#it felt shitty as hell and i felt terrible the entire time

[kero-cure]

Oh hell no...

IT DIDN'T END IN ONE EPISODE!!! GWADDAMMITTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WARNING: This post (yapping) have maximum level of copium and I turned into super shitty pathetic loser fangirl mode to write this. (Yep, I became the shitty fangirl for real this time) My brain isn't in the normal status so don't mind me.

Even though while I'm sooooooo sure that Ishiro will never ever gonna betray Taiya and Boonboomger for real. We saw so many of him since the very first time. We have YEO, We have EP 37. Super Sentai his the series of uniting. (At least until Gozyuger lol) He have his reason to do that for sure. so in the end it's gonna be okay. But seeing him like that make me depressed.

But one thing that relief me a little (very little) is...

I don't want you to become enemy of the world...

Not "you guys" but "YOU" specific to one person that is Taiya. And moreover, Is his voice trembled a little when he said that??

Ishiro is a spy that do the underworld jobs for his entire life. So he was living in the darkness and had seen so many dark side of the world. Then one day he met Taiya who he felt that is a light, Shine brightly in the hopeful world, Have lots of dream and doing so many positive things. When he investigated on the enemy side he might knew something so terrible. So he doesn't wanna see that light fade away and fall into the darkness. He love and trust Taiya more than anything else. He'd rather fall into the darkness alone than seeing the enemy shut that light down. We already seen before that he's the one who sacrifice himself easily (like EP 14 or how he usually become human shield for Taiya) so I think this time is the same. He set his determination, To protect something more important.

And he love Boonboomger a lot even though he didn't say out loud. If he really gonna betray everyone. He can do more harsh way like say it out loud that "I'm gonna follow them instead", Actually shoot his friend directly, Or destroy his BoonboomChanger. But he didn't.

"If you will keep going to this way, I'll become enemy of you guys instead."

.

Or more positive "Okay. If you said so I'll do my part. You do your part. And we'll meet again after that."

Because as you might realized, Taiya didn't seem angry or feel betrayed, Instead he still look confident when he answered Ishiro. I think (or more likely, believe) that he might able to read something from that eyes like usual. They came so far and we have YEO and EP 37 to keep us sane. I believe in their eyes-to-eyes communication.

.

Oh! Maybe it was their way to ask and give a permission to investigate deeper or attack from inside the enemy's side. Other member didn't realized that because they couldn't read that gaze so they're angry. But these two knew so well.... They're already shared lots of secret that only they know. So why not this time?

You might ask why Ishiro had to do that way even though he knew that his reputation will be ruin (for a while)?

Because this woman kept an eyes on them!! YEAH!! It was acting to gain more trust from enemy!! And he used this chance to asked for permission with the eyes!! As you guys might heard somewhere before that if you wanna trick an enemies you have to trick your allies first. But Taiya is the only one he couldn't trick because their eyes-to-eyes communication are too strong so they shared this plan together instead. BELIEVE ME!! BELIEVE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But yeah... It surely make him feel sad. His partner have to do his mission in more dangerous area and decided to do that way. We didn't saw his face because he had a helmet on but we can feel from how he look at changer and empty seat. When you lost something that you're so sure that will never go far away, You'll realize that how important they are.

And how Ishiro looking on his wrist that used to have his changer on that is kinda sad too. We saw in transformation lessson promo video and EP 6 of YEO that he absolutely love BoonboomChanger. And he have to take it off to gain a trust from enemy. This is his resolved. He's ready to face more of the darkness to end this fight. Even though that's mean he have to leave them.

Don't forget that the monster of this week have an ability of "stealing important thing" So that's mean, For Ishiro, his changer and Boonboomger is important thing. And for Taiya is Ishiro (I'm so sure lol)

.

And...

The guy that you wanna rely on is him, right?

I know that Gokaiger is another Sentai that have "absolute trust on each other" Red & Blue dynamics that make lots of fangirls go crazy over them. As senpai that have this dynamics, He might realized that dynamics from them too and came to say something to reassure.

.

Wait... Is that "I wanna rely on you even though we became the enemy of the world VS I wanna keep you safe and don't wanna see you become enemy of the world so I have to leave you" dynamics!? HOLY SHIT THIS IS DELICIOUS!!!

But before we reach the happy end.... I need more copium. I have to write some precious moments that I know from nation comrade who went to G-Rosso.

PS. Lots of nation comrades from around the world said that BoonboomChanger is like a wedding ring for Ishiro. And now Taiya have it. When they reunion I wanna see Taiya give it to Ishiro by his hand, Not just like "Here you are. Take it" like in EP 37. And since changer is usually put on the left hand that's mean... HE WILL TAKE ISHIRO'S HAND AND PUT THE WEDDING RING BACKKKK!!!!!! YES PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[enviedear]

HONEY DON'T FEED IT, IT WILL COME BACK

₊ ⊹ JASON TODD

in which working undercover alongside your ex-boyfriend feels like cruel and unusual punishment. like a feral hound—he keeps coming back into your life.

CW | ex!jason, petty old lovers, miscommunication (prior), reader riling him up, cursing, and somewhat ambigous ending (somewhat). 1.7k words. 🎧ྀི

you have to stop letting yourself get involved with JASON TODD. two years ago, fine. but now, you know better. or you should.

working with him is entirely different than being with him—or that’s what you tell yourself. at least vigilantism allows you to ignore his jeers to focus on dodging attacks, rush ahead of him when he tries to bring up the past, or turn off your comms if he grates on you too much.

unfortunately, you can't pull any of your normal tactics this time. not for this job.

you thought the undercover gig selina offered you was a 'one night only' sort of thing, not an entire week. Your mind could never have conjured spending seven painfully awkward days in a honeymoon suite playing blushing newlyweds with your somehow everpresent ex-boyfriend. either way, your current situation is aggravating beyond whatever you're getting paid for this.

besides his usual mouthing off and brooding, jason's been tolerable. like a bad dog gone old, not sweet—but just tired enough not to bite. you’re so unused to jason being docile, it almost aches. and maybe that's why you've been so...unruly.

unruly enough to snag yourself a date while undercover. you knew it was stupid before you did it, but said yes the minute your eyes latched onto jason's. it was the most of a rise you'd be able to get out of him the entire job. it had felt vindicated in the moment. but you played an idiotic hand, his cards trumping yours. for split second he reacted, but just as quickly as it had appeared—it vanished.

he was good at keeping his calm in public, when he had to. but he always boiled over eventually. always saved for private places and so intense. he can’t help it, you think, being so much. he has to let it out, like a poison.

his composure faded for that split second when you both entered back into the suite, voice low, snide, and angry—all to fizzle out with a huff. "go on your stupid fuckin' date. ruin the whole mission. i don't care."

he had said it so nonchalantly. as if merely speaking to you was utterly beneath him. such a reaction was new. in the year you dated him, and the two years that have followed, you've known jason to get mad. you expect it. you can always count on being able to push his buttons just enough. hell, he could count on doing the exact same to you. but the silence that followed his words, the calm way he sauntered off into the bathroom—that completely destroyed whatever game you'd built up in your head.

you got ready in spite of his strange behavior. did your hair, pulled out one of your prettiest dresses, and dabbed on a perfume he had bought you, still half full and primarily only used for special occasions. you left the room with a slam of the door.

the date was terrible to say the very least. he was loud and with a penchant to only discuss himself or his sports betting. you left before you could get your entrée, making up an excuse and promising to definitely reschedule. too embarrassed to return so soon, you took your time getting back to the hotel. three stops and one impulse purchase of a street hotdog later, you stepped back into your honeymoon suite. a cruel fate.

jason's in the bed, propped up with fluffy white pillows and ignoring you, reading an absolutely tattered hardcover. you neglect to break the silence, opting to take your makeup off in the bathroom. your waterproof mascara peels on your lashes, and you can only take so many seconds of scrubbing before you give up.

you pace around the room a bit, lost in thought as you remove your jewelry. you feel undeniably silly for risking your cover for a vengeful and shitty date. selfishly, you still blame jason for it. maybe if he hadn't whispered, "don't mess this up, act like you like me. people are watching." at a couple's excursion, or on a group hike after you laughed at one of his jokes and he muttered, "not too much, it's not real."

he was always on edge and he took everything so personally. the last two years have been a constant competition with him. a brutal tug of war that neither of you can seem to win. where he goes low, you're ready to go lower.

you're broken out of your trance by a firm grip on your wrist, followed by jason's gruff voice, "stop putting your shit on my side."

you look at him baffled, "it's just earrings. sorry i didn't want to crawl all over you to put them on my nightstand."

"save us both alot of trouble if you just didn't wear 'em." he mutters, grip loosing on your wrist. his eyes don’t leave yours, and there's an eerie firmness in his stare.

you yank yourself away fully and glare down at him, "i wasn't aware my existence bothered you so much."

jason rolls his celadon colored irises, "existing doesn’t bother me. you messing with everything does."

there's a beat of silence. you’re not sure what to say back. there's a dissonance now—and it's too quiet. it feels wrong. you wait for the sardonic retort, the simmering anger under the surface. instead, he sits back relaxed, casually tossing his book aside.

"you went on that date to get under my skin, didn’t you?" his brows narrow and his voice is rough, but there's no fire behind it, just resignation.

"does it matter?" you fire back, crossing your arms over your chest. "you said you didn’t care, remember?"

"yeah, well, i lied." he admits, his eyes finally meeting yours fully, the weight of his words lingering in the space between you.

you stand frozen for a moment, caught off guard by the confession. you’re so used to his biting remarks, the endless back-and-forth. this is new—too straightforward, too honest.

“you lied?” you repeat with an inflection, unsure whether to believe him or not. this could easily be another one of his plays, another way to draw you in and then shove you back out again. the cycle.

he huffs, running a hand through his messy hair before sitting up straighter, hands falling to his thighs. “yeah, i lied. big shocker, huh?” there’s a hint of sarcasm, but it’s mostly exasperation. he’s tired, as if he's finally had enough of the game.

you don’t know exactly what to say. so many little fights, all the times you both pushed and pulled, trying to get a reaction out of each other—it all feels hollow now. the tension’s still there, but it’s shifted, less sharp, and more fragile.

“why?” the earnest question slips out before you can stop it. you don’t know if you’re asking about his lie or why he’s admitting it now, but you ask regardless. too nervous to try and make yourself more clear.

his eyes flick up to meet yours, and for once, there’s no mask, literal or physical. just jason. your jason.

“because i do care,” he mutters, almost begrudgingly, like the words are the most difficult thing he's ever faced. “i always fuckin’ care, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? you think i don’t give a damn, but i do. too much, probably.”

jason never talks like this—had never. never let down his walls in this way. perviously the most you got was a huff and a murmured "i'm heading out".

like he’s cracked open a door that’s been locked for years, you’re both standing on opposite sides, unsure of whether to step through or slam it shut.

“then why do you act like this?” you ask, voice softer but still confused. “why do you make everything so hard?”

his lips press into a thin line, and he exhales sharply. “because it’s easier to be pissed off at you than admit how much i miss you. how much i hate seeing you with someone else, even if he's a fuckin' loser.”

“jason—” you start, unsure of what to truly say. a mixture of slight annoyance and reverence sit in your chest, your mind spinning to find the right words, “do you mean this? or are you jealous? because i’m not going to start this up again just for you to push me away when it starts getting serious.”

his eyes narrow, despite himself, “see? much easier when i’m just pissed off at you.” he shakes his head, sighing, “of course i fuckin’ mean it. i don’t lie to you. never have, sweetheart.”

you're still staring him down, the last of your resolve fading out, "you're serious?"

he tilts his head back, eyes closing, "for once, yeah."

you move to sit beside him on the bed, watching your legs bounce instead of replying. jason sits up straighter, and you can see him staring down at you from your peripheral. he's fiddling with his thumbs, a trait you associate with him muddling over his thoughts. probably contemplating exactly what you are: where to go from here?

his fingers brush against yours and he clears his throat, "i don't expect anything. hell—you don't have to want anything to do with me after this." he pulls his hand away from yours slightly, "i'm an ass. i've been angry for... well, a long time. but mostly at myself, for fucking it up with you. and i wanted to tell you."

you take his hand in yours, not missing the way he freezes up at first. still shocked by your comfort. you take a breath before you look up at him, "thank you," you start with what's easiest. "i like it when you care, when you tell me."

he hums, staring down at your interlocked hands.

"i've missed you too, jason. it's no fun pretending i don't." you keep your tone gentle.

a second follows, and then the dam breaks. jason leans into you, resting his head against your shoulder. such a simple gesture, but so unlike jason todd. there's nothing inherently romantic about it, and it's not desperate or solemn—merely human. human vulnerability so rarely displayed willingly.

you don't pull away. you could, and you know you could. but no part of you wants to. you're perfectly fine to sit like this forever. it soothes you in a way you weren't aware you needed soothing.

there's no fight left in either of you, at least none for each other. there's no kissing and making up, no loud voices and slammed doors—nothing like how it once was. just a sincere conversation and baby steps, but in truth, it's the closest you've come to reconciliation in years. and it feels good, healthy—saccharine.

you don't make any promises, nothing set in stone, but you stay like that for a long time. soaking in each other's presence. and when sleep becomes unavoidable, it's jason's arms you ease into.

[munsonsreputation]

i can't talk to you when i'm like this

steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: [2.1K]

warnings: warnings: no use of y/n, established relationship, reader has a history of shitty ex's, steve accidentally makes reader cry, a lot of angst regarding past relationships (feelings wise), steve's shitty childhood & terrible dad (brief), fluff at the end (yes because i am a softie)

summary: steve never raises his voice at you, but the first time he does, you can’t find it in yourself to tell him what's really bothering you when you’re seconds away from breaking down.

You hate how the tears coming springing to your eyes the second Steve raises his voice a little too loudly beneath his already apparent annoyance.

Your brain blanks out the second it bellows against the walls and comes hurtling down to your eardrums. It feels like glass shattering in a million different ways, cutting you open and killing you with a thousand cuts.

