#im NEVER drawing this many squares again. my arm hurts so bad

[problemcore]

big JAKT or big PANT ?

[tokyoghoose]

nous aimons tous les deux jours

pairing: dabi x reader

playlist: things we never say - bad bad habits*, sincerity is scary - the 1975, love love love - of monsters and men, if i go, im going - gregory alan isakov, i dont know me like you do - low hum, if i get high - nothing but thieves ( alice kristiansen cover ), i dare you - the regrettes, problems - deathbyromy, fool of you - meltt, hell and you - amigo the devil, creature - it looks sad, tongues and teeth - the crane wives, hooked ( addicted you might say ) - eleisha eagle, nothings gonna hurt you baby - cigarettes after sex, a dream of you - far caspian, so alright, cool, whatever - the happy fits, a lovely night - ryan gosling

warnings: mentions of violence, brief mentions of drugs for expression, and suggestive themes

summary: we love every other day

announcements!

this is my first try at a enemies/lover thingy! Originally it was going to be an enemy to lovers but i liked the idea that they're just on opposing sides a little more haha. Lemme know if you'd like to see the other one though!

i know there are a lot of hero x villain fics like this out there 😌 this is my take on it, so please bare with me!

feedback is welcome and appreciated! requests are open!

"We really have to stop meeting like this."

An addiction. That's what it is. Either that or it's some kind of reverse psychology like you want what you can't have—because nothing else makes sense. If you knew him as a regular person, honestly you probably wouldn't have given him a second thought. If he was a hero you worked beside—or god forbid a villain—then you probably wouldn't have cared for a hookup or two, but then you'd get over it. It's not infatuation. It's an addiction. It's toxic and unhealthy and it just feels good even if it shouldn't. But the high; the high is unbeatable.

It continues on forever and more. From the moment his gaze pierces yours it's like snorting a rail of coke or taking a tab and the trip never ends. It's not even the fact you could get caught. You two are so damn obvious; anyone who stumbles into an alleyway at three in the morning would see the two of you doing more than what a fight warrants. It's just him. It's simply Dabi.

Romeo and Juliette's syndrome is probably a better term for it. But hell, it's not like he'd die for you. Right? It's not like you've known each other way longer than some days and nights and you certainly aren't teenagers and he's definitely not somebody who moves onto a girl and decides he's in love at first sight just because his 'rosaline' left him face down ass up. So maybe Romeo and Juliette is just lack of a better term.

But it's so unfair. How the hell are you supposed to escape him when it's like he's around every corner. With every breath you take, it's like he's an inch closer to crushing your chest with his. And maybe you want him to? This isn't very hero-like.

"You're the one always tracking me down, doll."

The pet name sends shivers down your spine and it makes you want him all the more.

Who am I? What has gotten into me?

You blame the pink tint to your cheeks on the brisk wind of the night, but the heat to them is a large contrast. You cross your arms over your chest and scoff, trying to look taller, stronger, and broader. Not in a threatening way, but more a warning.

This time you'll really take him out.

"In case you forgot, it's my job."

You tell yourself that every time.

And every time he gets away.

"I'm not doing anything but taking a walk."

He steps closer, the already short distance between you two getting shorter. The streetlamp that cuts the scene in half flickers, a moth flying away from the light and towards the moon. You count three squares in distance and you resist the urge to step back.

"You're a wanted criminal, Dabi."

He doesn't deny it but scoffs anyway, shoving his hands into his pockets leisurely. It's like he's never bothered. You're just a nat he's waiting to squash. You have to remind yourself of that: You're just prey.

"I think you just miss me." His tone is serious, but he's only teasing—no matter how true it is. You're starting to think that he can read minds—it's actually quite concerning.

You force a laugh past your lips, trying to show you aren't bothered by what he says. It's just a game of cat and mouse, and it's time the roles switch.

"Please. I could throw you in jail right now."

"But you wouldn't do that. Isn't that right, bunny?"

Your guard faulters and it gives him the opening he needs to corner you completely—and quite literally. It's a blink of an eye and he has you against the brick wall. It'd look rather suspicious to anyone passing, or maybe it looks endearing. But it doesn't matter, to begin with when it's a barren street. Even the crickets seem to have fled.

It's like wherever Dabi walks, everything else scatters. If it were the sea, you're sure it'd part red.

Dabi smirks, trapping you between his body and the cool, damp bricks. The mist from earlier rain seeps slowly into your hero suit, sending a violent chill down your spine. His other hand touches your hip, fingers grazing the fabric so faintly that it'd feel non-existent if it weren't for the heat radiating off them. You hitch your breath when his nose nudges your neck, his hot breath causes shivers and his eyes bore into your own with something mischievous.

"I-"

His lips ghost the skin of your neck and you subconsciously pull it taut, tilting your head to the side. You're beginning to hate how your body arches into his and how it reacts to the simplest of touches.

Like a brick to a window, your dissolve shattered easily.

Dabi quirks a brow, challenging you to continue as you sputter about. It's embarrassing. You can hear him say it now, just like so many times before: "Oh? A big hero like you getting flustered by a big bad villain like me? How cute."

Your walkie talkie comes alive with static and a voice cuts in asking for help to take down a gang of criminals a few cities over.

My saving grace.

"I-I have to go." You push him away by the shoulders with sudden confidence, but he doesn't seem to put up much resistance.

God, you want to wipe the smug smirk off his face.

He backs off and turns with an unbothered wave, proving his point that you wouldn't- couldn't touch him, much less win against him in any sort of battle. The untouchable.

"Until next time, right?"

———

It's like a new tide from the moon—how fast your feelings towards him change. He's awful. A criminal, a villain, a murderer. He's the literal icon of everything your against.. or of what you're supposed to be against.

But you understand him. You get his whys and you feel his emotion like you're apart of them. You empathize with him and it makes you so fucking angry at yourself because you know—as a hero—you should never side with a villain like him, no matter how much sense he starts to make.

Blame it on his tone and the smoothness of his words. He's just a swindler.

The next time isn't even a full week later. He technically protects you from some randoms in an alleyway and you catch him in the act of it all, turning to catch whoever was following you, only to be met with cold blue eyes and a pile of ashes in front of you.

