#ive always had the feeling he is the kind of person that can clock everything about you in a single look i would be so intimidated

[sleevebuscemii]

james baldwin IS on my top 5 dinner guests lift of course of course but it WOULD be so funny cuz absolutely not would i be able to meet his eye the entire night

[y3nze1]

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆, 𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐍 | c.4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: I / II / III / IV / V / VI

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Short continuation chapter! Happy Readings!

You fell silent, your eyes focused onto his as he stared up at the stars, You couldn't help but smile at his response. You felt your heart beat a little faster at the image of yourself along his side.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of jealousy towards yourself, and towards the fact that Alastor felt so strongly about her, yet considering daisy and you are one person.

"She sounds wonderful," you said, your voice soft and full of meaning, "I can't imagine how she makes you feel. You must really love her." You paused for a moment, wondering if your words were too forward. You didn't want to seem desperate or needy, but you couldn't help it..

Alastor looked at you, his eyes full of intensity. "I love her immensely, more than words can describe. She's my everything, my world." He took a step closer to you, his voice low. "And now.. I want to find out more about you.. Y/n, tell me about yourself." He leaned in closer.

You felt your heart flutter at his words, his voice full of a deep sort of longing. You leaned in a little, feeling his warm breath brushing against your face. You felt a tingle run through your body as he leaned closer.

You took a deep breath, feeling your head spinning from the alcohol and the proximity to him. "What.. what do you want to know?" you asked, feeling a sense of nervousness well up inside of you. You didn't really know what to say, you hadn't really thought this far ahead.

"anything you can offer me, if that's alright with you." his smile widened, you looked away for a moment. staring blankly at your feet.

"well, how about this.. I am Y/n, I'm not.. duchess or any kind of noble, no parents, no riches, and no woman of power at any sorts.. and all i could ever offer.. is an infinite amount of my love.."

You couldn't help but blush at his words. You never thought that someone would be able to express such deep feelings towards you, you had never felt so loved and cared for by someone before. It was a feeling that you couldn't really put into words, but it felt like a warm, cozy blanket wrapped around you.

"That's all I could ever ask for," you said, your voice soft and gentle, "an infinite amount of your love is all I need. I don't care about riches or power, I just want someone who cares about me and loves me for who I am."

Alastor smiled at you, his eyes looking deep into yours. "Then i hope someone will truly be that person for you, my dear..".

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

The sound of a bell rang loudly from an old clock stuck at the hotel, Angel groaned at its ringing.

"ugh.. shit, I fucking hate that clock since it got here". Loralie chuckled at the sight, thinking to herself. "well.. i think it's neat" She muttered, chugging down the whiskey in her glass, setting it down to the side after.

"what about the story?! finish it!" Niffty grit her teeth in excitement, bouncing up and down on her chair leaving a happy sigh on Charlie's face. "well, what happened then? it ended just like that?" Charlie spoke, scratching her scalp gently. Loralie stared down at her glass for a moment.

"my memory's kind of foggy about it, it's been a long time since i told this story."

"That's okay, take your time," Charlie said, smiling warmly at Loralie. "I just love hearing you tell stories, they're always so fascinating."

As Niffty bounced anxiously on her chair, Charlie reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down.

"Don't worry, Niffty, Loralie will finish the story when she's ready." Niffty grumbled and crossed her arms, but didn't say anything more as she looked up at Loralie expectantly.

Loralie took a deep breath and looked down at her glass, trying to gather her thoughts. "Right, where did I leave off... oh yes.. shit, I'll just try and pick up what i can remember from here."

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭

You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth and comfort wash over you as he spoke. "I hope so too," you said quietly, feeling a sense of sadness wash over you. You knew that you weren't likely to find someone that would love you as much as Alastor loved Daisy.

"Do you really think there's someone out there for me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You felt your eyes start to well up with tears as you spoke.

"Of course," he said, taking your hand and gently caressing it. "There is always someone out there for everyone, you just have to keep looking." He leaned in close to you, his voice low and soft. "And until then, i could be of company with you, maybe guide you even.." Alastor whispered. "as for, i suppose I'll keep listening to daisy's call in the meantime. but I'll set my heart aside for her."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as he spoke. It felt nice to know that Alastor would be there for you, even if it was just as a friend. You felt your heart aching at his words, wondering if you'd ever find someone who loved you as much as he loved Daisy.

"Thank you," you said softly, looking up at him. "That means a lot to me, Alastor. You've been so kind to me, and I appreciate it more than you know." You reached out and touched his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin. "And I'll always be here for you too, if you ever need a friend."

The silence continued, only broken off the sound of Loralie looking for you, you finally excused yourself, heading over towards her. "Loralie! Hold on, I'm here!" you called out, seeing you, she grabbed your hand. pulling you through the crowd.

"we're goin home. now." she sounded angry, you wondered. wanting to ask her, "what happened? Loralie, tell me." you reached out to her, yet she pulled you through the crowd instead, once the two of you got inside the car. she set her bag aside. groaning.

"Loralie.. what happened?" you asked as she whined. "ugh! there's this girl. absolutely sassy, ugh, i swear I'll knock that arrogance out of her" you let out small chuckle, patting her back. "I'll leave you to it then"

You watched as Loralie's mood shifted from anger to happiness in an instant. She was always able to turn around her emotions in seconds, and it was one of the things you admired most about her. You chuckled at her words, amused by her reaction.

"Oh, Loralie," you said, shaking your head playfully. "Don't let her get to you. She's not worth your time or energy."

Loralie sighed, letting out an exaggerated moan before turning to you. "I know, but it's just so frustrating, you know?"

You nodded, understanding her frustration. "I do. But sometimes, it's better to just let it go. Don't feed into her negativity, and she'll eventually stop."

Loralie seemed to consider your words for a moment before nodding in agreement. "You're right. Thanks for always being there for me, you're a real friend," she said with a small smile.

You smiled back, happy to have been able to help. "Of course, Loralie. That's what friends are for."

[j2zara]

thinking so hard about j2 looking and acting like jace when jace isnt pretending for anyone or putting on a show of being cool girl. dirty blonde hair, comfortable baggy clothes in pastels, soooo sweet and willing for anyone who’ll show him a soft touch. maybe a pair of glasses. he literally Is jace before porter and jace haaaaaates his ass so much.

J2 IN BIG OL' GLASSES AGENDA FINALLY WE'RE STRONGER TOGETHER!! Also pastels Bluejay trutherism. He would look so cute in pastels. Jace doesn't understand bc i think he's a jewel tones person. But. J2 is so cute i love him so much.

The funny thing is that Jace HAS all the clothes from his slutty college phase and his grunge phase and his emo phase whenever even *I* write cloneverse stuff but actually? This might be the truest thing ive ever seen. Something about IYWD paints pre-shatterstar early aguefort jace as. Almost a Goodboy. Like. Very much deconstructing from either of his religious upbringings but i do think there is even a shy, slightly buttoned up conservative vibe. Like. Literally buttoned up. Porter is the one who convinced him to stop wearing his scarves so tightly wound lol. Held in place by a family heirloom with a symbol his mother's galicaean faith. Replacing one god for another. That's J2 to me. He's so 25 year old green new hire jace coded it's not even funny. Desperate for direction. For someone to tell him he's getting things right, maybe even give him a little guiding hand.

(And how much does Porter dictate? Porter told Jace he liked his scarf undone. Sure J2 gravitates toward blue, but did Blue become J2's thing because it was the one thing that Porter was able to pick up as well? Was he bluejay before, his own person from jace, or did he become Bluejay for porter?)

For the record. I still think jace can have those rebellious phases that we love to use to give the clones fodder for dress up so i will chalk this up to like. He's at a new job he's kinda falling back onto what he knows and what he knows is putting on that perfectly cultivated Jace Stardiamond Personal (Lights Camera Bitch Smile)

Anyway. I honestly think out of the clones J2 is probably the most like myself (not really in personality but maybe when it comes to things like personal taste and presentation). That wasn't really on purpose I think I just needed thing thats differentiate him from Jace. But. Like. He's very oldest daughter he's very like takes on all the responsibility for himself and i wouldn't exactly say perfectionist but I do think he just. He takes on a lot and is terrified of failure, desperate to prove his worth, his utility. Like off the clock you know he's changing into sweats immediately but when he's on the clock you know he doesn't crack.

Again the differentiation from jace i guess. I liked this idea of someone who was actually kind of frumpy and laid back in his downtime, as opposed to Jace who is always on always performing always perfectly cultivated (which is why J2 feels so manic pixie coded so You Belong With Me Frumpy Next Door Neighbor Taylor to jace's Bitchy Head Cheerleader Taylor). And i don't think these traits are too distanced from jace, Jace is very preoccupied with his own comfort (and like i love the autistic headcanons, particularly abt him dressing for comfort especially because i relate to that so hard i wear the same halter top in different color every day fjkldjakfjla) but that's why jace is willing to put in the work sometimes right? Work to maintain the comfort. Or at least the illusion of effortless, the cache of being a hot and fuckable elmville 9. And Again that idea of everything being effortless and the illusion of being laid back while Jace has this white knuckle grip on everything.

And like. Jace takes all that one willingly, that's self imposed, but if you had to perform being perfect all the time, if you were told that was your job, wouldn't you want to escape a little? Relax on your downtime? Be a creature of comfort? That's J2 to me. And tbh i do think there are a lot of instincts in J2 that might be his own thing but also might be Of Jace. Would jace be a more relaxed and carefree if he didn't feel the need to be On all the time?

Tbh i am compelled by Jace's dislike of J2 b/c like. I get it but also you created this and he thinks he created his perfect replacement for porter and you WANT him to be able to take care of porter while also resenting him for taking care of porter while also seething because J2 is a low rent knockoff but also look at him he doesn't even CARE about playing the part of the cunt porter married and Porter still likes him (Jace does not know the extent to how much J2 is obsessed with wanting to be the cunt porter married. J2 is willing to put in the work for that and that alone. Otherwise he is a dirty blonde in old badidas shorts cardigans and slides w/ socks. with a gender he thinks is probably not cis but does NOT want to unpack rn).

I do also wonder if Jace resents how soft J2 is and does want to push to see if there is that underlying cunt porter married in there somewhere. Like. This guy CAN'T be as sweet and perfect as everyone thinks he is. (it comes out sometimes. Cunty j2 is something i hold very close to my heart bc it doesn't come out nearly as often as cunty j3 or j4 but it does exist)

[nonranghaes]

your sweet svt drabbles are such an inspiration to me. I've been getting into writing fics slowly by writing just short ones off a single scenario, and i have too many prompts and ideas coming from my head (which is great !) that i already had laid out but i just couldn't find thee tempo to start. Soo I'm trying to get more inspo by reading around tumblr and to my luck i landed here! i found your writing style an exemplar to how i wanted to write (bonus if you'd like to give some writing tips? 🥹). Your drabbles looked effortlessly written, they're simple yet so expressive and visually evocative. Reading them makes me feel like it's easy to just get the idea off my head and picture it in words OK I'LL STOP HASJB it's literally midnight o clock (when the strong urge to give one of my prompts a shot kicks in)

aaaaaAAA AND IF I START CRYIN????

honestly i dont rly know if i have any solid writing tips haha i like reading a lot since it can teach me a lot abt what i like in writing and what i dislike!! + reading helps u pick up on how other ppl describe things and how their writing flow. idk if that makes sense though. like... book i just finished (a death in tokyo) is very to the point and practical with its writing. it was written in a way that i could clearly envision a lot of things and my mind would fill in the holes since its set in a real world setting. other stuff i read might take care in describing things in more detail, but reading higashino's work kinda made me understand further how just plainly stating things can have its own power and paint a picture just as well--just depends on what you're writing and what kind of vibe it should have, yknow?

like. i wouldn't expect a thriller to have the same writing flow as a romance novel, but the gritty details can still have importance depending on what the topic is. little things like that. genuinely, imo, the best writers are those who read a lot and my advice is rly just to kinda read everything u feel safe w reading!!!

also i think ive said this a lot on wooahaes but ive also been writing since i was like. 11. if not younger lol so ive had a looooootta time to practice and refine and get to where i am now and i'll still be improving into the future hopefully!!!

other than that... hmm...

i'll admit this one isn't something everyone can do (and obvs no shame to ppl who can't!) but i always try to envision the space i'm writing and the people within it.

i think for me personally, i care a lot about the physicality of whoever i'm writing? if they're nervous, are they acting shifty? are they wringing their hands? is this a situation they want to get out of, or are they nervous because they're kinda excited for what's to come? how are they vocally, too? are they the kind of person who rambles when they're nervous, or do they get really quiet? is it obvious, or will it seem normal if they're quiet/chatty?

like... with the mark lee drabble where he's nervously dragging out the question of "what if we kissed?" it was kinda important to me to just kinda have him dragging it out because once he says it, there's no way to take it back, and once he says it, the nerves take over in a "and now i must ramble, lets talk about anything but what i just said, so the aquarium-" where even though we don't SEE mark, we still can tell he's a nervous wreck over it all. its little things like that that just kinda stick out to me?

mmm but for my drabbles specifically... i think i kinda function off the fact that i'm not writing an actual fic here? if i wanted to write something longer, i'd put it on wooahaes (and sometimes i do! i've had a couple fics now i was gonna just post as a drabble but then they kinda ran away from me). i've deleted parts of drabbles before because i felt like they were getting too irrelevant. the point of a drabble, to me personally, is to just kinda give somewhat a quick snapshot of a moment. i think my stuff usually takes place in a single place as far i can remember, because changing scenes makes it feel like a bigger thing (barring stuff where there was a short flashback).

i think it can help to have an idea of what you want to capture if you're writing a short drabble. reader/seungkwan caring for one another, minho teasing reader over the cats, reader trying to get one over on joshua (ft seungkwan). occasionally the more fantasy-ish stuff is like "merfolk reader in love w jisung" and "merfolk reader saving minho" or "android!shua being saved from the facility by reader" comes to me, too. i just kinda write purely by vibes and what i wanna write. idk if this helps but i usually do try to have some idea of what exactly i wanna do!! the times i have opened a post and closed it again bc i had nothing..................................... yeah

(obvs no shame in those moments ksdhfds i just always end up sitting there like. what was i doing again.)

ummm idk what else to say!! i can always try to give advice on other stuff if u ever have specific questions but this is all ive got rn <3 good luck!!!!! i believe in u!!!!!!!!

[redrobin-detective]

Looking for you but you’re right here

It’s not everyday you learn that one of your best friends was a local superhero, much less learning it through the 6 o’ clock news. Sebastian Ives had been flipping through a comic in his bedroom when his world had flipped upside down. His phone buzzed next to him, interrupting the song he’d been half listening to. 

It was a text from Tim, “I’m sorry,” was all it said. 

Of course he’d panicked, who wouldn’t? Especially when his responding texts and calls went ignored or went to voicemail. He ran downstairs, not caring that he was in his sleep shirt and boxers to beg his mom to drive him over to Tim’s place. The guy had been distant for a while now, a few years if Seb was being honest. He barely had any idea what his friend was up to these days.

His folks didn’t seem to hear him, practically rooted in front of the TV. His mom was half slumped against the side of the couch like her legs would give out if she tried to move. He could smell the evening’s dinner burning in the oven.

“Mom, we need to go. Tim- I think something’s up with Tim, he-” he stuttered when he’d caught sight of the news. Some whackadoo had dropped a list with the secret identities of pretty much every major hero. Tim dropped out of his mind for a second as he gaped, wide eyed at the news. Superman was apparently some 4 eyed reporter dude and the Flash, one of Sebastian’s favorites, was a forensic scientist. But, of course the local news didn’t care much about them. Gotham had two favorite sons, Batman and Bruce Wayne; the news was always going on about one of them. Turned out they were the same person this whole time. 

“Huh, I guess that explains all the Robins,” Dad said in a half hysterical voice, like everything had just become one big joke. He’d never heard his dad laugh like that, it was kind of scary.

“Sebastian,” his mom said quietly, not turning from the screen. “Didn’t you say Tim was doing an internship with Bruce Wayne?”

“Oh shit Tim,” Seb cursed as he pulled out his phone and looked again at the single text from his friend. It really showed his mom’s state of mind that she didn’t nag at him for the swear. He dialed Tim’s number again and this time, got a cheery voice announcing that the number had been disconnected. On screen, the news was putting up associates of Batman and their identities.

This feels wrong, he had enough brain space to think as a side by side of Nightwing and ladies’ favorite Dick Grayson appeared. Next was Commissioner Gordon’s daughter and a grainy shot of the first Batgirl. A young Jason Todd, Wayne’s adopted street kid before he’d been killed in a freak accident and the second Robin. Wait he’d been killed too, hadn’t he? The connection was so obvious now that it was pointed out to him. 

How had people missed this? People who saw the Waynes every day, talking and interacting with them. How could they not see that their friends weren’t who they claimed to be?

