#it’s so fucking tiring. i fucking HATE it. so shitty and I’m very EXTREMELY tired. and I have been

[venting-town]

So if you exist “ you “ “ exist “

But then if you DON’T exist, there’s not a “ you “ but there’s something similar

Okay, so I want to be erased. All the way

I’m tired of existing and not existing and half-existing and etc

I should’ve NEVER been/“ been “/etc, yet here my dumb-ass is anyways

Cuz, ig. Maybe, whatever, etc

[bubblinelovechild]

The RWBY fandoms treatment of Adam makes me very uncomfortable

This is very long sorry I was rambling <3

There’s something really odd about the dedication RWBY fans have to hating Adam. So much so that they’ll admit the writing of the WF is racist but refuse to admit that Adam a member of the white fang also suffered from that racist writing.

There’s this weird dedication to pretending there are no problems with the choices made around Adams character and vilifying literally everyone who tries to talk about it, for the sake of continuing to blindly hate him. The fandom seems to struggle with understanding that the show is fictional and everything that happens in it is a direct choice of its writers. Y’all talk about Adam like he is a real person who has personally offended you irl. Just a huge lack of media literacy tbh.

A white man wrote a civil rights group, that he admittedly based off the black panthers, as the generic bad guys of his shitty anime knockoff and made a central theme of the show the idea that fighting against your oppression violently makes you just as bad if not worse than your oppressors. Then he mad the leader of that group a generic abusive meanie bad guy. Who essentially is what white supremacists think civil rights activist are all the way down to being the fictional equivalent of a black supremacist.

When there was backlash to this he made a knockoff Malcom X and then killed her in her only scene and made a character whose ideology is basically sit down and lick the feet of your oppressors and had the audacity to say he was based off of MLK. How the fuck do you base a character off of somebody without doing basic research on them because contrary to what people seem to believe MLK was not a doormat and this is a conversation for a different day but I’m sick and tired of his memory being weaponised against black people.

What’s worse is that Adam is the only character portrayed as actually doing something to fight racism. Ghira’s faction is only ever seen fighting against other groups. I don’t know if y’all know this but that’s not how the civil rights movement worked. Most of the leaders didn’t agree on methods but they coexisted because the main goal was the liberation of black people and they knew they had to coexist. MLK did not go around calling the cops on revolutionaries he disagreed with.

The problems with Adam and the WF are not separate and cannot be. Most of what’s wrong with the Faunus plot line is the way the show handles Adam. The choices made with his writing cannot be separated from those they made with the WF overall. Adams choice to kill his attackers to keep himself and other Faunus safe, from people literally trying to kill them, is treated the way it is because of the stance they took with WFs writing. When Adam kills a human supremacist trying to kill Ghira you’re supposed to see it as an extreme and the beginning of his turn to evil. Adam isn’t a real person every descisiom he makes is informed by the white writers of the show. Why would the bias they displayed writing the WF not apply to him?

Some of you have been abused and relate to Blake in that sense, a lot of you seem to be projecting your abusers onto Adam. I’m sorry you went through that but you are not excused from buying into racist rhetoric. It’s incredibly uncomfortable as a black person to watch people talk about how “healing” it was for them to watch a civil rights leader admittedly inspired by black people slapped around and killed by two white women. It is anger inducing to watch fans celebrate “queer representation” dancing on the corpse of a monumental disrespect to black people and our history.

RWBY doesn’t even handle abuse well tbh and most of the queer rep is not that great, there are many shows that do it so much better, there is actually no excuse for hanging on to the black people are bad for fighting against racism show.

[pansy-picnics]

Sorry but your recent artwork has me thinking about parent Varigo and I have to dump my thoughts somewhere. I feel like, if they actually had a kid it would be really emotional for them but in different ways. Varian finds out he’s pregnant and is a little scared at first, but he actually adjusts to the idea pretty fast and is excited about it, because he’s in a good place now and has a good support system. He doesn’t have to worry about his family judging him, he knows they’ll still see him for who he is. Hugo on the other hand is terrified. But not because he doesn’t wanna be a dad, he’s pretty excited about that, he’s just really scared that Varian is going to get sick from the pregnancy, or that the whole experience is gonna be too much for him. He feels like this is just another thing he’s “putting Varian through” because he’s still not quite over the guilt of his betrayal years ago, and now it’s coming back to haunt him. They work it out of course and Hugo realizes that it’s gonna be okay and that he also can depend on Varian’s family for support because they’re his family too. Now I’m emotional. Anyway I love your art <3

AUGHHHH YEAH YEAH THIS IS SO REAL!!!!! i love plots like that fr, their characters are so fun to explore😭😭😭 Honestly? i think in the right circumstances hugo could be a deadbeat dad. like he could just straight up leave bc he’s paranoid varian or the kid would get hurt or he’d put them in danger or something. he’s the kind of guy who’s always Running! like i could think of scenarios where he’d run away on their wedding day too. those are both horrible extremes SORRY FOR THE ANGST I JUST THINK IT’S NEAT.

i think hugo’s always WANTED a family but its something she’s always viewed as unachievable, mostly bc of the shitty living situation hes been in for most of his life. she could barely survive on her own and she’d never want to drag someone else into that yk? and she’s still scared of that commitment even after she moves into the castle, bc what if she DID have a kid and then something happened and she couldn’t take care of them anymore, or she ends up on the streets again….and what if she just ends up abandoning them? what if she’s no better than the parents she never even knew? it’s like, obviously she wouldn’t do any of those things or be in those situations but she has….a Lot of anxiety around it for sure. but i also think that she tries to adopt literally every orphan she and varian see. she LOVES kids as much as she pretends she doesn’t and its very obvious….she just hasn’t really had the privilege to be able to think about it until now.

varian…i think he goes either way, he doesn’t really plan to have kids but he’ll kinda learn to adjust to whatever, he’s also just a very family oriented guy so he’s definitely not opposed to that kind of role. in my head they usually adopt bc i think varian like, Hates anything related to the human body at all so even disregarding the gender dysphoria pregnancy is SO gross to him. idk why i just think he’s silly like that. hell make bombs and poisonous chemicals but he remembers people have organs and he wants to throw up. i’m not opposed to the idea of them having biological kids at all though…especially considering all the art i’ve already drawn for it’s us against the world LOL. personally i think even if he weren’t opposed to the idea he’d be miserable the entire time, and not even like in a serious way necessarily he’s just REALLY mad that he can’t work in the lab anymore. he’s pissed about EVERYTHING, actually. he’s bored and he’s tired and he can’t work and he feels like shit and he doesn’t really have any other hobbies either. his whole life and routine has been completely fucked over for nine months and SURE he loves the kid and he’s excited but like why does it need to be in there that long. why can’t it just come from the stork or something. 🙄/j

i think he might pick a few fights with hugo bc of it, just because he’s so overwhelmed and emotional and doesn’t know how to handle it, but hugo’s really understanding; also they’ll honestly take any kind of treatment from him because they’re like, “Yeah i probably deserved that”. which varian does NOT like btw and always gets on his ass later to stick up for himself more while also in tears apologizing for yelling at him

idk i just think them as parents would be Sooo silly. neither of them have any clue what they’re doing. dude if those two had a baby? Dude can you imagine? varian’s sooo fucking sheltered i think he’s only interacted with like, 2 babies in his entire life. quirin stays with them for tje first few weeks bc varian literally just has NO clue what he’s doing and is crying to him all the time. and hugo like, has an idea of what to do but he’s also SUPER paranoid. they’re both just staring at the kid while they sleep not so much out of adoration but because they’re just terrified they’ll stop breathing at any moment. you cant convince me that either of them know how to change a diaper. They’re gonna bring out like full lab gear. like the gag where the dads will pull out full hazmat suits for the diaper change. That’s them idc

ruddiger is also SO protective of their kids from the moment they’re born, like he jumps up into the crib and snuggles up with them and they always IMMEDIATELY stop crying. olivia is the opposite. she’s kinda like a toddler who just got a new sibling she didn’t want. shes pissed that she isn’t getting hugo’s full attention and keeps being a brat about it. hugo’s just trying to calm down his baby and olivias glaring at him while she’s about to push a glass off the table

yeah idk i. have a lot of thoughts abt them too they’re so beloved to me

[galaxywarp]

It's the anon from a while ago who was going through opioid withdrawal.

I went to a pain management clinic and they basically told me my withdrawal symptoms aren't real and I should see a psychologist. They won't help me taper. That an addiction center wouldn't help because I'm not really addicted. Then why do I feel so sick when I try to reduce my dosage? Why do I have all the textbook symptoms of withdrawal? I can't stop cold turkey and I can't be sick all the time cause I have a full time job.

He said the opioids would be out of my system in a week, is that true? I don't know if I can get through a week of feeling like this. I've been on these meds for over a year, it just doesn't feel safe.

He also told me I just have to deal with my chronic pain and there's nothing they can do. It took weeks to see this specialist and he basically told me to go fuck myself.

I ended up breaking down in the appointment and he just had me leave.

I'm so tired and frustrated and I hate feeling like this.

Anon im so sorry. Thats so fucking shitty

I swear it’s fucking like — all he did was set you up for fucking failure.

He’s telling you to ignore your own warning signs until they get bad enough for him to acknowledge. By then you might be desperate enough that you go to street drugs or your withdrawal might need medical assistance. It happens a lot to pain patients whose doctors fuck them over. By the time they validate your problem their solution is now to just cut you off and leave you with no legal options for your pain. It’s an extremely common reason that people end up on heroin.

He’s encouraging you to pretend that the problem isn’t starting and setting you up to keep digging yourself deeper. But of course they’ll say it’s YOUR fault if your pain drives you to do something dangerous.

