. He will be in charge."

Damian can't stop himself from smiling. Finally there's something to do in this house. Feeling hopeful, he decides to ask one more question.

"Can I go with you? One day?"

Silence is his answer for a few heartbeats, making Damian suddenly fearful that he shouldn't have asked that. Then, his father sighs.

"We will see."

-o-o-o-o-

A few more days pass before they do see. He suspects Alfred must have had another conversation with his father, because he approaches him one night and offers to spar.

It's done in full concentration, not a single word exchanged between the two. Both are too busy studying the other's fighting patterns to say anything.

It's now that Damian realizes what his mother meant whenever she spoke about his father's advanced martial arts. It's brutal and expertly executed. It's only a matter of time before he's pinned. He's disappointed in himself, but not surprised to end up losing.

But not all is lost. He can tell his father is impressed when he releases his pin and tosses Damian a rag to wipe off his sweat.

"We need to talk to Alfred about getting you a suit."

-o-o-o-o-

The suit Alfred makes him is made of the strongest, thinnest material Damian had ever seen. It cannot only be Kevlar, because it would be heavier than this. It must have been created by his father himself, or one of his associates.

Whatever the case, he's in awe by it. Alfred is a master of every craft, it seems. He's managed to create the suit to Damian's submitted designs to the T, only making subtle changes here and there where sketches don't match up with reality.

It's mostly black, because according to his father white isn't a good color to go with in Gotham. It's understandable, as much as Damian dislikes it. He's always liked wearing whites and tans for his outfits, accenting here and there with greens and blues to bring out his eyes. Black is such a boring and dull color, but this, he supposes, he will have to deal with.

And it's not all black, at the least. Just the bits around his shoulders, cape, hood, sides, and legs. On his chest, however, is a splash of dark maroon, as well his boots and gloves. His belt is yellow, like his father's, and filled only with smoke pellets, a grappling gun, and a hanging pair of sticks that triple as escrima, a bo-staff, and nun-chucks. Not his preferred weapon, but his father doesn't seem to be very trustful with him and sharp ones yet.

He goes out into the city, out of the manor, for the first time in what feels like forever. His father keeps a sharp eye on him, reminding him every two seconds to not kill anyone, but Damian doesn't mind too much.

He's just happy to be out, and to finally get glimpses of what his father is truly like outside of the stories of his mother and the silent dinners.

He's ruthless, but not heartless. Strong, but not abusive. He prioritizes justice, above all else, and teaches Damian that even the criminals deserve it. The victims get saved, and his father leaves the criminals to be picked up by the cops to be brought to rehabilitation or wherever else they must go.

Damian's careful to remember these teachings, even though he doesn't understand them. He's been raised to think the only thing bad people deserved was punishment, but after taking down a bank robbery, his father researches the names of the robbers and finds that the bank keeper was blackmailing them to give him money on top of the loans they already had with the bank.

The bank keeper was trying to pay off the gangs to protect the bank from other gangs.

So on and so forth.

Gotham seems to be a big cycle of abuse, with no one willing to end it.

Well, no one besides his father.

It doesn't make sense to Damian why his father would try so hard to stop it, but he can at least respect it.

For now.

-o-o-o-o-

Everything goes almost fine until it doesn't.

For the first time in almost half a year, Damian finds himself separated from his father and Alfred. There's a new big bad in Gotham, a man with half of his face burned off by acid. Two-Face, he calls himself. Harvey Dent, his father informed before he left Damian behind to fight him alone.

"This is personal," he said.

And Damian didn't listen. He wanted to see what a real fight was like in Gotham. These petty bank robberies and classic muggings were getting boring and repetitive. He didn't mean to get so close.

His father was in a standoff with Two-Face, and on a stroke of bad luck one of the goons spotted him watching.

"It's Red Bird!" Shouted the goon. Red Bird is the name Gotham had started to call him by in the papers.

A group of the goons charged after him, the rest kept by Two-Face and his father, sneering as they separated his father from helping with their guns and a baby hostage.

And maybe it was seeing the child in Two-Face's arms that made him see red. Maybe it was the disappointment in himself for being spotted. Maybe it was simply all the pent up frustration that's been building without his knowledge since he's gotten here.

Whatever the case, he fought back a little harder than he meant to. What he was supposed to. He brought most of the goons down to the ground, clutching broken bones and bloodied gashes. His old training kicks in, and he goes to hit one of his opponents in a specific place that would kill them.

"RED BIRD!" His father shouts angrily over the commotion.

And Damian stumbles, stopping in his kill-path. His father sounds disappointed and upset and- and Damian almost disobeyed his orders and his father saw it immediately.

Then, before he can be fearful or horrified or confused, his own skull is hit hard enough that the world fades to black.

He wakes up with his arms tied behind his back and his entire person disarmed. His father stands at a makeshift pair of gallows, another man besides him. Both are hooded.

Two-Face flips his coin and asks Damian heads or tails. He says tails, and saves his father, but the other man hangs.

Then, Two-Face beats Damian with a bat, to the point he can't see straight, and the pain drags him back into unconsciousness. The last thought he has is that he's failed. He's disappointed his father, and he must have disappointed his mother as well if she hasn't come back for him yet.

He's failed.

-o-o-o-o-

He wakes in the batcave's med-bay, his entire body numb. He can only lay there with a tube running up his nose and needles in his arm, listening to the machine besides him voice his heartbeat. Vacantly, he can hear arguing voices outside his door, one of a woman he doesn't recognize and the other of his father.

He closes his eyes when the arguing gets too loud, but opens them sometime later when it stops and someone enters the room.

His father stands in the doorway, his face looking more raw and vulnerable than Damian's ever seen it.

"I thought I lost you," is all he says before he runs to the cot and grabs Damian's hand. The one not in a sling, he realizes. He's so numb he didn't even notice he had so many bandages and casts on him.

Not that he focuses on that for long. In fact, all he can focus on is that his father is clutching his hand like a lifeline and whispering over and over how sorry he is.

"I should have been better," his father rambles. "You're not like Jon, you don't have powers. I'm so stupid for letting you out there- I almost got you killed- your mother is going to murder me-"

Damian doesn't even know what to say. He's so flabbergasted by the actions of his father, that he just lays there as his father continues.

"I knew I wasn't cut out for this. I'm not even in my thirties, and I'm a dad. I tried my best to keep you safe, make sure you didn't get yourself into danger- and I fucked it all up. I don't know what I'm doing, Dami. I don't know- I'm sorry-"

And this continues for a little while longer until the door opens again, revealing Alfred and the woman who must have been yelling at his father before. She has gray hair, curled up like a loose afro around her head, revealing her old age. Behind her glasses, her eyes are sad. Together, Alfred and the woman approach the bed, and the woman lays her hand on his father's shoulder.

"We need to check his bandages," she says.

His father nods, wiping quickly under his eyes before he stands up. She gives Alfred a look before she leads Bruce out.

It's only Alfred and Damian for a moment, and Damian releases a breath.

"He's not going to let me out again."

Silence.

Then Alfred comes to his side and looks at the bandages. "I will talk with him. First, let's get you healed up and properly introduce you to Miss Thompkins."

-o-o-o-o-

Red Bird does go out again, once he's healed up. Alfred's talks with his father do wonders, it seems, as life at the manor has gone back to lonely and miserable—what with his father avoiding him at every chance. But he goes out again, swinging into the night with his father silently beside him having just finished retelling him every rule he must follow.

Damian intends to follow them. He doesn't want to lose this. He's come so close to losing this.