He’s frozen in front of you, blinking with a look of oblivion on his face because he’s waiting. His arms still held wide open after he asked a question: one that was posed with a tone too sharp for your liking.

“Why are you making it such a big deal?”

His usually sweet and gentle tone was long gone, or at least that’s how you heard it. Instead, it dribbled with irritation and resentment meshed all in one. The kind that sounded like he was fed up and wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

He was just trying to do a sweet thing by picking you both up some coffee and yet here you were starting an argument — you always had to ruin a good thing.

Your teeth dig into your gums, trying to find any way to hold off on the waterworks that you know are about to pour any second now. Cloudy orbs shoot down to your bare feet, trembling against the floorboards while you excuse yourself from the kitchen.

“I’m g-going to the bathroom.”

Your voice is delicate yet not the kind that Steve knows like the back of his hand — the one where you keep it so quiet like an oath when you whisper you love him when you think he’s asleep and no one else is around to hear it.

This time the oath is broken, cracked, just like your voice, torn at the seams between fear and panic. Its edges are frayed and tattered, and its tenderness that is usually formed out of affection is long gone as it cuts through your chest and causes your back to heave as you walk away.

He knows he messed up.

It’s stupid. You shouldn’t be so worked up over the barista leaving her number on Steve’s cup. But you are. You’re worked the hell up and you want him to understand why it is such a big deal to you.

It’s upsetting because you shouldn’t be this wound up and insecure. You know Steve would never even dare to dial the numbers left on the cup, let alone remember the name she left on there. He’s head over heels in love with you the same way you are with him — yet you just don’t get it.

You don’t get the way this makes your insides turn and the thoughts to start whirlwind in your head. At first you were just upset about the number, maybe even just mildly irked — but then the second Steve’s voice came to you like that… that’s when you entirely forgot how to even tell him how you felt.

Now you just felt stupid for making it such a big deal and turning it into this.

“Breathe….” you murmur to yourself jaw trembling as you try not to tense.

The tears finally roll when your back collides with the bathroom door and your shaky fingers lock it shut. Your heart feels like it’s on fire, one that consumes your entire being and engulfs you in the bluest blue instead of the blazing red.

The only thing keeping you from collapsing is the door that’s holding up your weight and it’s not long after that the person you love yet are avoiding is on the other side making it more difficult for you to attempt to make it seem like it’s not a big deal.

“B-baby… I’m so sorry.”

The apology comes in an instant, and you could almost feel his breath hitting your neck from behind the wood. You know it’s genuine…Steve has never ever made you cry. You feel now like you’ve taken everything out of proportion — you should’ve just giggled and said ‘oh that’s cute! too bad you’re my boyfriend!’

All of the things you wished you would have said play in your mind like punishment for the way you’ve acted. How you know you’ve turned the tables on him and made him look like the bad guy when he was far from that.

He was just shocked to come home and hand you your favorite drink only to be asked about the barista he barely gave his attention to. Your accusing voice after he did something nice wasn’t something he was expecting.

Your throat tightened, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to cover it up and make it seem like you weren’t upset. You shuffled from the door, towards the sink, turning it on yet making no move to put your hands under the water.

“I’m fine! I—I just had to wash my face!” You lie, trying to cover your tracks as if Steve doesn’t already know it.

There’s been times when things have upset you, not things that Steve has done, but things that life throws at you and most of the times you hate how wound up you get. Without failure, you sneak away, just wanting a moment by yourself to cry without anyone feeling bad for you or asking questions because they’ll never get it. They don’t understand that the littlest things can trigger something inside of you to completely shut down from the rest of the world.

No one gets it… but Steve does.

“Baby,” His voice is stronger this time, yet tender, “please, can I come in? I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean…”

Your fingers finally come in contact with the frigid water, dabbing the droplets over your eyes attempting to get them to settle instead of looking like you were just crying. There’s a sniffle that comes from you as you clear your airways and a pathetic smile that you press onto your face to try to hide how you’re really feeling.

The water shuts off and you’re opening the door, cutting his apology off altogether.

“I’m fine, Steve!”

Your voice isn’t swaying even with the volume it carries and neither with the faint laugh you give him when you meet face to face. Your lashes still bear the droplets of salt and your cheeks tinted red with the path they’ve traveled down.

He can feel the pain in your voice and see the wobble of your chin as you hold back everything inside. He hates that you feel like you have to mask how you’re really feeling when, in actuality, you should be furious at him for what he did.

“Baby,”

Sadness joins his concern, and he doesn’t bother to hide it — he’s not sure he can when his eyes leak the same emotion, “Baby, you’re not fine…I know you’re not fine.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes unconvincingly. “I literally am, babe… it’s cool. Everything is fine.”

He knows that now you’re trying to reassure yourself rather than him. Trying to play it off and make it seem like everything was okay. Like he’s just supposed to accept it and let you hold everything inside like torture when that’s far from what he wants.

Your attempts to brush past him are futile when his hands come out to hold your shoulders, his fingertips kneading your tense skin. He can feel the blood rushing from under your clothes and it’s not the kind of warmth you usually carry — you are blistering and if he looks hard enough, he can see the way your chest is trying to level itself out as you hold back.

It takes everything in you to not draw your eyes away from his because you don’t want him to know that you’re still feeling it. Feeling stupid and at the same time nothing at all because you don’t know what to feel anymore. There’s a whirlwind of emotions and none of them you can put a finger on because you’re just lost.

You just don’t want him to think you’re crazy… like you reacting to him raising his voice like that was something that would daunt him away.

One of his hands stops its movement on your skin, raising up to your cheek and cradling you gently. There’s a crease between his brows and his eyes seep with regret and guilt. His lips part and the words that leave them come in whispers and fragility — croaks and cracks guiding them.

“Everything isn’t fine… I acted like an idiot and raised my voice at you. I’m sorry baby, I—I never meant to do that on purpose. It just came out, but that isn’t an excuse.” He shakes his head at himself disappointingly because he knows better.

Steve was far from perfect in his own eyes, but he knew better because all his life if there was one person he didn’t want to be like, it was his dad. The dad that used to scream at his mother, and scream at him, and scream at the world when everything went wrong, and didn’t know how to talk if it wasn’t screaming.

He’d never forgive himself if he made you feel that way or even became a smidge of what his father was. But it wasn’t him who he was blaming for this — this was all Steve himself, and he knew that. Accountability needed to be taken from himself because the only person he was hurting was you and it was going to be okay.

Not in the heat of the moment, not ever.

You hadn’t even noticed you had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, the faint taste of iron trickling onto your tongue when you realized you were biting down on the skin too hard trying to stop yourself from crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby, please just—just tell me how to make it better.” His voice pleads and reasons, wanting to make it right with you anyway he could.

You close your eyes, letting the tears fall as you feel his thumbs wipe them away. He’s done this times before, wiping away your tears that had spewed from another’s doing. Never did he ever think he would be the cause.

“I-it’s nothing… it’s stupid, I’m stupid and dramatic.” You swallow thickly, sniffling and twisting your fingers in your hand to fight off the lingering feelings.

He shakes his head. The obvious look of disapproval for your words covers his face because this was far from your fault. Sure, he was bewildered about the whole incident, considering he didn’t even know the number was left there until you brought it up, but for him to not know how to convey his frustration better was the real issue at hand.

Not the accusation, not the stupid number, not the oblivious girl who left her number: it was him, Steve’s idiotic actions that got you both here.

“Stop, don’t talk to yourself like that.” He insists, staring deeply into your eyes, searching for a reason why you were blaming yourself,

Your jaw shakes roughly before a sob rips through your mouth. Tightening your eyes to try to get the tears to stop, yet they don’t cease no matter how hard you try. Frustration builds inside of you because you should be over it by now. The fact that he apologized and was here trying to comfort you should be enough.

But something inside of you won’t let it die. The silence is filled with the memory of his voice shouting at you and the face that he stared back with.

“I—I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with me.” You croak, covering your face and turning away from him to save you the embarrassment.

But he strays to where you are, sticking beside you with a comforting hand resting on your back, “Sweetheart, nothing is—”

You sob one more, this time with a grunt that is direct to yourself. Stomping your foot against the cold tiles, your hands come down to grip the edges of the counter tightly. Your reflection in the mirror is only half of what you feel, and when Steve steps behind you, all you can see is guilt, but at the same time patience knowing he’s ready when you are.

You try your very best to at least keep your sobs at bay just enough for you to speak through them and for him to understand.

“You’re not gonna wanna be with me anymore knowing I can’t—I can’t talk to you when I’m like this! I don’t know why, but I can’t… it makes me feel stupid, like I’m crying over something so tiny and now I’ve totally forgotten why we were even arguing in the first place.”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and reaching in front of you to bring your hair back and away from your face. His eyes keep yours in the mirror, watching at you with such a gentleness that even now doesn’t falter.

“We weren’t arguing. I was just dumb and raised my voice when you were asking me about it.”

You move your sights from his to the bottom of the sink, shaking your head, “No, b-but I shouldn’t have reacted like that and made you look like the bad guy when yo—”

Your voice is traveling faster than you can think, spewing out words so hastily like you have to make him understand that it’s not his fault, but yours. It takes your breath away, hiccuping and coughing between a sob that leaves your mouth and bobbles in your chest.

Steve’s instantaneously rubbing your back, shushing you and trying to get you to calm down knowing you going on and on like this wouldn’t do you any good. He understands that you feel a lot of things very deeply and sometimes it isn’t an easy task to get them all out at once: he knows it and he’ll spend forever with you until you got it all out.

“Hey, hey, baby, c’mon… breathe,” He coos, his palm never stilling on your back feeling the deep breaths in and out, watching the tears fall down your cheeks and drip onto the counter.

It’s a kind of scene he hates to see, the one he wishes he could take from you and shoulder instead because watching you in such a state breaks his heart more than he could imagine. And this time it stings a little more knowing that he not only cannot shoulder your pain, but was the one creating it this time.

“Talk to me, please. What’s going on? Why’re so you upset at yourself and not at me?” He begs, trying to get a glimpse of what you’re feeling so he knows where the root is.

“B-because… I made it such a b-big deal.” You hiccup.

When you swipe angrily at your eyes with a ferociousness, that’s enough to make Steve step in and take it from here now that he knows where you’re coming from. A warm hand comes down onto your shoulder, pulling at you just enough for you to face him completely, weakly hanging your head low not knowing if you were strong enough to see him just yet.

“You didn’t make anything a big deal. I promise, we’re okay.” He whispers quietly, cupping your face in his hands, and bringing you face to face, “You’re not stupid and I could never think that you were. You’re human honey. It’s normal for you to be upset by things.”

“B-but I…I don’t want you to think you did something wrong—“

He stops you with a shake of his head. “But I did. I did something so wrong. I yelled when I shouldn’t have, and I made you feel like shit.”

Steve desperately needs you to know it. That this was his fault and no one else’s. That him making you feel like crap was the worst thing he could have ever done, but he was willing to man up to it and try to make things better, and at the same time he would understand if you wanted nothing to do with him after this.

Still, even after his words, you’re somehow even angrier at yourself, mind blaring at you for being such a dramatic person for making him go out of this way with all of this. That this was surely your fault and yours only, and if you didn’t take it off his plate, it was just something he would use against you one day to realize that he didn’t want to be with you anymore.

It’s what they all did — held it over your head and made you feel like you were wrong for feeling how you felt, so instead it was best not to feel anything at all. To hide it away and hope that being noncombative meant that everything was going to be okay and it wouldn’t give them a reason to run.

“I-it’s my fault—” You pinch your eyes, gulping back a cry as you shake your head in his hands.

His brows pull together, eyes squinting at you, not completely understanding why you’re doing this.

“Hey, stop, it’s not your fault. Don’t do that. Don’t take the fall for me,” Steve assures you with a sternness to his soft voice, continuing to wipe the seeping tears.

Somehow you can’t let it go, “But—”

“But nothing.” He starts, his voice composed yet unyielding in his tone.

He can’t stand it, clutching your face a little firmer, hoping that you would peek your eyes open to see him because he desperately needs you to. The second you do, your face twists again with heartache, praying that he would just let you go and walk out already, because by now, he probably thinks you’re insane — there’s no way he’s not thinking it.

His lips part, trying to find the right words to say, needing the perfect ones to get through you because he hates how you won’t let him take the fall, the one he so rightfully deserves to come crashing down on. You are everything to him and in some ways the feelings that you feel hit him right in the heart, and right now is no different, but there’s a wall between you both and his only goal is to knock it down completely.

“I—I don’t know why you feel like you have to protect me, but I promise you don’t.” He whispers, watching as you try to calm yourself, little sniffles going in and out and broken cries leaving your mouth.

His thumbs rub back and forth across your cheeks, soothing your withering skin. Slowly but surely your cries die little by little, eyes fixed on his, trusting that he means everything that he says, because Steve isn’t like the others — something that you should’ve known judging from his character alone.

“If I do something that makes you upset or sad, you should be able to voice that, not keep it in. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me when I’ve done something wrong. I—I want you to feel safe and okay around me, enough to know that my love for you isn’t gonna change, just because you bring something up. You have every right to be upset, and angry, and disappointed, everything.”

He says it like he means it and you know it’s because he does. He lets every word hang from the stars as if he put them up there, and points them out just for you to know that they are there and true, because that’s all he ever wanted. For you to know that every word he speaks comes from his heart, and no matter how many times he needs to repeat it, he’ll do it over and over again, just so you know it’s real and until you believe them and know he won’t ever break them.

“Don’t ever blame yourself for me, please? I-I don’t want you to do that to yourself because I’m here and…and every time I fuck up or make a mistake, I swear I’m gonna own up to it and try to fix it. But I’m not gonna let you take the blame, okay?”

Being with Steve for so long still feels so new, especially when you know he isn’t like the rest of the boys from your past. He’s patient and kind with a big heap of understanding. Like everyone else in the world, he’s guilty of his own poor moments, but he’ll be damned if he takes that out on you or makes you feel like it’s your responsibility.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He murmurs, letting his hands fall away from your face, letting you decide what the next move is.

