#it's understandable that it would inevitably reach a breaking point

[merakiui]

so when they said he threw a tantrum…💀

MY REACTION AFTER SEEING THE NEW AZULS!!!!!!!!

TO SEE THE MOU YADA ILLUSTRATED............ omg it's perfect. The look Leona's giving him LOLLLLLL. Ruggie's shocked face!!!! Azul quite literally thrashing on the ground like a spoiled child who was told no. Throwing that big of a tantrum at his grown age....... 😵‍💫 he's CRAZY BONKERS. I love him too much. (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

On a side note, I absolutely adore how the manga portrays these (Riddle's, Leona's, and Azul's) mental breakdowns. They're not cute or pretty; they're exceptionally ugly and raw and volatile. It captures the energy very well!!

[skyrigel]

You are in love 11 | B.B

Part 1 of " You are in love "

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x best friend! Reader

Warning: smut, 18+, p in v ( rough), fingering, fluffy fluff, Idiots in love, might have used whore, use of f word( alot) double orgasm, teasing, inexperienced! Reader, horny! Reader

Rigel's note 🪩: aftermath of my " You are in love 1 ", this is the confrontation and smut part of the request. My cow is so angry at me—i write so cringe sometimes, 10 points to your house if you find 1989 ref other than title.

You can hear it in the silence...

It was only a minute after you laid in your bed, you heard it, a soft thud against your window followed by another.

Your heart dreaded because it wasn't the first time your best friend had thrown rocks at your window, first time—when he called you a duck in front of lord Ivor, a childhood memory and second when he was bored so he thought calling upon his fairer sex friend would be the best choice and another time—

This particular one was very violent against the glass and for a moment you wondered if it would break, you pushed the blankets aside, feeling the night chill settle in your bones as you pulled your night gown closer.

Your feet touched the cold floor, chill reaching up your spine as you dragged yourself to the window and there he was.

Basking under the moonlight and ever so beautiful, his cheeks flushed like he had run miles and his heart heaving, his eyes widened at your silhouette and a deep sigh escaped just after a smile took refuge on his lips, those treacherous lips.

You opened the window, he dropped the pebble.

" Benedict ! " You screamed whispered down at him, his smile grew but his expressions were pained, like he was deeply confused.

" Can we talk ? " It was loud and clear, echoing in the dark, he wasn't drunk but there was something very intoxicating about him.

You face palmed, feeling your heart sink because you still haven't forget the warm tingling, still haven't forgotten the way your heart cart wheeled along with everything inside you, crawling it's way to Benedict.

Every friendly castle crumbling in mere moments, just by remembering how tenderly his mouth moved when he was protecting you and how tenderly it would be to have it against your—

" Please, please, please, " He chanted, not attempting to keep it low, then he dropped to his knees and even in the dark you couldn't mistake the silvery bead, those were tears.

" Give me one chance, let me talk, let me—"

" I am coming ! " You leaned across the sill, telling him shush with your fingers as you backed away, running out of your room but tiptoeing all right, missing the third step because it creaked and opening the back door soundlessly to your secret gardens.

Despite the fear of getting caught and chill that was swirling, your own heart wasn't being much help, your face grew warm at the mere sight of him and let alone the other embarassing things that he did to you, just by existing.

" Are you mad ? " You stomped your feet across him, crossing your arms as he looked up, his knees penetrating in grass, like he was begging for all of his sins, like you were something to worship, like a false god.

Benedict's eyes were red in the moonish glow, he was radiating, he was crying, he was so very beautiful.

" You are really mad Benedict ! Go home, we will talk tomorrow—"

" I thought i lost you." He said, it was more of a cry but you were too baffled to form words anymore. He sniffed.

" I thought i would never see you again...when I lost you...my heart..my heart was the closest to exploding." He said, clutching his heart as his lips parted in a gasp. It was paining him but it pained you all the same.

" Oh Benedict." You whispered, your hand inevitably caressing his cheek as he shaked his head profusely.

" You don't understand how much... fuck...I came here all the way thinking you would be gone somewhere i couldn't follow...like i fucked everything again—"

" You ran all the way here ?! " You garbbed his chin, you knew it would hurt but you needed to know this.

" That's not the point." He avoided your gaze but you jerked him right up, eye to eye.

" Are you fucking mad Benedict ?! Are you drunk ? " You leaned to sniff his mouth but he only reeked of the few lemonade he downed with you.

" I...no...I am sorry." Benedict swallowed hard, his adam rolled and readjusted again and the warmness was there again, spreading through the creaks of your bones.

" That was really stupid Benedict." You said softly, you couldn't imagine what whistledown would write if she had seen him running wild.

" I know, I know...it just seemed right to me, like I couldn't stop myself even if I tried but I am sorry, i don't wanna lose you, and I meant it all, truly and completely." Benedict said, his hand grabbing your wrist like you would run away and leave him.

" Benedict we aren't talking about running..?"

Benedict's brow raised as he worried his jaw, his eyes dazed as they lingered on your lips more than it was approved by.

" I am talking about.. about my defending you but I swear I wasn't trying to be hero or some knight in shining armour, i just wanted to be there like you were always for me." He inhaled sharply, you were knocked out of your breath as you tried to breathe and speak and failing in both.

" I know..I know I have embarassed you deeply and i am so sorry, i am—"

" Benedict shut up." You yanked your hand away from his grip, breathing harder as he watched grimly, not making a sound.

" That..." You bited your lip, " I'm..." Your heart was beating too fast and your cheeks deepened in colour as you turned to him.

" Hot." You said finally, gripping your night gown as your knuckles went white, all blood rushing to your face and places too holy.

" You're hot ? " Benedict tried but a grin tiptoed it's way and it was so beautiful across his face that you wanted to feel it against your own lips. Shut up !

" What you did for me Benedict...it was...it was the hottest thing you ever did...you were..oh my god...you were on fire." You closed your eyes, feeling yourself vibrate throughout your body with just his heavy gaze.

" I thought," he recovered his slackened jaw, smiling like a star,", i embarassed you."

" You could never ! " You shaked your head, taking a step, not much, it was enough.

" And the time I called you a duckling? " He laughed, sound rich and melodic and that's how you loved him the most, free and feral.

" Well you could be an idiot sometimes." You chuckled softly, taking a deep breath as Benedict outstretched his hand.

" I know, I know...I am such an idiot and that's why I need you, I want you by my side." He said earnestly, you took his hand as he pulled you closer.

" This...it has been a torment all this time." He whispered it lowly, voice heavy as he kissed each word on your knuckles, your brain was dead in it's wake.

" Benedict." You exhaled, this would ruin you, there would be no coming back.

" I watched you leave and i...I thought what would become of me and there was only one answer—nothing, there's no me without you. I can't imagine a life where it's not us." He brought your palm closer to his lips, pressing them softly, inking each syllable.

" Benedict." You shaked your head because you would do something very stupid if he didn't stop, Benedict stood up, his knees buckling and making an odd sound.

" So you must know, it can't wait anymore because I can't keep it in, it's killing me." Oh how much it was killing you, little did he know, You felt the moment stop when he leaned down, his breath heavy on your cheek as his eyes darted to you.

" You're my best friend." He said, and you knew what it was, he is in love.

Then he kissed you, soft warm lips against yours and it was only a moment before he pulled away.

" I am sorry...fuck—"

" Don't ever apologise for that ! " You pulled him by his collar, crashing your lips again like waves meeting the shore, it was like your soul was crawling out for Benedict and nothing else mattered.

A moan escaped his mouth and your whole body shuddered at the sound he was making, those sound that drowned in your own mouth as your devoured him, you felt him grinning against you and oh you could die, In silent screams and even in your wildest dreams, you never dreamt of this.

Breathless, you spared a moment and he looked so beautiful with his swollen kissed lips beaming up with your saliva. Your.

" I... Benedict...more." your cheeks blazed, you were damn sure your ears were red because Benedict looked like he was about to die, his grin splitting his whole face in half.

" This..it was perfect ! " He said, dipping down to kiss your cheek, you thought he would pull away but he then rested his forehead against yours, your breathing leveling with his in synchronise. It felt real, all of it.

He pulled you by your waist, nose bumping in yours.

" I want to give you everything..." He breathed, " everything that you want."

" I want it Benedict." You were only half aware of the thing you wanted from him, perhaps to entwine your souls together, you weren't sure but this torment was too much.

His thumb caressed your lips and then your jaw, making stars and circles as he whispered in a amused little voice.

" We must wait—" you kissed him, hard on his mouth and you were sure someone's tooth was chipped but it melted the pain as soon as his mouth parted for you, his tongue swiping across your lower lip like a Eden's feather.

You were holding his face like it was your life support and he was too holding you back like you were his most precious treasure, his hands were slowly progressing up your thigh, your night gown sliding up. He stopped, you stopped tugging at his hair and felt him whine against your mouth, nipping in response. You guided his hand to your slick as oil womanhood, he gasped against you.

His eyes were shining brighter than every star that hanged high.

" Oh." His fingers touched you and you thought you would die just there, moaning like you never had.

" You are...you are wet." He said, his cheeks deepening in heat and colour, his smile becoming a grin as your eyes dazed.

" Fuck ! " You moaned, arching back when he swiped his one long finger against you, Benedict moaned just the same.

" Oh lord...oh lord..oh fucking lord." Benedict groaned, you were sure he smiled wickedly before his finger penetrated inside you.

The coil in your stomach lurched and something heavy dropped inside you.

" It might..it might.. might hurt." Benedict dropped his head to the crook of your neck, kissing once before he set his eyes on you.

You winced as one finger became two, pulsing inside you, your soul was no longer inside you and it was as if you were floating.

" Ben...oh—" you almost cried, your eyes tearing up when his pace increased and he was panting and shaking, his eyes widening when you came with a sharp cry, thighs shaking and turning to jelly as Benedict watched dazedly.

" Fuck i ruined..I ruined — " you looked as Benedict withdrew his fingers covered in silvery thick juices.

" Shhh... " He cooed, smiling as he brought his fingers to his mouth, you gawked as he wickedly sucked them in, humming at the sweetness. " You were beautiful."

" Can we..can we go inside ? " You were being nasty, you knew but what you wouldn't give to see Benedict, whole of him, raw and naked.

" I...I would love to but in order to keep your virtue intact—

" Shut up ! " You groaned, taking his hand.

" Anthony will kill me." He shrugged, entwinng your fingers together and they moulded like they were made for each other.

" I will kill you." You said, he smiled like the devil he was.

-

You can feel it on your way home...

" Hey." You laughed when he pinned you against your father's study, kissing you deeply, " shhh..." He smiled, lowering his head to your cleavage, licking it, placing open mouthed kisses all along.

" My father's on hunt, he will come tommorow" You whispered, the servants were the only concern and honestly, there was hardly any concern.

" Good, tommorow i am talking to you father." He smiled up at you, kissing your flesh and you mouthed all prayers you knew.

" Wh..y ? " You said, Benedict hoisted you up, his hands underneath your thigh as he carried you up, missing the third step because he knew, he has been here.

" To marry you my little kangaroo." He laughed when you deadpanned at him.

" Call me that vile thing again and I will say no." You hid your face in his neck, smiling.

" Well since you're smiling—ow"

" Not smiling! " You nipped at his skin, salty and just like Benedict, it was like a dream come true, to kiss him, to love him, to have him.

" What should I call you then cupcake ? " He pushed open the door, lowering you gently down on the couch as he backed away.

" Cupcake ? " You offered, he mouthed a 'sweet' before he removed his waist coat.

" Oh lord..." You gasped as one by one Benedict began to discard his clothes, his skin gleaming with sweat and beauty, he was like the one poets wrote poems about, he was artist but he was art in himself, dazzling and ever so mesmerising.

" C'mon, don't act like you're unimpressed." He wiggled his eyebrow, teasing as he started to work on his breeches, you felt warmth tingling throughout you, you demanded touch because you were starving.

" You're like a poetry." You said, it was more of a breath but he heard it anyway, stopping as held the last bits of dignity together.

" You have called me poetry earlier too."

" Byron's poetry."

" But poetry indeed." He dropped the last clothing, naked and bare in front of you and like every bit about him, he was beautiful.

" My snowman..." You couldn't hold back the grin, Benedict was all macho and bravado but it crumbled when he strided towards you, he so wanted you to like him, every bit of him, whole of him and you did, with your whole heart you would love this man, forevermore.

" Yours." He mouthed, coming over you, his fingers undoing your nightgown and it was revealed that Benedict was rather good with buttons.

He sensed the way your body shivered at his touch, his fingers examining the work he did there with his mouth, he looked at you, you nodded, your night gown slipped down.

" Oh my...you have been hiding this from me ?! From an artist ?! " He sniffed down your body, placing tender kisses all over.

" Really ? I don't know...never thought I was much of bea—" Benedict shut you up with a kiss.

" You're the most gorgeous person I ever met and-" he kissed you again, " my sweet little kangaroo, so please." He shaked his head.

His length twitched on your thigh and you dare not look down.

" It's okay." He said, " all yours." He added with a wink, you glanced at his hardened leaking length, red angry at its head.

A desire in you swirled, to touch it, to hold it, to claim it, you brought your hand before Benedict pulled away, scaring you.

" I am sorry, I am sorry." You threw your hands back, Benedict opened his mouth abruptly.

" Oh no, i would let you fence with it later but right now I really really want to make it good for you."

" Right...I don't know what it meant but..that fencing part Benedict?! " You giggled, Benedict laughed, placing himself between your legs.

" It...it might hurt babe." He said, you stopped giggling.

" Not much." He assured, placing a kiss on your stomach, you so needed to be filled by him, his slender fingers could make you see heaven, you were dying to think where his thickness would take you. He was going to split you, you were going to very much enjoy it.

" Are you sure.. because..we can just do any other time...like wait for marriage, " you made a face, " not that I am not interested...you have no idea how much I am dying to see you scream my name."

" Benedict." You teased, putting all your seduction in it, Benedict eye rolled fondly.

" Oh Benedict! " You said it louder, Benedict eyes were blazing, the vein on his neck was throbbing like worm set free.

" You have no idea what you have done." He practically growled, taking your hand as his tip teased your entrance, you really didn't.

Your heart stopped when only his tip pushed through your folds, your resistance at it's peak, a beak of sweat tricked down your cleavage, Benedict closed his eyes, muttering something.

" Fuck..fuck you're so tight." He hastily said, his length pressing inside, you looked at how he was only half inside but you were already panting and moaning like a whore.

" Oh fuck ! " You screamed as he pushed all at once inside you, his hips smacking against yours making an obscene noise.