Ugh. Okay. Listen.

The opiates may very well be out of your system in a week. And i want to assure you that opiate withdrawal, while extremely painful, is not technically dangerous. Not like alcohol or benzodiazepines where you can hallucinate and have seizures. You won’t be in any danger. Just extreme discomfort (as im sure you’ve tasted already)

But if you continue to feel pain after that, and you very well might, i wanna tell you it’s real and valid. Even if doctors try to do the “it’s only in your head” thing.

Cuz you know what. It WILL be in your head. Your body’s pain receptors are going to feel raw and fragile. I was clean from fentanyl for months before my chronic pain truly eased. It’s like your body has to learn how to tolerate pain again and people don’t respect how miserable and painful that process is. You’re brave and strong for facing it.

I’m a little sleep deprived and im not sure what else advice i can offer atm but you’re on my mind anon. Please drop in my inbox again whenever you need.

[a-polite-melody]

Wheeeeee

No but actually I realize that this is an actual fucking Real Version of the kind of nightmare I have which leaves me feeling the most disturbed once I’m awake

The type of dreams where Something Bad Happening, usually to an animal, and me trying to stop what’s going on, but I can’t physically stop The Bad Thing but if I could just communicate properly then I could get The Bad Thing to stop and save the animal

In the dreams themselves it’s usually actual physical animal abuse I’m stopping but can’t move fast enough to get to the person to stop them and also can’t yell because I have no voice for some reason

Which maps eerily neatly onto me trying to communicate how bad a condition the dog was in to both my dad and especially the owners who were and still are hours drive away—the owners to let them know that what I was seeing was Extremely Concerning Stuff and my dad to see if using An Older Adult Man to tell them how bad it was would make them understand the gravity of the situation better, and my dad not really understanding until hours before her death even though he was here with me some of the time and the owners I guess not understanding literally up until the moment of her death because I cannot imagine that they were seeing the behaviour I was and thinking that was “a dog being stubborn about moving because she gets very tired” when to me it looked like a dog that needed euthed immediately because of extreme respiratory distress

I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it

I wish I could have done more for her. I wish I could have prevented her suffering for so much longer than she needed to. I wish she hadn’t “died naturally” because it didn’t just suck for her owners and us but for her in a way that euthanasia before this point wouldn’t have.

I’m trying so hard not to blame myself because ultimately I did was I was Able to Legally and that feels shitty as fuck but also I Cannot afford to be sued for “killing someone’s dog” if I Had taken measures into my own hands and had her euthed (if I could even find a vet who would do it without proof of ownership because they’d also be legally on the hook). I still feel like there had to have been Something More I could have done. Anything. This dog was suffering

(Also I swear to FUCK if anyone asks if I tried recording what I was seeing—I’m sorry but I felt it more important to act to help the dog which tended to require my hands rather than hold a phone to record a video, and like I said, I didn’t really seem to have my dad understanding Quite that she Was Literally Dying until maybe hours before it happened so like… yeah I could call for him to film but do you think a 60+ y/o man is rushing over fast enough to catch what I’m seeing when he doesn’t understand the severity? Or really even if he did because the most concerning stuff wasn’t like… drawn out stuff.)

[usertiff]

TLDR: no rent money, last time i was late w rent by 2 days i got an eviction notice, my cat needs urgent medical help, i’m out of work due to severely debilitating pain. extremely disabled, indigenous lesbian desperately in need of help. also a paragraph about how much i am sorry

my friend said, “nah bestie asking for help isn't shameful in any way. there's strength in knowing what you need,” but i still feel like crud

i am literally sobbing as i post this because i just feel... i feel like a loser, i feel worthless, i feel so many emotions right now because i’m so terrified and tired of asking for help. i’m terrified of people just being sick of me because i’ve needed help before, and i don’t know. i would never shame anyone else for needing help, and i know realistically it shouldn’t be shameful, but i personally feel shame because i feel like a failure. i feel like a loser/worthless/failure because of something that’s completely out of my control, and yet, the feeling is still there. i’m exhausted. i’m exhausted from being in this stressful, urgent situation. so i’m sorry. i’m so sorry i’m asking for help again, i’m so sorry. i feel horrible, i really do. i feel guilty for needing help. i feel sick. i’m trying not to, and i’m trying not to cry, but i’m typing this through very blurry vision rn.

as i’ve mentioned on my blog, i’ve been out of work due to severe chronic pain. i was able to work through my other disabilities. narcolepsy, my shitty mental health auDHD/bipolar, etc. but this chronic pain has been completely fucking debilitating. medical fatphobia tw incoming: i saw a neurosurgeon today and they won’t give me surgery because of “my weight being a risk for post-op complications, such as stitch rips”, so i just have to deal with the pain until i can lose enough they’ll operate on me ????????? i dont know what the hell i’m going to do........... this sucks so fucking bad i just wanna go back to work i hate living like this

my fiance needs her wisdom teeth removed really badly, but we had to cancel her appointment because the money we saved for it had to go to our cat.

possible animal death tw: my cat has bladder stones now................................. last time he had stones it costed almost $1k in surgery. the bladder stones will kill him if not treated, because toxins build up in the body and if he cannot pee... just sldfksldfkj i don’t wanna talk about it. he’s miserable. 

i’m going to have to dip in to our rent money, which was actually our tax money because i’ve not been working so tax money was our saving grace this past month, to keep taking him to the vet. however, last time i was late on rent just 2 days, they gave us an eviction notice and only 7 days to come up with rent. that was a fucking disaster. so i’m TERRIFIED!!!!!!!

i need help so bad. with just surviving being out of work, and now my cat... i’m super annoyed because i was desperate to get my baby sister a doll for her birthday but there’s no way that’s happening now. 

anyway, i’m sorry. i’m sorry for everything. i’m sorry i need help. i’m sorry if you’re sick of seeing me on your dash for like the 3rd time needing major help.

i have set up a gofundme here https://www.gofundme.com/f/uwkhj-help-my-family-survive?utm_source=customer&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_campaign=p_cf+share-flow-1

however, if you’d prefer to donate directly, due to the fact that gofundme takes a big portion of funds, here are my accts:

pypl: selinaaakyle@gmail.com, v: @oraclelauren (3177), ca: $selinaaakyle

every donation is going to be greatly appreciated, and i promise to pay the kindness forward in every little way that i can

please don’t put yourself out to help, but if you can help, my heart goes out to you with forever gratefulness 

[bondew]

‘Don’t Cry Over Split Milk’

Chapter one.

I am aware as I step into form that this year will be a repeat of grade ten just more pressure, harder work and more drama. So basically just double the stress.

“Why the long face Ms Shaw?” My form teacher Mr Ajayi says as I walk to check my name off on the roll. He was my year ten art teacher so knows that I am not one for a casual conversation or any conversation with an authority figure, luckily he doesn’t really count as an authority figure. This is because he is one of the most relatable and kindest people ever.

“Chelsea’s gone.” I groan as he ticks my name.

“Ahh, I’m gonna’ miss her, she was one of the best artists!” He laughs, trying to brighten my mood.

My bestfriend since grade three moved to the academy somewhere around here so school is pretty shitty. She’ll be fine though, I don’t know about me so much. I have enough friends to survive here, Phoebe, Tori, Tina, Bridey and lots more but it’s just not the same. My other friend Aled goes to a different school, Truham, it’s an all boys school so yeah, but I might move next year since we are allowed to in sixth form.

I drag my new backpack across the floor and find a seat pressed against the window. As the sun gleams on my face I rest my head, just waiting for the ear piercing bell. It suddenly rings and I slowly make my way to the door, this is where I am greeted with Tori Spring. Tori is an odd girl, not very talkative but is also kind and very protective. For once she isn’t standing waiting with Becky, I don’t like Becky that much but I put up with her for Tori’s sake. We make our way to maths where I suddenly become extremely chatty, I mean we can’t just walk in silence. Becky then appears and starts gasping for air waving around a late slip.

“Sorry guys! I was with Ben and lost track of time!”

I roll my eyes discreetly and then just smile, goddammit I really thought she would be away today.

All the chatter is centred around a party this evening and Becky instantly suggests we go, apparently it’s for the new school year but i think people just find any excuse to throw a party these days. Tori and I stare at eachother for a moment. We are both antisocial fucks. Becky’s purple hair is flowing around as she tries to convince us, thats when phoebe appears. I met phoebe in year 7, I was very quiet and the teacher forced us to talk and for some reason we clicked! She is quite tall with straight brown hair. Not even going to lie, she is very pretty. Like pretty that compared to her I look like a stressed, tired, mole rat, sure I always do but she intensifies it. I mutter some excuse so phoebe and I can stand away from Becky and I just start ranting, Phoebe is the only person I can do this with (besides my other friend Tina) so she kinda has to let me. It’s fine because as a bestfriend should, she hates her too.

[hotpocketpena]

You don’t get to walk out on me again

Notes: Please be v patient w me. I have not written anything since Dionsaurs were alive so I’m very rusty!

OK so I’m obvi obsessed with Mr sexy Pena so I had to make my first about him. He is the loml and i have frequent dreams about this dreamy man that will eventually turn into posts so oopsie. 

I hope ya’ll enjoy n lemme know what u tink ;)

ps. I am terrible with Spanish (ltrlly just used google translate pls no attack)

Overview - Reader x Javier were in a long term relationship, but things got messy and the relationship ended. Reader has now moved on but can’t completely move on because Javi wont let her go. 