Of course, it ultimately ends in the same place it always does; his bed.

His scent and touch linger a little too long after these meetings and you decide once again that this is the last time.

It's a real shame you have to blame it on his body heat and not the undeniable attraction you feel towards him. But you suppose that could count towards it.

His hands are anywhere—everywhere—and they leave a fire in their wake. It's too much and still not enough. All you want is to be closer. Fingers in his hair, pulling him into you until you can't, and then pulling him in more. It's like air, the way you breathe him in. When you finally give into dabi it no longer becomes a crime, but a necessity.

It's overbearing and messy and awful, but you can't help but slip into his embrace and into his warmth.

It's freezing and he's the sun.

Tangled in between cotton sheets, you feel him rub circles into your shoulder and you hear his heartbeat. It's reassuring to know someone like him even has one. Then again, he probably wouldn't have protected you if he didn't have one. How many times has he saved you from harm's way? Honestly, one time is too many.

It almost makes this fling of yours respectable. It almost makes you want to admit you're falling for that smug face and bad attitude.

"We talked about what we'd do if we ran into your league again, you know?"

Why on earth would you bring that up of all things, y/n?

He doesn't need to know anything about your career, much less your plans to take his team down.

"Hmm.. is that so?" Dabi's fingers move up to draw languid circles into your collarbone before shifting slightly to loom over you. His other hand comes to rest on your hip, sending a searing, but welcomed heat to the flesh. You hiss quietly at the sensation, already knowing there's a bruise forming from the activities not too long ago. His lips replace his hand on your neck and he removes his arm from under your head to hold himself up.

Your hand finds his messy hair, fingers delving into the raven locks and tugging gently as he makes his way to the column of your throat and to your ear. He nips at it, nose brushing against your jaw; his hot breath creating goosebumps that rise to your flesh.

"I like knowing you think of me when I'm not around, Angel."

The tone and raspiness of his voice makes you groan, feeling him kiss beneath your jaw. You just know he's smirking at the reactions he elicits from you because you can feel it. He enjoys watching your internal struggle. You can't act like you didn't choose to form whatever this is with him.

You tug his hair to look at him, bringing his face up and he almost looks annoyed that you disrupted his path heading down towards your chest. Your lips ghost over each other's and you lean in for a kiss, only for him to pull away and leave you chasing.

"I also like when you call my name."

Your hand falls from his hair to cup his jaw, practically pulling him forward into a kiss. It's rough to cover up the intimacy and need behind it. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip, thumb pressed into your stomach before his hand goes upward with an ulterior motive.

Pulling away from him before he can initiate anything more, you run your thumb across his lips and the silver bands that adore the lower half of his face. Surprisingly enough, it didn't take long to adjust to the different textures

"And I like how you kiss me."

This almost feels too domestic—not that you mind, but you're positive he knows you're wrapped around his finger, in the palm of his hand. It's impossible to hide it now. Your actions speak louder than the three words on the tip of your tongue, poisoning your mind.

It makes you cringe when you think about it all. How easily he can get into your head and twist your arm. Some nights you catch yourself thinking that maybe you'll be able to convince him to open his eyes a little wider to see your point of view, especially when you've begun to see his. They're horrible—the villains you go against, but he makes them seem so different. You hate how he makes you double think everything.

He playfully nips at your thumb when you push it gently between his lips, teasingly. His hands trail up your arms, pulling them off of him and above your head. You're the one who makes the move to intertwine fingers as he pushes them down harshly on the pillow underneath you. Insatiable. That's what he is. Is it so wrong to keep wanting more?

The sun beginning to rise over the horizon and spilling in through the window doesn't seem to stir him as he makes his descent from your lips.

You already know that by the next morning you'll hate him and that surrounds him. You'll hate yourself for listening to your heart instead of your head simply because it just 'feels so right.' It's a constant cycle between the two of you, and you're sure he feels the same. He doesn't agree with anything you stand by like a hero, but there's something that keeps him close enough.

There's only so much you can expect, even when you deny it over and over.

But god, you have to stop meeting like this.

[emosnakeboy]

I’ve Done Everything to Deserve This (Version #1)

Prompt: I’ve done everything to deserve this, but why here, why now, why in front of him? (found it on my dash by @thrown-out-pasta) (am going to write second different one because this prompt speaks to me) Ship: Romanic/Pining Logince, mentions of Logicality Warnings: angst was implied. humiliation, hatred, bullying, mentions of maybe home abuse, etc

Roman really did try his best to be a good person. 

It didn’t look like it from the outside, but then again, not everyone can be overly friendly like that kid Patton O’Connor. The idiot was going to get himself hurt one day from being too outgoing. He was fairly new. He hadn’t learned his lesson yet. Roman had been trying to teach him, to show him what would happen to him if he didn’t reign himself in a little. He showed O’Conner as quickly as he could, bringing up his own old memories in the process. He went light on him, very light by the school bullies’ standards. He didn’t wanna hurt the kid. Just... warn him. He’d left Patton in the bathroom after, the kid shaking with sobs as he tended to his few wounds, a foreboding message playing in his head: just step back, or it’ll only be worse for you.

That was a far kinder treatment than that emo kid had received. The freak was always drawing. Roman hadn’t exactly seen it as a bad thing when he first noticed it, but when he noticed emo boy wearing long sleeves and lots of makeup, he resolved that the bullies had determined that he needed the punishment. Roman didn’t want to get beat up. Roman did what he had to. He really hoped the bullies would never find his love of theater.

Timber Creek High School was an awful place. Roman wished it wasn’t like this, but if you didn’t agree with them, then they didn’t agree with you. And if they didn’t agree with you...

... you’d be sorry.

Today wasn’t at all going in Roman’s favor. He’d been late to class due to the stupid rain, and that had earned him a detention. He tried to stay on the bullies’... less bad side... but unless there was a nerdier kid in detention, Roman would be getting a nice beating from them today. 

That Patton kid seemed like a good option. If he could get O’Connor into detention, he’d escape unscathed. 

He managed to do just that at lunch, and in a very public and fun manner. Roman had it all worked out, and he used a variety of clues to perfect his plan.