" I am gonna make you see stars." He said, his voice shaky but determination was dripping as he slowly thursted, once—your head threw back, twice—you were no longer bounded in body and space, thrice—your eyes closed and it was just stars and cosmic rays, you lost count and control as Benedict set his pace in a feral way, he was pushing inside you like beast set free, his hips rolled and slammed down at you with an alarming rate, they left a burning pain before he striked again.

" Benedict ! " You were screaming, your breasts rolling up and down and he watched devilishly, penetrating into your hole, plunging inside, your jaw slackened like his, his drool dripped down as he was lost somewhere, in his own daze.

He pounded inside you, his breath caught in his throat and his face red, you only half registered when he lowered his whole body, his mouth inches away from you and his thursted one final hard one.

" Oh my god ! " He bited his lips, his knees buckling as his cry sharpened, you felt the insides of your swirl with warmness, arching back, mouth agape with moans he brought out of you, the coil inside your stomach loosened as you came, body going limp. It was the second time you felt mere smoke in existence, everything dizzied while you short circuited.

You opened your eyes to look at him, your devil, your snowman, he was panting, his hair plastered to his forehead, his smile dazed.

" Was it good? " He nuzzled his nose in the crook of your neck, you were aware of his juices mixing with yours inside you and it made your nipples hard, just by thinking.

" Ama..zing." you kissed his forehead, his limp cock still inside you, you liked how full it made you feel, like complete.

" I was thinking about a snowman waltzing." He laughed lowly, it's sound buzzing inside your skin, you didn't get why.

" Why ? "

" Umm...to last longer because.. because I would have come just by the way you looked at me."

" I was looking like a perv ?! " You huffed, he glanced up, his mouth easing your hardened nipple, speaking around it.

" Oh yes, like you couldn't get enough of me, you have compromised me, now you must marry me to keep my virtue entact." He sucked back again, you chuckled, feeling the corner of your eyes glistented with tears.

It was several moments gone, his head on your chest as you scatched his scalp, untangling his hair and occasionally pulling him for a kiss, he was still inside you, coaxing inside your warmness, relishing.

" Benedict." You whispered, not bothering if he had slept already.

" Huh." He mumbled softly, heavy with sleep.

" You're my best friend." you knew what it was, you are in love.

[alchemistc]

911 was always in my periphery bc of how popular Buck x Eddie is on Tumblr and Ao3. I didn't really want to watch a cable network procedural drama, especially one that came off as so unserious. I could also see how such invested shipping by a lot of fans who are young and think it’s ok to demand things from the cast and crew would inevitably become a toxic cesspool. I stand by that assessment of the show based on the behavior of the fandom these last months, as well as the overall quality of the writing and how often good story lines just get dropped or undermined.

However, I heard about Buck coming out. Over the summer, I was going through a lot and feeling aimless, so I finally started watching the show. And I liked Buck and Tommy, but what I really loved was the quality of the fan works they inspired. At the end of the day, I never really had real expectations of high quality television from a show like 911; that’s not what it’s for.

Despite this, what really affected me last night—which was also the first episode I bothered watching live ever because of how terrible this last week has been—wasn’t even how badly it was executed or the fact that they broke up. But how unnecessarily and viciously cruel the whole thing felt?

What was the point of showing Tommy as a caring, supportive, present partner in the previous episode if it was going to lead to an unceremonious break up? What was the point of showing his yearning for connection and family only to see him throw it all away? Why have him say such wonderful things about Buck moments before questioning the commitment of their relationship after six months together? What was the point of Buck getting that speech from Josh and bringing up marriage and moving in together and that Tommy had been a transformative relationship when it was going to end with him being dumped? It just felt so horribly cruel to see a character bare his tender heart and see it get stomped on. He looked so sad at the end.

Up till the very end of the episode, I was actually really enjoying it. Their acting was so good from heart eyes to heartbreak, and the show seemed to understand Tommy’s reaction to Buck getting hit on by those women would cause friction. It even made sense to me that Tommy would recoil at the prospect of moving in together because Buck clearly hasn’t come to terms with being queer yet (sir, you haven’t researched the Kinsey scale? You?) And Tommy is also clearly afraid to reach for the connections he wants and the seeming inevitability of his heart being broken and is masking that with nonsense about Buck needing to play the field and the biphobia present wherein. It was such an interesting depth to his character! I thought the break up speech was so well-acted, and I was so ready for the conversation they were going to have that would address it and let them move on together stronger. To see Buck learn from Josh and see the scars Tommy was unintentionally revealing in that moment and address them.

And then the credits started rolling and I felt like I got punched in the gut.

It was definitely the straw that broke the camel’s back for me, with the election and other personal stuff really stressing me out this week. Last night, I felt sick and unable to sleep, and I spent the morning bawling my eyes out. It feels like one of the few things I really looked forward to had been snatched away for the shock factor. I believe the interviews are the definite death knell, but even if you don’t follow the interviews, it was just a cruel way to end the episode. Even if this ends up being a temporary roadblock or they “fix” it, it’ll always leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Anyway, I’m upset that I let a show I always knew wasn’t very good affect me this much, and I regret spending months of my life on it. But the reason I wanted to send this ask was because my real hyperfixation these last few months was never the show itself; it was always the Bucktommy fandom. Reading some of the most beautiful fanfiction, including yours, these deep and intense character studies or au’s or future fics that show more love to these characters than the show does. The stunning art, the lovingly rendered gifs, the startlingly funny and insightful writing. The fandom has been my real love, and I hope that despite this huge blow, people like you will continue being so immensely creative and artistic for this ship.

I’m sorry this has been so long and vent-y, but I wanted to send you this ask because you’re one of my favorite fic authors, and I’ve been following your posts since last night and you’re still responding to anonymous asks. I’ve always been stealth in the fandom to avoid certain parts of it, so didn’t want this on my own blog. If you do publish it, I hope the other authors and artists and creators who have made my life better get to see it too <3 And that they don’t regret the time and passion and love they’ve poured into the last few months. I have appreciated it, if nothing else.

Hi.

First of all, please don't apologize for the length of this.

Everything you pointed out were exactly the reasons people joined this fandom. Everything you listed here is EXACTLY the reason it left such a bad taste in our mouth.

I'm sorry I won't be more eloquent in this post, because this is such a kind and thoughtful and lovely summation of all the things I've been hearing and seeing and feeling.

The point of all that, if we are to believe Lou (which I do, and honestly props to him for being as gracious as he was in those post-mortems: fucking TWO exit interviews for a guest star? wtf abc), WAS to pull the rug out from under the audience. It WAS to end it all on a shocker of heartbreak. They filmed the bulk of Tommy's S8 scenes AFTER the breakup. It is absolutely vicious and cruel and meant to make people talk about it. The engagement they are getting right now is to some extent WHAT THEY WANTED. I went straight to my notes after work and I can't be fucked to check the insta or FB to see if they've posted anything new and/or what the comment count is on the 8x06 posts but THIS IS THE INTENDED RESULT. Broken hearts, upset people, an increasingly toxic fandom crowing.

That's where I'm at. I think that's where a lot of people have landed. And it's so disheartening to see something that really genuinely drew people in because it was handled so gently and kindly at first just be ripped away and the door shut on it.

And honestly if they close the mid season OR open or close 8B on a premise that includes one of them being injured and the other having a Realization™️ I won't trust this team to do it genuinely or truly. Even the breakup would have held so much potential for me, but not like this.

Anyway. I'm sorry you're feeling so disappointed. I am grieving the missed potential of literally every plot they built up this season for every character and if I do watch it won't be live and I will likely have very little trust for it's potential. There has been So Much wasted potential.

And I want to say thank you. Even if you lurked, even if you disengage now, the creators who made those works made them out of love and they wanted to share them and the community around it all has been lovely to see. Thank you.

Some of us will still be hanging around building the world that could have been. I hope, if you feel up to peeking at that sandbox, that you feel welcome to go play in it or even just clap from the sidelines.

♥️

[starry-bi-sky]

tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

[keikikait]

ɴɪɢʜᴛ ꜱʜɪꜰᴛ (ʙɪᴋᴇʀ!ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

this is part two. for part one, click here!

pairing: biker!megumi x f!reader (au, both are early to mid 20's)

word count: 2k

summary: after a rude encounter with your next door neighbour, you decide to spend distance yourself from him, spending most of your nights at a friends house.

warnings: SMUT (masturbation, f & m), MINORS DNI 18+, suggestive flirting, not proofread (oops), jealous megumi, slight self deprecation talk (so ig a slight angst warning)

a note: i promise part 3 won't be delayed as much!

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

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Things have gotten worse since you last spoke.

Each day begins with the jarring sound of his motorcycle revving right outside your window, shattering the tranquility of the morning. The noise reverberates through your whole apartment, making it impossible to ignore. And to make matters worse, he started blasting the worst rap music you’ve ever heard from a portable speaker while he works on his bike on Saturday afternoons. The cacophony of noise fills the air, making it impossible to concentrate or find any semblance of peace within your own home. 

Even though you’ve been trying to avoid him, checking outside your window a few too many times before leaving so you don’t run into him, he’s still been plaguing your mind. You had caught him like a cold or the flu, and now you’re praying that you’ll one day be immune. Sleeping was practically impossible, even the strongest earplugs and the loudest white noise couldn’t block out the sound of his, frankly, stupid fucking bike. You go to work irritable and exhausted, having to hype yourself up in the bathroom before clocking in. You dread going home, begging your manager to let you work late, trying to find every excuse to hang back and avoid your inevitable negative interaction with Megumi.

After days of sleepless nights and endless worry, you had finally reached your breaking point. With a heavy heart, you had mustered up the courage to do something you'd been dreading — ask a friend for a favor. With trembling hands, you dialed your friend Yuji’s number, hoping that he would understand. To your immense relief, he listened patiently and without judgment. You poured out your heart, sharing the sleepless nights and the constant fear that had become your reality.

To your surprise, Yuji didn't hesitate, offering you a place to stay for the days Megumi would wake up early to head to work, a sanctuary where you could finally rest and recharge. You accepted his offer, overwhelmed with gratitude, knowing it would give you the solace you desperately needed. The nights before Megumi's shifts became a routine. You would gather your belongings and head to Yuji's place, seeking refuge from the darkness that seemed to engulf your apartment. 

Each night, you would lie awake in your friend's spare bedroom, listening to the sounds of the outside world. The gentle hum of traffic, the distant laughter of passersby — these were the sounds of a life that seemed so far removed from your own. Part of you loved your time spent away from Megumi. Part of you didn’t. Even though he was annoying, stuck up, and frankly a bitch, he was so pretty to look at. You couldn’t help yourself sometimes, sneakily taking glances at him through your window while he worked on his bike, shirtless and sweating under the Japanese summer sun.

You felt guilty in a way. He hated you, yet you didn’t hate him. Why are you hanging on so tight? You wanted to hate him so badly, especially while you were laying propped up on your bed, had between your soft thighs as you thrust two fingers in and out of your cunt. You couldn’t help yourself, biting your duvet cover to keep yourself from moaning his name too loudly while you came, hips bucking into your hand while you imagined the ways he would talk you through it. You couldn’t help but imagine how handsome he would look with you all over his mouth, grinning at you as you beg to cum. Would he let you? Sometimes you would get carried away, sliding your fingers over your clit to draw out another orgasm, one that would leave you silent curled in a ball on your bed. Megumi seemed like the type to overstimulate you just for fun, after all. He clouded your mind, engulfing you with visions of him encased in smoke. He was beautiful, finite, a shining white light you had a hard time looking at. You were, quite frankly, down bad. 

Suffer does the wolf, crawling to thee.

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On the other side of the plaster wall, Megumi was having a similar experience. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, hoping if he revved his engine loud enough in the mornings you would come outside, all cute and grumpy with bedhead, yelling at him to quiet down. Maybe you would only be wearing a T-shirt too. He wondered what panties you would be wearing. Cotton? Lace? None at all?

He noticed your glances while he was working on his bike. After all, he did it shirtless hoping you would stare. All he wants is your attention, and can you blame him? You’re so soft and pretty, and all he wants to do is scoop you up and kiss you before bending you over his desk, his hand gripping your hair at the root as he fucks you dumb. He thinks about what you would sound like while he fucks you as he jerks off, one hand playing with his balls while the other strokes his cock up and down, teasing the tip with his fingers. He wonders what you would look like on your knees next to his bed, his cock draped across your face as you suck on his balls. He moans quietly when he cums, the liquid splattering onto his chest and abs and he wishes you were around to lick it up. Maybe after he would tug on your hair and have you thank him.

Megumi noticed a lot of things. He couldn't help but notice certain the frequent absences from your usual routine. With each passing day, Megumi's curiosity grew, and he started to pay closer attention to your whereabouts. That’s when he saw it, a dark blue car consistently parked at the entrance of the alleyway leading to your apartment building, the one you would climb in and out of on the days you were gone, the days you were away from him. Of course he took a note of the car, writing down the make and the model and the license plate, just in case.

Something else Megumi started noticing was your moans. You got braver and louder each time, and soon he noticed the way you would gasp and whimper and the little noise you made before you came. Megumi soon started feeling something he hadn’t felt in a while, jealousy. You had a boyfriend or a fuck-buddy, and whoever they are was able to make you cum. That part irritated him, he wanted to be the only one that could make you cum and shake on his cock or his tongue. The semantics of your relationship didn’t matter to him, but you were with someone who wasn’t him. So he waited for you to return, leaning against the railing of his small porch. He knew your schedule now, and you should be home any second. 

As the car pulls up, its headlights shine directly onto him, causing Megumi to avert his eyes. He watches as you step out of the car, bidding the driver, whom he can see now is a guy, farewell before making your way toward your door. The gravel crunched as the car reversed and smoothly drove away, leaving you and him standing alone in the tranquil evening. With a nimble hop, he crossed the railing and approached you, a faint smile playing across his lips. The world seemed to pause for a moment, as if time itself stood still, as you locked eyes with each other.

“Hey.” He says, climbing up onto your porch, swinging his legs over the barrier, and landing on his feet.

You don’t look up as you search for your keys. “You could’ve used the stairs.”

He grins. “Maybe I wanted to impress you.” The comment makes your cheeks warm, but you don’t reply as you continue to search through your seemingly endless tote bag. He sighs, “Listen, I have a question.”

You look up at him, and gods he is so pretty. You feel your blush deepen, trying not to gawk at the way his shoulders and arms look in that fucking black compression shirt. “Ask away.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “So, you got a boyfriend?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “No. Why?” You finally find your keys, pulling them out as they jingle loudly from all of your keychains.

Megumi scoffs, keeping his arms crossed. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. I hear you moaning through the wall, you know.”