Use of Y/N

Word Count - 2.8k+

Warnings - Swearing

---------------------------------

You sit at your desk, using the useless files as a makeshift fan. The Colombian heat has not been kind to any of you in the office today. It also didn’t help that he had been staring you down for the majority of the day. 

Javier couldn’t take his eyes off you. He was like a moth to a very, sweaty but beautiful flame. He watched with such awe as you fanned yourself with files that are useless to your investigation with Escobar. 

Things didn’t end well between you both. 

There were underlining problems with Javi’s commitment issues, you knew this before getting involved with him. You really tired to not be another notch in his beat. But my lord, that man is irresistible. It only took 4 days for him to have his way with you. 

4 days of little flirtatious winks here and there. 4 days of wearing extremely tight pants just so you would look at his ass. Even though they made him the most uncomfortable he’s ever been, he didn't care. He wanted you, and he was willing to go to circulation-cutting lengths to have you. 

Aside from the blood cutting off in his legs and a few remarks from his partner Steve, it was nothing. He’d done much worse for girls with much less beauty than you. But was it all worth it?

Why did he make a fool out of himself for someone that just threw him away like a piece of trash? He asks himself this question everyday since you left him standing alone in his apartment. He thought about running after you and demanding to know why you were doing this to him. Why after him opening up to you about his past, would you just run out when things got a little tough?

“Will you just go over and talk to her Pena?” Javi was snapped out of the thoughs running around in his head. His blonde haired partner decided to but in on his private life once again. 

Javier wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead and grunted. “Will you just shut the fuck up Murphy. I don’t need to have this conversation with you again.” He certainly didn’t want to even think about you, never mind talk to his loved up partner about how shitty his love life had been. 

Steve sighed. “I hate seeing you two like this Pena. You two were so goo-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Javi stood up from his chair. 

Steve had pissed him off too much over the last two weeks. Constantly pestering him to go over and speak to you. Just ask you the simple question of why? 

But, Javier Pena was the most stubborn man in the whole of Colombia.

He was glad Steve pissed him off so much. He finally had an excuse to leave the office and not waste another look at you. He needed to bury himself deep in something. Drink or whores. Or her. 

He shook that last thought away and went to the bathroom to splash some water over his face. It calmed him down, but he wish he stayed in there longer. His fists clenched and his eyes were seeing red. 

He saw you, and your new boyfriend of three weeks, Marizio from intelligence, leaning over your desk and whispering something in your ear. 

That used to be him. He was the one that would whisper all the dirty things he’d want to do to you while you were working. He was the one that would make you blush like that. Make you feel things you’ve never felt before in your life. 

Javier couldn’t move. He was like stone, his eyes locked on the small boy leaning on your desk. 

You laughed and held onto Marizio’s shoulder as you stood up. You were done with work for the weekend, hoping to leave the troubles of the DEA behind and enjoy a relaxing weekend with your new boyfriend. 

The honeymoon stage was in full swing. You never wanted to come out of it with Maritzio. If only it could stay like this forever. It’s only been a few weeks since he first asked you out, but you’re glad he did. 

You were a nervous wreck on your first date. You hadn’t been out with another man since him. But Maritzio wasn’t like him. 

He was kind, sweet and caring. 

He never treated you in a harsh way like someone else did. After your first date, he walked you back to your apartment complex and gave you a light kiss on the cheek goodnight. 

You were used to the night ending in yours or his bed, screaming each others names until you lost your voices. But with Maritzio, he was a gentleman. 

So when the time came around for his birthday, you thought he would decline the invitation from Steve to go to their favourite bar after work. And to your surprise, he said yes. 

If Steve was going to be there, you knew he was going to be there. Any mention of alcohol he was always going to be there. 

Maritzio knew about your past relationship struggles. He didn’t know exactly who with, but he knew it was someone within the DEA. He was very calm about it, not in the slightest concerned about anything happening while you were together. 

A few days after your second date, you got very drunk and called Maritzio. You meant to dial someone else's number to help you with the pain of heartbreak, but he was the one that broke it. So when Maritzio came rushing over, you spilled your guts. 

You told him how the last relationship you were in, you were completely in love with a person who wasn’t real. They were a mask. And behind the mask was a harsh monster. That monster came out the longer you two were together. You’d put up with the monster for so long, it got too much, so you left. 

Maritzio held you for the rest of the night, and offered to sleep on the couch so you wouldn’t be alone. This was one of the best nights sleep you had since you left him.

You and Martizio decided to go to the bar straight after work, to start the celebrations early. A few of the other agents had the same idea. It was about two hours before anyone else arrived, and you were pretty hammered. 

You and two other agents were engrossed in conversation when a large cheer erupted from the bar. 

Murphy and he walked into the bar with cases of beers and balloons. 

Maritzio headed over to thank them. Murphy pulled him in for a hug, but Pena gave him a clipped nod and made a dart for the bar. 

You mingled some more and decided on another drink. You needed to have as much as possible if you were to be in a different environment other than work with HIM. 

You ordered 2 shots of Tequila and a jack and coke. Once your drinks were ready, you took the two shots one after the other and headed to your seat.

“Tequila makes you sick y’know.” Pena muttered while drinking the last of his whiskey. 

Sober you, would just ignore him. Sober you. would walk over to your caring boyfriend and spend time with him. 

Sober you wouldn’t be stupid. 

But sober you, is locked in a cage and drunk you has swallowed the key. 

You spun dramatically on your heel, and look Javier in the eyes for the first time in what feels like forever.

“It doesn’t actually make me sick anymore. It makes me more fun.” You giggled, taking your seat back at the bar and ordering another two shots. 

“Bebita, the only thing that makes you more fun is water.” He chuckled, ordering a bottle of water. 

“Hey!” You pointed a finger at him as serious as you could. Your finger couldn’t exactly stay on Pena, but you put all your focus into it. “Don’t use Spanish on me. You k-know I don’t know t-those funky words.” Hiccups were the worst for you when you were drunk. 

Javi’s eyes softened, just loving the sound of your voice. He somehow forgot what it sounded like. And now he remembers, it sounds like sweet honey. 

“Matitzio i-is teaching me! So s-say that word to me again in t-three months and I’ll know it all!” You cheered, sliding one of the shots over to Javier to take with you. 

Javier’s eyes hardened at the mention of his name. He didn’t want to hear another mans name come out of your lips, other than his. 

He hated Tequila, but if this is the only way for you to keep talking to him, he will do this. 

You both took the shot. Javier’s face creased with disgust at the liquid. You laughed at his expression. He had a small droplet of Tequila in the corner of his mouth. Out of habit, you leaned over and swiped your thumb over the bead. 

You froze when you realised what you were doing, and so did he. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t even be near him. 

Sober you had broken free from her cage, and she was ready to run. “I u-uh, need to go to the bathroom.” You stuttered, carefully jumping from the barstool and making a quick escape to the bathroom. 

How could you be so stupid! You knew what talking to him would lead to! You are happy with Javier! You mean Maritzio!

Even your brain was thinking of him. This needed to stop. 

You run quickly into the bathroom, the Tequila finally hitting you. It feels like hours but you make it to the bathroom, hurling up the contents of your stomach. 

“Y/n? Are you in there?” You hear Javier banging on the door for the ladies bathroom. 

“Go away” you mutter loud enough so he could hear you. “I don’t want to see you,”

A few seconds go by and nothing. You continue to be sick, and feel someone holding your hair back. 

This, this is why you should not have Tequila. But you just couldn’t help yourself. It’s the only drink that makes you the drunkest, the quickest. You skip past all of the other stages, like the awkward dancing stage, the overly loud and wants to talk to everyone stage, and jump straight to the confident & sassy stage. But, the quicker you get to that stage, the big final stages edges closer than you want. The vomiting in the bathroom and feeling violently ill stage. Everybody wishes that stage did not exist. 

“It’s okay baby, let it all out.” A soft voice sooths your nerves and a hand rubs small circles on your back, coxing you to get everything out. “Shhhh, I’m here. I did tell you that Tequila makes you throw up.” The voice chuckles at the end, making you very aware who is holding you. 

You slowly sit up from the floor and walk out from the enclosed stall. Your head is spinning at a million miles an hour. Why did he follow you? 

You don’t look at Javier. You can’t. There’s too much pain, too much history between you. You will never be able to recover from him. Never be able to fully move on. 

“You need to stop this. You need to leave me alone.” You whisper, the liquid courage taking a step back. 

“I was not going to leave you to choke on your own vomit Y/n. I’m a lot of things, but letting you suffer alone? Nah, that’s not something I’m ok with.” He huffs, pacing the bathroom area. 

“Oh, that’s not something you’re ok with? Right, well I’m just slightly confused.”

“How’s that?” He asks, raising his brows. 

“Well I mean, you’re very ok with causing me pain and suffer the last time I checked.” Liquid courage is back and ready to put up a fight. 

You cross your arms and lean against the wall near the door. Keeping as much difference between you as possible. This fight has been brewing inside the both of you since the day you both parted ways. 

The huffs and puffs in the office when you both got assigned to the same case. The clear protest from Pena when the ambassador gave you praise for the missions and he got little. The looks of lust and love when the other one of you wasn’t looking. 

It needed to all end here. It was now or never. 

“I think it’s the other way around Bebita.” Javier sighed, leaning one leg behind him and balancing himself on the wall in front of you. “You were the one that left me to suffer alone in my apartment.” 

“I cannot believe you are bringing this up now!” You shout, loud enough to get some attention from the party goers. But you don’t care. 

“When else was I supposed to bring it up huh? I’m sorry did I miss our regularly scheduled morning feelings meetings!” He holds his hands to his mouth. “Oh my god I can’t believe I missed those! I’ll have to get Steve to fill me in later!” The sarcasm was dripping from his mouth, clearly taking this whole conversation as a joke. 