Patton O’Connor had a very obvious crush on Logan Torres, a huge nerd (that Roman may or may not have also had a very obvious crush on) who used his lunch to study in the cafeteria. That bit of information was crucial. Logan didn’t usually eat in the cafeteria; Roman had observed this in the years he’d spent at Timber Creek High. Patton would have no idea. Logan spent this particular lunch period next to Emo Kid, although both of them remained silent as Logan read his books and Emo Kid doodled away. Roman made sure to sit at a table in between Patton and Logan, yet not too far away from either of them. He also made sure to bring a paper airplane to lunch.

The airplane hit Patton in the back of the head, and as he turned around to pick it up from the floor Roman smiled. Roman watched Patton mouth the words that he’d written: Any chance you could toss something to eat over here? I’m rather famished, but I can’t afford to buy anything to eat today. -Logan T. He watched Patton’s face light up, watched Patton take half of his probably-homemade PB&J sandwich without thinking, watched Patton ready his right arm -

Splat. The sandwich hit emo kid in the back of the head. He wheeled around, anger apparent on his face. O’Connor blanched as Emo Kid took a scoop of baked beans off his lunch tray with his hands and threw it at Patton full-force. It hit the poor kid square in the face, splattering on the other once-peppy kids seated around Patton. 

Only a few more seconds had passed before it was an all-out food fight. 

Roman sat back and laughed at the chaos he’d caused. He didn’t want to get too involved; oh no, that would ruin the rest of his plan.

A teacher soon stopped the fight. “Who started all of this?!” she yelled, looking around at the kids in the room. Many flinched away from her glare.

Roman assumed an innocent demeanor, raising his hand slightly and pointing towards Patton. “O’Conner threw the first sandwich, Miss.” 

The teacher didn’t acknowledge Roman’s presence. Instead, she rounded on Patton, who was terrified, shaking, and covered in baked beans.. “Detention, O’Connor. For the rest of the week.” Roman held in a snicker as she whirled around and left the room.

He thought he was home clear.

Then the end of the day came.

Roman was packing his things up, ready for detention now that he wasn’t going to get beat up. Maybe he’d be able to get some homework done before he had to go back home to the woman he had to call “mother”. Maybe his day wasn’t so bad.

He was just about to head to room 421 for detention when he was shoved against a line of lockers abruptly. “Price, you’re in for it now,” a menacing voice hissed as firm hands held him in place by his shoulder and throat. The hall around them suddenly seemed alive with curious teenagers who wanted to know what had happened.

“What... did I... do?” Roman gasped out, winded and almost unable to breathe. He made eye contact with the person holding him to the wall, and he felt his heart stop at the sight. 

Remy. One of them. 

Roman was toast.

“How. dare. you.” Remy seethed, his dark eyes glimmering angrily from behind his sunglasses. “You framed him. I watched you do it. Probably also the one to beat him up a few weeks ago.”

“Wh...at?”

Remy’s lips curled in disgust. “You hurt my cousin. Got ‘im landed in detention, too. You’re screwed, Price.”

It clicked in Roman’s head suddenly. Remy O’Connor. Patton O’Connor. Cousins. And probably why Patton never really had more bruises after that one lesson Roman had taught him.

Oh, god, Roman was royally screwed.

“Didn’t.... know,” Roman gasped, his hand moving up to the hand on his throat. “Pl..ease....” 

“Price, I dunno why you did what you did- wait... just one second. I bet that’s why, isn’t it? You were worried that he was gonna... I can’t believe it.”

Believe what? Roman thought bleakly, his vision beginning to spot. I did what I did to keep him safe. And to protect myself from this. 

“You thought he was gonna try to take Torres’s heart, didn’t you?”

A string of curses flew through Roman’s brain. He only could hope that Logan wasn’t around, couldn’t see what was happening, and hadn’t heard that last statement. He could hear the people whispering around him, and he realized that it didn’t matter. Logan would hear about it anyway.

Remy leaned in close to Roman’s ear. “See you in detention, Price,” he said, his voice cold and promising. Terror shot down Roman’s spine. Remy released Roman suddenly, and he dropped to the floor in a limp mess. He bit his lip, hard, to keep from crying out as Remy kicked him in the ribcage. Tears sprung to his eyes as he tasted blood in his mouth. He let his eyes fall shut as he lay there, feeling helpless. He heard the crowd dying down, and he could pick out Remy’s unmistakable footsteps in the mess of people leaving the previously-excited area. 

After a few minutes, Roman opened his eyes and struggled to sit up. He winced at a stabbing pain in his chest, hoping that nothing was broken yet. That pain didn’t seem to hurt at all when he saw the only person remaining in the hall.

Logan. Fricking. Torres.

I’ve done everything to deserve this, but why here, why now, why in front of him?

He stared down at Roman, eyes wide and face unreadable. Roman couldn’t look away from his gaze, wondering what was going on behind that emotionless mask he wore. Did he feel sorry for Roman? Would he want to help him? 

“You... you’re a monster.” The words pierced his heart. Logan’s expression darkened. “You’d really hurt someone just because you’re scared of them taking me? You.. don’t even have me. You’re a terrible person. Maybe next time you should just, I dunno, ask me out before beating up an innocent kid over it. Maybe I would’ve said yes before today.” As if this wasn’t bad enough, Logan finished with one last blow that rang through Roman’s ears throughout the rest of his beating.

“I’ll never say yes to you.”

oof i never write angst or logince can you tell

whatever here you go tumblr do what you will

some people who wanted to be tagged/who might like this:

@romanochez @adultmorelikeadolt @romanticsanders @theeternalspace 

[amoristt]

Among the Inbetweens | Nathan x Reader

disclaimer: i know nathan is not a good person. i am not putting a blanket over his actions in this fic. i, the writer, understand he’s not an innocent character and has made many terrible choices. im just answering people’s requests, please dont put me under the fire for it.

thank you.

moody-patootie asked: I would please like to request a nathan x reader songfic with the song Findlay by Landon Tewers (angsty perhaps?). If it is possible and interests you of course. I think it fits rather well with nathan since he was so unloved.  sure thing!! i love song requests so much :3 also thanks for recommending me this song, i love it and i now have a new artist to look into :D in this fic i really wanted to explore the ‘bad parts’ of being in a relationship with nathan prescott, namely his breakdowns. in my fics i mostly portray him in his better, more loving lights, so when you suggest angst i realized now would be a perfect time to show his sides that are harder to deal with. thanks for giving me the opportunity <3 hope you like it!