Your stomach lurches, your throat constricting. “Tha-that doesn’t mean anything.”

Megumi laughs, letting his arms drop to his side. “What about that guy that drives you everywhere?”

You put your key into the lock, swallowing hard. “He’s just my friend. I’ve been staying at his place recently-”

Megumi suddenly reaches out and grabs your hand, pulling the key out. “Don’t walk away. We’re having a conversation.” You gulp, holding onto your keys. He was right, that was kind of rude. “Continue.”

You take a shaky breath, unable to look him in the eyes, your gaze flicking around from the ground to the sunset behind him. “He’s just my friend. Nothing more.”

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” Megumi asks, trying to get in your line of sight. “Don’t look over there. Look at me.” You nod, looking at him, muttering an apology. Megumi smirks. “Good girl.”

Your throat dries up. This man is driving you crazy, and you can feel your thighs getting slick under your skirt. You subconsciously squeeze them together. “He-he isn’t my boyfriend. He’s just my friend.”

Megumi nods. “But you sleep together, right?”

“No.”

Megumi hums in response, getting closer to you. You instinctively back up until you hit the other railing. He towers over you, and you’re greeted with the smell of his cologne and shampoo as he smirks down at you. “Then what has you moaning so prettily, hmm? Is there another guy in your life?”

You shake your head. “N-no, I’m doing it, you know…solo.”

Megumi’s shoulders drop in relief. You don’t have anyone else. Does that mean he can have you all to himself? “What do you think about? When you touch yourself?” His voice is deep and smooth, right in your ear, causing your knees to buckle.

You gulp. “Nothing in particular.” He smirks. He doesn’t believe you. He reaches out to brush some hair out of your face but you move away, clutching your keys in your hands. He tries again, reaching for your arm this time, but you move away again.

You feel weird. He’s making an advance, one you aren’t opposed to, but you can’t seem to let your guard down and let him approach you. You sweat, shakily putting your key into the lock. You wanted to turn around, to throw your arms around him and let him take control of you, but you felt the familiar feeling of dread eating at your insides, sliding up your throat like bile. This almost felt too good to be true. You had spent weeks wishing for this exact moment, but now that it’s unraveling in front of you it’s hard to believe it’s happening and isn’t some sick, twisted joke. Had you stretched your self-worth too thin? Were you foolish for thinking Megumi would actually want you?

Megumi says your name so softly you almost didn’t hear it, concern etched on his face and laced in his voice. You ignore him, quickly unlocking your door and sliding inside your apartment, shutting the door in his face.

Megumi stands there, both confused and concerned. Had he come on too strong? Did he waste his one and only chance by scaring you? He reaches out to knock on your door before hesitating. He wanted a second chance, an opportunity to tell you that he didn’t mean it, that he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or scared, but he couldn’t bring himself to press his knuckles onto the wood. He drops his hand and walks away, back to his apartment, feeling like he just ruined everything he could’ve had with you.

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part three is here

★taglist: @whereflowerswenttodie, @rosieandthethorns (reply to this post if you want to be included in the taglist!)

[agoldenblackbird]

i'm gonna be a ranty bitch for a minute.

tbh i'm turned off even reading new buddie fic despite being a multishipper and have unfollowed a bunch of buddie accounts because i'm sick of the smug attitudes. one ask that i am otherwise not going to publish or respond to ended with 'sorry you don't understand media literacy bestie :)' fuck off. listen INFANT, i have been writing fanfic and original fic AND watching, reading and analyzing queer media since before you were born, i understand how character and story development works, and i know the difference between 'storyline i personally disliked' and 'bad writing.' this was BOTH, and it also was marketed to us as 'carefully crafted bi rep' and 'queer love story that is not about a bunch of pain and conflict FOR ONCE' so we have every right to be upset at the bait-and-switch.

the fact that i'm seeing the same exact posts - 'bt bones buddie CANON' that i saw three seasons ago after the bucktaylor breakup, or every time they thought buck and taylor MIGHT break up - says something. the fact that so many fans seem genuinely convinced (STILL!) that buddie is inevitable because there have been so many 'signs,' and then they rattle off a convoluted theory that would make the most hardcore taylor swift stan say 'wow, that's a bit of a reach,' honestly weirded me out a little when i first joined the 911 fandom. i have never been in a fandom where so many fans are insistent that their ship will be - not might be or could be, but WILL be - canon. i am skeptical both from past experience with other shows mishandling queer storylines or ship-baiting, and tim minnear's proven track record with this one of not really knowing what to do with buck's LI's. but i didn't want to yuck anybody's yum, so i let them have their theories and squee in peace, and unfollowed or blocked certain tags if i was seeing too much of it and getting annoyed. it's too out there for me, but i'm glad they're having fun!

yet they can't give us the same courtesy. they deride us as delusional for thinking that a canon pairing that was presented to us both in promo and the show itself as different and important (eg the bobby approval convo and 'buck getting off the hamster wheel') might last, and we're stupid to have ever liked tommy or lou or be disappointed at how the breakup was written, and if we point out the biphobia it's just sour grapes.

the bucktommy breakup is not the first time 911 has started out strong with an interesting storyline and fumbled it in the 4th quarter either because the writers got bored or in the name of needless drama/a 'gotcha' sudden twist. amir & bobby, eddie's fight club arc, the sperm donor SL, hen vs councilwoman ortiz, whatever the hell is going on with harry, the whole mess with shannon/kim, just to name a few. and especially the past couple of seasons, for me since 6b, the pacing has been off. they seem to have too much happening at once and many of the storylines don't have enough room to breathe to be narratively satisfying, or they get resolved in ways that feel lackluster.

if the toxic buddie stans who have been attacking lou on sm and sending death threats (wtf!) actually get what they want, which i admit is possible, but it's certainly not guaranteed….i don't know why they think the writers won't fumble that just as badly. it's not going to happen precisely the way they want it to because it is impossible to please everybody, that's what fanfic is for. but at this point i have zero faith that it would even be well done at all, and zero trust in the writers not to just sabotage or regress a character for funsies, and that's an excellent reason to stop watching the show. in most of my other fandoms i regard canon as a jumping-off point or a blurry outline at best, and i can have just as much fun in the 911 sandbox without any further input from canon at all, once i'm less angry.

[alxtiny]

Ad Astra per Aspera

Prologue.

Pairing: Pirate!Ateez x Navigator!reader

Genre: pirate!au, fluff, angst, maybe smut

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: -

Notes: i have taken pieces from various sources but my favouritism towards one piece has started to show TT TT

Series Masterlist | Episode 1

In the beginning, there was only one land—the land of Zaitsev. It stretched across a vast expanse, bordered by mountains that kissed the sky, and oceans that cradled the edges of the world. Zaitsev was a land of abundance, where forests teemed with life, rivers flowed with crystal-clear water, and the soil was fertile enough to sustain the most exotic of crops. Under the rule of the Great King, the people of Zaitsev flourished, living in harmony despite their differences.

The people of Zaitsev were a diverse mosaic. Their faces bore the marks of countless ancestries, their features varied like the colors in a painter’s palette. Some had skin the color of deep earth, others the shade of frosty snow in the sunlight. Hair ranged from the darkest midnight to the brightest dawn, and eyes gleamed like precious stones—emerald, sapphire, amber, and onyx. Their languages were many, their traditions rich and varied, yet they were united under one purpose, one ruler, one land. This unity made the ropes that bound together the land of Zaitsev.

The Great King was a man of wisdom, wisdom that came with age and etched itself into his skin. Under his reign, Zaitsev knew peace and prosperity. Disputes were settled through verse, and the scales of justice held complete balance.

But even in the most peaceful of lands, there are forces that seek to disrupt the balance. That’s when came The Sever

The Sever was not an immediate rupture, but rather very gradual, almost unperceivable unravelling. It began as whispers—rumours of discontent among the people, murmurs of disillusionment with the monarchy. Some said that the Great King had become too old, too distant, that he no longer could give what the country demanded. Others claimed that certain regions were being neglected, their resources diverted to the capital while they suffered in silence. These whispers grew louder over time, but they were dismissed as mere gossip by most. After all, Zaitsev had always been one, always been strong. How could it ever fall apart?

But the seeds of division had been sown, and they began to take root in the hearts of the people. Regional identities, that once held together the nation’s fabric like vibrant threads, began to take on a new significance. People started to think of themselves not as citizens of Zaitsev, but as members of their own regions. The differences that had once been a source of pride now became points of contention. The land of Zaitsev had begun to fracture. Figuratively and literally. Natural disasters were quick to hit. Lakes and rivers became seas and oceans. Mountains grew higher and trenches became deeper.

The Great King, sensing the growing unrest, tried to quell the divisions by bringing the leaders of each region together. He sought to remind them of their shared history, their common bonds, and the strength that came from concord. But his efforts were in vain. The divisions had grown too deep, the grievances too bitter. The Sever was inevitable.

It began in the farthest reaches of the kingdom, in the regions now known as the Northern and Southern Aurora Archipelagos. The people there had long felt isolated, sitting on the very borders, almost ignored by the others. They were the first to break off, as pieces of land that slowly drifted away and formed a cluster, proclaiming that they would no longer be ruled by a distant king who did not understand their needs.

One by one, the other regions followed suit. Hell Volhard, with its rugged mountains and frozen lakes, was next, followed by the fertile plains of Rosenmund. Etard, with its lush forests, and Wolff, with its rolling hills, soon joined. Kischner, Hinsberg, and Levaer, all declared their independence. Aldol, the region closest to the capital, was the last to secede, but it did so with a heavy heart. It was the end of an era.

The land of Zaitsev was no more. What had once been one was now divided into ten—ten regions, each with its own ruler, its own government, its own people. The integration that had been the foundation of Zaitsev was shattered, replaced by a peace that held the fragility of glass.

The Great King, heartbroken by the dissolution of his kingdom, fell into a deep despair. He withdrew from public life, retreating to his palace where he spent his final days in solitude. When he died, there was no grand funeral, no mourning across the land. The regions were too divided, too consumed by their own struggles to care. The king’s death went almost unnoticed, a quiet end to a once-great ruler.

The throne passed to the king’s son, a young man untested and unprepared for the challenges he would face. Unlike his father, the new king lacked the wisdom and patience to navigate the complexities of a fractured kingdom. He was brash, impulsive, and driven by a desire for power. But his actions only served to deepen the furrows that already existed. His attempts to assert his authority were met with resistance from the other regions, who saw him as nothing more than a pretender to a throne that no longer existed.

Chaos reigned. The people looked instead to their regional leaders, the elders who had guided them through the turbulent times of The Sever. These elders, each respected in their own right, became the de facto rulers of their regions. They spoke of the old ways, of the time before The Sever, and sought to preserve what they could of Zaitsev’s legacy. But their visions for the future were as varied as the regions they represented, and there was little consensus on how to move forward.

Of the ten regions, only Aldol remained with a ruler who commanded true authority. The new king, desperate to regain control, focused his efforts on Aldol, using its military strength to assert his dominance. He knew that if he could control Aldol, he could control the rest of the regions. And so, he began to draw the smaller groups into his orbit, offering them protection in exchange for their loyalty. Treaties were signed, alliances were formed, and slowly, the new king began to rebuild his power base.

It was during this time that the Premier Aldolar Council was formed. Composed of the king, the elders from each region, and other influential leaders, the council was established to maintain a semblance of order in a world that seemed to be falling apart. It was a front, a show of negotiation and security. But beneath the surface, tensions simmered, and it was clear that the peace would not last forever.

As life resumed its new course, the people of Zaitsev tried to adapt to their changed circumstances. The memories of the old world refusing to fade entirely. But everything had changed, and there was no going back. The people did what they could to survive, clinging to the hope of a better future.

It was in this climate of uncertainty that a group of dissidents emerged. They called themselves the Guardians, and they were determined to restore the world to its former glory. The Guardians believed that the divisions between the regions were superficial, a product of human foibles.

The Guardians were not content to simply dream of a better world—they sought to create it. They believed that the key to advancement lay in the perfection of humanity itself. If they could eliminate the flaws that led to division—the human emotion. And so, they set out to develop a formula, one that would make humans flawless, unyielding to influence, and capable of creating an infallible society.

The formula was the culmination of years of research and experimentation. It was designed with the purpose of eliminating the weaknesses. Those who consumed the formula would be immune to all emotions that made a human weak. They would be the foundation of a new society, a utopia where Zaitsev was whole once more.

But the Guardians’ vision of utopia did not sit well with the Premier Aldolar Council. The council, already wary of any group that threatened the broken peace, saw the Guardians as a danger to the new order. The idea of creating “flawless” humans was too radical, too unpredictable. The council feared that the Guardians’ plan would lead to even greater conflict, and so they moved quickly to abolish the group. The Guardians were outlawed, their members hunted down, and their research seized by the king’s forces.

The formula, its creation, and its components were taken away from the Guardians. The council feared that the Guardians might resurface, but they kept this concern hidden from the public. To the outside world, the Guardians were a failed experiment, merely a comment in the story. But what the public did not know, and what the media could only wonder about, was that ten people had already consumed the formula.

Among them were the king himself, who had secretly taken the formula in a bid to gain the power he believed was his birthright, and the chief Guardian, who had taken the formula to ensure that the vision of the old world would live on. The remaining eight were subjects from each of the ten sectors—carefully selected individuals who had been chosen to test the formula. They were ordinary people by most accounts: farmers, artisans, scholars, and warriors. Yet each had shown potential, something that set them apart from the rest. After consuming the formula, these eight were set free, their identities kept secret, but not from each other, despite the distance and differences they kept contact in secret.

The decision to keep the formula's success buried was not made lightly. The king and the chief Guardian both understood the implications of revealing the existence of these enhanced individuals to the world. If the truth were known, it could ignite a firestorm of fear and ambition that would plunge the fractured land into further chaos. So, the truth was buried, and the ten who had taken the formula became shadows, their identities known only to a select few.

Despite their enhanced abilities, these individuals did not become the flawless beings the Guardians had envisioned. The formula had indeed bestowed upon them certain extraordinary traits, but it had not eradicated the human flaws.

Among the ten, the king began to notice changes within himself. He became more paranoid, selfish and often lost all reason. He had visions. It was as if his heart harboured all of the worst. He began to see enemies everywhere, even among his closest advisors. The power granted by the formula had come at a cost, and the king was slowly losing his grip on reality. He was forced into solitary, his kingdom depended on the council and the rare moments when he experienced clarity in his thoughts

The chief Guardian wasn’t affected. He didn’t achieve the raw power he had asked for, he wanted more of the formula for himself. He gathered the remaining Guardians who had survived the purge and went underground, forming a resistance against the new king. His mission was one, to get the formula back.