The tears that escape are more so in between the remains of the sadness being washed away with tears of love and gratitude. Your arms wrap around his torso, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his chest where the tears soak through his chest. Without a second thought, his arms envelop you, rocking you both back and forth as he presses kisses on the top of your head.

It mends your heart not merely because he’s just sorry, but because you didn’t get plenty of sorries before. Left only with sweeping things under the rug and pretending like nothing ever happened — it never solved anything and never gave you much.

But Steve gives you everything and so much more.

A big chunk of you feels like you don’t deserve him because he seriously is the best person with an even better soul wrapped up into one and yet he chooses you — every day. He sees you through all the good and the bad and never makes you feel like you’re alone even when you could be a distance away when you’re right beside him.

When you talk too much, say too little, or sometimes say nothing at all — he’s there giving you a listening ear and comforting shoulder to lean on whoever you need it. And on the days when you can’t talk to him when you’re like this… he’ll wait until you’re ready and show you that he’s always going to be there every step of the way.

He’s everything you could have asked for and more.

You pull your face away from hiding, resting your chin up on his chest as you stared up at him.

“I’m sorry too. I—I shouldn’t have been so indifferent earlier and just told you what I was feeling from the get-go.” You sniffled, rubbing your hands over his back, smiling faintly when he nodded understandingly.

He knows that sometimes he might not quite get it, might not see things in the same light as you, but he would never try to dismiss your feelings. He would sit beside you through the storms and sunshines, knowing that he was learning more about himself and you with you in his life.

That because of you, the younger version of himself got to heal his deepest wounds and open himself up to a love he only through he could dream up. You were here making him a better version of himself, all while he was doing the same for you. Showing you that the scars and fears of your past didn’t have to live in the next person you met — that you could let it go and open yourself up to the love you deserved.

His love.

“I forgive you only if you forgive me,” Steve grinned, swiping away at the dampness on your cheeks.

You grinned, nodding up at him. “Of course, I forgive you.”

“I love you so much… nothings ever gonna change that.” He hummed, cupping your face, taking you all in for the person he loved so dearly.

You closed your eyes blissfully before a kiss was placed on your lips.

“I know, I love you too.”

💌 reblogs, tags, comments, + likes are greatly appreciated! leave a comment and let me know if want to be added to my taglist!! 💌

a/n: hi all, I hoped you like this little one-shot/imagine... i had this one sitting in my wips for awhile and it was nearly finished but I didn't have the inspiration to finish it until now. I don't usually write angst bcs i am a fluff girl, but this concept just came to me bcs like a lot of people when someone raises their voice at me...i just freeze and i don't know what to make of it and i just start crying. i think steve would be super apologetic and i wanted to write this bcs i needed some stevie!comfort so yeah... i hope you all enjoyed!!!

taglist: @translatemunson @kennedy-brooke @manda-panda-monium @tvserie-s-world @givemeth @steveharringtonswife @astolenkiss @loving-and-dreaming @awkotaco24 @engenelxver @elfiaaaa @pbs-theundeadmaggot @johnricharddeacy @gaysludge @keerysfolklore @micheledawn1975 @ihatepeanutss @bakugouswh0r3

[jessiexflem]

– not so friendly | jessie fleming x reader

content: light cursing, overprotective reader

word count: 1.1K

“You okay?” Sam holds a hand out to help you up. You nod, grabbing her hand and pushing yourself off of the ground. You had been fouled for the umpteenth time, your ankles getting clipped from behind as you dribbled the ball on a breakaway. 

Back on your feet, you brush the turf beads off of your legs before jogging over to your spot for the free kick. It was the second of two friendlies this international break, and tired legs were leading to a chippier game this go-around. You were starting to feel like you spent more time on the ground than on the ball, and your frustration was building at the lack of cards shown. 

Lindsey stands over the ball as she waits for the referee’s whistle. She sends a cross into the box, the ball bouncing off of multiple heads before falling at your feet. Seeing a defender out of the corner of your eye, you attempt to lay off a quick one-touch shot – which goes straight into the keeper’s gloves. You shake your head and groan, knowing that you should’ve found the back of the net.

“Is that all you got, Y/L/N?” your opposing mark jeers as you jog past. You ignore the younger girl, who had been chirping at you most of the game. You normally kept a level-head when it came to trash talk, your opponents finding it difficult to get under your skin.

“You could use your girlfriend’s little drone next time to see how we defend set pieces, but it probably wouldn’t help your shitty finishing anyway,” she continues. 

You stop in your tracks, heat rising up your face. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” you turn around, trying to keep composure. 

“I said, even with your spying, cheating girlfriend, you’re still a terrible ass player!”

Your heart starts pounding, and your ears begin to ring. Your breathing quickened, your chest tightening. You could feel the veins in your neck popping out. Stomping toward the opposing player, you repeatedly clench and unclench your fists at your sides.

“Who the hell do you think you are talking about her like that?” you shout, getting into her face. You were absolutely seeing red at this point. “You have no fucking right to speak about Jessie that way.” 

You could see the girl’s mouth moving, but couldn’t hear anything she was saying. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you away from your opponent and snapping you out of your daze.

“Y/N, let it go, it’s not worth it,” Sam steers you away from the group that had formed around you, Lindsey and the opponent’s captain attempting to get their players back in order. You nod at your teammate, knowing you wouldn’t be able to. You didn’t care what anyone said about yourself, but bringing Jessie into it was too far. You tried to shake off her comments, but a few bad touches later found you on the bench in the 74th minute. The game ended in a 1-0 win for the United States, and you went straight into the locker room after your obligatory pleasantries with the other team, having no desire to entertain anyone else.

A few days later, in the Portland locker room, you’re bombarded with questions about the game from your club teammates.

“Y/N, what’d she say to you? I’ve never seen you react like that,” Morgan asks.

You shake your head, giving her the same answer you gave Jessie when you had gotten home, “Nothing, she was just chirping shit all game, and I was tired of it.”

“Oh, come on,” Mackenzie nudges you with her cleat, “She had to have said something insane.”

“It was nothing, not a big deal,” you shrug, hoping your teammates drop the subject. You get up from your cubby and head to the trainer’s room to get your ankle taped.

Once you’re out of the room, the entire team turns toward Sam and Sophia, who both had their mouths closed in a tight line.

“Okay, spill, what the hell happened?” Morgan probes.

Sam and Sophia share a look, the former shrugging before turning to the group. 

“So, it was after a free kick, I’m running back toward half, and Y/N’s in front of me, right?” Sam begins to relay the story.

Jessie listens intently, face dropping when Sam reveals what caused her girlfriend to lose composure. 

“No, literally, I was on the opposite side of the pitch, and when I saw Y/N approach her, I was like ‘holy shit, what is happening?’. I thought she was going to punch her,” Sophia shares.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared of her,” Sam chuckles, shaking her head.

After training, you and Jessie find yourselves on the couch, you laying with your head in your girlfriend’s lap. Jessie glances down at you, biting her lip.

“Sam and Soph told us what happened.”

“Oh,” was all you could get out. You weren’t planning on telling Jessie what was said during the game, not because you were embarrassed or wanted to hide it, but because you knew how much of a toll the Olympic scandal had taken on her. 

“You didn’t have to do that, babe.”

You shift yourself to a seated position, “Jess, she was saying horrible stuff about you, I couldn’t let her think that was okay.” 

“Y/N,” Jessie places her hand on yours, “I appreciate you, and I love you more than you know. I just don’t want you to get in a scuffle, or carded, or whatever because of someone else thinking they should speak about something they don’t understand.”

You stare down at your lap, embarrassed. Morgan was right. You had never reacted that way to anything before, and you’re realizing how childish you probably looked. It was a friendly, nothing to play for except pride, and you blew up in front of 50,000 people. 

Jessie gives your hand a squeeze, drawing your attention back to her. 

“Are you mad at me?” you sigh, unable to look her in the eye.

“No, of course not,” your girlfriend shakes her head, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Jessie lifts your chin up with a finger, forcing you to look up at her, “Don’t be sorry, love. I know you meant well in trying to defend me.”

You give her a meek smile, “I don’t know what happened, Jess, she wouldn’t stop talking about you, and I saw red. I didn’t mean to go nuclear, it just happened.”

“I know, but no more, okay? Promise?” Jessie holds her pinky out.

“You’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes despite locking pinkies with her, “I love you.”

“I love you, too, even when you do go nuclear,” your girlfriend gives you a cheeky grin, “I will say, though, you were pretty hot when you were mad.” 

“Yeah? But you don’t want me to get in any more fights, right?” you tease, “Or, have we found something new that you’re into?”

“And I’m supposed to be the ridiculous one?”

[rednexxsaysthing]

So, I watched a 3hr playthrough of Mouthwashing

Here's my thoughts!

(Also- HUGE thanks to @chillenby , @oll13v3r , @max-1mum !!)

Spoiler warnings and the following trigger warnings: Rape, suicide, severe injuries, lots of death, pills, ship crash, gun, and so much more

♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘGeneral Opinion✎ (❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) ༉‧ ♡*.✧

This game is very well written and gave me such big Sally Face vibes. I watched Slimccl's VOD of him playing it and so it definitely helped me not freak the fuck out. I was SO SAD when Daisuke died cuz he never even got the chance to figure himself out :(

I related to Anya and Daisuke heavily, and lowkey Swansea joined my gigantic collection of fictional father figures. I really liked the art and the entire idea of something so simple as mouthwash becoming such a batshit wild scenario. Anywhizzle, onwards!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚Anya˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

God I felt so bad for her. I also really, really related to her. I had my own issues with sexual assault and then tried to "commit die" with pills afterwards (I'm much healthier and happier now). She made me feel terrible for her and she deserved so, so much better. Unfortunately, that's all I've really got for her.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥCurly. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

I felt bad for him, really liked him, and also fucking hated him all at the same time. I felt bad for him for obvious reasons, but especially like, imagine the amount of pain he must've been in without even being able to convey it. At that point I'd either start biting people or beg them to kill me somehow. I really liked him because, I mean, c'mon. Before the whole Jexual Jassaulter thing he was pretty neat. I hated him because as a victim of SA I hated seeing Jimmy not get treated like shit after what he did to Anya. The least he could've done was protect her.

ೋღ 🌺Daisuke✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

God this poor kid. The one scene where he was drinking the mouthwash on the floor and just in despair CRUSHED ME. It was so unfair what happened to him :( I wanted to give him and Anya hugs so fucking badly. I hate Jimmy for manipulating him, especially since Daisuke never mentions his dad which hints at him having daddy issues of some kind, and seeking validation from men (at least as someone with daddy issues, I do). God, it was all just so sad.

Jimmy.

FUCK THIS GUY I HATE HIM SO MUCH OH MY FUCKING GOD IM SO GLAD THAT HE DIED IN THE END BECAUSE IF HE HADN'T I WOULD'VE FUCKING KILLED HIM MYSELF HE MADE ME EXPERIENCE RAGE BEYOND ANY COMPREHENSION I HATE THIS BASTARD OH MY GOD HE DESERVES ANY SHITTY THING HE EVER WENT THROUGH, IN FACT I HOPE IN THE AFTERLIFE HE GOES TO HELL AND HAS TO RELIVE EVERY TRAUMATIC EVENT HE EVER CAUSED SOMEONE BUT AS HIMSELF.

₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.Swansea☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Silly old man <3 Google says he's the villain of the story?? Huh?? How?? I mean, I get he killed Daisuke, but it was with good intentions. He was a little hard on him too, but that's just a classic mentor/mentee relationship. So, yeah. I don't understand how Jizzy isn't the villain. How is the old man who at worst killed someone to put them out of pain (and didn't feel good about it either, he acts different for the rest of the game) the villain, and not the literal rapist?? Idk man

Thanks for coming to my TED talk <3

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

i assume you'll be coming for blood (that makes two of us)

Chapter 2

Ao3 | 3.5k words | Sweetheart's POV

Things go from bad to worse, and all of it's Sweetheart's own doing. - Fooliverse Sweetheart faces off with that first shade. They already know Milo, but things are a lot more complicated than they might have been, not least because of their own stubbornness and pride. Hopefully that pride won't get them killed. Hopefully.

TW: violence, mentions of sex, the Department, illness, arguments, general toxicity

Jet had a handful of not so kind words for you when you finally showed up to work the next day, first for being late and then for not seeking medical attention the night before.  

“If you are unable to handle a single threat independently,” Jet had seethed, emailing medical about your impending visit as he spoke, “then you might consider a change in title.”  

You didn’t say a thing in protest. You ignored the orders to report to medical, and instead made your way back to your desk in the bullpen, pulling up the open case file on your shitty, ancient desktop computer. You added new notes to the shade’s file, new findings on its abilities and appearance, and drafted an email to a magical expert on Death. Unfortunately, that expert lived in Tanzania, so you would have to find someone who could translate your message to Swahili, and his back to English for any of it to matter.  

You missed lunch entirely, too focused on the work in front of you to glance down at the desktop clock or the silver watch your father had given you last Christmas that you wore invariably. You only recognized that it was nearing one in the afternoon when a hand tapped your desk, drawing your attention away from your investigation for the first time in hours.  

Dr. Collins was an intimidating man. You weren’t afraid of him, per say, but you certainly didn’t want to end up on the bad side of his death glare. When you looked up, recognizing his Department emblazoned white coat and the irritated crinkle in his brow, you shifted your gaze from his silver eyes to the bridge of his alkaline nose.  

“Investigator,” Collins’ drawl clipped his words particularly aggressively, “care to tell me why I received a memo that you were reporting to my office hours ago only to find you at your desk, looking like you just got dragged back from Hell?”  

Doctor Sam Collins was one of the rare vampires employed by the Department’s medical division. He oversaw the onsite infirmary, headed the magical/medical research in the Department’s underground labs, and liaised with D.A.M.N. concerning their healing courses. The only reason he was afforded those positions, of course, was because of his incredible power pre-turning.  