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Among the Inbetweens

Upon the very instant you walking into his room, unaware of what you were about to throw yourself into, you realized you really should have called Nathan before just barging in.

The tenacity in the air was almost palpable and it set off alarms that rang in your head like bells, warning you of the situation you were about to have to deal with. Nathan, sitting at his desk with his back faced to you, his shoulders squared and his head ducked down to his shoulders. He was angry.

“Nathan?”

He lifted his head, turned and he glared at you from the corners of his eyes. You felt your stomach drop.

Not mad. Pissed.

“What.” He deadpanned, his voice a rumbling hiss, and you debated just turning around and leaving right then and there.

You swallowed and shut his door behind you, shuffling into the room but staying close to the wall. “What’s wrong?”

The course, airy laugh he forced out made you cringe. 

“Same shit every fucking day,” He laughed viciously. “Day in, day out.”

“What happened?”

In an impulsive, fury induced movement, he shoved all the papers off his desk and turned his swivel chair to face you. You jumped at the movement, taking note of his aggression only increasing. His features were stone cold, eyes narrowed and chilling. His phone was gripped almost devastatingly tight in his right hand. This was bad. Very bad.

“What happened?” He asked as though you were dumb. You frowned.

“Yes, what happened?”

He suddenly stood, sending his chair back and hitting his desk, shaking it and tipping over the small jar of pencils he had sitting on top of it. They spilled and rolled over the edge, clattering on the floor.

“What do you think happened?”

Try as you might to not take his words personally, you still knit your brows at his crudeness. He’s just mad, you told yourself. He’s so fucking mad but it’s not at you.

“I’m so fucking-” he gripped his hair and stumbling back. “Sick of it, everything- I don’t even fucking live with them and they still- Ugh!” He kicked some of the pencils that laid near his feet. “I hate it!”

Of course you knew the minute you saw his anger it likely had something to do with his family, but this wasn’t just his normal agressions. He was blind right now, not thinking clearly as he sent another pencil skittering over the floor. You remained silent, unsure of way to say, and you guessed maybe it was best you didn’t say anything at all. Right now was not the time to console him.

A storm was coming and you could see it in his eyes, his stature.

“They don’t care!” He snarled, and you realized he was more venting out his anger to himself rather than saying it directly to you. A pit formed in the center of your stomach as you realized what was to come any second now. He turned his back on you, body trembling with fiery rage. For just a second he looked down at the phone still in his hand, then he store his gaze away, and the next thing that happened you almost didn’t register.

The phone came less than a foot from your head, clashing against the wall with what sounded like a fatal crack. It happened so fast, you’d barely even seen him whip his arm to launch the device, and you flinched seconds after it smashed into pieces. The pieces gathered in a pile on the floor, the phone now absolutely destroyed and covered with it’s own screens shards. The wall sported an inch long hole.

Nathan did not come out of his rage even after you cried out sharply, jerking away from your spot and swearing you had felt some of the glass fling against your arms. If anything he seemed even more tense and furious than before, his bony hands balling and un-balling dangerously. He wanted to swing at something, break something, hurt something and even though he’d never once gone so far as you injure you this time you wondered if it would be a first. There wasn’t one clear thing in his mind right now, it probably all felt like a mush, or maybe static. He wasn’t even close to being in his right mind. Maybe tonight was his breaking point.

With him standing menacingly in the center of the room you made your way along the wall, finding his bed and soundlessly settling yourself on top of it. You tried to make yourself smaller upon it, your legs tucking themselves to your chest. Knowing him and his triggers, you did not look directly at him. Instead you watched from the corners of your eyes, head turned incase he looked up at you so you could quickly turn away and pretend to not see the hate in his eyes.

“Bullshit,” he seethed, and hissing ferocity made you shiver. “It’s all fucking bullshit.”

You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to tell him it was okay to be upset, to be hurt, to hate, but you couldn’t. Surely if you dared to speak up to him directly right now he’d yell at you, and then you’d end feeling hurt and that wouldn’t help anyone. Right now Nathan needed silence. He needed space and solitude. He could get none of these things.

So much was gathering up inside of him, like a pit of snakes or something far worse. They coiled and writhed inside of him, made their way up to his heart and choked the life out whatever was left of it, and he was left facing the consequence of having your entire chest busted and tied. Without an outlet all of it manifested at the very base of his throat, behind his eyes, in the palms of his shaking fists that would do anything for a face to target. You’d never seen him this way, with such a spark that made you feel like everything around you was suddenly so flammable, you included. You stared at him like you imaged a rabbit would stare at a fox: terrified and frozen with apprehensive tension. At any moment you felt like he’d lunge at you, but he didn’t, and it only made the trepidation grow within you until you almost imaged him making his move.

Only, it wasn’t your imagination.

He did make his move, but you were not the paper he lit on fire. Instead it was he himself, his fingers tracing their way down his face, nails biting into his pale skin and dragging along the way. A sharp painful cry left his lips but you felt as though the agony wasn’t from the physical wounds he was dealing onto himself. When he was done with his first path he did it again, harder this time, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth a tight grimace. Without even thinking you sprang into action and made a move for his hands, gripping tight to his skinny wrists and all too easily prying them from his marked up face. At the sudden contact he tried to yank away but you held fast, tugging him with you as you took a step back to try and keep himself from trying again.

“Stop!” You begged, heart leaping and your breath billowing in your throat. He was still trying to rip away from you, stumbling backwards and jerking back his elbows. When he looked up at you, you did not recognize even a single part of those eyes. He was more akin to a wild animal, frightened and frantic, than he was human. His eyes were dark and afraid, and at that moment they were afraid of you.