But there was one more who had taken the formula—the scientist who had created it. She was the first to test the formula on herself, driven not by the desire for perfection, but by her unrelenting thirst for knowledge and raw curiosity. She had been a member of the Guardians, though she never fully agreed with their vision. For her, the formula was a scientific marvel, a puzzle to be solved, and she pursued its creation with the same dedication she gave to all her work.

The scientist had not anticipated the impact the formula would have on her. Like the others, she gained extraordinary abilities, but hers were of a different nature. She found that she could perceive the world in ways that others could not, understanding complex systems and seeing connections that were invisible to everyone else. The world became a map only she could read. It was as if her mind had expanded, unlocking new dimensions of the unknown world. She realised that in the wrong hands, it could be catastrophic.

Recognizing the threat, the scientist chose to disappear, taking the original formula and all her research with her. She knew that as long as the formula existed, it would be sought after by those who would use it for their own gain. So, she went into hiding, leaving no trace of her whereabouts. The king, desperate to regain control and fully realising the potential of the formula, ordered an exhaustive search for her, but she was always one step ahead. To this day, she remains the only person who can recreate the formula, and the only one who truly understands its full potential.

With the scientist gone, both the king and the remnants of the Guardians have attempted to replicate the formula, but all have met with failure. Without the original formula and the scientist's expertise, they were working in the dark. The copies they produced were flawed, often with disastrous results. Some led to death or madness, others to physical mutations. The promise of perfection proved elusive, and the failures only fueled the desperation of those seeking the formula’s power.

Meanwhile, the ten who had taken the original formula began to drift apart, each following their own path. Some used their abilities to further their ambitions, becoming powerful leaders or influential figures within their sectors. Others chose a quieter life, hiding their abilities and trying to live as normally as possible. But the formula had changed them, and their lives could never be truly ordinary again. They were marked by their powers, and by the knowledge that they were different.

The king, ever more paranoid, began to suspect that the ten were plotting against him. He saw betrayal in every corner and began to turn on those who had once been his allies. His obsession with finding the scientist and reclaiming the original formula consumed him, leading him to neglect his duties as a ruler. Aldol, the one region still loyal to him, began to falter under the weight of his erratic leadership. The other sectors watched closely, waiting for the moment when they could strike.

As the king’s power waned, the Guardians grew stronger. They had learned from their mistakes, and under the chief Guardian’s leadership, they became a formidable force once more. Their goal remained the same: to reunite Zaitsev and create a flawless society. But their methods had changed. They no longer sought to create perfect humans through the formula; instead, they focused on winning the hearts and minds of the people. The Guardians became symbols of resistance, heroes to those who still believed in the old world. That was until their chief disappeared off the face of the earth.

In the midst of this growing tension, the scientist continued her solitary journey, watching from the shadows as the world she had inadvertently helped shape spiralled into chaos. She knew that eventually, she would be found—either by the king or the Guardians. But she was not ready to reveal herself, not until she was certain that her knowledge would not be misused. She had seen what the formula could do, and she knew that its power was too great to be wielded lightly.

The search for the scientist became a race against time. The king, driven by his fear of losing control, intensified his efforts, sending spies and soldiers across the land. The Guardians, ever resourceful, used their underground networks to track any leads on her whereabouts.

As the tensions between the sectors reached a boiling point, whispers of the formula’s true power began to spread among the people. The story of the ten who had taken it became the stuff of legend, fueling both hope and fear. Some saw the formula as the key to restoring Zaitsev, while others feared that it would bring about the end of the world as they knew it. The media, kept on a tight leash by the king’s regime, could only speculate, but the truth had a way of slipping through the cracks.

In this fractured world, the paths of the eight special beings, the king, the Guardians, and the scientist were destined to cross again. The formula, once thought to be the key to a better world, had instead become fuel for a growing fire. Its promise of perfection was a farce, a false shield, and its true potential was yet to be fully understood. As more people, thieves, high ranking nobles and military officers became aware of its existence the rat race for it became evident.

As the world skittered around the edge of another great upheaval, the paths of all those who had been touched by the formula were bound to converge.

Over a century has passed since the King, plagued with nightmares, ruled Aldol, the crown now sits on the head of his grand nephew, a man of an analytical mind but lacking compassion and sympathy. Guilds of the Guardians remain scattered throughout the continents but since the chief vanished, they have remained largely stagnant. The whereabouts of the scientist and her descendants still remain obscure, but since then have been mostly forgotten about.

The eight subjects have lived their lives and left behind traces of their abilities, passing them down genetically to one of their children and then their grandchildren. The ones that have now grown up and found each other through a chance of fate, and formed an odd band of pirates, each wielding a unique power. They feel an unrest in their bones and pain the earth has felt. They scour the seas, in search of the formula and answers, and to find a cure for their abilities that seem to be cursed by something deep beyond their current understanding.

And the world knows them as ATEEZ…..

© alxtiny . Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my works on any platform in any way.

Comment under series masterlist to be tagged

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS PURE FICTION AND NOT RELATED TO THE MEMBERS OF ATEEZ IN REAL LIFE PLEASE DO NOT TAKE IT SERIOUSLY

Taglist: @sushi0517 @yandere-stories

[capricornlevi]

blowin' off steam

wc 3.4k - timeskip!atsumu miya x f!reader - college au - strangers to roommates to lovers - friends with benefits - possessive!atsumu - v nsfw, mdni

“Y’know … ya can't keep usin’ me as a way to blow off steam after a bad date.”

Atsumu’s words are emphasised when you feel the nip of his teeth against your lower lip, biting down just enough for you to feel the slightest sting. 

Your roommate is many things, but subtle isn’t one of them. 

The gesture makes you laugh, the sound all breathless and hazy as you fumble with shaky fingers to undo the back of your dress. With Atsumu’s shirt and joggers already tossed on the couch, you’re lagging considerably behind – though not for lack of enthusiasm. 

Dipping his head in to kiss you again, you feel his strong hands reach up to assist your efforts to undress; before you have time to catch your breath, the red fabric falls to the floor to be swiftly kicked aside, landing in an untidy pile by the TV. 

You moan in a voice that doesn’t even sound like your own. You paw at his bare chest with a confidence that seems alien to you, the desperation feeling like a force you can’t control. 

And, truth be told, you’re not even sure how this routine developed. 

Of course, you remember when he moved in last year, arriving at your door all sweaty and panting having come straight from volleyball practice to collect his key. You handed it to him wordlessly, eyes scanning over his muscular frame with a curious but sceptical outlook on what your shared living situation would be like. 

You’d met Atsumu just once before then, at a party hosted by a mutual friend – the brother of your former roommate whose lease he ended up taking over – and you found him to be … fine. Pleasant enough. Saeko seemed to get along well with him. 

Though he was more than a little hyperfocused on his own athletic achievements, having launched into the conversation expecting you to have a thorough understanding of college volleyball. You had, at best, an entry-level grasp on the sport. 

When the conversation inevitably started to lag, you had contemplated kissing him to break the awkward silence. 

It was late, you were tipsy, and he was hot. It seemed like as good a way as any to change the topic.

But he was whisked away by his drunken teammates before you had the chance, with them eager to show off their captain to anyone who would listen. 

That’s the last you saw of him. 

You were content on leaving things there, until your dear friend Saeko informed you that a friend of her brother’s wanted to move in when she graduated. 

Atsumu Miya, she’d exclaimed, holding up the line in your favourite cafe as she talked, remember him?

He’d be the perfect candidate, she informed you in her usual exuberant manner, if you could overlook all the college athlete stuff, you’d get along great. He wouldn’t care about the broken ceiling light in the hallway or the next-door neighbour with four overly-zealous pet parakeets. 

Not to mention all the parties he’d be able to get you into …

“Swear, he’s really not that bad,” Saeko chirped in between sips of her triple-shot americano, “Ryu told me he’s the only one who knows how to clean up after himself. And he’s in final year too, so you have that in common!”

Turns out, that’s the only thing you had in common.

It was a tense first couple of weeks. The two of you made polite conversation when in the kitchen at the same time, nodded in each other’s direction when passing by on campus, and even went out grocery shopping together a few times. He was a fine person to live with. He didn’t make that much of a mess and kept noise to a minimum. 

However, the roommate bonding did not come naturally at all. It was awkward to the point where mealtimes grew unbearable, a constant barrier of silence hovering between the two of you, a reminder of how different you both were, how you live two distinct lives with no common threads.

That uneasy pattern continued until one night when you arrived home in the early evening, less than two hours into a Tinder date, a date you had been looking forward to for weeks. 

You had brought it up to Atsumu in the context of polite but extremely stilted small-talk over cereal that morning, so he wasn’t expecting you home for several hours – if at all. You likely startled him because of this, his head snapping in your direction when he heard your key turn in the apartment door, sitting up suddenly from where he’d been laying down on the couch.

He flinched when you closed the door behind you a bit too forcefully.

“... everythin’ okay?” he asked slowly, hesitantly, unsure as to how badly the night had gone, and even more unsure as to whether he should ask about it. 

You sighed and tipped your head back, eyes screwed shut with frustration – none of which was directed towards Atsumu, who just had the misfortune of being the first person you saw after Tinder Boy left the bar to take a call from his ex. 

“Bad date, is all,” you mumbled, hanging your jacket on the hook by the door, trying your best to keep your temper on a tight leash. The last thing you wanted was to snap at Atsumu and turn your awkward living situation into a tense one. 

“How bad?”

It’s nice that he cared, you supposed. Even if he was only asking out of courtesy. 

Kicking off your heels before collapsing down on the couch next to Atsumu, you rubbed your tired eyes with the back of your hand, swearing under your breath when you remembered you were wearing mascara.

“Still in love with his ex of four years-level bad,” you answered despairingly, wiping at the mascara stain with your thumb. You were too exhausted to come up with a polite and watered-down version of events – may as well vent to someone, right? “They broke up before we started talking but got back together – without me knowing, obviously – and then she dumped him when she saw my messages this morning. He started crying before we even got the second round of drinks.”

A beat of silence passed, and for a moment you worried that you overshared to this practical stranger who just shares your communal living space. 

“Well … that is a bad date,” Atsumu replied, and the earnestness with which he delivered it made you chuckle.

The chuckle turned to a laugh when Atsumu tried and failed to say something else, clearly lost for words at how to console someone in your situation, the cogs in his head turning over and over. 

“Who is this guy, anyway?” he eventually settled on asking, his bright eyes fixed on your face for signs of discomfort. Seeing none, the corners of his mouth quirk upwards for a split second.

“The captain of the soccer team,” you mumbled in a quiet, defeated tone, already wanting to forget he ever existed. You had deleted his number before even getting in your taxi home. 

At that, Atsumu barked out a laugh that shocked you out of your self-pitying stupor.

“What?” you asked defensively. 

“Holy shit … him? I coulda told you he was a waste!” he grinned, shaking his head as he spoke. “You shoulda told me before goin’ out with him – guy’s known for pullin’ shit like that. A complete mess.”

You groaned, being met with another chuckle from your half-pitying, half-amused roommate. If you were in any other frame of mind, you could have stopped to appreciate how easy the conversation was, particularly in contrast to the ones you’ve shared before. 

Even though the humour was technically at your own expense.

“Couldn’t you just give me a blanket warning about student athletes?”

He clutched his chest with mock offence. “Don’t you dare group us all with him. He’s the worst of us, promise.”

Rolling out your shoulder to release some of your stress, you noticed the strap of your dress has fallen down a bit. You fixed it absent-mindedly, paying no attention to the path Atsumu’s eyes were following.

“I’ll take your word for it,” you said light-heartedly. 

“Appreciate it.”

A beat of silence passed, though it’s not nearly comparable to the ones you’ve shared before. This was nice, comfortable, natural. 

It made you want to keep talking to him. 

“I spent two hours getting ready for this, y’know?” you lamented through bittersweet laughter, finally starting to appreciate the humour of the situation. “Picked out a nice dress, painted my nails. I even shaved every -- nevermind.”

Your face heated the moment the words left your mouth, conscious of how much you just revealed. Things between the two of you were going from nice to comfortable to potentially too comfortable, and you felt you needed to dial it back before scaring him off. 

Oh, you really hoped you hadn’t made things weird, or potentially wrecked the only bonding moment you’ve had since moving in.

But Atsumu didn’t seem too bothered by it. 

Instead, he just stood up from the couch, walked wordlessly over to the door and shrugged on his own jacket, using his hands to style his messy hair into something more deliberately messy. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, perplexed. He hadn’t mentioned anything about having plans that night, and it seemed a peculiar point in the conversation to just up and leave. 

He turned to face you again, shooting you that blinding grin you hadn’t appreciated since that first time you met. 

“Wanna go out for a drink instead?” 

— 

You woke up the following morning in a bed that didn’t feel like your own.

Strange, you thought to yourself as you buried your head into the pillow, you fully remember getting home last night - you only had two drinks the whole time you were with Atsumu - and you don’t remember talking to anyone else.

Once the tiredness wore off and you finally opened your eyes, you sat up in bed with a start and a gasp.

“Mornin’,” Atsumu yawned from right beside you, bleach-blonde hair once again ruffled from sleep. He lifted his arms to stretch, shifting the covers in a way that showed –

Yep, still naked. Both of you.

“Holy shit,” you hissed under your breath, tucking the covers back over your chest. 

“Language,” he scolded, amusement leaching into every syllable. He propped himself up on his elbow, biceps tensing in a way you pretend you couldn’t see, and he just looked at you, casually observing the state of shock you were sinking into. 

He did not seem to grasp the gravity of the situation whatsoever. 

“We slept together, Atsumu!”

Your statement was a little redundant, you know that, but you felt as though the words needed to be spoken aloud in order for them to actually feel real.

Atsumu just nodded plainly, eyes twinkling as he took in your reaction. He didn’t seem rejected or dismayed, just … entertained. Curious. Like he was watching a rerun of one of his old favourite volleyball matches.

“Yes, we did.”

“You don’t – people don’t sleep with their roommates!” you blurted out, gesticulating in a way that verged on the overdramatic. Your heart pounded in your chest, and whether it was from embarrassment, adrenaline, something else, you weren’t sure. 

He tilted his head to the side, puzzled. “Why not?”

You refused to answer his question; instead, you slid out of his bed, searching frantically for your clothes. 

“That can’t … we can’t … we need to pretend that never happened,” you muttered, giving up on your search for your dress and grabbing one of Atsumu’s sweatshirts from his closet, draping it over yourself.

“Sure,” he drawled, entirely pleased at the image before him. 

Through it all, you managed to roll your eyes.

“Atsumu,” you hissed, hurriedly grabbing your underwear from where you spotted it on the floor, “I mean it.”