He hopes... That maybe... If he follows the rules... Things will start getting better again.

They fight crime like normal, going their normal routes and working silently by each other. By the time it's time to go home, Damian's feeling more alive than he has since Two-Face beat him with the bat.

Before they can return to the manor, however, a familiar signal is lit in the sky by the police department. His father stills and Damian watches him carefully. His father has been careful to keep him out of the business that comes with that signal, even before Two-Face.

His father sighs, then gives Damian a hard look through his cowl.

"Behave," is all he says before they're on their way to the police station.

There's a man on the roof. Commissioner Jim Gordon. He gives his father a greeting, then pauses when Damian steps out besides him.

"Decided to finally introduce us?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. "Just when I thought Red Bird was off the streets for good."

Damian bristles, but his father sighs. "What do you need, Commissioner?"

"Apparently a college teacher went insane and poisoned his students with a gas that made them see their deepest fears. Professor Jonathan Crane. It sounds like something you'd handle quicker, and I can get you the files we have on him after you explain to me why you're still letting a child run around in tights. Especially after you told me he was quote un-quote, 'alive but out of commission'."

"I don't see why it's your business," Damian hisses before he can stop himself.

"Red Bird," Batman scolds, and Damian falls quiet.

His father looks at the Commissioner with a hard look. "He's my responsibility, and I will look after him."

"There were rumors he died, Batman," Gordon argues back. "Two-Face bragged about it all the way to Arkham. He had blood on his face."

His father stiffens his jaw, then says through gritted teeth. "I will never allow something like that to happen ever again. If you want my word, I will give it in saying if anyone like Two-Face tries to hurt him like that again, I will make sure they regret the thought before it can happen. Red Bird will continue to be with me where I can watch him, and you will respect that. Trust me, it's safer for all of us this way."

He looks down at Damian, then almost smiles.

"He will sneak out himself anyways, eventually. Or I won't hear the end of it from a mutual acquaintance."

Damian finds himself smiling back. It seems getting on the good side of Alfred was a good decision on his part. And he's right in the former statement as well. Damian is sure he'd eventually get bored enough of being left behind and go out to prove himself without permission. Red Bird... It's too good to give up. He can't lose it.

It's like a staring contest between Gordon and his father for what feels like an entire minute, but eventually Gordon gives up with a sigh.

"Don't know how you do it. The wife's starting to talk about having a kid... I can't imagine a little one of mine running around doing the things I do, let alone what you do."

He brings a cigarette to his mouth, then pulls out a file with his free hand. "Take the case."

Batman steps up to do as was told, but before Gordon let's go, he gives his father a hard look.

"You better keep your word," he growls, "because if anything happens again to that kid, I'm holding you responsible and I'll bring you in for child endangerment myself."

Batman nods. "I'm counting on it."

-o-o-o-o-

Eventually, the topic of school comes up again.

Which of course brings up the topic that no one actually knows about Bruce Wayne's son. Damian's been kept a secret this entire time, unknown to the public.

"We'll tell them that your mother and I met at the end of highschool, and we have kept you a secret ever since. Due to your mother's weakening health, we decided it would be best for your future to have your custody turned over to me and the mother wishes to remain private. Then, we can-"

"Wait," Damian interrupts. "You're going to let me go to school?"

His father pauses in his verbal plans, then nods.

And suddenly, Damians jumping from his chair with joy, wrapping his arms around his father's neck without thinking about it. However, the second he realizes his action, he attempts to scramble away with horror. He's never hugged his father before. But things have been so good, civil even, to the point where they can be in the same room and have conversations about the weather or the recent sports game or even about a new cartoon Damian found on TV.

But they never hugged.

Afraid he's pressed boundaries, he pushes away, but he doesn't go far before a hand wraps around his shoulder. Damians left halfway on his father's lap where he sits, looking at him with anxiety churning in his stomach and an unreadable expression on his father's face.

Then, gently, Damian's pulled back in so now arms are wrapping around his back. His father's hugs are soft and warm, Damians learns. The opposite of how he fights. Yet he feels so safe and protected that he doesn't resist the action.

"This is really happening," his father says in a whisper. "I have a son. I'm really a dad now. I... I promise I will be better for you. From now on. I'm sorry for how I treated you... In the beginning. I was scared. It's no excuse, but I promise you, I will be better."

And he is. They get ice cream after and then watch a movie before going out as Batman and Red Bird.

Time passes so Damian starts school and makes friends. He meets Clark Kent and his son, Jon, and makes a best friend. He grows older, and happier, to the point he no longer misses the League of Assassins. To the point when his mother does finally return to see him, saying the danger has passed...

Damian tells her he wishes to stay with his father. She smiles, and hugs him, and says that she's proud of him. She promises to visit him as often as she can after they share a good cry.

She leaves, and visits, and time moves on a little more.

Until one day, years later, they notice a kid with a camera following them around and taking pictures. Then, the same kid admits to knowing about their civilian identities when confronted.

His father searches the kid up when they get back to the manor, and after some digging it's revealed his name is Tim Drake and his parents are neglectful and strict.

Damian sees the same look in his father's eyes as when he first told the public he had a son named Damian Wayne, and he gets the feeling the manor is about to get a little more crowded.

This, he thinks, is about to get interesting. It's been awhile since life threw a curve ball. He just didn't expect this one to come in the form of a little brother.

And life goes on.

[efyra]

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: the first time that remus almost lost his control

author’s note: i swear that i didn’t pretend to make two parts for this story but it just happened; i couldn’t help myself. i’m sorry 🥺 and I also am sorry for any grammar mistakes - like i said before, english is not my native language

1994, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Honestly, you never thought that would be so sensitive about your last year at Hogwarts. You didn't think you would miss walking those halls, dining under the starry sky of the Great Hall, the Quidditch games that cheered up the students of all Houses, resting on that tree next to the Black Lake or the magnificent view from the Astronomy Tower. All these little things that never meant much to you before, made your seventh year more melancholic than you imagined it would be - you couldn’t even think about no longer seeing your friends every day without starting to cry.

In a few months, you would be a graduated girl; an adult woman who would be entirely responsible for your own future. Technically, you would be free. Free to pursue any career you want; you could become a healer, a teacher, a magizoologist, or even an auror, and you would have a happy and prosperous life. Or you could just screw yourself up.

The uncertainty made you apprehensive.

Ever since you were born, everyone told you what to do, be it your parents or your teachers; how did they expect you to make a decision as big as "the future of your life" being so young? You were only 18, for Merlin's sake!

Why did you stay only seven years at Hogwarts? If you could, you would continue studying there until you were 25 years-old.

But, unfortunately, that was not possible.

What made you feel a little better was to think that your colleagues were as apprehensive as you were about venturing into the adult world.

Since the school year has began, seventh graders threw a "farewell party" every month and overdosed on firewhisky. You have witnessed a diversity of drunken behavior during these parties; there would always be someone crying because they would miss Hogwarts, others despairing because they didn't know what the fuck they were going to do with their lives, some pompously saying that they already knew exactly where they would work after graduation, there would also be those who would make brave confessions, act recklessly or end up sleeping on a couch.

You weren't a very party person; not that you were those people who didn't even attend the party, but you never crossed your limit, let alone did something to embarrass yourself. Of course, you've taken doses of firewhisky before, but you never got drunk.

Until that night.

Earlier that day, you got a letter from your parents telling that they expected you to become an auror just like them; that gave you stomach pain all day long. You had already thought about following the same career as your parents - who were phenomenal in their job - but you weren't sure if that was what you want for your future.