I was a wolf, Milo had said. You wondered if Collins had that same sort of grief in his voice when talking about his power.  

“Probably because I was, Doc.” You shrugged, stretching your back for the first time in hours. A series of loud, obtrusive cracks echoed out through the nearly empty room. When had everybody else left? You checked your watch. Lunch. Right. 

“I told you you’d find them here.” An indignant huff from behind you. You whipped your head around, your neck popping audibly at the sudden movement. Cam was standing at the entrance of the bullpen, his hands on his hips. You’d never seen him look annoyed before. His face was usually blank and serene.  

“You were right.” Collins shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re lucky your friend has a good read on you, Investigator. I was fixing to sick your supervisor after you. And I’ve worked with Jet long enough to know how unpleasant that would be.”  

You groaned, your head falling back to rest against your stiff office chair. God, your head was pounding. Your throat felt like something had clawed its way out of it. Your stomach was still uneasy. Your muscles ached.  

“You look terrible.” Cam said, suddenly much closer to you. You jerked at his nearness, nearly toppling out of your chair. The Doctor’s unnatural reflexes saved you. All of the annoyance leaked from him at once as he knelt to begin examining you. His hands were cold when they rested on your forehead, tilted your face this way and that. You wondered if it was a result of his vampiric condition, or if it was because he was a doctor.  

“Double whammy.” You muttered, your eyes slipping closed.  

“You’re delirious.” Collins replied. Healing magic sparked around you, warm and bright like sunshine. You let it wash over your skin, not fighting against Collins’ assessment or Cam’s gentle, soothing touch.  

“Are you making me calmer?” You asked Cam, more accusatory than anything. He huffed, offended.  

“I wouldn’t without asking.” Cam assured you. “I think... you’re just too tired to fight back.”  

“Something got its hooks in you.” The Doctor added. Cool hands hovered over the skin of your neck. “I’m gonna touch, just for a second. Let’s take care of these bruises.” 

“Bruises?” You croaked, just as Collins’ hands slid around your neck. His magic swelled around you, and you swung out, pushed at his shoulders to try and get him away. Your heart began to race, your body suddenly awake and alert. You stood, pushing your chair away and stumbling back from Collins and Cam.  

“Easy!” The doctor said, his hands extended in front of him like he was surrendering. Cam had a strange, sad look to him. Pity. Your stomach turned.  

“I’m sick.” You snapped, shaking your hands out at your sides. You were suddenly filled with anxious energy. “The flu.”  

Cam said your name, so soft and cloying. You knew that tone. He was talking down to you, treating you like you couldn’t handle this. You could handle this.  

“I should go home.” You said. “Since I have the flu.” Doctor Collins squinted at you. Those silver eyes nearly pulled you in. Your hand twitched to your phone. You should call Milo.  

“Let someone take you.” He ordered. “I’d do it myself if the damn sun wasn’t still up. You’re lucky you work on this side of the building, or I wouldn’t have been able to come up and see you in person.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his body sagging a bit. He looked exhausted all of a sudden. What a waste, you thought. He can’t help me.  

“I’ll be fine.” You said, shaking your head. “I’ll get an Uber or something.”  

“Please wait,” Cam said, stepping forward, a hand outstretched towards you, “let me take you home.” 

“It’s fine, Cam,” you sighed, “you’ve gotta get back to work.”  

It was raining by the time you stepped outside, and the late-summer, early-fall chill left you shivering and soaked. You hadn’t bothered with a jacket when you came stumbling into work, and you hadn’t bothered to snag the umbrella you kept in your desk’s bottom drawer for days just like this. Summer in Dahlia meant sudden rainstorms and that damp sort of air that hurt to breathe.  

Well, breathing hurt in general, at that moment. You stalked down the sidewalk, soaked through, and tried to decide where you were going.  

Home was in the opposite direction, but you refused to turn back and be seen as wandering from the Department’s windows. You kept moving, calling up your known paths through the city, trying to remember where you could double back.  

A car pulled up beside you, low to the ground, shining, and blood red. You ignored it, crossed your arms over your chest, and kept moving. You had learned by this point in your life not to give catcallers the time of day.  

“Hey Sweetness,” the voice of this particular catcaller got your attention. You stopped short, turned. Milo’s car halted its crawl. The sedan behind him honked impatiently, but Milo paid them no mind. “Whatcha doing out here in the rain? Not that I’m complaining about the wet shirt part.”  

“Asshole.” You whispered, but you opened the passenger door and deposited yourself inside, dripping all over his leather interior. 

“Woah,” Milo said, his voice suddenly concerned, “you weren’t kidding about the flu. You look like shit.” 

“Gee,” you rolled your eyes, “you flirt. You sure know how to make someone blush.” 

“Hey,” Milo put his car into drive and peeled off of the curb, merging dangerously fast with traffic. He swerved skillfully between cars going too slow for his liking. Your stomach lurched. “I’m expressing concern over here.” 

“I don’t need concern.” You hissed. “If everybody would stop pitying me it would make my fucking day.” 

Milo’s mouth snapped shut. His anger was palpable. Good. You preferred anger to whatever else he was cooking up. Anger you could deal with. Anger was familiar. 

“I’m taking you to my place.” Milo said after a long silence. “I’ll… make you soup. Or something.” 

You sighed, resting your head back against the seat. Your head pounded. You didn’t fight sleep when it pressed against the back of your eyes. 

When you woke, you realized that Milo must have carried you inside. You were in the center of his sinfully soft, sinfully giant bed, tucked into his billion thread-count sheets. You sat up and groaned as your migraine made its presence known. You couldn’t have at least slept that off. That would make your life a fraction easier, and that wasn’t allowed. 

When you got your legs under you, shaky knees and all, you found yourself clad in an oversized tee and boxer shorts. They smelled like Milo, even if you couldn’t imagine him wearing something so casual and you knew he didn’t frequent underwear at all. Or maybe he just went commando when he knew he might get lucky. Either way, he’d gone through the trouble of pulling these out for you, undressing you, re-dressing you, tucking you lovingly in bed. The sentimentality of it all made your stomach flip. 

You could smell something cooking and followed your nose down the stairs and through the twisting halls of Milo’s giant house. Said giant house included a kitchen that gave you a stab of jealousy when you first saw it. Milo wasn’t using it, not for much, anyway. He had an extensive bar cart in one corner, his giant, state of the art fridge was stocked entirely with blood, and his walk-in pantry had one corner filled with sugar snacks. He seemed to only keep food for his fuck buddies. You shivered at the idea of anybody else utilizing those. You would have to start keeping track of them, just to be sure. 

Milo was standing over the stove, a brand new wooden spoon in one hand, his phone pressed to his ear in the other. 

“Davey,” he hissed, “I’m not asking for a lecture. I’m asking how to make it just a little more palatable.” You could hear a deep voice rumble on the other side, but couldn’t make out any words. “Jesus Christ, I should have never called you! I’m not gonna make a fucking bone broth when Cambles so helpfully provides soup in nice little cans.” His eyes flicked to you, whether it was your heartbeat or your snickering that gave you away. He extended one finger to you, as if to say I’ll deal with you in a minute. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, you pretentious asshole.” He hung up. 

“House member?” You asked, crossing to the large island that filled up the middle of the spacious kitchen. There were plastic bags from some pharmacy or another littered around it. You poked around, nosey as ever. Generic painkillers. Three cans of chicken noodle soup. A dozen Gatorades of different flavors. A smattering of cold and flu medicines. Cough drops. He must have grabbed anything he thought might help. Cute. 

“Old friend.” He corrected, turning back to the little pot on the stove in front of him. “Davey doesn’t believe canned soup is a valid form of food. I thought he might have a few ideas on how to improve it. Turns out all he was interested in was telling me off for even buying it.” 

“I can eat canned soup.” You shrugged. “It’s all the same stuff.” 

“Exactly.” Milo huffed. He turned off his burner and started to pour the soup from the pot into one of his sleek, black ceramic bowls. Even his dishware looked expensive. “You get it.” 

He walked the bowl over to you, handed you a spoon, and directed you to one of the stools pushed up under the island. You sat down heavily, snagged a green Gatorade, and downed the soup like a starving man. 

“There’s more.” Milo said, sitting next to you. “And some stuff in the pantry. I just grabbed a buncha’ shit. Don’t know what you like.” 

“You didn’t have to do all that.” You shook your head. Milo refilled your bowl before you could blink. You didn’t protest. 

“Well, you looked like you needed it.” He shrugged. He was trying to act casual, but you could feel him observing you, taking in every detail, like he was waiting for you to keel over. 

Funnily enough, once you scraped your bowl and went to stand, your knees buckled. He caught you, of course. He bundled you into his chest, your cheek pressed against the exposed skin of his peck. Stupid, silken shirt unbuttoned to his navel. Stupid pretty silver necklaces, cold without any body heat of his own. Stupid little shake in his chest as he steadied you. 

“Easy, Sweets.” He said. “Just- will you take it easy? Let me help you.” He was exasperated. Frustrated. 

You pushed back, stumbling away from him. 

“I don’t-“ you shook your head, pressed your hands into the kitchen island and braced yourself. “I’m fine.” 

“Bullshit.” Milo spat. “You look like death warmed over. I can help! Let me help!” 

“I don’t need your help!” You shouted. Your voice rose out of you, anger and stubbornness filling you with newfound energy. “I can handle this! I don’t care what bullshit they put me through, I can handle it!” 

Milo was quiet. He held your gaze. You held his. Your brain screamed to look away, but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even tranced you, but you were trapped. 

“Did-“ he pursed his lips. “What did D.U.M.P. get you into?” 

He read you like a book. You gave too much away. 

“Where are my clothes?” You asked instead of answering him. He huffed, his hands falling to his hips. His stupid, pretty hands. His stupid, muscly hips. You didn’t know if you wanted to hit him or kiss him. 

“No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“What do you mean ‘no?’” 

“I mean I’m not gonna let you go back into whatever the fuck you’re dealing with alone.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he extended that finger again. You didn’t care for that one fucking bit. “And I know you could handle it, Sweetness, you are a force of fucking nature. But you’re not being given the resources you need, and it’s clearly affecting you. So tell me what you need and I will give it to you, Sweetheart!”

“What I need,” you spat, “is for you to stop calling me that!”

“What?” 

“Sweetheart.” You poorly imitated his accent. He huffed out a short laugh. “Sweetness. All those stupid, cute nicknames.”

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His face smoothed over into a smile, but you could see the tension in his body. He was giving you an out, a way to step away from the argument before you said something you would regret. 

Fuck him. You would say what you wanted to say. 

“You’re not my boyfriend.” You growled. “And I’m not your mate.” 

It was a calculated killing blow. You knew as it left your tongue that it would hurt, that it would cut him to the bone. The two of you had fucked a handful of times, talked even less, but he, for some goddam reason, had shown you the parts of him that still bled. You hadn’t wanted to use them against him, but you had no choice. Your own weaknesses were so obvious, so clear to the eye, and anybody could use them against you. He was luring you in with all coddling and sweet talking. He didn’t care about you. You wouldn’t let him back you into a corner when you knew how to get away. 

Milo’s face went slack, his whole body rearing back from that word. Your gut twisted with something like guilt. You wouldn’t have that. You twisted your fingers into the collar of his oversized shirt and held on for dear life. This was survival, simple as that. Nothing personal. That was something that Milo of all people would understand. 

“Out.” He hissed finally, breaking the silence that had overtaken the kitchen. Milo’s eyes were dark, darker than they usually were. His pupils had blown to encompass his silver irises. His face went horrific in a split second. Your body reminded you that you were facing down a monster. 

He moved very suddenly, disrupting the air in the room. Your breath caught as his hands landed on you. Your clothes were pulled off before you could protest. Your heart seized in your chest, but as that word pressed at the back of your teeth, you were redressed in the blink of an eye. Your work clothes, still warm from the dryer, were buttoned and tucked before the cool air of Milo’s kitchen could touch your skin. Your shoes were on your feet. Milo’s hands landed on your shoulders and he began to steer you towards the door. Even this angry, his touch was gentle, feather light, like he was afraid to hurt you. 

And fuck, if that didn’t make you that much more angry. 

You were out the door, unsure if you’d even managed a single independent step. Milo’s touch left you immediately. Your phone, keys, wallet were in your hands. You spun around and saw your shitty sedan parked next to one of Milo’s six priceless sports cars in the driveway. He must have picked it up while you were sleeping. Your stomach flipped. 

You turned back around. Milo was hovering in the doorway, shadows cast across his face from the low light of his house. His eyes were glazed over entirely black now. His fangs were extended, pressing into his pretty, full lips. 

“I shared that with you,” Milo said, his voice tinged with something animalistic, something wild, “as a show of trust. I told that to you because I know that I have a lot of power. I told you something that I knew could hurt me, because I know it’s not easy to do that.” His face twisted up. You were terrified, for a moment, that he would cry. “Fuck you. Fuck you for using that to hurt me.” 

“You could hurt me without even trying!” You seethed. You wrapped your arms around your middle, trying to hold yourself up. 

“Yeah.” Milo nodded. “I could. But I didn’t.” 

The door shut in your face. You stared at the stained mahogany like it might have answers for you. You screamed until your chest gave way to stuttered, panicked gasps. You got in your car and drove away. 

Your desk was waiting for you when you made it back to the office. Jet’s office was darkened, and only a handful of other investigators remained at their desks. It was late evening, bordering on much too late to be here. You sat down anyway and started working. 

By the time morning came round, you had far more information than you did at the start of the day before. For one, you had a rudimentary understanding of Swahili, and had managed to properly convey what you needed from your expert using a few online dictionaries and whatever Google Translate had to offer. He was a pleasant guy, if your translations were correct, and had affirmed that he would send a statement your way within the next few days with everything he knew about shades broken down into simple enough terms for the Department to work with. 

Your back ached and your stomach was still in knots, but you felt much better than you had the day before. Whatever affects the shade’s life-sucking-bullshit left its victims with wore off with time and rest. You added it to your notes, and sent a quick email to Collins to report your improved health. The sun had started to rise when you received a message back. 