“Okay,” he drawled as you let the door shut behind you, with an assuredness you didn’t understand at the time.

Your next Tinder date was three weeks later, and it didn’t take long for you to figure out Atsumu’s sudden confidence.

You didn’t intend on it becoming a pattern. Really, you didn’t. 

But whenever you went on a shitty date – and knowing college boys, that happened fairly often – it was always so refreshing to know you had someone as charming as Atsumu waiting at home for you. 

Atsumu, who knew what he was doing when it came to sex.

Atsumu, who you had developed so much trust for these past few months.

Atsumu, who you could rely on. Who you got along with.  

Sometimes you’d only spend a few minutes talking to a new guy before making up your mind that you’d be spending the night in your roommate’s bedroom.

And tonight is no different.

Anticipation flowing through your veins, you feel your shoulders land against the soft couch cushions as Atsumu lowers you down, his hand somehow supporting your back and unhooking your bra at the same time. 

He joins you on the couch, his giant frame wrapping around you as he presses kisses to every inch of skin he can. 

“So, how bad was that date?” he asks diplomatically, politely, as if you can’t feel the hardness pressed against your stomach. 

Your face burns under Atsumu’s careful attentions, mind already hazy. “I don’t wanna talk about him right now.”

Atsumu peers up from where he was kissing at the swell of your breasts, his eyes sharp and focused, a glint in them that you recognise as he starts to dip his head lower and lower. 

“Good,” he mumbles, his lips on your ribcage, stomach, leaving trails of goosebumps until he’s on his knees on the floor. “I don’t really wanna hear ya talk about him either.”

You groan as Atsumu’s fingers trail along the band of your underwear, tugging milimeter by milimeter. You cant your hips up to allow him access. 

“Wonder how he’d feel if he knew?” he ponders quietly, slipping the delicate fabric down your legs to be tossed to the side like the rest of your clothes.

“Hm?” you ask, distracted by the contrasting sensations of the cool air and Atsumu’s warm breath against your skin.

“I said,” Atsumu repeats carefully, using the tip of his tongue to trace a path along the inside of your thighs. “I wonder how he’d feel? Your date - knowin’ I get to taste ya tonight when he can’t?”

“Atsumu,” you choke out, the sound emerging as a pitiful mewl. Your hands bunch into fists at your sides, so tightly wound your knuckles start to ache. 

He’s at the divot between your legs now, kissing and licking everywhere except where you so desperately need him, everywhere except the place that’s been throbbing for him since you started getting ready for this date. 

“Yeah?” he says casually, with the confidence of someone who has you on a knife’s edge, someone who knows your body well enough now that he can tease and taste and draw things out to his heart’s contest. 

You gasp, chest rising and falling erratically, sweat beading on your forehead as you writhe underneath him. 

“P–please.”

Taking pity, he finally presses his tongue flat against you, tasting what’s been making his mouth water for months now. 

You can feel him grin as he starts to suck on your swollen clit. 

Your spine jackknifes off the couch almost immediately, the heat of Atsumu’s mouth and his talented tongue proving to be too much at once. 

But you don’t ask him to stop. If anything, you spur him on, fingers twisting into his soft hair and crying out his name as if you hadn’t already received three noise complaints this month alone. 

“‘Tsumu–” you gasp, hips bucking up against his mouth. “Don’t stop, please, ‘Tsumu, please …”

Atsumu hums, the vibrations resonating against your already-sensitive folds; he did it because he knows it makes you shiver against him, and he succeeds at doing so. 

Every flick of his tongue, every careful switch in pressure, it all compounds in a swell of heat that gathers low and steady in your core. 

Two fingers press at your entrance and are met with no resistance, slipping inside and almost instantly hitting that spot that only Atsumu ever seems to reach. Every cell in your body feels ignited, buzzing with energy and tension ready to snap like a rubber band. 

He’s so good at this. Talented with every part of his body – and he always gets you off first, making sure you’ve come on his hands or his tongue before he even thinks about fucking you. 

But that alone isn’t why you keep coming back to him after every date. 

The sex is great, obviously, but there’s something about the way he handles you, a gentle possessiveness that stays with you long after you go back to your own room the following morning, an unspoken tenderness you can’t quite place.

He touches you like he’s in awe every single time.

Before you can think any further, he has his lips wrapped around your clit again and sucks, sucks until your vision goes white, until you’re about to –

“‘Tsumu I’m gonna come I’m gonna come–”

And you burn up underneath him, oblivious to anything else in the world but the feeling of his fingers pressing inside you, how he licks you through it under the waves subside.

Once your legs are steady enough to support you, he has you flipped around so your elbows are resting on the couch cushions, your hips propped upwards, eager to feel him inside you.

You feel his hands on your ass, spreading you open with unintelligible but undoubtedly praising murmurs, admiring his work.

Then, you feel the length of his cock press against you – not inside, but against your soaking flesh, circling slowly  – as he sees how easily you’d take him, how you just suck him in, how you’re subconsciously backing up against him in order to get more friction. 

It’s only when you’re on the verge of sobbing that he sinks inside to the hilt, hissing out a groan through his teeth as he feels you wrap around him so tightly. 

If you wanted to, you could tell him that you spent the whole date tonight thinking about this, but he already knows that – you’d said something to that effect in a fucked-out haze about five or so dates ago. 

Or you could tell him that nobody’s as good as him, but he’s (acutely) aware of that, too. You’re more than fond of the man at this point and you don’t mind padding his ego, but you can think of more creative ways to get him going. 

So you deepen the arch of your back, spreading your legs wider for him to fuck into you, your fingers aching once again from how you’re gripping the couch for leverage. 

He groans, the sound all low and drawn out, biting down on his lower lip to stifle it. 

“Ya drive me crazy, y’know that?”

You smirk against the couch cushion. “I know.”

“B- but I told ya earlier,” he continues, his breathing heavy and unsteady. “I – we can’t keep doin’ it like this, after your dates.”

That takes you by surprise. You thought it was just a throwaway line, that it didn’t mean anything.

Does he want to stop hooking up?

“Why?” you ask, keeping your question to just one word so as to not give your panic away in your voice. 

“Because,” he mutters, “Cos what if ya meet someone ya really like on one of those dates?” 

The idea alone bothers him enough that he speeds up his thrusts, the sound of his hips slapping against your ass echoing around the living room. 

Amidst the overwhelming sensation, you just about manage to articulate a response. 

“What if I already have?”

He slows, hips still moving in and out but at about half the speed they were just moments before, and you feel one of his giant hands grip your hip for leverage.

As always, it’s firm but careful. Tender, even. 

“You mean that?” he asks, thumb tracing soft circles at your hipbone.

You turn your head slightly, peering up at him over your shoulder. You smile with the full knowledge he knows the answer already, he just needs you to confirm it.

“Yeah,” you say with sincerity. 

“So no more dates?” he asks, starting to fuck you in earnest again. 

You laugh breathlessly, hazily. “No more dates.”

[tjlnn22]

An Analyis of the Ending of "The Killing Joke"

This scene is one I've wanted to get my thoughts written out on for a while and one of the most interesting in all of DC comics from how important it is to understanding both the characters of Batman and the Joker.

So, this scene is the finale of the oneshot comic "The Killing Joke" By Alan Moore, and is directly preceeded by Batman once again foiling the Joker's evil plan, beating him both verbally and physically before then kicking him to the ground to seemingly knock him out.

For what then follows, I will post the full comic pages so you can absorb the scene first.

Ah, the infamous cutaway that leaves the ending so open to interpretation. But what exactly does all of this mean? Well, I'll give my interpretation:

The scene starts in the same way as many other fights between Batman and Joker have concluded. Joker gets defeated, Batman saves the day, the clown prince of crime will get chucked back into Arkham until he inevitably breaks out once again, and then they'll do the whole thing over. "You know, I think you and I are destined to do this forever", that's how their story always goes. However, this time things are different.

This time, Batman doesn't beat Joker senseless, even though cosnidering what Joker spent that evening doing to his friends and family, he would richly deserve a good beating by anyone's estimation. Joker expects that of Batman as well, and he accepts the beating and re-imprisonment that he's sure is coming his way, because that's how it's always been. And yet instead, this time Batman chooses to talk with him. He tells Joker the facts of the situation, that despite everything, he actually doesn't WANT to hurt him, and knows that if they keep going down their current path, one of them will eventually kill the other. Batman knows it, and he knows that Joker knows it too, and he doesn't want that to be the case, because above everything else Batman values preserving human life as a goal equal to and often greater than stopping crime. He doesn't want to kill Joker, it would go against everything he stands for, but he knows with every encounter they share that possibiltiy grows more and more likely.

In a similar fashion, the Joker doesn't actually want to kill Batman either. Despite how he may play the part of wanting otherwise, the entire story of the comic up until this point has been about Joker trying to prove a point to Batman. That deep down, everyone can become him, that all it takes is one bad day to turn even the most moral man alive into the Joker. whether this is because Joker genuinely believes this, or it is meant to simply justify and excuse who he himself became from his own tragedy, is never really confirmed, though it is most likely a bit of both.

Either way, we see that Joker is not happy at all by Batman attempting to talk to him instead of beating him. In fact, he's practically sulking. Now, is this due to the fact that his big plan just failed, sure, at least partly. However, there is something else going on as well. All of Joker's plans fail sooner or later, this is no exception. It's something he expects despite coming up with a new one every week. This time though, he genuinely looks depressed, and this is in part due to Batman breaking the magic of their routine. By speaking to him like anyone else, by reaching out to Joker, Batman is attempting to fundamentally change their relationship forever. Batman wants it to end, he doesn't want to keep fighting Joker until it kills one of them, he wants Joker to stop. But Joker doesn't want to stop, he doesn't want Batman to die or stop chasing him because the relationship he has with Batman is all he has left. He has no real friends, no goals outside of plans to mess with Batman more, he has nothing outside of his role as Batman's arch enemy, and he knows it.

And yet, despite all that, when Batman genuinely reaches out to him, appeals to the fact that their lives were both heavily affected by past tragedies and offers Joker help to try and move past that, to be better, even after all the atrocities he's committed, despite all that... Joker actually seems to consider his offer. We can see this by his hesitation, and the fact that he doesn't just laugh it off right away or make fun of Batman as he would any other time.

This time, Joker seems to consider the offer, and turns dead serious in a moment that is probably the most normal display of genuine human emotion we get from him, and he tells Batman that he's sorry. Joker genuinely apologizes for not being able to take Batman up on his offer, looking like he's about to cry as he declares that it's far too late for him to take any offer Batman could give him.

The question is, why? Why is this time so different, why does Joker seem to actually consider Batman's offer and reject it in such a human manner? Well, I truly believe the answer is clearly seen in the joke that the conversation with Batman reminds him of. I will go through it line by line and give my interpretation.

"See, there were these two guys locked in a lunatic asylum" I think this obviously is referring to Batman and Joker. They are the characters of this joke/story, the conversation between them reminded Joker of this joke (or he just came up with it on the spot to suit their situation, but regardless) and they are also the only two characters in the panel where that line is said. In this case, the 'asylum' in question would be their rivalry, their roles as Batman and Joker and everything that comes along with that. Makes sense, none of the things either of them do in those roles are things that normal, sane people do, and both of them were traumatized in their lives by horrible events and spiraled into becoming the Batman and Joker because of it.

"And one night, one night they decide they don't like living in an asylum anymore, they decide they're going to escape." This is a clear metaphor for ending their roles as Batman and Joker, perhaps just for that particular rivalry or all together. Escaping the asylum means returning to the normal, happy lives they had before their trauma. Batman has already stated he wants to end his fighting with Joker, however the fact that both men in the story wish to leave the asylum together implies that Joker also secretly wants that too, which is very interesting as we go on.

"So like, they get up onto the roof, and there, just across this narrow gap, they see the rooftops of the town, stretching away in the moonlight, stretching to freedom." Given that Joker is looking at the moon shining over Gotham as he says this, I think it's clear that the 'freedom' here is living a normal human life the same way all the civilians of Gotham try to every day. It's about having a chance to be better, to do better and make something of your life everyday beyond the endless cycle that he and Batman are trapped in with each other. As long as that cycle exists, they can never truly be free, even though the Joker can break out of Arkham whenever he wants and do practically whatever he wants until Batman stops him. Their rivalry prevents either of them from ever being free.

"Now the first guy, he jumps right across with no problem. But his friend, his friend daredn't make the leap. Y'see, y'see he's afraid of falling." This is where we see Joker differentiate himself and Batman in the story, and how their situations in life currently exist. Batman is the first guy who is able to escape the asylum and return to the city fairly easily, whenever he desires. This is because that, unlike Joker, Batman has his life as Bruce Wayne to live and fall back onto. He has many friends and a large family both adopted and biological who rely on him and give him something good and happy to live for. He can leave the asylum because he sees the light on the other side, he has hope and knowledge that things will turn out alright if he does. But Joker does not. Joker doesn't have another life to live, no family and no friends to fall back on and lift him up. All his life consists of is the asylum and Batman, the other man right along with him. He knows nothing else, and so it seems impossible for him to ever jump across to the other side and join Batman in freedom.

However, it goes beyond that. Joker isn't scared to leave the asylum because it's all he knows, in fact he's just as eager to leave it with Batman. What he is afraid of though, is FALLING as he jumps across. What does falling mean in this case? Well since escaping the asylum would mean ditching the roles of Batman and Joker and returning to a normal life, falling would be failing to do just that, failing so hard that it sends him plummeting right back down, either to death or to being left alone and away from the safety of the asylum and more importantly the companionship of Batman. if he falls but Batman doesn't, he'll be left lost and alone, pointless and forgotten, and that's what Joker fears by leaving the asylum.

"So then the first guy has an idea. He says 'Hey! I have my flashlight with me! I'll shine it across the gap between the buildings. You can walk across the beam and join me!" This part of the metaphor I believe is meant to represent Batman's offer of help to the Joker, the therapy/rehabilitation that's intended to help him get better. In this case though, the help is being represented by something that has little actual effect. You can't walk across a beam of light to cross over to another building, in the joke it's only meant to stop the second guy's fear of falling. It isn't actually a real bridge to freedom, just an illusion of one that Joker thinks Batman is giving him.

However, than we get to the punchline.

"B-but the second guy shakes his head. He suh-says, he says, 'wh-what do you think I am? Crazy? You'd turn it off when I was halfway across!"

And here we get the real reason why Joker can't take Batman's offer, why he can't join him in freedom outside of the asylum. It isn't because he doesn't think the help Batman is offering him would work. The beam of light not being a real bridge to walk across isn't the problem in his eyes. The problem, is that believes that if he tried to walk across it, Batman would shut it off and let him fall. Because what Joker is truly scared of, isn't that the help Batman's offering him wouldn't work, he's scared that the help might actually have a chance at working, that he may have a way to get out of the asylum for good, but that Batman will give up on him before he reaches the other side.