You were a simple girl. You were never very extroverted, but you made good friends during your years at Hogwarts. You were a great student, not extraordinary nor mediocre. You never drew much attention, and frankly, you never wanted that - in fact, you hated being in the spotlight. For some weird reason, you become very clumsy at those times.

So you never really considered becoming an auror. And because of that letter from your parents, you forgot to control how much firewhisky you were consuming.

And, for the first time in your life, you were officially drunk.

"Ok, I'm hungry" you declared to your friend; your voice tone was louder than usual and your words came out a little shuffled.

Y/F/N faced you with some fun in her eyes; it was unusual to see you like that.

"Right. Let's go to the kitchens, then"

You frowned in confusion.

"How do we get in there?"

"Just tickle the pear" she shrugged "easy peasy". A giggle came out of her lips. "What?" Y/F/N raised an eyebrow.

"You said pee-asy" you answered, giggling one more time.

Your friend shook her head.

"You're very drunk," she said with fun. "Let's give you some food and water and put you on bed.

"Oh, but I don't want to go to bed" you made a pout.

"Well, we're going anyway," Y/F/N said firmly; she knew you wouldn't want to wake up on some random couch. "I'll tell Riley we're going and be right back. Don't go anywhere.”

If you were sober, you would never consider invading Hogwarts' kitchens in the middle of the night, and you wouldn't have escaped from your friend after she told you to wait for her, but, obviously, you weren't even a little sober.

Walking through the dark and empty corridors was already an unknown experience for you, but walking through them being so drunk seemed like an adventure. You had no idea where you were going - even though you knew you wanted to get to the kitchens.

Then an intense light blinded you for a second.

"Miss Y/L/N?" the familiar voice of your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher took you by surprise.

Your eyes widened and you stumbled in your footsteps.

"Professor Hottie!" exclaimed automatically as soon as Remus fucking Lupin appeared in your front, seeming very intrigued to find you in the middle of the hall. "I mean... Professor Hottie!" you paused for a short second; looking sideways and not noticing the amused little smile that appeared on the older man's face. "Wait I said it again... Professor Lupin! Now I did it" you smiled and turned your head to face your teacher.

Then you saw.

That damn look. The look full of savagery that made your knees weak and the air escape from your lungs.

Your teacher slowly approached you; he calculated his steps so he won’t scare you - and honestly, he needed to control himself to not kiss you right there.

Remus Lupin looked like a wolf hunting his prey - and you looked delicious in his eyes.

"Miss Y/L/N..." he kept walking towards you, causing you to automatically take a few steps back, getting close to the wall. "What a little girl like you is doing in the hallway off hours?"

The words got stuck in your throat.

"I-I-I... Ah... I..."

Then he smelled it. He smelled the firewhisky on your breath.

A surprised moan came out of your lips when Professor Lupin pushed you against the wall, pressing his body on yours; his 6'2" height rising dangerously over yours much shorter.

"Were you drinking?" his tone was not as gentle as usual; it was rough and demanding. His question came out almost like a growl.

You gulped.

Your heart beat wildly and you never felt so hot like that before; you wondered if you could burst into flames just with that interaction.

"No!" you lied.

"Y/N..." was the first time Remus said your name; you loved how your name sounded in his voice. "I think you're lying to me," he whispered close to your ear.

You felt shiver over your spine.

"Professor, I-I... I don't..."

"I, I" he repeated in a mocking tone, appreciating how nervous you looked before facing you intensely again. "Don't lie to me again. You won't like what I'm going to do to you if you lie to me again.”

You gasp with your words, and to your embarrassment, a pathetic moan came out of your throat.

Remus growled; he clenched his hands firmly, trying to control himself to not fuck you right there in the hallway - his cock already hard inside his pants.

"Or maybe you would like it" he thought to himself.

But at the same time your groaning excited him, it also awakened him from his trance. Remus remembered who he was; he was your professor and you were his student. He couldn't do anything with you.

He took a step away from you, reluctantly; taking the time to admire how delicious you looked with your breath intertwined, your cheeks blushed and so submissive.

You were disappointed when you could no longer feel his warm body against yours, but you stopped yourself from saying anything. Honestly, you had no idea what had just happened between you and your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; it seemed wrong and it certainly was forbidden, but you couldn't help but want more.

"You will go back to your dorm. No more firewhisky for you, do you understand, Miss Y/L/N?" he asked, looking at her intensely.

"Y-Yes" you stuttered nervously.

"Yes, what?" he growled.

"Yes, Professor Lupin" you corrected yourself quickly.

A smile appeared on the man's face full of scars.

"Good girl" he couldn't prevent those words from coming out of his mouth. "Now, go" he said authoritarian.

You nodded before heading back to the party; the drunkenness seemed to have left your body completely and you almost felt sober.

Almost.

Your little interaction with Remus fucking Lupin still made you feel a little dizzy.

Y/F/N found you halfway through, she guided you to your common room and brought you to your dorm.

That night, you slept quickly because even though Professor Lupin had taken you out of your drunk state, you still had a good dose of firewhisky.

Unlike you, Remus Lupin could not get a good night of sleep.

He thought about you all night long; the way you seemed to submit yourself completely to him without any hesitation, how small and fragile you seemed and how easy it would be for him to throw you on bed or any other surface he could fuck you into oblivion, the way you pressed your thighs together when he approached you - you didn't notice it, but he did.

Remus thought that, maybe, having you wasn't something so surreal; that, maybe, you wanted it too. But he remembered the firewhisky smell on your breath.

He knew he should never have done what he did.

He should have controlled himself.

The next day, he waited for Dumbledore to tell him that he was fired, but that never happened. He waited a week, two weeks, three weeks, more than a month passed and absolutely nothing happened.

Remus didn't know if he should be relieved or if he should feel like the worst man in the world; you had completely forgotten what had happened that night.

Or that's what he thought.

In fact, you remembered every minute of yours little interaction in the hall.

You remembered the way he looked at you ferociously, his predatory walk, you remembered perfectly the growl that came out of his throat, his body against yours, his chocolate and parchment paper perfume, and you, definitely, could never forget how dominant and controlling he acted - and how your body surrender to that behavior; how you liked it.

"You won't like what will happen to you if you lie to me again", it was his words, and Merlin, you had the most absolute certainty that you would love anything he did to you. And you would still beg for more.

You waited for Professor Lupin to come to you, but he never did. You waited more than a month and nothing happened.

It was as if that night had never happened.

Of course, you felt disappointed - very disappointed - but it was your last year at Hogwarts. Your last year walking through those halls, having dinner under the starry sky of the Great Hall, cheering for your house team at Quidditch, resting on that tree next to the Black Lake and enjoying the view from the Astronomy Tower, and you wouldn't waste it lamenting for your Dark Arts Defense teacher.

You graduated. And you thought you would never see him again.

But fate had other plans for you two because in that summer of 1995, you met at Grimmauld Place, number 12.

It didn't seem wrong anymore and it wasn't forbidden, so you promised yourself:

You were going to find out what Remus Lupin was hiding.

[everlarkficexchange]

Naked To the One You Love

by: @ameliaodair​

Prompt #46: They really do toast privately in CF – Katniss wearing an orange dress for Peeta and Peeta making cheese buns for Katniss.  They wanted something their own.  No one knows about it and there’s no baby (as far as they know) but how would this change their relationship? How they make their decisions? Would anyone actually believe them when she gets to District 13? [submitted by anonymous]

Peeta, with the help of Prim and Rye has the perfect day planned for he and Katniss.  This is the day they will finally have their toasting.  Will everything go as perfectly as Peeta planned it?

