#it feels like my weapon has been with me all along in the sound though

[gonzodangerfeels]

I need to remember the pimps come from the slums and shouldn't be looked at directly.

[aperrywilliams]

Under the Rain (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Reader is waiting for Spencer in a restaurant to celebrate their 2nd anniversary. What happens when Spencer doesn't show up?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Spencer fucked up but Reader loves him.

A/N: It's winter on this side of the world, and the rain makes me kind of sad.

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Is there anything worse than your boyfriend standing you up in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary? Yes, being stood up by your boyfriend in a fancy restaurant on your 2nd anniversary day while outside it’s raining cats and dogs.

That's worse. And pathetic.

You feel pathetic, sitting in that chair, all dolled up and waiting. You arrived at 19:30, and now your watch reads 20:45. No sight of Spencer.

What the fuck?

He was the one who suggested a romantic dinner in this very restaurant. He was the one who told you to make reservations. How could he forget it? You knew there wasn’t an active case. The very Penelope told you it was paperwork day when you texted her in the afternoon.

In the past hour, you dialed his number several times. You were worried at some point: what if something terrible happened to him? But you know bad news travels fast, so you assumed he didn’t show up just because he forgot. Deep down, you wanted there to be another explanation because if he only forgot, that would strengthen the idea of how little you mean to him.

Sensing the pitiful looks the hostess and the waitress sent you occasionally, you only wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

When the clock marked 21:00, you gave up. You asked the hostess for your coat and left the place completely silent.

The rain pouring outside was the perfect scenario for your current mood. You thought about calling a cab in front of the restaurant, but you only wanted to be far from that place as soon as possible, so you started to walk in the rain.

Goodbye to the stylish hairstyle that took you hours to achieve. Goodbye to the makeup you put so much effort into doing.

Striding along the sidewalk, you made sure to step on each water puddle you found along the way as you recalled every moment in the past months you felt Spencer away from you. And not only physically as when he was in a case. It was more than that. It was each morning he didn’t say I love you before leaving your shared apartment. It was each text he didn’t send telling you he was coming home or leaving for a case. It was each coffee you didn't share in the morning. It was each animated chat in the middle of the night you didn't have.

Were you being dramatic? You knew Spencer’s tendency to distract and engage in whatever his job could present him. In any other circumstances, you could have understood. Not tonight, though. Not when it was supposed to be your night together celebrating this milestone. The two years of love you thought were strengthening your relationship. How blind you have been. How naive.

You kept wandering on the streets with no destination. You didn’t want to come back to the apartment. You didn’t know where else to go either. So you kept walking.

-

Spencer Reid is a man with an eidetic memory. Everybody knows that. He can remember every piece of information people usually wouldn’t recall. He knows almost everything about anything. But even with his big brain, he sometimes has trouble keeping track of his own life. Like today.

Engrossed in a pile of manila folders from old cases, he lost time. A task meant to take just an hour or so kept him occupied and entertained for almost four hours. Emily’s voice was the only thing that brought him back from those files to reality.

“You still here?” Emily asked with a frown. Spencer looked at her oddly.

“Yeah. I was looking for patterns in our last cases in the northwest. What Tara said about the mixed murder weapons sounded familiar to me,” he explained before rubbing his eyes. He didn't notice how tired he felt until Emily interrupted him.

“Spencer, it’s almost 10 pm. And there is no active case. You can resume this tomorrow. I even thought you had plans today?”

‘10 pm’ and ‘plans today’ was enough to bring Spencer to realization.

“Fuck!” He yelped, jumping from his seat and freezing immediately, not knowing what to do.

“What?” Emily asked, seeing the panic in Spencer’s eyes.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he repeated over and over as he reached for his phone in his satchel.

“What is it, Reid?”

“Emily. I was supposed to be in a restaurant with (Y/N) tonight! It’s - uh - it’s our second anniversary,” he, visibly embarrassed, finished the sentence.

Emily shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Reid? How on earth do you forget something like that?”

“I don’t know! I - I don’t really know. Fuck. I’m an asshole!” He checked the phone: twenty missing calls. Why he left it on mute?

“Stop complaining and do something! Come on! Move your ass out of here if you want a chance of not being precisely kicked in the ass by her,” Emily instructed. She knew Spencer needed directions when he was freaking out.

Spencer rechecked his watch. It read 10:05 pm.

Swearing under his breath, he dialed your number, which went straight to voicemail. Putting his coat on, he tried again while rushing to the elevator. Maybe you were still at the restaurant? Getting in the first cab he found, Spencer headed there.

Once he arrived, he asked the hostess about you. The girl told him you left after 9 pm.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He called you again with no success. This time you turned off your phone. Spencer’s stomach was a knot, and his heart hurt imagining you sitting alone, waiting for him.

Were you at home? Spencer guessed you wouldn't want to see him, so it was less probable. Should he go there anyway and wait for you? No. You deserved better than that. He would look for you even if it could take all night. Taking a cab, he decided to check the apartment - just in case - and grab his car keys.

As expected, you weren’t in the apartment. Spencer faced the darkness and coldness of the place, and a chill ran down his spine—the fear of losing you forever.

In the car, he thought, where you could be. It was still raining, and Spencer feared you were getting soaked and frozen, God knows where.

It was at this kind of moment Spencer wanted his eidetic memory, and all the knowledge in his brain could help to compensate for the dose of common sense he lacked.

‘Come on, Spencer. Think. For once in your life, do it for what is really important for you.’

-

Spencer parked and rushed out of the car, hoping his hunch was correct. He was in a park. Not any park, though. It was where he met you three years ago—where his life changed forever and for the better for once.

You were in a swing, moving softly back and forth, your feet touching the ground. Your eyes focused on the rain collecting in the nook you created with your feet in the mud.

“(Y/N)!” Spencer called once he spotted you. The rain muffled the sound of his voice.

Your eyes didn’t leave the ground. At first, you thought you were imagining things. It could have been wishful thinking that your boyfriend really cared about you. He called again, and now your brain obliged your eyes to look toward the voice’s source.

Spencer was in a corner where the park's playground began. He was looking at you and wanted to run to you, but the fear you could run away made him stay there, as the rain dampened him.

The sight of you broke him. You were utterly soaked. Your coat and lovely black dress were ruined, and your face with traces of smeared makeup. He could even spot your bloodshot eyes, swollen from crying.

He caused that. And Spencer hated himself for it.

Seeing you didn't say anything, barely acknowledging his presence, Spencer dared to take some steps forward. Your numb body didn't even flinch.

“(Y/N). I’m sorry,” were his first words. Expectable but useless for you. “I fucked it up. I’m sorry. I should have been there. I wanted to be there with you,” he apologized, giving a few steps closer to you. Not looking at him, you mumbled.

“But you weren’t. And if you really wanted to have been there, you would have.” Your voice was low and husky. You sounded tired and defeated. It was worse for Spencer. For him, you should be yelling. Telling him how hurting you were. How an asshole he was.

“Baby, there is no excuse for what I did. The last thing I want in my life is to hurt you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Spencer’s voice broke with each word.

What had he done? Why? How can he be so stupid? He loves you. You’re the most important person in his life, so why did he do that to you? How can he fix it?

Still not looking at him, you spoke again.

“I can’t understand, Spencer. It was our anniversary. You were the one who suggested doing it,” you remind him. He nodded, kneeling in front of you. It didn’t matter the mud, and it didn’t matter the rain still falling. Spencer needed to look at your eyes to explain himself.

“I’m an idiot. I lost track of time and forgot,” he mumbled. You held up your head and finally looked at him.

“You forgot? So it's true I’m not that important to you,” you concluded sadly. Spencer’s eyes widened.

“No! Don’t say that!” he pleaded.

“Am I wrong? I don’t think so.” Your chin wobbled, but you needed to say it. “I know your job is important, Spencer. I do. And I never wanted to compete with that because I thought I didn’t have to. But after these past months, I think I need to get used to the idea I lost you already,” you acknowledged with a pained sob betraying you. It was the pang of the meaning behind your own words.

The memories of the past months flashed before Spencer's eyes. And there he saw it. The kisses he didn't give you, the 'I love you' he didn't tell you. The nights he didn't sleep by your side—all the things he has been missing.

He realized that although he never doubted his love for you, he stopped nurturing it and took it for granted.

Crying, he took your hands, and by divine grace, you didn't push him away.

No words he could say would be enough to convey how sorry he was. But he needed to try because he didn’t want to lose you. You needed to know he loved you and that you owned his heart. You needed to know he just realized he made a mistake, and he wants to fix it.

“The first time I saw you in this very place, you were slowly swaying in this exact spot with your eyes focused on the book in your hands. I was so mesmerized that I never thought I would get the nerve to talk to you, you know? But I did. And when I saw the warm look you gave me when I asked you if you had read the author's biography, I felt my heart warming as never before. And when I heard your laugh after I clumsily tried to flirt with you? I swear it was the sound I wanted to hear for the rest of my life,” Spencer confessed, eyes sparkling at the memory. You fondly recalled it too. You never liked to talk with strangers all of a sudden, but with Spencer? It felt natural and right.

“You let me in in your life. You opened your heart to me and taught me how to do that too. You realized I’m not the best student in those matters, though,” he chuckled, seeing your nod.

“Despite that, you believed in me. You gave me a chance to love you, and I swear loving you has been the most natural thing that has ever happened to me. You have made me so happy (Y/N). You have no idea. And that is the problem. I have not known how to love you the way you deserve. I hadn't realized what I was doing. I'm sorry. I spent much of my life fending alone, not walking with anyone by my side. And I know that does not excuse my behavior. Even so, I dare to ask for an opportunity to prove you do not have to compete with my job. Give me a chance to prove to you I can be better. I can be the man who deserves your love. Please let me gain back your love and the privilege to hear you laugh again."

Spencer was almost out of breath when he was done speaking. You mulled in his words as his hands enveloped yours, patiently awaiting your response. Would you give him a chance?

As the rain continued pouring down, your eyes focused on him, still kneeling before you with hopeful eyes.

You know he loves you. Even if he needs to be better at proving it to you. And you love him even if you feel hurt for what he did. You both would have to work to make it work. You both deserved the chance, though.

The answer to his question was clear then.

You hopped off the swing and kneeled, not releasing his hands grasp and pulling him to catch his lips with yours. He kissed you back with everything he had. When both parted, you smiled at him, and Spencer was trying to figure out what that meant. You spoke to make it clear.

“Please, just don't make me regret being in this same place three years ago.”

Spencer earnestly shook his head.

“I won’t. I promise,” he told you before kissing you again under the rain.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic​ @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @disaster-in-waiting @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger

[uglypastels]

Logan idea- reader has very similar traumas I.e trained as a weapon, memories wiped, has bad nightmares, slower aging, modified healing.

They find healing with the X-men and get close with Logan because of their similarities the reader is more sunshine to Logan’s I don’t know if pessimism is the right word. They go on a mission, goes missing for a period, and when they show back up they’ve been brain washed and are fighting the X-men but Logan recognizes them instantly. And does the whole this isn’t you sweetheart while taking a beating cause they can both kick ass and that’s one of the things Logan loves about them. He gets the mask off of them cause he realizes that’s part of the issue for them not recognizing everyone and then it’s hurt/comfort them feeling horrible for getting caught and Logan feeling horrible for letting them get caught. And even though they hadn’t been together before just very close friends/testing the waters this brings them together cause they realize they want to be with each other after some healing and Logan be soft with the reader while they heal from the brainwashing fiasco.

I dunno I love the idea of Logan feeling horrible about not being able to rescue the reader and then recognizing them fighting his allies and helps bring them back from the void. I’m a sucker for two people relating to eachother having a friendship that a hard time brings out their true feelings with lots of fluff and healing cause Logan understands that.

this made me think of some of my favourite wolverine scenes from different media so it's all inspired by that i guess. hope you like it :3

warnings: angst. mind control. reader presumed dead. swearing. violence. hospital-setting. guilt.

Masterlist ~ X-Men Requests are Open

‘What the hell are you doing? We have to go back!’ Logan started yelling as soon as he realised you hadn’t made it back to the jet. 

‘It’s too late,’ Scott shouted back at him from the pilot seat. ‘We won’t make it.’ 

‘She won’t make it,’ Logan retorted, already lunging at the cockpit, claws itching to come out. And they would have if it wasn’t for the cold hand touching his skin. He looked up to meet Rogue’s eyes. They were filled with sadness–pity– as she held his hand. He tried to pull out of her hold, but the longer it went on, the more frail he felt. Everything around him began to spin, his vision blurred until it all turned black, and his head hit the steel flooring of the plane.

⮿

Rogue had held on for too long. That much she had realised as soon as Logan had passed out.

It took a whole day for him to come by, but not even her powerful narcosis had suppressed his rage. As soon as Logan had woken up and his senses had felt Scott’s presence, he was on his feet, grabbing the team leader by the collar of his shirt, pushing him against 

‘You proud of yourself, punk?’ he spat in Scott’s face. ‘Got your sorry ass out all safe and sound, huh?’

‘There was no other way. We would have all died if we had stayed, Logan,’ Storm clawed at his shoulders to pull him back, but none of her methods sufficed. ‘This was the only way.’

‘No the fuck, it wasn’t!’ He saw red with anger. ‘We could have saved her.’ He had pulled out of saying that one word at the last minute. I could have saved her. That was the only thing on his mind for weeks. How you still would have been there if it wasn’t for him. 