“The current Robin is a minor and thus we can’t say his name on the air but we can show an updated photograph,” the shaken, excited newscaster announced. And they didn’t need to say his name for Seb to recognize Tim Drake’s sophomore yearbook picture down to the wrinkled flannel shirt Seb had tried to smooth out moments before the camera clicked. He didn’t really recognize the picture next to Tim even though they were supposedly the same. Oh the hair cut was vaguely familiar, the body shape too. But Tim never stood like Robin was, strong, steady with his shoulders back and ready to fight. The challenging grin as he twirled the hero’s signature bo staff. It was about as far away from his friend as you can get.

“Honey? You okay?” Mom asked gently, stroking his hair. He didn’t know what to say, even when the news cycled through the rest of the Bats. She led him around and helped him onto the couch where he went boneless. The smoke alarm sounding had her running towards the kitchen for the now thoroughly burnt roast. Dad got up to help, opening the windows and dumping the still smoking pan right into the trash.

“How about Chinese?” Dad smiled wearily, leaning up against the kitchen door frame. Sebastian didn’t say anything, just watched the news blankly. He was no closer to believing the truth even when Tim and Robin’s side by side profiles appeared again. 

To no one’s surprise, Tim wasn’t at school the next day. Seb was beat from staying up late ranting and freaking out to Hudson and Callie over discord, not that he’d slept well once he’d gone to bed. He and his friends were pretty low on the social ladder normally but it seemed everyone had something to say to them or some inane question to ask. 

They asked if they’d seen the Batcave, if Tim would be willing to give out Starfire’s phone number, if they had any good Robin stories to tell. They’d all been friends for years, everyone just assumed that Tim had confided in them. The assembly was expected but awkward, the principal asking for patience and privacy while they worked out the details with the school board, GCPD and Justice League. As if that wasn’t the wildest combination on Earth. 

The rest of the week was miserable, each day dragging on as he flipped from being angry to excited to worried all at random. By the time the weekend passed and the next week began, worry began to take over most. Where the hell was Tim? Was he okay? The heroes and the government were still coming to an agreement on whether metas and aliens and everyone in between had the right to exist in society. Callie in particular was following the news with a passion, blogging incessantly about hero rights and such. Huds was too pissed at Tim to think of helping and Sebastian just felt kind of blank. 

By the time the sixth week had come and gone, Seb was starting to accept the fact that Tim was gone and he might never see him again. He stopped taking the long way home, the way that passed by Tim’s apartment and the barely there, thinning crowd of rubberneckers waiting for someone who was probably never coming home again. While Tim and Robin and superheroes still dominated their conversations, he and Huds occasionally bickered about the decreasing quality in their favorite sci-fi show. The FBI or CIA or whoever those suits were, only came the once for questions Seb couldn’t answer; everyone else stopped asking around the same time. For better or for worse, his life moved on without Tim Drake. Until he walked into his bedroom on his way up to bed one night and found Tim sitting on his bed like he’d done a million times. 

“Jesus,” Seb startled, dropping his phone in surprise. For a second, he thought he might have been hallucinating. But a few blinks later and Tim was still there, same as ever. Only not quite, Tim’s hair was a bit longer than the trim look he was used to with the ends trailing past his ears. He had dark bags under his eyes and his posture was hunched, cautious. He somehow managed to look resigned but also ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

“Sebastian, everything alright up there?” Mom called from downstairs, that startled him out of his stupor. 

“Y-yeah Mom, just dropped my phone, it’s all good!” He called back, grabbing his phone and shutting his bedroom door leaving him and Tim alone.

“Hey Ives,” Tim paused, biting his lip. “Is this… Okay? I can leave if you want but I figured you were owed an explanation and I… I missed you. It’s all been so crazy lately.”

“Yeah, can’t imagine why,” he grumbled as he sat down at his computer chair. Now that the shock had worn off some of his hurt and irritation was peeking through. “So, Robin huh?”

“Yeah,” Tim rubbed at the back of his neck and he looked just like regular Tim that Sebastian was thrown for a minute. “I’ll tell you and the guys the full story tomorrow, I promise, it’s a little bit long and convoluted and I still can’t even believe half of it happened after all these years-”

“Wait, tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Tim gave him an exhausted smile, “I’m back at Gotham Heights in the morning. Ugh, I’ve got so much work to catch up on. You don’t suppose Hudson will let me borrow his notes? He always takes the best-”

“You’re coming back to public high school after being outed as a vigilante?” Seb couldn’t help but laugh. “God, that’s gonna be a nightmare and a disaster rolled into one.” 

“Don’t I know it. B wanted me to homeschool but Dad insisted, said I needed to put all this stuff behind me and act like a man or something,” Tim groaned. He scrubbed at his hair and Sebastian caught a glimpse of the neon green bracelet on his left wrist. Callie had been enraged by one concession by the JLA for all active heroes to wear colored bands to identify themselves in public based on threat level. From what he remembered, green was the lowest on the scale, mostly reserved for humans. It had just seemed like another political issue on the news but now…

“You really gotta wear that thing?” He asked quietly, Tim eyed his bracelet with a sneer.

“For now, we’ve got the best lawyers working on it but, like, I’m Jewish so I know this is how ugly things get started.” Seb didn’t really know how to respond to that so he just didn’t, all of this was way too much to handle much less for a kid barely into his junior year. “So how’s it been, hope the jocks haven’t been giving you too much flak.”

“How’s it been?” Seb asked incredulously, “you disappeared to god knows where-”

“The Batcave mostly but also Titans Tower for a while,” Tim added helpfully which was actually super Not helpful.

“- for over a month, we haven’t heard a peep from you since this whole thing went down other than your cryptic super unhelpful message and you think you can break into my room and ask how things have been?” He wasn’t an angry guy by nature but all the anxiety of the last few weeks had turned into anger and was projecting onto Tim. “What is your malfunction dude? Have you spent so much time with your pals Superman and Wonder Woman that you forgot what real people are like? We’ve been freaking out down here on Earth and you just-”

“Hey, it hasn’t been a cakewalk for me either,” Tim snapped. “I had to scrap everything once the leak got out. You’re lucky I was able to get those texts out before we had to literally destroy all our gear. Titans Tower was jam packed with overflow heroes since the Watchtower was already fit to burst. I’ve had all my secrets and skills and past fights dug up and pasted all over the internet. God and don’t even get me started on my dad,” Tim groaned loudly and flopped backwards on his bed.

“I’m at my wits end, Ives. I know this hasn’t been fair to you but it sure as hell hasn’t been fair to me either and ugh!” Tim rubbed roughly at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I just wanted to see one of my best friends before the literal worst day of my life tomorrow.”

“Oh so I’m one of your best friends,” Seb asked, still steaming. “So I just forgot about you having my back when I was out most of last year for Lymes? What about all those DnD sessions without our Paladin? All the mumbled excuses I can’t even remember? I don’t- I don’t even know who you are anymore!” His voice cracked at the end and he turned away, angry but mostly embarrassed. 

“Ives…” Tim said slowly, sitting up and watching with sympathetic eyes. Well Seb didn’t want it, he’d always been an emotional crier. Mom said it was healthy, for now it just made him feel stupid for getting upset over something neither of them could control. “It ate at me, always bailing, not letting you know what was going on. I wanted to tell you but, you know…”

“You think,” Seb paused his sniffling to laugh incredulously. “You think I’m blaming a superhero for keeping secrets from me? The lies, the secrets, I get it, Tim. Saving the world and junk is so much more important than whatever dumb stuff we were doing.” He paused and looked up at Tim’s sad face as he wiped at his dribbling nose with his shirt sleeve. Ives used to tease him for it but Tim’s always had something of a baby face, delicate and sorta soft. His friend looked especially young now. “But just because I know all that, that doesn’t mean I’m not hurt by it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tim sighed, he really was a hero because he took the opportunity to look at Seb’s stupid Millennium Falcon poster while Seb got himself together. 

“I mean, it seems stupid now but I thought- I thought your dad was hurting you,” Seb blurted out. “The mystery injuries, your moodiness, the way you wouldn’t talk about anything with us.” He babbled without meaning to. “Me, Callie, Huds, we weren’t sure what to do. I even sat down and talked to my mom about it once. I was thinking of calling CPS that time you came in with a busted arm a few months back.”

“Oh yeah, that was Killer Croc, the jerk,” Tim complained with a half grin. “Got his claws into my shoulder and practically ripped my arm off. It wasn’t broken, just dislocated to hell and back. I was off patrol almost 2 months for that.”

“Yeah I remember,” Seb huffed, “you were around more, we actually got to run through that campaign I’d been holding onto for you.”

“The necromancing skeleton hoard? Yeah that was a sweet story, Mr. Game Master.” Tim’s smile turned sad. “As much as I love being Robin, I do miss hanging out with you guys, just being able to be normal, to relax for once instead of trying to meet everyone’s crazy high standards.”

“Guess I’m not surprised Batman runs a tight show,” Seb hummed, some of his anger dimming. Tim just kinda had that effect on people; he was just such a good guy you couldn’t help but chilling back and chatting with him. It’s why he still considered Tim once of his best friends even though it seemed he hardly saw the guy. “You mentioned your dad earlier. Is everything ok?”

“No,” Tim said quietly after a minute of tense silence. “Dad flipped out when he heard the news, got a gun from somewhere and threatened B with it. It was… bad. Dana is laying low in a safe house but Dad insisted on staying with us at the Manor. It’s not great. God, King Arthur, y’know Aquaman, thought Bruce was my father, same as the previous Robins and I thought Dad was going to choke him out. I feel like I’m caught in the middle of the world’s most awkward, complicated custody battle,” Tim groaned. “They argue over everything but the one thing they can agree on is that Robin is through.”

“Wait? Seriously? Just like that?” Seb demanded.

“Dick put up a good fight about it, even a couple of JLAers threw in their support but it’s pretty hard to fight both my actual Dad and Batman,” Tim snorted before throwing Sebastian a grin he knows he’s seen Robin wear on the news. “Of course I didn’t get this job by listening to what adults tell me to,” a quick glance at his watch. “Everything thinks I’m asleep, I have Cass covering for me but at least one of them, most likely B because he knows me, is going to pull back the covers at some point so I gotta scram.” 

“You good getting back to Bristol on your own? Not to mention sneaking into Batman’s house?” Seb asked because he had to. Tim grinned and pulled a real grapple gun out of his bag. He held it as naturally as Seb did a handheld game. 

“Yeah, taking the scenic route. I missed you and I wanted to give you a heads up about tomorrow but this is also kind of a trial run. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about being a hero it’s that you never back down when the fight gets tough, you just gotta double down and be tougher.” 

“That is so cool,” he reached for his notepad on his desk. “Can I quote you on that? For the next campaign? Honestly can I just flat out interview you for story ideas, I bet you have the absolute craziest things to say.”

“Oh man, like you wouldn’t believe,” Tim laughed and it was nice to hear with everything going on. He supposed that’s what Robin was, the light in the dark. “Tell Call and Huds to meet at Big Donnie’s at 6:30, I’d do it but I still don’t have a phone. I got permission to use the back entrance getting in and out because well, crowds,” his smile dropped. “If you want, I can distance. I don’t want to cause you guys trouble.”

“Nah man,” He reached out a hand and Tim grasped it back. “You’re our bud, our weird bird themed crime fighting bud. Like you said, when things get tough, you knuckle down. We got your back, man.”

“That’s not what I said,” Tim smiled. “See you in the morning, Ives.” He was silent as he rose, pulled open the bedroom window and grappled out into the night. Seb ran to the window to watch his friend get lost in the black sky.

“Holy shit, I’m friends with a superhero,” he breathed out, falling back onto his bed. “Man what a crazy world.” Tomorrow would be rough for Tim as would the days that followed. But he’d get through, because he was Robin, the Boy Wonder but he also was Tim Drake. Seb didn’t know much about crimefighting but maybe, just this once, he could be Tim’s hero.

[liriostigre]

hey! I wanted to ask what your favorite poetry books are? I have a few but I want to read new and interesting stuff, and I trust your taste :D

hiii ♡

tbh i only started reading poetry collections like,, last year. i'm subscribed to poetryfoundation's newsletter (poem of the day) so i usually just read random poems

anyway, i'm not sure my recs could be considered new (cause i'm gonna start with Mary Oliver ♡) but feel free to message me if you want to know the themes, style, feeling (vibes, if you will) or anything you want to know about these collections. for now, i'm linking my favorite poems in each collection, i hope this helps you choose! ♡

here you go:

Dream Work —Mary Oliver (“Wild Geese.” “Dogfish.”)

Red Bird —Mary Oliver (“Summer Morning.” “Love Sorrow.”)

Blue Horses —Mary Oliver (“To Be Human Is to Sing Your Own Song.” “Loneliness.” “Little Crazy Love Song.”)

The Wild Iris —Louise Glück (“Sunset.” “Retreating Light.”)

Haruko/Love Poems —June Jordan (“On a New Year’s Eve.” “Mendocino Memory.” “Toward a City That Sings.” *under the cut)

Extracting the Stone of Madness —Alejandra Pizarnik (“Primitive Eyes.” “Summer Goodbyes.” *under the cut)

Ariel —Sylvia Plath (“Tulips.” “The Rival.”)

Prelude to Bruise —Saeed Jones (“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat.” *under the cut)

Absolute Trust in the Goodness of the Earth —Alice Walker (“Coming Back from Seeing Your People.” *under the cut)

I Must Be Living Twice —Eileen Myles (“Edward the Confessor.” *under the cut)

Teaching My Mother How To Give Birth —Warsan Shire (“Conversations About Home (at the Deportation Centre.”)

The Black Unicorn —Audre Lorde (“Hanging Fire.” “Sister Outsider.”)

Bright Dead Things —Ada Limón (“The Riveter.” “Glow.”)

Night Sky With Exit Wounds —Ocean Vuong (“Thanksgiving 2006.” “Logophobia.”)

Postcolonial Love Poem —Natalie Diaz (“Manhattan Is a Lenape Word.”)

Crush —Richard Siken (“Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out.”)

Once —Alice Walker (“So We've Come at Last to Freud.”)

“Toward a City That Sings” by June Jordan

Into the topaz the crystalline signals of Manhattan the nightplane lowers my body scintillate with longing to lie positive beside the electric waters of your flesh and I will never tell you the meaning of this poem: Just say, ‘She wrote it and I recognize the reference.’ Please let it go at that. Although it is all the willingness you lend the world as when you picked it up the garbage scattering the cool formalities of Madison Avenue after midnight (where we walked for miles as though we knew the woods well enough to ignore the darkness) although it is all the willingness you lend the world that makes me want to clean up everything in sight (myself included)

for your possible discovery

“Primitive Eyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

Where fear neither speaks in stories or poems, nor gives shape to terrors or triumphs.

My name, my pronoun — a grey void.

I’m familiar with the full range of fear. I know what it’s like to start singing and to set off slowly through the narrow mountain pass that leads back to the stranger in me, to my own emigrant.

I write to ward off fear and the clawing wind that lodges in my throat.

And in the morning, when you are afraid of finding yourself dead (of there being no more images): the silence of compression, the silence of existence itself. This is how the years fly by. This is how we lost that beautiful animal happiness.

“Summer Goodbyes” by Alejandra Pizarnik

The soft rumor of spreading weeds. The sound of things ruined by the wind. They come to me as if I were the heart of all that exists. I would like to be dead, and also to go inside another heart.

“Postapocalyptic Heartbeat” by Saeed Jones

I. Drugged, I dreamed you a plume of ash, great rush of wrecked air through the towns of my stupor. And when the ocean in your blood went toxic, I thought fire was what we needed: serrated light through the skin, grenade in the chest—pulled linchpin. I saw us breathing on the other side of after. But a blackout is not night; orange-bottled dreams are not sleep. II. I was a cross-legged boy in the third lifetime, empire of blocks in my lap while you walked through the door of your silence, hunting knife in one hand, flask in the other. I waited for you until I forgot to breathe, my want turning me colors only tongues of amaryllis could answer for. It owned me, that hunger, tendriled its way into my name for you. III. In a city made of rain each door, a silence; each lock, a mouth, I walked daily through the spit-slick streets, harbingers on my hands in henna: there will be no after Black-and-blue-garbed strangers, they called me Cassandra. (I had such a body then.) Umbrellas in hand, they listened while they unlistened. there will be no no. after

the world will end no.

you are the reason it no. ends

you no. IV. I didn’t exactly mean to survive myself. Half this life I’ve spent falling out of fourth-story windows. Pigeons for hair, wind for feet. Sometimes I sing “Stormy Weather” on the way down. Today, “Strange Fruit.” Each time, strangers find me drawing my own chalk outline on the sidewalk, cursing with a mouth full of iron, furious at my pulse. V. After ruin, after shards of glass like misplaced stars, after dredge, after the black bite of frost:        you are the after, you are the first hour in a life without clocks; the name of whatever falls from the clouds now is you (it is not rain), a song in a dead language, an unlit earth, a coast broken— how was I to know every word was your name?