This story goes hand-in-hand with my current WIP called, “Another Way Out.”  If you want to read more, you can find it on AO3 and FFN.

Word Count: 5768

Rated: M for fluff and smut and lemons.

Warning: Adult content below

Un-beta’d, all mistakes are mine

 Naked To the One you Love

| Peeta |

“What are we doing?” Katniss asks as I lead us toward the meadow.  It’s early still, the sun barely making its presence known along the horizon as it bleeds its hues of purples, oranges, and pinks into the morning sky.

“Having breakfast,” I tell her simply, shivering from the cold.

“In the snow?” She quibbles, rubbing her hands together to warm them up.  I sneak my arm around her shoulder and pull her close.  She allows it, pressing her popsicle nose into my neck.

“Just be quiet and follow me,” I tell her, which grants me a scowl— no surprise there.  When we finally reach our tree, we climb up and I surprise her by opening the door to our tree house.

“Wow, it’s a lot bigger than last time,” she smiles, looking around the tiny room to inspect my handy work.  It was only a little more than a week ago when I found a large plank and, with Rye’s help we got it to the top of this tree.  Using some of my dad’s tools, I nailed the plank to one of the sturdier branches.  Each day since then I have come out here, adding more planks to it, and now it looks like a tiny little house.  Or well, well … more like one … very small room of a rather tiny house.  It is just spacious enough for the two of us to stretch out comfortably, but it’s a place of our own, somewhere to go when we need to get away.  It’s the closest we can get to the woods since the fence is electrified twenty-four-seven now.

We spend the morning in our little makeshift tree home, enjoying the breakfast I packed and watching the miracle of another sun rise.  After surviving the games with the love of your life, you learn to appreciate the little things in life.  Like sunrises and sunsets.  Like sharing meals with your loved ones.   Things you didn’t think were important before suddenly become of the utmost importance.  So, Katniss and I bask in the warmth from the sun and just enjoy being together like this.  With no cameras and no Haymitch.  No Effie or prep teams chasing our tails and scolding us about schedules.  As much as we love and adore all of them, it’s nice to have a break from them.  Finally, it’s just us, which is just the way I like it.

“I think it’s time to get Prim,” Katniss tells me when she sees the sun positioned above the bakery.  It always amazes me how she knows what time it is by the position of the sun.

I frown and jut my lip out, exaggerating my disappointment.  “No, not yet.  Just one more minute,” I whine, leaning in for a kiss.

“Come on Peeta, I don’t want Prim walking home alone.” Katniss contests, squirming out of my arms.  As much as I don’t want to leave right now, I know she’s right.  We leave everything in the tree and climb down, deciding we’ll most likely return once Prim is safely back at home.  Together, we walk to the school and wait for Prim just outside the gates of the school yard.  I’m not sure how much Prim knows much about what’s going on, if anything, but Katniss and I are too afraid to let her walk anywhere in the district alone.  Afraid of what Snow might do. 

Everyone, even Katniss’s mom said her father’s death was just a stroke of bad luck— that he had an aneurysm that no one knew about, that ruptured.  That if they’d had the technology the people in the Capitol have at their fingertips, they could have caught and treated it.  But we know better.  There was no Capitol technology or any fancy device that would have spared his life.  There is no doubt in my mind— or Katniss’s that Snow was the cause of her dad’s untimely death.  Of course, it wasn’t him per say, because he was clearly safe inside the President’s Mansion in the Capitol, but more than likely one of his spies here in 12.  The timing of everything was just too coincidental, not to mention the fact that he offered his condolences before it even happened.

“Oh, I told Rye we’d stop by the bakery on our way home today,” I tell Prim and Katniss, giving Prim a little wink.  It’s a lie, but Katniss doesn’t know that.  When I clued Prim in on my master plan just the other day, she was more than happy to go along with it— knowing that we all need something positive in our lives— something to celebrate.

We stop by the bakery and I breathe a sigh of relief that my mother is nowhere in sight.  She isn’t supposed to be here for another hour or so, but that hasn’t stopped her from making an unscheduled appearance before.  Rye has trouble keeping a straight face as he prepares a bag for us, filled with Katniss’s favorites.

“Hey, I uh … I was about to head out and stop by to see Dad, I can walk Prim home,” Rye suggests, also aware of my plan.

Katniss squirms in place, uncomfortable to even the thought of letting Prim out of her sight but I assure her it’s okay.  Rye will protect Prim and keep her safe.  They have grown rather close over the last few weeks … or, well, ever since Mr. Everdeen got sick while Katniss and I were still on the Victory Tour.

I remember thanking him for being there for my surrogate family and he rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, like you’d ever let me hear the end of it if I was there and didn’t help if I could.”  

‘Right,’ I thought to myself.  ‘It had nothing to do with you actually caring about them, let alone that you are a decent human being,’ but I kept those thoughts to myself.

“Prim is safe with me, I assure you that I will take extra good care of her,” Rye assuages.  Katniss squirms uncomfortably, so Rye adds, “Katniss, I promise.  You have my word.”

“Extra good?” Katniss smirks after a second, her shoulders slowly relaxing. “Maybe on your way there, Prim can teach you some grammar,” she says in that snarky tone of hers.

“Katniss, we’ll go straight home, I swear!” Prim decrees, clasping her hands together and poking her lip out.  Katniss narrows her eyes, which is preceded with a scowl, but then she finally concedes.

“Fine.  Go straight home.  NO detours.”

Prim wraps her arms around Katniss’s waist and squeals, “Thank you, thank you, thank you Katniss!  You are the best sister ever!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Katniss remarks, trying to hide her grin.  Like me, she finds it extremely difficult to deny Prim anything.

After Katniss and I collect our stuff from the treehouse, I get an idea.  “I want to make a snowman,” I tell her with a cheeky smile.

“A snowman?  Seriously?  But it’s cold Peeta,” she whines.

“That’s the point.  You can’t make a snowman when it’s warm.”  So, that’s what we do, we build a snowman until she gets the bright idea to chuck a snowball at my face.  And then— it’s on.  I scoop up a ball of snow and sling it at Katniss, hitting her square in the shoulder.

With her impeccable aim, I should have known that I had no chance in the world of besting her in a snowball fight. 

“Hey, that’s not fair,” she whines when she sees the pile of snowballs I have hidden behind the snowman.  She might have impeccable aim, but I am the youngest of three boys— I had to work twice as hard to keep up with them.

“You started it,” I tell her and chuck another ball of snow at her.  For the next hour or so, we have fun, smiling and laughing while getting snow blasted in our faces.  Katniss tackles me from the side and slams me down on my back.  She straddles my hips, pinning my arms to the ground.

“I win, you lose,” she says triumphantly, planting a victory kiss to my lips.

“That may be true, but I think it’s me who is the real winner here.”

Her eyes knit together in confusion, “And just how exactly do you figure that?”

“Well, you’ve got me pinned to the ground, I’m trapped underneath you.  I’ll gladly lose to you if this is my punishment,” I tell her with a crooked grin.

“Come on, let’s go home.  I’m cold,” she says, climbing off my hips and helping me up.  Under normal circumstances I do not need help getting around with my prosthesis.  However, the snow adds many challenges to my already uneven gait.