You felt like you were wrestling with him but you didn’t give in, holding fast and unwavering even as he started giving into it. His will was draining now, that fury that had once been eating him alive beginning to combust inside of him. The compressions of his heart and chest started to loosen and you hoped he felt like he could breathe again.

“Nathan,” try as you might to reach him, he still limply tried to pull away from you. His actions were half hearted and tired but still consistent, so you didn’t lighten your grip until the last of his anguished tugs were replaced with tortured breaths. You carefully led him to the bed where you had been sitting, and although he was sluggish and lagged behind your movements, he still followed you and did not fight when you urged him to sit down beside you.

Countless marks ran down his face, angry and red. The nails on his shaking hands were short but apparently dangerous, able to work as claws if he was enraged enough. Luckily they weren’t sharp or uneven enough to draw any blood but the marks were still very radiant, running down from his brows, over his eyelids, to his sharp cheekbones like a ugly streamers. His split lip still bled from how hard his teeth had sank into the flesh, and his tongue still darted out to subconsciously try and soothe the stinging.

At least he was letting you touch him. Even if his state of breaking, all his walls starting to crumble down and crush him, he was allowing you the grace of sitting next to him and silently offering whatever support you could. There was so many words swimming in your head, so much you wanted to say that you could almost physically feel it bubbling up in your chest, threatening to burst at any moment.

Nathan, leaning forward with his face in his hands, was both silent and deafening. No longer did his shoulders tense up, fists ready to crack on any surface they could find. He was quiet and still, but there was also a part of him that roared like thunder. His cries.

They were soft, barely noticeable unless you were to see his state, but to you they were all you could hear. Loud, unforgiving, piercing. Your chest ached with every angry sob, every harsh intake of his uneven breaths. Before you had been afraid he was too far gone during his act of rage but it always came back down to this, both soundless yet thunderous. He was the calm of his own storm, and he was a rain that licked away it’s wounds afterwards. He was both the ferocious river, dragging everything along with it, and the gentle trickle that followed close behind.

Your hand met the expensive fabric of his jacket and he didn’t respond, so you let it wander past his shoulder to his upper back. Up, down, gently rubbing over his clothed skin. Not only was the repetitive movements hopefully helping him, but they were also helping you. You timed your breathing to the movements, your thudding heart starting to come down from your previous fears. You should have known it would come down to this. Nathan could be the scariest person you’d ever met, but even he got tired eventually. The only thing that presented a problem afterwards was everything bounding in your head, from the things he’d blindly said to you to the things he’d blindly thrown at you. His phone still laid demolished on the floor a few feet away, that new crack in the wall taunting you.

“Nathan,” you whispered, and he didn’t answer. “Nathan?”

He still didn’t answer. His muffled sobs continued on, adding weight after weight to your chest and making your own eyes sting. You gently scratched against the top of his jacket before rubbing in small circles.

“Can you hear me?”

Thankfully Nathan did seem to be able to hear you. He nodded and then sniffed, then let his hands fall limply to his lap. The sight of his face, still littered with claw marks but now glistening with tears, made you have to look away for a minute.

Now that you had his attention your mouth ran dry, unsure of what to say next. You’d wanted his attention to make sure he was lucid in some ways, but now that he was waiting for you to say something you had no idea what you could possibly tell him to make this situation any more bearable. Actually, you didn’t even know the situation, how could you possibly help him?

Still though, his eyes reached yours, longing and expectant. He wanted you to say something, anything. As always it made you wonder how someone as mountainous as Nathan could appear so small at times, like a small child asking you for help; needy, afraid. The worst possible thing you could do right now was not say anything, so you wracked your brain for literally anything to say.

“Are you okay?” You’d blurted, and the second those words left your mouth you wanted to smack it. ‘Are you okay?’ The question was so painfully obvious, so ludicrous and dense, but he went on to answer it anyways, looking down at his lap.

“No.”

His voice was much… Softer than you’d anticipated. Then it struck you that no, his voice did not sound soft, it sounded broken. Soft was kind and gentle, warm to the ears and touch, but his was none of those things. His answer was blunt and simple, cold, and raw with scratches on his throat. The walls that which buried him had yet to disappear, so instead of fighting them he gave in. Nathan was tired, exhausted from his previous outburst that he’d likely be replaying in his head for the rest of the week. Every little thing would set him off in the worst ways.

Your hand found it’s way to his lower back, but this time he tensed beneath your palm, so you slid it right back up to the spot he’d been compliant with. “Is there anything I can do?” Once again your words felt dumb. After what you’d seen simple minded questions were likely the last thing you should be asking him about. But, you didn’t want to ask him what had happened. Of course you were curious but you didn’t want to trigger him into another melt down, especially not when he was already so jaded and worn out.

For a moment he looked at you, turning his head just enough to get his peak before once again covering his face and shaking his head. “No.” He mumbled, and you frowned in defeat. There wasn’t anything you could truly do for him other than stay at his side, offer some sort of grounding and peace for him to come back to when he’s released with his post-meltdown exhaustion.

“You should go.”

At first words didn’t register with you. You blinked at him a few times, processing, understanding, until you finally realized what he had said. “What?” you asked softly, leaning forward and trying to get a look into his eyes past his shielding hands. Never once had he asked you to leave him during a time like this. Usually it was the opposite, him calling for your aid during even his worst times of needs, but this time he didn’t want you to be there with him.

Once again he let his hands fall to his knees, his fingers toying with the fabric of his jeans. “You should go.” He repeated himself and didn’t meet your gaze, staring straight down. Your throat felt like it had been punched.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He answered.

You hated the way it made you feel. It made you feel an entire combination of things, but the most prevalent were useless and… Hurt. He didn’t want you to be around him, and though part of you understood it was because he was likely tired and wanted isolation, you still couldn’t help but take that blow to your ego.

Still, you nodded aimlessly, and swallowed down the rock forming at the center of your throat.

“Okay.” Your voice wavered and you knew he heard it with how he squeezed his eyes shut, almost in pain at hearing the sound.