“Coming Back from Seeing Your People” by Alice Walker

Coming back From seeing your people You were So wonderfully Full Of yourself.

But now You have supped With vampires They have fed Feasted On you.

They arise Bright-eyed Fit.

You alone have lost Not only Your sleep But also Your glow The luster of Affection Heart welcome Your people Sent home With you.

Beloved You must learn To walk alone To hold The precious Silence To bring home And keep the precious Little That is left Of yourself.

“Edward the Confessor” by Eileen Myles

I have a confession to make I wish there were some role in society I could fulfill I could be a confessor I have a confession to make I have this way when I step into the bakery on 2nd Ave. of wanting to be the only really nice person in the store so the harried sales woman with several toned hair will like me. I do this in all kinds of stores, coffee shops xerox shops, everywhere I go. And invariably I leave my keys, xeroxing, my coffee from the last place I am being so nice. I try so hard to make a great impression on these neutral strangers right down to the perfect warm smile I get entirely lost and stagger back out onto the street, bereft of something major. It’s really leaning too hard on the everyday. My mother was the kind of woman who dragging us into stores always seemed to charm the pants off the cashier. She was such a great person, so human though at home she was such a bitch, I mean really distant. I imitate her and I don’t do it well. She didn’t leave her wallet or us in a store. I’m just a pale imitation it is simply not my style to open the hearts of strangers to my true personhood. I hope you accept this tiny confession of what I am currently going through. And if you are experiencing something of a similar nature tell someone, not me, but tell someone. It’s the new human program to be in. It would be nice for at least these final moments if we could sigh with the relief of being in the same program with all the other humans whispering in school. I can’t quite locate the terror, but I am trying to be my mother or Edward the Confessor smiling down on you with up-praying hands. I am looking down at the tips of my boots as I step across the balcony of the church excited to be allowed to say these things. Outside my church is a relationship. On 11th street this guy and this woman are selling the woman so they can get more dope. All their things are there, rags and loaves of bread and make-up. And there was— this was incredible. Two men lying by the door of the church giving each other blow-jobs. They were sort of street guys, one black one white. I said hey you can’t do that here. They jumped up, one spit come out of his mouth. If you don’t get out of here I’ll call the cops. Don’t call the cops we’ll go, we’ll leave. That was a shock. That was more than I expected to see in a day. Something about seeing the guy spit come out of his mouth. He didn’t have to do that. I guess I scared him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was scared too.

[tendous-socks]

TOKYO REVENGERS HEADCANONS OF ME BEING NON BINARY / REACTING TO SOMEONE BEING NON BINARY

tw: ⚠️⚠️kisaki⚠️⚠️ and manga spoilers, mentions of death, transphobia,

would misgender and dead-name me

1.kisaki.

must i need an explanation?😐

2. shion

“ what’re you gonna do about it?? HUH?? WHAT’RE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT ???”

actively looks for a fight

… if y’all are in a relationship he’d still call you his “girl” but beats people up for doing so….

3. mucho

i get the vibes that he’s traditional

would silently stare in judgment

4. mochi

he just doesn’t care clslfkxkslk

thinks it’s weird

“ nor/mal”

7. rindou..

“you either have a pen or a vag. “

8.ran

“interesting”

*continues dead naming me*

9. KOKO

he would be nicer about it when he’s in toman due to inui… but once they’re separated- an ABSOLUTE MEANCE

… reluctantly apart of the protection squad with inui ( enjoys beating people up tho)

10. bontent mikey

… he’s just so tired and doesn’t really care ) that is if you’re not close with him… but then again how close can you really get?)

11. ) PAH CHIN

AND ONLY BECAUSE HE WAS IGNORANT AND HIS FATHER DIDN BELIEVE IN THAT STUFF AND HE DIDNT KNOW BUT THEN ( if y’all are close ) HE’D FEEL BAD AND AFTER YOU EXPLAINED IT TO HIM HE TOLD PEH CHIN TOO AND WERE SURPRISINGLY SUPPORTIVE

but if y’all ain’t close he would slowly get the hint… this is canon.

because i said so-

11. sanzu…

he’s quietly judging you

EDIT

SOMEONE SAID SANZU WOULD USE ANY PRONOUNS AND I REALLY LIKE THAT HC-

SO SANZU WOULD PROBABLY JUST ‘ SILENTLY JUDGE YOU’ SO OTHERS DONT CATCH ON MHMHM

12. akashi

traditional- plus it was a different era for him growing up so…

(would glare at someone if he really did see you getting emotionally distressed)

13. smiley

“ that’s one of the most stupidest shit ive ever fucking heard 😁”

.🙁

“ you either have tits or a dick “

.☹️

but would beat people up if you get SUPER upset ( call it his protect instincts with angry, but would send people to the hospital)

14. taiju

“ i wanna church girl who goes to church and reads her bible “

would spit at me

- WHO WOULD BEAT SOMEONE UP FOR DEAD-NAMING / MISGENDERING

1. PAH CHIN AND PEH YAN

THEYRE ABSOLUTE MENACES TO SOCIETY IF SOMEONE CALLS YOU A GIRL / BOY

head canon : during tenjiku you were there and had to adjust your transtape cause it was coming lose 🙄

which is literally the most annoying thing in the world-

and shion saw you.

he came up and was like “ HUH WHAT’VE WE GOT HERE?? A GIRL PRETENDING TO BE A G-“

couldn’t even finish his sentence with how fast peh chin clocked his ass 🤭

( peh yan supremacy)

2. my main man takemichy

no explanation needed ( maybe deadnamed you only once cause he didn’t know)

3. inui cause i said so

5. BAJI BAJI

BAJI WOULD ALMOST KILL A DUDE FOR CALLING YOU YOUR DEAD NAME

i KNOW mama baji raised him right ✋🙄

almost clocked chifuyu when you told him about your first encounter kcksldofospdoco

almost clocked your mom when she said “you got it girlfriend”

she was confused when she saw you desperately trying to prevent the next criminal minds episode

best listener for body dystrophia fight me 🙉❤️

6. senju

*comes out*

“..oh okay! anyways as i was saying [preferred name] “

would need some gentle reminders only once or twice cause i will say it does take a bit of time for people to get used to it and there are always a few slip ups

tells akashi about your pronouns ( ONLY WITH YOUR CONSENT OFC)

( promises to try and be more girly if he calls you by them and your preferred name)

she wants you to go into more details about what you’re feeling cause she’s genuinely very interested about everything and she wants to know more about you.

7. emma 😻 vv supportive 🙌🙌

*sicks mikey and draken out on anyone who hurts your feelings

“you know [blah blah blah] from history?”

“of course yeah “

“yeah he ended up calling me slur during class- what’re you doing?”

*emma pulling out her phone

“hm? oh nothing don’t worry about it”

gave more insight about it to draken and mikey

8. HINA

YALL SAW HOW SHE SLAPPED MIKEY-

THIS GIRL WOULD D R A G A BITCH BY THEIR HAIR IF SHE SAW THEM BULLYING YOU

the one of correct takemichy

9. yuzuha

hina but 10x worse

trips transphobes for shit and giggles 🤪🤞

i like to think that the girls (all 4) would just all stare down a girl who was shit talking you and just pick her apart mercilessly ( a little ooc but this is my head canons so they can be whatever i say they are)

ones idk about

1. mikey

he knows that you can handle yourself so he lets you correct people.

or

sometimes he’ll jump in and correct them instead for one of two reasons.

1. he felt like it

2. they kept calling you your dead name and misgendering you EVEN THOUGH you already corrected them

but if the person ACTIVELY does that and says some… not so fruity things. he’ll send em to the hospital and end up on life support 😌☝️

like dom tertto, he cares about his family. and toman is his family, and you’re in toman ( not THAT kind of y/n way 🙄 )

“ BE WHO YOU AREE🌈🌈🌈🌈🤪🤞🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈”

1. draken

… listen… idk why, but i just don’t SEE him beating people up for misgendering me… well okay i kinda see it,

but he’d be like, “ i don’t understand what you’re going through, but i support you and if you want to talk about it i’m here”

wants to try and understand so like i said before, he lets you rant about what you’re feeling

would let you handle your own battles cause your strong enough to

a true king 😎🙌

does in fact throw punches when it gets REALLY BAD

2. angry

… idk h o w empathic he is and how mad he’d have to be on your behalf when people actively kept misgendering you to become the blue ogre.

but he’d just start crying at the confrontation.. 😐

my hero ig 🤥

3. izana

“ that’s fucking stupid”

*beats up middle aged woman who said for you to “ have a good day ma’am”

but if y’all close he’ll only say it’s stupid once when he sees you genuinely upset and ignoring him

“ be who you are.. 🌈”

4. kaku

same boat as izana, A LOT less judgmental

5. mitsuya

won’t hesitate to send a bitch flying

actively corrects people

( teaches luna and mana about your pronouns for the next time you come over 🕺🏻)

TAKES YOU SHOPPING FOR CLOTHES

6. haitani brothers

*actively bullies you

*bullies kid into the grave for looking at your chest area

7. …hakkai

he accidentally slipped up once🤒

WHEN I SAY THIS MANS FACE WENT PALE- HE DIDNT TALK TO YOU FOR A W E E K MINIUM CAUSE HE FELT SO BAD

YOU KEPT TELLING HIM THAT ITS FINE-

BUT HE FELT AWFUL

( has nightmares about it)

8. chifuyu would only do it in his mohawk era cause he wanted to seem metal and impress da boys 🥶🥶☝️☝️

pulled you aside at the end of the day to apologize

( like i said before, baji almost clocked him when you told him about your first encounter )

who am i kidding they’re all in gangs, they’d probably kill someone if they hurt you cospwpfoslief

——————

IF YALL GOT ANYMORE IDEAS LMK CAUSE IM INVESTED IN YHIS AND WANNA HEAR WHAT YALL THINK

[jeonfiles]

better left unsaid - jjk

genre: angst, rebounds

pairings: jungkook x reader (ft. namjoon)

warnings: arguing, alcohol, profanity, break ups, light smut, use of drugs, jungkook is a fucking dick, jungkook has major attachment issues, toxic relationships, oc cries a lot, namjoon has a heart of gold, unrequited love

synopsis: you knew you shouldnt have given him that second chance, not the third or the fourth either. no matter how much you try he always slithers his way underneath your sheets, arms wrapped around you.

word count: 2.7k

music: into your arms, so it ends?, you will fade, thinkin bout you, julia, my insecurities not yours, fuck u, goodluck, my dear i will think of you

note: uhh ive never written a y/n fic so bare with me, if u listen to the music you’ll be able to feel the story a lot more so yeah if u have time u should, not proof read

Light coming through the cracks of the blinds, making you squint your eyes when the daylight beams into your eyes, head resting on the kitchen island Looking up, you saw the clock ticking on the wall, 11:32 am.

You had stayed up till 5 am, waiting for him to come home, but seemingly, he never did. Reaching for your phone, you saw 4 missed calls from the one and only,

Jeon Jungkook, saved in your phone as “Koo <3″, Rows of messages too, all from the same contact.

Koo <3 [05:34 am]

baby pkck me up pleseee

im so wsated

Koo <3 [06.46am]

dont be mad at me jsut pick me up

i dont knw hewere the fuck i am

i love you

Koo <3 [07:31 am]

i got a rde home i’ll be home by 12

i need to talk to someone frsit

im sorry if i woke ypu dont be worried

You took a few moments to collect your thoughts, but there wasn’t much to collect. This whole thing, was a routine by now.

Standing up to make yourself a cup of coffee, you could literally not feel your own backside, you were so sore from the barstool you had been sitting on all night, and it made you groan in pain.

Two coffee cups right beside the kitchen sink, which you couldn’t bring yourself to clean up, because it was from the last time you had coffee together, which was 2 weeks ago.

The inside of the cup had a coffee crust at the top, and both your lip tint marks on the outside.

When you finish your cup of coffee while watching a bad telenovela, you go sit in your favorite chair and pull out a few books from the backpack hanging on the chair next to you, getting ready to get some studying done.

For a few seconds you imagine Jungkook hanging over your shoulder laughing at the way you write your A-s and R-s, or the way you always sign your homework at the bottom of the page.

And when you open them, there’s no one there. The only sound is from the refrigerator, making refrigerator noises.

You had met Jungkook 3 years ago, when you were at college orientation, senior year of high school. He also wanted to attend Yonsei, just like you.

And when he whispered to you about how bored he was, you couldn’t help but giggle, and then you got yelled at.

It was worth it though, because everyone was jealous of you afterwards,the  Jeon Jungkook had talked to you.

Jungkook was an all-rounder as they called it; great physique, intelligent, charismatic and great at sports.

And god, he had a beautiful face, and such a filthy mouth, and it didn’t go long before you gave in to his seductive ways and slept with him. The morning after, he wasn’t in bed with you, and your heart sank.

Luckily, he was in the kitchen making you breakfast.

It was all bliss from there, showering you with love, gifts and kisses for two years, and you even ended up moving in together.

And now? You barely remember what he sounds like, smells like and is like.

A distant memory, just as distant as him.

Your train of thought was suddenly interrupted as you heard 3 knocks on your door. The exact same way he had always knocked when he had forgotten (or lost) his keys.

And even though you should have let him suffer a little, you rushed to the door to open it, and in front of you, was your biggest nightmare.

It was your love, crying his eyes out, bleeding from one of many cuts on his face, looking nearly dead. He collapsed into your arms, and you could only utter a few words, along the lines of:

“How could you do this to us?”

As he was laying curled up in a ball on the couch, face plastered up, ice bag on his knee, wrapped up in a blanket, you realized. this was your que to cry.

So, you did. You cried in silence, sitting across the room from him. You weren’t mad at him for coming home late, or getting in another fight, probably the 5th just these past months, you had gotten used to that by now.

There was a whole other reason that made you cry.

He smelled like Victorias Secret Bombshell, you recognized the scent because it used to be your favorite,  however, now you’ve moved onto something less sweet, and more elegant, like Caroline Herrera.

He smelled like someone who wasn’t you, his girlfriend.

He smelled like another girl.

It didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. Maybe because the Jungkook that had come home to you that morning wasn’t your Jungkook.

Your Jungkook was varsity jackets, star of the american football team (which your school was known for), selfless and humorous, and he would always take care of you.

Your Jungkook was not ungroomed hair, cigarettes and worsening grades. He was not cold and lifeless, and he would never make you cry.

Despite this, you were carding your fingers though his hair, thumb wiping away the blood on his lips while he was sound asleep as you slowly fell asleep next to him.

Maybe it was time to let him go. 

Maybe.

You woke a few hours later from your phone vibrating.

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:01 pm]

Hey Y/N! Have you started working on the statistics assignment?

If you haven’t, would you be interested in meeting at the library tomorrow? You’re really smart and i’m kinda struggling ://

You [07:03 pm]

i finished it yesterday, but if you buy me coffee i’ll come help you hehe

Kim Namjoon (school) [07:04 pm]

You’re the best, I’ll bring you a machiatto!! :D

Maybe it would be nice for you to get out of the house, even though you hate the thought of it, and you would much rather just swim in your own sorrow.

But you did go out the next day, and you helped Namjoon get a decent grade, enough to pass with good margines, he thanked you by taking you out for ramen at a convenial store not too far away.

You thanked him for the ramen with a trip to the museum, and he thanked you for the museum trip with a picnic in the park at night, which led you to crying over Jungkook in his embrace, telling him every single little detail.

He made you realize it was time to let Jungkook go and make room for new people to enter your life.

You went home that night, and you found Jungkook passed out on the couch, and you could genuienly feel your chest tighten. Soft features which stood out under the moonlight glow, disheveled brown locks which hung down in his eyes.

He was gorgeous, until you saw the credit card on the table next to three bottles of soju and an empty beer can on the floor. And you knew what he had used the credit card for, though you didn’t want to say it out loud.

You cleaned everything up, and you threw the residue of the white powder right in the trash can, and you recycled his bottles and cans before finally, nudging him to wake up.

“Jungkook, wake up.” You spat coldly, or at least you attempted to.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes before opening his eyes, and s huge smile on his face. “Y/N, you’re home!” He reached to kiss you, but you backed away.

“Y/N?” Jungkook questioned, he didn’t quite understand what your intentions were.

“Don’t try anything Jungkook. This was your last chance, and you fucked it up, again.” The room turned ice cold. “I’m getting you help Jungkook, you need help. And then...”

He understood what kind of help you meant, and since he had now sobered up, he agreed, nodding. “And then...?” 

“And then.” Your words were ludged in your throat. “And then I’m leaving you.”