Report to medical for field clearance. Don’t make me sick Jet on you. 

You sighed, scrubbing at your tired eyes. You knew it was pointless to resist. Collins would get you down there eventually, one way or another. It looked better for you if you went voluntarily. 

There was a whole floor to the medical department. Half of it was dedicated only to Dr. Collins’ medical research and the seminars he taught for D.A.M.N.. The other half made up the Department’s extensive infirmary. Staffed by Dr. Collins’ loyal group of doctors and nurses. They were a vicious bunch, too smart for anybody’s good, and skilled beyond all reason in both mundane and magical healing. Collins expected nothing but exceptional skill from his staff, and he wouldn’t settle for anything less.

[randomly--accessed--memories]

Just a tiny little side note; I’ve noticed another popular Vox headcanon throughout the fandom was that he had a daughter when he was alive - and said daughter was either

an innocent child who ends up dying tragically young directly before Vox’s death

an innocent child who ends up loosing her father when she was incredibly young and never truly knows how terrible he was

either way it leaves for Vox to suffer with emotions except NO! cause he suppresses them to the max lol (it causes more damage lmao!!!)

also seen people use this to layer Vox as a villain by showing more “softer sides” (well as soft as somebody like Vox could be)

Absent father who somewhat loves his kids to think about them & buy them plenty of gifts but not enough to actually be around

He will buy the ballet slippers but he will not be at the dance recital basically

Maybe juuusst maybe he will bring them along on “take your kid to work day” but will probably treat them like trophy children to show off

“Yeah. She got the 1st place in the spelling bee out of her entire elementary!! She’s also a piano prodigy! Ain’t she a smart girl? I’M such a good dad!!”

(Maybe Tom has gifted child burnout)

Oh, I wasn’t aware that Vox having kids was a popular headcanon. Yeah, Sarah definitely falls into the latter category; she lived to a ripe old age and clung on to the handful of fond memories of her dad, remaining in denial about how much of an asshole he really was, despite her brother and mother’s attempts to convince her otherwise (although the other day I came up with an idea where Vox’s kids die young in a car accident (their mother was driving under the influence) and end up in Hell for some reason. Vox probably kills their mom— partially out of anger for getting them killed, partially just because he wanted them for himself— or just picks them up off the streets if she survived the crash and takes them into his care. He keeps them hidden away (possibly in a literal fish tank since they’re both aquatic demons) to protect them from those who might try to harm them to get to him. He gives them all the material comforts they could ever want but never lets them out of his cameras' sight— he’s somehow both a helicopter parent and still super neglectful).

Vox sort of saw his kids more as facets of the “perfect life” he constructed for himself rather than as full people. The All-American Man™ was supposed to be the doting father of 2.5 kids, so that’s what he decided to be. Sarah slotted into that role well because of her timid, docile, and unconditionally loving personality, but Tommy was always more wise to how shitty and fake that image was and refused to fully play into it. As a result, Vox found it easier to interact with Sarah since she craved and would happily accept his affection/attention whenever he bothered to be around, whereas Tommy always looked at him with a more critical/resentful eye. He did genuinely love both his kids, but his self-absorption poisoned his relationships with them.

He’d provide them with all the material comforts they might need but never actually made time for them, only showing up when it was convenient for him. He loved bragging about their achievements to colleagues; he didn’t pressure them to excel that much since his own parents made his childhood miserable by constantly pushing him to be The Best at everything and he didn’t want to inflict that on them, although he could get pretty snappish when he felt like Tommy wasn’t performing his baseline role as The Happy, Perfect Son™. Vox would be thrilled if he ever reunited with him in Hell and learned he went into government— his son, a governor/state representative!— and even though Tom doesn’t want to want this asshole’s approval… he still kinda does.

Thankfully, after 170 years of Insane Stuff, Vox has gone through enough that when he reunites with Sarah in Heaven, he actually wants to build a real relationship with her. He has a hard time accepting his past faults as a father, but he’d too worn-down to continue being a phony asshole, and, well, now he’s got nothing but time to work on correcting those flaws.

[lollytea]

Up until a month back I liked a guy. And I really liked him. But I found out he didn't like me back. I was really upset, but I didn't want to hold it against him, but then I found out he had a reputation of being a player (which, at our age of 14 is flirtatiously texting girls and then just. Ghosting them).

And I felt really upset. I began to question if he even saw me as a friend, and whether the way he texted me was even friendly. What if he secretly loathed me and was just doing this to get a kick out of it? What if he knew about my feelings and they were just a joke to him?

I wanted to cry, but I told my friends and my sister I was okay. But I wanted to scream. Its not my fault I was born ugly. It's not my fault my face makes me unlovable. And even though I wanted to distance myself from him I felt some sort of perverse pleasure every time he did something embarrassing in front of every one.) And that's when I think it hit me.

That's why I'm unlovable. I am unlovable because I'm a terrible person. My friends tried to comfort me saying that he's a shitty person who can't see my beauty/cuteness, but friends are obligated to say that. I wanted to believe them because they're all so beautiful, and they would never lie to me because they love me. But they deserve a better friend than me.

I want to cry because I want to experience having a whirlwind romance, and falling in love. I also know I'll probably never have that.

And AGH I feel so upset. Because all my life I've known I was ugly. But when this guy showed me attention, was nice to me, it made me feel special. Made me feel like I was having my own romance.

I hate it I hate it I hate it. I hate that I can't be loved, I hate my face, I hate myself for feeling these things. Last year when I suspected I began liking him, I told myself not to fall too deep, and here I am, ranting to you on tumblr dot com.

Lollytea, I love your writing and I love your posts. I love how confident you are of yourself. I'm very sorry for ranting in your inbox about my shitty love life, if this makes you uncomfortable, please delete it. But if you don't, I genuinely would like some encouragement. That my time for my own romance will come. That I will learn to love this face.

You're not unlovable. You're just 14. It just happens that being 14 feels a lot like being chronically unlovable. But no, that is not actually the case.

Maybe you've heard this a lot. And I imagine that it must be frustrating to listen to. That being a teenager just means your emotions are bigger and more intense than they will ever be in your entire life, so they're irrational and silly.

That's not the case either. Your feelings matter. And they're worth being listened to. But I do need you to keep in mind that the age range you're in right now is one of the most difficult periods of time that a human being will ever go through. Being a teenager is very hard. Being an adult is hard too. But me and every adult I've ever met would not trade it for being 14 again. No way in hell.

It does severely influence how you see yourself and why your emotions feel so strong and messy and all over the place. But I assure you that you're doing a fantastic job for a person in your situation. It's rough and you're getting through it and I'm proud of you.

Firstly, I'm going to say this quite bluntly but dont take it as me insulting them. Most of the boys in your class probably aren't that smart. And they are the absolute worst people to be seeking validation from. I promise that their opinion of you is not worth worrying about because they are...stupid, frankly. They won't be stupid forever. Probably. But being 14 is a weird age for boys too and they're quite mean for a while before they mature and chill tf out. Please try not to let it get to you if one of them doesn't like you romantically. I promise you it is not remotely a big deal. None of them have any idea how to be good boyfriends yet anyway.

No, you're not unlovable for occasionally having spiteful little thoughts about somebody who was mean to you. Everybody has those every once in a while. As long as you maintain some self-awareness and don't let cruelty consume your whole brain, having a few mean thoughts doesn't make you a terrible person. What WOULD make you a terrible person is external terrible behaviour. It's your actions that matter. So just be kind, alright? Be kind to your friends. Ignore the people you don't like but be civil. Don't hurt anyone. If you stick to all of this, you're golden. Considering that you already seem so self-critical of being a bit bitchy inside your own head, I think that's a promising sign than you won't do anything worse than that. I hope so anyway. Be kind, that's all you can do. Your friends love you. If you put your all into loving them in return, then you can have something so special.

You're not ugly, you're 14. Sorry, I'm getting a bit repetitive but I think it's relevant information to this whole situation. At the age you're at, your face is probably in this weird transitional period between child and adult so maybe that's why it might look "uglier" than usual to you. It might last a few more years but it won't look like that forever. I assure you that your face is beautiful because it's doing exactly what it's supposed to do. It's alright if you've felt ugly your whole life. The way you look at your own face is way more personal than the way you look at other people's faces. We don't really notice the flaws on others the way we notice our own. We're wired weird like that.

All I can say is hang tight. If you don't like your face then please try not to let it upset you that much. Your face hasn't fully developed yet. For the time being, you look exactly the way you're supposed to look and you're perfect. Let's see how it looks in a few years before we make any rash decisions about it being as ugly as you think it is.

Don't be hasty in the belief that you'll never find love and romance. I assure you that the age you're at is the absolute worst time to get a boyfriend and its perfectly okay if you don't experience it for another while. It's normal. You're fine. It's okay.

I know you want it. I know it sounds nice. And I promise that if its important to you, once you're older and the people you're interested in are a little smarter, you will have it.

I'm serious when I say that for the time being, focus on being a good friend. Focus on school. Focus on your own physical and mental health. Focus on your hobbies. Being wanted by 14 year old boys won't mean shit in the long run.

Things will be okay. You talk so much about how you'll be alone for the rest of your life. But your life has only just begun and you hardly know who you are yet. It's impossible to tell what will happen in the coming years. I promise that you'll be okay.

I know you came for me for reassurance but from that last paragraphs, I'm sure you're already smart enough to know the things I've told you. But I imagine that you just needed a second opinion. Take care, love.

[mchlgayser]

Can you pls write fluff and angst for Jobe where he and the reader get into an argument so she ignores him, then he realizes he’s in the wrong then apologizes?

𓂃⭑ᜊ: APOLOGIZING ft jobe bellingham

𓂃⭑ᜊ an: HELLO! Omg you don't know how much I love writing for Jobe rn skshskhs and this idea is *a massive chef kiss* Hope you like this one babes!!

𓂃⭑ᜊ content warning: argument and cursing

𓂃⭑ᜊ: @iwritesjud3's masterlist

'You are always like this! Can you stop being so controlling for once? I told you that I and he are assigned to a group project. It was for school only that's why we met up at the cafe, not a date!' He was quiet, brutally quiet angering you even more.

'Jobe! You should've said anything now that you had already dragged me out of the cafe and embarrassed me in front of everyone!' Silent. You was frustrated, so frustrated at him.

'Alright, if this how you wanted it to be, fine be it.' You cross your arms over your chest and head toward the window. The rest of the ride was quiet until he dropped you at your house 'Y/n.' You open the door and slammed it shut as hard as you can

You know he was following behind but you did not care, knocking on the door multiple times but nobody answered, you groan going under the rug to find a key there and unlocked the door 'Hey Y/n!' Just as you were about to close the door, he prevented it by blocking it with his foot 'Hey, it wasn't entirely my fault innit? It's yours too for not telling me anythin-'

You pushed his foot away and closed the door 'If you still wanted to blame me for that, then leave now.' You didn't wait and tread upstairs to your space.

Jobe rolled his eyes at your demeanor of always trying to be the 'right' one and left after.

Weeks passed, none of you exchanging words with each other, more like you ignoring him, Jobe had been trying to get your attention the past few weeks but you denied him.

He was troubled, not knowing what to do, in his defense he wasn't the only one who was in the wrong, partially it's your fault too. But as time flew, he started to realize just how shitty and wrong he was.

He talks to the guys and found out that the project consists of a few of your friends and even the guy's boyfriend, yes Jude found out that he's into men. Oh, how terrible he felt after knowing that but even so, trying to convince you to talk to him is a whole other level. You wouldn't even spare a glance at him.

You would go on your days, trying to kick the voices out of your head about how you missed him, trying to resist the urge to jump on him and bask in his warmth.

Today is no different, Jobe trying to gain your attention but getting none, you would just walk through him and pretend like he does not even exist.

'Hey! You know what, that's it!' He picks you up by your waist and throws you over his shoulder 'Oh my God! What the fuck! Jobe, what are you doing? I'm wearing a skirt for God's sake!'

But your ranting fell on deaf ears as he continued dragging you to where you don't know. He stopped abruptly once he arrived at the school's backyard 'I'm going!' You yelled and ran but he caught you again 'Stop it!' You whined hitting his calf with your foot and he hiss 'Ow! That hurts!'

You crossed your arms together and pout away from him 'That's what you get for being such an arsehole!' He snickered, but once he saw your stern expression he readjusted his posture and fake a cough 'Okay, fine. I'm sorry for what I did to you. I was wrong. 100%. I found out about the guy and felt so guilty. I doubted you and get unreasonably jealous. I am a dick and realize that.'

You were quiet and he grows anxious from the lack of response '...Just a dick? You were a dickbag.' You deadpanned, eyes still not on his

You heard him stifle a laugh and you rolled your eyes 'Well, apologies accepted I guess..?' He didn't waste a second and engulf you in a bone-crush hug.

'Fucking hell! I can't breathe!' He eventually broke the hug and scratched his un-itch neck 'Sorry,' He gave you one last peck before pulling you back inside the school.

[respectthepetty]

Hello hello! I finally caught up on DFF a few days ago and have been reading a bunch of meta ever since, but there are some things I can’t follow. Maybe you can help me?

First off, we keep talking about there being a Final Girl, but why is everyone so sure that there will be one? I could see more people surviving or the story going in a different direction entirely. Where does this conviction come from?

Then, I’m on board with the idea of hallucinations, but one thing that always bothers me is the question of how you could make sure that they all hallucinate the very same thing? I don’t know how hallucination-inducing drugs work, but that seems kind of weird to me.

Also, who is Tan and who is Perth again? This is such a dumb question, but I’m terrible with names and faces, and I know most of the characters now, but I keep mixing up these two.

Thank you so much for your time!

Anon, let me answer your last question first:

This is Mio who plays Tan in the series. Tan is part of the friend group but came along after Non disappeared.

This is Perth but it is unknown who he is playing in the series. He was only in the background of this scene in the dark jacket with the grey shirt.