No longer able to feel either our fingers, toes, or our faces, we make our way back to my house to warm up.  Rye and my dad are hanging out two doors down, at the Everdeen’s, so I don’t have to worry about anyone barging in on us.  Once I get the fire started, we curl up on a blanket I spread out on the floor, soaking up the heat from the flames.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Katniss tells me once the feeling in her fingers returns and then she makes her way upstairs.  Her absence gives me the perfect opportunity to get everything in order.  The moment she is out of sight, I begin creating a mental checklist of everything I need to do.  Once I hear the water splashing against the tile floor, I zip into the kitchen and get to work.  I begin by filling a tray with the cheese buns from the bakery— Katniss’ favorite, and pop them into the oven to warm them up.  And then I take out the dough of the white bread I prepared a few days ago, made for this exact occasion.  I open the drawer that contains the papers and pull them out.  “Certificate of Marriage,” I whisper the words aloud.

“Please be okay with this Katniss,” I anxiously tell myself. “Stop it Peeta.  She loves you, you love her; that’s the only thing that matters.” I remind myself, trying to talk myself up so I don’t chicken out. 

Once all the bread is ready to go, I place them on a table next to the couch and wait for Katniss to come back down.

I am not waiting long when she comes gliding down the stairs in an immaculate floor-length orange summer dress.  The straps holding the dress up on her shoulders are skinny, and for some reason they remind me of spaghetti noodles.  It is snug at the top and gets looser the more the light orange fades into a deeper orange.  My eyes nearly bug out of my head at the sight of her.  She is beautiful, she is exquisite and stunning and just … WOW.  It must be one of the dresses Cinna sent back with her, because I’ve never seen this one before.  And although this one is clearly a dress meant for days with bright sun and scorching heat— it’s not like we’ll be going outside.

It is so unlike her when she twirls around once, a huge smile on her face.  “Do you like it?”

For a moment, I’m speechless, “I … I love it, it’s beautiful; you’re beautiful.”

She blushes, joining me on the floor and I prop some pillows up for us to lean against.

“Are you hungry?” I nervously ask her.  Dammit, why am I so nervous?

“What do you think?” She huffs, her eyes narrowing with her trademark scowl, which forces a chuckle to escape from my throat.  It’s a stupid question to ask anyone who is a resident of 12.  Everyone is hungry, even those of us who are more fortunate than the others.  I hand her the platter of cheese buns, but she’s eyeing the other tray.  “What’s that?” She asks, pointing behind my back.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I tell her and shift my body, hoping to block her view.

“Oh my God, Peeta; is that—” The papers are all but forgotten as her eyes go saucer eyed when she catches sight of the bread behind me.  She crawls over me and picks the bread up, delicately turning it over and over in her hands.  “Is this—”

I bashfully look away and nod my head, “It is,” I admit.  Her head snaps to the right— and then to the left as she surveys the room.  And then it all hits her at once as she realizes what this is.  For a moment, I am afraid she’s going to go running for the hills, but instead, she reaches for the bread knife and begins sawing at the loaf.  She frees the piece of bread and impales it on a poker before placing it over the fire.  While she rotates the poker to evenly toast the bread, she looks over to me, her silver eyes glistening with the flames and smiles.

“Do I ever tell you how much I love you?  H-how important you are to me?” She asks as her eyes meet mine.  And maybe it’s just the heat from the flames, but her cheeks suddenly flush into crimson.

All my anxiety dissipates into her gray orbs as I extend my hand out, curling a strand of her hair around my finger.  “It is implied every single day, in everything you do,” I tell her softly.

She pulls the poker back and places it down next to the hearth, but not before removing the slightly toasted bread from its prongs.  She juggles the bread from one hand to the other— again and again as she waits for it to cool.

My eyes are cemented on her while my anxiety rises to a new level as I await her next actions.

“Peeta … you are … the most amazingly incredible person I know— have ever known.  And … I never thought I wanted this, but you— you changed everything for me.  You changed the way I see the world, and I … I can’t imagine a life without you.  And … even if I could, I don’t want to.”

Woah, wait a minute, what is she doing?  Those are supposed to be my words.

‘Katniss, what are you doing?’ I ask her in our silent form of communication.

‘I think you know,’ she smiles mischievously at me.

“Uh-uhn, no, that’s my job, I had this all planned out.”

“Oh, so that’s what today was all about?” She exclaims with a bright smile on her face.  I can’t help but return the smile as I lean over and press my lips against hers.  Using my weight, I push her down onto her back and kiss her deeply— thoroughly running my tongue along her lips, sucking … pulling her bottom lip into my mouth until she shivers.

“I love you Katniss Everdeen,” I mumble through our connected lips.  “I love everything about you; even the things I hate about you, I love.” I crawl up next to her, our bodies continuing to absorb the heat from the flames as I stare longingly into her beautiful grey eyes.

“You ruined my plans, I’m not sure if I can forgive you for that,” I quip, smiling and gazing into her perfect eyes.

“What if I …” She intentionally hesitates, lifting the seam of my shirt up and tracing her fingers lightly across my stomach, “do this?” She finishes, sending goosebumps prickling against my skin and I squirm from side to side with her touch.

“Nothing’s ruined,” she promises.  “All I said, was I wanted for it to be ours; that I didn’t want the day I became yours, and you mine to be in front of a Capitol audience.  As long as it’s just us, I don’t care about the rest.”

And she says she’s not good with words.

I take her hands into mine, our heads sharing the same pillow as we stare into each other’s eyes, “Katniss, I was mesmerized by you since I was a five-year old, snaggle-toothed little boy.  I can’t even remember a time I didn’t love you; and for so long, I never thought you would give me the time of day.  I thought … for so long I thought that just being your friend would be enough, but after having your love— after having your heart … I can’t imagine a life without you.  I know you only said yes because of … well, because of everything, but I swear to you, I will be the best husband you could ever hope to have.  I—”

“Peeta, I—” She interjects, but I stop her.

“Please Katniss, please let me finish,” she nods, not pushing it any further.  I glance down to the bread and then back at her, “I offer this toasted bread to you with the promise of being your best friend.  I will listen when you need someone to talk to; when you just need to vent, my ears will be open, or if you just need a sounding board, I will be that too.  You will never have to be alone again because I will be by your side.“

‘Always,‘ I add in our silent way.

“Even when you don’t think you want me there, I will be.  I will hold your hand when you’re scared, and I will be right here, right next to you, scared with you.  I will tell you that everything will be okay— because even if it’s not, we will have each other.  I will always, always be there to catch you before you fall.  And … and I’ll give you a push if that’s what you need, too.  Because I love you.”

Her eyes are pooled with tears and her chin quivers as she reaches for our toasted slice of bread and holds it up between us. It is the only thing separating our lips.  And then I part my lips and allow her to feed me the bread, our bread.  Our little slice of heaven that signifies our love.  I sink my teeth into the perfectly toasted bread, as does she.  Our teeth sink into our promise to the other and then we seal it with a kiss.

“I love you Peeta Mellark, my husband.”

“And I, you; Katniss Everdeen; my wife.”

“I think that would be Katniss Mellark now; get it right,” she tries to scowl at me but fails, erupting in a giggle.

“I like the sound of that, Mrs. Katniss Mellark— Oh, that reminds me!” I exclaim jubilantly, nearly bursting at the seams as I jump up to collect the papers the mayor had given me earlier this week.

“What’s that?” Katniss asks me.

“It’s um … they’re the papers.  To um, make it official.”

“Seriously?  When— How?” I breathe out a sigh of relief when she doesn’t object.  That she seems genuinely excited.

“The mayor.  But … we can’t tell anyone; she’ll be in a load of trouble if anyone finds out.”