The plan had been simple; that much had been clear in your face as you suggested it the last time he saw you. But he never should have gone along with it. He never should have let you go on your own. If he had just stayed— ran after you— maybe…

A pitiful portion of him still kept up hope. That one day, the heavy doors to the mansion would open, and you would stand in the middle. Perhaps a bit bruised up and tired, but all there. And he would pull you into his arms like he had wanted to all those times before.

But you never did show up. Days turned into weeks turned into months, and there had been no news, no sightings. Even the Professor had stopped seeking Cerebro’s help as nothing turned up anyway, no matter how hard he looked.

⮿

His heart was in his chest as he raced through the dark corridors of the bunker complex. Logan looked around him for the way out with the least henchmen as chances of there being none were slim. He had already left a trail of bodies behind him and was ready for the next wave of men to beat into a pulp.

He turned the corner, but what he saw was the last thing he had expected.

For a second, he thought he was dreaming; perhaps it was a hallucination brought on by some chemicals they pumped into the air to get to him. It wasn’t possible. His mouth had already fallen open, ready to call out your name, but as you got into a stance of attack, eyes blank except for a fury deep inside them, Logan realised it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a bloody terror. 

It was the hardest fight he had ever been in, trying to block all of your attacks while pulling himself back. He couldn’t het himself to hurt you. All he found himself doing was calling your name, but it was useless. It was you, but it wasn’t. Nothing he said seemed to matter, seemed to take any effect on you. You lunged at him, punching and kicking. 

It was futile to try and argue with you, and so, against every muscle and nerve in his body screaming against it, Logan started to place his movements harder, fighting against you until you went limp in his arms. He cursed himself out as he looked down at your unconscious body, pushing some of your loose hair out of your face. But as he looked at you, he also saw that it really was you still in there. And so he didn’t waste a second thinking about it as he picked you up in his arms and ran as fast as his body could take him. Out of the tortuous underground maze and back to that godforsaken jet that had been the scene of the dreams that had plagued his mind for the past months.

⮿

Everyone had practically stopped in their tracks at the sight of you in Logan’s arms. He stumbled into the jet, nearly falling over, having had, as predicted, to deal with a number more nameless jackasses, but with you in his arms, it made beating them up a bit more challenging.

‘What—’ Storm’s eyes were nearly as pale of shock as they would have been of her powers. 

‘She’s been brainwashed,’ Logan explained before anything else, ‘or controlled. I don’t know, but he’s hostile. We need to keep her down.’ He laid you down on the ground, sitting right beside you, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a deep heave, and only then he noticed the looks of everyone around him. ‘What?’

No one said a thing, but he knew what they were all thinking. For he was thinking it, too. Was it safe to bring you back home? Could whatever they had done to you be reversed, or was he just putting everyone at the school in danger by taking you back? 

‘Is everyone back?’ He just said after no one had dared to say another word.

⮿

Logan didn’t know what had possessed him. Why he had suddenly grown so protective over you, but he could not stand the idea of you being alone in the hospital wing. It took nearly half a week just for Jean and the Professor to understand what had happened to you, and the treatment itself took far longer than Logan would have liked. 

He didn’t know why he came to visit you every night, far outside the regular visiting hours, past when anyone would be awake to see him sneak in and sit by your side, holding your hand, hoping you could feel and hear him as the apologies spilt out of him.

‘I’m so sorry, bub.’ He kissed your knuckles. ‘I should have gone back for you. I should have–’ He stilled as you stirred in your bed. 

‘Logan?’ You croaked out, throat dry and hoarse. In slight shock, Logan said nothing. You blinked and tried to find him in the darkness of the room. ‘Logan? Is that you?’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’ He chuckled softly to himself, squeezing your hand.

‘What happened?’ You tried to sit up, orientating yourself to where exactly it was that you were, but he quickly pushed at your shoulder to stay put. 

‘It’s a long story, kid.’ Never before was Logan happy to be sitting in the dark as the tears he had subdued for months finally fell down his cheeks in extreme relief. ‘You uh– you’d been gone for a while.’ 

‘I was?’ you tried to remember, ‘I can’t recall anything. It’s all—’

‘I know.’ He kept your hand in his, rubbing your skin with his thumb. Logan knew to call for someone as soon as he saw you stir awake, but he needed this moment alone with you. Make sure you are doing alright himself. Besides, the professor was probably already on his way. 

‘It’s okay. You’re alright now.’ He continued, happy you had finally come back home.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

[tragedybunny]

Helloooooooooo! I saw that you were taking Astarion requests, and I’ve had something living rent free in my head for awhile nowwwww.

Basically, how would Astarion do with an s/o who is able to handle him well because of their own traumatic past? Maybe s/o came from a controlling/abusive household, so they already had to teach themself what a stable relationship looks like, and can now apply that here.

Essentially, I keep thinking about Astarion talking about how “patient” tab is with him when romantically involved, and I just keep thinking of s/o responding by saying “someone had to be patient with me too, Astarion. I learned the importance of it from that”

This has been awhile, I hope I put something together that works. Apologies for the wait. 💖

Until the World Falls Down - Astarion x F!Reader -

Love isn't always easy, but Astarion is worth having patience for.

You weren’t sure exactly where the argument came from or how it reached a boiling point at such speed. Astarion had been complaining that your house, the little house in the lower city that you loved so much because it belonged to the two of you, didn’t feel terribly secure. True, it was left empty while you traveled, looking for a way he could walk in the sunlight again, but Dammon was stone’s throw away, along with a number of the other tieflings from the Grove. When you’d been asked by the city’s rulers what you wanted in return for your heroics, a place you and him could call home was all you could think of. 

“I’m just saying we could look for something else,” he snips, pushing things further.  

There’s a rising pounding in your head, he’s giving into the paranoia. This was the inheritance passed down from Cazador, an endless fountain of ill that also included outbursts of anger, fits of melancholy, and more guilt than you could have ever imagined he was capable of. “Love,” you try your best to diffuse it, something you’ve grown well practiced with, “this is our home, I don’t want to change it.” 

He snorts, “I don’t know why I expected you to understand, you had all the safety and security in the world and ran from it.”

The words sting in a way you’re not prepared for, it’s not the first time he’s lashed out at you, but he’s never weaponized your past before. “Astarion, that…that hurts.” 

“What? It’s the truth, a pampered little noble girl who fled her sheltered life, because it was what, boring? Do you know what I would’ve given to be in your place?” 

You stare at him wide-eyed, gasping at what feels like a ruptured wound in your chest. There’s only been bits and snatches of your past he’s been able to learn, the Warlock pact making it impossible to reveal all. But it’s shattering to have that little bit he knows turned on you. Fingernails curling into the palms of your hand, you try to steady your breathing, reminding yourself he really doesn’t know everything, he can’t tell how deeply those words cut. But you’re no saint, sometimes the pain is too much. “Gods, you really don’t care if you hurt me, do you?” All you’ve ever asked of him is love, and you die a little inside when he can’t seem to give it, even if you know why. “I need some air,” turning you stalk away from him and your little kitchen you adore, where tea sits now growing cold, towards your front door, tears blossoming that you fight, and memories you've locked away pushing to the front of your mind. 

Maybe it’s your words, maybe it’s the hard reality of your hand pulling the door open, but behind you, Astarion quietly exclaims,“no.” He sounds far away though, sounds and shapes from another time clouding your senses. 

Beyond your threshold, Baldur's Gate bustles in the early dawn light, but you only see bleak halls, filled with looming dread, and hear the whispers of the House of Air and Darkness. Push past it, you tell yourself, one foot crossing into the warm light. You're running, maybe that's what you're good at, maybe he's right, you run when you shouldn’t. Another breath, you're standing just outside the door. The noise of the city starts to pull you out of the past. 

A hand grabs at your’s. “Don’t leave m-” his words end in a hiss of pain.

Shaking your head, you finish pushing back at the past to find Astarion’s hand clutching yours, starting to smolder in the sun. “Astarion, stop.” 

“No, what if you don’t come back?” He’s frantic, tugging you back toward the shelter of the darkness inside the door. The scent of his flesh starting to singe fills your nostrils. The churning maelstrom of emotions hasn’t calmed enough, leaving you rooted where you stand. “Damn it,” grimacing, he takes a step forward, towards you, towards the light. 

As though you’d been under a slow spell that finally releases you, there’s understanding, and you lunge toward him, pushing him back into the safety of your home, door slamming in your wake. Arms wrap around him as he clings to you, he’s quivering. Sinking to the floor, the sounds of rough sobbing start to escape from him. “I’m sorry Love,” you whisper, trying your best to soothe him, while your own mind recovers.  

Words tumble out between fits of crying. “Not your…sorry…don’t know why…didn’t mean that…don’t leave me.” 

“Hush, Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going anywhere.” It aches inside, you didn’t mean to frighten him. 

With gentle words and touches, you try to calm him until he finally stills in your arms. “Why?” 

“What?”

“Why aren’t you leaving? Why do you stay? I’m a monster, no better than Cazador, turning your words back on you to torture you.” There’s no tears, but you realize it’s only because he’s too tired to keep crying. 

“You are not a monster Astarion, your emotions get the better of you sometimes.” Leaning down, you kiss the crown of his head, his forehead, his cheek, anywhere you can get. “I know you’re trying.” 

“How can you be so patient with me?” His hand searches out yours. 

Once, you lived in a world where only power mattered, where your parents would’ve given you to a monster to secure their place. But you were shown a better way. “Someone was patient with me too once. She showed me how to love, I think she saved my life.” You stop there, knowing the price for saying more. 

Astarion doesn’t ask either, understanding you can’t. “I can do better,” he promises earnestly.

“I know you will, but you’re still healing. And I’m sorry I let it get to me.” 

“No,” quickly, he sits, eyes locked onto yours, “you have feelings too, and it’s not fair for me to hurt you just because I hurt. I will do better, you deserve better from me, after everything you’ve done.”

You look at him, a teary wreck, and realizing you’re probably not much better yourself, lose yourself to an unexpected giggle. "Gods, we're a mess. I love you." 

"Speak for yourself, I'm perfection." he laughs, laying his head back on your shoulder. "I love you too, more than anything."

[ashdreams2023]

Hi this may sound weird but can I request something where the reader and Loki haven’t yk in a couple days and Loki tries to initiate something but reader confesses she’s on her period and doesn’t really feel horny during that time? 😭 so it ends in them doing something cute and fluffy??

Sure and not weird at all!

Loki x fem reader

Not in the mood

Loki sighed, this past month has been quite eventful, he’s been going between earth and Asgard along side Thor for a while, aside from helping around the avengers.

His mother was starting to taunt him about meeting you but even that felt like a damn chore at this point, plus he hasn’t been able to spend much time with you either.

"Hey my prince" well at least not until now.

You looked radiant as ever in his eyes, you just came back from your work in the lap and finally took off your lap coat, he can now see your dark purple turtle neck and black trousers.

Your hair fell nicely on your face after being tied up for hours "want some tea?" You said pouring yourself a cup.

"Not quite but something else would be nice" He stood up and walked behind you, warping his arms around your waist and pressed his lips to your ears "I missed your sweet voice and soft skin against mine you know, I almost forgot how you tasted…care to reminder?" He could feel something was off though, usually you’ll melt into his embrace and get all flushed but your current reaction wasn’t exactly that.

You didn’t lean your body onto him and instead of looking aroused you were kinda looking to the side "Is something the matter? Have I said something unappealing?" You looked fine just now and when you were upset with him you showed it.

You shook your head and looked up at him "it’s nothing you did, I’m just not in the mood because of…you know, it’s that time of the month" Loki opened his mouth then closed it, he looked down at your feet, covered by thick knitted socks.

Now it made sense.

He loosened his grip around your waist and laid his chin on the top of your head "care for some other delightful offers?"

You smirked a little "such as?"

"I’ve got a few ideas"

The two of you ended up cuddled up on the sofa rewatching a favorite of yours, occasionally snorting at each other’s commentary and ending ordering too much food that would be consumed by you the next day as a snack.

"You know, I really missed us" you mumbled laying your head on his chest.

"Me more dove, now tell me what you’ve been cooking in that crazy lab of yours"

A chuckle escaped your lips "Nothing special, just creating the weapon that would make the queen of the world" Loki kissed your forehead, you could feel his lips forming a smile against your skin.

"That’s my girl"

[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD & DAMIAN WAYNE (generalized fanon | maybe wfa)

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“Reaction Time” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader) and (Damian Wayne & Platonic!Reader)

| Reader is introduced to the first of her new boyfriend’s extended family.

| SFW, breaking in, Damian Logic™ -frazzled!reader

| pic sources: beg.=rebirth rhato, middle=batman & robin#12, and end=rebirth teen titans • all comics

| part of the meet the bats series

| 1k+ words

It’s the small hours of the morning still, you can tell by the heat of Jason’s body pressed along your side. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, the comforter hasn’t fallen off your body at any point, you're not too hot, and when you listen over the sound of your own breathing you don’t hear anything off.

Your soft breaths sound normal, nothing concerning there. You hold your breath so you can hear better. You want to go back to sleep but you have to get rid of the nagging ✨wrongness✨ that had you awake in the first place.