As for the other questions, unfortunately, I cannot help you because unlike the rest of these perfectly normal people watching Dead Friend Forever, I'm crazy.

And because I'm crazy, I do NOT care about "reasoning" when it comes to my wack-a-doodle-doo theories. Therefore, White will be the Final Gay simply because I want him to be, and because none of these other motherf*ckers deserve to live.

Yeah, Fluke hasn't actively done anything, but he knew all of this was happening and turned a blind eye, so if Por is dead, why not just kill all of them? Well, expect for the actual killers, Tan and Phi, and the Final Gay White.

Por's death could have just been an accident, and everyone else will get out of this alive, but . . . I don't want it. I want Fluke to shoot Top, Tee to wrestle the gun away from Fluke only for it to go off and kill Fluke, White to kill Tee and run off scared, Tan to "die" because of an asthma attack (but he won't be dead), which will leave Jin and Phi as the only survivors, only for Jin to be stabbed by Phi right before White shows up with help.

Do you feel the crazy? Do you see what I was saying about myself? You cannot ask me logical questions because I am not using deductive skills. I'm operating off of vibes and vibes alone, which is why I felt Phi was sus in episode one. It's also why I don't like Jin. It's a vibe.

Which brings me to your drugs question - The vibes are off!

I think that Non is still alive and running around scaring them all, so not everything is because of the drugs, but if the energy isn't right, if the mood isn't chill, if the vibe isn't good, the drugs are going to hit different. The figurative trip will be bad. So if the literal trip involves the boys talking about Non and seeing videos of Non while they run through the woods for their lives, whatever drugs are in their system aren't going to be happy in a body with that amount of stress, and their brain will focus on Non and the masked killer. In fact, a common side effect of most party drugs is paranoia.

Hell, even some known prescriptions for depression and anxiety can cause these side effects.

Then again, I just do drugs. I don't know the actual science behind them, but I do know if the vibes ain't right, you're not gonna have a good night.

And these boys seem to be having a really shitty night.

But also, the boys haven't all seen the same thing. Fluke saw Por's eyes bleeding and attacking him. White saw a rash on his skin. Jin saw Mr. Keng. Top saw the masked killer trying to axe him (I think part of this was real) and thought he saw a masked killer in the road, so he scared Tee going on about it. Top also might be having a reaction to it which is why he was seizing.

PSA: Test your drugs, kids. Even Amazon, which I think is the devil, sells drug testing kits.

In case you have no idea what this image is about, the joint in her hand is laced with cocaine and was probably one of the reasons her ass was going through endless time loops, so don't do coke. Or things laced with it. Unless you wanna go into other dimensions and DIE every single time. Okay? M'kay!

So to wrap up my special brand of crazy:

White will be the Final Gay because like the Backstreet Boys, "I want it that way."

Everyone deserves to die because Phi is a cop's kid, and if the cops are good for anything, it's covering up the truth, so let this work in our favor for once.

Drugs be drugging, and sometimes people will think of the boy they tried to kill when under the influence, but it's a toss up. Who can predict what a person will see? So, like, don't betray people and you won't hallucinate being stalked by your own guilt *cough* Judas *cough*

Oh, and always test your drugs.

I hope this helped you, but it probably didn't. Either way, I'll see you in the tags in a few hours after Non finally loses his shit.

Slay, Non, slay!

[bozepomagaj]

How to train your dog.

College AU!Trigun (part 3)

Summary: a couple of days pass and you find out that your professor set you up with none other than Nai Saverem to work on a thesis. You, however, decide to make the most of this and finally confront him and show him who's the 'big dog' now with the help of your new friend, Vash.

A/N: I stalled this for far too long for too many reasons but here it finally is! This year is gonna be hectic as I have an undergraduate to do but I'll do my best to stay consistent this time and continue writing this. This one's a bit shorter than the last two parts but I hope that nonetheless people still enjoy it. Like always, criticism is appreciated.

CW: light swearing, mentions of being roofied/drugged

Word count: 1.8k

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3]

You thought everything was going to go smoothly. You thought that your plan was perfect: befriend Vash's friend group, get closer to Vash, and make Nai's life hell. Except, of course, you were never that lucky.

"Can't I just do this by myself?"

Obviously, he'd say that. As rude and brash as ever, however, you had manners so obviously you didn't talk back. Your professor leaned back in his chair sighing in annoyance. He was an older man and it was very clear he was not here to have a debate with you two.

„Listen, the event is in 2 weeks. The topic is very complex and detailed and I don't want you overworking yourself. I gave this assignment to you both because out of everyone here, you two are the only ones who look like their will to live hasn't evaporated yet and seem genuinely interested in what I'm talking about. Not only that but both of you have made some exceptional projects in the past. I need this to be perfect, it's gonna be representing the entire school.“

Open Door Days. The singlehandedly worst and best event every year. Your classes were shortened or simply canceled which was wonderful but then at the same time all the best students were chosen to do all kinds of different projects to „encourage young people to choose this major“.  And of course, you just so happened to be this „best of the best“. This also meant that you'd have to be there, standing for a whopping 8 hours watching annoying high schoolers giggle at you as they eat all the snacks and don't even appreciate all the hard work you've put into these theses.

„Plus, what kind of impression would we leave on the younger generations if we didn't promote teamwork?“

Nai's annoyance was so terribly obvious and irritating. Couldn't he at the very least pretend to be fine with this out of respect?

„Right, my apologies. So the due date is in 2 weeks?“

„A little earlier. We need to submit it by Tuesday so try to get it done by Saturday so I can review it in case there are any mistakes. If you get stuck at any point just come to me and I'll help you out.“

You and Nai both silently nod. The professor hands you 2 large Encyclopedias on the probably largest and most complex topic: bacteriology. Nothing specific, just something from that field which just so happened to be so complex that you could spend at least a week picking which topic to do. In any case, this was a nightmare for both of you. You were responsible and you could get over this silly little grudge but Nai? Oh, he would never. To everyone, he was a force to be feared and reckoned with, terrifyingly intelligent, hard-working with an immaculate work ethic. He took care of his body like it was a sacred temple. Everything about this man oozed with pride and adoration. That was until you got to his shitty personality. At times it honestly felt like you were conversing with a child rather than a grown man. But it was too late to say anything now, with scoffs on both of your faces, you both exited the classroom and you immediately stepped in front of him so he didn't get a chance to run off.

„I need your number. Also, we'll be meeting up at your place cuz it's nicer.“

Quick and straightforward. You learned that this was the best way to make him even listen to you. He cocked his eyebrow and clicked his tongue, a habit he got recently and only did it when he was annoyed.

„Alright. But I expect you not to make a mess of my apartment.“

He handed you his phone and you entered his phone number into yours then entered yours into his. The moment you were done, he snatched the phone from your hands and walked off. You scoffed and yelled after him.

„I'm coming over at 4!“

Whether he heard you or not you really couldn't care less. Your entire walk home was ruined, all you could think about was him and his irritating face, his irritating attitude, his irritating... well, everything at this point. Once you were home all the frustration melted as your dear puppy jumped up on you excitedly. He was honestly a better friend than most humans. It's like he'd always know what you needed. Whether it be silence and some quiet time with his paw resting on your leg while he quietly pants or him dragging you out with his leash in his mouth, urging you to take him on a walk to forget about everything. The only thing was, he was young, healthy, strong, and very much untrained. Plus, as a border collie, he had the energy of not one but five horses. Sure, he was a great source of motivation but sometimes you just couldn't keep up with him. Times like these made you realize why your mom told you that it might be best to leave him at home with them where he could go out and play far more often. You glance over to your living room... ravaged living room, to be more specific. He seemed to have another one of his energy spurts and decided to redecorate everything. Plants on the floor, pillows everywhere, and a couple of pictures broken. You couldn't get mad at him because you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into. Instead with a heavy sigh you send him to your room and go sit down at your computer. You spent some time looking up tutorials and blogs about how to train your dog but most of the time, it was about puppies or saying how the dog should've had prior training when they were younger. Which he didn't have. With a heavy sigh, you finally found a blog on which a young woman complains about having a rather large and active dog who wasn't trained prior and is now a total menace to her and everyone in her household. Huh. Seems like there were some people like you after all.

After spending some time looking through the comments, reading the replies of professionals or just random people who learned how to work with dogs you came to two conclusions:

There was still hope for you and there is still a chance that your big puppy could turn into the greatest boy ever with enough treats and reassurance and you won't have to pay concerning amounts of money for him to receive proper training and number two.

Nai was more similar to a dog than you thought.

You kept thinking about him since you were gonna have to meet him up in.... oh crap, less than an hour!? You decided that it was time to pack your stuff if you wanted to be on time. Unfortunately to you, the apartment he lived in was quite a bit away from yours so you needed to take a bus to there. The neighborhood wasn't unfamiliar to you because Meryl lived in the same apartment complex, her parents knew the couple who owned the place and decided to lower her rent slightly, while she got to live in a fancy apartment. Lucky.

As you wait for the tram (because you managed to miss the bus by a couple of seconds), your bus vibrates. You quickly take it out expecting it to be Meryl but instead, it's an unknown number. You make a face, thinking it is some kind of a scammer, but then again would a scammer really send you a message that says:

„Heard you're coming over :D“

You quickly type up, asking the mysterious person on the other line about their identity to which they immediately respond, almost like they were waiting.

„Did you not save my number? It's Vash :)“

Huh. It seems like you did forget to save his number. You finally see your tram pull up and you quickly jump on, trying to find your spot. Once seated, you start typing:

„yeah srry forgot about it lol“

„It's fine, but are you actually coming over?“

„on the tram rn so yeah, should be there soon“

„Great :D. I'll get some snacks ready.“

Oh, he was so nice. Just as nice as the last time you saw him. This means Nai is going to be positively fuming once he sees you two interact.

The ride to their neighborhood was quick, you played some music to pass the time and with a positive mindset, you skipped over to the apartment complex and walked in (you knew the passcode because Meryl gave it to you numerous times), walking up the stairs up to their apartment. After ringing the small bell you heard some commotion inside and rather than being greeted with Nai's scowl, you were greeted by a big hug from Vash.

„There you are! I already got worried you got lost or something.“

He ushered you to come in and now, that you saw the apartment during the day in all its glory, all you could say is that you were truly in awe. Beautifully decorated with lots of unique flowers and greenery you've never seen.

„Holy crap. I'm guessing you're the one that decorated this place? Cuz my God, it's gorgeous.“

„No, it was me. And since when are you on such good terms with my brother?“

Ah, the man on the hour was finally here. You spot him in the kitchen, a scowl on his face, and he clicks his tongue. Like always. You side-eye him and wait for his dear brother to enlighten him on the situation and the moment Vash opens his mouth, the biggest, most evil grin adorns your face.

„Nai, they're the ones who helped me out the other day. Y'know, when I almost got roofied? They were the ones who dragged me here. Honestly, I can't tell you how grateful I am to them.“

He looks over at you with the biggest smile in the world. Unlike you, he had pure intentions and wanted to show you how grateful he was all the while you were busy watching Nai's face contort, showing far more emotion than he ever has. He looks over to you and the moment he sees your shit-eating grin, it's like you could see the fumes coming out of his ears.

„Well... seems like I misjudged you then. Sorry.“

Sure, he whispered it, sure, you could barely hear him say anything but boy did it feel good to have THE Nai Saverem apologizing to you. And just like one of the commenters on the blog said:

„in order to train your dog properly, you first need to assert dominance and show them that you are confident.“

And it seemed like it was finally time to train this dog properly.

[quietwings-fics]

The Downed Devil

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Samifer Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Wingfic, Winged Lucifer (Supernatural), Unresolved Tension, Season/Series 05 Wordcount: 1972 Summary:

Lucifer gets a little tied up. Sam sets him free.

None of them were expecting Castiel’s traps to actually work.

It was a shot in the dark, an offhand note in one book out of thousands, but funny thing about the Apocalypse. It tended to make people a little desperate. Which was how Sam ended up here, in the empty house he and Dean were squatting in for the time being (since trespassing was preferable to another night cramped in the Impala) and one room over, if the explosive clatter of noise Sam had woken to meant anything, there was now an angel caught fast. Sam had dialed Dean the minute the noise died down.

“Well,” Dean said, sucking in a breath and sounding as shocked as Sam felt, “shit. Point one for you, Cas.” Sam could hear the angel say something, but whatever it was was lost over the shitty connection. “We’ll be there soon. Cas says we should leave them there. Should be harmless right now.” Dean huffed. “Personally, I think we should fry their ass with holy oil. That’d send a message.” Castiel’s voice again, distinctly aggravated. “It’s not like it’d kill them,” Dean argued with him. “Unless it does. In which case, we’ve figured out a new way to fight angels. Win:win.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Sam said, not in the mood to listen to Dean and Cas bicker for an hour. “Just hurry up.”

“ETA twenty minutes, Sammy.” Dean hung up first, and Sam rolled his eyes. There was one thing he knew he should absolutely not do, which was go see who exactly got themselves caught by Castiel’s magical mousetrap. That would be a terrible idea.

Sam unlocked the door to the other room and opened it cautiously.

He didn’t see anything at first. He wasn’t entirely sure how this trap worked. Castiel’s explanation had gone over even his head, but it was complicated and it was powerful. Sam opened the door further and edged inside, looking around. The room was dark but lacking any furniture, so though it took him a minute to see the person slumped in the corner of the room, it was unmistakably whoever had been caught up in the spell. Sam waited for them to move, but they didn’t. He pushed the door open wider.

Sam reached into his pocket for a small flashlight. The house didn’t have any electricity, and it was too late to rely on sunlight. He clicked it on and raised it to get a better look at the angel in the corner. There was what looked like rope tying them up. They stirred, finally, and turned to look at him just as the beam of his flashlight fell over their face. Sam jolted back. Lucifer stared up at him, unbothered by the light shining in his face, not squinting or ducking his head to avoid it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sam demanded.