“Fuck you Pena.” That’s all you could say. He was always like this. Never took anything seriously, only cared about his job and beer. 

You push yourself off the wall and reach for the door handle. Javier grabs your waist and spins you, pushing you back up against the wall again. “You do not get to walk out on me again.” Your foreheads almost touch. If you leaned in, your lips would be touching. 

You breathe in and take in his scent. Beer and nicotine is the smell you’ve been craving the most. Maritzio smells like lavender. Which is not a bad thing at all. You actually like the smell of Lavender. But what you miss is the smell of Javier. You miss everything about him. 

“I can’t do this Javi.” You squeak. “I’m with Marit-”

“Please don’t say his name. I only want you to say my name.” 

His words shock you. “I don’t want to hurt him Javi. Please.”

He takes a small step forward, closing the gap between your chests. The tension is thick in the air, just gasping for some relief. 

“But you want to hurt me baby? Do you want to put me through all that pain again?” he whispers, moving his head to rest in the crook of your neck. 

“I never intended to hurt you Javi, but you hurt me by not being there. He is there for me. You weren’t.” You sigh. 

He plants faint kisses on your neck which send tingles into places that haven’t tingled for a while. You close your eyes and rest your head against the wall, allowing him more access. He moves from your neck up to the shell of your ear. 

“But I will be.” He whispers, the pain clear in his voice. “I will be there for you until you want me. And even if you don't want me baby, I will be waiting until you do. These last few months have been the worst of my life. I have made the biggest mistake of my life by choosing work over you my sweat girl. I promise, if you leave that boy and give me another chance, I will promise to love you until the end of time.”

A tear runs from your eyes and Javi is quick to wipe them away. “Please don’t cry baby. I don’t want to upset you, again.” He pouts, not knowing how else to fix the situation. 

“Javi, that’s all I’ve ever wanted you to say. Just that you acknowledge that I’m here and that you have something else in your life other than work. I hated myself when I left you, but I’m glad I did. Because if Id’ve stayed, you would not be standing here telling me all of this.” You said, looking him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like years. 

“Well, we wouldn’t be standing in a bathroom you just threw your guts up in because you drank too much tequila.” He rolls his eyes and tuts. 

You lean forward and shove him back playfully, earning a cheeky grin from him. 

“You’re right. If you didn’t leave me, I wouldn’t have realise how special you are Mi Amore. And I want to be yours again, if you’ll have me.” His big brown doe eyes look softly into yours. 

Another tear slips from your eyes, but this time, they're tears of joy. “And I want to be your-” He swoops you up in his arms and plants peck and peck all over your face. You giggle until he puts you down. 

“I promise to cherish you until the end of time my angel. I will always love you.” 

[badaziraphaletakes]

More to the point, when that person has the power to cause disaster in your life if you go against what they want you to do. (Sorry, I worked in ab*se research for many years, so I have to say this).

Not all of NG’s *alleged* victims (hate, hate, hate putting the a-word in there but ya can’t be too careful, I’m afraid) had those emotional ties to them. He *allegedly* enjoyed emotionally manipulating people that way, but he didn’t need to in order to get what he wanted - not went the power gradient was already so massive. And thus, some victims were just terrified, and/or depended on him for their survival to some extent. With others, he said threatening things like “I’m an extremely wealthy man”. They knew he could destroy their lives, families, careers if they went against him, defied him, or came forward. Ex: How one of them was still terrified to say anything almost twenty years later.

And the data bears out that ab*sers don’t just let their victims leave. Leaving is *by far* the most dangerous time in an ab*sive relationship. It fucking sucks, but it’s true. Often, when victims get away, it’s because the ab*sers decided they were tired of them, or died, or someone else found out and stopped the ab*ser, etc. Something had to change in the victims’ circumstances, not in the victims’ heads.

Suggestions that the emotional entanglement is the crux of the problem and the cause of the victim being trapped (rather than those emotional issues being an effect of the ab*se), however well-intentioned, nonetheless put the onus on the victims to “disentangle” themselves, which is inappropriate. It was definitely another tool he *allegedly* used to make his *alleged* victims feel shitty because he obviously enjoys eroding people’s self-esteem - but it wasn’t actually the means by which he kept them trapped. That was his power and *alleged* coercion. No matter how much therapy a victim goes to or how much work they do on themselves, if they’re still trapped in a position where the ab*ser has physical/financial/whatever power over them, they’re still gonna be trapped at the end of the day. You can’t enlightenment yourself into not being ab*sed anymore.

Similarly, a lot of characters in GO are trapped in situations where they could face very real physical harm, injury and/or death if they tried to leave their ab*sers. Regardless of how Aziraphale feels about heaven (and assuming that victims love their ab*sers just because they say they do in front of the ab*ser is problematic, but that’s another conversation), he has to go back, because he knows they can kill him and/or Crowley if he disobeys. How he feels about them is not the problem. He cannot heal from that entanglement while they still have power over him.

LSS Victims are stuck because they are in danger. Not because of what’s going on in their heads.

Hope this makes sense.

Something about how Good Omens is a story about grappling with the fact that the person / being you thought was all-powerful and infallible and had a perfect Plan for your story turns out to be a dissimulating puppeteer who's at best full of shit and at worst actively harming you or people you love, and how disentangling yourself from your relationship with that person is not a simple thing when they are the only source of truth and love you have been taught to rely upon ...

[coffyao]

poison couldn't be anymore attractive

Summary:

"will I be doing anymore future installments of this ship? for now, probably not since I want to focus on different creative endeavours...but i hope you continue to read my work as i've got more in store if you decide to stick around :)"   yeah that was meant to be the orginal plan...until it wasn't. one more little installment wouldnt hurt! _______________________________________________________________________________ taking place in a alternate universe, seungbae is tired of his co-workers hassling him about not going out more often. recently, they have been trying to convince him to go this club that has opened only a few years ago...after jeong lees final push (more like push off a cliff..) to finally shut them up, he goes and he finds himself perplexed to find something there he might enjoy....a little too much.

link to my ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaloopsyland/works

“Come on, don’t be such a fucking square.”

Seungbae finishes stacking up his paperwork, putting it near the side of his computer. He readjusts his glasses. “I’m not, im just tired,” he reiterates, probably for the 200th time. He couldn’t just be left to his own devices, could he.

“But that’s your go-to excuse everytime. At least be honest and say you just hate being social.”

If he had a penny for every instance his co-workers called him anti-social, he would have filled his  entire piggy bank by now. He was just chronically stressed and taxed from constant police cases. Also, teenagers. Belligerent and really shitty teenagers.

“…Really don’t know how many times I have to repeat myself,” Seungbae said, rubbing the side of his temple. An actual headache would be very, very convievent right about now. Jeong Lee comes into the office, sipping a cup of instant coffee.

“Why? is it too gay for you?” Jeong lee says, putting an arm around seungbae’s shoulders. “ You gotta live laugh, and love a little sometimes, right? ” he chuckles, and seungbae grimaces in return. He yanks his arm off.

“...You guys always act like I don’t know how to have fun. It’s just that I’m…”

“…extremely busy and up to your knees with lots and lots of paperwork.” Jeong Lee finishes, smirking teasingly, “I know I’m your senior, so realistically, I should be setting a good example…”

He takes out a pack of cigarettes from his brown trench coat, and shakes it suggestively, “but as soon as the night hits, we are all just men, aren’t we?”

Jeong Lee passes a cigarette stick to most of the men in the office, until he had a singular one left. He raises his eyebrow.

“…If your coming, take the last one here. If your leaving, I’ll take it. You have five seconds.”

“Wait, that’s too...”

“Five…four…three…”

“…. So annoying,” snatching the singular cigarette from the pack, stuffing into his baggy trousers, “But I’m not smoking it.”

Jeong Lee pats him in the back repeatedly, and the rest of the office give each other knowing looks.

--

If he’d known what he would get himself into, he wouldn’t have agreed to come at all. Walking behind the group, makgeolli and tobacco made for a bad enough combination when it came to scent, but the fresh vomit that spewed from drunken men and women had him covering his nose with his shirt.

Disgusting.

But the worst part when it came to a street corner like this was the audacious display of kissing that Seungbae had ever seen, the moist, mashing of tongues that seemed to be solely reserved from the men. A few of them were scattered around the outside of the bars, lip-to-lip, bodies close together, it’d felt like non-consensual voyeurism.

He couldn’t even spectate the beauty of the night, where’d the full moon was always exposed to the insatiability of the lust that took place here. But he wasn’t going to be swayed by it, since the only reason why he was here was peer pressure. Peer pressure with the inclination to prove to them he could have fun. Just a bit. Jeong Lee slows down, until he was walking with Seungbae,  side-to-side.

Jeong Lee takes a puff from his cigarette, “scary ain’t it? Are you regretting it yet?”

Seungbae looks down, “…I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

Jeong Lee shows him his cigarette, pointing it towards seungbaes mouth, “cigarettes don’t offer many health benefits…but it is a guaranteed stress-reliever.”

Seungbae looks longingly at the cigarette, then he pulls his own one from his pocket.

 He was even trying to quit too.

Jeong Lee passes him his ignition lighter, and seungbae lights the cigarette himself.  

They continue to walk until they come up to an admittedly decent looking nightclub, at least, from the outside.

It was of medium size, with neon arrows plastered on the blacked-out windows, pointing towards the entrance of it. Since it was a Friday night, the queue to coming in was long, reaching up until it was at the edge of the building. Seungbae takes a quick puff and squashes down his cigarette.