As you got up, feeling like an animal with it’s tail in between it’s legs, you gazed down at him and took in the sight. Him just sitting there in silence, his entire body still slumped but not of relaxation, his face stinging with self inflicted scratches and his eyes still full of humiliating tears. There wasn’t a single thing you could do for him, and you finally understood what years of this had been doing to Nathan. In this moment you could see everything on him: the years of abuse, the pressure, the way he felt so unloved. The childhood trauma. Though you knew he beared these scars and marks you’d never seen them until this point, and it left you breathless. You so desperately wanted to stay, but you knew he wouldn’t let you even if you begged.

Nathan seemed to have read your mind. “I’ll call you.” was all he offered, a subtle way of telling you it was time to leave. You nodded again and thanked him softly, though you didn’t know exactly what you were thanking him for. Turning your back and leaving him felt entire levels of wrong but you did so anyways, and as you opened his dorm door you caught sight of that damn phone again and for some reason that was the one thing that finally let your tears take shape and leave a burning trail down your cheek. You shut the door softly behind you as you left and leaned against it on the other side, holding your sobs in with the palm of your hand.

The entire way home those tears still rolled down your face, from the moment you stepped out of the dorm room to the instant you stepped back into your own. They felt like scratch marks of their own and thankfully you didn’t run into anyone. All you wanted to do, you found, was lay down and sleep. You were tired too, and welcomed your mattress with a loud thud. Silence took it’s place and hung uneasily heavy over your room, cloaked your mind and body with fog.

You didn’t want to move from your place. You didn’t even want to roll over, not having the energy to even breathe evenly it seemed. With a whole lot of urging you managed to force yourself onto your back, staring up at your ceiling through blurry eyes. Things like this had happened so many times before, you’d think you’d have gotten used to it, but this time it felt… Different. You felt so unnaturally lonely.

Roughly you wiped at your eyes and sniffed, laying there on top of your blankets and pillows, wondering about Nathan as usual. After you’d left, what did he do? Did he cry, have another fit, break more things in his room? Or, worst of all, did he do nothing?

You felt selfish to be hurt at the idea of him doing nothing when you left, but you couldn’t help it. Something about the way he sounded, the way he looked at you, felt entirely new and you didn’t like it. His expression didn��t have any substance, his eyes almost entirely empty towards you. Perhaps tonight was his breaking point, but not nearly in the way that you had imagined it would be.

Sitting at your side your phone sat like a brick, unalerting and silent. ‘I’ll call you’, he’d said, but there wasn’t a thing in his voice that led you to believe he actually would.

The entire night felt strange and alien. It felt wrong, like it shouldn’t have happened, or should have happened a different way. You wondered what it was you could have done to change things even though it meant nothing now that it had all happened. You couldn’t go back in time, you couldn’t change the course of your actions, what little ones you had done.

Your ceiling, white and simple, served as a holder for your eyes to unfocus on. Though tired, anxious, and hurt, you just sat there in silence and waited to hear that obvious and obtrusive ringtone of yours. You waited until you finally fell asleep, eyes heavy with tears and uncertainty.

Your phone still sat beside you the entire night.

There was nothing.

[justanoutlawfic]

Happy OQ Valentine’s Day!

So, this may be a complete wreck but I’d like to draw your attention to a few things before you read you’re present ;) 1. Im pretty sure I gave away my identity already because... 2. I’m working off my iPhone (it’s sad but it’s true lol) and... 3. Mobile Tumblr just refusesss to make things easy on me. 4. And also, I waited to write this last minute like most other things in my life. But aside from all that, I do hope you find even a tiny bit of enjoyment in this. Our beautiful sunken ship deserves a bit of light today ❤️ P.s. I’d love to write for you again in the future if you’re ever interested. HOPIN’ AND WISHIN’ AND PRAYIN’ (An Outlaw Queen fic) The shadows blanket the road this far out. They stretch from the tops of the evergreen trees and cast most of the road in darkness. Except for tonight, there are a few bright beams filtering down from the full moon in the sky. The only sounds come from the crickets and wildlife beyond the pines and it’s a solitary, lonely kind of peaceful. She’s made a habit out of coming here; slipping out just after Henry’s gone to sleep and spending a precious few hours hoping. Hoping for what, she isn’t quite sure. Maybe for the resolute acceptance of how things have turned out. For her heart to stop aching and move on already. Sometimes even, she’s loathe to admit, she wishes for a freak accident that would take Marian away and right the universe again. But mostly, she hopes he’ll appear out of thin air, grinning how he does, as he steps back into Storybrooke and into her life. She knows it won’t happen, that he might as well be in another realm altogether. She understands why he’s gone, respects it even, but it doesn’t keep her from peering out down the road and wondering where on the other side he could be tonight. The pavement is cool beneath her thin slacks but she likes sitting at the very edge where she can pretend the red line in front of her crossed legs is the only barrier keeping them apart. As if the two of them sit apart, the protection spell a curtain that only need be pulled back and they’d be face to face. She lifts the flask next to her and the moon beams off its shiny surface as she indulges in another sip. She’s not drunk, but the alcohol numbs things just enough, blurs the edges so she doesn’t actually cry. And it would be all to easy to let herself embrace her emotions and sob in self pity. He was supposed to be her second chance; her redemption for the awful woman she’d been—and he was, for however brief a time. His integrity made her better. His morals brought her back to that seventeen year old girl she once was. Just “Regina”, not “Her Majesty” or “The Evil Queen”. He saw the real Regina under all those layers of guilt and anger and regret. And perhaps what makes her feel more despondent than anything is that she’ll never get a third chance. She got so unexpectedly lucky with Robin. She didn’t deserve him to begin with, but only he could have been her soulmate. Only he could understand every sordid detail of her past and still have the audacity to not only love her, but choose her. Regina runs a hand through the front of her dark hair as she sighs. She misses him. She misses having another person unconditionally in her corner, misses not always feeling like the third wheel, misses the smell of damp earth and aged redwood. She wants to scream to the heavens, or this “author”, or whatever higher power there might be that it’s so unfair! Only she knows damn well how fair her pain is; how cosmic and condemned her story has read. It’s her punishment for choosing revenge when she could have chosen forgiveness. Daniel’s death was the great catalyst of her life. And while she knows there are many who let their grief morph into hatred, there had been another way. It would have been harder, maybe taken longer, but she might have come out the other side a better person; a hero. She won’t make that mistake again. While it feels just as bad as it had years ago, even worse actually; she cannot tarnish what Robin stood for, just to try to ease the ache. If anyone was undeserving, it was that man. He had made mistakes the same as any of them, sure, but he worked for his redemption. Robin had found a way to do what she never could. He turned his pain into purpose. A purpose full of love and selflessness and renewal. And now he’s been hurt once more, entangled in the web of her retribution; collateral damage for the penance she was paying. He had not known just what loving the Evil Queen would cost him, even if she had truly made a change. Yet, he had opted to accept the shit hand he was dealt and if only it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be hurting because of it. He might even be overjoyed to have his late wife back; his family reunited. She prays for that as she slowly pushes herself to her feet now. She decides it’s the only thing she can do to wish him well, Marian too. If only she could have granted him a memory spell before he’d gone so he could forget about the wreckage she’d brought into his heart. Of course, her thief would never have taken the easy way out. And Regina can’t help but to hold on to the thought of him remembering her, remembering the true, sacred, magical connection they shared. She suddenly has to lift her fingers to her face to brush away an errant tear. She will not feel sorry for herself, at least not anymore tonight. Staring out down the still, vacant road out of Storybrooke, she sniffles and squares her shoulders to reign in her emotions and she hopes above all else that Robin finds the kind of happiness she knows he deserves. This chapter of her story is closing, and she needs to let the dust settle on the pages and find a way to move on. If her heart is going to take it’s time mending, then she must stop her late night visits. She has a son at home and new, delicate friendships, and a town that seems forever under threat, and a population of people who she owes debts so great she may never repay them. But she must try. She turns on her heel and heads back to her silver benz parked just off the shoulder, opens the door and gives one last, longing gaze down the vacant road. In her mind, the protected barrier shimmers and parts and her handsome thief appears, Roland at his side, tiny hand clutched in his. Regina abandons the door, unconsciously letting her feet carry her forward a few paces. She let’s her eyes slip closed and smiles wide with the image of them behind her lids. “Regina”, he says. And it’s not until she reopens her eyes that it occurs to her the tone of his voice had not been quite right. “Regina!” As if awaking from a dream, her focus snaps back to reality and he’s still in front of her, rushing towards her more accurately, his arms outstretched. The the next moment she can feel him against her chest, can smell his woodsy scent right under her nose. “Oh thank God, Regina!”, he nearly cries in relief and it’s all she can do to catch her brain up to what’s happening. Maybe she’d had more to drink than she thought? He pulls out of the embrace, but doesn’t completely withdraw his touch. He must have sensed her shock, perhaps too overwhelmed to see her to notice she didn’t hug back. “Regina?” Her eyes scan over his body, willing herself to believe it’s really him, but they land instead on the dimple faced child grinning up at her. “Gina! We come to visit you!”, his little voice hits her ears and she raises her eyes back to Robin’s anxious gaze. The acceptance breaks around her and she throws her arms around his neck, afraid he might disappear. “Robin!” It’s the only thing she manages to say while she’s this overcome with emotions. He holds her back, just as tight and whispers her name quietly against her head and she finally finds her voice. “Wha—why—what are you doing here?”, she breathes in disbelief. Her hand falls to Roland’s head below and caresses his locks to finally acknowledge him, but she needs to grasp her current reality before she makes a fool of herself. “It’s Zelena”, he tells her with a bit of disdain, “We’re all in danger. I had to come back to warn you all, to help fight” He glances down at his now frightened son and lifts him into his right hip for a soothing hug while Regina blinks in confusion. “What are you talking about? Where is Mari—“ “We can’t talk about it now”, he cuts her off urgently, gesturing with a discreet nod to the boy in his arms. “Listen, I promise I will explain everything later. But we don’t have a lot of time to gather the others and make a plan”. He slides a gentle hand down her arm as if to assure her it’ll be alright despite his ominous warning. Roland wiggles in his grasp and his father sets him on his feet a moment before he bounds off a yard or two and squats down to examine a rock on the pavement. “I’m just so happy to see you, Regina”, Robin cups her cheek in his chilled palm, “didn’t think I would again”. His words rush off his tongue before his lips are pressed to hers, desperate and needy, fueled by the current perils only he knows they face and his all consuming love for her. It is a reunion kiss that can only come from resolutely believing they’d be separated permanently. Regina responds with all the heart she can muster, their lips moving fluidly together as if the last few weeks had not eclipsed. When they finally break for air they are both grinning like fools, foreheads resting together as their breathing falls in sync, and she swears she suddenly feels whole again, as if her arm had been missing and has just now been returned. She lets the feeling wash over her, soaks it in selfishly for a minute because she knows how fleeting this absolute contentment is now. There are still a thousand questions running through her head, a dark cloud churning and billowing over their little town and every life in it, but with Robin’s hand in her own things feel possible. She tightens her grip and they start toward her car, ushering Roland away from his picture in the dirt as they go. They let their hands slip apart to round the car and Robin opens the back so Roland can hop inside excitedly, insisting that he’s mastered belting himself in. Once he’s safely buckled and shut in, Robin pulls his handle but catches Regina’s eyes over the hood. They both have a flurry of emotions hidden in their expressions, but one sticks out above them all and Regina knows this one to be the only true importance in the world. “I love you”, Robin declares, the lines around his eyes wrinkled from the joy on his face. Her chest swells with such happiness that her dark eyes moisten with tears and she doesn’t care that her voice cracks when she finally speaks the words herself. “I love you”. Fin

[vindrawin]

My Oc (I DID THIS SO I COULD DRAW UR OC PLEASE GIVE MEH A REQUEST)

(For some reason, it's not letting me post this with the picture soooooooo) That moment when you write a more then two page summary of your character and then realize tumblr didn't upload it, didn't notify you about that, and find out the next day. Worst thing is, I had copied it just in case, but I thought it had uploaded so I copied something else. ALRIGHT HERE WE GO Chisana Egao Quirk: Void wings This quirk enables her to create wings out of a semi-permeable shadow type of material. These are typically very small unless she chooses to use them. When in use, they grow about ten feet in wingspan if she is planning on using them for flying. The other way she can use them it for quick teleportation, however, she can only go to places she has been during the past day, and bringing someone else is extremely tiring. At night, her wings grow bigger than in the day, throwing off her balance a bit when she's not flying, but making her faster when she is flying. Parents: Her mother was a villain, and the leader of a gang that terrorized many cities. Although being the leader, she was able to sweet talk her way out of a lot of the crimes she had committed, so although she was more of a high ranked villain, the authorities recognize her as only committing minor offenses. Her quirk is Shadow make, enabling her to create anything out of shadows as long as it is less than 50 ft away from her at anytime. She can control the solubility for these shadows, from making solid objects to dense fogs. Her father was a very successful hero who worked mainly at saving people during disasters. He was a product of quirk marriages, and thus has a soft spot for anyone put in an awful situation just because of their family. His quirk was space control, a quirk which allowed him to create worm wholes for teleporting himself or objects out of the way, manipulation of gravity which would create a 75 ft bubble with himself at the center where gravity was under his control, and void space, a small sort of pocket dimension where no one could enter unless he let them. Through his side of the family has been a sort of quirk illness, where, when using one or more parts of their quirk, a family member has been unable to stop. Doing this could cause them to permanently injure or fatally would themselves. This happened to her father on a particularly dangerous mission when a building was collapsing during an earthquake. He teleported one hundred and forty people into a void space for two hours until the area was safe. After that, people noticed that he was growing unstable. His final job was when he had to capture Egao's mother. After she circumvented punishment by the law, she took advantage of his weakened mind. They got married after that and he soon retired. Siblings: Egao has an older sister who is four years older than her. She inherited a mix of gravity manipulation and shadow create. She can manipulate the specific gravity on anyone or thing that has a shadow, pulling them down or lifting them up. She can also turn her body parts into a shadow and manipulate the solidness of it, for example, she could turn her arm into a sword and harden it past the strength of steal. She most resembles her mother Her brother is three years younger then Egao, and inherited teleportation through shadows and can create shadows in the form of basic geometric shapes, objects that resemble sharp knives, and even duplicates of himself, and as long as it doesn't touch the ground, the objects remain solid. If they die make contact with the ground, they melt back into his own shadow. Past: Compared to her siblings, Egao is nothing. Her younger brother was three when he started making little shadow squares (he started doing this to complete that little puzzle where you have to fit the correct shapes into the correct slots. He always takes the easy way out) and her sister, who was ten, had already basically mastered gravity manipulation and could turn her arms into shadows and back. Egao could barely fly off the ground at age six. Their father was unresponsive. He would sit in their guest room all day, muttering to himself and occasionally saying something to the children. He barely ate and never talked to his wife. Their mother was mentally abusive, blaming the kids for everything she did to them. If they did something she deemed incorrect, she would let the other kids beat up the bad doer (the brother and Egao often didn't want to, so they would be locked in the guest room with their father for hours as additional punishment when they refused to fight). Their sister would always listen to her mother, even if it meant hurting her siblings. She looked down on Egao because of her inferior abilities. One day, when she was almost turning seven (none of them knew their exact birthdays) she was locked in the room with her father again. He was mumbling incoherently as he stared out the window. She was tired of all of this, and his mumbling was driving her insane. She wanted to prove to them, all of them, that she was more than useless. She was going to try and use void pocket. None of the children had ever tried to because, a while back, their father told them," this is what has turned me into this." Even their mother doesn't encourage it. She starts trying to, and the hours start passing by. She's starting to feel sick, like a weight is dropped in her stomach. Her hair starts floating up as her body starts burning. Her vision blurs in and out, black spot dancing across her eyes as she is holding back tears. Then there is a stabbing pain in her eye. She cries out and tries to stop, to at least shut her eyes, but she can't. She then remembers her father mentioning something about a quirk disease, an inability to stop, but it's too late. She's crying out as her eye feels like it's popping. She is barely aware of her mother pounding on the door that Egao locked. She feels blood pouring from her right eye. It splatters across her clothes. She feels it. She know it. She's going to die. Tears and blood stream down her face as her screams and gasps coincide. Then she feels a hand on her shoulder. She feels weightless. The weight in her stomach is gone. She is able to close her eyes. After a while, she is able to open one to see her father, the sky behind him is the night. She was in a void pocket. Was it her or him who had done it? She couldn't tell as she slipped into unconsciousness. When she wakes up, it's in the hospital. The doctor informs her that she will never be able to see out of her right eye again. He also tells her that they found her in the street, unconscious and bleeding heavily. They ask her who her parents are and she fakes memory loss. She doesn't want to go back. She knows her father did this. They put out a report about the missing child, but know one claims her as theirs. Her father must have stopped her mother. When she checked in the mirror and could finally see her eye, she was shocked. It looked like the night sky except for her purple iris which was visibly much smaller then before. She touched it and realized that it was a void. This was the happiest day in her life. She had succeeded in a way and was finally free from 'home'. Yes, she missed her brother and, to an extent, her sister, but she can't bring herself to go back. About: Gender: Female Pronouns: She/ Her or They/ Their Sexual orientation: Bi Greatest fear: Not being enough Generally a bright person, but can also be very pessimistic. She uses humor to cope and loves to make people laugh. Doesn't go out of her way to form romantic relationships because she grew up witnessing a toxic one. She grew up with thick skin because of people being creeped out by her eye (which is why she grew out her bangs), but is always worried about letting someone down. This is why she prefers to work alone because if she fails, at least she isn't messing up someone else's work. Although she hates to admit it, she needs people around her, a group of friends that will always except who she is, mistakes and all. {bonus fact: she can change her eye back to normal, but her iris is always extremely tiny. She cannot see out of it at anytime, and often stores pencils in her void eye for later use. This is the only place she ever turns into a void.} OKAY IM DONE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. It took sooo long to rewrite this ughhhhhh. Btw, the only reason I made this is because I want to draw your OCs!! PLEASE SEND ME A REQUEST I REALLY WANT TO DRAW THEM ... Thanks for reading!