“My husband … conspiring with the mayor,” Katniss beams, glowing with pride.  I am incapable of concealing the cheesy, shit-eating grin when she calls me her husband.

As I watch her grip the pen in her hand and sign her name on all the dotted lines, I pinch myself to see if I am dreaming.  I can’t believe it; I am actually, really, truly and officially married to Katniss Everdeen— Mellark.

“Wait!  I have something for you,” Katniss says and rushes up the stairs.  I hear her run into my room and then a drawer slams before she is sprinting back down the stairs.

“You already gave me a ring, and I um … I want you to have this Peeta,” she says, her cheeks flushing as she reaches for my hand.  Refusing to meet my eyes, she slips something onto my finger.

I pull my hand up to look at what she’s placed on my finger to see a ring adorned to the pointer finger of my right hand.  Then she takes her ring off the chain of her necklace— (the one I gave her in District 4 the night of my true proposal to her— the one that once belonged to her mother, given to me by her father) and does the same.  

It’s a tradition in 12 that goes along with the toasting.  Everyone knows that your wedding ring is typically worn on the fourth finger of your left hand, but in 12, it starts out on the pointer finger of your right hand.  There was a tradition from before the dark days that said you start off like this because there is a vein … or maybe it’s an artery that runs from your finger to your heart.  And since marriage is the ultimate promise, by doing this you are connecting your hearts together.  Once the ceremony is over, then you switch it to the fourth finger of your left hand.

Katniss leans over to kiss me and we switch the ring to our proper fingers while our lips are still conjoined.  For now.  I will eventually have to find a clever place to keep mine until … until well, I don’t know.  But the Capitol cannot know we are already married.

After all the traditions are complete, I take our marriage papers to the office room upstairs and tuck them away in a safe place.  Then, with a little extra pep in my step, I find my way back to the main room and scoop Katniss into my arms.

“Peeta!  What are you doing?” She squeals like a giddy schoolgirl, encircling her arms around my neck.  Carefully, I make my way up the stairs and into my room— our room.  Who am I kidding?  It’s always been our room— no piece of paper or ceremony was needed to decide that for us.

“I am carrying my wife over the threshold.  The toasting isn’t complete until that’s been done,” I remind her with a kiss.

“Okay,” she says, nuzzling her head against my chest.  No thanks to my artificial leg, we make it up the steps successfully.  I press my lips against hers as my foot passes the threshold.  Now, all the standard traditions of 12 are complete, except for the final one.  The one that really seals the deal.  Consummation.

Just thinking the word in my head causes me to stumble.  My brain seems to forget how to gracefully put one foot in front of the other and I fall face first onto my bed, my body nearly crushing my beautiful wife.

She giggles; a foreign sound, but it is one that I cherish.  “I love you,” I say, pressing my forehead against hers.

“Smooth,” she says, and I can feel her lips forming into a smile against my mouth.

“So, now, we’re supposed to um …” There is a nervous energy between us; she’s scared, as am I.  Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life, and that’s saying something— having survived an arena and all.

“Katniss, you know … we don’t have to do this, we can just—”

“What? You don’t want to?” She interjects defensively.

“No, no— I mean, yes, I do.  I was just saying … if you don’t want to, it’s okay.  We don’t have to, we can wait,” I stumble over my words trying to reassure her.

“I want to Peeta,“ she says certainly, never taking her eyes off mine.  "I have wanted to for a while now, and I think we’ve waited long enough.  Will you … will you help me unzip my dress?” Her eyes flit to the floor as she smiles nervously, her cheeks taking on a rosy hue.

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.  While Katniss and I have done many things, getting caught up in heated kisses, touching in places I would rather not mention, we have never gone this far.  We have never gone all the way.  She turns around and pulls her hair to the side, granting me access to her zipper.  I scrupulously glide the zipper down until it refuses to budge another inch and delicately slide the sleeves down her arms.  A frown of disappointment encases my lips when she begins to braid her hair.

I press my lips to her bare neck and kiss my way to her shoulder, which causes a moan to expel from her lips.  “Leave it down, please.”

“Mmm hmmm,” she moans.

“My God, you are so beautiful,” I tell her, my lips trailing down to the crest of her shoulder.  Finally, I sling her dress into the chair next to my bed and she nervously flips onto her back, incredulously facing me. 

‘Oh my God, Katniss is naked, bare to me and in my bed,’ I think to myself as I stare her up and down.

Feeling self-conscious … probably due to my ogling her, she reaches over and pulls the sheet to cover her near-naked body.

“No, what are you doing?” I ask her, tugging the fabric back.

“I just … feel so … naked without my clothes,” she says, flushing with embarrassment.

“Well, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

“Well then … be naked with me,” she says, tugging on the hem of my shirt, eager for me to remove it.  I slide my shirt off and it joins her dress in the chair.  I am hesitant to remove my pants, still self-conscious about my leg.

“Pants too,” Katniss whispers in a raspy— so, so sexy voice.

“I … I—”

“Peeta, I love all of you, even the Capitol-made parts,” she takes charge and flips me over, undoes the button of my pants, and I am too paralyzed to refuse; not that I would want to.  She removes my pants, then sits up and straddles my hips.  With nothing but our underclothes on, we are completely bare to each other, and I understand what she meant about feeling naked without her clothes.  There is nothing to conceal our insecurities, both physical and emotional.  But that’s the point, right?  To be completely open, bare— naked to the one you love.  To have nothing— no secrets between you.  However, underneath all my anxiety, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt anything quite this amazing before.  We slip under the covers and I click the lamp on that sits on my nightstand.  It emanates a soft glow, perfectly lighting the room, while producing a shadow over the insecurities.

“Can I take your leg off?” Katniss asks me.  She must be in my head again— I was just too embarrassed to take the initiative— afraid she would find my mutilated leg … repulsive.

“Okay,” I say.  For the first time I realize she’s had a lot of practice helping me put it on and take it off as she slips it off with ease.

“I don’t want any part of the Capitol here for this,” she says, placing kisses against the scar on my leg.  I pull her up to me and flip her back onto her back.

We are a tangled mess of arms and legs, our tongues dancing together in a frenzy, yet in perfect synchronicity.  As if they’d been practicing for years and years until they reached utter perfection.  I trail kisses along her neck, down to her collarbone and across her shoulders.  I want to kiss every inch of her body; I don’t want to miss a single bit of her skin.  I reach down and cup her perfect breasts in my hands and she moans out in pleasure, which causes my cock to pulse until it is fully erect.

“Touch me Peeta,” surrendering to her every command, I stroke her arms, and then add light touches to her perfectly flattened stomach.  I caress my hands up and down her legs, trying to muster up the courage to touch her there.  Finally, I do, and she’s so hot and wet for me.  I slide one finger inside her center and keep it in there while I use my thumb to rub circles on that little bundle of nerves that I know has the power to make her come undone.

Her body tenses up and I know I’ve hit the right spot when she pants out my name.  “I could be satisfied … happy, just doing that to you … every second of every minute, of every single day,” I tell her once the intensity of her climax has subsided.

“Then how would you make me cheese buns?” She says with a heavy breath.  Smiling, I inch up to her face and kiss her.  Soft and light at first, and then harder, deeper— as if I am starving and her lips are the only way to satiate my hunger. 