“Why is there a queue...”

Jeong Lee rolls his eyes, “It’s a Friday. Why wouldn’t there be?”

After the group of men line up, the queue eventually starts to close in, and they were already near the front. Most of the group takes out their cash from inside their pockets, except for Seungbae.  

Seungbae frowns, “wait, how much am I actually paying for this...” making a pointed glance at Jeong Lee. 

Jeong Lee ignores his glance and instead, takes out even more cash from his pocket. He passes it to the bodyguard, who already seemed to have some type of familiarity with him. Without looking back, he says, “Paid for you already. Your coming in whether you like it or not.”

shit.

“You aren’t backing out now are you Seungbae?” one of the men in the group pipes up.

Seungbae ignores their remarks, quickly pushing past the group and making his way to the entrance.

Their persistence was really starting to grind his gears.

Likewise, to a tunnel, the ceiling was concave, with there  being very little light except for a tiny but quick flash near the end of it.

He didn’t know why, but he felt intimidated.

 As he got closer to the light, the sweat underneath his shirt starts to drip down his back, and his mouth felt slightly dry.  Jeong Lee suddenly rushes from behind him, “Hey if your gonna go in, you better go in then,” pushing past him back. He kind of deserved that. The rest of the men go in.

They weren’t going to wait, and they certainly wouldn’t let him live it down if he backed out now, so Seungbae follows behind them.

Upon entering the new room, it would be what was typically expected of a nightclub. It had a couple of round tables scattered around with wooden chairs to accompany it. Then, in the middle of the room, was a rectangular, black stage that took up most of the space.

If he had to complain about something, it would probably be reserved for the multi-colored strobe lights that made him feel dizzy with its constant flashing.

They manage to find a table near the edge of the room, and they all decide to order somaek, while seungbae goes for an iced water. Seungbae takes a sip, “…when is the show going to start again?” as he stares at the stage.

Jeong Lee holds his drink up, “Few more minutes I think…won’t be long,” as he clinks it together with the others. 

‘A few more minutes,’ really wasn’t a phrase that Seungbae enjoyed hearing. He much rather of heard, ‘a few more seconds,’ so he could at least trick himself into believing that it was going to take that amount of timing. Tapping the edge of his drink, he looks around the room, noticing that the majority of the people that were sitting around were men.

…Not that he thought the target audience for this show in the first place was women, but he would have thought there would have been at least a few scattered around the place, at least. They usually enjoy these kinds of thrills, next to male strippers and filling their questionable underwear with money.

Jeong Lee had joked one time that if he wasn’t a police officer, he would probably be a stripper himself, telling him that with his electric charisma with the ladies, he would be a fan favourite. Seungbae scoffs at this memory and finishes his glass of water.

 The lights start to dim down, and a bright flash of yellow points to the middle of the stage. The ambiance of the club quickly quietens, and the many eyes that were focused on their glasses of alcohol look up at the stage, equivalent to moths that have now found a new light to focus on.

A man of lanky stature suddenly appears from behind the velvet curtains, holding a microphone and wearing a purple, sparkly suit that surprisingly fitted him quite nicely, despite how tacky Seungbae thought it was. The man taps the microphone a few times, before speaking into it with a nasally voice, “I’m guessing your all here for the show?” theatrically pointing the microphone back to the audience.

The majority response was an enthusiastic yes from the crowd, followed by shy, quieter ones to an extremely small minority who didn’t say anything at all. The man continues to speak on the microphone, “…Then all of you are in for a treat, since we have a diverse cast of queens that will make you laugh, cry, and perhaps charm you a little if you allow them…” as he winks a couple of times as if everyone was too stupid not to get the innuendo. One of the men on the table playfully nudges Seungbae, “Well you heard the guy…are you gonna let them ‘charm’ you a little huh?”

“…im not interested,” Seungbae deadpans, and they back off awkwardly. Jeong Lee sighs, “..you gotta learn how to loosen up a little. I get that this isn’t your thing but...jesus.”

If he wasn’t so intent, and he says that term very half-heartedly, he would of rather went straight home, microwaved a cup of ramen, eat it and sleep like a baby after. But having to hear a live discourse of a character assassination in his workplace, no less, really irritated him. 

…But also, this was as far he was going to go. He was going to silently watch, and then leave.

The man on the stage finishes speaking, “Anyways, I don’t want to waste anymore of your precious time…let’s start the show, shall we?” and the lights dim to pitch black. Within the darkness, came a few ‘ooohs,’ and ‘ahhhs,’ followed by a lot of snickering and more glasses being clinked together, rather clumsily.

 However, the darkness doesn’t last long as the room brightens up once more, the drapey curtains being opened to reveal a man with high-block heels and in a black jumpsuit.  His face was caked up in dark makeup, with sharp eyebrows and in particular, their smokey eyeshadow, overpowering the majority of their face.

The man calls himself a peculiar name, loudly declaring himself as, "The enigma," before proceeding to break out in a dance and do all kinds of splits on the stage that Seungbae thought that even the average gymnast would find difficult to achieve.

 He didn’t mind watching this performance at first, somewhat tolerating the pop music and jeering in the background but as the other performances came rolling around one after another, it grew repetitive, and very, very stale.

“The shows pretty goood huh??” Jeong Lee comments, drinking the 6th glass of Somoek. His voice was hoarse from having to almost yell every time he spoke, and it was probably because he was already quite drunk. “It’s alright,” Seungbae replies, turning his head briefly to look back at the exit.

Any longer, and he could use a 1st, a 3rd and even a 6th drink himself.

He stares dully at the bottom of his empty glass, contemplating this until the rumbustious applause from the audience snaps him out of it, and his attention has to be forced yet again towards the stage. The man with the tacky suit once again walks towards the stage, and he grins.

“Are you guys enjoying the show so far?” he shouts out, and it is met with a gurgled cheer, meant to resemble a yes but due to the alcohol, was lost in translation. The man nods profusely, and his grin grows wider.

“Thats good, because we have one more performance prepared for you. One more…and this person in particular is very, very talented…”

…whether that was another obvious innuendo or a true statement, was only going to be determined by what ‘this person’ was going to do, which would be either be more gratuitous splits, or something that could take him by surprise.

Probably not.

“…Which is all I’ll say for now. You will just have to see for yourself.” he says, finishing his speech with, “…Anyways, They are finally making their debut here, the one and only…” as he points towards the curtain.

[automatismoateo]

I'm tired of staying quiet via /r/atheism

I'm tired of staying quiet

Throaway account--

Tl;dr: We need to stop being passive, and start calling religious people out on being horrible human beings.

So, for many different reasons, I am a member of the US Military. Mostly, it's due to personal reasons. Now, I definitely don't live and die military. Or white and blue, for that matter.

If you are not aware of it, the military tries to accept and protect all religions or lack thereof, but it is inherently Christian. Most chaplains you meet are Christians or were raised Christians. A lot of upper leadership, you guessed it, are Christians, because they're old and that's how they grew up.

This isn't inherently an issue, but it can be, especially if left uncontrolled.

Now, this post isn't just about the military aspect of it. In fact, I am making this post to hopefully help you build some courage to stand up for others, even at the cost of your own comfort. Keep it in mind, however, that there are many layers to this post, so I understand you may disagree with some of my points.

Now, to the story:

My immediate shop "leader" is a Christian, with a big C. He loves and dies Jesus, and goes to Church every Sunday. To no one's surprise, he is also extremely conservative. Loves guns, loves big T, big DeS, loves his submissive wife, loves low corporate taxes, loves poor people, loves the uneducated, loves people without melanin on their skin, hates homeless veterans, the whole thing.

In the past, he has gotten in trouble for saying the big no-nos out loud: Being openly racist, homophobic, antisemitic, etc.. He shut his mouth for a little while, but like any other true Christian, he felt like he can't be silenced and his true colors just NEED to show. He's now back to saying anything that's on his mind, as long as he feels like he's with his safe group. Sometimes he lets it slip, though.

Being in the Military, we are obviously known to curse a lot. We curse, we say stupid shit, we talk about controversial topics, etc.. It's all obviously unprofessional, but they can't fire us, so who cares, right? On the flip side, since they can't fire you, some people think they can just openly be the same shitty fucking person they are at home, at work.

If that happens, there are one of two things we usually do when this comes from those above us. 1) Shut up and pretend to be on their side so we don't get fucked over or 2) Report the actions to the inspector general (not to management, because they'll likely just slap them on the wrist and tell them to not do it again). The problem is, the IG isn't as helpful as you'd think, because mission takes precedence a lot of times.

So you're essentially left with option #1, since you don't want to be any more miserable at work than you already are.

Except that, you know, this shit has been going too far for far too long.

Not just in the Military, but outside even. For too long, these Christians have been allowed to roam the country and spout the most racist and homophobic shit with no consequences because they know no one will do anything. They'll take your freedom because it doesn't align with their vision of what freedom is. They'll take away your books because it makes them look bad. They'll take your children from you, because you are in love with the wrong person.

For too long, they have been allowed in positions of power, making the lives of anyone with opposing views miserable.

So, for my own mental health, I have decided I need to speak up, even if it'll get me in trouble. At work, I have started calling my superior out on his bullshit Christian values in front of others. Any comment he makes that is out of line, I'll tell him how "that's not very Christian of you." Hates homeless veterans? "Wow, what would God say about helping others?" "Loves that Mexicans are being shipped to Brandon's house?" Yep, what good morals you have!

Once in a while, he'll feign ignorance and ask me what I mean. I grew up Catholic, so I'll tell him that I don't remember being taught to be so ignorant, so selfish, and just overall a bad person.