You find Jason’s breathing fine, luckily calm, and when you focus harder you can make out the tiny murmurs - Jason consistently had nightmares, whether they woke him or you up or not - and the more pronounced huffs of breath that were a product of wherever the Sandman had taken him. There was something off about it though, like it was louder.

Your nose scrunches and you finally open your eyes, sliding blurry sleep crusted orbs to watch your boyfriend you piece it together. His breaths weren’t louder; they were overlapping. Or-

You blink your eyes open wider, watching his chest rise up and down. Both sets of breaths weren’t matching. Your world stutters.

The breaths were coming from opposite directions too.

It’s as your head’s whipping around that you feel the barely there scrape across your neck and the flash of metal in the corner of your eye. Your body freezes, breaths quickening in your chest just as Jason jumps up and your eyes lock on a small shadowy figure.

“If I was you I wouldn’t move another inch,” Jason warns.

You whimper, barely registering the safety of a gun clicking off and Jason's arm raised over you.

Then you scream.

A small voice talks right over you.

“Tt, this is who you want to be your girlfriend? She has terrible response time.”

“Damian?”

Jason’s exclamation makes you gasp.

“You know him?”

Jason glances at you when you talk through your screaming, face creasing in worry, before he groans and clicks back on the safety of the gun. Putting it back underneath his pillow and then easing the blade away from your neck.

“Baby, breath, okay? I’m gonna deal with him,” he nods at the shadow who sounds like a fucking baby - what the fuck? “And you're gonna be fine. Sheath this shit Damian or so help me god,” he grounds out.

You’ve stopped screaming but your chest is heaving as you watch the kid move and put away the sword. That’s a suspicious amount of stop light colors.

“Is that Robin?”

Another scoff from Robin. There’s a superhero in your apartment, why in the world?

“Y/n baby-”

Jason’s voice is only the tiniest bit hysteric, which is utterly inappropriate because you are buzzing out of your skin right now. You scramble up when Jason tries to keep you down, squeezing as close to the other side of the bed as you can with him in the way.

“Why are you so calm? What the fuck is Batman’s sidekick doing in my apartment, Jason?”

“Leaving,” he shoos the boy harshly. “He was fucking leaving.”

Robin shrugs and you find yourself laughing lightly.

“Oh my god….”

What if you were naked? You could’ve so easily been naked right now.

“Oh my god…”

Robin waves towards you with a scowl.

“She is an insufficient choice for a partner.”

“What the- get out! I’ll deal with you in a minute.”

“You are also losing your touch, Todd, you should have sensed me seconds before my weapon got that close-”

Jason grits his teeth and whips around to point at the door.

“I’m not losing shit. Now, go. The fuck. Outside.”

Robin purses his lips, domino creasing in what you can only guess is a glare, before marching out. You stare wide eyed after his back, eyes drawn specifically to the hilt of his sword.

“Jason…”

“I am so sorry. Is your neck okay?”

All you can do is nod.

He moves so he’s in front of you, blocking your view of the door and the tiny vigilante behind it. His hands hover awkwardly over your body while he speaks in hushed tones.

“That’s good at least.” He huffs, “I told them to give me space because you weren’t ready, I did. I promise.”

“Mhm,” you nod then drop your head in your hands. “Jason?”

“Yes baby?”

“I’m about to cry.”

He sucks in a breath.

“Okay, alright okay, just hold on. I-” he jumps out of the bed. “I’m gonna draw you a bath and get you some tea and send my little brother home, alright?”

“Yeah okay,” you mumble. Bless him but your boyfriend never knew what the hell to do with blatant emotions.

Or, scratch that, he knew what to do and could talk it out just fine when they were your feelings. He also just overcompensated for the teary stuff.

You take in a deep breath, rubbing at your temples.

This time when Jason reaches for you he touches. Warm hands grab your own and bring them down to his lap, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“It’s fine. You’re fine. I’ll handle it.”

“Yeah,” you breath, blinking wet eyes at him. “I trust you.”

He blinks, “You trust me?”

His brows move up and his head tilts, and it’s all very endearing but-

“I know, okay, but not right now. Let’s shelve that for when I’m more awake and your kid brother who’s Robin isn’t in my living room.”

“Agreed,” he licks his lips. “We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.”

“Amazing,” you lean in and the two of you share a brief kiss. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.”

“You deserve it, get in there.”

You laugh faintly, pulling your sleep shirt over your head and grabbing a shower cap to switch out your bonnet with.

“Passion flower tea?”

You give him a thumbs up and a ‘yes please’ before disappearing behind the bathroom door. You miss the way Jason smiles at your retreating form.

The last thing you hear before you slip into the rising warm water and flowery scented bath salts is a litany of soft curses before Jason forces himself to go have that conversation with his brother.

- - -

“So how’d it go?”

You lean against your closet door, new set of pajamas on.

“He’s embarrassed but he’ll live,” Jason heaves a sigh, hands running down his face. “I’m sorry again.”

You shrug, “It’s fine. Not like you planned it. Now, are you okay?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

You walk up and wrap your hands around his wrists, he gives in to your request and lets you pull his hands away. You bring them down to his sides and run your palms up his arms, rubbing out some of the tension, before cradling the sides of his face.

He cracks his neck before looking at you and you give him a little smile.

“It’s cool, I’m not going anywhere.”

“If you say so,” he hums, hands coming up to rub at your forearms. He turns to press a kiss into your palm.

“I do say so. You told me your family was weird Jason.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t regular people weird and I can’t even promise he won’t do it again. Or that one of the others won’t just show up one day too.”

“Uh huh,” you shrug and move in so you can peck him on the lips. “I’ll just have to get used to your brand of weirdness then. No big deal.”

He scoffs, “‘No big deal’ she says. Just wait.”

You laugh much less tinged with panic this time.

“I will, because I want to be a part of your life.”

His eyes crinkle.

“Yeah yeah,” he murmurs before kissing you longer this time. When you pull away he’s smiling. “I love you too.”

He clams up, casts this guarded look at you, and you shake your head.

“Oh my god, Jason. I also love you. Can we go back to bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Sounds good.”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

[urfavbooblover]

Letter with lipstick || Ada Wong x female reader

Warnings: none

(remind me if I missed any)

- Resident evil 4 masterlist link -

Y/N’s pov:

Earlier:

Sitting on my bed, i stared down at the letter in my hands. Her handwriting was beautiful, less of the words she wrote to me. She’s on a mission again, all the way in spain and couldn’t tell me one thing about it, neither why she was there. “It’s important”, she committed to the paper i was holding.

She just ended the letter with “Love, Ada”, as my eyes landed on the kiss she placed right next to it, with the lipstick she always wore. The kinda red i love seeing on her and she knew all about it. I let out a sigh, “The woman that you are, Ada.”, i said, folding it together again.

Ada and I are close, too close just to be partners. We ‘slipped’ one time and in the next moment you saw our lips all up on each others.

I missed her. I couldn’t stand the thought of now not seeing her again for who knows how long. She’s good at what she’s doing, fulfilling her job just for everyone to be more than satisfied and i was feeling proud of her, for how far she has come. But the thought of losing her, especially when she’s so far away, has taken over my brain.

I informed myself about the situation, asking everybody for detailed answers. Anybody needs to know where she’s at, no? They weren’t down right away to tell me, but eventually gave in. Who were they to stop her from going there? Exactly, she did her own thing, going after what’s happening in rural spain.

“I need you to take me there.”, i commanded, standing tall against them. There was nothing they could do about this either. I’m not easily giving up, someone must have the trust to let me ‘surprise’ my woman. At least that’s what i liked to call it. I know Ada will be more than caught off to see me, however she wouldn’t mind. Quite the opposite. I can’t expect much different than a nice welcome.

Present:

Now here i am. I’ve been dropped off by the helicopter and one of my kind co workers who brought me to this place. I can thank him a lot for this, i guess i owe him something but that’s not my worry yet. I have to find her. So i didn’t think much, i rather started looking at the area around me.

It looks like a farm, the area is completely destroyed. I walked over dead bodies, scrunching up my face in confusion. Nothing i’ve never seen before, but someone must’ve been the cause of this. Was it Ada?

I was informed about a little story, so i went careful into this. I was here for only one thing actually. Ada. Whatever comes in my way isn’t as much as important as her, nothing is. No one else. I was ready to be confronted by her pretty self and sped up my walking through the paths and winding ways.

I was prepared for everything. I had my weapons and all that i could possibly need. I’d do anything to bring us both out of here. Anything for us. She surely knows i don’t give up easily and most definitely wouldn’t on her. No one even compares to her and the way she makes me feel. There’s no one quite like Ada.

I needed answers though. Am i really on the right track? I guess i was answering my own questions and thoughts when i came across a giant creature laying eliminated on the ground. Who else could’ve defeated it? She was here, i was more than convinced.

I jogged along the stony and muddy path, when i suddenly heard something. I slowly moved forwards to where those sounds came from, confirming myself that i’m hearing voices. It was all blurry and i didn’t know whose it might be. Till i made out the statute of a familiar woman. My eyes landed on her, my woman.

“No way..”, i whispered to myself, taking one more step towards her. “Ada!”, i shouted, catching her attention. Her body turned around, slightly facing me. I felt something in my stomach, when i saw her face. She immediately recognized me, her gaze softening but then again with confusion written all over her. She was completely stunned and couldn’t seem to move.

“Y/N?”, she said in a questioning tone, as i moved over to where she was standing. I was about to open my mouth, before i glanced down. A man stood there, his eyebrows were furried together as my face expression could be read as jealous. Who the fuck is he?

“Y/N. Look at me.”, i heard her soothing voice close to my face, interrupting my staring interaction with that guy. I slowly turned my head, seeing the slight worry on her. “What are you doing here? How did you get here in the first place? Are you hurt?”, she placed her hand on my arm, only ever showing so much weakness around me.

“I’m okay, Ada. I came here just for one reason, it was a pretty long flight.”, i explained, looking into her eyes that always shined so beautiful. “What about you?”, i asked as she moved her hand down to grab my own. “I’m on this mission, i was doing fine till i saw you. Now i’m feeling even better.”, she gave me a small wink before that strange man interrupted us.

“Uhm? I’m still here.”, he said in a nervous tone, letting out a playful chuckle. “Who is-“, “I have a deal with him.”, Ada interrupted my question, knowing what i was about to ask. She knew how protective i can be of her. Not in a controlling way though, most things i do are out of worry, making sure she’s doing as okay as she always claims.

“I got a name too, lady.”, “I’m Luis. You must be that girlfriend Ada kept mentioning and talking about.”, he continued. Ada’s eyes widened in response as a smirk formed on my face. So she called me her girlfriend behind my back? “Well yes i am.”, i confirmed very proudly, as i could see a rose color appear on her cheeks.

I placed a gentle kiss on her cheek, taking her hand in mine. “I missed you, Ada.”, i whispered and watched her nervous state. “I missed you even more, Y/N.” I smiled at her, before looking down at Luis once more. “You surely don’t mind.”, i said, pulling Ada with me as we walked away from that scene.

“Hey! How am i supposed to get up here though?!”, Luis yelled after us, all desperate. We both chuckled to ourselves and i took Ada to a quiet place. I moved close to her body, our face just a few inches apart. “I came here just for you.”, i whispered, tilting my head a little to the side.

“Oh what would i do without you, Y/N.”, Ada responded in her typical flirty voice. “Be glad you have me.”, i muttered, closing the gap between us. It’s been way too long since the last time i felt her soft lips against mine. They tasted just like cherries.

[navia3000]

a l l t o o w e l l

Includes : Bellamy Blake

Genre : Angst, very little fluff

Warnings : Minimal use of Y/N, first person pov, mentions of fighting, mentions of praimfaya, not proofread

Based on : All Too Well by Taylor Swift

Wind in my hair, I was there, I was there

Y/N and Bellamy Blake had a complicated relationship from the start. From the moment the drop ship landed on Earth and Blake asserted his dominance over the 100, she despised him. He was arrogant, cocky, and rude.

However, Clarke Griffin, a close friend of hers, insisted on an “alliance” of sorts, claiming it was necessary for survival. And now, the girl has to bite her tongue as Clarke and Blake have become the leaders of the 100, the king and queen.

The 100 were currently working on building a wall around the campsite to help defend from the grounders. She had been helping put the walls up for hours, and was in desperate need of a break.

Even though she knew both Clarke and Bellamy would scorn her if they saw her, she snuck outside the camp and walked to a quiet meadow away from the chaos in the drop ship.

She sat on a log among the grass and flowers, breathing in the floral and earthy scents. She couldn’t help but look back on her time on the Ark and its stale, metallic scent. She was glad that she was among the few people to come back to Earth. She used to dream of feeling the blades of grass tickle the palms of her hands, the flower petals caressing her nose and cheeks, the scent of dirt and trees and leaves and greenery blessing her scent buds.

The snap of a twig brought her out of her nostalgic thoughts, defenses coming up immediately in fear of a Grounder. She didn’t think to bring a weapon with her, being in desperate need of a break.

She turned to find not a Grounder, but Bellamy Blake stalking towards her, a stern look on his face. “What are you doing out here?” He sounded angry.

It was her turn to scowl. “I’m taking a break, what are you doing?”

“I saw you sneak off. Are you insane? There are Grounders out here, and you didn’t even tell anyone you were leaving.”

“Jeez, Blake, I’m only a couple minutes away from camp. Plus, what do you care if a Grounder gets me?”