He's afraid that the only person in the world who genuinely cares about him and wants to help him, will end up giving up on him and forgetting him if he tries to get better. We can see that in the way Joker delivers the punchline, turned around to stare directly into Batman's face with a disturbed, crushing smile of realization on his face while the symbol of freedom that is Gotham, bathed in the light of the moon sits directly behind him, just out of reach. He's accusing/telling Batman of why he's afraid, that he could never trust him enough to actually try and rehabilitate him, and he's laughing because he knows there's no way out of this.

And Batman, once the joke finally hits him, realizes the exact same thing. He knows then that Joker will never actually be able to be helped, there is nothing he can do for him because Joker will never trust him enough to let himself be helped. There is no way out of this for them now that Batman's final appeal to peace has been turned down by a man to broken to realize it was his way to a better life, a free life.

And so, knowing now how their story will end, Batman does the one thing that Joker always wanted from him, and breaks his role as Batman for just a moment. He shares in a final laugh with Joker as he puts his hands on his shoulders, up by Joker's neck, and the two laugh and laugh together until the scene cuts away and their laughter cuts off equally as quick.

Now, did Batman kill Joker here? The single question everyone tends to ask when they read this scene. Now, canonically we know that, no, Batman does not kill him, Joker returns again and again after this, but in this case I do fully believe that the creator of this comic, Alan Moore (the same man who wrote Watchmen), did likely intend for that to be the ending. The fact that the scene opens with Batman acknowledging that their relationship will end in death, and that the only way out of that is for Joker to accept his proposal I think seals the intent of the ending pretty well. Joker Can't accept his proposal, because the trust between them that would be necessary for that is something that could never truly be built up as they exist in their roles as Batman and Joker. They both know this, and so Batman ends their relationship and breaks his one rule by freeing Joker the only way left it is possible to free him, in death.

So, as much as I personally think that having Batman kill at all is a fundamental no no that you just can't do with his character because it goes against everything he stands for, I think this as an intended ending by Alan Moore to the relationship of Batman and Joker works very well. It is one of many endings in across many comics. Is it my favourite? No, though I would put it in my top three. however, I do think that this is the meaning that Moore was trying to convey in this scene, and I truly believe he does a beautiful job at conveying it!

[ann-atar]

Re: Sauron, iterations in TROP

... or my impressions so far, going in the order we were introduced to them/him.

Halbrand-Sauron My least favorite Sauron! Now I have to preface this and say that I was not spoiled, at all, for any of the first season. I didn't look at anything online except the episodes themselves and the trailers/previews, so I really didn't know much about this character except what we were shown, so my initial impression of Halbrand was, I believe, exactly what I imagine the showrunners wanted it to be.

I thought Halbrand was sketchy and, honestly, a bit gross. Not in terms of looks but, like, everything else. His whole personality got under my skin and I could not stand him. (Kudos Charlie Vickers! I didn't know what you were doing at the time but damn.)

I felt for Galadriel because of all the Men she could come across after going through so much, she had to face off against this rather smarmy dude-bro. I was honestly baffled when she wouldn't be talked out of the idea that he was the lost king of the Southlands because it seemed like a wild supposition despite the fact that he had that heraldry. But Galadriel was -- is -- so traumatized that it didn't really matter who he was, she was going to find a cause and a way to fight the Enemy even if she had to elevate this obviously (to us) sketchy person.

My entire reaction to the evolution of Galadriel's fantasy about Halbrand's character was: girl no, girl please, girl stop. Which, rather ironically, was Sauron's initial reaction too. He tried so hard to shake her and it was almost funny, until it wasn't, because Sauron being Sauron means that he can't help but reach for power in whatever form it takes (imo in his mind there was not much difference between an army from the Southlands and the Uruk army, they could both be turned and/or further corrupted to suit his purpose).

The only times I liked Halbrand at all were when he did seem to be trying pretty hard to carve out a new life for himself with the smiths' guild in Numenor. He was honestly really passionate about making things, and it was too bad he couldn't reach for that new life in an above board, straightforward way. But that little spark, which I suppose we might call a hint of Mairon's lost light, was there again when he met Celebrimbor and helped out in his forge. At that point the story turned into more of a tragedy for all of these characters, Sauron included.

But being mildly annoyed and creeped out by Halbrand!Sauron did not prepare me for ...

Uncanny Valley Sauron The version of Sauron we saw in the flashback when Adar tried to kill him was ... unsettling. Too shiny. Wildly out of place. He made my skin crawl and that short scene was amazing because the tension surrounding him was palpable. A whole crowd of Uruk, and Adar, held somewhat in his thrall and tiptoeing around their erstwhile king -- but why? We can't see exactly what came before but it must have been BAD.

I call this version "Uncanny Valley" Sauron because there was something so off about him, and there was also a sense that he was acting out what he thought someone in his position should be doing, playing dress-up for a day or an age, and in a body that he wasn't quite used to, still figuring out what that body should do and say in that particular role and context.

When Adar made to crown him in front of the assembled Uruk, and he swept his cape around himself with that little flourish, I was holding my breath, not just because I was anticipating the inevitable violence but because he was so ... weird. Seriously. When they attacked it was more visceral than I thought it would be, but Uncanny Valley Sauron didn't even die like a being of flesh and blood, which was also unexpected and impressive.

The Uruk impact the surface of him, they break into the shell of his flesh suit until the real "him" escapes, but because they don't understand much about the nature of his being, Adar and the Uruk interpreted that as destruction, as death. Which of course it would have been for almost any other creature, but Sauron is a Maia and they're ... built different.

At that point I think we crossed over into horror territory, and we get to meet ...

Zhajiangmian!Sauron, a.k.a. The Thing Not everyone liked this version of Sauron but I was cheering wildly because not only does it show that his nature is alien, so far from what we know of the other inhabitants of Middle-earth, but it does something else: it shows us, in gruesome detail, exactly what Mairon, a creature of fire and light, was reduced to under Melkor.

That black ooze? It's not his blood, it's him.

Even in the shadow realm he still appears as blackness, decay, and ashes, even if his skin still burns with some of his lost fire, and that's just awful. Thing!Sauron in the rocks beneath the mountain, consuming any spark of life that got too close and then slithering up and up toward the light ... I don't know if this comparison has been made before, but I'm calling this version The Thing because it reminds me somewhat of the creature in the John Carpenter movie from the 80's. In that movie, the thing/alien/creature consumes and mimics any living being, and it's very hard to tell that the person being mimicked isn't "real," or isn't themselves. Until they're cornered, confronted, and inevitably kill again.

In Carpenter's (horror) movie, The Thing mimics life and can take on almost any form, but it seems more inclined to impersonate living things that can communicate. Why? We don't know, we're not told, but it does have an innate drive to keep going, and to continue down a path of death and destruction for as long as it survives.

Of course this is not a complete parallel with Sauron, but it's close, and I can't help but think that's by design. And that we were supposed to consider what kind of being a Maia is, originally, and how much torture of all kinds would be required to transform a brilliant demi-god into the creature (the filth!) that crawled across Middle-earth with a similar appetite for destruction after Adar's attempt to kill it.

Which gives us a great deal of information on the nature of ...

Annatar!Sauron, Celebrimbor's Lord of Gifts If the black ooze under his flesh facade is him, that means that he sacrificed not blood, exactly, but parts of himself to create the Nine. Living parts, like tendrils forged into molten metal and shaped into the rings, connecting his will to the wearer's, his being forever sundered in a desperate bid to connect and dominate, a power over flesh but also made of "flesh," a power that reaches into the unseen world, but at what cost?

It's almost too much, that cost, and talk about horror! Sauron's living essence was forged into the rings, but near the end, in Eregion, it was smeared across Celebrimbor's desk, it was on his skin and under his fingernails, it was in Celebrimbor's hair. Annatar's corrupted essence is all over him, but in the end it doesn't dim Celebrimbor's light ...

After writing that I'm not sure how to convey why Annatar!Sauron is my favorite so far. I suppose I could say that he's the best/worst one to date, and that those actors together, playing Annatar and Celebrimbor, have created a phenomenal version of Sauron in general, and I'm pretty pleased with where this adaptation is taking him.

Sauron is no longer just the final boss in the spiky headgear we saw in the PJ films; after he transformed himself into this "lord of gifts," he's clearly a Maia who was tortured into insanity, whose essence was corroded and corrupted, turned dark and viscous when his nature was bold and bright, who still wants to create something even after ages spent twisting in the dark with no hope of regaining the light. It's a credit to the actor that we can accept that sketchy, sly Halbrand turned into a version of Sauron who was so nuanced and alien, and a credit to the showrunners who were able to let us see that progression.

Anyway.

I've already posted a lot about this latest version of Sauron, and rather than go over old ground and ramble even more wildly I'm going to link a few earlier meta posts here:

Finale Thoughts: Annatar, Celebrimbor, Galadriel

Pre-finale: Annatar, and Celebrimbor understanding the pattern

The Sauron Effect: TROP's Sauron is a great villain

Durin's immunity to the Sauron-effect

I'm still thinking about the relationship between Annatar and Celebrimbor, and the impact that will have on the forging of the One, and will doubtless have more thoughts on that in the future. If you got to the end of this post or have replied to my meta thank you, I'm enjoying the hell out of this show, the performances, and the fandom in general!

[laughhardrunfastbekindsblog]

A few thoughts about Crosshair's and Hunter's argument on Barton-IV in "The Return" -

- I completely sympathize with Hunter reaching his breaking point and demanding answers. Unlike us, Hunter had no idea what Crosshair had been through - the last he had personally seen of Crosshair before the prodigal brother unexpectedly turned up with Omega, his brother had been acting violent and unpredictable (to say the least), and had literally said that if the rest of the squad didn't join the Empire, he considered them his enemies.

- At the same time, Hunter had no idea what Crosshair had been through that led him to Tantiss, and he pushed before Crosshair was ready to talk... With the result that Crosshair, understandably, became angry and defensive and lashed out. (Come on, Hunter, what else did you expect?)

- When first watching the episode, as Crosshair began blaming Hunter for Omega's imprisonment, I was bracing myself for the inevitability of Crosshair blaming Hunter for Tech's death... And was so relieved but also very surprised that he didn't cross that line. Now, I am convinced that the reason Crosshair didn't hold Hunter responsible for Tech's death, was because Crosshair completely blamed himself for it.

- Given the above, I'm also wondering if that's why Crosshair was so quick to find a way to change the subject when Echo mentioned Tech, yet spent a meaningful moment honoring Mayday: painful though Mayday's loss had been, Crosshair had done all he could to save him. But he hadn't been there to help the squad and try to prevent Tech's death - indeed, he was the main reason (not the only reason, but the main reason) the squad had been on Eriadu in the first place. (You know one thing that would have made this interpretation of events even clearer? One small moment (a Mayday moment, if you will) of all Tech's brothers honoring him at the end of the show, where Crosshair and the others finally get some real closure over Tech's death. And no, I'm never letting this point go. Ever. Mini-rant over.)

[lime-bloods]

I've been really enjoying your posts on black holes and homes as sources of gravity (as I understand the posts so far). Out of curiosity, what do you make of page 5404, where Drunk Rose describes in drunk babble that Gravitation itself is somehow related to "the intrinsic nature of nothingness"? Combined with a few of the screenshots you've taken, it feels like you're hitting on something close to Void as a thematic presence in Homestuck to me, but bugger me if I know what it is!

My instinct is that Rose has reached the same conclusion I have: that 'gravity', as a metonym for the influence of a black hole, is just the inevitable pull towards oblivion. I think she's using "nothingness" as a euphemism for "space", over which gravity has dominion, but through this we can start to appreciate how the concepts of Space and Void weave into each other ("nothingness", "space" and "void" all being functional synonyms).

Understanding that Rose's lapse into alcoholism is her own way of succumbing to 'gravity' - a pull towards toxic familial cycles which not only evokes Vriska's own "addiction" to breaking 8-balls but also literally surrounds the drinker in a dark pocket - her allusions to the Void and gravity here are also tinged by her own experience and outlook as a Seer of Light (who heavily relied on a magic cue ball as her source; a fountain of information which is symbolically opposed to the information-consuming black hole). In particular, the idea that the gravity/knowledge contained within the apple was "for BIDDEN..!" feels like it harkens back to Rose's own quest for forbidden knowledge, which led ultimately to her first foray into the dark. (Like a sun collapsing in on itself, in her hunger for information Rose becomes the black hole in a simultaneously Biblical-and-Newtonian fall-from-grace-cum-moment-of-inspiration. Oh, hey, exactly like Kanaya said would happen!)

But through allusions to Adam and Eve, and the plucking of primordial ideas "from the void" or "the abyss of coinsciousness", we also get the sense that nothingness is the substrate from which things are born - in a manner of speaking, "the Void" here is an ideological incestuous slurry. Just as the void consists of the aspects of creation so "closely woven together [...] that they are barely separable", all things are eventually pulled by forces of gravity (or inevitability, or Time, or whatever name suits them in the context), manifested as a black hole, into nothingness... just to be mixed up and recombined again in Paradox Space's great masturbatory cycle of life and death, like English being born again and again in countless universes. And what Rose "take[s] for granned", about the ease of creating complex objects and the difficulty of creating simple ones, is the exact opposite problem to what the Rogue of Void experiences.

I don't know if I'm HAPPY with these answers, per se... Rose's rant is so rich with imagery I feel like I should be able to give you one, cohesive answer rather than 2-3 smaller fragmented ones. Perhaps that's sort of the point - in her drunkenness, Rose has access to this veritably spaghetti heap of interwoven ideas, but lacks the vision to line them up into a unified Point? But I can't help but feel like that's a cop-out.

Thanks so much for asking though!

[ithebookhoarder]

Javier Peña req (and Steve as bestie). Y/n is their partner and is feeling extremely burnt out; running on empty, coffee, cigarettes and not much else. She’s barely sleeping or eating and constantly has a tight chest and racing heart. They both know something is up with her but she just shrugs it off until one day, Javi is out on a raid and she reaches her breaking point. Steve manages to get her home but can’t reach Javi until he gets back to the embassy etc. Also, please could you throw in a little Carrillo cause😍

Burned Out (Javier Peña x F!Reader)

A/N: I’ve missed Narcos and my DEA boys, so thank you for this prompt, whoever sent this in. I really appreciate it. I’ve been in a bit of a slump recently with writing for this blog, so it’s great to have something to focus on and pour myself in to - hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, alcohol, reference to depressive / self destructive behaviour, description of a panic attack, mild smut, canon-typical violence, death, reference to drugs / overdosing. 