“I need you Peeta; I— I need you closer,” she breathes into me and I instantly know what she means. She wants me to be inside her.  We have both wanted this for such a long time, I almost can’t believe it’s actually happening.  I kiss her softly as I fumble my way on top of her.  Using one elbow to prop myself up, my other hands grips onto my cock as I tease her entrance with my hardened member.  Even without being inside her, I can feel how wet she is.  Which only causes my already rock-hard cock to pulse even harder.  She spreads her legs open for me and I fumble nervously, guiding my cock into her entrance and sliding inside her— slowly at first.

“Is this okay?” I ask her, recalling an embarrassing conversation with Rye as he gave me the intricate details that a girl’s first time can be painful, and that it’s important that they are “ready” prior to penetration.

“More Peeta, I need all of you,” she demands, locking her legs around my hips and digging her heels into the back of my calves.  Slowly, I push myself deeper into her, impaling her, until finally, I am fully submerged into her heat.

“Holy FUCK!” I gasp, crying out when my cock is surrounded by her walls.  “Is- is this okay?” I ask her again, not wanting to do anything that might hurt her.  It is taking every bit of willpower that I possess to keep my body still— to prevent my hips from ramming deep— and hard, into her.

“Oh God, Peeta, you feel so good.  Please … please, Peeta—” she begs me, and I’ve never been very good at denying her anything as I submit to her will.  Slowly, I partially retract myself from her center and then slowly, slowly push myself back inside, our pelvises grinding against each other.  Her nails dig into my back, finding their way to my ass and then she squeezes—

“Holy FUCK, how did you just do that?” I ask when her walls tighten around my cock.

“What … this?” She grins, repeating the action, “You like that?” She says in a teasing, seductive voice.

“Katniss— stop … or I’m going to … or I won’t last, and I want … this has to be perfect,” I beg her and then she reaches up, encircling her arms around my neck and pressing her mouth to mine.

“It’s already perfect because I’m with you,” she tells me in-between heated kisses.  And once again, she stupefies me with her words.

“Oh God, I love you too, my perfect, beautiful, amazingly gifted wife,” I tell her, while gliding in … gliding out of her sex.

“Katniss … I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last if you keep doing that … where do you want me to—”

“Right where you are,” she tells me, knowing what I am trying to say.

“But,” I question her with a raise of my brow.

“I took that pill Effie gave you— I mean, me,” she explains, running her tongue along my ear.

I shiver from the contact and lose all control as I slam into her— again and again before grinding into her center once more.  We both grind; hard and slow, and deep— achieving the perfect rhythm until I feel that familiar stirring deep in my stomach— and then we’re both moaning, and yelling, and whispering— shouting— gasping the other’s name and I’m spilling into her, filling her with my seed; both of us believing that Effie’s miracle pill from the Capitol will prevent any watering of said seed.

0 – 0 – 0

Curious about their “unspoken language”?  Or Katniss’s father’s untimely death?  Or who the mayor of 12 is since it clearly is not Mayor Undersee?  Come check out my THG re-writes: Changing the Game (Complete) and Another Way Out (In progress) (The final book/story is TBA).  Told in multiple POV’s.  AND, find out what happens once Katniss reaches District 13.  Does anyone know they actually and officially got married in 12?  Does Katniss get pregnant?  Does Effie’s miracle pill work for them?

[onigiri-dorkk]

There was a Reddit question recently that asked, “What is an excerpt you are most proud of writing?” and this is what I immediately thought of and submitted.

Mikasa picked up her pace to walk closely beside Levi on the dirt path. She took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the early morning post-storm rain that rose in the fresh air. They were surrounded by barren countryside now — dewy planes of grass completely fertile and green eventually turned to golden fields of wheat, dried in the high afternoon sun. It was peaceful and completely untainted by war or titans.

Far away stood a tree on a hill; a sight that would never fail to unearth the memories of Mikasa's past. Her sullen face could not hide the growing ache in her heart at the view. Lost in her thoughts, her feet stopped moving.

Leaving Eren here was necessary and unavoidable. She knew that. Eren had always been the one to run away from her, yet this was Mikasa's first time being the one to walk. And it was good. Freeing, even.

But something still panged deep inside of her. Perhaps it was the unspoken grief of watching a loved one slip further and further into darkness to a place where you can no longer reach them. Or maybe it was just that the sun shining on her now was the same that shone on them as children, yet it didn't feel the same. Whatever dark feeling it was replayed the vivid images of young Eren rolling around on the grass below the tree as she and Armin playfully tossed sticks and branches at him, laughing innocently into the air without a concern of the world.

There were endless happy memories, all innocent and pure, as untainted as the open fields before her. But there was simply no possibility of going back to those days. Memories are simply best as memories. And that was okay. She just needed time. Then, maybe there would be more growth than the fact that she no longer reached for fabric around her neck.

Maybe this really was the start.

Levi glanced back, noticing Mikasa slow her pace to a standstill. Her somber gaze traveled far out to the open fields, tresses blowing softly against her skin as the wind brought her even further. Levi reached for her hand, grounding her again. She was grateful for his warm, wordless expression paired with the unhesitated touch that always reassured her of his presence with her.

He didn't try to distract her from her painful memories, nor would he ever dare to imply that none of it was worth looking back on anymore — of all people, he understood that the memories of loved ones would always remain largely in their hearts. He simply knew what was most important to Mikasa, and perhaps what would always be most important to her, was to stay beside her in the midst of the pain; to love her deeply and closely, without hesitation, without fear, to sit with her when she felt alone in the darkness... Just as she had asked of him that morning.

(From Ch16) I’ve been wondering lately why it is I love Ch16/17 the most from my story and I realized, after submitting, that it’s because I spent a lot more time in inner thoughts and feelings. With all the resolution it allows time for that — whereas now when I reread some of the beginning chapters I find myself thinking “I should’ve spent more time in their thoughts here” and all. (Though I will say the Ginseng chapter 4 is one of my faves too, again, probably bc it taps into inner thoughts more than 1-3).

It’s fun to see how my writing style changed in the span of one story. I also got some really lovely feedback on my submission and it made me happy.

That said, I’m really fkin proud of Ch15-17!! Ch11 too. That’s the kind of writing I want to get back to and the kind of feeling and inner thoughts I’ve been trying to tap into again for this new longfic I’m working on.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Hiya! I have a request for an x reader songfic. Snap out of it by the Arctic monkeys gives me so many 2012 Donnie vibes. Maybe one where the reader is in love with Donnie but he likes April and the reader wants Donnie to, you know, "snap out of it" and notice that maybe April isn't the best person towards him. It can end in unrequited love or with a happy ending, that's for you to decide but I just really want to see this concept. Thanks! :>

(feel free to ignore this request if you want 👁️👁️)

Oh, I’m not about to turn away a chance to be pushed out into foreign territory. I admittedly hadn’t known what a songfic was until wikipedia and @kunimikat saved my ass, so this was fun-- and a bit scary-- to write. I hope you like it, even if it might not have been exactly what you were expecting.

April was your friend. She had been for a while, now, since she had moved to NYC. The two of you had come even closer after her kidnapping and initiation into the “Hamato Clusterfuck” as you had affectionately called it at first—you had wisely made a conscious effort to only get involved with them as far as you could throw them, sticking solidly to offering emotional support and half-decent food. At the beginning, you had, on multiple occasions, even begged her to stay out of it, trying to reason with her that getting herself killed by a psychotic armored man with an axe to grind for the crime of hanging out with four teenage shut-ins was an incredibly bad idea. When your logical arguments fell on deaf ears—her owing them apparently being her ball and chain—you had designated yourself as her supervisor to make sure she did not do something overly impulsive. She was reckless, overly trusting, immature, but you loved her like a sister. You balanced each other out.