He seemed taken aback by her question. After a few seconds of silence, he finally spoke. “Of course I care. Keeping you guys safe is my responsibility.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” They stared at each other for what felt like eons, until she patted the space next to her, inviting him to sit. Maybe it was the serene atmosphere that made her extend an invitation, or maybe it was the fact that she was tired of the constant battle between her and Bellamy. They were like ice and liquor, like water and vinegar.

He hesitated for a moment before moving to sit with her. The pair sat in silence, taking in the view in front of them. Maybe being in each other’s company wasn’t so bad.

Down the stairs, I was there, I was there

“Where is he?” She was frantic, eyes scanning the drop ship for Bellamy. Murphy had come back from being tortured by the Grounders, bringing an infectious illness along with him. They had spent hours taking care of the sick delinquents, when the girl had been told about Bellamy getting sick. Her and Bellamy had reached a sort of stalemate after their “moment” in the meadow. They didn’t hate each other, but they didn’t like each other.

She lies to herself, because, she does like him. More than she wants to. And now, hearing he’s sick with this deadly disease made her regret all the times she had argued with him.

“He’s here,” Clarke pointed to a secluded corner in the ship, where she saw Octavia leaning over her brother, a wet rag to his forehead. “You shouldn’t be in here,” Clarke warned, but the girl didn’t listen. She rushed to Bellamy’s side, and her heart broke seeing his face contorted in pain.

She took the rag from Octavia’s hands, “go rest.” She watched as Octavia smiled appreciatively, and walked away.

As she put the rag to Bellamy’s forehead, she saw Bellamy’s eyes open and focus on her, his chocolate irises burning with concern. “What- what are you doing?” Bellamy choked out. “You’ll get sick.”

She shushed him, smiling sweetly, hoping to bring some sort of comfort to the sick man. “It’s okay. Just close your eyes.” He stared at her a little longer, before deciding to close his eyes, knowing she would stay by his side the whole night.

Sacred prayer, I was there, I was there

“She did it,” Octavia whispered. Clarke had finally pulled the lever, destroying the City of Light along with A.L.I.E. Bellamy and Octavia watch as their friends and the citizens of Polis snap out of their trance, being relieved from A.L.I.E’s hold.

Bellamy, however, was focused on one person. Y/N. The girl he hated and grew to love. His girl.

After their experience in Mount Weather, Bellamy and her’s relationship evolved, growing closer together.

Unfortunately for Bellamy, she was forced to take the Key, making her forget her happy memories with Bellamy, and turning her into A.L.I.E’s most trusted soldier.

She had been fighting Bellamy and Octavia, using the skills she learnt from Octavia and the Grounders. Bellamy didn’t want to fight her. He hated the thought of hurting her. But her pursuit against him was relentless, her punches hurting more and more.

They were close to killing each other, until Clarke ended it all.

He watched as she snapped out of whatever trance she was in. Her eyes were glazed over with confusion, but they cleared once they landed on his. At once, she launched herself into his arms. He held tightly onto her, relief flooding his body.

She pulled back to look him in the eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Bell,” she whispered. She pushed her lips onto his, letting the kiss speak the words she couldn’t say.

Bellamy kissed back with as much passion, feeling his crumpled heart straighten itself out again.

He was never going to let her go again.

It was rare, you remember it all too well

Bellamy watched down from the window of the ship, memories playing in his head like a film on a movie screen. However, this film wasn’t a happy one. This film was one of sadness, tragedy, betrayal. Bellamy regrets that moment every day of his life. He regrets the moment he had to leave his lover along with his best friend on Earth, abandoning them to radiation that would kill them.

If only things didn’t turn out this way. Bellamy lives every day in space plagued with dreams of what his life could’ve been. Of him being with her, hugging her, kissing her. Living a normal life. A life without Grounders, radiation, killer AI. A life where him and her could be happy. If only things were different.

If only the weren’t doomed from the start.

[wolfjackle-creates]

Ghost!Robin Part 4

Here's your next part of the Ghost!Robin fic for WIP Wednesday. I'm gonna start putting fic designation in the title field rather than WIP Wednesday because I think it makes it easier to read.

Also, everyone came out in numbers for last week's segment! Damn! Thank you and I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this little fic of mine. We'll probably get one more week of this before I go back to Bring Me Home, but it'll depend what I feel like. I want to rework some of what I have written next.

First, Previous

1.1k words + a 464 word Omake (cut scene)

----------

Tim asked more details on the specs of the PDA which Danny happily answered. The things he built with Tucker were always his favorite inventions.

“So are you in school to become an engineer or something?” asked Dick who’d gotten Damian calmed down and sitting. The boy had gotten his knife back and was spinning it in his hands. Bruce seemed to be fondly exacerbated by the scene. Robin had pulled out a ghostly weapon and was trying to copy Damian’s movements, though he wasn’t quite as adept.

Danny shook his head to Dick’s question. “Nah. Hard to get into engineering school when you fail high school.” Danny narrowed his eyes as Damian’s mouth opened, but Dick whispered in his ear again and the boy didn’t say anything.

“I ended up dropping out of high school and getting a GED,” said Tim. “It can work just as well.”

Robin was nodding along and pointing at himself, too. Had he died before he could complete his schooling, too?

“I’m sure. It’s just not a priority for me right now. I don’t need one for my job and I can’t become an astronaut because of my accident when I was fourteen.”

Dick was nodding, but Tim looked confused and asked, “Fourteen? I thought you had your accident when you were older?”

“Why would you think that?” Had he or Jazz made any reference to when his accident was? “No, it happened when I was fourteen. A few weeks before I started my freshman year of high school.

Before Tim could ask anything else, Steph called out from the other side of the room. “Did you say you wanted to be an astronaut? Totally awesome. What made you pick that?”

“I honestly don’t know why everyone doesn’t want to be astronauts! Space is so cool. We can learn so much about the universe by studying it in closer detail. And with how many aliens are now living at least part time on Earth, it only makes sense to explore and see what else might be out there.”

Bruce nodded at him. “I am sorry you aren’t able to become one.”

Danny just waved a hand in the air. “I came to terms with it a long time ago. And my current job is fine. Might not be what I would’ve chosen, but I’ve made it work for me.” Deciding he should change the subject before someone had the brilliant idea to ask more about his accident or job, he asked, “So what is for dinner, anyway? You’ve all talked about how amazing the food is, but what are we having?”

Someone tried to speak up, but Jason held up a hand. “I’m the one who helped Alfie cook. Demon-brat is vegetarian so we have a vegetarian curry. If you like meat, there’s a prime rib roast. Then a half dozen different sides—vegetables, rice, potatoes. Huge salad with all the fixings and a dozen different dressings to choose from. And dessert after.”

“Damn, that sounds amazing. I haven’t had a good home cooked meal in ages, so I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“Has your Grandpa been keeping you that busy?” asked Jazz.

“That, but also getting things in order to take this evening off. There’s just been a lot. I’m spending the night at yours, by the way.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

Danny knew he could rely on Jazz.

“Ooh, do you have any good stories about Jazz as a kid?” asked Jason.

Laughing, Danny said, “So many! But I don’t think we’ll be able to get to those tonight. I’ve a feeling you’ll be interested in other things by that point.” At his words, Robin grinned and pointed at himself. Danny gave him a slight nod to confirm that yes, they’d be talking about him.

Before Jason could ask for clarification, Alfred came in to announce dinner was ready.

Robin cheered and flew over to sit on Alfred’s shoulders, hand extended, to lead the way to the dinning room. Danny couldn’t hold back the chuckle and Jazz shot him a look which he ignored.

“There better be a place setting for you, Alfie!” called Jason as they followed.

“You made your opinion quite clear, Master Jason. And as I wish to meet your young lady and her brother as well, I have set myself a plate at the main table.”

Tim leaned over to whisper to Danny. “Alfred considers his role as butler very important. He rarely eats with the rest of us unless we join him in the kitchen.”

Danny nodded to show he understood, but had no idea how to actually reply to that. It seemed needlessly complicated.

Once they made it to the dining room, Danny grinned as Robin did a flip off of Alfred’s shoulders and landed sitting down on one of the place settings facing the associated chair. He bit his cheek to keep from laughing as Jason sat down at that same place. Jazz took a seat next to him and Danny sat to her other side. Dick ended up sitting next to him.

The scents of all the food wafting off the table made his mouth water and he closed his eyes just to breathe it in. “This smells amazing. Thanks Alfred. And Jason.”

Even Robin had moved to look over every dish, reaching out a hand to try and take something and sighing when he just phased through it.

Even Jazz looked a bit overwhelmed at the quantity of food. “This is so much effort. You didn’t have to do all this just for Danny and me.”

Bruce smiled at her. “It is so rare for all of us to be together for dinner so we make a spectacle of it any time it happens. And this is the first time Jason has ever brought anyone with him which makes it an even bigger event.”

Danny nudged her. “So, Jazz, what’s it like living with someone who can cook?”

Jason laughed. “Jazz isn’t allowed in the kitchen. You know, I caught her grabbing my chef’s knife before going into the fridge the other day!”

Danny furrowed his brow. “Of course she did. It’s a fridge.”

“Wait, is that a family trait? Why do you grab a knife to open the fridge? There’s gotta be a good story behind that.”

Before Danny could make the obvious statement regarding attacking food, Jazz elbowed him. “We’ll tell you later. It has to do with our parents and that’s a large topic and not one we should get into now.”

Before Danny could ask any questions about what the big deal was, Dick nudged him. “Which do you want—curry or beef?”

---------

Omake

Ignoring all of it, Danny shook his head and answered Dick. “Nah. Hard to get into college when you fail high school and are legally dead.”

Multiple people, including Jason, exclaimed at that statement and he looked to Jazz.

“Did Jazz not tell you about that? Our parents swear they saw my ghost and had me declared legally dead. I was missing at the time so the coroner agreed. Sighting the ghost of a missing person is all you need to confirm death in Amity.”

Under her breath, Jazz added, “You were only missing because they had you.”

Danny elbowed her and quietly chirped a Safe now.

Bruce was no longer smiling and was looking at Danny with narrowed eyes. “Your parents had you declared dead.”

“Yeah. It’s fine, though. I’ve an amazing doctor if I get into trouble. My grandfather is watching out for me. I’m financially stable. My partners are able to rent an apartment large enough for all three of us. I have other places to stay when I’m traveling. Honestly, it doesn’t impact my life all that much. Just means I’m not gonna go to college. And only reason I wanted to go to college was to be an astronaut, but my health makes that impossible.”

“Hn…” Bruce hummed.

And Danny had no idea what that meant, but Robin was now laughing, and Dick was exchanging grins with Tim, and Steph and Cass were whispering together. Damian was glaring at him even harder, blade hilt gripped in his hand. These people were strange.

Danny looked over at Jazz who shrugged. Jason was glaring at Bruce and said, “Don’t you dare.”

“Look, it’s really not a big deal. I know it’s kinda a messed up situation, but ghosts are generally treated really well in Amity. As well as any living human, at least. So long as you avoid the Guys in White and my parents that is. So outside of interactions with them, nothing has changed.”

“If you are ever in need of a place to stay or a meal or anything, you’ll have a room here,” offered Bruce.

Robin landed on Danny’s shoulders and was sending out happy-celebrate feelings. Steph handed Cass a few bills. Tim and Dick mimed giving each other fist bumps. Jason put his head in his hands and groaned. Duke was grinning at them all.

Damian half stood and said, “Father—!”

But Dick was at his side and pulling him back down to the couch with an arm around his shoulders, hand over his mouth, and whispering into his ear before he could do more than say the one word.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal.” Trying to think of anyway to change the subject, he asked, “So what’s for dinner, anyway?”

And for the Tag List! (Which absolutely exploded this week. Holy shit.)

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The celebration post for 100 followers will be going out in another day or two! I've just had a really busy few weeks and didn't do as much writing as I was hoping for. But I hope to finish writing today and then I'll just take a few hours to edit.

[luveternals]

paring: 2. simon 'ghost' riley x top male reader warning: 16+, MDNI cw: swearing, mentioned insomnia, mention of night terrors, drinking (you share a bottle with him), really it's all just implied but the story itself has nothing heavy in it, spoilers you get your head shoved into a bucket full of water by your team mates bc they love you lol a/n: way shorter than what I usually write, EDIT: guess who wrote angst double the length of this after just posting this story? yeah, def not me. you're right. ~ ~ ~ You don’t want to make it a bigger problem than you it is, but your team has been fussing all over you for the past three days.

You suppose drastic measures are to be brought into action then.

Night terrors are normal in this field of work, and you know they are simply trying to take care of one of theirs. It’s been a week since you’ve had a good night’s sleep, and it shows on the large dark circles betraying your exhaustion for all the world to see.

The base is dark and still, the quiet only broken by occasional soldiers losing their fight against insomnia. You creep through the shadows, bagpack slung over your shoulder, and watch the corridos for any unwanted witness.

The door is locked. It only slows you for a few seconds. Inside the darkness is softened by the moon rays casting into the room from the window and illuminating the shape hidden under the sheets. The figure is still, too tense for someone asleep. You reach forward anyway and brush your fingers against it, not surprised to find the moonlight reflecting on the sharp blade now inches away from your face.

You stare at the skull mask glaring at you with a raised eyebrow and your head tilted. “Come on, then,” you say after a moment when he doesn’t move, then swat the hand holding the weapon to the side and leave the room before he can so much as frown.