Masterlist

You knew exactly when it started. When you began to feel yourself beginning to sink downwards into the quicksand that was your life. 

It was a bad day… well, a worse day, if you were being honest, given that life in general in Bogota was hard and full of bad days that left you feeling numb inside. Whereas you were normally able to banish the darkness by spending time with the friends you had collected since your arrival to the city, not even Javi’s gentle kisses or Steve’s dirty jokes or Connie’s homemade deserts could do the trick. 

The day had been bad for many reasons.

One, you’d lost a contact with direct links to Escobar, that you’d spent weeks working on. 

Two, you had lost them in a drive-by shooting that had killed not only them but countless civilians too. 

Three, some of your asshole colleagues decided to spill coffee all over your files meaning you were forced to work late to re-type them up for a briefing the following morning. Even though you had got it done, you knew you had likely missed some details, the ink far too smudge to even begin to try and understand what had previously been written. 

However, that day had only been the start of it. The start of the downwards spiral you found yourself tumbling into. 

Sure, the others had noticed there was a change about you. Yet, it wasn’t as if they knew what was causing it or how to fix it. 

Javi especially knew what you were like - you were like him after all. Spilling your guts wasn’t your natural reaction to handling things. You kept your emotions bottled up inside of you, cramming more and more in, forcing that lid to remain firmly screwed in place even as the pressure began to build. 

And if the lid did threaten to pop off? Well then, you lost yourself in him. In the love that existed between you, and the intimate knowledge you shared of one another. After all, Javi had said it himself, “who needed therapy when you had sex and good whiskey?” 

A night of passionate fucking was all it took to take the edge off… to let a little pressure escape, delaying your inevitable eruption… But that was just it; you would erupt. It was inevitable. There was no way on earth you could sustain the relentless routine of long hours spent at work, with coffee doing its best to act as a replacement for your bed. 

Hell, you could feel the toll it was taking on you both mentally and physically, from the way your hands shook slightly, to the way your chest felt too tight to breathe sometimes. Then there was the fact your clothes were starting to get baggy, whereas they’d once clung to your frame like they’d been tailored for you. 

“Here,” Javi had smiled one afternoon. You could smell the sandwich in his hand before he even set it down on the desk in front of you, accompanied by a packet of chips and a can of your favourite soda. “Grabbed that for you on our way back. Figured you’d forget lunch - again.” 

A weak smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the kind gesture. “Thanks, Javi.” 

“Anytime, hermosa.” He said it so calmly and easily that you felt your heart skip a beat as you realised how lucky you were to have someone who cared about you so deeply. It was why you made sure to tear a corner off of the sandwich and pop it in your mouth. 

The relieved nod Javi granted you told you it was the reaction he’d been waiting for, as he took a step back to let you finish eating and working in peace. 

You knew he’d be back to check you’d finished it in a matter of minutes. So, you were quick to chuck the rest of his lunch in the waste paper bin behind you, burying it further under a pile of discarded documents you’d already finished looking through. 

It was fine. You’d eat later. Maybe you’d even try and cook dinner for you and Javi… an apology for being so distant lately… 

Somehow, despite lacking the gift of prophecy, you knew deep down that that was unlikely to happen. Just as you knew it was unlikely Javi would even make it home tonight. For the last week straight, both he and Steve had been called out on some last minute, late night errands by Carillo - not that you minded all that much. 

Not having Javi’s arms to fall into meant you felt less guilty about working late yourself. About only making it back to your empty apartment long enough for a quick shower and a power nap each night. 

It was ironic to think of Carillo, though, given that your brief conversations with the Colonel in question had been the closest you’d come to finally releasing some of the hurt and the pain inside of you. 

You didn't know what it was about him, but somehow, the Colonel had an ability to draw you out. To make you open up and share things you would never otherwise dream of. 

Maybe it was his candour? You’d noticed that about him since you'd started working together; he had a blunt demeanour, saying what he thought regardless of the affect it could have on another person. 

Now, it wasn't done with malice, per say, but rather as the result of a man who had the weight of an entire army on his shoulders and an impossible task. He just didn't have the time to bullshit anyone - especially when you both lived in a city full of people all too willing to lie and cheat. 

It also came from a weird sense of respect, of seeing people as equals, deserving of the truth just as he expected the same in return. No matter how painful it may be.

Needless to say, it was one of the reasons you'd grown to respect the man - and dare you even say, like. 

Still, when he decided to loiter on the other side of your desk, late one night, you felt yourself stiffen, as if suddenly all too aware of every little gesture your body made and what it gave away.

The Colonel missed nothing.  

“You look like shit.”

Wow. Don’t beat around the bush. 

“Jeez, your wife married a charmer, Colonel,” you scoffed, dragging on your cigarette, sparing him a fleeting glance. “Speaking of, doesn’t she want you back home? Or do you prefer my company that much that you’d rather stand at my desk at 11 o’clock at night?” 

“She’s out of the city, visiting her parents,” he rebuffed, clearly not taking the bait as he dropped into the empty seat opposite. In fact, he decided to reach across and steal one of the cigarettes from the packet on your desk, lighting it for himself in a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere for now.  

“Good for her.”

“Yes, it is. I think time away from this place is good for everyone.” 

You could feel the accusation lacing his words, as well as the heat from his continuous stare. “Then why didn’t you go with her? Not enough vacation days?” 

He scoffed, a bitter smirk twisting his lips upwards. “You’re funny; I can see why Peña likes you so much. Like calls to like, as they say, even if you try and hide it behind that smile of yours.” 

You bit back a laugh. “What can I say? I lucked out in that department and got my Mom’s smile. My sister was not so fortunate. She always had my dad’s features - meaning she looked more often than not like she was sucking on a lemon.” 

“This is the sister that died from an overdose, correct?”

“Yes.” 

“The anniversary is this week, is it not?” 

He asked it so calmly and casually that anyone would have thought he’d asked you what the weather was like outside, or what your favourite record to listen to was. 

At least his concern now made sense. It was the kind of detail he would remember, and you were honestly more surprised by the fact it had taken until now for him to bring it up. 

He’d probably been itching to ask you about it all day, aware of the date even if your two partners were not. Well, they might have been, but neither had said anything which was your preference if you were being honest. Hence your rapidly cooling demeanour towards your colleague. 

“I’m fine, if that’s what you're trying to fish about for, Colonel,” you sighed, staring back down at your desk again in an attempt to dismiss him. “You don't have to worry about me. I’m good. Thanks. So can I get back to work in peace? Or did you have some other question for me?” 

Carillo sighed, simply choosing to smoke his cigarette, letting the tension linger along with the steadily growing haze around you both. 

He didn't need to say the words aloud; his actions did all the talking for him as he reached over and helped himself to a file off of you desk. 

He didn't buy this ‘calm, cool, and collected’ act you were pedalling. Not for a second - something his stare alone gave away, even if he refused to say it. Instead, he chose to read, and work, and smoke along side you so that you would not be alone. 

He had his eyes on you... watching and waiting for the moment that your carefully constructed walls came crashing down... the only question was would they crush you in the process?

It was about a month later that the inevitable happened; that you finally hit rock bottom. 

It had just been a causal remark that did it, of all things. A casual remark that sent you tipping over the edge. 

You had just returned from lunch and hadn’t even sat back down at your desk yet when you noticed that someone was missing.  

“Yo, Steve?” you queried, quickly glancing up at the empty seat next to you. “Where did Javi go?” 

Now, you couldn't be a hundred percent certain what Steve said next but you knew he’d said something about Carillo, a lead, and a raid ... 

“What?”

“I said, Javier went with him,” Steve repeated, staring at you with growing concern. You realised he must have already repeated himself. “What? Why? What is it?” 

“Javi went too? He… he’s there? On that raid?” 

“Yes, y/n, that’s what I just said - hey! Where you going?” 

You didn’t even realise your feet had started moving, not until you heard Steve’s confusion as he yelled after you. 

But you didn't stop.

You couldn’t stop, not until you were outside - not until you were far enough from that place that you could actually stop and fucking breathe. 

When did it become so hard to breathe? 

When had the room become so small? 

Why did your mind suddenly feel the need to go to the darkest place possible? 

It was just a raid... one of hundreds Javi had gone on since arriving here in the country, just as you had also gone on your fair share. So why was your head suddenly picturing him... lying there... injured, or worse... dead. 

The number of bodies you’d stared at, lying in the streets in a macabre tableau that had become all too familiar by now - all part of this fucking job. A job you signed up for, hoping to vanquish the bastards who had taken so much from you and those you loved… yet, every day, it seemed you had failed as more and more innocent people suffered… and to think, that Javi - the man you loved more than anything - who you had neglected terribly to the point you couldn't actually remember the last time you’d woken up next to each other - could be amongst them… 

It brought you to your knees. 

“Whoah, y/n. Easy. What’s wrong?” 

Steve’s voice sounded distant, as if you have been submerged beneath water. Yet, you could tell he was beside you, dropping down onto the kerb before hauling you close. The warmth of his touch was enough to tether you to him, to reality, as everything around you seemed to spin in dizzying circles.

You could feel it as his hands rose, cupping your cheeks, turning your head and trying to get you to look at him. 

When you finally did, he could see immediately that your eyes were glassy, like you weren’t really seeing or hearing him. 

He knew that look. 

“Y/N,” Steve murmured in a soothing voice. “Y/N, look at me. Look at me.” 

He paused, waiting until your eyes trained themselves on his face, some of the cloudiness starting to dissipate. 

“Good, that’s good. Now breathe. Just breathe,” he instructed, taking a few deep breaths himself to show you how.

It took you a moment or two, but you eventually became fully aware of your surroundings and what your friend was telling you to do. 

Following his lead, you took a few shuddering breaths, then a few more. You kept breathing until you could feel the racing of your heart slow and the fear that had felt crippling just moments before begin to ease.

You were exhausted.

Wiping at your face, you tried to banish the tears that had left a salty trail burning down your cheek.

Steve doesn't say anything for a long minute, instead choosing to pull you into his side and light up a cigarette, which he was quick to offer you.

“T... thank you.”

You sat like that for a while... just watching people and cars passing by, smoking like two people on a perfectly ordinary break.

No one bothered to stop and ask you two questions. Hell, no one even shot a glance in your direction, everyone too busy with their own business to stop and give a shit about yours.

So you sat. 

And smoked. 

And said nothing... not until the cigarette was nothing more than a stub.

Steve was quick to take it from you, before it could burn your fingers. Tossing it aside, it had clearly served its purpose. 

He stood and offered you a hand. 

His face left no room for debate as he stated calmly, “Come on, I’m taking you home. Now.” 

“Come on. A couple more steps, Y/N,” Steve urged, guiding you up the stairs to your apartment. 

His hand was warm, firm even, as it pressed against your lower back. 

He’d been like this since the moment you’d left the embassy, steering you and hovering over you like he expected you to simply topple over at the slightest breeze. 

It was touching, yet irritating all at once - a sentiment you were too busy trying to put one foot in front of the other to even attempt to unpack. You were also just too goddamn tired. 

“Here we are.” Steve’s words startled you. “Home sweet home.” 

You didn’t remember giving him the keys, but you must have as he opened the door a second later and herded you inside. 

There was emotion in your throat - threatening to spill from you. You were holding on by a thread and he knew it. Just as Carillo knew it, and possibly Connie too - 

Wait, Connie?

You blinked as you realised that at some point the woman had also entered your home, most likely having been summoned by Steve on the drive home. 

You wanted to feel guilty at the thought of her being dragged into your mess, but you were honestly too tired to feel anything other than grateful as she hurried over to you, offering you a cup of what you assumed was tea, as well as two pills. 

To help take the edge off, she explained, urging you to take them. Doctor’s orders. 

It was impossible to miss the way that they were both staring at each other - sharing anxious glances as you swallowed the tablets and dutifully sipped the tea. 

They were worried about you. Hell, you were worried about you, and Javi, and Steve, and everyone else you loved and cared about - that was what had got you in this mess in the first place. 

Damn it.

You heard them say as much as you marched yourself to your bedroom, claiming you were going to try and get some rest whilst you waited for news. 

If they bought it, you couldn’t tell, but neither protested as you left them. 

They simply let you go, allowing you the space and privacy to crawl into your bedroom, bury yourself in the unmade sheets, and lie down for a while. The medication had clearly started to work as you felt heavy... tired... 

Lying there, you could hear their voices... faint murmurs drifting down the hall. 

You caught only snippets as they tried and failed to keep their voices down, just as your parents had once done when you were just a kid. Still, despite their efforts, you caught enough to know that there was still no word from Javi, or about the raid he went on. 

“-called Javi- no reply.”

“Carillo - try again -”

“-worried about her - stressed.” 

Eventually, the words began to fade away, replaced instead by your body's sudden need to sleep. It was pointless to fight the drugs now in your system, or the comfort of being wrapped in the bed sheets that still smelled of Javi... not even you were strong enough to fight it as you felt yourself drifting off into sweet oblivion.

"Sweetheart?"

You must have still been dreaming - that was the thought that crossed your mind as you swore you heard Javi's voice.

"Javi?" you moaned, fighting against the grogginess that greeted you as you tried to open your eyes.

Despite the fact it was clearly now dark out, you could easily make out the face in front of you, illuminated from behind by the bedside lamp. The sight was almost angelic - as if some divine being had deigned to answer your prayers and return the love of your life back in to your arms.

“It's ok, I'm here, sweetheart,” Javi purred again, brushing your hair back behind your ear and pulling you close. “I’m right here, ok? In one piece - promise. The raid went off without a hitch. Even snagged ourselves a new asset for you to take a crack at.”

Your eyes shimmered with tears as you quickly burrowed into his chest. You didn't really hear what he was saying, too busy focusing on the fact that he was here to say it at all - here - alive - in your arms. 

The reality hit you as you began to let it pour out of you: how relieved you were, how much you loved him. You also grumbled something about fucking telling you when he next decided to run off on a raid without so much as 'goodbye' - else you’d shoot him yourself. 

“I’m sorry, carino. I am.”

And you believed him. 

"I love you, Javi. So much."

"I love you too," he purred, "and I'm so sorry, I knew you were struggling, but when Steve told me-"

He didn't get to finish whatever the hell he'd been about to say. You didn't let him.

Instead, your lips surged hungrily towards his and as only Javi could, he kissed you back, soft and slow... as if desperate to reassure you through actions alone.

You felt him chuckle into your mouth as you grew impatient, grinding your hips against him in a silent plea for him to fill you. To join you. To bury himself, and the day you'd both had, in a moment of bliss.  