Overall, I am just trying to make people realize how fucking disgusting he is. For a long time, I used to think that "whatever bad values you have, just leave them at home." I have come to realize that is wrong, too. No, don't leave that shit at home. Don't go home to beat your wife because she didn't make dinner, or your kids because they talked back. That is exactly what this country has done for the last few decades, and it has all come to bite us in the ass.

For too long we have kept quiet. We have let people pass on these horrible traits to their children. Their children grew up thinking that diversity is bad, that God is the only thing that matters and any opposition is inherently wrong. They grew up being told that a woman's place is in the kitchen, that black people are inferior, that poor people don't deserve to be helped. They grew up knowing only Christian hatred, and they're becoming loud once again.

Here is how I see it: the people who are supposed to be there to help you, guide you, bring you the "love of God," are the most judgemental, pieces of shit human beings I have ever met. They'd rather let you rot in misery before helping you. I'm not talking about giving you money in the time of need, or a bed during a cold night out. I'm talking about helping society become better for everyone, not just the people they deem worthy.

They will tell you in your face that rape is justified, that only their definition of love is what matters, that kids deserve to die of cancer because "God works in mysterious ways." They'll spit you in the face and tell you it's your fault. They'll do this with no remorse, because they know that on Sunday someone will tell them that they did God's work.

These people have roamed free of consequences for far too long, and they've gotten too comfortable. They deserve to know when they're out of line, and we clearly we need to remind them of it.

Please, do your neighbor, your friend, your family member, and do society a favor: don't stay quiet anymore. Don't expect to change these people minds, but let's aim to influence those arounds us.

Let's be the change that needs to be made, one voice at a time.

Submitted March 05, 2023 at 06:25PM by religionequashatred (From Reddit https://ift.tt/K7UAnos)

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

ok so since i was tagged i wanna add my perspective on karen, which i hope is alright.

i’ve always related a lot to karen because of her relationship with sheila and a lot of the decisions she made (NOT daddyzgirl tho, lol) but i always found her very interesting. she definitely fell victim to the shameless writers not knowing how to write a woman without having some sort of man involved, but i always liked her. daddyzgirl was something i always hated her for at first, but upon rewatching and finding some deleted scenes i want to explain my perspective.

i’m not defending her at all and if anybody thinks i am they’re wrong, but i think there’s a deleted scene that shouldn’t have been deleted because it adds to the situation a lot (https://youtu.be/EA03ifDH2MA?si=JPjMzvML-52WojeD, 1:35) this scene shows frank praying, and as he is praying, he starts describing karen in a very sexual/pedophilic manner and it changed my whole perspective. not only that, but looking back and seeing how karen would flirt with frank and he would be interested and even after the incident in 1x11 he still admitted interest. i get karen shouldn’t have been flirting, but in that situation the adult shouldn’t feel any sort of way about it and should walk away. that’s my view. the fact that he was always interested in her makes me feel sick, and it’s not that frank deserved to be raped, because that is undoubtedly what happened, but i’ve seen people hate karen and pity frank in that situation and i truly find frank to be disgusting for it. karen was a sex addict and was neglected and starved of attention, and while i don’t think what she did was right i think she was a kid who needed help.

anyways, that wasn’t the point of the post, the point was more with karen’s pregnancy and you’re 100% right about that. not ONCE did karen say the baby was lip’s, she only teased mandy saying she was fucking with lip the whole time, but when it was actually happening i never saw it that way. i forgot the episode but there’s a scene where they’re on the l and karen says, “who says it’s yours?”. people see her telling lip that she never said it was his in 2x11 and they’re furious, but it was the truth. she didn’t. and if i were her, a kid who just gave birth with a ton of people she asked to leave watching her, i would be screaming, especially because of how angry lip was. she never said it was lip’s and they always had the intent of putting hymie up for adoption, but people missed that. i hated sheila for stealing hymie and for choosing him over her daughter and i don’t think she did a good job, but that’s just my opinion. jody was also a predator and she let karen marry him at 16, and when she was 17 with brain damage she knew jody had raped her and she let him leave with her. that terrified me, but people still see it as, “well karen deserved that. she was a bitch!” when she absolutely didn’t.

you’re right, karen and debbie hate is similar in the sense where they’re hated for situations people missed a lot of details on, and a lot of the hate is based in sexism. the two are actually incredibly similar and i could go on about it for days and never get tired. they both made mistakes, bad ones, but people neglect to realize they were extremely traumatized, fucked up, teenage girls who needed help but rarely ever received it. in s3 karen reveals she was almost sex trafficked and all of her money got stolen after she had to leave because sheila wouldn’t pick her. and the hate wouldn’t even bother me as much as it does if people would understand the characters they’re hating on or hate the male characters for their shitty actions, but i don’t see it happen as often.

sorry if i rambled or went off topic but i’ve been waiting to talk about this and i loved your post.

when i first watched shameless i didn’t really like Karen. the main reason for that is because of the daddyz girl phase, and because of what happened to frank. i think i mainly didn’t like her because of how hard that was to watch, not because i found her annoying or anything. a lot of her scenes after that were hard to watch, like the scene where lip is yelling that he doesn’t love her.

so i don’t think i fully disliked her, but her scenes were just difficult for me to see for some reason. i did understand a lot of her motives though, and maybe that’s why i found it so hard.

however, no matter how i felt about her, the first time i watched shameless i was LIVID about what happened with the baby. i was sitting there so confused at lip because she NEVER said the baby was his. she never even implied it. she just didn’t say the baby *wasnt* his because she genuinely didn’t know. it made me mad when people were telling her to keep the kid. that was her baby, if she wanted to give it up for adoption she could - remember she is a teenager with not much money and a mother who couldn’t support karen, never mind a baby (ik sheila did a good job in the end, but it’s reasonable to have thought she wouldn’t). karen also knows that she’s got problems herself, and shouldn’t be responsible for another person.

what makes me mad about karen hate is that it’s similar but opposite to debbie hate. let me explain. people will say debbie was wrong for having her baby at all, that she was stupid and should’ve listened to fiona and shouldn’t have expected any help from her family, forgetting she was a teenager who made a similar ‘mistake’ (depending on how u look at it) that many real life teenagers make. however, when karen is very against having the baby at all, when she wants nothing to do with her teenage pregnancy, basically doing what everyone wanted debbie to do, she gets hate. she gets told she was being horrible to lip, that it was his baby too.

the reason i think this is is because debbie’s baby daddy ran off, but karen’s (if the baby had been lip’s) baby daddy was willing to stick around. the moment a man is involved, the baby is no longer the woman’s according to some. it drives me crazy. it’s SEXISM. pure sexism.

i wanna tag @m4ndysk4nkovich in this because I feel like she'll get it

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

[stressedoutcanary]

Do You Ever Feel Like A Misfit (Everything Inside You Is Dark & Twisted)

Dick Grayson x Reader

Word Count: 3.5K (I don't know how tf that happened)

Warnings: Explicit language, Blood and Violence, lots of angst, Hurt/Comfort ✌

A/N: Guess who's back! Just for some context the reader is a magic user and her style is similar to that of Zatanna <3

•°•°•°•°

She’d have reasoned with herself that stealing from one of the most secure and heavily guarded safe-houses of a deranged sociopath was probably not the brightest idea she’s had all day. It never even made it on her to-do-list for the weekend, but here she was, running across rooftops, holding on to the stolen totem like her life depended on it, it probably did. The three assassins sent after her were no Lady Shiva or Talia Al Ghul but they weren’t exactly amateurs either. The deep cuts and two broken ribs she got from their earlier encounter were proof of that.

She glanced back and even though there was no sign of her would-be-killers she knew better than to assume they’d just let her be. They were sticking to the shadows, exploiting her blind spots. The only thing she was sure of was that they were still hot on her trail and would happily plunge a dagger into her back given the opportunity.

She was right. As of this moment she hated being right.

She caught the glint of the two sharp objects slicing through the air, hurtling towards her at full speed. A slight shift of her upper body was all she could manage as one of the daggers got embedded right into her scapula while the other one, fortunately so, whirled past her, slightly grazing her left hip. The impact of the blade on her shoulder made her lose what little balance she had left. Despite her best efforts, when the wounded shoulder made contact with the hard concrete, a loud, ear-piercing cry ripped out from her throat before she could push it back down.

Cursing under her breath she knew, she knew all she had were those few seconds of numbness and disorientation to get a grip and figure out her exit strategy. However, all her hopes started to sink as she saw one of the assassins come closer, appearing more of a blur than a person. Then again that was probably because of the nice, little concussion she got from her fall. The assassin walked over to her, unsheathed their sword and placed it right on her neck, blocking any and every way out.

“You were warned. The Demon’s Head does not tolerate treachery. We are here under his orders to bring back the totem along with the witch’s head; your head”

If she could, she would’ve rolled her eyes at the classic villainous dialogues thrown at her.

“Witch? Who’re you calling a witch Snow White? I’m clearly a sorceress, don’t they teach you the difference between the two in assassin school or something? Hell, I’d even let you call me an enchantress, though that name’s already been taken but you get my poin-” 

The remaining words died in her throat as the sword on her neck shifted slightly. She knew she had extremely poor self preservation skills considering she’s clearly been instigating the very person sent to kill her, but even she wasn’t dumb enough to keep talking when the tiniest movement on either part could result in her having a severed jugular or carotid. 

‘This is a pretty shitty way to die’ 

She thought back to how she used the last of her mystic energy to hide the totem away before her fall and how stupid that decision really was because now she could actually feel the agonizing pain coming from her shoulder. It started to spread throughout her back like wildfire, eyelids grew heavy against her wishes. Suddenly she felt really tired and the idea to close her eyes just felt so goddamn appealing. 