“I wanted to check on you,” Lucifer answered. He shifted around, using his shoulder to prop himself up against the wall. “You’ve been avoiding me.” By which he meant that Sam had been sleeping less. Sam squeezed the flashlight in his hand. The brightness of it made Lucifer’s eyes unnaturally pale. “I was worried about you.”

“How’d you find me?” Sam asked, ignoring those last words, ignoring the way they made his chest clench. Just because Lucifer knew how to play him well didn’t mean Sam had to sing for him. “The warding Cas made on my ribs is still working.”

“I have a lot of demons, Sam,” Lucifer said, and his eyes finally drifted away from Sam’s face, a scowl appearing on his face. “Too many. But most of them recognize you on sight. They keep me informed.” He closed his eyes, relaxed, and looked back up at Sam. “Will you let me go?”

“Not likely.” Something hurt settled behind Lucifer’s eyes. Sam let the flashlight drop, inspecting the rest of him. He was tied up tight, his arms and legs out of commission. Sam could see him testing the bonds every few seconds, small movements like he was trying to hide his struggling but persistent. Sam followed the rope over his arm to his back with the flashlight beam, and Lucifer recoiled suddenly, twisting away. He nearly slid down off the wall to the floor in his haste.

“Don’t,” he snapped, voice sharper than Sam had ever heard it be. “Sam, don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Sam asked, taking a step closer. There was something... off about the shape of Lucifer’s body. He couldn’t get a good look from across the room, not with Lucifer trying to hide whatever it was. Lucifer tried to push himself further into his corner. It didn’t work as well as he wanted, and in trying to hide whatever was behind one shoulder from Sam, he ended up exposing his other side. Sam cast the light over it and couldn’t help gaping. “Are those-”

“Stop looking at them!” That sounded less like anger and more like fear, and Sam responded automatically, dropping the beam of the flashlight so that Lucifer was safely hidden away in his dark corner again. It wasn’t like he could forget what he’d seen now. They hadn’t looked like wings, or, at least, they hadn’t looked like wings anymore. Sam couldn’t even tell what color they had been originally, so mired in ash and dust and blood stains, the feathers tangled together or broken or missing completely. Sam didn’t raise the flashlight again, and Lucifer calmed down enough so that when he spoke again, his voice was back to being soft and even. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he said. “They aren’t very pleasant to look at anymore.”

“What happened?” Lucifer gave a little sigh.

“Hell. Michael.” He shuffled again, and Sam could see the silhouette of him turning his head to look over his shoulder in the low light. “I might have done some of it to myself. I can’t remember.” He slumped against the wall again.

Cautiously, Sam raised the flashlight. This time, Lucifer did not recoil. He had his forehead pressed against the wall now, and he glanced at Sam, eyes narrowed. It should have been a threat. Instead, it made him look more tired than anything. He didn’t react to Sam’s inspection this time. He had a better angle to look at them now, with Lucifer half-turned away from him as he was. The wings were bound as tightly as the rest of him, rope cutting deep grooves into the already messed-up feathers. They were uneven where they jutted out from his back, like a broken bone that healed before it could be set correctly, and Sam felt a pang of sympathy despite himself. The idea that Lucifer was flying around orchestrating the end of the world on a broken wing was cruel.

“Are you going to leave me like this?” Lucifer asked, and Sam realized how much closer he’d gotten while looking over the wings, only a foot or so away from the archangel on the floor. Lucifer’s tone was flat, and though he was looking up at Sam, Sam wasn’t entirely sure he was seeing him.

“It’s not like anything can hurt you. Even like this.” Sam said. He grimaced at the echo of Dean’s words from earlier. If there was any angel on Earth his brother would be eager to light on fire, it’d be Lucifer. Lucifer curled further into his corner. His wings flexed, restrained by the rope. There was something so viscerally wrong about that. It made Sam’s stomach twist. This should have felt like a victory, even a minuscule one, to have Lucifer powerless and trapped at his feet. Instead, Sam was caught feeling as though he’d done something sacrilegious.

He watched as Lucifer’s mangled wings tried hopelessly to free themselves.

It wouldn’t help anyone if Dean got his hands on Lucifer like this. They couldn’t kill him, and eventually, Lucifer was going to get free. Whatever Dean did to him in the meantime would be paid back tenfold when he did. There was no world in which Dean and Cas got here to see Lucifer trapped and this ended well. Sam stared at Lucifer’s wings and pretended to reason himself into what he had already decided to do the moment he’d laid eyes on them.

Sam knelt down beside Lucifer and reached for his pocket knife.

The ropes were thick but not impossible to cut through like he’d feared. The trap held no power over him, and he could undo it from the outside. Lucifer kept very still, his minute struggles ceased the moment Sam first set his knife against the rope. When the first one snapped free, Lucifer’s head turned slightly and Sam could feel the weight of his gaze. Another snap, and another, rope after rope falling loose to the ground around Lucifer. Sam didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, didn’t give himself a second to question what the hell he was doing.

The only sounds were Sam’s breathing and the hiss of his knife. Lucifer’s wings were tense, and Sam was trying not to touch him more than he needed to while cutting him free. He wasn’t succeeding. Lucifer’s feathers felt brittle. Sam’s fingers lit up with a strange electric sensation wherever they touched.

Another rope snapped.

Sam didn’t even register what happened next. All he knew was that one moment, he was kneeling next to Lucifer, reaching for another rope, and the next, he was flat on his back. Lucifer was on top of him, his hands flat on Sam’s chest, and there was something wild and furious in his eyes that made Sam’s heart leap into his throat. Lucifer’s wings arched, the right one rising higher than the left, stretching out to dwarf Sam, no matter what state they were in. For a second, Sam was afraid Lucifer might kill him.

He stayed there, deathly still, pinning Sam to the floor.

Sam could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Slowly, Lucifer tilted his head. He lifted a hand to Sam’s face and stroked Sam’s cheekbone with his thumb. Sam didn’t dare move. Lucifer seemed to relax, his wings lowering again. He smiled down at Sam.

“I knew it,” he murmured. “You can’t stand to see me caged, can you?”

Sam refused to damn himself with an answer.

“Thank you,” Lucifer said, and he drew his thumb over Sam’s cheekbone again. Sam’s skin tingled pleasantly at the contact. Lucifer paused, and his thumb dipped to lightly press over Sam’s lips. Sam sucked in a breath and couldn’t have said if it was fear that made him do it or something else. Lucifer drew his hand back. He lingered for a moment longer, though, watching Sam affectionately, and Sam realized that there was a worse thing than Dean walking in on a trapped Lucifer, and that was Dean walking in on whatever the hell was happening between them right now.

Lucifer tipped Sam’s head forward slightly and bowed down to kiss his forehead, static lighting in Sam’s skin under his mouth. “I have to go now. Get more sleep, Sam. You look exhausted.” And then, the weight pinning Sam to the floor was gone. Sam stayed there a moment longer, trying to catch his breath and process that. When he heard a car pulling up outside the house, he finally forced himself to scramble to his feet. He had to lie to Dean and Cas that the trap had failed on its own somehow. Dean accepted it readily enough. It seemed plausible, given how hard angels were to deal with in general. Castiel stared at Sam for a very long time, and Sam wasn’t sure Cas believed a word he’d said.

The spot on his forehead that Lucifer had kissed was still tingling when he fell asleep that night.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

I just have to get this off my chest:

I had a dream about Pedro Pascal last night 😭😭😭

He was like dropping me off at a bus station, we probably went on a date that night and it was getting late. Then, a few minutes later the bus came and he was like "you know what, I'm gonna come with you just so I can make sure you get home safely and we can spend a little time more with each other" and I was like "uhhh okay sure" then he held my hand and got on the bus 😭😭

When we got to our seat, he put his arms around me. We locked eyes for a bit AND THEN HE KISSED ME 😭😭😭

and then I woke up lol i got it bad for Pedro Pascal. Do what you want this information 🙈🙈🙈

I will. I will do what I want.

Din Djarin x Reader

Word Count: 1490

Warning, I did not proof read this my friends

Summary: Saved by a silver lining. What should've been a nightmare felt more like a dream, but everyone has to wake up eventually.

You were a firm believer that every terrible event had a bright side. Every storm cloud had a silver lining. For example, yes your father had made a shitty deal with a band of spice smugglers which put your entire family in debt, then he went and died leaving the loan payment in your name, and said spice smugglers decided they were going to even the odds by beating the kriffing hell out of you. Terrible, terrible event. The silver lining? You got saved by a mysterious Mandalorian who somehow managed to change your entire life in the span of weeks. Maker, he was even dressed in silver armor. The universe was not being subtle with this bright side.

If someone asked you why the Mandalorian decided to help you out, you would have no answer for them. Maybe you looked really pathetic when a few of the spice smugglers cornered you in a dark alley on the wrong side of Mos Eisley. Maybe he had just been really bored that day. Regardless, he stormed into the alley like an act of the gods and saved your pitiful existence. Then, the oddest thing, he continued to do so.

The spice smugglers hadn't given up, they sent more after you, and Mando (the aptly named Mandalorian) stayed by your side. For two long weeks, he fought off every single smuggler that tried to kill you while escorting you to a safer place to live. Granted, his safer place had been a little green planet named Sorgan and the smugglers had followed you there to raise hell, but it was the thought that counted. Mando even helped you travel all the way back to Tatooine.

Despite your life being in danger the entire time, you found yourself enjoying the time. It wasn't the circumstance, it was the man. Mando brought you peace in more ways than one. There was something about his presence that calmed you. You hoped he enjoyed your company rather than just put up with you. There was no need for him to keep protecting you so that meant he had to like you at least a little. Mando liked you enough to open up a bit. You knew he had a son, one that was lost to him (though he didn't elaborate on details and you didn't push since it obviously was a painful topic to him), and you had learned a good about his culture-- his creed.

Your point was, the two of you connected just enough that saying good-bye saddened you. To the degree that you were almost disappointed that the smugglers had given up on revenge. Mando had put a dent in their numbers enough that they realized you weren't worth it. Now, it was time to separate and you were disappointed by this fact.

"I can't thank you enough." You wrapped your arms around your body. "Without you, Mando, I..." You chuckled. "It would've been bad." Mando gave you slight nod of his head. "Plus, meeting the daimyo was pretty cool to, I'm not gonna lie."

"Glad to be of service. For both situations." Mando chuckled. Your journey had ended at the daimyo's castle because apparently he knew the man personally, and you got to enjoy a feast. Returning back to your simple, small home in Mos Eisley ws going to be difficult for multiple reasons now.

The droid controlling the landspeeder beeped behind you and you couldn't help but glance over your shoulder at the otherwise empty ship. The suns in the distance were beginning to dip below the horizon.

"Well, this is officially good-bye." You turned back to Mando. Suddenly nervous, you stuck your hand out for a handshake. Mando stared at it for what felt like forever.

Finally, he took your hand in his gloved ones, but rather than shake it he held it tight and walked toward the landspeeder beside you. He used your hand to help you step over the edge and into the vehicle. Mando released your hand and you immediately missed the warmth of his touch. However, Mando caught you off guard by dropping into the seat beside you.

You stared at him, unable to ask the question present in your mind, but Mando shook his head. "I just want to make sure you get home safely. I can always take the landspeeder back." He shifted in his seat an air of awkward energy surrounding you both. "Unless, you'd rather spend this time alone."

"Not at all. I think I'd like a little extra time with you." You admitted.

Mando's entire body seemed to sag in relief and after motioning for the droid to begin moving he leaned back into his seat. When the landspeeder picked up in it's speed, the bubble shield formed around the ship to prevent the course sand from whipping into your faces.

"What will you do now?" You asked. "You'll have a lot of extra time without me around to cause trouble."

Mando chuckled. "I'm not sure. I... I haven't given it much thought." He paused briefly before giving you a small shrug. "Maybe I'll try to visit Grogu."

You recognized his son's name and a wide smile filled your features. "I think that's a good idea."

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. Mando shifted once more and you felt his arm rest on the back of your seat. It wasn't a new position. There had been many a night where you fell asleep by a fire nestled into his side. it was why it felt so natural to lean into him. There was no need for further words. That was the beauty of your relationship with him. His presence alone was satisfying enough that it never bothered you that he wasn't a man of many words. The words he did say had so much power over you that it didn't really matter.

When the landspeeder reached the city it was dark, and it only took the ship a few minutes to travel down the streets until it reached the outside of your home. It landed, the droid beeped to signal the conclusion of the journey, but neither of you moved an inch. You shifted just enough to stare up at Mando's visor.

He turned to look down at you. "What are you thinking about, cyar'ika?"

"I'm thinking..." You took in a shaky breath. "I'm thinking I wish I could kiss you." Mando's arm tightened around you, his body stiffened, and you felt immediate dread. You shook your head and tried to lean back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable--"

"Stop." Mando replied. His modulated voice a hoarse whisper. You felt his hand brush against your shoulder. Slowly, his other rose to his helmet. Your eyes widened at the action. The street was dark enough that your vision was imperfect, but there was enough light that you wouldn't be blind. You spoke out, ready to stop him, but Mando sighed. "It's alright. I want this."

With those final words, his helmet was lifted off his head. You couldn't make out details of his features, but you could see shapes. His silhouette was mesmerizing and you lifted a hand to where his cheek was. It hovered there until Mando gave you a small nod. When your hand settled on the side of his face he let out a shuddering sigh of relief. There was stubble under your fingers. You let them trace over his cheekbone, down his aquiliine nose, over his lower lip.

Mando breathed out a string of Mando'a. His unmodulated voice filled with admiration. It sounded like a whispered prayer. Unable to wait a second more, you leaned in and let your lips lightly brush against his. Mando sucked in a sharp breath, his entire frame trembling once, and then he leaned in further to deepen the kiss. It was simple and sweet. Not an action born of lust, but one meant to convey a more pure emotion. It was a silent good-bye. Without words, you were saying 'thank you'. You were saying 'I will miss you'. You were saying 'Please don't forget me'.