It was a special kind of neediness, reserved for just him, and one that was only sated once he had fully joined with you, as one being. Safe. Whole.

Yes, in an ideal world he would have waited until after talking to you to lose himself in such a way. After all, Steve and Connie had filled him in on the troubling turn of events that his absence today had triggered - and he'd be lying if he said the idea didn't scare him shitless, that you had broken down so completely...

He could only thank God that Steve had been there for you - especially when he couldn't be himself.

But he was here now... and you had time to start trying to make sense of this mess. Together. Carillo had assured him of that, informing him in no uncertain terms that you both had the next few days off from work. He didn't want to see either one of you back in the office until you'd begun to sort through the mountain of shit you were buried under.

So, yes. If you wanted to lose yourself for tonight, to use him to forget the world outside for a perfect moment, then he was only too happy to oblige.

He’d wait until the morning to have a proper conversation. 

He’d go down and whip you up some breakfast before trying to get you to open up to him about everything that had happened today… about the worries and concerns you’d been keeping locked away inside of you. 

Then, after you’d fallen in to pieces in his arms, he could try and start to put you back together again. As a team.

[its-your-mind]

Tbh I??? Really love these Bell’s Hells Company Retreat Activities???? Bc like. It’s not like any of them have been overly cagey this whole time, or actively hiding big secrets from each other. (someone at some point mentioned how BUCKwild it would have been to watch the M9 try to play What The Fuck Is Up With That within the first ten episodes of c2, with all the shit all of them were hiding and how much their early relationships were based on a mutual understanding that no one would expect each other to bring up the past unless it became a danger - the only one who ever poked that particular bear was Beau with Caleb at the start when she traded access to the Archive for the reason why Caleb gets fucked up by fire, and that private conversation shaped their relationship for the rest of the campaign BUT I digress.)

Nothing anyone confessed during the Honesty exercise was… a surprise. The only one who hadn’t shared the entirety of his past (that he remembered) was Chetney, and his was never the past that felt like a threat - that revelation was more along the lines of FCG’s type of “tell me about your family trauma so I can fix you” line of questioning.

The truths the Hells offered up to each other… they were significant (Fearne, I was disappointed in you for being afraid of your power), and scary (deep down, both Delilah and I kind of want the shard), and hard to say out loud (even on the nights I bunk up with one of you, I feel so lonely), but critically, so little of it was surprising. No one was sharing anything earth-shattering about their pasts or previously unknown plans for future betrayal.

And during the Communication exercise - none of them - Chetney, Imogen, Ashton, or Orym - doubted that their directors were leading them the wrong way. They listened, and paid attention to instructions, and didn’t try their own path because they felt like they knew better.

And then during Trust! The part that should have been the hardest!! All of them were obviously distrustful of each other, shooting around stressed looks, sending familiars to dive-bomb to check for flesh, but like… none of them actually turned on each other. None of them ganged up, or broke off, or stood in opposition - they were wary of each other, and they got the task done.

So… it didn’t really lead to any huge shifts in the dynamic. But that was never really what they needed! The Hells have trusted each other since the beginning, and even when they’re actively having to fight each other, it’s always with a desperation born from a place of concern. They really do care for and love each other. I don’t think any of them, if they sat down to think about it, truly believed that one of them was going to betray the others.

But they haven’t had time to sit and think about it. They have been actively fighting the literal end of the world since like… ep 45 (first irl Ludinus sighting/convo). The apocalypse happened. Has been happening. For thirty episodes now. They spent a good chunk of that time apart from each other, and then the rest of it desperately reaching out to anyone with more power than themselves to beg for their help.

So yeah! It’s not a big surprise that they’re all bottling up a lot of their own shit right now! There aren’t that many personal issues that feel like they deserve more attention than the literal end of the world.

It was inevitable something was going to give. And since Ashton’s shit was up next for dissection because they had a past that brushed up against the Primordials? Of course they were the one whose internal lockdown broke first. And of course when it did, it physically shattered Ashton, too, right along those same fault lines where Milo put them back together the first time. It’s so good that they had friends who were there, past and present, to make sure none of the pieces got lost. To put them back together.

We watched Laudna break down right after, specifically because she was back home, in this place where Delilah had first tortured and killed her, where she had lived as a wraith haunting a castle. Delilah had been slowly picking the lock on the cage the Hells had forced her into, and Ashton’s “betrayal” was the last tumbler Delilah needed to snap into place to break the lock in Laudna’s mind. And her mind shattered, fragmented in the same way it had been after she was first brought back as Delilah’s vessel. How beautiful that it was Laudna’s love of children and her desire to make Ashton a gift (meant to be part insult, “because you’re a child,” and declaration of her care for him, “I like children.”)

And Fearne… Fearne almost broke down after them. Slamming the hammer down next to Ashton’s head over and over and over, screaming at him, wandering away through the city, sleeping alone in the woods… She saw the cliff’s edge coming. That’s why she asked them if they could stop at her Nana’s first.

Because she needed it. And the rest of the Hells say, “Why? Do you think Nana Morri can help us in this?” And Fearne says, “Well, I don’t know, but…” And Imogen says, “Do you need it for you?” And Fearne says, in a small and shattered voice, “…yes.”

And that’s the end of the discussion.

They go home, to a place where they are safe and have time, for the first time since Ruidus was locked in place.

And so they have time to be Honest - and they are. Fearne likes to watch them all and play with their hair while they sleep. Orym has thought through how he would neutralize them if he absolutely had to. Ashton thinks it would be better for him to be dead than for Fearne to be hurt. Imogen is scared to face her mom. Laudna dreams of leaving this behind. FCG is jealous of the people around him with a heart, because they have possibilities he doesn’t. Chetney hasn’t settled down once in 400 years because he’s scared he’s cursed to drive away any family he has.

Behind all of this - I want to know everything about you. I need to make sure you don’t hurt each other. I would sacrifice myself to keep you from pain. I don’t want to choose between my blood and this family we’ve built. I want you all to be safe. I want you to pursue happiness. I don’t want to lose you.

And then, Communication - follow along this path. Listen to my voice. Keep calm, keep quiet. Stay the course. I will keep you safe. Keep walking, keep walking, and… you’re there, honey.

And finally, Trust. Two of them are going to be replaced by fae beings bent on preventing them from completing their mission, and they have to complete this task without letting the infiltrators stop them. Okay. Let’s all stick together. Keep eyes on each other. Wait for the doppelgängers to give themselves away somehow. Do you remember these small, banal details about our mutual history? There’s a possibility that action you took was malicious, but I know you well enough to know that might have been a mistake you made on your own. Here, I’ll walk into traps to show that I’m not going to stop you. I’ll get out of your way and take out the threats. I’ll be eyes in the sky and send my familiar to poke you to test if you feel like you should. But nothing you’re doing makes me see you as a real threat - just the possibility of one. I trust you. I trust in you. I trust myself to know enough about you to identify if you’re doing something differently than normal.

And the result of those exercises? No new information, but maybe some things that we all had lost track of amongst the chaos. I am not shocked by your Honesty. I know deep down that I can rely on your Communication. I do Trust you. I know you. I care for you. I know you care for me, too. Even when I have doubts, even when you fuck up, even when things break bad and you make the wrong call…

We are a team for a reason, and no matter what we said in the beginning, it is not just out of necessity or convenience. Are we a bunch of fucked up, broken people? Absolutely. Are we going to continue to fuck up? Probably. Does that change how we feel about each other? No. Never. As long as you’ll have me, I’ll be here, fighting alongside you. Helping you up when you stumble. Offering a shoulder when you need to cry. Standing over you to protect you if you fall. Laughing with you in good times, kicking ass for you in bad. This is our family, damn it. It is strange, and broken, but it is ours, and it is good.

[billlydear]

Hi! How would Billy react to his girlfriend getting her wisdom teeth out? Thanks! 💕

WISDOM TEETH - BILLY HARGROVE X READER

W.C 605 - INBOX (please request !) - GIF CREDIT TO OWNER

"Y'okay over there, tough guy?" Billy glances at you while he stalls at a red light, stifling a grin at the chub of your cheeks.

"I'm fine," You insist, shifting your jaw around, "Doesn't even- dozen'evenhurt."

"You are a tough guy," He snickers, "Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

"No," Your voice comes out watery and weak, thick with tears, "No, I lied, it hurts really really bad."

"Knew it," Billy scoffs, "Listen, the dentist gave you drugs for that, okay? As soon as we get home I'll get you some water and you can take them."

"Drugs? No, Billy, I can't take drugs!"

You seem to be forgetting your weekly ritual of smoking weed on Friday evenings with him.

"Stop- stop the car! If a cop pulls us over we'll get caught with drugs," You nearly sob, and BIlly's barely able to understand you from the wads of cotton in your mouth, "Dump them out!"

He wouldn't typically pay any attention to your loopy ramblings, but you start to reach for the wheel, and he swerves to a stop on the side of the road in case you decide to take matters into your own hands.

"Okay, okay! Listen," He turns, grabbing your puffy cheeks in his hand. They're hot to the touch, and there's a few stray tear streaks on them.

"They're not drugs, they're just pills. Good pills, legal pills. The doctor gave them to you, that means you can have them. We won't get pulled over by a cop, and even if we did, we're allowed to have the pills." With every point he makes he jostles your face ever-so-slightly, gentle enough that it won't hurt but a movement that'll make you snap out of your funk. It seems to work, you blink rapidly to free your eyes of the leftover tears in them, but then more start flowing.

"Ohhh, okay, okay," Billy hums, the sound almost a sigh as he slips a hand over the back of your neck, lowering your face into his shoulder, "Cry it out, babe."

"It hurts," You whimper, and he can feel drool seeping into his jacket. He just hopes it isn't bloodstained.

"I know," He murmurs, his voice steady and soothing as he rubs a hand up and down your back, "I know, I'm sorry it hurts. But the sooner we get home, the sooner we can get you that medicine, okay?"

"But I want a hug," You gush, staying put even though he'd implied you should let him drive again, "'Cause I'm soso sad, and you're so pretty, and everything is- is bad."

He snorts at your compliment, knowing you probably hadn't even intended to say it.

"Yeah? Well, you're pretty, too. Even when you're drooling."

"You mean it?" You break away from the hug to peer suspiciously up at him, and he uses his thumb to wipe away a spot of blood on your lower lip.

"I mean it," He promises, leaning in to kiss your now-clean lips. There's a bit of drool, but that's inevitable. You try reciprocating, but your mouth is stiff, which only makes you cry harder.

"You tried to kiss me! Even- even with my gross mouth," You blubber, "You still wanted t'kiss me, and I can't even kiss you back!"

"We're gonna drive now, sweetheart," Billy reaches over to grab your hand, hoping it'll soothe your sobs for the five minutes it'll take you to get home. He veers back onto the main road, eyeing you cautiously as you wail with your head tipped back against the seat back, "We need to drug you up."

"No drugs!"

[flusteredmoonn]

dear john; remus lupin

summary: "but i took your matches, before fire could catch me," in which she shows him that his differences from the typical side of society is not something to fear.

tags: (SFW), angst to fluff?, hurt/comfort, drabble??, fast paced, implied gryffindor!reader, implied pre-existing relationship, vulnerable!remus, angsty!remus, lowkey selfloathing!remus, she/her pronouns, third person y/n. can be read as a sequel to 'back to decemeber' or as a standalone fic.

words: 700+

speak now tracklist. request.

"it's not that simple! you don't understand!" the boy aggressively shouted as he began to pace around the dormitory, "that's why i know we'll never truly work. it's better, for both of us, if you just moved on!"

"so help me to understand," she replied calmly, crossing her arms over her chest as her face softened slightly.

"it's complicated, it-"

"it's only complicated if you don't explain it to me, i want to help you, remus," her voice very quickly became stern which stopped the boy in his tracks, causing him to turn to face her. he looked at a loss for words, stunned at her bluntness as he searched for the explanatory words.

"things are different for me! i can't just be all reckless and spontaneous all the time," his voice was now exasperated, resuming his pacing as he gestured with his hands expressively.

"says the man who frequently plans reckless and spontaneous pranks throughout the school with his friends," y/n sassed, a slight smile hiding on her face.

"yes, but that's entirely more complicated, this is my whole point!" remus begged, stopping again as he became more solemn, "i have to plan my participation, and the boys have to plan my participation, based on what the moon phase is," he stressed, voice rasping and emphasising his distain.

the boy didn't stop there, he continued to ramble at his girlfriend about how his life was affected by his condition and the long lasting effects in the days after a full moon.

that moment was when she realised. he centred his life around it. he thought he was a werewolf, all of the time, and that's what everybody saw him as. even his friends. even her.

"wait, wait, wait," she suddenly spoke, as the boy stopped mid sentence, "i think i understand now," a brief smile of comfort braced her features.

"remus, you're not the wolf. not right now, not unless it's a full moon," her voice was definitive and sure.

"but i, i am! greyback-" remus became hesitant, he was unsure of what he was saying, "it lives inside of me, it's one of the only constants i have," he confessed vulnerably. her eyes were sincere as she processed his words, thinking of an appropriate reply.

"it's why we won't work, not in the end," he reiterated, "i don't want you to get hurt, everyone i care about inevitably gets hurt because of me. i don't want that for you," he finished in barely a whisper.

"what about james? or sirius? or peter? you haven't ever hurt them before," she questioned assuredly, almost certain that this would stump him. it didn't. she knew it when his face dropped.

"not physically, but emotionally. for years. before they found out. it was turmoil up until they knew," he confirmed, avoiding her gaze all of a sudden.

"and now? everything's surely got to be much better," y/n guessed, her voice dropping and octave with her uncertainty.

"i guess, but that doesn't change who i am," the boy refuted confidently.

"who are you, then?"

"i'm destined to bring horror and melancholy everywhere i go, and destroy everything i love in my wake, all because of the fact i transform into this beast every full moon. and i fail to remember who i've hurt when i do, or what i do," remus raised his voice slightly, trying desperately for it not to break.

"no you're not," the girl affirmed, looking at him as she took several paces forward.

"then, what am i?"

"you're smart, and witty, and brave, and funny, and kind, and loyal, and caring," she reached out to the boy, grasping his shoulders as she spoke, as if it would further infuse her point within the boy.

"and a monster," he added in the same tone y/n was using, hoping to convince her.

"no, you're not. you're not who you turn into," she ran her hand through the ends of his hair whilst she spoke, "you're the furthest thing from it. outside of the night of a full moon, you wouldn't even dare hurt a fly," confidence ran through her words.

"you're not a monster, remus lupin, you're a softie," she smiled up at him cheekily.