‘No (Y/N) that’s the blood loss talking. Blood loss doesn’t get to make decisions’, she mentally scolded herself, still not breaking her eye contact with the person standing above her.

“Give us what you stole and we shall grant you the mercy of a quick death.”

That made her raise an eyebrow, “Ah, lemme think...the correct response here would be…”, she hummed, making a show of how hard she was thinking about the offer she was granted, “How about a fuck you? How would that do for you?”, she gave them a vicious grin, it was all teeth.  They probably weren’t impressed by her response and it showed.

She knew there was no way out but she had promised herself once that if she were to die, that if she ever goes out, she’d be anything but a whimpering and sobbing mess. She was scared shitless, more so than she’d ever been while fending off the league, she won’t deny that but she would rather die than let them know that.  ‘Well at least I got that ‘rather die’ part down to a T.’ she thought, eyeing the sharpness of the blade which was now raised up in the air

She felt bad for just giving up the way she did. Her whole life she was told to fight her way through the impossible, to attain the strength rivaling that of Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine and Doctor Fate himself. To be better than them, and there she was lying on the ground limp as a sword came down on her throat; all for a silly necklace. She would’ve huffed out a laugh if only her ribs weren’t broken, if only her body wasn’t screaming in pain, if only she had a way out. She didn’t. She was too tired, too drained, too numb to do anything else. Closing her eyes she stopped fighting, she let her growing unconsciousness claim her.

‘This is what you deserve anyway’, her barely there conscience remarked.

‘Fuck you too.’ she replied.

Everything went pitch black. The darkness encompassing her was peaceful, unlike the pain she had felt before. It was nice for a change. It sounded pathetic  but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

•°•°

 When she came to, the first thing she observed was the feeling of something soft against her back, next was a dull rhythmic sound which she realized was her own heartbeat. Though opening her eyes was a tiring task. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. She used all the energy she had into it and her eyelids fluttered open. She stared at the white ceiling and stayed like that for a few seconds; a few minutes? She couldn’t tell, but the pain was back now, not too much but enough to tell her it was there, to tell she was still alive.

She saw something shift in her peripheral vision and her body instinctively went stiff. Her mind which was blank before now ran in all directions.

‘Could be Ra’s Al Ghul… Could be worse’, she tried not to think about the worst case scenario, but she knew she had pissed off a lot of beings, beings far more powerful and far crueler than Ra’s himself. An involuntary shudder passed through her at the thought. That must’ve caught her captor’s attention as she felt the person move closer to her. Begrudgingly, she tore her gaze from the spot on the ceiling which she had been staring at this whole time and tilted her head. The man in black and blue who appeared, was probably the last person she had expected to see.

“Nightwing…”

Her voice was barely above a whisper and the hoarseness with which it came out it took her by surprise, but her body visibly relaxed at the sight of the familiar figure, at the sight of someone who would never hurt her.  

She watched him pull out a chair from the desk nearby. He sat next to the bed she was lying on and gave her a soft smile, a smile that spelled one word ‘relieve’. She remembered how when she first met him two years ago, she found that particular smile extremely annoying, she had no reason to, but she did. What she couldn’t remember was when she had grown so fond of it.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

He snorted a laugh which made her pout. She was planning to point out how he was being mean; laughing at her when her response truly defined the way she was feeling, but any words she thought of were cut off by the change in his expression. His smile faltered, lips were now pressed in a thin line, face contorted in a way which showed his genuine concern.

“This is the second time, this week.”

That you almost died, he didn’t say. That I had to save you and bring you back from the clutches of death, he didn’t say.

“I know.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“I know.”

The silence that settled, stretched far too long for comfort, but she wasn’t going to be the one to break it. She wanted to, but there was nothing she could say, that would make it better. Nightwing ran his fingers through the locks of hair, burying his face in his hands.

For the first time since she woke up, she took in his appearance, he looked disheveled,  his suit was torn in different places along visible faint cuts, most likely he got them when he rescued her. She felt a pang of guilt rising in her chest. He risked his life for her, she knew he had done it before, she didn’t get it then and she didn’t get it now. Why would someone do that? Why would he? She was pulled back from her spiraling thoughts when he spoke again, exhaustion evident in his voice.

“Why are you so reckless?”

“Excuse me?”

She looked at him like he had grown another head. She wasn’t ready for this conversation but by the looks of it they were gonna have it anyway.

“What if I hadn’t been there today? Or any of the other days you almost died. What then?”

“My best guess? I would’ve been dead.”

“And that fact doesn’t bother you at all?!”

She flinched at little when his voice rose, but she stood her ground, at least figuratively since she was still in bed.

“I don’t know, should it?” She didn’t try and tone down the venom dripping from her words. Her words cut deeper than the wounds he got from the assassins; she saw it clear as day on his face. She let out a deep sigh but continued. She had to get it out and he had to hear it, that’s the reason she gave herself for the confession that followed.

“I don’t need your help, Dick. I don’t know what gave you the impression that I did but I’ve never needed it.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Why was it getting harder to speak?’ “I don’t need you to save me every time. I don’t need you to risk your life for me and I definitely don’t…” She moved to sit up straight, her back resting on the headboard. She shifted her gaze on her open palms resting in her lap; palms covered in blood, in her blood, not very long ago.

“I don’t need you to care...”

The last part was a whisper and Dick was silent, so silent that for a brief moment she wondered if the man she’d come to care about even heard her, admitting something that was so painful for her to say out loud.

Dick moved to sit beside her, his shoulder bumping hers. He didn’t know where all this was coming from but he knew better to leave it unattended.

“(Y/N) I help you because I care about you. I always will, you know that.”

“Why? You have nothing to gain from it”, blinking back the unshed tears in her eyes, she looked at him with a hurt expression as if she couldn’t bring herself to understand.

“Why… as in why do I care?”, Dick tilted his head to look her in the eyes, trying to understand what she meant all the while making sure not to let his own surprise at her words show. She nodded not trusting her voice to not betray her anymore than it already had.

“I don’t care about you because I feel like you need it nor because I would gain something from it”, Dick knew he shouldn’t have to explain it to her. He briefly wondered what she had gone through to make her think that she needed to be useful to be cared for or that she had to need it to be cared for. He felt something pull at his heart at the thought; It was sorrow.

“I care about you because… well I do and there’s nothing you could or couldn’t do to change that. And it is because I care about you that I ask you to be better at taking care of yourself. Now I know for a fact that whatever you stole from The League’s safehouse definitely did not belong there, but I also know that whatever it was, it wasn’t worth your life (Y/N) It never will be.”

Dick grasped one of her hands, interlacing his gloved fingers with hers; she hadn’t even realized she was shaking until he did so. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath despite her protesting ribs. Opening the palm of her free hand she muttered an incantation with practiced ease

“Eveirter tahw saw neddih “, her hand glowed, the golden aura taking the shape of a object. When the light subsided, Dick saw the object in her palm as she rubbed her thumb across it, quietly leaning her head on his shoulder.

“It was this totem. It belongs to Madame Xanadu. Don’t know what Ra’s wanted it for though”, she shrugged as best as she could with an injured shoulder then continued, voice firmer than it had been the whole evening,“ She asked me to retrieve it in exchange for information on a girl I was looking for. The girl was somehow sucked into some other dimension, a mystic one and her mother was so desperate when she approached me that I just couldn’t say no. So when I say the Totem was important, then I want you to know that it really is.”

Dick shook his head at that. “Still not worth your life.”

“Dick…”, she sighed. It was all she could do at the moment because she was really getting tired from all the arguing.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

“You mean the time I met the infamous vigilante Nightwing in a dumpster of all places.”

“In my defense I was badly injured”, she hummed in agreement.

“You smelled bad”

“You try smelling like flowers after falling from a building and into an open dumpster.”

His playful grumbling pulled a short laugh out of her. She was more than a little confused at the sudden trip into the past but happily accepted it as a change of topic. She should’ve know better than to think he’d have let the matter go.

“Anyway my point is when you saw me that day, you first instinct was to help me. You pulled me out and used your magic to heal my wounds. You didn’t have to. You could’ve dropped me at a hospital. You could’ve even walked away and pretended that you never saw me, but you didn’t. Why is that?”

“Because I thought you were handsome?”, she said trying to lighten this too-heavy-for-comfort conversation he was trying to have.

“Nice try. I know you. You saved me because you cared. You helped me and the Titans save the city more than once because you cared. It is who you are. I’ve seen you care about and worry over complete strangers without conditions. So why do you think that there has to be some kind of a barter system when it comes to you? Why think that I would want to gain something if I cared about you?”

“Because everyone else did.”

The words shot out from her mouth quicker than she realized. She had voiced her greatest insecurity to the one person who never had anything to add to it and Dick’s heart clenched at the implications of her words, ‘She has never been loved unconditionally before’ his brain provided.

The tears she blinked back earlier came back with full force. She felt two strong arms that wrapped around her, all the while being mindful of her injuries. Dick pulled her into a hug and that was it. She couldn’t control the sobs that tore through her throat, the pain in her body flared due her erratic movements. She knew once the tears started flowing they wouldn’t stop at least not for a while, but now that her façade had been broken she couldn’t bring herself to give it another thought.

He waited for her to let it out, let out all the pent up emotions she had. Now that he thought about it he had never seen her cry. He never questioned it, maybe he should’ve.