His whole face dropped, smile turned into the frowniest frown you had ever seen, and it was all silent before his lower lip starts trembling, and his eyes start turning glassy.

“It’s alright. Sorry for burdening you.” Was all he could say before tears rushed down his cheeks, and he started shaking.

So you did what you always had done, and you wrapped your arms around him, head resting on your chest as he sobbed.

“Is there anyone else?” he cried out before another wave of sobs hit him.

This exact question made your stomach hurt, and your throat burn. You really had no idea.

Or you did, but you didn’t want to.

You loved Jungkook so much, but you couldn’t be with him in this state. So you did what every rational person would do in this situation.

“Yeah.”

You lied.

“Oh ok. I don’t have the right to be mad do I?”

You shake your head no.

“I love you Y/N. I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

“It’s ok.” was all he said before he fell asleep in your arms again.

That night you slither your way out of his embrace and you pack your suitcase in the dark, bringing all your essentials, trying to be as quiet as possible so you didn’t wake Jungkook.

Packing enough for two weeks or so, you make the bed and leave your t-shirt “accidentally” in the bathroom, and you make sure all his clothes are folded, and then you sort his pencil case, throwing out old pens and worn out erasers.

You leave a grocery list on the counter, and you tuck him in good under the blankets after you took his jeans and socks off so he could sleep comfortably.

You placed his vitamins and medicine by the refrigerator so he’ll see it when he goes to grab something to eat. 

Puffed up pillows, a pair of sweatpants, t-shirt and underwear is now placed neatly on his bed. Then you walk into the kitchen again, and you see Jungkook still sound asleep, sniffling a little still.

There’s one last thing, and it makes you cry. It makes you sob so loud you cover your mouth and muffle the sound you make. Sinking to the floor, your whole body is in contact with the cold tiles.

Only a year ago you could never imagine yourself even shedding a single tear over something as small as this, but here you were, on the edge of a panic attack.

Two worn out, matching couple mugs still placed by the counter. one if the first things you two had bought together, as well as the necklace hanging around your neck.

Finally, you stopped crying and started cleaning the mugs, lip trembling as you dried them and placed them in the back of the cabinet.

You unhooked your necklace and laid it down on the counter, and the biggest lump formed in your throat.

Actually, there’s a little detail you forget. 

You kiss Jungkook on the forehead and leave a note on the coffee table.

“Dear Jungkook,

If you want to make this up to me (this does not mean a new chance!!) you call the number at the bottom of the page. No matter what happens, I’ll always have room for you in my heart. You even have your own little VIP lobby in there. And - if it’s urgent, call. I still care for you, and I always have. You were the best boyfriend I’ve had, but good things always come to and end, don’t they? Anyways, I’m tired so this letter fucking sucks, but deep down you know how much I love you. Remember to get groceries, shower, get fresh air and study. If I forgot something you can keep it, as long as you call the number and tell them you’re my friend. They’ll help you love. Try and get a part time job too, your student loan and your dad’s money won’t last forever. Good luck Koo. Hwaiting!!

-L/N Y/N <33″

You cringe when you think of the letter’s contents, before you roll out your suitcase out of the front door, whispering a faint “Goodnight Love.” as you close and lock the door behind you.

Standing by the elevator, you cry again. This time, louder, but you still reach for your phone and type out a text to the newly edited contact in your phone.

You [02:13 am]

coming outside now, im a crying mess and im super cold, is your car heated?

sorry for making you wait btw :((

Joonie <3 [02:13 am]

dont worry about the crying part, i’ll hold you. and yeah car is heated, so waiting here wasnt all that bad. you ready for this?

You  [02:14 am]

i have no idea but i cant stay here any longer and i trust you sooo

lets start our new chapter. eh?

4 months later...

He had been good to you, great even.

You had been on expensive dates, picnics, had heart to heart conversations, and he’d been so understanding.

Today, it was your 2 month anniversary, and he had asked you on a magnificent date, which he had planned every second of.

At the end of the day, you told him how you don’t love him. He said it was alright. Namjoon loved you, so much, yet he understood you needed time.

You went to sleep that day, warm in Namjoon’s embrace, wondering how Jungkook was doing. 

You felt bad, but you missed Jungkook.

You were both with someone new now, and you knew he was in good hands with someone stable enough to care for him.

Before your eyes closed shut, you shed a few quiet tears and hoped that you’d fall in love with Namjoon soon, and deep down you knew you would.

[hyvcklvr]

Boyfriend winwin fluff pls (i swear theres barely any winwin content on this app)

OnlyOneOf You by Onlyoneof (sorry for all the onlyoneof song reqs its just ive been getting into them recently and their discography is TOO GOOD 😩)

thank you so much! And you always say "sorry for taking so long" when you take like 3 days😭 dont rush ok do it whenever you can <3 have a good dayy <33

Only One Of You (f)

Title: Only One Of You Pairing: Dong Sicheng x reader Genre: fluff

Thank you for requesting! I agree with you, we need more Sicheng content on this app!! If you're the anon who's been requesting all the OnlyOneOf songs I LOVE YOU because of your requests I've been getting into their discography as well AND THEY ARE AWESOME! Almost all their music is kind of the chill r&b style which is actually my favourite! Thanks! Also I LOSE COUNT OF WHEN PEOPLE SEND ME REQUESTS AND I FEEL LIKE I TAKE A LOT OF TIME WITH THEM CONSIDERING I'M AN IMPATIENT PERSON SJSJSJJSJS I hope you like it<33

Requests open, check out my song request event~ -----------------------------------------------------------------

Sicheng had been waiting for such a long time for you to return.

He felt empty without you- the house felt empty ever since you had gone on an important business trip for months. Even though you facetimed each other everyday, talked on the phone for hours, it's just wasn't enough- he needed to feel your presence, your touch, he wanted to be lulled to sleep by your beautiful voice.

You were the only one for him.

He would count everyday, waiting for you to come back- you two were like the hands of a clock- rotating till you meet at one point. He missed you so much, it hurt, but he waited. You missed him too, everything about him, and you just wanted to hold him, and kiss him.

And finally the day came when you came back. You were nervous and excited at the same time. And so was Sicheng. He kept fidgeting around the house, and couldn't even concentrate on his work properly. He just wanted you.

And when the doorbell rang Sicheng immediately opened the door, launching himself into your arms- and you'd dint protest, finally inhaling in his scent after months as you softly caressed his hair.

He pulled away and leaned his forehead against yours, letting out a satisfied sigh. “So many people in the world- yet you're the only one who makes my world happier. I missed you so much.” He whined and you laughed. “I missed you too Sichengie. Wanted to run away from the hotel and come back to you.” You giggled and he pinched your cheeks.

Sicheng helped you with your bags before pulling you to the couch with himself, connecting his lips with yours. Finally.

Both of you pulled away from the kiss and just lay there on the couch- soaking in each other's presence.

“I couldn't even stop thinking about you. I didn't feel like even smiling. And now you're here, I feel much brighter.” Sicheng smiles at you, kissing your forehead softly as you lay your head on his chest.

“I missed sleeping next to you.” You pouted and he laughed. “Don't worry, we'll spend the whole weekend just sleeping next to each other.” He stated proudly.

And for the rest of the evening, you just lay with each other, talking, talking, as if you were making up for all these months when you couldn't talk to your boyfriend in person. And Sicheng, he never complained, because there was only on of you for him in this world.

Masterlist

[dollfaced-erin]

Not So New Afterall (Sdv Sebastian x F!Reader)

 A/n: I would say that to all the townspeople (Y/n) has met before her parting, she’d have at least 4 hearts with everyone, (minus the bachelors and bachelorettes who were not in the timeline) and 6 hearts with Robin, Sebastian, Abby, Caroline and Jodi. 

(Lets just say Robin was good friends with grandpa and found his granddaughter a favorite)

(Caroline found her as a well-mannered and kind child when she was younger. She surely hasn’t changed her thoughts about the girl)

(Jodi always wanted a daughter and found (Y/n) a cute little baby, she really liked it when (Y/n) would come over to play with Sam and help her around the house, teaching Sam to do some housework) (the woman is fond of her)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Harvey grabbed (Y/n)’s wrist and felt her pulse. “Based on the blood she lost, she’ll need a blood transfusion! And the equipment is in the clinic!” the older male said, hoisting (Y/n) into his arms. 

“I’ll need a person with her blood type or an O positive!” Harvey said as they rushed out of the cottage. “Does anyone have that blood type?”

‘Shoot!’ Sebastian thought to himself. He’s a darn A! They had no time to scan for her blood type. But he knew who has an O. “I know someone! !’ll go!” he called out before parting from the group.

The dark haired male was running down the stairs near the river before heading to the bridge near Joja mart. During certain days, the person he was searching for would be on the bridge till late. 

And thank Yoba, these were on of the days.

He didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but he really didn’t have a choice.

‘But why are you doing this? For one girl?’ a voice at the back of his mind whispered. ‘You really aren’t like this. Why are you panicking so much?’

Sebastian stopped in his tracks, thinking about the voice. That was true. He isn’t one to help others. He mainly kept to himself. He’d usually be cool and wouldn’t talk much. Why was he panicking? 

Was it because he hated the sight of her limp body?

Probably

He didn’t want to be burdened for his faults if he didn’t do anything but just left her body there.

Yeah, that was it.

“Hey, Seb!” Abigail called from the bridge, raising a hand to greet him over. “What’s with the frazzled look? You look like someone has been chasing you.”

“Abby,” he said as he came over. “You’re an O positive, right?” he asked, grabbing her arm. 

The girl nodded, her face slightly flushing over the hold he had on her joint. Sebastian didn’t think much of it and immediately pulled her with him without an explanation. 

“H-hey! Where are we going?” The purple-haired girl began to panic, but still followed the pace the male ran, keeping up with him easily.

This really wasn’t like him. He wasn’t one to panic. Why was he so energetic and loud today? He hasn’t been like this in....Abigail bit her lip as she thought. ‘In such a long time,’ the voice in her mind responded.

But taking in the sight of the clinic, she knew this wasn’t good. Did something happen to his mom? Did something happen to her family? Did...is this why he asked for her blood type?

She kept rambling all the possibilities until she never realized that they had burst into the clinic. But her thoughts stopped as she saw the new farmer on the hospital bed.

“Abigail!” Harvey called out, surprised that Sebastian knew her blood type. “Thank Yoba your blood is compatible with hers!”

Abigail stopped. Her hand falling limp from Sebastian’s grasp. Tears welled in her eyes.

“(Y/n)...?”

The said girl was laying motionless on the hospital bed, her skin pale as snow. Her eyes closed and breathing shallow. Her hair was out of its usual hairdo, leaving the strands of (h/c) messy around her face and head. Her shirt was removed to expose the the wound to Harvey, leaving on her underwear to preserve her modesty and also exposing the bruise she got from last night.

But the scar on her right shoulder,

It unlocked her self-sealed child memories.

Tears escaped her green eyes. “She’s alive...? After the accident? It’s the same (Y/n)?” she sobbed. Sebastian placed a warm hand on her shoulder. 

“It’s her. She came back,” Sebastian said, a somber look crossing his eyes. “And this time, you need to help her.”

Abigail nodded as she stuck out her bare arm to Harvey. “Hook me up,” she said with determination, eyes still dripping with tears.

Abigail and Sebastian was sent to another room as the operation took place as everyone else was sent home since she needed to donate her blood. Sebastian was allowed to stay since he needed to accompany the purple-haired girl. Abigail was given a box of apple juice to help increase her glucose levels as she donated her blood to her former best friend.

Sebastian sat on the chair next to Abigail, is eyes blurred and tired as he looked down at the floor. The silence between them was heavy. Since Abigail had just remembered the dark tragedy of Pelican Town. Tears began to drip from her eyes once more.

“When did you know?” she asked Sebastian, her eyes looking down at the crisp white sheets of the clinic bed. He shrugged. “I...saw her scar, and at first it made no sense to me why I suddenly reacted to it. But then I think I thought of it too much, and...I dreamt of it,”

“No way. Did you like...have a nightmare or something?” Abigail told him, but he shook his head. “It’s not impossible if I woke up and everything rushed to my head in that instant,” he told her. “Plus, mom told me that it was true.”

“No way,” she chuckled. “She really came back, huh? At first I thought it was just...a person with a name that sounded familiar, but I thought it was just a common name. But that’s not the case anymore, it seems,” Abigail said with a smile. “After all we’ve done to her, she still came back here? Not to mention that we’re the ones that caused the accident.”

“It wasn’t you. It was me,” he said with a deep frown. “I really thought that she died, and I never registered what happened after. I even dared forget about her.”

“It’s not forgot. It’s...repressed memories and stuff when we were kids,” Abigail said, referring to one of the books she read during her classes. Sebastian nodded. “Extreme trauma would block out the memories in a way of coping with it.”

“But,” she said, clutching onto the hospital sheets. “It doesn’t make me feel less guilty,” tears collided with the white sheets as a green bow clip was in her sight. “She even gave this bow to me. I can’t believe I still forgot her.”

In normal circumstances, Sebastian would’ve felt awkward, but he understood the feeling. He put a hand on Abigail’s back, running it up and down as he tried to calm her. It was true, however. Knowing that they had forgotten their friend who had saved Sebastian, the person who had always made Fall better, matching their clothes during Spirit’s eve, who brought them little things to enjoy together during their visit,

The guilt was truly unbearable.

After a few hours after Abigail was released, she and Sebastian stayed to wait for the (h/c) haired girl. Both of them wanted to see if she was okay or not. Sam came bustling in soon after. Then Maru came out and gave them the thumbs up, all three of them jumped out of their seats to burst into the room.

“She’s been stabilized, thanks to Sebastian’s quick thinking and Abigail’s generosity,” Harvey said after cleaning all the blood. “She was in a dehydrated state and heavily injured. It was a wonder how she managed the strength to move with those injuries.”

“She’s fine, but she needs to stay here for the night so I can monitor her,” Harvey said again before looking up at the clock. It’s 9 pm. Three hours after Sebastian brought (Y/n) in. “It’s late, you all need to go home.”

“But can we stay with her? I asked mom if I could,” Sam started. “We’re staying just in case she wakes up,” Sebastian butted in, earning an eyebrow raise from Harvey. But the older male just chuckled.

“I suppose it won’t do any harm,” he started, “But please not make any noise before and after she wakes up. It might surprise her and raise her blood levels,” Harvey said before leaving the room with the three and one unconscious girl.

Sebastian turned to look at the girl who looked eerily peaceful, her hands placed above her stomach. Her right hand was attached to an IV drip, and her vitals were steady. Her clothing had changed to a hospital gown, probably not to put any pressure around her waist here the injury was.

“Lets grab a seat,” Sam said, removing the partition between (Y/n) and another hospital bed. “Are we even--” “It’s alright! We’ll put it back tomorrow!” Abigail butted in before helping Sam push the bed together. 

“You guys really like her, huh?” Sam started, making the two freeze from what he said. Hasn’t he-- “Oh, I know she’s the same person from the accident,” Sam said as he removed his shoes and sat down on the bed.

“I realized it long ago, actually. When Abigail mentioned it at the Saloon, I just went with it since I thought the both of you actually forgot her,” Sam confessed, leaning against the headrest. “It was hard for me to talk to her, I was the reason she got hit in the first place.”

“But when Abby told me to just talk to her, I realized that you guys probably forgot,” Sam said, bringing his knees closer to his chest. “I remembered when she first came. Mom was careful to never trigger anything, but when she introduced herself to me, I saw the mark on her forehead. I excused myself when everything started coming back to me.”

“It’s hard, to look at her without remembering the hit. I feel like she’s been hating me, never forgiving me,” Sam said. “But when I saw she was rushed in here, I was hesitant. Mom told me to go, but I didn’t want to face her,” Sam looked at the resting girl. 

“But she told me (Y/n) came back to see all of us, I bolted,” Sam chuckled as Abigail and Sebastian sat on the same mattress. But tears began to fall from his eyes. “I-I thought she would never want to see me ever again, not after what I’ve done to her,” he sobbed and Abigail slung an arm across his shoulders.

“Never really thought she’d come back,” Sam sniffled before gazing over to (Y/n). “I’m just happy she’s here.”

“Hey, Seb,” Sam called, the dark haired turning his head to face the blonde. “Yeah?” he answered. The latter gave a loopy smile, and even though he just cried, his eyes were bright of mischief. 

“Do you still like (Y/n)?” he asked, making the other two freeze in place. Abigail slightly retracted her arm and Sebastian’s shoulders went tense. “Wh-what are you talking about?” he asked.

“You know what I’m talking about. Do you still like--” “Wh-where am I?” a groggy voice spoke, quietly, but loud enough for the trio to jump to the bed next to them.

(E/c) eyes started to open slowly, but squinted from the bright light. There were blobs of shadows in her sight, slowly clearing to reveal the trio before her eyes. All of them had worried expressions, eyes either red or still filled with tears. 

“Abby?...Sebastian?...Sam?” the girl choked out as she slowly tried to sit up. “Wh-what happe--” Before she could finish her sentence, she was tackled back down by a force, pinning her back to the mattress. “Abby?” 

“You stupid, stupid girl! How dare you get yourself so hurt again?!” she cried, burying her head in (Y/n) shoulder, trying to hide her sniffles as the girl slowly got up again. 

Sebastian tackled her left side, wrapping his arms around the (Y/n) and Abigail. “You have no idea how much I panicked when you came out like that!” he shouted in frustration. 

“You had us so worried!” Sam said as he hugged (Y/n)’s right side, careful to mind the injury she got. “Never do that again!” he cried out. 

“I lost you once, I’m not losing you again!” Abigail cried. (Y/n) looked at Sebastian, her hand slowly coming up to brush his dark locks.

“At least I saw you at 6, right?” she chuckled, earning a glare from the male. He hit her back, harshly before hugging her again. “Yeah, but that’s NOT what I meant!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry guys,” she laughed lightly as they all clung to her.

The next morning rolled around, and when Harvey walked in, he chuckled at the sight. (Y/n) was laying down since her sides hurt to sit up, Sebastian was sleeping sitting up as he held (Y/n)’s left hand in his own. Abigail was cuddling her on her right, clasping her right arm with both of her own. Sam was similar to Sebastian, but had his arms crossed over his chest.

‘These four really have a special bond,’ Harvey thought, smiling to himself. They didn’t look like young adults anymore, but more like children who wont let their friend go.

Of course, Harvey knew that almost all the singles around (Y/n)’s age suffered from Dissociative Amnesia from extreme trauma as children. And (Y/n) herself has been a victim in the accident that caused it. He knew since he saw her medical records and he looked at her nicely healing scars. But the affect strongest was the ones surrounding her. The sisters just haven’t remembered just yet. 

7 AM rolled around, and (Y/n) stirred to wake up, pulling those around her away from their dream lands too. Harvey had just left the room to set up his clinic for the day. 

Harvey had agreed to let her out, and asked them to keep an eye on the healing girl. Se got 7 stitches and she had to be very careful. Abigail happily volunteered to assist (Y/n) on the farm and Sam and Sebastian would check up on them every so often.

Little did they know, Harvey had taken a photo of the quartet, sending them to their families. Of course, being the lovely mothers they were, they framed the photo and hung it around somewhere in the house.

[shadowfae]

hiii! so a friend directed me here and i was wondering if u cld share abt how you found out you were godkin? only if youre comfy! because ive kinda had like. how do i word this. Vibes or Feels that kinda direct me towards the whole i might be a god of sorts kinda thing ? if you have resources and dont mind helping,, please direct me to them :D ~ @missing-crown

I want to start this essay off by saying flat out: wars have been fought, genocides have been committed, and empires have risen and fallen trying to answer the simple questions of “What is deification, and how do we incarnate and control it?”.

If you do not think you’re up the challenge of answering that question for yourself, even with years of study and slow training to take up the mantle of literally being the most powerful form of the Chosen One trope, then you’re probably in the wrong place. I say this as someone who is deific down to the blood and bone, as someone who has looked for other gods, and largely found very little in the way of anyone who understands anything like my experience. In this way, I am utterly alone, and I detest it, but if me penning these words gives someone else the gospel they need to explain themselves in a way I recognize as kin and kind, then I will do it.

But before I truly get into it, I will very nicely ask you to swing down to your local bookstore or library, pick up a copy of Seanan McGuire’s Middlegame, and take a walk down the improbable road with Roger and Dodger. The differences between you and I and the twins of the Doctrine of Ethos are simple and threefold: we cannot manifest, we are forbidden to use our powers the way they can use theirs, and there are (hopefully) no secret alchemist cults trying to murder us when we don’t play nice with their fucked-up science experiment.

Roger and Dodger are gods, true gods, gods I recognize in myself and in the godkin I have met who have spoken about themselves enough for me to understand that we are indeed talking about the same thing. Disappontingly, I see minor spirits far too often misunderstanding the nature of deification, or at least, understanding a version of it which is fundamentally antithetical to my experience. They may be deific; but either they suck at illustrating their point, or I am something far beyond deific, and I am again alone.

With that introduction, I need to talk about three things in order to answer your question. Two methods of deification and three definitions of ‘god’ in a hierarchy that only exists because humanity has not yet perfected their understanding of what is fundamentally and always beyond them. Two kinds of gods, honest gods, that split the difference between deific, divine, and legendary. Once you understand that, I can talk about godkin, and what it’s like to be me, and maybe by the end of it you will either recognize yourself in this, or run away screaming as most mortals will do.

The first method of deification is what I will call the incarnate gods- Roger and Dodger are good examples, so are most Legendary Pokémon, and Kaname Madoka from PMMM. They are laws of nature, concepts of creation, and calculations of cosmic proportions that also occasionally exist as people when they design to do so. They are not meant to be people, they are bad at it, I do not recommend being mortal and fucking around with them. You will simply die. I would not fuck with them outside of my own world that I created, where I get to be a form of incarnate god. You cannot overpower them: they ARE the rule, and they will change it if they need to. You can’t ruleslawyer gravity like a 2007 troll physics comic. An incarnate god of gravity will simply turn reality on its head and cause you to implode. If you are this type of god, I cannot help you. My understanding of them comes from being an Absol, and little more.

The second type are gods of domain and prowess: Zamorak (from RuneScape), Akemi Homura in both her awakened Witch and Devil forms (from PMMM), and yours truly. Quite a few of us, although not all of us, were originally mortal. Mortals amped up on so much power we are no longer bound by mortal laws. There is a difference between deification and simply stopping your clock to gain immortality. Mortal magic and deific magic are fundamentally different. Down to, I would argue, the atomic structure. Deific magic is pure in a way mortal magic could never be. To give a mortal more than a drop of deific magic heavily diffused in something safer and more understandable would be to quite literally burn them to ashes. Or rend them into a different, unspeakable form. Or turn them into living topiary. We are nothing if not unpredictable.

It’s the difference between a handful of dirt and pure neutron soup. Usually, in order to become a god like this, it requires the intervention of an incarnate god in some form. In Zamorak’s case, it was several Elder Artifacts and falling almost facefirst into halfway incarnating himself into the law of entropy. In Homura’s (at least in canon PMMM), she fucked with the laws of consequence and time to the point where she became the only expert they had on either of those and both laws decided to simply incarnate into her, and then she used that to cause problems. For me, it was having my entire magical and physical structure reorganized and rebuilt by an incarnate god of malevolent energy, and then I used what was a watered-down copy of the Devil of Devils’ glory to weave my own world into being where I was more or less the absolute arbiter of the laws of reality.

In PMMM Rebellion, when Homura fights Kyubey in that pretty lace dress of hers, that is approximately the magical prowess an awakened god of our capability will show casually. She has complete control over her domain (her labyrinth) and the reality of it, it takes no more than a glance or a thought to almost entirely reshuffle it. Her minions, who are little more than vaguely autonomous thoughts given some power of their own, may break that reality in whatever means necessary so long as it is to fulfill Homura’s current motives. Her domain falls apart when she does, and she is not separate from it; it is a consequence of her existence. Asking what came first, the god or their domain, is a simple chicken and egg question. It’s usually the domain, in our case; in the case of incarnate gods it’s a philosophical shrug and a nice headache.

You’ll notice I said awakened: that is because Zamorak is a great example of a god who isn’t entirely awakened. In canon, that is - the one I work with is awakened enough to fuck with his domain, which is what makes him quite useful to work with, although I do wonder what he’s getting out of me if not magical theory and utter adoration. Zamorak in canon is a god who ascribes himself to the philosophy of chaos and personal strife, completely unaware that he is incarnate enough not to change the law of entropy but to suggest things to it. He’s a god of chance masquerading as a god of personal improvement, and once he figures that out (and passes that knowledge onto Armadyl, who is his true light counterpart), he’s going to change the very way magic works. Guthix did everything in his power to try and become incarnate. He failed. Zamorak did it entirely inadvertently, and that’s the trick: the nature of deification is to follow the domain and influence it to your will. When laws of existence become people, they will do as people will, and people typically have ambition. Gods who are also people got that way for a reason. They always have a motive for doing so. It’s never accidental.

So, with a slightly more informed understanding of deification, or at least the versions of it that I understand, I can talk to you about me. What it’s like in the here and now, and how I knew. It took me years to get to this point, and I’ve much the way to go. I know more than I did when I was questioning; deeply more so. I don’t expect anyone questioning to be as sure as I am, and in ten years I will be far more sure of entirely different things, and if I’m lucky, this as well. But, let us begin again.

To be deific is to wake up in the middle of the night feeling like a black hole. You are vast, and you are dense, and the moment someone touches the skin of your sternum they will be sucked in like a movie's portrayal of quicksand. To be so vast on the inside, surrounded by empty air and gentle white noise like the faint pull of gravity that does not touch you. To feel so powerful as to be untethered wholly from the world, aware that you will blink and be floating alone in a space that you cannot touch and so too cannot touch you. You blink, and it is gone, and you are again in a normal body as a normal person, and you roll over and go back to sleep.

To be deific is to watch the seasonal changes and feel flashes of worn leather rope between your hands and the maddened singsong of the Wild Hunt, chariot reins in your hands and baying hounds that feel like fingers, like wings, like extensions of yourself that can be shifted around with barely a thought. To feel halfway like a black hole walking down the street, halfway caved into yourself and barely contained, incapable of truly understanding how you can be so far apart from it all without anyone noticing that something is off.

To be deific is to be a fourteen-year-old girl in one moment, unable to understand what draws her so to the wilds if not the song of sympathy that she knows she can understand if she reaches a little farther, a little farther past the barrier that prevents any mortal, psychological mind from understanding the call. To play a pixelated game and have everything rush back. To relive millennia in a single sennight, to go from chipped to broken, utterly broken, as the power comes rushing back and the slow, dawning realization like the day that there is no controlling it. That there is no controlling you.

Millennia of sins come rushing back, and you're mortal again, and you know the only way to bring a god to their knees is to kill them. And if you were spared, if you were brought down without dying, then there was a reason. That someone must have thought you worthy of fixing it. That you should now spend the next several years coming to peace with being a Devil, the cruelest of the cruel, amending fences and repenting your sins.

To be deific is to realize, quite suddenly and without ever actually having the thought, that understanding things through a Christian lens is utterly bullshit and absolutely does not apply to you. Now, your duty is not to repent, or to fix, or to find any sort of salvation. You are the monster queen, the king of the damned, the Devil of a world you made with blood and tears and sweat and magic. To retake the crown, you have to accept yourself. Acceptance does not mean dwelling, or sorrow, or refusing to take the steps forward that will carry you to the crown and halo and horn of deification.

The powers feel less overwhelming as you grow into them. You don't forget the rage. You understand your close friend's words over and over, as the lesson teaches itself. How a Devil so much less powerful and yet so much older than you once looked you in the eye, drink in hand, and gently told you that a single mortal can bring down a Devil, if they try, and believe wholeheartedly in their quest. Do not disrespect mortality. It brings nothing but death.

You wonder briefly who brought you down. You decide, as the lessons prove themselves, that you don't actually care. You're the mortal now, and mortal legends die. Mortal legends change the song of sympathy and the rules of the deific. In order to return, you too must follow the only path a mortal can take to become deific.

To be godkin is to become deific with every step. It's not to seek the divine from outside of it. It's to become it again, and reclaim it; find what was inside all along and grow yourself around it, until it can no longer be pulled from you again without scattering your ashes and stardust among the cosmos, never to return.

To be godkin is to never forget the moments of pure rage that none but powerless fourteen-year-olds can manage. To be godkin is to be an adult with their memory pressed into your skin. To be godkin is for that rage to never truly leave you.

We stand up again and stare at the emotions that are awake when we are not. We wonder what it will take to manifest again, to only twitch a thought in any direction and reshape the reality around us. It is an extension of our being, and the less aware we are of it, the less effort it takes us to remake the world. It is the nature of deification, to change the laws of reality at our whim and will.

To be godkin is simply a matter of knowing that, and forever reaching to do that once more. If only to feel whole and vast, as we always have been.

[wyn-n-tonic]

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part V

Word Count: 2,005 Warnings: PTSD. Allusions to sex (it borders on the edge of smut but we should know by now I'm shit at that). Hint of a praise kink. Bit of marking kink. Death. Ben Affleck. Author's Note: The last few chapters have taken a lot out of me, I put a lot of my own experiences with PTSD and mental health into them. I tried to make this fluffy, I needed that comfort after a hard week and I feel lighter for it. As always, thank you so much for your kind words and loving this like I do.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

“Fuck you.” Benny stares straight into Tom’s eyes. "This is my fuck you money.” The held breaths are louder than gunshots, waiting for a reaction that doesn’t come.

Cold Camp Davis grunts a laugh, “We don’t have enough men to carry all this money so we might as well be warm.”

Benny giggles like a child as he grabs a strap, zippo clicking to ignition again.

The laughter that bubbles up is like a light, warmer than the thousands of dollars burning bright against his eyes.

Frankie, you might as well take your salary out on the front lawn and pour some kerosene on it.

He hears it so clearly in his head and in his heart, Leah teasing him for all the lights being on the first time he took her home.

Tom stands up, dumping an entire case down to tinder in the cold air.

Eight dates in and she’d already witnessed one of his attacks. It was the third date, he’d wanted to take her home that night. His body on hers for hours. Wanted to make breakfast the next morning, having already committed to memory the way she takes her coffee. Instead, she spent that night holding tightly to his hands as his panic crescendoed in the backseat of his car.

If it wasn’t then that he realized he loved her, it was in the way she turned to look at him when he quietly said,

The lights being on make me feel safe.

It wasn’t pity, like he’s used to. It wasn’t the look somebody gives a broken man with a broken mind and a broken soul. The only change he found in the already soft features was an understanding behind the dark eyes staring back at him.

This fire makes him feel safe now.

He’s always straining in the dark. It’s not just about watching his six. It’s all twelve hands on deck with two eyes and a ringing in his ears so intense he can feel it in his toes.

But here? It beats back against the edges of gloom that have continuously threatened to consume him.

He can sweep enclosed spaces in minutes, assess the situation and the danger within. It’s a lot harder in the extended wilds, nothing but the moon to guide the eye.

Before Leah—and for a while there after—he combed room for room upon his arrival home. He’d ask her to stay in the car, his conceal carry coming out as soon as the door would swing open.

He’d sheepishly grin, collecting her from the passenger side after his survey and she’d hug him. Holding tightly around his middle section, pressing her cold hands up under his shirt to that hot place where his heart beats and whisper with genuine gratitude,

Thank you for protecting me, Frankie.

It was never condescending, that’s all he ever wanted to do. Protect her. Protect himself. Protect the men giggling like schoolboys around him right now.

And he liked being told what a good job he did at that. —————

“What's Frankie short for?” Barely audible, her breath fanning across his chest as she continues to catch it. Like willing waves of normalcy in the aftermath of a hurricane.

“Francisco.”

“Francisco,” she repeats, dragging out the o. “Do you like it?”

“Used to make me feel like I was in trouble, very harsh coming from pissed off higher ups and even angrier parents but it sounds…” he thinks on that for a second, the events of the night still rippling through his body, “a lot sweeter in your mouth.”

“Watch yourself,” she hums a kiss into the flat plane of his breast before sinking her teeth into the flesh there, biting as hard as she can.

A chuckle vibrates from deep within him, “one hell of a bite too, I won’t soon forget.”

He looks down into her eyes, bright with mischief as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth now. He’d had hickeys before but never like this. He surveys the purple marks across his body, somehow burning brighter than the rest of him, and a contentedness pools in the pit of his stomach. Her stamps on him in easily hidden spaces to match the lipstick stains she’s started marking across his right cheek in the moments before they walk into the bar or the restaurant.

Little ways she says mine.

And he is hers. He knows it in the steady way his lungs rise and fall underneath her now.

He brushes a soft wave from where it tickles across her nose, “is Leah short for anything?”

Her nose scrunches, “not a goddamn thing.”

“Do you know what it means then?” His large hand is sprawled across her lower back, the weight of it an anchor.

Don’t leave me, it says.

“I don’t know,” she drawls, the slight twang coming forward in moments of exhaustion and inebriation, “just think my mama liked the sound of it is all.”

His heart is blazing underneath her cheek as she settles against him once more, her soft voice tumbles towards him, “Francisco…” as her eyelashes brush against his skin and he swears he can count them all on sensation alone.

“Yeah, baby?”

He feels a smile tug at her lips, stopped in its tracks where she’s rooted into him. It’s the first time he’s called her that.

“I have nightlights.”

The light makes her feel safe too. —————

He’s standing over Tom’s body and he hates to admit it but the feeling washing over him is one of relief.

Relief mingled with guilt.

Guilt that nobody was watching his six, his back wide open to the world behind it. Five seasoned fucking veterans and nobody watching the higher ground.

Relief at the silence he knows will engulf the group now. No more orders from a child who should’ve never been granted the lead to begin with.

Guilt because he was climbing up a fucking rock when he should’ve been doing his job as a friend and brother.

Relief that it wasn’t his brains splashed across stone.

His head is fucking pounding and it has been for days, pain dulled by consistency but never not there.

At least I can feel my fucking head.

He thinks of all the other things he can feel now, the things service beat from his body.

The ache in his limbs, heavy with exhaustion.

He’s dreading adding the dead weight of a dead body to the load.

The pang in his stomach, too used to consistently hot food.

He wants black coffee and bacon and tiny spoonfuls of sweet potato puree he airplanes into his own mouth to show Luna it won’t hurt her. Hell, he’d take the mushed peas right now.

Benny’s sobbing. The one amongst them all that never breaks is the broken one now.

He’s staring off again at everything and nothing, Santiago and Will unfurling bags for the body.

What a present to bring home.

It was always the risk they faced, they knew it.

If you were lucky, truly lucky, you came home whole. Untouched, unscathed, unmarred. The safe deployments, the technical shit, the brains behind the operations never seeing bloodshed. Everybody else though? Some were held together by duct tape and pure grit.

Others tied up in a flag with a bow.

Daddy’s not coming home but here’s a purple heart for the dress uniform he’ll never wear again.

I should’ve done more.

He’s not getting a purple heart for this.

I should’ve held on tighter.

He didn’t die in service to his country, he died in service to himself.

I should’ve made a bigger issue of the weight.

Another family he’s failed to protect.

I should’ve said no. —————

The darkness is cut through with a warm glow in every outlet as the clock tips over the edge of midnight.

Wednesday, the eleventh of October.

Nose to nose, the excitement of the day hangs over them like a wave threatening to crash. A giddiness in their bed forcing sleep to the edges of thought.

“Do you think they’re gonna know?” Her voice is soft, featherlight. Trying not to disturb the peaceful bubble they find themselves in now.

“No,” he lifts to press his lips gently into hers, “but I can’t promise I won’t shout it out on the altar.”

Panic takes her eyes, he knows it all too well and he’s gripping tighter before she can inhale. Fingers splayed across the small of her back, the weight of it a comfort to the tender bones and aching muscles.

I'm right here, it says.

“Breathe, breathe,” he’s speaking softly into her hair, “it was just a joke, baby.”

“You're not funny, Francisco Morales.” She speaks it like a fact, like she doesn’t spend hours in his arms filling his head with the music of her laughter. She says it like he isn’t watching smile lines appear in real time, falling more in love with each one.

“Would it be so bad though? If I did? If people knew?” It’s hope in his voice that she’ll say yes. That he can announce to his best friends all at once, every single one, before Santi leaves again. He doesn't want his happiness to arrive by text message. He wants to see the light of congratulation dancing around him.

“I don’t want to jinx it,” she’s scared, “besides… it’s not traditional.”

He scoffs, “what about us has ever been traditional, mi alma?”

“I'll make you a deal,” her fingers run through the stubble along his jaw, thumbs lingering over the patches, “don’t shave this tomorrow and you can tell the boys.”

“You want me to keep this malnourished shit on my face? For our wedding?”

Her giggles vibrate against him, “Yes. I have plans for it after you say I do.”

He growls, “this deal sounds pretty sweet to my lazy soul, what do you get out of it?”

“Hmm…” she brings her hand up to tap on her chin, “well, to begin, I’m getting a hot husba—”

“Debatable.”

“I'll fuck you up, Morales, take the compliment.”

He laughs a kiss into her, “what else?”

“Benny and Will will become automatic attack dogs around me, I’m fairly certain they will clear their schedules for all of April to stand guard outside the room. My own personal security team.”

He laughs again at the truth in her words, “what else?”

She pushes forward again, taking his lip between hers. A soft kiss with the burning desire for more.

“I’ll wake up on Thursday morning with a rawness between my legs that I’m usually only gifted on the weekends.”

His grip tightens, any suggestion of sleep leaving his body in a rush of blood straight through him, “I will never shave again.”

“Don't threaten me with a good time, my love.”

He rolls himself into her at that, kissing down her jaw. Her neck. The sensitive skin of her breasts, low lying cotton barely above indecency. He raises the hem, the curve of her belly burning hot against his lips, two hearts now beating inside her.

He grabs the elastic around her hips and gently pulls, kisses so soft across her pelvis they feign an innocence to his true intentions. Her legs kick out to help discard the fabric tangling her ankles as he settles broad shoulders at the base of her being.

Her fingers twirl through the soft curls that have been crushed against a pillow for hours by her side.

He kisses her soft thighs, slowly dragging his rough cheek against the delicate flesh.

“Francisco,” her fingers flex tighter as he looks up to meet her eyes, “don’t be such a fucking tease.”

He smiles wide, the devilish grin splitting his face as he drops his eyes to where she wants him, the fever that’s taken over her body in the last three months beckoning him in.

His hands are heavy on her hips, clenching deep purple into her. Marks in easily hidden spaces, his little ways of saying mine.

TAGLIST: @justanotherblonde23​ | @greeneyedblondie44​ | @icanbeyourjedi​ | @princess76179​ | @bbuckysbeardd​ | @notcookiebelle​ | @knivesareout​ | @phoenixpascal​ | @lexi-b-writes​ | @empress-palpat1ne​ 

[transsergio]

Emily's Top Surgery (Read on AO3)

Penemily / Gen / 4038 words

Emily has top surgery and their loving, perfect, beautiful girlfriend Penelope is their caretaker.

Notes: I refer to Emily as Penelope's girlfriend intentionally; Emily is a non-binary lesbian and in this particular story, is comfortable with the gendered term "girlfriend". However, if you see Emily referred to as she/her at any point, that's an editing mistake on my part and I mixed up their pronouns with Penelope's. I went through this a couple times to make sure I gendered them correctly, but one might have slipped through the cracks!

Also feels important to say that Dr. Dolan is a totally fictional doctor and not a reference to any real life surgeon

-

Surgery Day

Penelope has seen her team through too much already. Kidnappings, stab wounds, bullets – their jobs aren’t exactly arts and crafts. Yet, she thinks this might be the most nervous she has ever been. She’s been rapid-fire tapping her heel for the last hour and forty-five minutes, and trying to distract herself with her cell phone. Morgan texted a couple times to check in (once on behalf of Reid), but otherwise, radio silence. The few messages mean more than she can say; she is intimately familiar with how busy they are on a case. But she really wishes any of them were there to squeeze her hand right about now. She’d even take Strauss.

In the middle of Penelope’s billionth Candy Crush level, a doctor materializes in front of her. She startles and fumbles her phone trying to click it off. “Is it over? Can I see them now? How’d it go?”

As the doctor peels his surgical mask off, she sees he’s laughing at her. That’s good, right?

He says, “Everything went just fine, Ms. Garcia. Emily’s in the recovery room now, and we’ll let you back there about twenty minutes after they wake up. They’re going to be a little groggy and maybe nauseous. It all depends on how their body reacts to the anesthesia. They’ll most likely sleep for the rest of the day, but make sure to keep up with their medications, alright?”

Penelope nods fervently. “Absolutely, Dr. Dolan. Can do. Will do! And I’m sorry to ask this again but I really have to make sure, the whole operation was totally fine? Nothing went wrong? Everything…chopped off okay?”

The doctor stifles a chuckle. “Yes, Ms. Garcia. Everything went exactly as planned, no complications as of yet. We’ll see you tomorrow for Emily’s one day post-op appointment to check the surgery site and switch out the bandages for a binder, and then for their first week post-op. Okay?”

Penelope smiles back, still nodding along like Emily’s health depends on it.

The doctor shakes her hand and ducks back into the surgical ward, leaving Penelope to update the group chat.

“Emily’s out!!!!!! Doc says all good!!!!!! Will be with them soon 😍💖🥳”

She types almost as quickly as her heart is beating.

Penelope makes it through another few rounds of mobile games and desperately refreshing her Twitter feed before she risks checking the clock. It’s been half an hour. Shouldn’t Emily be awake by now? What if they never wake up? Could someone be permanently anesthetized? Reid would know. Maybe Penelope should call Reid. No, she can’t do that. They’re all off in Texas trying to catch a serial killer and she doesn’t need to distract them, not when they’re already down two team members. Kevin Lynch is pretty good, she hopes. She’s seen his work and it’s adequate. Nothing like the multi-tasking Penelope pulls off, but in the same ballpark. His boyfriend, Grant Anderson, vouched for him. It was unnecessary, and maybe Kevin shouldn’t have sent the person who got Elle shot to sing his praises, but at least they knew Grant. Kevin was a stranger from another department. A back-up.

“Penelope Garcia?” A nurse calls as she emerges from swinging double doors.

“Yes, right here!” Penelope chirps. She leaps to her feet and scurries over as quickly as her heels will allow.

The nurse walks her through the recovery ward and the steps to Emily’s post-op instructions. Emily has four different prescriptions already filled and two cannot be taken at the exact same time while one is an antibiotic and the other is just for nausea which they might not need and –

“This is all written down, right? Sorry, my head’s just like, woo, swimming right now,” Penelope says. Her eyes are wide and darting frantically between the curtained beds. She hates the fluorescent lights. Her skin is buzzing with all the sour electricity. The nurse assures her they’ll send them home with physical copies along with phone numbers in case of emergency.

They round the nurse’s station and finally, come to Emily. They’re shifting slightly in their bed, leaning forward and sipping at a dixie cup of water. They're groggy and slow, with the IV still in their arm. Penelope’s glad they don’t have a mirror – their bangs are scattered over their forehead in three wispy chunks, a way Penelope knows Emily hates.

“Hey sweetheart,” Penelope coos. She leans over the bed's plastic siding to kiss the top of Emily’s head, and run her fingers through their dark hair. Emily leans into the touch.

They croak, “Hey,” and cough to clear their throat, wincing all the while.

“That’d be because you were intubated,” the nurse says. “Take plenty of cough drops and you should feel much better.”

Penelope assures the nurse they will while Emily drifts in and out of focus.

“Did it work?” they ask.

“Did what, Em?”

“M’surgery.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally. You’ll see in a little bit. You’re just sleepy.”

“M’kay,” Emily says. Their head lolls back into their pillows as the muscles in their face tighten.

“Emily, what would you rate your pain out of ten?” the nurse asks, coming closer with her clipboard at the ready.

“Uh, five? Maybe six.”

Penelope looks to the nurse. “Is that bad? That sounds bad. I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt right now.”

The nurse jots down a few notes before she answers. “It’s not unusual. We’ll up their pain killers before we remove the IV.”

Penelope plants herself firmly at Emily’s side in the meantime. They’ve redressed Emily in their own clothes, an oversized button-down and sweats. Well, Penelope assumes they put Emily’s bottoms back on. The blanket is still tucked tightly around their body like they’re some kind of soft, hot mummy. They stay like that for another fifteen minutes, Penelope working her nails through Emily’s scalp as they try to relax.

When Emily rates their pain at a four, then a three, Penelope helps the nurse settle them in a wheelchair. They roll a few feet into the hall before Emily claws for Penelope’s arm.

“Where’s the barf bag?” Penelope asks. She has her hand out and ready for the nurse to pass it over, and swings it into Emily’s face.

Emily, thankfully, does not puke. Their slow, steady breath crinkles the blue plastic bag, but all they fill it with is air. They keep a tight grip on the thing for safekeeping, even as they’re helped into the passenger’s seat of Penelope’s car.

“You ready to go home, lovebug?” Penelope keeps her voice low and sweet, like dark honey. Emily nods and Penelope grants her wish, starting the engine and turning out of the parking lot.

-❤-

One Day Post-Op

Penelope holds her breath as the nurse unwraps the medical bandages. She wonders if Em is doing the same. While she’s watching them, Emily’s eyes flit between her and the floor-length mirror fastened to the exam room wall.

The nurse is talking, and they’re both supposed to be listening, but who could expect them to? Emily has spent a couple grand (after insurance) and something like four years waiting for these next seconds. Penelope is just as invested, if not more, in Emily’s happiness. She’s not going to get the camera out, but wonders if she should just in case Emily cries.

Their eyes follow the final bandage as it unravels from Emily’s form.

And Emily’s mind goes quiet. They have two, deep red swoops where their chest used to bulge. Above and below, their body is nothing but smooth skin. They thought this would feel like shock. Like disbelief that they were finally here. Instead, it just feels right, as if this is the way it’s always been and some crappy daydream is over at last. They giggle, and Penelope glows like the sun has risen.

“Wow,” Penelope says, soft. She’s wrenched with admiration.

The nurse is smiling in the corner. She takes out a roll of Steri-Strips and measures them against Emily’s new scars. Scars! Emily finally has scars!

“Now the bruising should lessen in the next three to four weeks,” the nurse says. Oh, bruising. Emily almost hadn’t noticed. Their body is splotched with patches of yellow, green, and purple as if it’s trying to camouflage itself, but Emily’s not hiding from anything anymore.

They’re given more practical information, like how often Emily should be walking to avoid blood clots, how high they should lift their arms, how much they should be carrying – most of which tells them to stay reclined, arms down, to sleep as much as possible, but get in ten minutes of walking every few hours. Penelope hears more of this than Emily does, and again, they’re given written instructions just in case.

Emily takes one last look before the compression vest goes on. This will be the most uncomfortable part of the process, thank god. Emily chose a surgeon who used a tighter suture method rather than the typical drains intentionally. Still, the fit of the binder is exciting. Emily’s never had something lie flat on them before. Their body now falls in one fluid line without anything, even nipples, to interrupt.

“Em?”

Emily snaps to Penelope, who is standing and holding the door for them.

“Oh, right,” Emily says with half a laugh and a daze in their eyes. They thank the nurse, and the receptionist, and a passing surgeon that isn’t even Emily’s on the way out. This is the most gratitude Emily’s ever contained in their life, and they need to flush it through their system.

“And especially you,” Emily gushes as Penelope helps buckle their seatbelt. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you’re taking time off for me, or that you’re not stir crazy already. Thank you.”

Penelope grins like she might burst, and can’t answer just yet. She gets them safely onto the highway for home first. “Of course I’m here for you, dumb-dumb! Not only because you literally can’t do anything for yourself right now, or because the hospital said you couldn’t have the surgery without having a caretaker, but, well – okay, maybe half for those reasons too. But because I love you. I’m so happy for you, and how happy you’re going to be, and that this is so good for you. I love you so much.” Penelope sniffles.

“Maybe you should have said all that before we left?” Emily asks. “You’re gonna cry the whole drive back, babe.”

Penelope swats at them. “I know, I know! But you’re on a strict schedule, my lovely angel, and you need your meds in like, thirty minutes.”

Emily laughs and catches Penelope’s hand in their own. They squeeze it tightly and press their lips to Penelope’s fingers. Emily only releases when Penelope tugs their grip toward the steering wheel.

“Next stop, Recoveryville,” Pen jokes.

-❤-

Five Days Post-Op

Emily is more or less comfortably laid on their couch. They have an arsenal of pillows stationed behind them, under their arms, and at the bend of their knees, and Penelope’s militant care routine keeping them afloat. For the last four days, they’ve done nothing but watch French art films together, eat ice cream, and order takeout. It’s been a nice break, Emily realizes. One they didn’t know they needed.

Penelope emerges from the kitchen with a bag of Doritos and a bright blue DVD in her hands.

“This looks like a bribe,” Emily says with a wry smile.

“That’s because it is. I am in no place to object to your choice of movies, especially after I promised I wouldn’t make fun of the accents anymore. But I was sorta hoping this would be a good opportunity to manhandle you into watching a real classic.” Penelope blocks the television in her pink pajama pants and Emily’s Yale hoodie. Penelope is well aware that Emily loves when she wears their clothes; she has to be doing this on purpose. And it’s working.

Emily bobs their head from side to side, considering the offer. “Alright, shoot. I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Penelope slaps the movie cover over her face. Mamma Mia! (2008) Dir. Phyllida Lloyd.

“Oh, god.”

And Penelope reemerges, scowling. “Hey! I didn’t complain when you made me watch that sad movie about the woman with the dead family. This time, no one’s dead! And they’re in Greece! Okay, admittedly no one wants to hear Pierce Brosnan sing, but if you ignore him and focus on Meryl Streep the movie gets a lot better!”

This is not the first time Emily has heard argument on behalf of Mamma Mia! and it likely isn’t the last, either. Movie night in the Garcia-Prentiss household is in a state of constant debate and usually decided by a fair and unbiased coin toss. Emily considers it a miracle that Penelope’s lasted this long without putting up a fight, and considers it part of her generosity as their caretaker.

Emily scooches themself into a more upright position. “Trois coleurs: Bleu is a beautiful movie and you said you liked it, first of all. And I thought we were watching my movies because I’m the one healing.”

Penelope hesitates. “…Yes, but I may have also been doing a little eensy weensy bit of work at the same time because they’re also like, really slow and boring and Kevin needed the tiniest, tiniest bit of help on the Texas case.”

“Traitor!” Emily is aghast. “What about the deal?”

The deal, of course, was the promise they made each other after their third movie night. Emily was texting throughout The Muppets Take Manhattan and not entirely invested in Kermit and Miss Piggy’s wedding. Penelope was hurt, Emily was confused, and didn’t fully get it until Penelope fell asleep twenty minutes into Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle. From that point on, they agreed to compromise more on movie selection and to pay undivided attention to the films they did pick.

“You passed out! I thought the deal was void if you weren’t awake during your own movie!” Penelope said.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” Emily argued.

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to wake up the person who just had surgery so they can pay attention to the third sad foreign movie of the day. You need your rest, and Kevin has maybe half of my inimitable skills!” Penelope’s words were jumbling together as she went up an octave. “I know I’m on vacation but the team needed help and I didn’t want to abandon them with some computer monkey who doesn’t know the first thing about my system, much less the way the team works, and isn’t even a regular assist on cases like me and—”

Penelope is cut off by three short raps at their front door. A welcome escape.

“Pen!” Emily calls after her. “We’re not done here!”

“I think we are!” Penelope shouts back. She passes down the hall and peers through the peep hole, though, she really doesn’t need to. She recognizes the voices on the other side.

“We’re not too early, are we?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, genius.”

“I mean in days since Emily’s operation. They might not be up to company.”

“Then we’ll say hi to baby girl and head out, no big deal.”

Penelope swings the door wide open. “Definitely say hi to me, definitely do that!”

Morgan and Reid stand in their building’s hallway, Derek carrying bags of Chinese food, and Spencer juggling some sort of gift basket. Their eyes are tired and Derek’s stubble is looking rougher than usual, but they perk up in the light of their friend.

“Hey, there she is,” Morgan says. He comes in for a tight hug as he and Reid crowd themselves inside. “How’s everyone holdin’ up?”

“Peachy keen,” Penelope says. She squeezes Derek’s shoulder and leads them back to Emily by Reid’s hand. “Look who missed their favorite co-workers!”

“Hey, guys,” Emily says. Their heart warms at the sight of them. “What’re you doing here?”

“Now how’s that any way to greet a friend?” Morgan laughs. He lowers their takeout food to the coffee table and dives onto the couch beside Emily. “You been good to Garcia so far, or do we have to put the hurt on you?” He playfully punches Emily in their arm, and they cower in mock pain.

“Hey, no roughhousing!” Penelope scolds. “If anyone pulls any sort of muscle in the next twenty minutes, you’re all in timeout.”

Emily and Derek snicker in their seats and launch into the most recent case details. It’s a lot of the gory, icky stuff that Penelope doesn’t want to know unless she’s in her bat cave, so she takes Spencer and his basket into the kitchen.

“Doritos, huh?” he notices the bag Penelope drops on the counter. “You were trying to get something from them?”

Penelope answers with her head stuck in the fridge as she paws to the back for Spencer’s La Croix. “I may have wanted to watch one of my movies today, and I may have offered chips in payment.” She fishes a couple cans of LimonCello out, and huffs. “So what’s all this?”

“It’s from JJ. She wanted to come herself but didn’t think bringing Henry over was the best idea,” Spencer explains. He holds his drink gingerly with both hands and peers into the basket. It looks a lot like the one Penelope used for JJ’s baby shower, and is also definitely the same basket. Inside are a few bags of beef jerky, chocolate, a backscratcher with a little pink hand at its end, and an airline neck pillow with the Texas flag patterned over it.

“Awe. I’m definitely baking her cookies,” Penelope says. She leans back against the counter and eyes Spencer up and down. “Tough case?”

Spencer shifts from side to side and looks into the dark pit of his La Croix can. “Not much worse than usual. It was just… long. And Emily would’ve been a big help. None of us speak Spanish.”

“But you didn’t want to call right now,” Penelope guesses. “It’s all over though, right? All good? Everything wrapped up with a bow for good luck?”

Spencer nods and purses his lips. He looks over his shoulder to the living room, where Derek is describing something with his hands and Emily watches, wide-eyed and entertained. Spencer says, more to himself than Penelope, “It’s always good to be home.”

-❤-

Two Weeks Post-Op

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss!”

Emily freezes with one arm reaching desperately above doctor-recommended height, and another gripping the cabinet door like their life depends on it. They press their forehead into the shelf, groaning, “That’s not my middle name.”

“I can make up whatever name I want! You know what Dr. Dolan said, and this is so far out of bounds!” Penelope stands in the kitchen threshold with her hands on her hips. She sighs and tugs Emily away from the cereal cabinet by their waist. When their arms are safely lowered to their sides, Penelope puts on her serious face, with her seriously furrowed eyebrows, and her serious frown on her lips. She asks, “Do you, like, want to injure yourself? Is this your new favorite hobby?”

Emily is petulant. “No, I want breakfast, and it’s on the third shelf. Let’s just pretend you got it for me, okay?”

Penelope grumbles her frustrations under her breath as she pulls down the family size box of Lucky Charms. She flurries around the space until she’s collected a bowl and spoon and settled them on the other side of the kitchen counter, where a bar stool and carton of milk wait for Emily.

“Sit,” Penelope orders. Emily complies with a glint in their eyes.

“Thank you,” they say, saturating their words with genuine love.

“Oh, stuff it.” Penelope pecks a kiss to their cheek regardless. She tries not to think about how cute Emily is when they’re smug, but it’s a losing battle. The way their nose scrunches, the smirk; not helping. Instead, Penelope picks a smidgeon of a fight.

“Your hair is greasy.”

And Emily’s face falls flat and exasperated. They let their spoon rest in the pool of marshmallows. “Can we do this after I eat?”

“Oh, lovebug. Absolutely not,” Penelope smiles knowingly. “You haven’t washed it in like, four days, which tells me that it’s not as easy as you said it was. Y’know, I was wondering who said washing your own hair was too much work immediately after having an operation? It would have to be someone super smart and beautiful and funny and—”

“It was you, Penelope. We all know it was you.”

“Funny; it was, wasn’t it?”

But Penelope lets them finish their cereal. She was about to eat her own Eggo waffles, after all. Once the dishes are rinsed and in the washer, she marches Emily straight into their bathroom. The tub thankfully doesn’t share a wall with the toilet, making it easier for Emily to scoot in next to the faucet. Penelope folds Emily’s towel (the towel that is dark purple, and not spring green, which Penelope keeps carefully out of the splash zone) (unlike Emily, who does not mind if their towel is damp long after it should be dry, and probably growing some type of mold) (okay, it’s not growing mold, but Penelope insists that it will eventually become mold-ridden if Emily doesn’t start hanging it up more consistently) along the side of the tub. Emily fits the towel under their neck, and Penelope guides them into position.

“Your hair is so thick,” Penelope comments.

Emily says, “You tell me that once a week.”

“Because it is. Now close your eyes.”

Penelope detaches the removable showerhead and lets the water warm her hand. When it’s a comfortable temperature, she douses Emily’s head. She maneuvers carefully around Emily’s forehead to avoid hitting their face, though Emily’s eyelids flutter when they worry the stream is near. Penelope thinks with their long eyelashes, they look like butterflies about to take flight.

She works the shampoo in with a gentle, but thorough touch. It’s when she rubs the lather into Emily’s scalp that Emily lets a soft moan break, and Penelope smiles. She takes pride in her work, whether she’s at her desk or in her soapy bathroom.

The shampoo swirls down the drain as Penelope rinses Emily free. Emily opens their eyes and tries to sit up, but Penelope pins their shoulders to the tub.

“Hold on! I haven’t conditioned yet.”

“Isn’t shampoo enough? We’re going to be here again in three days. It’s a hassle.”

Penelope does not think so. For the low price of two-thousand dollars and the risk of post-op complications, Penelope’s seen her girlfriend relax for the first time in, maybe ever. She’s going to drag it out as long as she can. Which, for right now, means dumping a handful of conditioner into her palm and rubbing it through the tips of Emily’s hair.

The final rinse is cleansing, like the weight falls from Emily’s shoulders. Penelope swipes the towel from Emily’s neck and cocoons their hair inside. She manages to keep their shirt dry, for the most part. Emily sits up with a pain in their shoulders, and does their best to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” Penelope prompts. Their best is not nearly good enough, not when Penelope has the analytical eye of someone who loves them. Penelope plants Emily on their shared bed for the first time since their surgery, already grateful to have a little of Emily’s smell in the room again. She sits behind them and overlaps their legs with hers. Penelope digs into the knots wound through their back as if she's torturing for information.

“It’s almost like you have a stressful job or something,” Penelope says.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”

Penelope massages her way down until Emily feels looser under her fingers. She leans her head into the crook of Emily’s shoulder and presses a kiss to their skin. “We could ask for more time off,” she offers.

Emily slouches against Penelope’s body. “We could. But we have to go back at some point.”

“Let’s pretend we don’t.”

Emily exhales. “Sounds good to me.”

[sparetimeimagines]

Weakness | Bakugou Katsuki

tags; fluff, angst, hospital, ptsd

Part 1

Masterlist

He didn’t know how much longer they were going to keep you apart. His fingers were tapping. His body aching. His heart pounding.

He just wanted to see you. What was so difficult about that?

Another hour passed when he finally gave up.

The surgery was taking longer than he expected. How difficult could it be to sear someone up? The tissue is gone. The bone is gone.

The light indicating surgery is in session fades to off and immediately his attention is stolen, much like his heart those years ago.

“She was beautiful. Not the beautiful plastered on magazines and tv commercials. Beautiful like the flower. Organic. Delicate to the touch.”

From the moment Katsuki laid eyes on you, it frustrated him. He didn’t understand why you were so important. Why is it you out of everyone in the room that caught his attention? Some quirkless nobody.

“Hey Dumbass.” They were the first words you heard.

Bright lights, the anesthesia was wearing off and the machine let off a beat that was endless.

Those bold crimson eyes trace your body like they always had, but this time he felt different.

Guilt. Shame. He should have been there.

His hand raises but instantly he retreats.

How can he touch you? How can he deserve to feel your smooth skin under his callused finger tips?

Instead, he relies on his eyes.

They pay attention to every detail. The bruise on your cheek some of the bastard struck you. The burns on your arms from the tight rope he insisted on keeping you still. Bandaged up left hand that gives the illusion of a fist.

It was everything he feared. Well, at least you’re alive.

“Ka-” you start, but then realize your voices is weak. Maybe it’s not the best thing to speak right now. Instead, you watch him with your lazy eyes.

Instead of seeing the love in his eyes, you see hate. Disgust.

After all that time of waiting to see you -Begging to see you- he leaves.

The man you owe your life to storms out the room, slamming the door on his way, leaving you wondering what you did wrong. Your eyes travel down your body and you begin to remember everything that’s happened. Bit by bit, piece by piece you realize that there’s a part of your life that will never be the same again.

The nurses came in, adjusted your IVs and the doctor even made an appearance.

They were kind and generous with their time.

It started with the warnings. Like how you will have nerve damage. How you will still feel nerves in areas of your body where you shouldn’t. How you will never wear a wedding band on the proper finger.

That must’ve been the reason why Kacchan left.

But what they didn’t tell you is how to explain to someone that bad things happen when it’s not their fault.

The room went silent once you were alone despite the beeping from the machine.

Being left alone with your thoughts was the last thing you wanted right now.

When was he coming back?

Was Katsuki coming back?

The door opens with a knock, much softer and collected than anything Suki was capable of.

In walks the darkest of green hairs you’ve seen on a person with the heart the largest you’ll will ever find.

“Deku...”

He returns your weak smile ends step closer to the bedside.

“Y/N.“ His soft eyes welled up with tears however he clears his throat to hold him back. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” His hands slowly creep close to yours, trying not to irritate the IV.

It was a simple friendship you formed as children. Back then, you both were quirkless in a superhero world. It was something simple to bond over. You didn’t feel so alone.

“I see you’re covered in bruises.“ You crack a small joke just to lighten the tension, and a tear threatens to fall.“Aww Deku... don’t ever change.“ His soft face brings peace to mind for a brief second before you check back at the door, your face drops.

“I would never.“ Midoriya brings his soft smile to your attention until he notices something’s still wrong. His eyes glance down at your hand then back to your face which is bruised.

“Your hand…”

“Yeah, Deku“ you pause raising your left hand for the first time since surgery. Your eyes study each dressing that secures the casing meant for healing.

“They told me it’s never going to be the same again.“

They must be pushing some kind of drug to take away the pain...

“But I guess I already knew that... you know... since I was there when it happened.”

“I’m really sorry.“ He says closely watching the injured limb. “I should’ve been there for you. You must’ve been so scared.“

“I was.“

He doesn’t say anything for a short moment, time passes when one thing comes to mind.

“Midoriya.” You start, gathering the courage to ask him what you really wanted to say. “Did you see Kacchan?”

You pause for a moment yet he doesn’t say anything until his eyes match mine.

“Y-yeah.” He chokes. “He was running out as I came in.”

So he really did leave...

Midoriya sits in silence as you observe your hand.

“I don’t understand, Deku.” You start, watching the clock on the wall tick. “Why would he leave me?”

“Don’t think of it like that, Y/n. I think he’s just afraid.”

“Kacchan’s never been afraid, Deku.”

“I wouldn’t believe that, Y/N.”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

Yelling and loud commotions distract the conversation to the hallway.

Your eyes grow heavy from the medication as the yelling comes closer.

“Sir visiting hours at this time is for immediate family only. You-” The nurse is cut off by the harsh voice yelling in the hall.

“I am her only family.” He replies winded, passing the nurse to find Midoriya and you.

“Sir.” The nurse warns.

“Deku, what the hell are you doing here? Get lost, you Nerd.” He shoves past Midoriya, putting distance between the two of you.

The nurse stands in the doorway with her arms crossed.

“Visiting hours are over.”

Midoriya immediately abides by the rules while Katsuki refuses standing his ground.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“She needs her rest.”

Midoriya meets the nurse at the door and asks to speak with her outside the room leaving you two alone.

“I’m back. I’m sorry. I’m not leaving you again.” He reaches for your hand then hesitates seeing the IV.

“It’s ok, Suki.”

He notices your eyes and realizes you’re wearing down.

“Are you ok, Petal?” His voice softens while his touch is sensitive.

Your lips form into a firm line and you manage to move over.

“Lay with me tonight.” Weakly, you pat the uncomfortable mattress. “I don’t want to be alone.”

The blond grunts and climbs into the bed without hesitation, aware of your injuries and comfort.

His head against the pillow, he flattens his back enough to pull you into his arms.

“You’re my everything, Y/N.” He mumbles into your hair leaving his lips pressed against your forehead. “You make me weak.” He mumbles.

“I do what?” You must not be hearing this right.

“That’s not what I meant.” He sighs. “You’re my weakness.”

Bakugou presses his head atop yours and embraces his silence. His rough fingertips gently slide over the wounds randomly scattered across your skin.

“You know I went crazy trying to find you.“

For once he’s actually keeping his tone low. You weren’t sure if it was how he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s soft on the inside or if it’s something else. “I couldn’t sleep. There’s no way I could’ve relaxed knowing that bastard had you.“

He pauses brushing the hair out of your face. “I had to find you. There’s no one in this world that means as much to me as you do.“

At that moment it wasn’t the aggressive explosion everyone is used to.

At that moment his guard was down and all he saw was you.

“The media got word. They were trying to break in the hospital to see you. They want pictures of you with your wounds. I had to do something about it.” His voice turns into his aggression, his anger begins to make a comeback when you squeeze his hand.

“When I left. I forced them to leave. They were…” he struggles. “They were talking about your parents. Calling them fallen heroes. Said that bastard murdered your family... This was their chance for a shot of glory. I wasn’t gonna let them turn you in to nothing.”

There’s so many emotions going through his system; he can’t decide on which he wants to use.

Anger. Guilt. Disgust.

“I wanted to do this the right way. Lights, candles, by the water the way you like. Under the gazebo where you can see the stars. I wanted everything to be perfect.” He stops to look at your damaged hand. “But... now, I realize time is so valuable, and life is so vulnerable. You’re my family and you mean everything to me.” He starts to get choked, and even though you’re the one who needs help, you are the one who needs to be taken care of, YOU are the one who’s making sure he is ok.

“Su-“

“Let me finish!“ He chokes with a short fuse. “Let me finish.“ He repeats himself with a much softer voice, hardly over whisper. You look to him and he has a soft smile almost hidden behind his angry eyes.

“Petal, I’ve loved you since we were kids. Since we were so young we didn’t know what love was. When I couldn’t find you, I was devastated. I didn’t understand that you were everything I’ve ever wanted. When there was a chance that i would never see you again, I felt a part of me break.” His voice is choking once more. “Great now I sound like some nerd.” he chuckles sniffling away his tears.

“You bring out the side of me that’s so dangerous and I wanted nothing more than to see you smile. You scare me; and nothing scares me in this world.“ He gets frustrated and pulls out an object from his pocket.

“Look, I’m trying to say I love you. And I never wanna see anything happen to you. I know things have happened, and our lives may never be the same again but I’m willing to work at it if you are.”

From his pocket he exposes a black velvet box. It’s small in his hand but you couldn’t believe your eyes.

The beautiful diamond that sat in the ring was more than anything you could’ve ever asked for.

“I saw it and immediately thought of you. It’s you. It’s you.”

By now he’s sobbing. Like the diamond, unlike any thing you’ve ever seen before, the energy he’s giving off, everything that he said would’ve fooled you into believing he’s somebody else.

“Who are you?” You ask, looking from his face to his hands and back to his face again. He chokes and sits up straight.

“Your husband if you let me.”

The machine beside you begins to be wildly, and the nurse along with Midoriya who is outside we came rushing in, exposing the moment between you and Bakugo.

“Get out you nerd.” He yells Midoriya who stutters.

“N-no. I need to see what she says.” The moment of bravery from the green one has you confused. The ring in the blond’s hands and shocked look on the green one’s face leaves you speechless.

“Well what do you say?“ Bakugou flushes from his cheeks and all you can do is nod.

“I promise you. When everything gets straightened out, I’ll make you the happiest person in the world.”

[satoriberry]

helloooo congrats on 75+!!! i'd like to enter your event if youre not too stocked up

- my name is danica, i dont label myself and rn im feelin he/him pronouns. if you wanna use pet names im not picky but my favorites are traditional shit like darling/dear/love. personality wise ive been described as very doting (physically & verbally), dependable, and smart

- i think my only major important detail is i am not small. im abt 5'10 and bordering plus size. but even tho i have a lot of fat on me i am BEEF underneath bro im relatively built and bridal carry my friends for fun bc i like feeling strong and important so i beg of u pls dont physically baby-ify me

for prompts can i get a 123 with any member of the big boy squad (ushijima, aone, asahi)? for everything else go wild w it i love creativity :]

[PROMPT NO. 123 WITH AZUMANE ASAHI! ♡]

Asahi was, as some would say, kind of a creature of habit. He doesn't follow routines but he prefers creating a simple pattern to go by daily, to avoid any inconveniences and not have to make decisions on the spot. But quite frankly, today wasn't his day, at all.

His alarm clock gave out, and he had to be woken up by his dad yelling from downstairs 30 minutes after his usual waking hour, consequently, he didn't get time to eat breakfast. And another consequence, he had to quickly feed on those sugary artificial protein bars to have energy for morning practice.

His performance was severely lacking, another problem. And as a result, he was worried about Coach Ukai chewing him out during after-school training, even going as far as to think that his highschool volleyball career is over for good. He wasn't able to enjoy lunch that day, deciding to eat by himself in his classroom and leaving his friends confused (that's another thing he was worried about). To top it all off, he didn't do his best on the history test he was preparing for two weeks in advance, all his efforts going down the drain.

So, Asahi always hated minor inconveniences because they snowball into bigger ones and he loses his cool. He just wishes that this day would be over already, but I guess you could say there's some things he looks forward even in his worst days. Things like, uhhh, you! <3

His lovely partner that he adores and cherishes so much, and the person who makes him wonder if he waved an entire bloodline in his past life to deserve. There were so many things he loved about you; your smile, your eyes, your laugh, but most of all, your personality. It's not to say that you're his polar opposite, but he can't help and idolise you for your affectionate and strong self. You let it be known that he should never hesitate to come up to you if there's anything wrong, and that's exactly what he plans on doing.

He was nervous about doing this at first but he did it anyways. Taking out his cellphone, he texted you...

- Hey love, I didn't see you all day, where were you? :(

- ahhh i forgot to tell you. 2 of my afternoon classes got cancelled so we were let out earlier, im at my home right now

- Oh ok, we're having a break right bow at practice so I wanted to ask you something.

- yeah? :>

- Well today has been really ass, to put it bluntly, and I wanted to know if I could come over so we can spend time together. No pressure :)

- wait fr? that doesn't sound good, and of course, you can come over. ill be here waiting for you

- Thank you Y/N, you're an angel honestly

- <3

Putting his phone away, Asahi felt his mood already getting better, so much so his spikes and receives were a ton better than what they were on the morning. Maybe this day won't so terrible after all.

Practice came to an end, perfect. He apologized to Sugawara and Daichi who were more than happy to see him look forward to seeing someone. He was so actually so excited that he took the wrong turn....twice, but in the end, he reached his desired destination.

You were gazing through your room's window to see if he's close, and the second you saw his broad silhouette in the corner streetlight, you rushed to go get the door before he could ring the bell. You definitely caught him off guard with the way you stepped out barefoot and threw yourself at him, causing him to stumble backwards. Not letting go of him, you turned your head to pepper kisses all over the left side of his face, a gest which he reacted to with a wide smile and a kiss to your temple.

You took hold of his hand to lightly drag him inside, and started fo ask him questions about his day so he can let it all out. You were really grateful he sees you as a person to talk about his feelings too, it filled you with an immense amount of pride.

Entering your room, you jumped on your bed and leaned on the headboard with open arms, inviting him to nuzzle up against you. You really liked doing this because the tiny nervous smile he gives before awkwardly crawling and laying on your chest is, to put it simply, worth two arms and a leg.

You caressed the top of his head, admiring just how beautiful he looked while peaceful. Does he know that? You should really remind him because he deserves it. But what caught your attention was the bun his hair was in. You took his hair out and gently loosened the tie to ruffle his locks, mesmerized by how soft they were. He let out a content sigh which you considered a sign to keep going.

He buried his head in the crook of your neck, letting him take in your sweet perfume and allowing you to kiss the top of his head and pat his hair. He felt like he was in heaven, his partner holding him in his arms and making him feel safe and sound.

Asahi was a creature of habit, yes, but he doesn't mind going off track if it means being cared for so gently.

[heyyy-hey-babyyy]

When We Were Young (Part IV)

Dean x Fem!Reader; Sam x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Read part I here ; Read part II here ; Read part III here

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of trauma/abuse, brief moments of self-harm, mentions of anxiety attack, a little dirty (not quite smut, but a bit steamy). 

Summary: Dean, Sam, and Y/N grew up together, but when she’s taken away for over 10 years, the boys have no idea what she’s been through. Will asking her to move into the bunker with them reveal more than she’s ready for?

2359 words

You tensed, anticipating the conclusion of the story and suddenly afraid of how Dean would react to what you were about to say. You took a deep breath before speaking.

“And when Greg opened the closet door and pulled back the blanket, I emptied the clip into his chest.”

It was deafening in the bedroom as you let the words you had never spoken out loud ring out and coat the empty spaces around you, never to be forgotten again. Dean hadn’t spoken, and you suddenly felt exhausted, reliving the darkest moment of your life. He still held you tight in his arms, but he was no longer comforting you, merely laying still as you pressed against his chest breathing him in. You couldn’t decide if you were worried for his reaction, or if you were relishing in the silence and warmth of his hold, but either way you were becoming anxious the longer he didn’t speak. 

Dean cleared his throat lightly, and you chanced glancing up at him. He wasn’t looking directly at you, but seemed to be lost in a memory for the moment. You curled back into his chest, and he tightened his hold, before you heard his voice, gruff from not being used. 

“When I was maybe, I don’t know, thirteen, fourteen, I killed my first vampire. She was young and dad decided I was old enough to go head to head with her because we were roughly the same size.” He huffed out a brief laugh. “Looking back it seems really messed up, but I was itching to get more into the hunt and this became the only way for me to prove it to my father.” He stopped, and it was your turn to try to comfort him, reaching up to run your fingers across his shoulders and you felt him relax a bit, letting out a deep breath he must have been holding. 

“Anyway, I took out the vamp no problem, and remember dad clapping me on the back, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of the vamp’s head. She hadn’t even barred fangs, and honestly looked just like a normal teenage girl, but one that I had just beheaded.” You continued lightly massaging his shoulders as you took comfort in the rumble of his voice against your cheek. “The image haunted me for weeks and after I woke dad up one night screaming in my sleep he sat down with me and instead of giving me the ‘she’s a monster, get over it’ talk he said something that I think about often.” Dean seemed to be completely lost in thought, and though you weren’t sure why he was telling you this, you listened intently, like he had just done for you. 

“He told me, ‘Dean, she was doing bad things. Yes, she was young, but sometimes people can’t come back from tasting a little bit of the darkness.’” 

You stopped moving your hands and he pulled you softly away from his chest and you looked into bright green eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. 

“Y/N.” He began, his tone growing serious. You shrunk back a little against his hold, afraid of what he was about to say. “Hey,” he softened, pulling you closer again so he could rub his hands up and down your arms. “Look at me.” You glanced back into his eyes as he continued speaking. “Some people can’t come back from the darkness.” 

Dean made everything seem so easy, and for a second you believed him. Perhaps you really could stop drowning in the guilt of what you did. But you shook your head at him with finality breaking your eye contact. You could never be forgiven for taking another human’s life. And you had too many secrets to ever live life like a normal person. Way too many skeletons in the closet. In that moment you felt profound guilt and sadness at the direction of your life. Sure, you were now in the arms of the man you had been in love with since before you even knew what love was, but he didn’t know anything about your life now. 

Dean saw the way you were reacting to his words. The way your mind was taking you from hope to guilt to sadness to absolute dread. He knew you thought you could hide from him, but he spent the better part of his childhood learning how to read the nerdy short girl who sometimes hung out with him at Bobby’s. And he could still read you like a book. 

“Hey, stop avoiding me, and look at me.” He said it with the tone that didn’t leave room for argument and you glanced up slowly. “You did what you had to do to protect yourself. That’s what your dad, my dad, and Bobby always taught us. Remember, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’“ He smiled at you softly and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the memory pull at you. 

When you found yourself alone with Dean on endless nights when you were younger, waiting for your dad’s to return, you used to come up with outrageous situations that you both could maybe find yourselves in and the other would respond simply with ‘shoot first. Ask questions later.’ It was stupid and bordering on morbid, but it always made you laugh, and Dean would stare at you until your fits of giggles stopped. In those moments, you always felt like maybe Dean felt for you just as much as you felt for him. But you were just his friend who he would hang out with at Bobby’s. Not girlfriend material. And you were taken from the boys young anyway, shattering any hope of what could have been. And Greg successfully shattered any hope of you being comfortable with another human being. 

Dean saw it happening again. The way you went from joy to guilt to sadness to dread. It broke his heart to not know what was happening in your head. Whatever you were telling yourself to give you such a hopeless look. He wanted more than anything to take away your pain, but he had no idea where to even start. 

You coughed lightly, pulling away from his arms. “Uh, can we just go to bed, Dean? I’m tired and,” you stopped glancing at his bedside clock, “it’s nearly 4:00am.” He nodded softly, and you turned away in the opposite direction, pulling the comforter up to your chin, though you weren’t even remotely tired. You were too stuck in your own head, imagining what could have been if you hadn’t been taken away all those years ago. You were never one for coulda woulda shoulda, but laying this close to Dean had you feeling all kinds of ways and it was hard not to want so much of what you couldn’t have. You had been laying silent for a few moments, when you felt Dean shift slightly. 

“Hey,” he whispered, gauging if you were asleep. You turned your head back toward him, glancing into his eyes. “Uh,” he looked awkward and it made you smile. “Would it be okay, if I held you, Y/N? Just for tonight.” You were a bit shocked by his question, being that you had just been thinking about him, but you nodded, realizing quickly how much you wanted him close again. You turned back to your side away from him, and felt one arm snake under your head laying against the pillow, and the other crawl across your waist pulling you flush against him. He sighed contentedly, and you allowed yourself to breath normally, even though your body was trembling slightly and your breathing was a little erratic. 

Being this close to him, it was impossible to hide the way your body was reacting, and you felt him pull away from you a bit, but you grabbed his arm and placed it on your hip again. This is what you wanted. It’s Dean. He would never hurt you. You told yourself over and over to calm you racing heart. Besides, Greg never cuddled with you. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, baby?” Dean whispered, his breath tickling the hair by your ear, making your body tense up again. But you nodded placing your hand on his on your hip, and moving it further down your stomach. Dean let you guide his hand and when it landed in a comfortable place, you proceeded to run your fingers up and down his arm. A memory of Dean flashed across your eyes as you did this. 

You were playing some racing game that you were horrible at and he knew it, so of course he wanted to place a bet. You were no punk, so you agreed, sitting up a bit straighter as the cars raced around the tracks for their practice run before you pressed the start button. 

“If I win,” you started, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. “I get to ride in the front seat of the Impala the next time John takes us into town!” You didn’t really care about riding up front, but you knew it drove Dean insane to be in the back, and if you were up front you could play Dixie Chicks and Dean would have to shut up about it. 

He sighed dramatically, but agreed. “Okay, then if I win...” He trailed off trying to look deep in thought, but you knew him better than that. He was embarrassed, and you got serious thinking ‘what could he possibly be embarrassed to ask for?’

“If I win, I want you to do that arm scratching thing you do when you’re nervous, to distract yourself... I love that.” You stared at him stupidly in response, but nodded anyway. You always thought he thought that was annoying when you’d be watching a horror movie and you’d grab his arm and move your fingers up and down the smooth skin as a distraction. You hated the feeling yourself, but he never stopped you, so you figured he was just humoring you. 

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal and nodded back, looking toward the game, knowing he was going to win, and smiling to himself. 

You kept moving up and down his arm and Dean sighed into your hair. “I love this.” He whispered softly, almost as if he didn’t mean to. You smiled nodding that you knew. Dean leaned his head down to rest on your shoulder and he lightly kissed the open patch of skin on your collar bone, losing himself for a moment. You breathed out a little in surprise, and he felt you tense, moving his head back. “Sorry.” He whispered quickly, but you shook your head in response. 

“I liked it...” You whispered back, moving your hand to entangle your fingers with his on your waist, and he pulled you closer gripping you to him. His head returned and he placed another chaste kiss against your neck making goosebumps appear across your skin. He nuzzled into your neck lightly and you giggled involuntarily, nervous suddenly and he placed another kiss against your collarbone before speaking. 

“It broke my heart to let you leave...” He trailed off, lost in thought as you took in his words. “I begged my dad for months to take you back, but we couldn’t find you. It was like the system ate you up. I’m so sorry, baby. I should have saved you.” You shook your head at his last words, not wanting any of this to be his fault. Besides, after Greg, you didn’t want to be found. You wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault and that you had disappeared for years after the shooting, but he released your hand suddenly, moving his hand back over your stomach. Your shirt had rode up a bit and you felt the pads of Dean’s fingers glide smoothly across your exposed skin. You had never been touched so gently, and though it brought up feelings you hadn’t felt in years, you knew Dean wasn’t pressuring you into anything, but rather comforting you and letting you know you are wanted. The thought made you choke up, and Dean held you close to him. 

“Lets sleep. We can talk more tomorrow.” You nodded, and snuggled closer, relaxing as Dean’s fingers danced across your skin, and the sound of him humming “Let it Be” lightly into your ear soothed you into a dreamless sleep. 

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

It was well after noon and you were still fast asleep. Dean had pulled away from you gently around 9:00am and was returning now to check on you. He pulled the door closed, leaving it open a crack so he could hear if you called for him, when Sam came up next to him. 

“Hey,” He whispered. “How is she? How did last night go?” 

Dean put a finger to his lips and motioned for his brother to follow him into the bathroom across the hall. He closed the door and sat down with a huff on the toilet seat, Sam perching on the side of the bathtub. 

It took a few seconds for Dean to decide what he wanted to tell Sam, but his brother was ever patient waiting for Dean to say what he needed to. 

“Some awful stuff happened to her when she was taken into foster care after her dad died, Sammy...” Sam nodded looking up at his brother, remembering how chaotic things were after the social worker barged into Bobby’s house and took you out screaming for Dean along the way. Dean refused to stop looking for you and it was almost a year later when he finally resigned to returning to hunt with his dad and taking care of Sam again. 

Dean slammed his hand down loudly on the sink, and pulled it back quickly, straining to hear if he woke you. He didn’t hear anything so he turned back to Sam confessing what was weighing deep on his soul. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He stated simply.

Sam narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?” Dean looked up at him with sorrow in his eyes.

“I love her, Sammy.”

Read part V here.

When We Were Young Tag list: @vicmc624​