The sky is clear and twinkling with stars, and you don’t question your luck when you find the rooftop free of any of your exhausted peers. You woulnd’t be surprised to find them raiding the fridge though. Or the secret cabinet behind it.

You’re laying on your back, bagpack as a pillow and stolen sheets from your room as improvisted picnic towel, when he finds you. You smirk at him when he moves to loom over you, hiding the moon from your sight. “You were taking too long,” you say, shaking the open bottle in your hand his way before taking a swig.

-

They find you snuggled together the next morning, with him curled onto his side and you drapped over him with your head shoved into the back of his neck.

You wake with a jolt when someone smacks you on the head and feel Simon roll away with a groan at the sound of laughter.

“That is not,” someone says out of breath and slaps the giggle person next to them, “’get better sleep’ is not the same as ‘go shag the lieutenant’.”

You scramble to your feet when you sleep muddled brain register two of your mates dragging along a a sloshing bucket of water. “Oh, piss off!” you say with a hiss when you find yourself cornered and notice no one had dared to look at the untouchable Ghost the wrong way. “You’re such a traitor,” you tell him when he doen’t do anything other than stretch his neck at your situation, “I will not share my next bottle with you.”

“I can live with that,” he says, and you know he’s smirking under that sodding mask, “cravin' tea right now anyway.” And the bastard, actually, leaves before your own team jumps you and shove your head into the bucket.

~ ~ ~ reblog, comment and/or follow if you like what I write. please and thank you. without feedback I don't have a reason for keeping this blog alive, since I created it so I can practice my writing.

[aurumacadicus]

I posted the first two parts of minotaur Steve (under same tag) specifically so you all could have some slight background on this scene (because I wanted it to hurt more probably):

"You have to come," Tony exclaims, angry, but there's some genuine panic threading his voice. "We've come this far, you can't just--"

"You dragged me this far," Steve snarls, and only feels a little bad when Tony takes a nervous step backward. "You took me from the labyrinth for your own reasons. It was never to rescue me from living and dying there. Now you want me to die to save you? You're no better than the gods."

Tony looks hurt for a moment, like Steve has taken one of his massive hands and just slapped him, but it doesn't hide the hint of shame that crosses his face. He recovers quickly, though, anger covering everything. "It's not my fault. I'm not the one who made that shitty prophecy. I wanted to solve my own problems. The gods are the ones who decided I couldn't!"

"So you'd sacrifice me?!" Steve bellows, and Tony skitters backward, clutching the Rogers shield to himself protectively. "Like I'm a dumb animal?! You should have taken one of the others. At least they wouldn't know one way or the other." He glares at Tony for a moment. He doesn't know how to explain how much this betrayal hurts, that Tony knew the gist of the prophecy meant Steve would probably die and had strung him along with him anyway. Had probably offered Steve the gift of his body knowing he would never have to fulfill it, he thought, perhaps uncharitably. He doesn't even want that, which doesn't help the hurt at all.

He should have known the world outside the labyrinth wasn't for him, is probably what hurts the most. There was a reason his mother had never brought him outside, even after she'd realized Steve could navigate the walls. She'd never asked him to find the way out so she could show him the sky. She'd known what Tony had apparently known, but hadn't had the heart to tell him--he's a monster, and men kill monsters. There will never be a place for him in open air.

"I hope the Hydra Cult burns your entire forest to the fucking ground," Steve snarls, and it mostly isn't true, but he wants Tony to hurt as much as he'd hurt him.

It works a little too well, he thinks, as Tony sucks in a breath that sounds more painful than helpful. His eyes fill with tears, and his face flushes with shame and embarrassment. There's a moment where he starts to feel guilty.

But Tony rallies quickly, flush turning to anger, blinking back his tears as if they never existed. "Fine. Go back to the labyrinth for all I care. I hope someone kills and roasts you like the beast you are before you get there," he snarls. He throws the shield at Steve's hooves. "I don't need this. I don't need you. I can take care of my forest myself."

"Sure," Steve spits back, glaring, as Tony turns on his heel to stomp down the road. The urge to remind him he had to save him from a few satyrs along the way is on the tip of his tongue, but something in him makes him swallow it back. Probably the part of him that remembers his mother's expression before she'd told him to run away and hide. It would be too low a blow, even for him, even as angry as he is.

He bends to pick up the shield. He doesn't understand how it can be a weapon. His mother had never spoken of it. But then, it had been from her husband's side of the family. He had inherited it because of her name, not because they'd accepted him. They'd only given it to him when Tony had mentioned a prophecy. Humans were scared of being on the wrong side of a prophecy, the village elder had said as he'd passed it over to them. It's heavy. He's reluctantly impressed Tony had carried it as long as he had, too anxious at the sight of the emblem burned into his hip to take it in his own hands.

Was Tony's kind understanding just pity, because he knew he was bringing Steve to die, Steve wonders. Or was he being kind to be kind? He'll never know, he figures, turning to chuck it into the sea.

Then he hears a sound, perhaps the most awful one he's ever heard--agony, and defeat, and dismay, all at once. His mother had instilled a conscience in him. He turns.

Tony is crumpling to the ground. Steve thinks he's tripped, for a moment, except his hands don't go out to catch himself. He just falls, and lies there where he landed, small and unmoving. Like the gods had struck him down where he stood for his hubris.

"Tony," Steve gasps, only half against his will, and thunders after him.

Steve is so careful as he turns him onto his back, feeling awkward and unwieldy. Tony's shaking--seizing, he remembers his mother calling it once, eyes rolled back in his head, saliva foaming in the corners of his mouth. As he watches, a drop of blood begins to trickle from his nose. He cradles Tony's head in one big hand, so he doesn't hit it on anything, feeling helpless, just like he had as his mother had passed away in his arms.

Tony doesn't pass away, though. Eventually, he sags in Steve's hold, eyelids fluttering. He coughs, and a fine mist of blood fills the air in front of his mouth.

"Tony," Steve whispers, pulling him close to his chest. "What happened?"

Tony says nothing for a few minutes, focused on catching his ragged breath. Finally, though, he croaks, "They cut through one of my heartwoods." He coughs again, then sobs, looking up at Steve with liquid eyes. "Steve, they're killing everyone in the east of my forest."

Steve frowns. "How do you know?"

"I can feel them dying," Tony sobs, and somehow he manages the strength to grab Steve's arm, crying in earnest. "I can feel all of them dying around me. I couldn't protect them. I couldn't do enough. They're dying because of me."

"Tony," Steve whispers, cradling him to his chest, as Tony sobs and sobs.

[verbenaa]

to eden | chapter seven

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: If there was ever a moment that Rin regretted drinking all of that wine it would be now as Astarion peers at her with thinly veiled interest, baiting her. All it takes is those few words for the mood of their conversation to change, Astarion twisting it to something darker and more seductive.

She absolutely hates the way her body reacts at the sound of his voice nearer to her, a familiar fire kindling deep in her belly and her heart skipping a beat.

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Astarion/F!Tav

𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔: E

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 5,814

𝒶/𝓃: hey let's just pretend it hasn't taken me 5 weeks to write this, ok? but for real, I'm so happy to be back on my regular grind and posting again! I hope you all like this chapter, and I'm excited to keep writing for these two idiots 🫡 let me know your thoughts in the comments and thank you to every single one of you who take the time to read, like, comment, reblog etc. you all mean the world to me!!!!! love you all byeeeeee

ao3 here

masterlist

Something in the air is wrong.

Whatever that something is, though, Rin can’t quite place her finger on. 

But there’s something off in smell of the air, the cloying scent of rotting leaves and decay sickening her, souring her stomach as they creep along the narrow pathway. 

Or perhaps it is the dead breeze that rattles bare branches as it carries the memory of death on its ghostly wind, the feeling of it making her shudder and turn in on herself with every brush of it against her skin.

All of it just wrong, wrong, wrong.

Rin bites her lip as she moves down the narrow path carefully on their trek further and further into this cursed world, fingers aching to grab at the blade she keeps strapped to her back if only to make herself feel a little bit better lest anything decide to surprise her by launching itself into stabbing range. 

Her chest is uncomfortably tight here, a subtle fear she will never admit out loud curling around her ribs, squeezing itself around her lungs with every breath she takes. 

Even Astarion has been left on edge, his hand gripping tight around a knife as he walks on Rin’s left, ever silent as he steps with care and his eyes rove back and forth along the darkness.

Perhaps the most wrong thing, though, is the one that they follow. The one who she had summoned with that lyre she had pilfered off of the corpse of that drow weeks and weeks ago in the depths of the goblin’s lair; plucking at its strings to play a haunting melody befitting of the horror that skitters on eight legs ahead of them along the trodden path towards Moonrise Towers.

Kar’niss, with his too many eyes and lips pulled into an eerie grin that the light from the moon lantern he carries does nothing to soften the lines of, sharp claws curled around the long post.

The Absolute really did pull a certain type, didn’t it? 

Rin sighs softly as her steps quicken, abhorring the idea of being any closer to Kar’niss than necessary but her fear of whatever it is lurking out in the darkness far surpasses her distrust of the drider.

But as they round a corner, she sees a movement in the shadows of a ruined building just beyond the path—subtle, barely recognizable in the darkness. Another a sweep of her eyes and she notices that there are people—real, living people—hiding all around them with weapons drawn and at the ready.

She’s not the only one who notices either, Astarion already adjusting his grip on the dagger as he readies it to throw and Shadowheart brandishing her glaive as she calls upon her dark Lady. 

And as Kar’niss calls for battle against the so-called heretics hiding in shadows, one thing becomes crystal clear: the Harpers’ mean to kill.  

It’s a split second decision, one she communicates through the rarely used tadpole that sits idle in her brain.

Kill the drider, he’s not the only ticket into Moonrise. 

They’ll manage without him.

Rin shares a brief, sweeping glance among her companions, all of them meeting her gaze in resolute agreement, and whether that agreement is for the sake of morality or for violence she doesn’t care, as long as they’ll fight along her side against whatever horrors await on the path ahead.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The tightness in her chest doesn’t go away inside the warmth of the Last Light Inn but it loosens the smallest bit, no longer strangling around her insides as a candlelit glow washes over them and the Harpers mill about on all sides.

The goblet of wine she holds in her hand certainly doesn’t hurt, either. 

Jaheira—the one and only fabled hero of many a tale—looks at her from across the wide table, the strange upwards tick of her lips and carefully blank look in her eyes decidedly suspicious.

Rin takes a delicate sniff of the goblet in her hand, scenting a slight medicinal bitterness that doesn’t quite belong swirling amongst the red liquid. “Jaheira, I have to ask. Did you poison my wine?”

“This vintage is over a century old, you know. I’m sure a few drops of truth serum won’t affect the taste. Much.” The druid’s smile widens as she regards Rin with an appraising look, tawny eyes narrowing with interest as she waits for her next move.

“Well, in that case, even more reason to drink. Have you poisoned many people or am I one of the first?” Rin takes a dainty sip of the burgundy liquid, eyebrows raised pointedly towards the other woman as she swallows down the wine, the taste of it just a touch too bitter as she refrains from pulling a face at the acidity. “It’s an honor, either way.”

She doesn’t see but hears Astarion sputter behind her, face contorted into what she can only imagine as an expression of pure disbelief, positively aghast at her impulsivity as he scoffs.

Astarion’s apparent annoyance at her drinking the wine only serves to strengthen her resolve—a lovely, if unexpected, bonus that makes her smile.

With a shrug, she downs the rest of the goblet, another aggravated noise escaping the vampire from where he stands alongside Shadowheart, who releases a deep, weary sigh. “Still better than what the tieflings gave us back at the Grove.”

The wine goes down easily despite the taste of the truth serum, the flame of the taper wavering slightly as she sets her now empty goblet down onto the table between them. “So, what sort of burning questions do you need to ask me so badly that you decided to spike my drink in order to get the answers?”

“I had to know if you could be trusted. One can never be too careful when dealing with the Absolute. So I decided to add a few drops of a truth serum to your wine to speed up the process.” Jaheira finally takes a drink of her own wine, her eyes darting down to the now empty goblet resting innocuously between them. “Though I didn’t quite expect you to drink all of it.”

“One must live beyond expectation, don’t you agree?” An ungentlemanly snort sounds from behind her that Rin ignores, her most winning smile plastered on her face as she eyes the druid in front of her. 

The truth serum feels…strange as it begins to work its way through her body and up into her head; a certain weightlessness taking hold of her mind, as though she had drank one glass too many of wine, though with all of her thoughts and inhibitions still perfectly in place—not a one muddled or confusing or unnecessarily scandalous.

There is a certain inclination that rises up over all the others, a peculiar feeling that begs to break free of her lips with every question Jaheira asks, no lies able to be told under the potion’s spell.

And thus, the truth spills free from Rin’s lips.

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

Rin slouches inelegantly against the back wall of the great room, eyes bouncing from person to person as she surveys the space. Such lodgings were more than they could have asked for, really. 

At least, in terms of what she expected to find on their little jaunt to these lands.

It certainly beats camping out at Moonrise, or she assumes as much. Rin doubts that whoever’s in charge over there would have the hospitality to serve her wine upon arrival much like Jaheira had, even if it was technically poisoned.

And so, under the famed druid’s blessing they had successfully made their camp and put away their armor—exchanging hard leather and heavy metal for worn-in linen and thin spun cotton, blissfuly free from the pressing darkness of the shadow curse and the menace of the Absolute, if only for the night.

Really, Rin’s only problem was the fact that her ankle still smarts somewhat from where Jaheira’s vines had held her a bit too tight for her liking earlier, leaving behind a small twinge of pain that she should probably have Shadowheart heal, if only she could be bothered to go find the cleric wherever she was busy sulking.

That, and, maybe the truth serum she had drank a little while ago that was still swirling around happily in her brain, though she can feel the power it holds over her weakening as the minutes go by. 

It was perhaps not her brightest idea to drink the wine. Her companions were quite vocal of their disapproval of such a decision afterwards. But it had earned them Jaheira’s tentative trust, and what good was it to make allies if they weren’t going to be heroes of legend? 

An evening spent with a little bit of klauthgrass in her system was a small price to pay for such a boon.

Or so she hoped.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rin sees a familiar figure making their way towards where she lurks at the back of the room, clearly intent on ruining her peace if the look of discontent Astarion levels at her as he stalks over is anything to go by.

Oh Gods, must it be him? She would gladly take anyone else’s conversation on a night like tonight, where truths threaten to break free when faced with nothing more than a mere question. She had already put in hard work of avoiding him earlier as they built their camp, finding reason after reason to skirt away elsewhere anytime he seemed to near her.

With a bracing breath, she takes a long drink from her cup to mentally prepare herself for whatever scolding it is that will fall from those beautiful lips with razor-sharp accuracy. 

He’s had the time to prepare it, thanks to all of her efforts to stave him away so far that evening.

Astarion sidles over to her, somehow managing to look more elegant than usual when he leans back against the wall next to her—perfectly casual and the picture of charm as he props a leg up, knee bent and arms crossed in front of his broad chest. He looks almost mesmerizing in the warmth of the inn, dancing candlelight reflecting off his snowy hair and illuminating his pale skin to near perfection. 

It’s a pity that the illusion of it all will be ruined by that poor attitude of his.

“Do tell, darling, was the wine worth it?” Irritation sparks on the edge of the words as they slice through the air, the level of judgment so easily revealed by such a simple sentence almost impressive.

She readies herself for the now familiar pull of the klauthgrass in her mind as it loosens her lips, any number of truths ready to slip free at his urging of her, and she has no doubt that Astarion is intending to waste such an opportunity.

Rin sends him a cursory glance as she takes another sip from her goblet, painting an easy smile on her lips. “I would say so, yes. It’s not everyday a girl like me from the Lower City gets to drink from such an expensive bottle.”

“Next time you want a nice bottle of wine, let me steal it for you instead of doing something utterly stupid that could have ruined our entire plan,” Astarion speaks through gritted teeth, voice kept low as he growls at her. 

“I thought you liked a little chaos in your day.” Rin can’t help the snicker that sneaks into the words, hiding it behind the cup that she raises to her lips.

“There’s sowing a bit of chaos and outright idiocy. You, my dear, are straddling the line a bit too close.”

“Why, Astarion, I didn’t know you cared.” The words are simpering in the way she knows Astarion will just hate, daring a glance up at the vampire beside her just in time to see his eyes roll.

“I don’t,” Astarion says cooly. “but I’ve been forced to go along with all of your awful little ideas so far and I would hate to see all my efforts wasted when I could have been enjoying myself in a tavern somewhere else instead.”

“Oh, please,” Rin huffs as she rolls her eyes, taking another drink. “You know perfectly well that you’re welcome to walk away whenever you feel like it.”

She shifts her weight as she attempts to ignore the imperious look Astarion sends her, wincing slightly as her ankle protests the movement.

Astarion gives a questioning look to the leg in question, his gaze assessing her for any weakness that he can exploit, much to her eternal chagrin. “Problem with your ankle, darling?”

She should have known that he would have noticed, eventually. He had been watching her all night, after all; a scowl etched onto his pretty features as he followed her every move with narrowed eyes as she talked to everyone else but him, no doubt preparing his every complaint for her. 

“Mm, yes,” Rin hums in confirmation, the word sneaking out without her consent thanks to the truth serum. She glares down at her dusty boots and the well-treaded rug covering the floor, its pattern long faded. “Jaheira’s vines were a bit tight for my liking. Not my preferred way to be restrained, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Oh?” Astarion’s voice drops an octave as he leans in further towards her, almost conspiratorial as his eyes gleam at the opportunity he hears in her words. “Do tell, what is your preferred way to be restrained, then?”

If there was ever a moment that Rin regretted drinking all of that wine it would be now as Astarion peers at her with thinly veiled interest, baiting her. All it takes is those few words for the mood of their conversation to change, Astarion twisting it to something darker and more seductive.

She absolutely hates the way her body reacts at the sound of his voice nearer to her, a familiar fire kindling deep in her belly as her heart skips a beat.

“With ribbons, obviously. Or maybe silk.” Her cheeks flush. Damn the klauthgrass.

She’s never been tied up, at least not like that; though the image is one that’s hard to brush away. She can see it far too easily in her imagination: Astarion between her legs, a lovely length of ribbon tied around her wrists, an actual bed— 

Rin brushes the thought away with a cough, taking a long drink from her wine in hopes of distraction.

“Oh, so is that the way you like it? Who knew that our little leader wants the nicest bottles of wine to drink from and the prettiest of ribbons to be wrapped all around her.” He’s teasing her and Rin wishes she could be angry with him but the image he paints is one that’s far too tempting for her to simply ignore.

“I do.” The truth pulls free from her once more, and she bites her lip in an effort to avoid saying anything else incriminating as a smirk slides across plush lips that she would like nothing more than to press her own against.

“And tell me, sweet thing, what else do you like?” Astarion leans in further, his lips practically brushing against the shell of her ear. She still can’t help the blush that has stolen its way across her face though she’s more than willing to blame it on the alcohol or the truth serum rather than his effect on her.

Rin stands perfectly still, resisting the urge to turn towards him as she sips from her wine, eyes looking at anything but him. She knows he expects her to reply with some sort of temptation that he can file away to tease her with later, at a moment when it’s most inopportune. 

But instead, another sort of answer comes to her mind first. One that she can barely stand to admit to herself, let alone speak aloud to him or anyone else.

She won’t allow the words to come out, working as hard as she can against the truth serum as it works its way deep into her mind, speaking to her with whispered words to let it out, let the truth set you free, tell him, tell him. 

“I like lots of things, Astarion. I love a good book, some well-aged cheese, winning a game of cards…I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

It’s a blessing, at first, that Astarion doesn’t answer her, the silence between them dragging as she mentally releases a sigh of relief that he abandoned that particular line of questioning and accepted the string of truths she managed to utter instead of the one that is bursting to be let free.

But when another beat of silence goes by unfilled with his honeyed words and she finally turns to look his way, her head snapping to the side, she finds his gaze on someone else.

Rin’s brow furrows as she follows Astarion’s line of sight only for her frown to deepen when she sees exactly who it is that has captured his attention. 

There, on the far side of the room sitting at one of the lanceboard tables that line the wall lurks an unfortunately familiar face. One that she had rather hoped to not have to see again after their last meeting outside of the Blighted Village.

Rin breaths out a noise of disbelief as all of the ease and relief she had been feeling earlier disappear into the ether. “Does he have no one else to bother?” 

Astarion deigns to leave her question unanswered, simply shooting her a look with a brow perfectly raised that stirs suspicion deep in her stomach, whatever idea it is brewing in that brain of his one Rin has distinct feeling she will not approve of.

Grim determination settles along his features as he pushes off the wall and strides forward, stepping confidently across the worn floorboard and threadbare rugs without waiting to see if she will follow.

Rin hastily sets her goblet down on the bar several steps away, the wine sloshing over the side of the silver cup in ruby red drops and onto the stained wood below. One of the tieflings from the Grove, Rolan if she remembered correctly, briefly looks up from where he is buried in his own drink to send her a glare as he broods pitifully in his seat.

She barely manages to catch up, arriving just in time to hear Raphael’s low drawl, swallowing down the grimace that threatens to break free and instead settling for a placid smile that gives nothing away to the cambion now in front of her.

“Well, well, well. And what is it we have here?”

✧· · ─── ·✧· ─── · ·✧

The smell of brimstone is still thick in the air after Raphael’s little disappearing act, cinders drifting down to dust the worn herringbone floors where he had been standing. 

Fucking Raphael and his fucking deals.

“He really has some nerve, doesn’t he?” Rin’s arms are crossed in front of her chest as she hmphs, turning to Astarion to hear what she assumes will be his agreement.

But instead, her vampiric friend is mysteriously absent from his place next to her; and with a turn of her head she sees Astarion stalking out of the large doors of the inn, pace clipped as he weaves through a sea of Harpers.

“Astarion!” Rin spins around, calling after his retreating figure once before following after him.

An unwelcome frustration bubbles in her chest alongside the beginnings of distress and she quickens her pace, his lithe form no doubt clinging to whatever shadows he can find outside. She’ll be lucky if she’s able to spot him at all with all the darkness that exists here, even with the incandescent glow of Selûne’s blessing reflecting off of everything it touches.

“Astarion, wait!” Rin’s voice caries across the yard as her feet patter across the patchy grass, dodging the armored bodies of the Harpers as she goes. Wherever Astarion is, he either doesn’t hear her or refuses to hear her as she moves closer and closer towards the outer edge of the protective circle of magic. 

Her steps slow as she enters their campsite and the liveliness of the inn seems worlds away here in the silence. There are no animals here—no birds chirping or bees buzzing, only an otherworldly quiet that has her ears buzzing.

With a turn of her head, she finally sees Astarion exactly where she thought he’d be, standing tense at the edge of the riverbank as he faces the bleak landscape across the black water.

“Was it necessary to walk so fast?” They’re all alone as she nears him, her footsteps painfully loud in the otherwise quiet of the night.

He whirls around to her, agitation rippling off of him in waves as he glares at her. “Do you not know how to take a hint, or are you really that dim?”

Rin rolls her eyes, breathing out a sigh of agitation. “I’m the dim one? What are you even thinking to consider making a deal with Raphael?” 

“What am I thinking? I am thinking that there is more to whatever the thing is that Cazador carved into back. I am thinking that I have to figure out what it is. I am thinking that Raphael is my best chance to get the information that I need.”

His voice echoes off the bare branches of the trees as he yells, bitterness coloring his tone as he glares at her, the precise shade of his eyes—an angry incarnadine, she thinks—cementing itself into her memory.

“I understand, Astarion. I do. But I don’t think you should make a deal with him. Not with Raphael.” Rin wrinkles her nose in distaste at the mere thought of the cambion being able to hold anything over any of their heads, but especially over Astarion’s.

“You do not understand a thing.” He seethes at her. “I have one chance, and one chance only, to get this information. You will not stop me.”

“I’m not stopping you,” She stands strong in the face of his anger, fingers curling as she balls them into fists, nails biting crescents in the flesh of her palms. “But do you really think Raphael can be trusted? What if he makes you sign your life away for it?"

“And do tell, dearest Rin, why do you care so much about what I do with my life?” He spits out the words as though they burn, eyes glinting with the knowledge that he can ask her whatever he wants and she’s powerless to do anything but answer.

With a start, she realizes it’s the first time he’s ever said her name aloud, at least to her own ears. The revelation settles over her with a hazy sort of wonder that has no place in their fight as she replays the sound of her name formed by lips in her mind, turning it over again and again.

And it’s suddenly so perfect—so Astarion—that the first time he ever utters her name out loud isn’t when he tries to charm her with cheap pick up lines or in the midst of pleasure as he takes her to bed, but instead practically shouted at her in anger during an argument. 

Frustration eddies out of her like the tide rolling back out to sea and an aching, unfamiliar tenderness for the man standing in front of her fills in the space that it leaves as her expression softens.

“Because I don’t want to see something bad happen to you, you idiot. Is that really so difficult to understand? Do you need me to spell it out for you word by word?” Rin’s hands reach out to grab at his shoulders, as though she could shake some sense into him.

It’s a truth she doesn’t mind speaking, not when Astarion just stands there staring at her in vague disbelief as the cogs in his brain work to solve the puzzle of her words and the ire that had burned so readily in his gaze extinguishes, somehow giving way to everything and nothing all at once—confusion, distrust, vulnerability. 

“I’ll make you a deal, instead. I may not be a devil but—”

“You’re devil enough, I assure you,” Astarion cuts in with a lukewarm murmur.

“As I was saying,” Rin glares up at him halfheartedly as her grip loosens on his shoulders. “let me make you a deal. I swear, upon my grave, that we can and will find another way. Without using Raphael’s help.”

Astarion looks at her curiously, arms held straight by his sides as he stands perfectly still underneath the warmth from her palms. “At the rate we’re going, your grave is likely to be on an unmarked hillside somewhere between here and Rivington, darling. Pick something better to promise me with,”

Her fingers move to absently run over the line of his shoulders as she shifts her attention to his collar and the ostentatious ruffles that decorate the front of his shirt, slightly rumpled and not at all put together the way Astarion likes to pretend himself to be.

“Is swearing on my grave not devilish enough?” Her fingers run lightly over the ruffles of his shirt, the linen softened by time as she fluffs them back to rights. “How about my soul then?”

“It’s a step in the right direction, at least.” He’s infinitely haughty as he huffs, glancing away to look instead at one of the nearby trees that surround their campsite.

“You’re impossible.” Rin lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, then. I swear to you, on my soul,” she waves a hand through the air to add embellishment to her words. “that we will find a way without Raphael’s help. We can figure it out, I have faith.”

Rin knows her words have no actual binding, no infernal magic present to swirl around them and make her words true. She knows that it’s not even a real promise she can make, and certainly not a good enough one to ever tempt him. 

But it’s all she has to offer him, and she can only hope it will be enough.

Astarion’s eyes snap back to hers, narrowing as he raises an elegant brow. “Faith in what? I hardly think the Gods are listening. Or care, for that matter.”

“Well,” Rin’s fingers stop, biting her lip in consideration at his question as she waits for an answer, the true answer, to come to her unbidden with the help of the truth serum that still lingers. “faith in us, I suppose.”

It’s maybe the worst thing she’s ever said, the words coming out far too soft and—ugh, gods—sweet. But the most terrible thing about it is that she doesn’t hate the way that the truth feels slipping free from her lips nearly as much as she knows she should.

She needs to stop talking before she digs herself into an even deeper hole. Perhaps she should start taking off her clothes in hopes to distract him.

Her hands return to action in the wake of her honesty, smoothing them over his collar once, twice, before averting her eyes from his to glance at where her fingers begin to twine around the ties at his throat.

“That’s a terrible plan, you know.” 

Rin pulls at one of the strings perhaps a tad harder than necessary as she looks up once more with a glare at the ready. Any retort she has dies on her lips as she meets his eyes; wholly unprepared for the sheer intensity simmering there in the depths of his gaze.

Her hold softens on the laces, fingers going slack as she swallows. She’s unsure exactly of what name to put to look she sees—not lust, or anger; but something else—as those familiar dark crimson eyes flit down to her lips and she suddenly finds it much harder to breathe.

“Well, it’s better than anything you could ever come up with, that’s for sure.” She speaks in barely a whisper, Astarion watching every single word fall from her lips before his eyes trail their way up and over her features as if memorizing every detail before finding her own gaze.

A new kind of anticipation, one that she’s never felt before, curls in her stomach as Astarion releases a vexing sigh. “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you could mean. My plans are always excellent.” 

The words are pompous, irritating; and a part of her wishes desperately that she could hate him for all his arrogance and put-on charm, but instead something in her chest swells as she huffs out a short laugh.

With an impossible slowness, Astarion dips his head towards her, lashes half lowered over darkened eyes that still stare at her own, no doubt a fever-bright green as her freckled cheeks flush under the fullness of his attention. 

A breath catches in Rin’s throat as she angles her face up to meet him, the tips of their noses brushing as his lips close in on her own. She’s eager for the feeling of his kiss, has been wishing for it all evening—a fact she’s only willing to admit with the help of the truth serum.

And as her lashes flutter shut against her cheeks and her palms press flat against the planes of his chest, heart jumping against her breast as his lips are nothing but a hairsbreadth away; a familiar voice booms out from some distance behind them.

“Oi, Rin, Fangs!” The moment shatters as Karlach’s voice fills the camp, carrying far as it breaks through the silence surrounding them.

Rin’s eyes blink open wide just as Astarion takes two hasty steps backwards, surprise flashing over his features before he covers it masterfully, an impenetrable wall back in place within mere seconds.

Her hand raises to her still untouched lips, mourning the loss of his closeness as she stands bewildered by their almost kiss.

Astarion straightens his shirt, brushing out an imaginary wrinkle as he looses a breath, refusing to meet her eyes. “I will keep your…offer in mind, darling, but no promises.”

“It’s your choice in the end Astarion, but…I don’t like it.” Rin fights to keep the minute disappointment she feels from crossing over her features. She knew it was nothing more than a fools’ errand to try and sway him, but she doesn’t regret it. 

Not yet, at least.

“Well, it’s a good thing it’s not your decision to make, isn’t it?”

A frown settles between her brows as Astarion finishes his assessment of himself and finally looks at her again, any figment of emotion that had been there mere moments ago effectively washed away as he dons the mask of a charlatan once more.

“Right. Well, goodnight. Don’t you worry your pretty little head over it.” Astarion sends her one of his trademark smirks as he rolls his shoulders back, standing up straight as he looks down his nose at her. “Unless, of course, you want to be thinking of me. In that case, feel free to worry over me to your heart’s content.” 

With one last, maddening little wave he retreats to his tent without sparing her a single glance, leaving Rin to stand there alone in the middle of camp, a hand still poised over her lips and discontent coiling in her chest.

Karlach finally emerges from between two tents, a frothy pint in hand that she uses to gesture towards Rin, ale threatening to spill over the edge as she inclines her horned head in greeting. “Hey, Solider! Want to come join for a game of cards or some shit like that?”

With nothing else to do, Rin turns towards Karlach with a smile and a nod before she heads back towards the wavering light of the inn in the distance with the intent to drink herself into absolute oblivion.

It’s easy to follow Karlach and fall back into the familiar routine of indulgence—to drink more wine and lie to herself that the blush that stains her cheeks the rest of the evening is from the klauthgrass, or the alcohol, or the laughter she shares with her friends and not at all because of the fact that Astarion had almost kissed her. 

It didn’t matter that they had shared far more than kisses already, bypassing the standard order of things and jumping straight into sleeping with one other. 

That was what they had both wanted, wasn’t it? 

And it was what Astarion’s silly little game has always been about, had it not? She still hadn’t been able to figure out the rules, but she was sure it had to do with her as his conquest—his prize—though for what reason she’s yet to glean. 

It was one thing to be friends who slept together. 

But it was another thing entirely to be friends who simply kiss, and the thought consumes her for the rest of night no matter how many more glasses she downs in hopes to chase it away.

It’s late when Rin finally lays down in her bedroll that night, the klauthgrass blissfully absent from her body yet her mind still swirling with the revelation that she is perhaps far more fucked than she would like to admit. 

She’s signed, sealed, and delivered her fate just as surely as she’s sealed another letter to him with a cheap wax seal, written when the last of that terrible, evil truth serum still poisoned her mind along with a few cups of wine too many. 

That stupid letter, one that is never to be delivered; the contents of which contain the answer to that damned question he asked her earlier.

And tell me, sweet thing, what else do you like?

And so she did the next best thing she could think of to rid herself of words that still begged to be spoken aloud; grabbing a piece of parchment and her quill and ink before sitting down to write the answer, hoping that she could seal the feelings into the ink on the page and leave them there to dry, freeing herself of them forever.

If she had any mind at all, she would march out of her tent and throw the letter into the roaring fire at the center of camp so that the words it contains could burn to cinders, never to be read.

Because Astarion could never, ever know that what she really liked—more than his body, his clever words, his awful sense of humor, or how lovely he looks when he focuses on his sewing next to her by the fire at night—was him.

[iwaasfairy]

bones and all +hq! (anyone) just something super fucked up with lots of blood 💋🫀

this was so sexyyyy idk I’m very into gross icky blood stuff rn

tw murder, gore, yandere

Red coats the walls. It splatters out into grasping hands with each brutal blow, baseball bat full of nails shattering the bone below it until the whining dies down. Along with the frantic screaming, and you sink to your knees at the sight. Within seconds, your housemate has been reduced to a heap of meat and bone and sinew, leaving her coppery tang in the air. Your legs have buckled, and now you’re on the cold floor, there’s nothing you can do but watch and shake.

The blood pools under her legs, because those are intact -upper body too. But gunk and brain matter is spilled on your floor, and the puddle of red gains surface the longer you stare, trying not to hurl your guts out. If you could look away you would. If you could run, you would. A low puff of air sounds, before the invader turns on his heel and stares you down. “There she is.” It’s faint, almost apologetic in its delivery. He pulls the mask down his mouth as he wipes the back of his hand over his face.

Your hands shake uncontrollably in your lap, and the stinging in your face surges through your bones. Atsumu.

“Ya missed my entrance,” he’s got a grin on his face - but his eyes are so blown out it’s hard to believe it really is him. For a few moments, he looks entirely, sickly unfamiliar. Not long enough to give you time to collect yourself before he approaches though, dragging the bloody bat along with him. “Sorry ‘bout yer little friend. Came at me with scissors… The bitch’s almost as wild as you are when yer upset.”

He has a frown on his face when he looks back, but the slightest curl to his lips doesn’t slip. His hands come up to hold onto your shoulder as he sighs. “So,” he lets out a soft hum, and then thumbs along your cheek with his hands still stained, bloodied as he touches you, “r’ya ready ta go?” You can’t help but feel bad. Even moving your eyes up to look at him feels like it’s taking all the energy you have.

This is all your fault. Atsumu came for you. You’d signed the papers and found a friend to live with, and you had hoped that would’ve been enough - but you didn’t think… you- Nao tried to protect you, and now she’s gone. There was a time you would’ve trusted Tsumu with your life. “Y-you,” your throat locks up when you say it, and the wobbly vision gets too much, spilling over, “wh-what did you do? Why?”

The blond barely pulls up his nose, before giving you a look. “Didn’t ya hear me? I came in through the window an’ she came at me. Couldn’t be helped.” The way his hand is still around the makeshift weapon somehow doesn’t convince you of his perceived innocence. Almost as soon as you think that, he follows your gaze, and slowly starts chuckling as he realizes the same thing. “Baby doll…”

You scramble. Atsumu drops the bat to crash himself into you and grab at your arms, but one well aimed kick onto his knee has him wincing, and it gives you just enough time to get up and dash towards the door. That also means running through the pool of liquid slowly drying on the floor, but your vision’s so blurry that you don’t even register it. You slip as you slam the door behind you and Tsumu curses— your heart’s pumping so hard you don’t hear it.

Not until someone gets a fistful of your hair and yanks you back so hard you think your scalp might come clean off. Until you land in the cold gravel and a foot pushes into your soft throat. Tsumu’s able to make it out narrowly before your vision starts blurring at the edges, and you claw at the limb for air. “Samu, ya’ll hurt ‘er.” As soon as you get a tiny bit of leeway you’re grabbing at the skin and hacking up spit, painfully tight airways burning.

Osamu only glares back at the blond. “‘I got it covered, Samu. Don’t be a bore, Samu,’” he mocks, before crossing his strong arms over his chest. “Yer sloppy, ‘n lucky I was ‘ere ta stop ‘er.”

“Yea, yea,” the other man sighs, before he crouches by you and lovingly brushes your hair away from your face. “Yer cute when ya try so hard, y’know. Gets us going.” He snickers, then raises a brow. “Samu won’t admit it but it gets him goin’ too. But next time ya get caught… we’ll take one of yer fingers. That’s only fair.”

[rileyslibrary]

Living With Ghosts: 4. Pretty Broken

His body stands straight, but his mind betrays him. He still wears his gun around his left shoulder. It looks too heavy for him now, just like his conscience.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,150

Notes:

Warnings: Mentions of blood and war

As much as I like Ghost’s demeanor throughout the game, I cannot help but wonder what he would be like suffering the aftereffects of war.

Entire work on AO3

Table of Contents

———————————————————————

It’s been days since you last talked to him.

His inattentiveness, however, was not the outcome of your petty little brawl—not the direct consequence, at least. If you had to venture a guess, it’s because he was busy with other matters at the moment—far more important ones.

The Russian Mafia appears to have increased its presence in the region over the past week, raising suspicions of a potential terrorist attack. As a result, the CIA has requested high readiness from the Special Forces operators deployed in the area.

That’s where he is, you fool. It doesn’t matter how abandoned, lonely, or insecure you feel, for he had a job to do. He was right there, at the front line, risking his life for the nation’s—and probably the world’s—safety. You were the last thing on his mind right now; if you ever were anything to him but a mild inconvenience.

Let’s not forget that you also had a part to play in this operation; to actively scan land, air, and sea for irregular traffic and report to the CIA.

Well, not actively, per se—the safe house has a well-equipped wine cellar for that specific purpose.

“Surveillance Control Center,” they call it—SCC for short.

What was once used to store ruby-red Chianti Classico Riserva bottles can now be confused with the cockpit of a spaceship. The CIA engineers have outdone themselves with this one—you give them that.

The SCC is part of a computer network connecting every CIA safe house in the Mediterranean. It incorporates CCTV monitors, cameras, radars, and motion sensors designed to detect unusual movements in the region. Live-streaming feeds are processed using highly sophisticated software, which, upon catching unusual traffic, alerts the SCC’s terminal. The wine cellar also houses an arsenal of weapons and ammunition, just in case the shit hits the fan.

Your job, for now, is to oversee the SCC’s flawless operation and inform Laswell of any findings.

Boring; that’s what your job was. Boring.

“Christmas is coming,” Laswell’s voice sounded over the telephone, “You guys should do something to celebrate.”

“Do what, exactly, Kate? Go from house to house and sing carols on behalf of the CIA?” You reply, leaning forward as if you were trying to physically get your point across.

“If you’d stop being a sarcastic shit, then perhaps you could think a little better.” Her irritation rasped in her voice. “Do something together; think of it as a team-building event.”

He said he’d fix that attitude of yours; when was that team-building event going to take place?

She was right, though—as much as you’d hate to admit it. Christmas does bring people together.

You begin to reminisce about the good times back home when your family used to celebrate every year. You used to cook together, sing along to festive songs, watch Mr. Bean on television, and exchange gifts.

You remember your mother, who refrained from buying ornaments from the shops. She used to bake them instead—yes, bake them. She used to roll out the dough, give shape to it with cookie cutters and bake the ornaments so you would all decorate the Christmas tree with them. The entire house smelled divine with these four little ingredients she used in her recipe—cinnamon, salt, flour, and water.

Ingredients you already had in your pantry.

“Laswell, when’s my shift ending?” you asked in anticipation.

“It ended thirty-seven minutes ago. Tired of me?”

“I thought of something.” You announce, sitting on the edge of your seat.

“Wha-”

“I have to go. Over and out.” You report as you close the comms and head upstairs to the infamous pantry.

Cinnamon, salt, flour, and water.

You were determined to make it work, right here, in this safe house—with or without Ghost.

You hurried outside, scanning the area for the tree branches he trimmed a few weeks ago. If you tie them together, you could create something resembling a Christmas tree.

When was the last time he felt the Christmas spirit? Does he have a Christmas tree at his house? A family to sing together next to the fireplace? A warm, festive meal?

You moved frantically—part Christmas elf rolling out dough and baking ornaments, part Frankenstein trying to assemble a Christmas tree monstrosity.

Time flew by; hours passed like minutes as you worked hard, your creativity unleashed, putting forth your best effort to create something out of nothing.

To create festive decor out of raw ingredients.

To construct a tree out of stray branches.

To form a connection out of two peoples’ broken pieces.

“What’s that smell?”

You were so focused that you didn’t notice him standing behind you.

You turn around to see a wreck, the fragments of a man who has probably seen terrible things and done far worse.

“I—is everything all right?” You hesitate.

“Out of trouble, for now.” He replies.

His body stands straight, but his mind betrays him. He still wears his gun around his left shoulder. It looks too heavy for him now, just like his conscience.

“Yes, I know. I spoke with Laswell. I mean, are you all right?”

“Been better.”

His uniform is dusty, and his boots are covered in mud. There is a slight rip on his balaclava, teasing you with a subtle view of his jawline, like a Geisha exposing her nape.

“It’s over, for now.” you try to comfort him.

There’s blood on his left sleeve—a lot of blood. He just became aware of it as well.

“Not mine.” He announces and hides it behind his back. “What’s that smell?” He repeats, trying to avoid the conversation.

“Cinnamon.”

“Ya bakin’?” He seems shocked.

“Sort of; They’re ornaments for the Christmas tree,” you say, pointing in the direction of your most recent creation.

“A Christmas tree.” He stutters, glazed eyes darting left and right, assessing the new environment.

You want to tell him that there are no booby traps here, nothing dangerous to be careful of. You want to console him that there is no need to be alerted for an ambush here, for this is a safe space. No more killing, no more death, for now. Just you two, a hideous Christmas tree, and badly shaped cinnamon-baked ornaments.

“Do you like them?” You ask reluctantly, trying to divert his attention from this week’s horrors. “I couldn’t find any cookie cutters, so I shaped them with a knife instead. I tried to make them look pretty, but some came out broken.”

“Aren’t we all?” he mumbles as he walks towards the Christmas tree.

“Aren’t we all exactly what, lieutenant—pretty or broken?” you ask, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Pretty broken, kid,” he whispers as he picks up a shattered ornament. “Pretty damn broken.”

———————————————————————

Next ->

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

hi! I'm new to the beatles lore and I've been trying to catch up on an insane level of information for weeks. it's been fun but also heartbreaking 💔💔 anyways, I wanted to ask a couple of questions if that's ok? for example, I keep seeing this narrative that john was using yoko as some sort of weapon against paul... what was john trying to achieve by that I mean where does this idea even come from? according to this, john was hurting paul on purpose while he was singing him love songs in the studio asking him to be partners again (as in songwriting creative partners) WHAT WOULD JOHN ACHIEVE DOING THAT? also it sounds very one sided like paul is the most innocent in the break up eventho he was the one who came up with a secret album and a lawsuit. I don't know what to think. before knowing them I used to think lennon was in love and on drugs so he got so annoying to the point that he broke up the band but now...

Hi there! Welcome to the fandom! don't worry about feeling overwhelmed at first there is a LOT to take in.

I want to say, I do get the feeling you are somewhat mixing things up here, though I don't particularly blame you for being confused. (if not then sorry! just want to clarify as much as I can)

Tedious as it sounds, I find keeping a timeline in my mind (ideally, accurate to the month) helpful to provide some clarity regarding the breakup era specifically, so the period of 1968-1971. John's studio taunting you're referring to would have happened between mid '68 and mid '69, but Paul worked on his solo album (what I presume you meant by "his secret album", though it wasn't all that secret – John had already released solo music of his own by that point*) in late '69 and early '70. He filed a lawsuit against the others in late '70.

*I think you're conflating the album itself with the fact that, along with the release of McCartney (said album), Paul "surprise revealed" he had quit the band to the public, which the other band members, especially John, were not impressed with.

That being said, the events of the breakup are still convoluted at best, even to "seasoned" fans, I'd say. One of my main pieces of advice I can provide as someone who's been doing this for more than 3 years is get comfortable with not knowing things and with some of the actors involved doing something fundamentally irrational sometimes. They're humans, they don't always make sense and they won't always be forthcoming about why they behaved the way they did.

Which brings me to the narratives you mention: I say this as nicely as possible, but sometimes people want to tell themselves the best story rather than the most truthful one. It's more important to some that John is taunting Paul out of some twisted form of love than why specifically.

To answer your question regarding where this particular idea comes from, I would say: Paul has indicated that he felt John replaced him with Yoko (in whatever way he meant by that – some think it's sexual, some it's about creative partnership, or simply as a best friend); John's behaviour clearly and drastically shifted for the worse in mid '68, which is around the time he got together with Yoko, left his family, and started doing heroin; footage from Get Back shows John both all over Yoko and trying to reach out to Paul periodically.

There's probably more, but I don't know if there's much point in getting into the weeds of it right now. My point is: it's not the only valid theory, IMO, and probably not the whole truth if it is true, but it's not unfounded.

I think it may be a misstep to dismiss a theory because "what would John achieve by that?" Again, people are not always acting in a way that strictly makes sense, especially not people with the issues John struggled with. Some people might say John was testing Paul, trying to make him fight for him. Some might say John had an outright sadistic streak. Others that he was too out of it to notice the pain he was inflicting on others. I think it could very easily be a mix of all three. When dealing with human emotions, I personally think it's a mistake to assume things are simple and straightforward, which is why a lot of tinhattery turns me off. It very often feels like a blanket-statement self-confirming axiom, rather than a truly thoughtful and multifaceted argument.

My most condensed version of events would be: John became incredibly difficult to work with in multiple ways (including but not limited to bringing Yoko to the studio) by mid '68; Paul, for the most part, tried to accomodate him, to diminishing returns, while having his own longterm relationship fall apart and being completely in over his head running a brandnew business; Paul deals with distress by burying himself in work, the other three do not – this leads to further conflict, along with issues over creative control; the band decide they need a new manager type to help them out with their new business and provide the guidance they haven't had since Brian died; cue John wanting Klein and only Klein and massively distrusting Paul's "nepo" choice of Eastman + apparently not trusting Paul's belief that Klein was bad news; extreme resentment over money issues which are incredibly underrated by the fandom because at their core they are boring, emotionally, ensue; John decides he's "over" the band and tells the others he's out; Paul is destroyed over this (and everything that led up to it), spends months spiraling and recording his album; wanting to get this all out of the way, Paul finally breaks down and admits he's leaving the Beatles to the world and to the band itself, even though he had asked John to stay quiet about his own quitting the band months earlier; John (understandably, IMO, though I don't blame Paul exactly – this is what I mean by not everything makes perfect sense) assumes Paul is using the band breakup for PR and gets a hell of a lot angrier than he already is about the money stuff; John undergoes primal therapy which opens up about 43273289635298 wounds; John does an interview in which he spills his guts and tears down almost everyone in his life except Yoko; meanwhile more financial issues. I cannot overstate that those matter too, tumblr is just not a place where finance peeps hang out; Paul is getting more and more fed up with all of this and he, as a last resort, files a lawsuit to no longer be legally tied to the others.

I for the most part left out George and Ringo here* and I'm writing off memory here without re-checking sources, so take what I say with a massive grain of salt. My main point is that this shit is complicated and don't let people tell you it isn't.

*I'm of the opinion that John and Paul are at the center of the breakup, but they also aren't the be-all, end-all of it. But because in the end George and Ringo fell "in line" with John and you didn't ask about them, I decided to mostly leave them out.

[homestuckreplay]

kill them with bladekindness

(page 575-586)

9/3/2009 Wheel Spin: Parent Bad :( Verdict: It’s The Background Texture

9/4/2009 Wheel Spin: Long Pesterlog Verdict: Dave Should Pester John About This

Not much actually happens in these pages, just picking things up and putting them down, so I re-read all Dave’s POV sections so far to experience his uninterrupted slow descent into puppet madness. And it was actually very enlightening and is probably a good way of re-reading for character development/analysis now that character switches are happening so regularly.

But today I was just trying to figure out how the fuck hash map works.

Dave brags to John a couple times about being a super hardcore genius sylladex user, and he’s exaggerating, but not totally lying. As well as already having his strife specibus allocated, on p.576 he does a smooth box catch after seeing the fireworks ejected out the corner of his eye, and on p.579 he shows off by intentionally ejecting and then dodging about ten shurikens. Even though there’s way easier ways he could have accomplished that – such as GENTLY GATHERING (5) the shurikens to free up card 5, then taking the box.

Except, it makes sense if we assume Dave is practicing. In the past we’ve seen Dave mess with his sylladex in his room and in the bathroom, but this is the first time he’s used it in the public areas of the house – and with the Dude Dodge and demonstrations of using different words for the same item and dealing with collisions, it’s almost like he’s putting on a performance. On p.386, he tells John: ‘you should look into weaponizing your sylladex. my bro is always getting on my case about it but man its not as easy as it sounds.’

We’ve now learned that Dave’s bro stocks the kitchen with weapons, which could be there specifically for sylladex practice. Dave’s bro, who it’s been implied also uses hash map, could have been practicing the shuriken-dodge maneuver for years, to use if he ever gets into a real fight. (Or is there a league? Is sylladex usage a sport and Dave’s bro is like a former high school football player who’s trying to train up a younger family member to relive their glory days)?

These kitchen violence pages pair well with Dave reading the Midnight Crew on p.329-331. ‘A familiar feeling stirs. That feeling is overwhelming, soul-blackening rage. It's the sort of rage that'll make a man feel totally justified in sporting an unnecessarily elaborate assortment of fancy blades’ is a line referring to Spades Slick, but Dave lives with a man who sports an unnecessarily elaborate assortment of fancy blades, so I wonder what soul-blackening rage Bro is feeling and why. It makes me think about how a hyperviolent character in a piece of media can be very fun and likeable, but that same trait in a real person, especially one you live with, is terrifying, and certainly gets different reactions from Dave.

Page 585 shows some different options for hash map point scoring, and I wonder which is most user friendly. Scrabble points is fun, but only helpful if you’ve memorized the Scrabble score system. 2-point consonants and 1-point vowels, which Dave has been using, is pretty easy to calculate numbers for, but certain cards seem like they come up a lot more than others. A short, 3-5 letter word will probably occupy cards 5 through 9, and it gets harder to fill up those low numbered cards when calculating in a hurry. The system where A=1, B=2, C=3, etc, probably solves that issue, but involves working with much bigger numbers, which (if playing TTRPGs has taught me anything) lots of people struggle with. A good hash map needs to be easy to calculate and leave items naturally well distributed among cards.

The most effective hash map, I think, wouldn't depend on function but would have a standard set of 20-30 items that you regularly captchalogue and know the values for, along with ways of retrieving them. So when leaving the house, I could have my KEYS in card 6 and use them to OPEN the front door, plus my WALLET in card 0 to EXCHANGE MONEY for goods and services, but when I go home I can switch them out for a BAKING TRAY (6) that I could use to COOK dinner, and a LAPTOP (0) to easily BROWSE the internet. (If I wanted to leave the house with my laptop, I could captchalogue it as a PORTABLE DEVICE (2) for SURFING THE WEB). Getting to know these items really well, and the ways they might be used as weapons, would probably be way easier than just figuring it out as you go.

Of course, when losing a sylladex battle, you can just hit that eject button for a near guaranteed win. It’s possible this counts as a forfeit or is just bad conduct, but with a sylladex full of shurikens it might just be worth it. ‘detect collisions,’ in this context, feels like using training wheels on a bike or those railings over the bowling lane gutters. You should do it to learn, but some assholes will look down on it, and it’s totally not allowed in competitions.

I also noted on this reread how it’s very common for Dave to have the tiny flashing exclamation point above his head when he gets a sudden shock. This might have happened once or twice with John or Rose, I’d need to reread more to check, but it’s definitely a lot more common with Dave. He could be easily startled, it could be an artistic way of showing his emotion when he wouldn’t show it on his face like other characters do, or this could be where Dave stores his unused exclamation points that he’s too cool to put in chat messages.

Finally. I love the bit on p.581 when the picture of Sweet Bro or Hella Jeff gets knocked off the fridge and slowly floats to the floor.