You pulled away just enough to separate your lips from his, but stayed close enough to feel his warm breath. A lump had formed in your throat and tears were forming in your eyes. Suddenly, you were thankful for the darkness that kept you from truly looking at the man who had changed every aspect of your life. It was keeping him from being witness to your sadness. You picked up his helmet from his lap and carefully settled it back in place. Before you grew too weak to walk away, you pressed a light kiss to the side of his helmet and then climbed out of the landspeeder.

Being with the Mandalorian for the time you had felt like a dream, but all dreams come to an end.

[keets-writing-corner]

personal head canons about lucifer lets GO

idk I feel like compiling personal head canons about him that are canon to me until proven wrong by season 2 LETS GO

All powerful seraphim angel can't be harmed by anything other than those higher ranking than him? This means he can't get poisoned either right? If he can't get poisoned then he also can't get drunk. Like at all. I wanna see an episode where he just outdrinks every person there, surprising everyone cuz he so smol

this also means that meds don't work on him either. Poor dude

He will squeal every time he sees something cute and coo over it, no exceptions (PLEASE I REALLY WANT AN EPISODE WHERE THERES A PHOTO OF BABY CHARLIE AND HE GOES AROUND SHOVING IT IN PEOPLE'S FACES LIKE "LOOK HOW CUTE SHE ISSS")

he and Charlie used to play "trapeze" when she was younger, aka that thing they did together in "More than Anything" cuz clearly she knew what he was going to do, she's been to that pocket dimension before, she's done it a million times

The one that there's technically no official source for but COME ONNNN HE TOTALLY BROUGHT TWO OF CHARLIE'S PLUSHIES TO LIFE AS RAZZLE AND DAZZLE COME ONN HE DID THAT WE KNOW HE DID

He made Lulu World for Charlie. Not just out of love but like, maybe also cuz he felt bad his depression was making him such a bad parent and he wanted to create of monument of his love for her. The fact that everyone else can go there too is just eh

Cuz of my dissociation headcanon for him (the one that the worse his depression got, the harder that it was for him to hear full conversations with his brain bleeping out large chunks of the sentences) Him agreeing to exterminations was entirely an accident

because of his meeting with heaven where he accidentally allowed for exterminations went so horribly because of his mental health, he developed anxiety about meeting with them at all, or just meetings in general. What if he agrees to something else that's terrible?? (He sent Charlie in to meet with Adam right RIGHT, IM NOT READING TOO MUCH INTO THIS I KNOW ITS CUZ HE WAS SCARED OF MEETING WITH HEAVEN AND ACCIDENTALLY MAKING ANOTHER BAD DECISION I KNOW ITS THIS)

part of the reason he was so hesitant to get charlie a meeting with heaven, wasn't just that he was scared for her, but because he was scared of talking to heaven again cuz of that anxiety ^

He knows he's been flubbing his words in addition to missing what people are saying, and he's over compensating hard

As an angel, his default is a Lover. He loved humanity. He loves his wife. He loves his daughter. He will do ANYTHING for the ones he loves, anything. *grabs you by your shirt* ANYTHING like pretty sure it's to an extremely unhealthy degree

I think maybe a huge part of his depression is justly because he's a lover at heart, and he's been living for thousands of years surrounded by the worst of humanity which shattered his ability to love them as he once did. It's not just disappointment and betrayal, it's a loss of a huge part of your identity. So now there's just this great big hole there that's he's desperately trying to fill in with things to love but uhhh his love for charlie and for ducks isn't enough, and he's trying to overcompensate SO HARD

(this one might actually be canon) because he's a lover, this means he's not naturally a violent person. It takes SO MUCH poking and prodding to get him to actually outright attack someone. Niffty literally scaled him like a tree and he just :\ Alastor was pushing all the buttons and Lucifer just toyed around with him for the most part (granted, Mimzy came in right when Alastor was about to get humbled HARD). Lucifer didn't even raise a finger against Adam until he stupidly tried attacking Charlie literally right in front of him

Maybe it's the shitty mental health and thousands of years of suppression, maybe it's cuz hell changed him, but he really enjoyed going ham on Adam. I think it was cathartic as hell for him. He probably had a lot of pent up emotions that he was just wailing out onto Adam

Lilith once tasked Lucifer of keeping an eye on young Charlie while she went out, and he thought it was totally an okay thing to teach an 8 year old how to summon fireworks. Lilith tells him to stick to the trapeze game...

Lucifer and Sera have an intense history and know each other very well. Neither of them like each other

I can't explain it but, Lucifer and Emily have never met, and while this is more of an Emily headcanon, she cannot recognize him on sight. If they ever were to meet, he'd assume she knows who he is, and she doesn't and he'd have to introduce himself and she'd be so HYPE instead of scared and full of questions for him. He'd probably like her

tops men, bottoms with women, granted it seems so far his preference is for women (but I enjoy all the lucifer ships, ngl)

Keekee used to be his pet and he gave her to Charlie when she asked for the "family building" (the hotel)

pretty sure he never wanted to be king, it's just something he got saddled with

shoot I was rereading and I had one more I wanted to put in here but I forgot like .5 seconds after I thought of it. Oh well this list is plenty long anyways

[gyubby99]

@disneyanddisneyships am I… writing a fic?

If mal knew somewhere to spend her time at when she’s feeling down, it would be husk’s bar counter. She had been getting along with the crew just fine but husk is the one of the only people who didn’t mind listening to her problems. Other people have other shit to deal with.

Especially Lilly, now. She had just been dating Alastor for a few weeks and Mal couldn’t help but feel a little.. well, she would never admit this to anyone else— lonely. The toll Elise had taken on her life hit her like an entire boulder. She couldn’t explain why it was hard to deal with this time especially when moving on was always easy for her.

“Fall inlove with being loved, not the person” she would always say to herself in order to avoid getting hurt, but E was different. She’d been outsmarted.

Mal shook the thoughts away as she glumly sits onto one of The chairs. “The usual, please.”

Husk turned around. “Hm,” he started pouring her a glass. “Drinkin just to get fucked up, or is somethin bothering you?”

Mal groans. “Both.”

“And what would that be?” He asks as he hands her the glass.

“Just-…” Mal sighs. “Lilly.”

“Something happened between you two?” Husk asks.

“No..” she takes a sip. “It’s just that she’s.. a little.. preoccupied nowadays..?”

“Elaborate.” He responded.

She fell silent for a while, thinking about how she can put her thoughts into words. “.. I called her because I wanted to hang out today, but.. she told me she was on a date with Alastor. I think she could sense my feelings before I hung up but.. I don’t know.. it’s the fifth time this week that she’s done that..”

“And.. why is that a bad thing?” He asks

“It’s not! I just..” she took a breath. “… I don’t know what I’m feeling.. I thought I was doing fine all by myself. I thought I was fine with being like this..” she took another sip of her drink, feeling her frustration running through her entire body. “But.. that’s because I had Lilly to spend time with me. I’m never lonely when I’m with her. Now she couldn’t do that anymore because she’s got a boyfriend keeping her all busy.”

Husk goes back to cleaning bottles, listening to her rant.

“I guess.. no matter what.. ultimately we end up all alone. I know Lilly can spend her time with whoever she wants but.. I feel like I’m attached to her somehow. She’s all I’ve ever truly known… ever since we were kids.. she was my only friend in the world. I don’t know what I am without her. It feels like everything I have.. everything I am is because of her. I know people at the hotel are only nice to me because I’m Lilly’s friend. I know I’m not as good at making friends as her. I know that.. I just-.. I don’t know how to exist outside of her world. I could live in it by now. I’m in this hotel because Lilly wanted me to. I stopped doing stupid shit for her sake. And everytime she says we can’t go out like we used to I feel like such a terrible person because it sounds like I want her all to myself! I don’t! I..” she paused, taking a few breaths to calm herself down before chugging the entire glass.

“I just don’t want to be alone.. but.. I don’t want the same thing that happened with E to happen again.. a fling usually helps but.. that’s when I’m dealing with exes. But Lilly..” she lets out a breath. “Lilly..” she buries her head in her hands.

At that moment husk wanted to say something. Something to comfort her, or an advice to help her get through what she’s dealing with. But he also felt something in his gut that told him she had more to say.

“When I’m with her I feel like a different person. I usually have those voices telling me I’ll never amount to anything.. but when she looks at me.. they automatically disappear. When I see her smile.. I don’t care much about what the world thinks of me. Her existence makes hell feel like heaven. She knows what a shitty person I am. She knows how much of a wreck I am, but she still smiles at me. She still holds my hand. She still calls me Mal.” She smiles softly, though only for a moment before her forehead lands on her palm. She chuckled.

“She still calls me Mal.” She sighs. “Anyone can make me feel wanted, but it’s one thing to feel loved. Nothing can fill the void she’s slowly leaving on me.”

“Sounds like you’re inlove with her.” Husk broke his silence in an attempt to make a joke.

“It’s nothing like that!!” She says in a defensive tone. “I just want to hang out with my best friend!”

“If I wanted to hang out with my best friend, I would ask them to, not perform an entire speech at a bar.”

“She’s with her boyfriend!!”

“I would’ve understood.”

Mal groans, causing husk to chuckle in amusement.

“Look, kid. All I can tell you is to talk to her about how you really feel. Go out there, find people you can have genuine relationships with, platonic or not. They don’t necessarily need to replace Aponi. If they turn out to be an asshole, then fuck ‘em. You always have a hotel to come home to and a bartender to talk to. Charlie may be a bit naive about some things, but she’s passionate, and she cares about every single soul in this hotel. Angel doesn’t seem so bad when you get to know him deep enough. Vaggie might be a little uptight but she’d make a damn good companion, even though sometimes she sucks at her job. Alastor, well.. he’s not very friendly. He’s a little lighter towards women, though. And Niffty…” he starts massaging his temples. “It’ll take me my entire afterlife to figure her out.”

Mal smiles, and it wasn’t a small one. Her smile reached her ears, and she clearly had been comforted by his words. She knew she came to the right place.

“Thanks, husk.”

~~~~~

Bonus:

Charlie: (she eavesdropped) *gasps* I didn’t know mal felt that way! Husk must be a really good listener! She never tells anyone that stuff!

Vaggie: yeah.. still offended about him saying I sucked.

Charlie: aw, don’t let him get to you, hon! To me, you’re the best guard of the hotel!

Vaggie: *chuckles* Ofcourse you think that way

Charlie: I do! *starts thinking to herself* hm.. but she’s also inlove with Aponi!

Vaggie: we’re not sure of that

Charlie: I am! Did you hear the way she talked about her?? That was so romantic! *dramatically falls into vaggie’s arms* Unrequited love is hard!!

Vaggie: uhh hon—

Charlie: I know what we should do!!

Vaggie: …. Get aponi and mal to date?

Charlie: No! We have an entire “Mal appreciation” program where we write her heartfelt messages and then she’ll talk to us about her feelings!

Vaggie: are you sure it’s that easy?

Charlie: no, but I wanna try! I wanna show her that we’re not nice to her because she’s Aponi’s friend. We’re nice to her because she’s OUR friend, and we care about her whether Aponi’s involved or not!

Vaggie: Mal’s not exactly the type of person to enjoy all that spotlight on her..

Charlie: but.. I want to do this thing for her. I don’t want any of my guests to feel left out!

Vaggie: what if this doesn’t work?

Charlie: thenn.. we go and apologize to her for making her uncomfortable. But you have to trust me on this one, Vaggie.. I really just-… I want to make her feel welcome.

Vaggie: *sighs, pulling Charlie close to her* Alright..

Charlie: yay! *kisses her on her left eye*

[roosterbox]

October Almost-Drabbles 10/3: Scarf

Pairing: Arthur/Eames

Word Count: 437

Additional tags: FLUFF, knitting as a form of love, the struggle of being honest with your partner

Side note: my personal headcanon is that Eames is actually pretty decent at knitting. He just made Arthur a shitty scarf or sweater one time as a joke, but Arthur seemed sincere when he told him he liked it. Now everything Eames makes him is purposely terrible.

———

Honestly, Arthur didn’t know what to make of the scarf when Eames gave it to him. It was obscenely long, even for a scarf. The colors clashed garishly. The wool was thick and stuffy. And the stitching on it was atrocious. It was, quite frankly, the ugliest thing Arthur had ever seen.

“Um,” he said.

Eames was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Struck speechless by the beauty of it all, are you? Well don’t think too long - we have reservations!”

He left to put on his own coat, leaving Arthur there dressed in one of his nicer suits, horrible scarf in hand, wondering how the hell he could (gently, gently) broach the subject of his boyfriend’s knitting skill. Or apparent lack thereof. He was still considering this when Eames walked back in, holding Arthur’s coat out for him. He helped him into it, and wrapped the ugly scarf around his neck. A couple times. It really was far too long.

“Um,” Arthur said again. He’d never had a problem speaking his thoughts before. Why was this proving so difficult?

“Come on,” Eames took his hand and guided the two of them outside. Arthur braced himself for the biting November winds, but somehow he barely felt them. The ridiculous scarf, with its off-putting pattern and design, seemed to keep his entire body warm. Or was it… something else? He could feel his face getting warm too, and he squeezed Eames hand. The other man didn’t look, but Arthur could still see him smiling.

“Did you… work hard on it? The scarf, I mean.”

“Who me? Nah.” Eames still didn’t look at him, and now his own cheeks started to pink up. “You know me. Never worked hard a single day of my life.”

The subtext was impossible to miss. Yes, I did. I worked very hard on it. It’s made with love. Because I love you. Also impossible was the chance that Eames didn’t already know, or think at least, that Arthur hated it. Maybe that’s why he still hadn’t looked Arthur in the eye since putting the scarf on him. Was he… embarrassed? Well that simply would not do.

“I love it,” Arthur said, surprising himself with his sincerity.

Eames finally looked at him then. His eyes, suspicious at first, softened at the look on his boyfriend’s face. “Really?”

Arthur nodded, and squeezed his hand again. The other he used to fiddle a bit with a particularly chunky patch of stitches. Now that he thought of it, his answer couldn’t have been anything else.

“You made it for me. How could I not?”