One of the benefits of knowing someone for so long is that you learn things about them that they do not know about themselves. In April’s case, it had been that she was terrible at making up her mind

 What's been happenin' in your world?

You had borne witness to the love triangle transpiring between Donatello Hamato, Casey Jones and her for the better part of a year now. You were relieved that the two boys had backed off each other’s throats somewhat over the period, but it was as infuriating as it was fascinating to watch them fight over her like a chew toy. Of course, April had her preference between the two, favoring the hockey player mainly for his general normalcy, which was a decision you could approve of, but she had hesitated until recently to make that obvious to the other point because, in her words, “The last thing I want is to deal with is all of that awkwardness.” You could hardly blame her for her hesitation, but you thought it almost cruel not to make her feelings apparent to her lovestruck puppy.

 What have you been up to?

Donnie was the most tolerable of the five, the most normal in your opinion. He was an infatuated, insecure teenage boy with more an affinity towards machines and, best of all, seemed concerned for your friend, all things that you could get on board with. In your opinion, overbearingness is preferable to negligence in this case, and you were just happy that someone physically capable had her back. As such, when you were stuck at the lair for hours waiting for her lessons with Splinter to be over—you were her ride—you found yourself spending the most time around him, and as time went on, you started going out of your way to do so.

Seeing as April and Casey were your only other friends, it was natural you would get romantically attached. They—a couple by high school standards—approved of your crush, and all you told your guardian(s) was that they were smart, fit, and financially responsible, so they asked few questions.

You knew, logically, this was not a competition and that April had little interest in him.

But something about the way he gazed at her made you burn green with envy.

 I heard that you fell in love, or near enough.

His eyes were just so… wistfully longing. He watched as the redhead and her boyfriend played against Michelangelo and Raphael in a game of charades. His expression was just so soft, lips pursing and popping silently as he grieved from his seat in his lab.

It had been a downhill spiral on your end from there, and as your own attachment grew for him, his own depression worsened. Your eyes drifted from your friend as you tried to make him see that, no, the world was not ending because his first crush did not like him back. You would make subtle comments about how happy his brothers were, how happy she and Casey were together, how smart he was and how many people would die for a kind, loving, smart guy to come around and sweep them off their feet. This, again, fell on deaf ears; he would always comment on how, if he were such a catch, April would not have chosen Casey, like It is his fault for her having more of a taste in cocky, fun-loving guys than intelligent ones. Half of it was probably your lack of experience in subtlety, but no matter what you would try to say, whenever romance came up in conversation, his words turned sharp and bitter.

On that day, you just cracked.

 I gotta tell you the truth.

You walked over to the lab door, closing it in a single fluid motion. ‘I’m better at being blunt, anyways.’

He blinked; his trance was interrupted by the small slam.

“She’s not into you.”

“Huh?”

You crossed the room and placed your hand on the desk, expression stern and stone cold. “April,” you repeat. “She’s not interested.”

He did not meet your gaze. “You don’t know that.”

“I do, actually.” You leaned down to look him in the eye. “You aren’t her type. You’re supposed to be smart.” You placed the other on the back of his chair, arms cagging him in, almost. “ She has a boyfriend,” you continued, softer. “You know that, right?”

“I do.” He tapped the side of his thumb against the table absently, throat tight. “But what else do you suppose I do? Submit to the fact that I’ll be alone forever?” He looked up at you. “I know this may be hard for you to believe,” he continued, easily slipping out from under your arms, “but I don’t exactly have a ton of options. She’s the only person who’s ever looked at me like that; how am I supposed to move on from the only person who’s ever even given me a chance?”

 I wanna grab both your shoulders and shake, baby.

 You rolled your eyes, turning to watch him as he crossed to the other side of the room. “That is some blatant bullshit,” you glared curtly.

“Is it, though?” His back was to you as he crouched down in front of his centrifuge, fiddling with it. “As someone who’s never—”

“So help me, if you go off about me not understanding being rejected and feeling like they’d die alone, I’ll rip your tongue out.” You stood back up properly.

“What would you know about it?” He followed suit, eyes locking on yours. “You have other people to choose from.”

“And you don’t?” You crossed your arms, smiling incredulously. “How do we differ, exactly?”

“Besides the obvious?”

You scoffed. “You’ve seen your brothers. Never stopped them.”

“And I’m happy for them, that they’re so charismatic as to be able to find partners so easily.” You could taste the bitterness in his words. “But I’m not them, in case you didn’t notice. That girl out there?” He pointed to the door. “She’s the first and only person in the universe who’s ever given me a second glance.”

“So you’re just fucking blind, now?” You heard your voice rise without your input.

“What’re you talking about?” His voice grew with yours.

“You’re lovesick,” you spat. “Snap out of it.”

 Snap out of it.

You ran your fingers through your hair. “Or maybe you’re just dense.” You felt a laugh rise in your throat. “I mean,” you gestured, “clearly picking up on verbal subtext isn’t your forte.”

You gave him five seconds. “What,” you continued, rubbing your face with your hands, “Are you—” You stopped. “You are, aren’t you?”

Nothing.

You took a slow breath, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “Let me put it in simple, plain English for you.”

 I get the feelin' I left it too late, but baby—

 “As her friend? You’re a fucking creep.” You crossed your arms across your chest. “Following her the way you did—wait your turn—” A finger interrupted his defense. “Following her the way you did? Objectively creepy. Staring at her all the time? Also fucking creepy.” You felt your nails dig into your skin. “Any person would call it as it is.”

He opened his mouth again to argue. You did not interrupt him this time, but he did not argue, the silence falling like a weighted blanket over the two of you.

“As your friend,” you continued, voice lowered, “as someone who cares about you, I know April, and she can’t give you what you want. It’s not her; she needs to be free, and I love her, but you’re looking for something that’s just not there.” Your voice was certain. “You’re looking for someone to spend your life with. I’m right, aren’t I?”

 Snap out of it.

 He was still for a moment, looking off into the ether. He nodded, face melancholy.

You walked over, resting a hand on his shoulder tentatively. “I’m not saying it’s stupid of you to not be over her. Again, I love her to bits, so I see the appeal.” You broke eye contact, trying to articulate exactly what you meant. “But I’m worried,” you explained slowly, “you’re only hung up on her because you’re scared of being alone. That’s not fair to her or yourself.”

“Do you know that?”

“No,” you admitted easily, “but you and I are the same way, and trust me, I’ve been around the heartbreak block.” You smiled, trying to relieve the tension.

That earned a chuckle. A small one, but a chuckle none the less.

You reached up, cupping his cheek in your hand. “There are seven billion people on this planet. Any one of them—myself included—would be lucky to have a life with you.”

 If that watch don’t continue to swing—

 A pause.

“Do you honestly believe that?”

You nodded, your thumb running along the line of his eye socket. “I do.”

 —or the fat lady fancies havin' a sing—

 You leaned forward, pressing your lips against his cheek gently.

 —I'll be here, waitin' ever so patiently—

 “Y/N!” You pulled back as you heard April calling your name. “We need a moderator!”

You started back towards the door, waving gently. “I wish you good tidings, Donatello.” You smiled quietly, serenity itself standing in the doorway. “May whoever is fortunate enough to call you their own bring you happiness. You deserve it.” You slipped out of his lab, running over to break them up.

Donatello rested his fingers on where your mouth had lit his skin. He felt a bittersweet smile fade onto his face.

—for you to snap out of it.

And that was when it began.

List of Works