“I don’t know who’s responsible for hurting you (Y/N), God, how much I wish I did”, his arms slightly tighten around her at that. “I am so sorry that you have felt like you have to have your walls up all the time, even around me and I should’ve seen that, I should’ve realized that before but I didn’t and I am so sorry for that. I can’t undo the damage you’ve endured and I will not pretend that I can. What I can do is promise you that I’d never let you down like that, never.”

The words he spoke were clear. He didn’t try to tell her to put her walls down, to trust him when she had no reason to. He also didn’t need to justify himself or make such over the top promises but it felt nice to hear it. She had already stopped crying the moment he started speaking again but she still had her forehead pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, it was calming in a way she couldn’t describe. She pulled her head back to look at him, and the honesty in his voice earlier matched the one in his eyes.

“Okay”

Hearing her response, he gave her his signature grin. It sent unexpected warmth through her, he always had that effect on her. She was sure she was just blushing at this point and was suddenly thankful for the dim lighting in the room. 

She ended up composing herself rather quickly, jabbing a finger at his armored chest with her usual smirk plastered on her face.

“Now that you’ve made that promise, know this, Dick Grayson, if you let me down I will drop a mountain on you.”

“You mean that figuratively?”

“No I mean that geologically”, he waited for her to say she was kidding. She didn’t.

“Alright, alright”, He held his hands out in mock surrender. After considering the look in her eyes, Dick refrained from questioning the feasibility of that action nor did he want to question her magical abilities or intent. Last he remembered, Wally did that and that conversation ended with him being teleported to Sahara and Dick would very much like to avoid the same fate as his best friend.

Deciding that was more than enough exhaustion for one night, he got up from the bed and kissed her goodnight, informing her that he’d be sleeping on the couch so that he wouldn’t accidently hit her injuries in his sleep. She agreed and watched him slip out of the room before falling into the blissful sleep she had been putting off since forever.

•°•°

She knew Dick Grayson was full of surprises but the next morning when he put forward the offer of become a full time Titan, in front of her, she wondered if she fell from the bed in her sleep and ended up  getting another concussion because he was so not making any sense.

“So let me get this straight, you want me to come live with you and your superhero friends, in the Titans freaking Tower?!”

“I was hoping for a little less yelling after an emotional evening but yes that is exactly what I’m asking.”

“Dick that’s just ridiculous!”

“Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He looked like a kicked puppy which made her feel kinda guilty for all the yelling.

“It’s not that…It’s just there is still a lot about me I haven’t told them. There is still a lot I haven’t told you. I don’t see a reason why you all would want to trust a possible threat, let alone live with it”, she gestured to herself.

Dick felt like there was a deeper meaning behind her words, as if she was voicing her own fear rather than theirs but he trusted her enough to tell him about it when she was ready, on her own terms. He could wait till then but for now he crossed the short distance between them, going around the breakfast table till he stood in front of her. He grasped both of her hands in his and ran his thumb soothingly across her knuckles. He bent down to place a soft kiss on her forehead, and then moved to meet her gaze.

“(Y/N), I know you and I trust you and…It sounds silly considering I was raised by the worlds greatest detective but I believe that you don’t have to know every little detail about someone as long as you already know what’s in their heart.” Bruce probably would’ve disagreed but he wasn’t Bruce.

“And you know what’s in mine?”

“And I know what’s in yours.” His statement was firm and left no room for argument, not when it came to this.

“If you’re sure about this, then I guess...”

“Is that a yes I’m hearing?”, There was that smile again, seriously what was up with him and his smile that made her giddy inside.

In between thoughts she realized he was still waiting for a response so she nodded. Any underlying doubts she had about her answer vanished when she took in how happy it made him. As cheesy as it sounded seeing him happy made her happy. A part of her said it wouldn’t last long, but seeing her boyfriend hop onto the couch full of joy as he called his friends about the latest development in their lives, she wanted to believe otherwise.    

°•°•°•°•

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist  ///  Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

[idy-ll-ique]

just for laughs

pairing: chris evans x f!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: mention of a shitty ex, mentions of insecurities

requested: nope

word count: ~1.2k

summary: chris helps y/n overcome an insecurity of hers

author's note: hiya peeps! enjoy!

masterlist

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Chris was upset.

Chris was upset because his girlfriend was upset.

Did he absolutely know she was upset?

Nope!

But she had to be because she wasn't laughing at any of his jokes.

"Hey hey hey, look at this one I found—" he chuckled as he looked up, just as she turned her head towards him. "What is it?" Y/N grinned. "This pick-up line from the show Wild n Out. It says, girl are your parents beavers? 'Cause you built like DAYUM," Chris said and Y/N grinned hugely, causing his face to fall. Nope, didn't work yet again. "Hah, that's hilarious! If you had said that to me I'd have accepted it."

"Yeah," he mumbled and continued scrolling, leaving Y/N to do whatever she was doing (which was trying to fall asleep because it was very late at night).

Chris and Y/N had started dating a month ago, and they were extremely happy in their relationship. Chris loved almost everything about her— almost, because the only thing he hated about her was the fact that she never laughed at any of his jokes.

She'd verbally confirm that the joke was good but she'd never, ever laugh. He only got smiles or grins from her and he couldn't understand why. Some of the jokes he made caused whole rooms to erupt into boisterous laughter but he never got a laugh out of her. And that made him very sad. If she liked his jokes, why did she never laugh? Turning towards her, he smiled when he saw her fast asleep.

"Goodnight, sweetheart." Keeping his phone away, he lay down next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist from behind, spooning her. He fell asleep just minutes later.

---

"Okay, that's it! That's it! I have to ask you!" Chris slammed his hand on the desk in front of him, startling Y/N. 8 months had now passed since they started dating and Chris was tired. Tired, because for 8 months she hadn't laughed at any of his jokes. Not one. Not even a tiny chuckle or a giggle or a titter. Only a smile and, "the joke was hilarious!" Why was she not laughing? "Chris, is everything okay?" He shook his head.

"Nothing is okay. I'm going to be blunt here— why don't you ever laugh at any of my jokes? I'm dying to hear you laugh, sweetheart, you always tell me my jokes are good but you never ever laugh! Wouldn't a laugh be a much better and quicker way of telling me you think I'm hilarious? It's just— it's been 8 months…" Y/N pursed her lips and looked down, scratching her arm.

"No, Chris, your jokes are awesome, I swear," she began, "It's just— I haven't— it's been a long time since I've… actually laughed. It's not you, it's me." Her confession shocked him. He went to the couch and sat next to her, taking her hand in his. "How long has it been…?" he whispered, quickly regretting his outburst as a tear slipped down her cheek. She turned and buried her face in the crook of his neck. "A few years."

"Years?! You haven't laughed in years?" he blurted out, his heart shattering into two as Y/N sniffled and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Chris," she sobbed and Chris pulled her on his lap, shaking his head. "Don't be sorry, love, we can talk about this." She curled up into him as he wrapped his arms around her middle, her head now resting on his shoulder.

Both her legs were thrown on one side of Chris' legs. "What do you want to know?"

"Why."

"It's just—" Her arms tightened around his waist. "I used to date this g-guy and when we broke up he said some very v-vile things to me and it took me years to get rid of my insecurities but what he said to me about m-my laugh— it never left me. I eventually just— forgot how to laugh. I'm so sorry, Chris, you have to go through this because of him—" Chris saw red. Someone told her her laugh was ugly?

How can people even have the nerve to say such things to another being? "He told you your laugh was ugly?" Chris asked quietly, letting out a growl when Y/N nodded. "How fucking dare he?! Tell me his address, I'm gonna go over right now, punch him in his stupid fucking face and maybe kick him a couple times in the balls, then we'll see whose cry is ugly, fuckin' asshole!"

Chris' angry outburst made Y/N pull away from him as she cupped his cheek, shaking her head. "Don't do it, it's not worth it. I'll work on it for you, I promise. Besides, I don't even know where he lives," she smiled and Chris let out a chuckle, holding her face in his hands just like she was holding his. Then he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss.

"I love you so much, darling, just want you to remember: no one's laugh is ever ugly. Because what is a laugh, anyway? A sound of excitement, a sound someone makes when they're so happy they can't contain it. It is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world, a person being so elated they just have to let the world know that they're super happy. And I bet you have the best one. We're going to work on it together."

Y/N was in tears once again because what he was saying was true. It was a sound of joy, and someone being joyful isn't a bad thing at all. "We will," she agreed and Chris smiled to himself as she cuddled into his arms again.

He couldn't wait to hear her laugh.

---

"And then he was like that's too hard and you know what I said? You'd know about that, you're the expert on hard things!" Chris wheezed as he finished telling Y/N an incident that had happened that day. Instead of smiling and saying anything, Y/N laughed loudly, surprising both herself and Chris. She covered her mouth with a shocked look on her face as Chris let out a triumphant "yes!", pulling her into his arms.

"I laughed," she whispered, a broad smile showing up on her face, "I actually laughed! Chris, I did it!" She squealed and gave him a big smooch on the lips. He grinned broadly and pulled her in for another short kiss. "And I knew your laugh was going to be the best sound in the world! You mean to say I've been missing out on that for a year?! Man, now I wanna beat up your ex even more badly—"

Y/N chuckled and patted his chest, stopping his rant. "Chris, leave it be. In Elsa's words, the past in the past." He only rolled his eyes and kissed her again. "I love you so much," he whispered and she gave him a tiny smile, snuggling into his chest. "I love you too, you helped me come over an insecurity of mine, how can I ever thank you?" He smirked suggestively at her and she laughed again, shaking her head.

"Christopher Robert Evans, you incorrigible man!"

"I'm just saying!"

"Fine, come here."

"Wait what—"

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a/n: thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed!