#mentions of near death

[selineram3421]

*finally has a day off* Fucking hell.

I'll Be Here

Previous: Coming Apart

Human Alastor X Human Reader Oneshot

Warnings ⚠

⚠ she/they for reader, italics = thoughts, blood, mentions of stalking, shaking head = no, mentions of near death, fluff ⚠

"While in your sleep.."

You started in your journal entries.

You've been writing in a journal for your fiance to read when he does eventually wake up.

It's been a few days since the incident. The local paper had printed out most of what happened but you asked to keep your names out of it and they were respectful enough to listen.

You finally learned what your stalker's name was and how many other women he had gone after. You were glad it was finally over and that he couldn't hurt anyone else now.

The night Alastor was admitted, you were so worried about him and rushed to ask the doctors why he wasn't waking up. They reassured you, saying it was quite normal and that he would wake up soon once he was well enough.

You stayed by his side most of the time.

Knowing better than to leave yourself uncared for while taking care of him.

Brushing his hair, cleaning his teeth, and overall just making sure he was comfortable while he slept.

Whenever your thoughts became too much, you'd clean his glasses or listen to his past recorded Radio shows.

Now, you've finished writing about what happened last night in the journal, sitting near his bedside in one of the chairs provided.

Putting away the light brown book in your bag before letting out a sigh and crossing your arms, resting your upper body on the bed as you stare at your love's sleeping face.

You missed him.

You know he's just resting but you still miss him.

Brushing a strand of hair away from his face, you let out another sigh.

I'll have to eat breakfast soon.. You thought and continued to run your fingers through his hair. Maybe I can just get a sandwich or something from the liquor store across the street.

Taking a glance at the window, you see that it's raining.

It's been raining since last night. You woke up to a loud clap or thunder and thought it woke Alastor up too. But he was still sleeping when you turned to look.

You shifted a bit to get comfortable, still playing with strands of his hair.

"You might be dreaming right now for all I know..", you mumbled, moving your hand to hold his. "I'll take a nap and dream with you for a bit."

Slowly, you felt yourself drift off into sleep.

.

At first you saw Alastor covered in gashes and blood.

With a shout, you ran over to him, but when you blinked he was fine.

He smiled at you and pulled you into a hug.

God did you miss his hugs.

You practically melted in his arms as you hugged him back. The warmth and comfort the hug was providing was something you needed. His arms around your waist, squeezing you with just the right amount of tightness before relaxing.

He was mumbling something in French but it was hard to pick out.

You were just happy to be with him.

"Ma amour." (My love.)

.

You felt yourself wake up to soft humming and someone gently rubbing your head.

Still feeling sleepy, you stayed put. But then you realized that no one comes into the room without knocking. Quickly, you sat up and found him awake.

Smiling gently, looking at you with a soft gaze.

"Alastor..", you said in a whisper, a bit scared that this wasn't real.

He just continued to smile and said your name. "Good morning.", he greeted and wiped away a tear running down your cheek. "I hope I didn't worry you too much this time."

"Alastor.", you felt more tears build up before you carefully reached over and held him close, being mindful with his injuries. "I missed you so much."

"Missed me?", he let out a soft chuckle. "I didn't go anywhere."

All you did was shake your head and kiss his forehead.

"I'll go get the nurse, have them check on you and-", you let go and went to stand.

"Wait.", he tugged your shirt. "I..I missed you too."

Confused, you sat back down and let him pull you close, wrapping his arms around you. "I thought you said you didn't go anywhere?", you hugged him back.

"Hmm.. I was still here.", he nodded. "But I couldn't hold you."

What did he mean by that?

"She likes you by the way.", he mumbled, burying his face into your shoulder.

"She?", you asked, even more confused.

"My mother."

Then it clicked.

Alastor was on the brink of death. Not only that, he got to see his mother again. But he stayed around.

"Told me not to keep you waiting and to hurry up before some male nurse tried to hit on you.", he said and chuckled.

"I would never acknowledge them.", you replied and pecked his lips. "For they have perceived me with their eyes but you have met me in depth."

"I love you beyond time."

"I love you more."

*brain, saying I have to write more human Alastor* You know what? You're right.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @big-brother-problems @mistpurpl3 @chewbrryarts @willowbrookhoot @briethekitsune @alastorthirsty @sir-aadiboii @+?

ML II Alastor🎙️

[indulgentdaydream]

Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

[merverelli]

"you just feel yourself let go."

still thinking about this episode. man. 💪💥

[ponury-grajek]

happy birthday light yagami you deserved all of this that happened to you <3

[queen0fm0nsterz]

Saw a twitter post about Near and L with the "do I look like him?" caption and it got me to feel so viscerally sad because... he does. He does look like L. The similarities are so uncanny that, had I not known they're not related, I would have guessed they are. And not just appearance too... some of his mannerisms, the way he speaks and reasons... all of Near is haunted by the traces of a man he has never even met.

It's not really surprising: he was groomed by Wammy's to be just like L. He never really rejected that notion, either; he just embraced it as something that has always been part of him, because how could he refuse something that was there from the beginning? He was just a kid. A very young one at that.

But someone who did reject that was Mello. Or, rather, he felt rejected by that system, so he turned his back on it -- at least partially. The effects of it are still felt even in its rejection - his visceral hatred of Near being a lampant example. But I wonder if that rejection, that search for individuality, is what made Near so endeared to Mello in spite of the other very openly hating him.

Mello became his own person and Near, forever bound to be one of two parts of L, admired that. Because he couldn't do it.

[grosslyoversimplifiedpolitics]

[ID: screenshot of an Ao3 author's note that reads, "earlier this week I was a dumbass and didn't tell anyone where I was going, and then my phone died and I got a flat tire 140 miles into the Alaskan wilderness, with 6 oz of water left in my water bottle. After about 7 hours of hiking, I found someone and hitched a ride back to town. You'd be surprised the capacity you have to keep calm in the face of possible death, and the truth about what could've happened still hasn't quite sunk in. I don't think you have to be smart to survive, I think you just have to be lucky." /End ID]

[bigassmoonchild]

Maple Syrup Masterlist

THIS SERIES IS COMPLETED

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Total Parts: 17

Total Word Count: ~43.3k

Summary: A mission that was supposed to be easy doesn't go your way, but when does it ever when the 141 is involved? Aphrodisiacs that were incredibly powerful were used on yourself and Simon, and with one accident it took over your lives. Now, you need to figure out how to go about life as a newly mated Omega in a world made for Alphas.

Content Tags: Smut, Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Fuck or Die, Heat, Rut, Angst, Knotting, PIV Sex, Biting, Hurt/No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Typical Violence, Depictions of Violence, Mentions of Pregnancy, Kinda Pregnancy Loss, Teasing, Use of Pet-Names, Simon is shit at talking and emotions, He figures it out tho, Dropping of the L word, Near Death, Pregnancy, Vomiting, Task Force 141 is a Pack, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N

A/N: I just wanted to make sure anyone who needed (or wanted) to have a one-stop shop for the Maple Syrup series (and drabbles pertaining to it) can have it. Please send me asks! Masterlist under the Cut!

🧼 = smut, 🧸 = angst, 💞 = fluff

Main Storyline:

Part 1: Maple Syrup 🧼

Part 2: The Aftermath 🧸

Part 3: Alpha, Please 🧼💞

Part 4: Feral 💞

Part 5: The Hearing 🧸

Part 6: Talk 🧸

Part 7: Lost and Found 🧸 💞

Part 8: Hot and Cold 🧼 🧸

Part 9: Hoops 🧸

Part 10: Thirteen 🧸

Part 11: Tags 🧸

Part 12: Ghost 🧸

Part 13: Tea 🧸💞🧼

Part 14: Meetings 🧸💞

Part 15: Tears 🧸💞

Part 16: Nothing 🧸

Part 17: Happy 💞🧸

Drabbles, Oneshots, Side-Stories:

Simons Rut 🧼

Headcannons 💞🧸🧼

[pallanophblargh]

So it’s been a while. And I feel obligated to explain my lengthy absence from… everywhere. My email is so full I’m low key terrified.

On New Year’s Eve, I found out the hard way I have asthma. I thought I was tackling a stubborn cold with a particularly nasty cough, but it culminated in a trip to the ER after I all but stopped breathing and felt hypoxic. My oxygen saturation had dropped into the 60s and I was put on oxygen. Went through the whole barrage of tests, chest x rays and blood draws. And the culprit? RSV and the asthma I had thought was imaginary. Despite my own body’s efforts to cancel my subscription to the bullshit year we are now living in, I was discharged after 6 hours just an hour before midnight. To put it simply, I felt like total shit but no longer in danger.

RSV knocked me and J absolutely flat for 2+ weeks. I still am dealing with fatigue and respiratory/cardio hiccups as I try to get back to how life was before. And before I could get to that point, life threw another wrench.

Raclette, my darling pup I had adopted back in October, who I was assured had been spayed (having come from the shelter where it is required) had gone into heat. Which leads me to believe that her first owners had (for whatever crazy reason) lied to the shelter about spaying her, and there were no records of her from before her time at the shelter. To say I was disappointed and alarmed is an understatement, and my suspicions were confirmed by our vet. Poor girl has been in a diaper for a week and a half and her spay is 3 weeks away. We are both miserable and I’ve had my hands full taking care of her. She’s restless at night so I’m not sleeping well, but I would never hold it against her.

So yeah! Art took a severe back seat, and I will need to reevaluate my relationship with art once the commission queue has been emptied. It’s gonna be an extremely rough year and I’m looking to find things that bring me more joy while taking better care of myself (and the dog). It’s a tall order but it needs doing!

Stay safe out there, y’all.

[jaytalking]

Hiiii have I told you guys he's my favourite guy. Have I told you. Can we talk about him for the love of god please Hi hello. <- has not shut up about him in days.

[lokiinmediasideblog]

I'm of the opinion that MCU!Loki would be far more willing to die to save MCU!Frigga than the other way around (even if she's interpreted as genuinely caring for him), and it has fucked up angst potential.

[sonocomics]

I know it was the Tutorial

...but still :(

Click HERE to view more Nintendo comics, including more Ghost Trick!

Commissions Info | ko-fi | Patreon | Check out my patrons!

[neallo]

starving

rating: M | category: M/M | words: 2720

Near is hungry. No— not hungry. Near is famished. He’s starving. Mello can see it in the pronounced pallor of his face, the dullness of his eyes. In life, he could go for a day and a half without eating and barely notice. It wasn’t good for him, but he could do it without issue. In undeath, he is not so resilient.

for @levi-dayne's birthday 🫶

[azaika]

I know this type of Lawlight fanfic is common and has been done numerous times already but idk I always love it either way when I see stories of Light being left haunted after L's death. How L's death actually did affect him. L was a part of Light whether Light wants to admit it or not. Killing L was like killing off a deep profound part of himself. They had become so intertwined, a symbiosis where they can't thrive without the other. But Light's ambition as Kira was too great, too powerful.

Now in the aftermath, there are still some mornings where Light finds himself absentmindedly making a second cup of coffee for a person that is simply not there.

Or when he's at work and is given a file with new evidence. Light turns to his side, mouth opening to go over the evidence only to realize he's alone. He's not here.

Near asks him once about his relationship with L. Thoughts of pale hands roaming his body and holding him until he bruises Light's skin flash across his mind unbidden.

He can still hear that voice of his whispering in his ear one night. "You can never hide. Not from me."

But Light only says in a detached polite tone that hides his turmoil almost well, "L was an interesting man to work with. He could be eccentric at times but there's no doubt he had a brilliant mind. It was an honor to have worked with him."

Light pretends not to see the form in the corner of the room, those dark eyes watching him, their lips drawn in a taunting smile that keeps repeating, "Liar."

[heyheydidjaknow]

I’m not dead I promise. Nor am I done with x reader stuff. Finally, Mello gets his day in the limelight. Good for him.

Scarring

“That translation is wrong.”

“Thank you.” You did not look up from your notebook. “You know, it sure would suck if I went a minute without knowing that I’m bad at this.”

He took a sip from his milkshake, his weight leaned against the counter. “Get better, then.” He pointed at the page you were on, gesturing to the words. “The girl isn’t greedy; she doesn’t get to have a masculine adjective.”

You groaned, resting your head in your hands. “Jesus fucking— that’s the only noun in the sentence!”

Another sip. “If there isn’t another noun,” he explained slowly, not bothering to hide his condescension, “you assume there’s an invisible ‘vir’ there.”

“Why is it invisible? For whose benefit?”

“The author’s, mainly.”

You rubbed your eyes, pushing your hair out of your face. “This is bullshit,” you decided. “This whole thing is moronic.”

“Serves you right for learning a dead language.”

“Eat my dick.”

He snickered. “I’ll get right on it.” He looked around the diner for the fifth time, a frown settling on his face. “He’s late.”

You took a sip from your drink. “Serves you right for being a stalker.”

“It’s called espionage.”

“A rose by any other name smells just as stalkery.” You smirked. “Serves you right for agreeing to it in the first place— what if he doesn’t show up? What’s your plan then, genius?”

“Shut up.” He leaned his cheek against his hand. “He’ll be here.”

“Sure, sure.” You closed your notebook. “I give up. Three hours of torture is enough, I think.”

He stirred his milkshake, pulling the straw out of the cup and stabbing the bottom of it. “You won’t get a degree if you flunk out.”

“I don’t need Latin to graduate.” You took another sip from your drink. “I don’t need Latin as a general— how come you don’t know how to cook soup but you know Latin?”

He considered the question. “I wanted to prove that I could learn it.” Another stab.

You sneered. “Then I suppose your rival knows some Latin too, then.”

Another glare.

“If you want me to stop knowing what you’re going to say, stop being so predictable.” You tried to will away your simper with little success. “You can’t blame me for having basic pattern recognition.”

He looked back at his milkshake, took another sip. “I was better at it than him,” he grumbled. “He was always shit at languages.”

You giggled. “I’m sure he was.” Your gaze fell upon the clock behind the counter, your expression souring. “We’ve been here for an hour,” you pointed out. “How long—“

“His arrival time has a two hour margin.” He picked up the glass, scraping the excess shake off the sides. “If Holiday-- his horse-- won, he’s going to be here an hour before closing time. If Holiday didn’t win, he’ll be here thirty minutes before closing because he’ll spend more time at the bar. If he gets into an argument at home— which happens once every week or so, especially on Saturdays because they’re supposed to be their date night— he’ll come here first for dinner before leaving to get drinks and will go to a fast food place instead.” He took another sip. “The diner closes in an hour, so if he doesn’t show up in another thirty minutes, we can leave.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly. “I see.” You ran your finger along the edge of your notebook. “And let’s say this guy— who, for the record, you know too much about— doesn’t conform to the schedule that you assigned him; what’s the next step?”

There was something more in his glare this time, a familiar edge. “What if the Moon crashes into Earth before he gets here? What if the floor opens up and we all die?” His eyes darkened, and you were reminded, much to your subconscious’ dismay, who it was that you were dating. “I didn't give up my childhood for nothing,” he said, conviction dripping like tar out of every pore. “I know what I’m doing. He’ll be here.”

You opened your mouth to answer, thought better of it. You focused on your glass.

He blinked, eyes widening as his face softened. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” He laced his fingers together, twiddling his thumbs. “I have— this isn’t—“

“Don’t stress it.” You smiled weakly. “It’s late; we’re tired. I know you— well, that you aren’t going to do anything stupid.”

He nodded curtly. “Good. I’m glad.” He reached over, taking your hand and running his thumbs over your knuckles. His hands were shaking. “I’m stressed out is all; there’s a lot riding on this.”

“I know, baby.” You ran your free hand through his hair, bringing it to rest against his cheek. “You’re right; it’ll work out.”

He nodded again, slower this time. “I won’t make you regret what you’ve done for me,” he promised. “This will be good for the both of us.”

You brought his hands to your lips, kissing each. “You don’t need to keep telling me; I know you will.”

“Good.” He glanced at the counter, letting his hands fall to his lap. “I’m glad.”

“Good,” you agreed. “I'm glad you’re glad.”

He grinned. “I’m glad you’re glad I’m—“

The door made a jingle as someone entered the diner. The look on your boyfriend’s face told you who it was.

You were smart enough not to look behind you.

He grabbed his glass, turning his back to the man. “What’d I say?” He looked over at you, pride shining in his eyes. “Good day for Holiday.”

You looked down at your closed notebook, pretending to study it. “I suppose you were right.” You glanced in his direction. “What time can I expect to have you home?”

He considered it. “One at the latest,” he decided. “If I can’t make it home before then, I’ll call you.”

You nodded, slipping your book in your bag. “One it is.” You stood up. “Can I kiss you goodbye?”

He shifted the glass, trying to catch the man’s reflection. “He’s too shifty to risk it.” He glanced up at you. “But I’ll kiss you when I get home.”

Waiting was the worst part of dating Mathew.

The second worst thing was the fact that he wouldn’t tell you his real name (he had offered Mello as a substitute— which the two of you agreed was an objectively silly name— but he claimed Mathew was as close as he could give you, what with the times being what they were). The third was that he got himself into bad situations all the time, but the very worst were these agonizing waits between seeing him after the working day was over and Good Samaritan laws practically stopped being in effect. It could have been worse, you supposed— he could be late and stupid enough to get hurt— but it did not make the wait any less unbearably long. He always came back, and you knew he always would, but it was impossible not to assume the worst at twelve-fifty. Fifty-six, now.

‘This show sucks.’ You turned the television off, letting your eyes fall closed.

A knock at the door.

You shot up from your doze. Quickly, quietly, you slid off the couch onto your knees, groping under it before your hand found a cool, heavy piece of metal. Taking the bat in your hand, you approached the door. Stealing yourself, you glanced through the peephole.

Him.

You exhaled, unlocking the door. He was doubled over, breathing labored, glistening with sweat. You pulled him inside, relocking up as he tried unsuccessfully to compose himself. His eyes were trained on the bat. “You should let me buy you a piece,” he panted. “That’s… fuck… that’s not going to be helpful if…” He swallowed, laughing in exhaustion. You could see now that he had dried blood stuck to the side of his face. “If someone comes here, a bat’s not gonna help. I could’ve shot you through the door.”

You reached out, tilting his head up towards you to get a better look. They were ugly scratches; pale skin outlined angry red and pink flesh. You tried not to ask. “You need to disinfect these,” you mumbled. “You’ll get scars.”

He waved your hand away, standing up straight. “I’ll be fine,” he assured you. “The guy just scratched me is all.”

“Disgusting stuff is under fingernails.” You took his hand, leading him towards your bathroom. “You’ll thank me later.”

Grumbling, he let you drag him along, let you sit him down, let you bring harsh antiseptic to the gashes despite his protest. He watched you, mostly, fiddling with his fingernails while you fussed over him.

Finally, he spoke. “You haven’t asked me yet.”

You crumpled up his bandage’s wrapper. “Asked you what?”

“What I did.” He kept his eyes trained on you like it was an effort. “If I did it.”

You shrugged. “Not my business.” You tossed them out. “Are you complaining that I’m making myself a bad witness?”

“I guess.” He swallowed. “I’m in, I think. If they hold up their end of it.”

You leaned against your sink, facing him. “Do you get paid this time?”

“I should.”

You nodded absently. “Are you okay?”

Finally, he looked away. “Well enough. I—“ He paused, amending his statement. The cool light of the bathroom— you meant to get those changed— casted dark green shadows across his face. “Well, I thought I would be doing different horrible things, but I knew I’d– I mean to say, I’ve about come to terms with my going to hell if there is one, so.” He smiled shakily. “It doesn’t matter much to me which circle, so I’m alright.”

You nodded again.

“I’m sorry for being late.” He looked down at his nails, forcing his hands onto his thighs. “I mean, I know I wasn’t late, but I should have let you know I was taking longer than expected to come home. My phone died, and I didn’t want to be dropped off close to here.”

“You’re alright. I appreciate it, really.” You gave him a once over. “But you’re not coming to bed without a shower. And I’m not washing whoever’s blood that is out.”

He looked down at his shirt, realizing— seemingly for the first time— that he was spattered with blood. “I look like I killed someone,” he noted.

You shrugged. “Nobody here’s going to call the cops on you for having blood on your clothes.”

“Disturbing, but convenient.” He rolled his eyes. “One more failure to add to the list for the justice system.”

“I don’t know if it’s that.” You crossed your ankles. “I mean, yeah, but I think it’s got more to do with people thinking that there shouldn’t be capital punishment for people guilty of the crime of being kinda weird.”

“Being put to death for being strange,” he mused. “How biblical.”

“It’s not that either,” you stressed. “It’s just that the Kira fanboys started leaking police records so it’s a bigger dick move than it usually is to call the cops for stuff.”

He leaned onto his elbows, letting his head fall forward. “Again,” he sighed, “how biblical.”

“Old Testament justice,” you conceded. “I wonder if Kira’s a Christian.”

“It’s not likely.” He looked up at you, dull blonde hair sticking to his face. “He’s Japanese; most Japanese people aren’t Christian.”

“I guess.” He had a lot of theories about Kira. They were usually accurate, but their quantity brought you pause on occasion. “That’s funny. So is it just faith in the police, then?”

“That’s more likely.”

“Someone should shoot him.”

“If you’ll tell me where to aim, I’m more than happy to.”

You looked down at your tile floor. “You'll have to wait in line.”

“I know.” A pause, then, “I wonder how much his body would go for.”

“Whose, Kira’s?”

“Yeah.”

You considered it. “I’m sure loads of people would want his head for one reason or another. He better hope he doesn’t end up in prison; you’d be able to buy him and his stuff piecemail.”

“Like a celebrity.”

“Like a pope.”

“Like a god.”

You hummed. “Enough people deify him already; all he needs is a church.”

“Wouldn’t that be funny?” You struggled to pinpoint his expression. It was almost sadistic. “What an accomplishment that would be, to be the first person in recorded history to kill a god.”

You let your head fall back. You really hated that light. “You sound like a serial killer.”

“I feel like one.”

“What’s your plan after you catch him?” You looked back down at your boyfriend. He was shivering. “Will the two of you just call a truce?”

He took a deep breath. “Probably not.” He traced one of the tiles with his foot. “If someone as powerful as Kira showed up again, we’d probably fight over who could catch them too. Then another person after that, and another after that. Rinse and repeat until one of us dies.”

“How miserable.”

“Naturally.”

You loved your boyfriend. You loved most things about him. His passion, his drive, his energy— you could see yourself starting a proper life with him. You shared your life with him, anyway, and a part of you believed that one day he would too.

But there was one thing about him you could not stand.

He was ambitious. Too ambitious.

It would get him hurt one day, and you hated that you knew that you would be around to see it.

[azureandcrimson]

Credits to Mambo Jambo on Twitter for this idea/Theory. But she mentioned that. In the scene where Macaque is playing for the shadow theatre. He shows Wukong leaving, then this next.

Now that I think about more. Maybe. As Mambo Jambo theorized. When when the sun left, they stopped balancing out the shadows. That's when/why they corrupted Macaque. After Wukong left because he was balancing Macaque out. That also might make sense depending on the S5 Memory. If Wukong had already left, and that's when the shadows corrupted Macaque. He wouldn't know what happened. It would make sense on why Wukong didn't want to fight him. + them used being best friends and post fight, they probably both wanted to at some point make up. But in the end Wukong had ended up killing and blinding his eye and sealed him in Diyu because Macaque was out of control.

[himboextraordinaire]

I love domestic/fluffy Byler so much, but what I really want is for them to be a mess.

Everything about their relationship with the involvement of the upside down and Eleven is a mess. Will is carelessly lying to Mike about El and his painting, Mike is not communicating and was being particularly distant to Will for virtually no reason on his birthday (which btw I totally don’t buy it that the Duffers and the writers room just “forgot” Will’s birthday when they remembered Will’s favorite candy just so they can have it as a silly little easter egg in like two scenes). Everything about it that has been building up to this point is just a huge pile up at this point.

They’re going to likely be with each other for most of season 5 because of the promise that they made to each other at the end of season 4 (and the BTS photos but yknow), which gives time for a lot to happen. Will and Mike are not perfect people, and it’s clear that their friendship isn’t either. The confession isn’t going to be light and fun. That pileup is going to collapse under it’s own weight and it will not be pretty at all. It’s going to be a mess, it’s going to hurt, and I am HERE FOR IT.